YOU REALLY NEED TO READ THIS A/N--Important: Sorry about the caps (I hate the overuse of them too) but I needed to catch everyone's attention. 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: 1: The Morning After

"The dream is over. This is the morning."

CS Lewis

It was light out when Hermione began to wake up. The sun's rays slid in through the cracks between the crimson drapes covering her windows and slowly moved farther and farther towards the top of her bed. As it reached her eyes, she grimaced.

"It can't be morning yet," she thought, burying her face further into her pillow.

Saturday--a day without the excitement of classes or the fresh smell of parchment and ink in the air. A day where she couldn't help feeling that, if she were to leave her own room and return to the Gryffindor commons, Ron and Harry would already have decided to go on some harebrained adventure and gotten themselves hurt.

For the fifth time this month.

And she would have to decide whether to act the part of Head Girl or of their best mate and face either the disapproving looks from the Gryffindor prefects or silence from the two boys.

So she let herself relax back into the covers of her bed, and enjoy the momentary peace that came with having her own room.

No slightly irritating remarks from Ron, mood swings from Harry or volleys of insults from the Slytherins until she forced herself to get up, and with the thought of, for once, putting everything off—if only for ten minutes more—she slid further into the covers and sighed as a warm hand slipped across her waist and tightened on her side.

Wait.

Her mind half-asleep, Hermione suddenly noticed that something wasn't quite right. So, still hardly out of the dream world, she quickly made a mental list of her surroundings.

"I'm in bed," she thought, "and I'm in one piece, meaning I'm probably not in the infirmary." So there was nothing wrong there.

"I haven't kicked all of the covers off, and the room's not drafty." She hurriedly checked off the list and frowned inwardly, trying to think of what exactly could be off as fingers began trailing lightly across her navel.

And she suddenly knew exactly what was wrong

Her eyes flew open, her mind now very awake as she screeched and scrambled away from the offending arm.

Unfortunately, Hermione had already been on the edge of the bed, and, with an "oomph," she landed very hard on the cold wooden floor.

Ignoring the pain in the lower areas of her body that had impacted with the ground, she relaxed very slightly as it registered that the arm was attached to a corresponding body.

(A certain twin enterprise had begun selling twigs that transfigured into ultra realistic body parts and the newest fad was to scare an unsuspecting friend--or enemy--with a bloody leg as they woke up or a severed finger in their morning coffee.)

But then she noticed the tousled white blond hair beginning to peek out from under the comforter and the slender pale arm just beginning to move from the spot where she had been moments ago.

And when the aristocratic face of Draco Malfoy suddenly rose from out of the pile of sheets and pillows, Hermione couldn't help but do what any seventh year, Head Girl Gryffindor would have done.

She screamed.

Very loudly and without pause for a long enough time that, later, Draco couldn't help but marvel at her impressive lung capacity.

Of course, being awakened by the keen shrills of anyone on a Saturday morning would have made any Slytherin cranky.

But it wasn't until he opened his eyes and realized that the sound wasn't coming from the talented vocal cords of just any girl--and that not only was he in Hermione Granger's room, but he was in her bed, under her covers, very naked--

--that he started screaming too.

He looked down on her, watching her move softly up and down with every breath, studying the chestnut curls that surrounded her angelic face. Her eyes were closed, but he could remember them—how he would drown in them. In her.

So as she, somewhere off in dreamland, slept peacefully, he leaned down and kissed her softly on her forehead, stood up and whispered something that even he could hardly hear himself say . . .

Author's Note: That last part was a flashback. Read the note at the beginning of this chapter if you didn't understand. For anyone who is re-reading this first chapter, I'm doing a little reconstruction, so the formats of the chapters are going to vary until I am done. Hopefully, that won't bother you. I really hope you liked it—this being my first fic and all, I could use some nice reviews (bats eyelashes winningly) But hey! If you don't want to take 30 seconds to tell me if this is as bad of a story as I think it is, that's fine (the guilt trip didn't work either? Damn, you people are hard to break!) ;-)