Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is in this story, except the plot, and any characters that you do not recognize. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling!!!

Yankee Accents

Chapter Fifteen: Portrait Scrutiny and Cavorting of the Most Innocent Sort

Written By: Auburn Lily

Hermione stood at the door of Draco's room staring at his name scrawled in gold above the framework. The door itself was a rich mahogany with a doorknob shaped as an anchor gilded with gold workmanship.

"Typical," she muttered to herself. The fact that this door and this door alone was different from all of the other mediocre walnut doors that lined the corridor proved the fact that he resided in the quarters behind it.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her unruly hair. It was beginning to drive her insane. She had to give it a trim soon or else it would develop a mind of its own and encase her entire head in curls.

She slid down against the wall next to the door and locked her arms around her knees, which were drawn up to her chest. Hermione glanced down the corridor although she knew that it was bound to be empty. She was merely searching fruitlessly for another soul to lead her away from her dreams.

Upon finding no one, she raised her eyes to the walls around her which were shrouded in portraits of what she could only assume were past Hogwarts professors. They were incredibly archaic with grime and mildew from the dank hallway crusted to their frames. Their names were inscribed on small plaques attached to the bottom. They all looked the same, but one in particular caught Hermione's gaze.

"Alavirra Adelaide Averille," the plaque read. The portraits frame held an indignant looking woman with a rather hooked nose, stern cheekbones, and steel gray hair which was piled in a bunch of frivolous curls atop of her head. Her eyes took possession of an acrid bite that swept over Hermione searchingly, scrutinizing her every move.

"Good evening," Alavirra spat, speaking rather slowly and deeply, utilizing a voice from deep inside her throat, "Or shall I say 'Good Morning?' according to that clock, just there," she contradicted, gesturing with her eyes towards a large grandfather clock that was just singing for twelve. "Might I ask a question?" she continued.

"I suppose," Hermione replied.

"If you don't mind my interrogating, why are you squatting like such?"

Hermione chose not to answer the question and after a few more moments of narrowed scrutiny from Alavirra, the professor disappeared and reappeared in the portrait adjacent to hers which was currently occupied by an old man, older than she even. Alavirra whispered in his ear, all the while keeping her eyes locked on Hermione, and when she had finished her secret-telling the old man's eyes had migrated to their resting point on Hermione as well, crescent moons of curiosity mingling alongside disdain.

Hermione scuffed loudly and averted her gaze to the other end of the hall. She saw more painted portraits eyes, green, brown, and black, boring into hers, growing larger and larger by the second until she felt as if she were surrounded by iris' until she lapsed into an unconscious bout of sleep, hummed to her dreams by the whispers of the portraits.

---

"Damn it," Draco muttered to himself. "Why didn't I bring up those papers before?"

He glanced at the pile of graded papers on the coffee table and then to the clock that hung above the fireplace. It read one thirty a.m. He sighed heavily. After standing up from his armchair, he stretched than grabbed his wand and headed towards the door.

He could, of course, wait until the next morning to grade the essays, but than he always preferred to start clean each Monday. Besides, his N.E.W.T. students were to be handing in their four-foot long essays first thing in the morning, so he really should get the papers done now.

He could also, of course, have simply 'accio'd' all of the essays to him, but he fancied a midnight stroll through the April's breath-infested corridors.

As soon as he stepped foot out of his quarters however, he discovered the reasons behind his compelling urges to take a walk.

There at his doorstep lay one Hermione Granger, sprawled quite contentedly on the cold floor, fast asleep. Her eyelids were moving rapidly back and forth, clearly indicating she was off somewhere in dream world.

Draco was utterly confused at this point. 'What is she doing here?' he asked himself, staring up and down the corridor for any hint or idea. All he saw were the dirty old portraits, which were staring at Hermione and himself with an odd sort of glare. 'Maybe she took up that job for Dumbledore that Potter told me about. That must be it.'

Secondly, he wondered what she was doing here right at his feet. 'Hmm, that's a tricky one. Maybe she was sleepwalking?' he guessed.

Thirdly, he contemplated what it was he was going to do with her. He knew very well that one should never wake a sleeping person, especially when it is clearly evident that they were dreaming, and he couldn't very well carry her all over the East Wing, what with the dead weight that she carried. He would have to keep her in his quarters until morning or until she woke up and ran away.

He bent over and lifted her into his arms, momentarily forgetting about his magical abilities, and carried her back over the threshold of his rooms like he had done so very long ago. He set her on one of the couches that sat in front of the fire and covered her in a knitted blanket that had hung over the back of it. She rolled towards the inside of the couch and mumbled incoherently something from her dream.

Draco sighed heavily again, depression plucking his hearts violin strings. He supposed he should get down to the dungeons and collect his papers.

She would be there when he got back, right?

---

Hermione's eyes slid open sleepily, but she dared not move a muscle until she found out where she was. The surface she was lying on was indeed comfortable, the blanket soft, and the fire warm against her cheek, but she didn't remember falling asleep there the night before. She licked her lips slowly and before she could do anything else, she heard an oh-so-familiar voice, a voice that had haunted her for years, whisper to himself.

She shut her eyes and tried to remember what it was that had happened last night. She had left Harry's dormitory and than for some reason she hadn't walked into Draco's room. She had simply fallen asleep on the floor, being haunted by ugly portraits, and here she was now.

"Hmmm," she muttered to herself not stopping quickly enough, and as soon as the murmur left her lips, she heard a falter in Draco's recitation of some unknown material.

"Hermione, are you awake?" he inquired setting aside the paper he was grading and removing his reading glasses.

She remained defeated and before any more time could be wasted, she sat up and blinked her eyes against the bright light the firelight and candles combined to make.

She looked around his room at first, wishing to avoid his gaze and, upon discovering that the décor was to her liking, finally brought her amber-brown eyes to meet his.

"Good morning," she stuttered, after a few moments of tense silence. She was really going to try and make amends with him now, for reasons unknown to him, of course.

"Good morning to you, as well," he replied leaning back into his armchair in all of his gorgeous glory and refined reverence. Hermione cursed him for being able to look so enticing.

"So…" Hermione started conversationally after a few more moments of silence, but was unable to continue, as she had nothing to say.

Draco stared at her amusedly, his happiness at seeing her not displaying itself on his face. He than waved his hand so that a tea tray with all of the condiments upon it was conjured from thin air. He let it drift down and settle itself next to the towering stack of graded essays.

"Mind telling me what it was you were doing outside my door last night?"

"Oh," Hermione laughed, trying to brush it aside. "That. Um, it really was nothing. I was just going for a midnight stroll, and got tired, and decided that the stone right outside your door looked comfortable enough, and I just fell asleep."

Draco arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Not the best story you've ever come up with and you know it. Where's all that witty cleverness hidden?"

"It really was nothing," Hermione repeated, quite at a loss for words as to explain her predicament.

"Hmm… well than why don't you tell me why you're here at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, I'm teaching Arithmancy and Ancient Runes next term, so Professor Dumbledore thought it necessary that I take up residence here. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Draco replied. "In fact, it's brilliant."

And Hermione contentedly stared at him as she drank in his entire being. Just sitting with him in his common room was enough to drive her insane. Her hands were sweaty, her lips numb, and her brain swimming in pure agony.

"Where are you staying?" he was asking.

"Oh, with Harry," she replied, remembering the reasoning behind staying with Harry. She felt a knife twist her heart around in a full rotation and now it was being mercilessly ripped apart. She shuddered visibly.

"Are you cold?" Draco asked immediately jumping to her aid. He increased the heat of the fire and brought her another blanket before sitting down on the couch within an arms length of her. Hermione was beginning to shake.

"What's the matter, love?" he asked concern drawn in the creases of his forehead. The use of that word, love, even though Hermione knew it was merely a term of endearment, was enough to make her wish to turn and trap his warm lips underneath her cold ones. Maybe than she would be able to work some feeling into them.

Hermione didn't answer, just leaned against the couch's back and raised her glassy eyes towards the ceiling, a lone tear trickling down her cheek.

"Oh, darling," he muttered lovingly, reaching out a finger to wipe the pearl away, and before he could do anything else, before any voice of reason was allowed to echo through Hermione's ears, her lips were on his, her hands were around his neck, and her tongue was tracing the outline of his mouth. She forced entrance and he responded whole-heartedly, crushing his body against hers and snaking his arms around her waist.

Draco's mouth tasted of honey and Hermione couldn't get past the rush that was beginning to fill her stomach. She didn't think it would ever go away; correction, she hoped it would never go away.

She was now on her back, Draco's mouth trailing persistent kisses down the curve of her neck. Her hands were slipping through the angel silk that was his hair and traveling over his robes, ripping at the material, urging it to come off.

At that moment, quite unluckily, the clock above the fireplace struck six and its doleful notes could be heard throughout the room. Draco and Hermione alike started suddenly, and the next thing they knew, they were both on the floor sporting lumps from the corners of the coffee table.

'Shit,' Hermione thought. 'Harry will be awake by now and wondering where I am.'

Than, without further ado she had fled from the room and down the corridor, not giving so much as a glance backwards.

A/N: Installment fifteen has come to a close. I hope all of you liked it. I gave you all some more action, which was purely intentional this time, because they weren't utterly and completely smashed. Damn that incessant clock. It always ruins everything! Anyways, down to business. I got so many reviews for the last chapter it was shocking. Every time I looked at the screen, I had a few more, and they were all incredibly sweet and encouraging. You guys are such sweethearts. I love you all so much!!

Next chapter: you'll just have to wait and see!!

Thanks, also, to my beta, Lady of Ankoku. She's amazing, and a godsend!!

Now, review review review!!!