Pale Morning

Pale Morning

By:

Snobe

There was something wonderfully exhilarating about swimming in the lake on an autumn's night. The wind carried a foreign chill, whispering of pale bronze oaks and golden yews . The diamond stars encrusted in the endlessly black sky seemed to glow colder.

A young man, who's sable tresses molded in with the sky, lazily floated on the surface of the water, alabaster chest glistening with droplets of water.

He idly twirled a golden leaf in slender fingers, enjoying the feeling of it's smoothness against his skin. He marveled at the simplicity. The logic was so plain, so bare. The leaf was wet, therefore it was smooth.

But what was the leaf like before it got wet?

He laughed outright at the absurdity of his musings. Contemplating the smoothness of a leaf! Malfoy's recently unrelenting presence must have affected his sanity. Not that he had one to begin with. One seldom posses a sane mind in times as dark as these, where nothing is as it seems. Logic no longer was a priority.

The dark haired man raised the leaf up to his eyes, where he studied it carefully. He felt warmth unfold in the pit of his stomach, a relief that bloomed and ignited hope. In a world as chaotic as his, simplicity was cherished.

Obviously, the leaf had been dry. Probably coarse to the touch in order for it's form to alter after the effects of being dipped in water. The beautifully simple logic was like taking a huge breath after being kept in a musty box for a long time.

"Oy, Zabini!" yelled a voice he had come to grimace at lately. Blaise hoisted his bare torso above the surface of the water, slowly spinning around to reluctantly face the owner of the yell.

A boy, no older than himself, with platinum hair that seemed to gleam in the pale moonlight, stood at the banks of the lake. His form was poised in an impatient and bewildered stature, judging by his cocked hip and folded arms.

"Yes, Malfoy? Is there a reason for you to be standing there, bellowing my name?" called back Blaise lazily. Draco Malfoy arched a pale eyebrow, one that glimmered in the distance. 'Creepy,' thought Blaise absently.

"No, no reason. I was simply wondering why you decided to take a bath in the lake, at two in the morning, during autumn?" retorted the young aristocrat, gracefully sliding down to sit upon a rock by the edge of the lake.

Blaise grinned, floating slowly on his back over to his companion, the graceful motions of his arms sending soft ripples across the water. Draco watched them fade with weary eyes.

"Care to join me?" asked Blaise, ripping his leaf into two before throwing them up into the air, where they were promptly carried away by the breeze.

"You always were off your rocker, Zabini," said Draco, shaking his head. Blaise didn't reply, but instead dived under the water. The young Malfoy watched the lake still, not even the trace of a ripple evident on it's pristine surface.

A few beats went by, where Draco calmly wondered if Blaise had decided to drown himself. He made no move to shout his name, or dive under to save him.

Suddenly, a dark head emerged from the water, disturbing it with small waves caused by the sudden impact. Followed by the head, and hand came up and threw something onto the grass by Draco. He looked at it with piqued interest.

It was a shell; white and glimmering and untouched. He turned his head to stare at the wet boy.

"A shell," he said blankly. Blaise smirked subtly, emerald eyes gleaming, and swam over to the bank where with little difficulty he crawled out.

"For the Weasley bird," he explained. Malfoy glared at him as the dark haired boy pulled his robes over his head.

"I could have gotten something for her myself!" he growled indignantly. Blaise grinned at him, showing the find points of his pearl white teeth.

"Of course. Are you accompanying me to the castle, or am I to leave you here alone?" he asked, and with a scowl Draco joined Blaise as he began to trek back up to the school.

Making sure the other Slytherin wasn't looking, the silver eyed boy pocketed the shell. Blaise smiled.

^^^

The only light in the exquisite, circular chamber was from the single flickering torch hung on one gleaming stone wall. The old, ebony grandfather clock perched in the corner reverberated with two melancholy chimes, informing all that the hour was late.

The room was empty, save for one, who despite the clock's reminder of the time, still lingered amongst the conscious.

Completely obscured by towers of thick, heavy books, piles of crumpled parchment and stacks of charts sat a young girl, hunched over a very complicated Arithmancy diagram.

Dark circles marred the delicate, pale skin beneath her eyes, which were blurring in and out of focus. She forcefully trained her eyes onto the parchment in front of her, willing for the numbers and symbols to ease her life and just make sense.

Hermione Granger had been relentlessly studying for hours, disregarding time and meals. Despite the fact that her N.E.W.T.'s were months away, the familiar restlessness and paranoia had begun to take over her.

Not to mention the ever growing shadow of fear about the inevitably upcoming war.

Wrinkling her brow in intense concentration, she drove that particular thought from her mind, impatiently tucking a loose brown curl back into her haphazard bun.

She stared hard at the diagram, frustration growing. Her vision swam, and her head felt heavy. She shivered, and pulled her winter cloak tighter around her shoulders. She had been feeling cold lately.

With a defeated sigh, the Head Girl resignedly threw down her quill and neatly put away her Arithmancy diagram. She suddenly felt as if she weighed four hundred pounds.

"Oh, to hell with this..." she murmured before resting her heavy head on folded arms. Her eyes drooped closed, and as she slowly exhaled a cloud of breath she felt herself fade into unpleasant darkness, where the screams awaited her.

^^^

Blaise soundlessly slipped in through the Head entrance, a mere shadow in the flickering darkness of the room. Having taken off his boots before he entered, he was capable of silently walking through the room without disturbing the Head Girl from either her slumber or her work.

A week he had shared headquarters with Hermione Granger, and already they had developed a routine; he always came back late to find her either sleeping on the couch with an open book, or pouring over studies, half conscious. Either way, he was to silently slink up to his rooms without disturbing her.

It was an unspoken, mutual agreement.

Quietly placing his dragon hide boots in the corner, he combed through the dimly lit chamber with an attentive gaze, searching for his co-Head.

Finally, he spotted the top of her curly brown head that just barely protruded from behind a wall of books and charts. Shaking his head, Blaise began to descend towards his rooms.

A soft sound made him freeze in his tracks.

It was quiet, and barely perceptible... But it was the unmistakably a whimper. He turned, slowly, to stare at the barricade of work in which Hermione Granger was concealed in.

The sound repeated itself, this time louder, and more despaired. Without hesitation, he soundlessly approached the desk at which she was slumbering.

Peering over the towers of books, he saw her. She was wearing what appeared to be a winter coat, but despite that she was shivering uncontrollably. Her skin was delicate-looking and pale, stained with an occasional ink blotch. Her face, white and stressed, was stretched into an expression of terror.

He reached out a hesitant hand and lightly tapped her on the shoulder.

What happened next happened so quickly his mind didn't even have time to register it.

The wall of books and parchment came crashing down on him like a tidal wave of blurred book spines and words as a petite form impacted against it.

Two small hands enclosed his throat in long fingers, and he was suddenly pinned to the floor by a mound of heavy volumes and the winter cloaked body of Hermione Granger.

Her large, glazed brown eyes stared maniacally into his green ones.