Important: There is going to be a flashback to "the night before" at the end of every chapter, and, by the end, hopefully, you will all understand what unfolded that night. The message is going to appear at the beginning of each too, since I'm sure this will be a little confusing for everyone (sorry). I'll stop chattering on now and get to the good (snort) stuff.

The Phoenix and Turtle

By Taelyn

Chapter: 3: No Goodbye Kiss?

"'Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.'"
W.S.

"Shit!" Hermione whispered, her brown eyes wide, as she turned on her heels to face the door. "Ginny!! Please wait ten seconds!! I . . . I don't have any clothes on."

Which was true—all she had covering her was a sheet off her bed—but that was hardly the problem of the moment.

"Fine!" said Ginny impatiently. "But I'm counting!" She did, like Ron, have a very temperamental attitude which flared up randomly, and she hardly ever compromised. Hermione had learned to tolerate her mood swings over the past years as they became closer friends, but she still never knew what to expect from the fiery redhead, especially in the morning.

"Thank Merlin she's in a good mood." Hermione muttered as she spun quickly around to face the bed again. "You need to hide . . ." she started, then scowled.

Draco was lounging like a king on her bed once more. His legs crossed and his arms resting under his head, Hermione thought momentarily that if it had been anyone other than Malfoy, it would have been quite an attractive image. He was still wrapped in the sheets, but he hardly looked like he was about to move. He smirked at her nastily.

"1. . ." began Ginny, as Hermione just stared at Malfoy

"What?? Don't what your little bitch of a friend to see me?" he sneered. "Couldn't have your two golden boys find out that you slept with Draco Malfoy?" He laughed to himself. "Ashamed, Granger?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ashamed, are you? Then you perhaps feel an inkling of how I feel." He crossed his legs, and laid back farther into the pillow.

"3 . . ."

"Not ashamed," Hermione hissed, trying to keep her voice low. "Just terribly disgusted."

"4 . . ."

Hermione saw what a flicker of something on Malfoy's face, but then it returned to a stony frown as his eyebrows shot in and his eyes narrowed.

"No, I don't think I'll move," he began, his voice a deadly whisper that reminded Hermione of a certain Potions professor. "I think I like it right here."

"6 . . ."

Hermione looked at him desperately but then thought of something. "You don't want this to be known of any more than I." she said shrewdly. "It would tarnish your reputation and your father wouldn't be too happy, would he?"

He looked at her, all hints of amusement gone, but he didn't move, and, as Hermione began to think that she might have to beg, she heard the door turn and spun around.

"I couldn't wait any longer, I need to talk to you," said Ginny as she came through the doorway. She looked at Hermione impatiently.

"You aren't even dressed yet. And . . ." she broke off, staring past her friend at the state of her four poster bed.

"Ginny, it's not what you think--" Hermione began, but Ginny cut her off with a gasp

"Oh my," she said as she pressed her fingers to her mouth in a satyr of what she had seen some of the more prim girls at school do. "And you haven't even made your bed! Naughty girl!" she mock reprimanded her with a smirk on her face.

Hermione whirled around to stare at the now relatively empty bed.

"Oh, right," she said laughing as she tried to regain control of her breathing once more. "Yes, well, I haven't made my bed yet and I'm still clad in a sheet toga, so you better leave--"

"Nonsense!" stated Ginny, missing the look of helplessness on Hermione's face as she moved further into the room. "I need to talk to you and it's not like we haven't seen each other undressed—we did share a bathroom and a dorm for all of last year," she pointed out . . .

. . . And then turned as she heard a weird noise from the other side of the room. It sounded like a snicker almost . . .

Hermione had heard it too, and saw the questioning look on Ginny's face. "My stomach," she began, laughing a little too happily. "I haven't eaten since, errr, Thursday," she ended flustered, hoping that her friend—who was very clever—would for once believe her.

"Oh," was all that Ginny said as she shrugged her shoulders.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and started again.

"So, could you go save me a seat at the table, maybe even fix me a plate?" she asked as she grabbed Ginny by her elbow and led her to the door.

"Hey!" said Ginny, wrenching her arm out of Hermione's grasp and rubbing it. "If you want to act looney this morning, fine! But we're talking at breakfast—promise?" she said as she walked out and stopped right outside the door.

"Yes, of course," Hermione returned, obviously relieved. She smiled as Ginny gave her a weird look. "Bye!" and before Ginny could say anything more, she shut the door in her face.

And breathed a long sigh as she heard Ginny sniff indignantly and then begin to walk off.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked venomously as she turned around.

Malfoy was again seated on the bed very comfortably.

"Hopefully not you," he snarked. "Look," he began, getting up and heading towards the pile of clothes, a sheet tied now more securely around his waist. "You're expected in the dining hall soon--thanks to your very 'intelligent' ramblings to that bitch Weasley. And seeing as your friends are as clingy as a group of two year olds, they'll all probably notice if you don't show up." He turned around to finish but, before he could stop it, her hand had landed with a resounding crack on his cheek.

As she pulled back to slap him again, he caught arm.

"You fucking bitch!" he snarled, grabbing her other hand as she attempted to hit him.

With nothing but pure malice in her eyes, she started at him.

"Don't," she said, trembling with fury, "ever call Ginny or me that ever again."

He looked down at her, his gray eyes cold, slits. Then he leaned down until his mouth was beside her face—so close that he could almost taste her skin and she could feel him breathing in and out on her neck.

"Bitch," he said and the word vibrated in Hermione's ear.

Now, even though Malfoy was a good deal taller than her and even though she could hardly match the strength he had gained from playing Quidditch for all those years, Hermione was able to pull her arm away from his iron grasp and, swiftly, she brought her slightly long and sharp (from her as yet unbroken habit of biting) nails down the side of his cheek.

Draco, terribly surprised at her actions, let go of her and pushed her away hard enough that she fell onto the bed behind her. His hand immediately went to his face, where he felt the warm liquid now seeping from three long stripes on his cheek. He brought his hand back in front of him and saw beads of scarlet falling slowly down his fingers, tracing paths along the lines.

Hermione put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. To have drawn blood was both unexpected and horrifying. She—the Head Girl, the more civilized of the pair and certainly the less violent—had caused what was now dripping down Malfoy's face.

"Oh Merlin," she began, and, looking down, she saw that during the brawl, the sheet that had been covering her had come undone and was now puddled at her feet.

Malfoy, seeing her blush, turned away so she could cover herself again.

She looked up, after fastening the sheet once again and stared at the back of his head.

"Draco, I'm--"

"Just shut the hell up, get dressed, and leave," he said with what sounded like an almost curt tone of voice.

Self-righteousness boiled up inside Hermione.

How dare he? He had deserved that slap and she--being the daft fool she was--was going to apologize? To Malfoy? And how dare he tell her to leave her own bedroom!

Now see here, you ignorant prat," she began, eyes flashing. But her anger quailed as she saw the look on Draco's face as he spun around.

"Leave!" he yelled, his eyes dangerous slits, his cheeks as pale as snow except for three crimson lines of blood paralleling his right cheekbone. His whole body was shaking slightly as he turned to lean upon the wall and steady his erratic breathing.

Perhaps if only because of the element of surprise, Hermione gathered her robes and her wand (which she found lying next to her nightstand) and went into the adjoined bathroom to dress. When she returned, he, along with his clothes and wand, was gone.

And her bed was made.

"I can't breath, I can't breath," she repeated frantically, rocking back and forth in her spot on the ground.

"It's gone, I promise," he said, his arms limp at his sides, his eyes watching her every movement.

She looked around. It was snowing and her robes were soaked. There was no moon.

He watched as she looked up at him, her cheeks flushed from the cold and stained with now-dry tears. Her eyes filled with pain. The memory of pain. He could see her every thought in those eyes.

"I'm so cold," she whispered.

Author's Note: Okay, does everyone understand now how this story is working? I'm sorry if it's confusing to anyone—please tell me if I can make it any easier to understand. Anyway, I hope you like it so far (and that the changes are okay, to anyone who's rereading it). And just to remind you all, I love you guys so much just for reading through this author's note.