Note: The following is a co-written affair between myself and Shinga. So the styles may be a bit different.

"Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear."
-Mark Twain

Desire is the cause of all suffering.
-Buddha

Hermione Granger had a very clear voice. It was a very strong, powerful voice. Her father had once remarked that Hermione would never need a microphone, not with such a clear tenor.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! YOU STUPID, HAIR-BRAINED, POMPUS, INSENSITIVE, GIT!

Ron Weasley cringed as Hermione, in one of her infamous bouts of temper, screamed out his faults for the entire Gryffindor Common Room to hear. Perhaps even the entire school.

Ron, never the best of students or possessing anything resembling impulse control when it came to words, had managed to anger Hermione with a chance remark about schoolwork.

In other words, it was about normal for the week.

Furious, Hermione pitched a wad of parchment at Ron's head and stormed out of the room, swearing and cursing the entire time.

"I reckon you shouldn't have said that, Ron" remarked Harry Potter, Ron's best friend. "You know how she is about studying, and its our seventh year. How'd you think she was going to react"

"But its not even Holiday finals" Ron moaned. "Bloody hell, how can she get so worked up over a silly essay"

"It's your own fault" Ginny Weasley remarked from a nearby chair. Ron's younger sister had absolutely no sympathy for her sibling's plight. "You're dating her and all. You should know better."

Ron slouched in his chair and glared.

It was Sunday, October the fifteenth at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The time was Four Thirty in the afternoon.

At Hogwarts, normal was a relative term.

Very, very relative.

"That bleeding idiot… can't believe him… have half a mind to let him fail and see where that gets him"

Students from every House, even Slytherin, cleared a way for Hermione to storm past. She paid them no mind, and they obviously wished to keep it that way. She heard their muttered wonderings; "What's up with her" "Bet it was Weasley again, what do you say" "Bloody hell, she knocked over my book bag"

It was a good ten minutes or so before she even slowed down. With a wince, she realized her hands were stinging from digging her own fingernails into her palms. With a grumble, she silently berated her behavior.

She knew she shouldn't let Ron get to her so easily, and had tried to be cool about things, but his complete lack of discipline and foresight infuriated her to no end. It was their last year, their last chance to make a future for themselves, and he didn't care! What annoyed her most is that Ron wasn't the only one, but it was him who got n her nerves the most about it. Probably more so since she was so easily riled up by those freckles and red hair, in more than one sense.

Embarrassment now mixed with anger, Hermione shook her head and huffed. It was times like this a small part of her envied other girls like Ginny, who could so easily handle their significant others with a womanly prowess Hermione had never caught on to. Though luckily for her, Ron wasn't much better at this whole relationship thing either.

Hermione turned a corner and shoved her hands in the pockets of her robes. She was thankful for the silent corridor… though the late afternoons were usually busy with students bustling about, she had managed to find a bit of unoccupied space.

Another corner. Another. Hermione glanced at her surroundings as she walked, a sense of purpose in her steps and no hesitation at all. The portraits were quiet and empty. Paintings of looming cliffs, old castles, and warm fields were alone. They seemed almost Muggle in their stillness, but the fields swayed slightly with that unseen breeze that made wizarding portraits so unique.

It wasn't until Hermione found herself mindlessly pushing a door open before she realized she really had no idea where she was or where she was going.

Another hallway greeted her behind the door. There was something a little ominous about this one… it was thinner than most, and poorly lit. No portraits adorned the walls, which was unusual as portraits were standard in Hogwarts. Hermione squinted, but couldn't see where the corridor led to.

Strange… she expected herself to be cautious, to think this through like she always did… perhaps dig her wand out and shine a light for herself, but she didn't do anything of the sort. Instead a sense of familiarity and purpose filled her, and she continued walking. She thought she heard the sound of the door closing behind her, but she didn't bother to turn and look.

The hallway ended abruptly into another door. She stopped in front of this one, but not out of fear… perhaps reverence was more like it.

What am I doing? Hermione wondered to herself. What's gotten into me?

Before she could further ponder the reasoning behind this random madness, she pushed this door open as well.

A loud creak that would have woken a stone sleeper announced her arrival in an entirely dark room. Hermione shook her head clear of this exploring nonsense and stepped back.

Just turn and go back… you have homework to do… she thought to herself, but she was frozen. Something was in that room.

It could be dangerous!

Her feet did not listen to her. All the while telling herself not to, Hermione walked into the room. As it turned out, the room was not dark at all. Hermione gaped… there had been, in fact, a dramatic change. As soon as her foot touched the floor, a dim light filled the space… though the light had no visible source.

The room was mostly empty. She saw a few cracked jars and chests piled in the corners, all caked in layers of dust and flanked by age-old cobwebs. It seemed no different from any other of the many unused Hogwarts rooms, but… no, there was something different here.

Directly in front of her was a huge chest, the only open one in the room. There was a dusty crest on it, though the dust was thin enough that Hermione could faintly see engraved writing on it. Stiffly she approached the chest, wiping the crest off with her sleeve. But even with the dust gone, she couldn't read it… it was in a language she didn't know. It wasn't Latin, or even Greek, but she couldn't figure any of it out.

Hermione rubbed her itching nose. The dust wasn't kind to her senses. Unable to decipher the words, she instead turned her attention to the contents of the chest itself. What she found was certainly not what she expected.

Inside were… shards. Pieces and bits of broken stone all in a bland pile of gray. There was nothing beautiful or spectacular about the stone. It was plain in every sense… and yet Hermione felt something from these bits of rock.

Intrigue filled her, a desire to feel the stone's texture, to know what it felt like in her hands. Unable to resist, Hermione plunged her hands into the chest, scooping the cold pieces of stone and lifting them up to inspect them closer.

She realized that the pieces had, at one point, been an exqusitly carved statue of some kind. Impressive workmanship, really.

Oh bother! What was she doing? Hermione let the shards fall back into the chest and wiped her hands free of dust. This was silly? And she was Head Girl, for heaven's sake! Fine example she'd just set. Furious with herself, Hermione left the room and made her way back into the corridoors. As it happened, Sir Cadogan, a Knight whose sanity was in question, especially by the Gryffindors, was romping around some of the paintings and was more then willing to lead her back to the main areas of the castle and even swear to never tell anyone that he saw her.

All in all, it was neat and tidy. Just the way Hermione liked it.

"So, it's begun."

"Yes."

"Are you planning to tell Dumbledore"

"I swore I would. This is part of my pennance."

"You don't have to, you know. She may not even be one."

"She is. You know she is."

A sigh, then"Yes. She is. She won't be pleased, you know."

"She will adapt. She has to. Sabine will have her head otherwise. All our heads."

"Except for Nick's."

Silence.

"Not funny."

More silence

Hermione had managed to put the entire incident behind her as she reached the painting of the Fat Lady.

"Minas Majestic" Came a shouted voice behind her, accompanied by the sound of pounding feet. Turning, Hermione saw Colin Creevy, camera in hand, barreling down the hallway at full speed. "Minas Majestic! Minas Majestic"

"I heard you the first time" said the Fat Lady irritably as she swung open and Colin bolted inside, screaming for his brother Dennis.

"I was outside, Dennis" Hermione heard Colin shouting as she stepped inside, composing the blistering reprimand she was about to give Colin for running in the halls and shouting in the common room. "Down by the lake! The Squid posed for me, Dennis! Posed"

"Cool"

"Let's get these photos developed! Come on"

"Yeah"

Self-preservation caused Hermione to flatten herself against the wall as the Creevy Brothers bolted past her, slamming open the painting ("Ow" exclaimed the Fat Lady) and disappearing into the hallway.

"Hullo, Hermione" Harry said. "Feeling better"

"Yes" Hermione said. "Much better." She looked over at Ron, who was furiously writing his essay. "Yes. Definitly better."

Blaise Zabini was disturbed. This was not to say that he had a mental problem, but rather that there were certain events occuring that were not natural. For example, for breakfast, he had a proper breakfast, all in modest, perhaps even humble portions.

Yet today, he was eating more. A lot more, and Millicent Bulstrode's plate was practically groaning under the weight of all the food on it. Not that this was unusual, but Blaise had a well trained mind and a very good memory and he was sure that he'd never seen Bulstrode eat so much.

Curious, he looked at the Hufflepuffs as they were closest. He had no idea how much the Hufflepuffs would eat, but he noted the average portion and then looked for differences.

He found them almost immeditly.

How remarkable.

Tiny Dennis Creevy had been the first. In the middle of first class, he had been carried into the Medical wing by Hagrid, who held the small third year in one hand. Dennis had been complaining of aches and pains and nausea. Madam Pomfrey had put him to bed and advised him to rest.

Professor Sprout had shown up just after second class with Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbot, both of whom had heaved all over their Bandious Roots, runining months of careful cultivation. The two seventh years were complaining of aches and pains.

Pomfrey put them to bed and advised the Headmaster that the flu seemed to be rearing its head.

Blaise Zabini checked himself in just before lunch. He didn't know what was wrong, but he expected that it had something to do with the fact that he'd had far more then usual for breakfast. He also advised Madam Pomfrey to expect Millicent Bulstrode, sooner if not later, and that she might as well make up a bed for his fellow Slytherin now, rather then wait for her to show.

Hermione Granger escorted in a pair of Ravenclaw seventh years around three. Neither Terry Boot or Lisa Turpin were feeling very good and Granger admitted she wasn't feeling up to snuff and asked for a bit of a lie-down before she went back to class.

Pomfrey put them to bed, and then with a sidelong look at Zabini, made up a bed for Bulstrode.

Millicent Bulstrode showed up precisely at five, carried on a stretcher towed by Professor Snape.

One hour to go before sunset.

At precisely, ten to six, Professor Dumbledore entered the Medical Wing, looking gravely concerned.

"Never seen anything like it, Headmaster" Pomfrey told him in hushed tones. "I'd swear its the flu, but only two from each house"

"If I'm correct, Poppy" Dumbledore said quietly. "It's not the flu. But this school may be better off for it. I want you to secure the wing. No one but teachers are to enter unless I say otherwise."

If Madam Pomfrey was surprised, she gave no sign, but merely hurried to engage the Medical Wing's locks.

"You know what's wrong."

Dumbledore turned and looked at Blaise Zabini. The seventh year was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap.

"I have my suspicions, Mr. Zabini" Dumbledore said. "I pray they're just that, an old man's paranoia."

"If you were bothered by paranoia, sir, you wouldn't be Headmaster."

"Thank you, Mr. Zabini."

"It will be sunset soon, won't it"

"In just a few minutes, yes."

"I'm afraid of it, Sir. But also eager. Neither makes sense, though I expect it will."

"That is usually the way things are, Mr. Zabini."

"Sadly."

Together, the old man and the young boy watched the sunlight fade.

Hermione woke up very abruptly with her breathing elevated and her chest fluttering like butterflies. She blinked and forced herself to sit up, glancing around the room before her eyes rested on Dumbledore, who was gazing intently at the window, the colors of the sunset illuminating his old face.

Though a part of her found his presence odd, the anticipation that swelled in her pushed all other emotion aside. Her breath short, she turned and stared in the same direction as the Headmaster, just in time for the last bit of the sun to disappear entirely.

Suddenly the feeling of butterflies in her stomach became fire, spreading to every inch of her in an instant. Furious white-hot pain mixed with the same ecstatic anticipation she had previously only tasted a bit of… though it felt like her body was burning, she longed for more.

Screaming so had her throat dried almost immediately, Hermione fell back on the bed, twisting and writhing. Something like electricity jolted her muscles and made her spasm. Had her eyes been open, she expected she would have seen blood, for her skin now felt like it was tearing and moving and pulling.

She tried to clutch her stabbing ribs, but her hands hurt too much and her arms were frozen in pain. Her back felt the strangest… her shoulder blades moved in an entirely inhuman matter, jerking and stretching. Her spine shuddered as surges of agonizing electric shocks hit her in waves.

And yet through her screams and convulsions she felt the butterflies in her chest dancing wildly, and a voice in her head cried with her… but in exultation.

Hermione screamed, clutching at her hair and scratching at her own face. Vaguely she felt some one grabbing her wrists, holding them away from her.

"It is almost done" said a voice that Hermione was too busy crying to recognize.

As if in response to that, Hermione felt the pain slowly subsiding. Her muscles relaxed and her back straightened. She was suddenly aware of the tears already drying on her cheeks. Her eyes were sore from being shut so tight. Forcing herself to breathe, Hermione slowly opened her eyes.

She was met with the sight of Dumbledore, who looked very old. He was still holding her wrists. He offered a smile as he stood from his place on the stool, but offered no words to her. Instead he took her elbow and helped her to a sitting position.

It took all Hermione had not to scream again. In the beds around her were the rest of the sick students, all staring at each other in a mixture of horror, fear, and familiarity. Their clothes were torn, some more than others. Sprouting from their backs were the wings of demons, horns on their heads in various shapes.

They all stared at each other, and themselves. No one spoke.

Hermione hugged herself, shocked that she wasn't more horrified. In fact, something felt… right.

Dennis flicked his tail and then grinned, revealing pointed teeth.

"COOL"