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: 5: Fireworks, baby

"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances:

if there is any reaction, both are transformed."

Carl Jung

Hermione would have liked to stay in her bedroom, lie on her bed and stare blankly at the ceiling, but Draco had had a point about Ginny expecting her.

'I hate when that happens,' she thought. 'Agreeing with Draco? What's gotten into me?'

She stared at herself blankly in the mirror--her hair was sticking out in abnormal places and she had large circles under her eyes.

Thank Merlin she wasn't like Parvati or Lavender (both obsessed with looking perfect) or she would have stayed in front of that mirror for hours, frantically trying to get her hair to behave and the color to come back to her cheeks. (Who wouldn't be pale after such an encounter with anyone, much less Draco?)

But Hermione just shrugged and tucked a stray piece or her hair behind her ear. She stared dazedly at her reflection as thoughts ran through her head.

'I slept with Malfoy,' she thought, staring straight through the mirror, before turning and mechanically walking toward the door.

'I slept with Malfoy.' The door closed behind her, catching the end of her robes. As she walked on, she hardly noticed the loud tearing noise--a good portion of her robe was left lying on the ground.

She turned on her heels, and began walking down the hall towards the dining room, ignoring the two women in one portrait who looked down their noses at her and began whispering to one another. (Who WAS that young man that had just left THIS young woman's bedroom? And what business did he have with her in the morning? And why was he bleeding?)

'I slept with Malfoy.' It just kept repeating itself over and over in her head, it wouldn't stop, and, beyond that, she knew that what it was saying-- oh Merlin--was actually true.

"I slept with Malfoy," she muttered aloud and visibly shuddered at the thought.

"Gesundheit my dear," replied an old man looking down at her from an oil painting of a study.

'I really need to get a hold of myself,' she thought, resisting the urge to fall to the ground and thank Merlin that it was some old and half-deaf painting that had heard her ramblings and not . . . well . . . anyone else.

'You slept with Malfoy--how could you even think of calming down?' some malicious voice murmured in her head.

"I know what I did, just Shut Up!!" she hissed aloud, which only brought stares from a pair of first years passing her. She gulped and smoothed her hair erratically.

"Okay," she whispered, quiet enough so no one could hear her, "Soothing thoughts, soothing thoughts."

'I slept with Malfoy' it echoed in her head again and she almost cried out from the indignity of it. She kept walking--hoping that a nice breakfast with her friends with give her a reason to calm down.

But she didn't stop talking aloud to herself.

"--almost glad I can't remember a thing," she mumbled.

"What's that?" Some voice asked from behind her.

Hermione froze. "Oh bloody hell," she thought, cursing herself for being so disconcerted, as she turned around to face--

"Dean!! Hello!!" she began, smiling so brightly that Dean nearly yelped at the chipperness so early in the morning.

"What don't you remember?" He asked curiously.

'Stupid nosy prick,' Hermione thought to herself, laughing a little oddly and shaking her head as she replied "Nothing, Nothing, just, ummmm . . ."

As Hermione tried to think up an answer to his question, Dean began to look at his friend of the last years. Not only was the usually very neat, very organized Hermione Granger looking extremely rumpled and flustered, but she also had this glazed look on her face as if she was thinking about something else.

"Hermione, are you . . . feeling alright?" he asked hesitantly, not knowing exactly what to expect from her.

"Fine! Definitely!" 'Stupid ass should just mind his own business' she thought, coming out of her stupor. "Just ummm . . . ."

And she was off again, trying to figure out some excuse, and someone a little sharper than Dean might have realized that she was the exact opposite of fine and that the situation obviously needed further examination, but Dean was a little too wrapped up in his own world at that moment.

"Good! Listen, I need some help on the Advanced Charms homework for the weekend. If you're not busy later today, would you help me out a little?

"Sure, sure, okay." Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay Dean?" she added as she walked away, back off into her own little world.

"Huh?" she said, staring intently into her plate, her hands clasped in her lap. She looked up, dazed, and shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" It could be called miraculous that Hermione had made it to the table that morning without walking into some plate of armor or blurting the statement that was turning round and round in her head to some poor first year (or worse, someone who would have known what she was talking about) But she had made it, physically in one piece if not mentally stable.

Ron peered at her, his hand reaching out to hand her an apple stopped mid air as he studied Hermione's features. She didn't even notice when he started crossing his eyes and flaring his nostrils, even though she was staring straight at him.

"Hermione," he said, a little loud, to catch her attention "Hermione!" She snapped back to reality and looked at him questioningly as he pursed his lips impatiently. "Is there something wrong?" he asked, annoyed that her mind was elsewhere.

"What? Oh, no," she said, feigning a smile that came out only as a twitch of her lips. "I'm fine, perfect!" she pushed non-existent hair behind her ears several times and looked back down into her plate.

Ron shook his head and looked at Harry for help. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, while Ginny smiled sympathetically. Her brother seemed determined to talk to this drone that was Hermione this morning

"So, about last night . . ." he began, trying to catch her attention again.

"What? Last night? No!!! No last night!! There was nothing, I swear!" Hermione panicked, jerking her arms and making frantic gestures in the air--in the process, knocking the apple that Ron had decided to keep out of his hands and straight on to Harry's plate.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny (not to mention a good portion of the Gryffindor table) stared at her as she stared at the slight mess before her. Hermione blushed faintly and looked down at her lap.

"Sorry Ron, I'm really jumpy this morning," she told him sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't ask why.

He didn't, but rather shrugged and didn't say any more, giving up on the conversation he had been hoping to have with her as a lost cause.

As everyone went back to eating their breakfast, Harry turned to Ginny, hoping to break the awkward silence between the four of them.

"Ginny, why don't you tell Hermione about what you heard this morning," he asked hopefully.

"Oh right! There was this attack right outside of Hogsmeade last night after we all left," she began.

"Yeah, some Mercabilitis git," interrupted Ron, retrieving his apple from Harry's plate and, wiping off all traces of gravy, biting into it.

"Mactabilimentis, Ron," corrected Ginny, who then continued. "The boy that it attacked is in the hospital right now, but no one's been able to make him talk. The mediwizards haven't yet figured out what is exactly wrong with him."

Hermione's mind cleared. "So they don't know the symptoms yet?" she asked, inquisitively.

"Nop, noffing," responded Ron as Ginny winced noticeably.

"Ron, close your mouth when you eat," she said with a look of disgust, ignoring her brother's comment that sounded something like "a regular mother, bloody hell."

Hermione, who wasn't one to disregard table manners usually, didn't even notice the exchange between Ron and Ginny. 'If this went on last night . . . .' her mind raced, jumping between flashes of the morning just hours before and through the plethora of information she had stored away from different books.

"This. . . ummm . . . . Mactabilimentis," she began and Ginny nodded at the correct pronunciation, "why haven't I read anything about it?"

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes like they did whenever Hermione mentioned books, but Ginny smiled excitedly.

"That's the thing," she began, "it's only been talked about in myths before--none have ever been actually sighted."

"So how are they sure that it is this. . . this monster?" Inquired Hermione, her eyebrows furrowed.

"They found the corpse near the Shrieking Shack--it's really weird--they can't figure out why it died.

Hermione sat back in her seat, staring ahead pensively and biting her lip.

"You guys, I think that I'm going to go and do my weekend homework," she began slowly after a long pause. "You know, to get it over with."

Ginny and Harry exchanged knowing glances and Ron looked quite disappointed.

"But I thought that we could just talk and---"he started.

"Later Ron," Hermione cut him off dismissively, still staring off into the distance. "I'll see you this afternoon, we can talk then," she finished, turning around and beginning to head towards the hallway.

"Hermione, wait--about last night," Ron called after her. "You aren't still mad, are you?" He asked to her retreating figure.

"No, no, not at all," she called back absentmindedly. Ron looked down at his lap and sighed.

Harry smiled sympathetically at him.

"She has no idea," Ginny murmured under her breath to her boyfriend who looked at her and smiled sadly.

"Not a clue," he agreed, looking back at his best friend who was staring miserably at his half-eaten apple.

As Hermione walked into the library, she immediately spotted Madame Pince in the reference corner. Quietly, she walked up to the old librarian and tapped her on her shoulder

"Excuse me, Madame Pince?" she asked, her voice calm and even as not to startle the elderly woman.

As if that ever works.

Madame Pince whirled around, emitting a small gasp and clutching her hands over her heart.

"Merlin, you scared me," she hissed and then looked very startled at the volume of her own voice. For a moment, Hermione thought that the librarian was going to reprimand herself. But instead, the Madame Pince just looked perturbed.

"May I help you?" she asked irritably, shooting glances past Hermione's head at a group of very vocal second years.

"Oh, umm, yes. I have a research project to do in Advanced History of Magic and I was looking for the books on mythology, in particular--"

"Yes, yes, I know," Madame Pince interrupted, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "Though you would think that Professor Binns would take care to tell me of this 'report.'" She waved her hand to a shelf of books.

"A young man has already come in looking for, I believe, the book you are looking for, so you might not find what you want--hey, you! Stop! Take those books out of there immediately!" And with that, she stormed away from Hermione towards a group of sheepish fifth years.

Hermione hurried over to the bookshelves, and, peering down the aisle labeled Mythology, she spotted a tall figure staring intently into a large book. It was darker in this part of the library as there were no windows nearby and the closest torch was several study tables and an information desk away. Her eyes slowly adjusting, she suddenly recognized the person now twenty feet away.

"Shit!" she whispered and began to edge out of the aisle so as not to raise attention. But, unfortunately Madame Pince has placed a very large stack of books on the side of the row and Hermione, in her haste, backed straight into them.

'Perhaps I should have taken a few of those ballet classes mum told me about,' she thought to herself as she clumsily tried to catch at least one of the ancient tomes as they fell with a clatter onto the marble floor.

Hermione shrunk away from the mess as the noise became louder and Malfoy--who had indeed been the one standing in the aisle--looked up at her and, though he smirked momentarily, would not meet her eyes and did not comment on the situation.

And perhaps, she should have expected this after what had happened that morning, but she was totally surprised and unbalanced by his actions instead--the old Malfoy would have poked endless fun at her for being so uncoordinated. He would have been rolling on the ground, laughing hysterically, by now.

But this Malfoy just looked back down at the book he was holding momentarily, then closed it and placed it back on the shelf. Hermione's mind whirled. Logically, she knew that, after waking up in bed next to someone, your relationship changes.

Logically.

But somehow, her mind, usually so logical, would not let her think that anything had changed--the voice that had been singing reality to her all morning had been ignored, and, because of this, she, in the moment that he returned his gaze back to his book, realized all at once what had happened the night before.

She staggered backwards a bit, catching herself before she ran into something else. The thoughts, suddenly clear and bright--and true--whirled in her head and she felt as though this new thing, this change, was uncalled for, unwanted. She wanted him to laugh at her; she wanted him to insult her-- to at least look at her. What moment had she missed? Between which two breaths that she took did something--did everything--change. What had caused it, this intolerable difference?

He was walking past her now, and, suddenly, she saw the three faint scars that ran down his cheek--healed now, but just as disturbing as the cuts that she had looked at a few hours before. Hermione involuntarily held her breath as she stared at his face, as he swept by her, his hands rigid by his sides, his mouth a thin line. He didn't look at her.

And then the moment passed as he passed. He was gone in an instant and she was left alone to stand near the mass of books, a few still sparking or squawking in protest to their recent unsettling.

A few had come to determine what had sparked the rise in volume in the area and, Hermione's cheeks turning a slight shade of red, she inched a little further away from the mess.

"You!" she heard a voice shriek. "You did this!" Madame Pince rushed towards Hermione furiously, her rail thin body quaking with anger, her usually neat gray bun now coming untidily undone.

Before she had the chance to grab Hermione by the arm and pull her quickly away from the shelves of potential other "victims", Hermione quickly stepped towards the shelf and studied the book in what she thought was the place that Malfoy had put the book he was reading away. And, in a quick glance, she saw exactly what she herself had been looking for: Mythological Beasts and the Roots of their Tales by Delilah A. Sampson.

And then, quite suddenly, it was Monday.

For Hermione, Saturday had been spent in the library, either trying to explain to Madame Pince that she had not actually meant to cause the avalanche of evidently very old and very rare books, or researching in Mythological Beasts about the Mactabilimentis. Sunday had been lost somewhere with several butterbeers and candy from Honeydukes. She had kept busy to keep her mind off other, unmentionable things.

And, though the moment in the library was a revelation, Hermione was very much still in denial.

So, still sleepy eyed and hardly out of its pajamas, Monday returned, carried by cold winds and ice storms.

It was winter now. Snowfalls were no longer premature and temperatures were expected to drop from their already considerably low spot on the thermometer

Outside, the only green that could be seen peeked out from beneath crystalline caps of white, the branches shuddering under the weight of the ice and snow.

And of course, once every day there could be seen a glimpse of green on the Quidditch Field--the Slytherins were practicing more than ever before.

Yes, it was winter.

But Snape had yet to do anything about the lack of heat in his classroom.

So it hardly surprised him or any of the students in his class when, during Advanced Potions, they heard the sound of a glass vial shattering. (You see, they were all wearing mittens and heavy overcoats, so the clumsiness of each and every student escalated.)

And Ron had no reason to expect glares--every single person in the classroom, including Snape, knew that it would be the first of many.

Still, he looked sheepishly around at the other students as he muttered the repairing spell under his breath.

Hermione, watching him, rolled her eyes when, after his incantation, nothing happened. Burying her nose deeper into her deep red cloak and in the process hiding her smile, she picked up her wand and, quick a flick of her wrist, the vial was as good as new

Ron, who had yet to memorize all of the repairing spells for Charms, muttered irritably under his breath, began to pour the powdered ash root and essence of yarmuckle milk into the newly whole vial. He had a lot to prove in this class--Ron hadn't gotten Outstanding on his Potions OWL, but he had worked hard enough in regular sixth year Potions that Snape had grudgingly--with the prodding of Dumbledore--let him join Harry and Hermione in the advanced class his seventh year.

He looked worse for the wear though, and, since there was no Neville for Snape to prey on, Ron had become the "clumsy fool" of the class.

Naturally, because it had happened many times before on other days, Hermione dismissed the next crash of a broken vial from the table beside her as another slip of Ron's gloved fingers.

Of course, that was until she heard his scream of protest and recognized a second, much louder crash as the sound of his chair flying backwards as he stood up.

"Malfoy, you prick!" he yelled across the room, oblivious to Snape and the rest of the class.

As if all controlled by a single string, they turned collectively to stare at the accuser, then the accused. But Malfoy just looked innocently surprised, He cocked his head questioningly, the picture of sweetness, an unreadable look on his "angelic" face.

"Are you talking to me, Weasley?" he asked, his voice dripping with false surprise and courtesy.

"You just shot my arm with some spell so I would drop the vial again!" Ron hissed, seething with anger.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Malfoy answered him almost unconcernedly, raising his eyebrows and inspecting his fingernails as if already bored with the conversation. Then his eyes slid sideways to meet Ron's. "Perhaps you were imagining things--it's not as if you've never dropped a vial before," he said, a hint of malice tainting his voice.

Ron's ears were now as red as Hermione's cloak.

"Did anyone see me even reach for my wand?" Malfoy inquired, looking around at the class.

Hermione watched as all of the students either reluctantly or confusedly shook their heads. Blaise Zabini and another Slytherin in the class hid smiles under their scarves as they watched the wave of negative answers.

Even Harry, who sat next to Ron and would have loved to get Malfoy into trouble didn't say a word--he hadn't seen anything either. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at Malfoy and the other gleeful Slytherins.

"Everyone here knows that you hexed Ron," he accused, a dangerous tone in his voice. "I don't need proof."

Malfoy didn't turn his head but moved his eyes to rest on Harry. "Poor Potter," he said, his voice low and venomous, "follow so blindly, don't you--it's always perfectly black and white for you, isn't it Potter?"

They stared at each other, pure hatred visible in both their eyes, and everyone in the class was wondering which of the three boys--Harry, Ron, or Malfoy--would snap first and throw the first punch, when Snape, with a quick side step around his desk, walked quickly to the front of the classroom and stared at each of them (okay, just Harry and Ron) maliciously.

"That will be enough," he said, his voice low and forbidding. "Now, let me see, thirty points from Gryffindor for Mr. Weasley's outburst and ten more for Mr. Potter's little addition." It could be said that he almost looked gleeful and the Gryffindors in the class narrowed their eyes. He had "forgotten" to take any points away from Slytherin. Snape continued.

"Since there is no way that Mr. Weasley can prove that it was not just out of pure clumsiness that he dropped the vial, I would like to return to class."

He turned and began to stalk back to his desk. But Hermione couldn't watch this. She knew that it hadn't been Ron's fault—that Malfoy must have done something.

"Excuse me, Professor?" she asked his back.

Snape froze abruptly in front of his desk. "What Miss Granger," he asked impatiently, his voice sending a few students hiding further into their bundles of clothes.

But Hermione didn't flinch. She just turned her gaze upon Malfoy, who looked back at her, his gray eyes glinting with anger.

"There is a way to tell--" she began, keeping eye contact with Malfoy all the time, "--if Malfoy did do something to Ron, she kept going, her voice hardening rather than weakening as Malfoy's scowl deepened. "Priori Incantatem."

Snape, both impatient and bored with the immature argument presented in front of him, motioned for Malfoy's wand.

Draco, not breaking eye contact with Hermione but rather changing his features to become unreadable, handed Snape his wand.

"Priori Incantatem," the Potions Master snapped impatiently, raising his own wand above Draco's.

The class held their breath, almost every student expecting to see the shadow of a curse, each ready to agree with Ron and Harry. Only the two other Slytherins looked suspiciously bored as they watched, and as the rest of the class gasped, they didn't seem the least bit surprised when Malfoy's wand emitted a ghostly glow.

Snape raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"Now," he began, his voice dripping with scorn, "unless Mr. Weasley was terrified into dropping the vial by Mr. Malfoy's last "Lumos" spell, I expect that you have wasted our time, Miss Granger."

Ron's ears, from which the color had started to recede, now again turned bright red, and Hermione looked up indignantly at Snape.

"But Professor--" she began.

"Ten points more from Gryffindor" Snape interrupted, a vein in his forehead starting to throb. "And I suggest, Miss Granger, that you will not interrupt our class again unless you would like detention," he hissed.

Hermione looked down and said nothing more. She, along with Harry, just stared furiously at Malfoy (who seemed very pleased with himself) for the rest of the class. Ron just focused on pouring the ingredients into the correct flask and not dropping anything. He seemed to be particularly interested in a knot in his desk every time anyone spoke to him, and his ears never wavered from a constant shade of tomato.

As the class ended and they exited the classroom, only Harry and Hermione watched as Malfoy furtively handed Blaise her wand and whispered something to her.

"That bastard!" whispered Harry to Hermione. "I knew that he had done something to Ron!"

Ron, who Hermione has seen heading sulkily toward the Gryffindor common room, would probably have launched himself at Malfoy if he had been there, and Hermione daydreamed wistfully, smiling at the thought of the stupid Slytherin bleeding once again.

Now, the thoughts that had been plaguing her were overtaken by anger, and, instead of having to think about . . . well . . . you know . . . it was like it had been only the week before. She could, at that moment, freely hate Malfoy (and what an enjoyable feeling it was).

But she could handle her feelings--it wasn't like she was going to running screaming at him. She was mature enough and she didn't need to have a confrontation with Malfoy over anything--she just thought that it wasn't worth it.

The same couldn't be said for Harry. Hermione didn't even try to stop him as he walked towards Malfoy, and, instead of running for a professor (just yet) she followed at a close distance behind him.

Harry stopped directly in front of Malfoy, his eyes slits, his black hair--that he had let grow partially out--framing his set jaw.

"We need to finish this Malfoy," he spat, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls. Hermione rolled her eyes at the melodramatic statement and crossed her arms over her chest.

Malfoy looked straight into Harry's eyes, hatred emanating off his rigid features with every controlled breath. He opened his mouth to answer, but instead spit in front of Harry's feet.

"You're not worth the shit that your friend lives in," he snarled, making an extremely rude gesture with his hand.

Without hesitation, Harry swung his fist around to connect with Malfoy's face. The assaulted stumbled backwards at the force of the blow. His hands cupped around his nose--now bleeding--as he looked up from his crouched position close to the floor. He smiled dangerously, blood now dripping down his chin.

"I guess this won't be a wizarding duel," he sneered, and with that, the two launched at each other

Hermione watched, now regretting that she hadn't gone for an administrator. With a heavy sigh, she set her shoulders and, adopting her best "head girl" posture, she yelled "Stop!" at the two fighting boys.

Neither complied.

She knew better then to walk alone at night, but they had left earlier and she was in no mood to listen to Neville's ramblings about monkshood or harebane.

The boy walking along the street just ahead of her dug his hands into his pockets and began whistling.

Crickets chirped as the last bit of sunlight faded, the sky lit brightly by pinpricks and a glowing moon.

Inwardly, she laughed at herself for the chills that had momentarily crept up her spine. There was no foreshadowing night breeze, and the stars lit her pathway. Nothing bad ever happened when there were crickets chirping.

It was always silent in horror stories.

Disclaimer: Okay, I swear, they're not my characters or settings or anything!! I was holding them for a friend (okay, not at all since I only wish I knew JK). But then HE barges in and is like "you're the 'doctor'" and I told her that I was not. But then they found it all in the basement and they started hatching!!! Then there were explosives and her punching me and now I have a soul!!! God!!

Oh wait, wrong obsession.

It all belongs to JK (and Joss Whedon in the actual disclaimer's case)