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 Eighteen: A Romantic Interlude

Written By: Auburn Lily

Hermione stood in front of the mirror in Harry's bedroom, tugging restlessly at the curls that were woven into knots in her hair. The window to the room was wide open, letting enticingly warm breezes filter through, and she could hear the birds out on the grounds singing away merrily to the students who were done with their exams. They had been let loose on the grounds to do whatever it was they pleased for the train back to King's Cross was to be leaving in just a few days.

It was now late June, and the school was soon going to be empty. Hermione could hear the students lilting voices mingling peacefully with the bird's incessant chatter, talking nothing but of what it was they wished to do over the summer break.

She had already been to see Dumbledore, accompanied by Jessa, concerning her summer holidays. He'd said they needed to be back at Hogwarts for the next term on or before August 27, so they (Harry, Hermione and Jessa) were getting ready to depart for a nearly two-month long stay at number 7 Wilgus Cemetery Place.

Currently, Hermione was arguing ferociously with her appearance in the mirror. Bags hung dolefully under her eyes, blotchy hints of a fever blushed her cheeks, and her lips were swollen.

Whoever said women were the most beautiful during pregnancy had clearly never been pregnant before.

Her hair, however, was the largest problem. Wiry curls stuck out at odd angles, a few wispy pieces hung limply in her eyes, and the color was beginning to drive her insane. The hair at her roots was a shade darker than all the other strands and Hermione couldn't discern why this was so.

"What color should I change it?" she absentmindedly asked the mirror.

"Don't change it, dear," the mirror replied in a bored, inattentive voice. "It looks fine the way it is."

"Thanks," Hermione muttered sarcastically, and left the room, heading to the kitchens for an early dinner.

The halls were empty, due to the gorgeous weather and the absence of timed exams, so after she had acquired a sandwich and a cup of tea, which merely served to dampen her appearance even more, she roamed the first floor of Hogwarts listening for any suspicious noises she may hear.

Coincidentally, after a few moments of silence, she did.

"Granger," yelled an icy voice, the only voice that would call her by that, and Hermione turned to meet the steely demeanor that she knew would accompany him.

And meet it she did. He was striding towards her, his hands clenched in fists at his sides, his silver eyes glinting lividly, and his platinum hair falling dangerously in his face. He stopped a few feet from her, and Hermione knew something bad had happened.

For Draco rarely exposed emotion as strong as this.

"Malfoy," she replied childishly, folding her arms in between her growing stomach and breasts. With a sick plummet of dread that made its way to her toes and then back up to her fingers, she realized that she had forgotten, once again, to cast the concealment charm on her body.

"What is that?" he demanded, unclenching a fist to point an index finger at her stomach.

Hermione knew enough about her former husband to know that he would never do anything to hurt her. She believed Narcissa and Harry. She didn't doubt that he loved her.

She just didn't act on this.

"Babies," she replied confidently, for there was truth in this statement. The trouble would start when she needed to lie.

"Whose are they?" he inquired through his teeth.

She wondered at his jealousy.

"Ha-Harry's," she lied, faltering as a look of saddened rage flitted across his eyes.

"Potter's," he spat, composing himself once more, and folding his arms across his chest as well. "Well, at least they belong to someone worthwhile."

Hermione couldn't understand the mechanics of Draco. One moment he was ravaging her in the rose courtyard, the next he was taking light of his more hospitable side and now he was covering up his jealousy and rage by approving of the father!

She had little time to contemplate these contradictions of his character, however, as he had gently taken hold of her arm, and was leading her down the corridor they were currently in.

"Draco," Hermione said. "Where are you taking me?"

"I want to play for you," he tacitly answered.

"Play what?" Hermione asked.

"A piano, of course."

"But" Hermione tapped her lip meditatively. "I didn't think there were any piano's in the castle."

"I know of one," he replied confidently.

But it seemed he didn't, for he lead her through tapestries and up staircases and down secret passages. At one point he even let go of her arm so he could push aside a statue and bend low through a small door. They had to crawl for a time, and Hermione, being the stubborn, overtly pig-headed woman that she was, fancied for a minute asking him to take her back.

Then she remembered how strongly it was she wished to be with him when they were parted.

She did love him, after all.

After another ten minutes of traipsing throughout the castle, Hermione found herself outside of a pair of huge, gothic-looking double doors. Draco released her arm once more, which felt annoyingly desolate without his touch, and cast her a genuine smile. Hermione didn't know whether to smile back or not, but she didn't really have time to contemplate this as he was already extending his arm in a gentlemanly fashion, beckoning her to enter the chambers within.

She merely stared at him blankly for a few moments, until he sighed in exasperation and pushed open one of the doors himself.

With a deafening, aching creak, the entrance way was breached, and Hermione was staring at a huge room, with high ceilings supported with arching beams laced in cobwebs.

"It's one of the ballrooms the founders and their successors used for banquets and the like. You can obviously tell it hasn't been used in a good few years," Draco explained as he took her arm once more and lead her through the doors, which upon further inspection had intricate carvings of landscapes and castles wrought upon them. "This one's the only room with the instruments still intact," he added, gesturing to one corner of the room, where an elegant grand piano stood proudly amongst harps, violins, violas, cellos and basses. "This one's Godric's," he said bitterly.

Hermione laughed, and she heard it carry long after her mouth had closed. It floated up to the arching rafters, and swam through the thick stale air that hung in the ballroom.

"It's enchanted, so any music'll carry after it's done playing," Draco was saying as he walked across the broad floor. He sat on the piano's bench, and lifted the lid. Hermione noticed that the piano was the only instrument not caked in dust.

"Do you come here often?" Hermione inquired from the entrance to the room.

"Yeah, I've been coming here since our school days. I found it in our second year, and you know, I'm an avid pianist, so I came here a lot." He somehow managed to crack his knuckles in an elegant fashion, and without further ado, struck up a tune that Hermione instantly recognized.

As his fingers delicately picked apart the keys to "Moonlight Sonata," Hermione fought flooding memories by tearing her eyes from Draco's lithe form and directing them to the task of further examination of the room.

The walls were papered in fading gold, and the floor was dark wood, protected by a tattered oriental rug, which was decorated with a beautiful design of burgundy and deeper ochre. Huge windows were set into one wall; however, the fading dusk light was snuffed out by thick, heavy, blood red colored drapes. A few pinpoints of amber light poked through the curtains, but other than that the only light that made the rooms furniture discernible were the few stubs of waxy candles that had lit of their own accord upon Draco and Hermione's entrance. Chandelier's that were probably once coveted by all hung on rusted chains. Spider webs clung to the dangling diamonds, and were nestled in the empty candle brackets. Dead rose petals littered the floor in the corners, contributing to the rose-infused, musty scent that had taken to cling to Hermione's curls and a few archaic tables lined one wall, the legs broken, and the tops collapsed to the ground. Empty fire grates gathered dust and ash, and black paw prints receded away from one grate in particular.

Hermione turned back to Draco, who had finished his song a while ago and was watching her with glittering eyes. Hermione smiled weakly, and began walking towards him. Seeing her coming, he stood up and walked towards her as well.

"That was nice," Hermione said as they both came to a halt in the middle of the room.

"Thank you," Draco replied. "But something else'll be nicer." He lifted his wand and pointed it at the instruments, which immediately plucked themselves up, and dusted themselves off. With a few flicks of his wand, the orchestra began playing a beautiful rendition of a piece of music Hermione couldn't recognize.

"May I?" Draco asked, holding out an arm to request a dance.

Hermione stared at him (for the second time that day) rather coolly for a few moments. But then she placed her tiny, ring-less finger into his larger one, and she was whisked away to a world she thought she would never set foot in again.

As Draco twirled her around, before her eyes materialized translucent bodies gilded in charcoal, with tarnished silver hair swept into tight, shiny buns, or cascading curls. Billowing ball gowns tickled the carpet that had transformed from tattered and faded to gorgeous and gleaming, and warm golden light flooded the room as the chandeliers instantly sprang to life, shedding the cocoons that had encased their diamonds for centuries. The tables whose ruins had once lain on the ground in neglected despair now stood sparkling and new, groaning under the weight of light cracker snacks and huge punch bowls. On one particular spin, Hermione saw that the instruments no longer held themselves, but were held by musicians who were executing the song being played with acute precision. The conductor, feeling Hermione's gaze on his back, turned his head and winked one inky black eye at her, whose iris was probably once blue or light green. The huge windows' curtains had dropped to the floor, and disappeared in a matter of seconds, only to reveal an inky black sky dotted with thousands of God's eyes.

Hermione looked back into Draco's eyes, and smiled weakly again. 'This is better,' she thought to herself. He smiled back, with his usually pale cheeks pink from continued contact with her, and he twirled her around again.

After many more dances and expired songs, Hermione and Draco took a break, retiring to a few squashy armchairs that surrounded one of the fireplaces. A few ghosts themselves were mingling peacefully on the chairs, talking to one another as if they hadn't been absent from this hall for centuries on end. One of the ghosts in particular, a large, robust looking man with a goatee and mop of dark hair, was observing them.

"Enjoying yourselves?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Hermione replied breathlessly before she could stop herself. Draco looked at her in surprise. "I mean it's nice to be here. I've never been in this wing of the castle before." She added quickly, trying to cover up her blunder.

"I see," the ghost said, inclining his head ever so slightly to the left.

'What am I doing?' Hermione asked herself, sick realization suddenly clutching at her throat. 'Why on earth am I here? I should be with Harry. He's the only one who knows, he's the only one who understands. Why am I here with Draco, why on this earth am I enjoying myself with him?'

Hermione stood up abruptly; the drink that was held in her hand fell to the floor with a crash, and before Draco could even contemplate what it was she was doing she had already ran halfway across the ballroom, plunging through icy bodies in great effort to get to the door. She heard him call after her, something he hadn't done the last time she had run away from him, and before she knew it she was out in the corridors again. It was late, and she could see through broken windows a cloudy sky that was threatening to spill rain. The picture back in the banquet hall that the windows portrayed had only been a figment of her imagination.

She ran blindly down the darkened corridor, making lefts and rights. She could hear Draco's footsteps echoing off the walls just behind her, but she didn't stop running.

Unfortunately for her, she wasn't even familiar with the wing of the castle that she was currently in. Pearly tears clouded her vision, and before she knew it, she had come to a dead end, where a random torch began burning as it felt her presence.

She halted, her back to Draco, who had also stopped some ten feet away from her.

"Why do you always run?" he demanded, awakened rage swimming through every syllable of his question. Hermione could hear him breathing heavily, but didn't answer.

He took this as a cue to continue with the rant that he had probably been itching to do ever since she had left nearly ten years ago. "All you do is run," he repeated. "I don't understand. All I ever did was love you, and yet you still run. I don't know why it is that I try any longer."

Hermione gave a sharp intake of breath when he said that he loved her, but other than that she didn't make a sound.

"You ran ten years ago, you ran that night at the Christmas party, you ran a few months ago when I found you outside my door, and now you're running again. Why do you insist on depressing yourself further? Why don't you just get it over with?"

"Get what over with?" she spat as she turned to face him. This time it was her hands that were clenched into fists at her sides, it was her eyes that flashed lividly with suppressed anger. Her hair had already been scary enough before the matter had exposed itself to oxygen, but now it was beyond comprehension. It encircled her head, in a halo of crackling electricity, kinky curls springing out randomly from all sides. "Get what over with, Draco?"

"Get over what your problem is," he answered angrily. "You always blanche in fear whenever I'm near, and when you aren't trembling in anticipation, you're the happiest, the most content, that I've ever seen you. What in Merlin's name is your problem?"

"I'll tell you what my problem is," she replied, positively vibrating with the intense energy that was coursing through her veins. "My problem is that you, you disgusting selfish incredible pig of an ex-husband, you betrayed me. You left me for oblivion. You married that Cleopatra look-a-like, when you knew I was somewhere, waiting for you to come find me."

"I left you?" Draco interrupted, as an expression of maddened amusement etched itself on his face. "I left you?" he repeated. "Hermione, you were the one who ran out on me. How on earth can you say that I left you?"

"You did," Hermione insisted, tightening and loosening her fists as if she was testing their strength. "You married her, because she was pregnant. And what did you do to me when you found out I was pregnant, huh? You told me to get rid of it. How dare you tell me that I left you. You left me with what I had done, only to please you; you left me over in that country, where everyone is pigheaded and disgusting. I guess it's not that different from here, actually, because you're here, and if there was ever the most revolting, greedy, incredibly hypocritical person in the world, it would be you!" she screamed, her eyes bulging out of their sockets, her veins throbbing almost painfully in her neck and temples. "Now get me out of here, right this instant."

"No Hermione, you're going to listen to me no matter what, and if you don't I'm not going to take you back."

But Hermione wasn't listening. She was still glowing with anger, her eyes flashing dangerously. "How dare you tell me you love me, the nerve you most possess. That explains your daring to marry her after only a few years of my absence. If you really loved me, you would've waited until I came back, you wouldn't have gotten married, you wouldn't have kept having sex with her and making more little mini-Cleopatra's. Oh, no you would've" but what he would've done was left for others to imagine, for in Hermione's outburst, she had failed to notice Draco walk swiftly to her side. She did, however, cut her sentence off when he kissed her mouth.

She immediately consented, kissing him back more passionately then ever before. She backed into the cold wall that was behind her, his hands coming to rest above her head, as his tongue forced entrance into her mouth.

She melted underneath his warm body, all of her pent-up anger pouring into him, and her arms wrapped themselves around his body. Her nails scratched at his back, and before she knew it, his shirt lay discarded on the floor. His mouth was slowly making its way down over her chin, sucking on all available skin, and one of his hands was tugging restlessly at the buttons of her shirt. She fumbled restlessly with each one, and soon that too lay on the ground.

"Hermione?" she heard from underneath the slight moans she was emitting, and she immediately gasped, pushing Draco off of her as she struggled to cover up her exposed body with her small arms.

Harry was standing there, staring at her with his mouth gaping open in shock. Draco stood next to her, his usual smirk painted on his face once again.

"Harry," Hermione struggled through ragged breathing. Her heart was still beating unnaturally fast due to the things Draco had been doing to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to look for you, because it's really late, after eleven, and I heard you yelling, and then" he trailed off, looking heartbroken and downcast.

Hermione bent low to retrieve her shirt, but realized that Draco had already picked it up and was handing it to her.

"Harry," she repeated, attempting to explain herself, but she was at a lose for words.

"Come on, I'll walk you back," Harry mumbled, holding out an arm for her to come to him. She consented, and walked into his arms, leaving Draco behind to fester in the coolness of the drafty corridor, with only a lone torch to keep his lonely self company.

A/N: Poor Draco, every time something good happens, something else disastrous interrupts it, like clocks, and house elves, and Harry. And poor, poor Harry. I pity him more than Draco, because all he ever did was love Hermione. It's not his fault Draco's such a prat. And Hermione isn't as smart as some people think she is. She shouldn't be gallivanting around, doing whatever she pleases. She's going to get herself into trouble one of these days.

Not much plot advancement in this chapter. Just a nice little romantic interlude†well not really, I suppose. Don't worry, hopefully everything will turn out in the end, for the good or bad you'll just have to wait and see.

Lovablechick213: Don't worry, Auset seeing Hermione's pregnancy is really important†you'll see. Thanks for all your reviews!!

And thanks to the rest of you too†I love you all for your reviews, especially the regulars!!

(now review!!)