Recap:

"Of course I'm serious."

"But…But why?"

And his answer came in the form of a kiss.

Chapter 12: Buried In A Book

Hermione sat up in bed that night, unable to get that powerful kiss out of her head. His lips were like candy; she simply wanted to devour them. And the more she tried to convince herself it was only the kiss, and not the giver of the kiss, that made her shiver even now, the more she found herself picturing not only his lips, but his entire face, etched with a small playful smile.

"But it's Malfoy," she snapped bitterly at herself. She roughly pulled back the blankets and stalked out of the room, snatching a piece of parchment off the nightstand as she went. Draw on it carefully, was a map, given to her by Draco, that showed her how to reach the library from her room. Because she was certainly not going to get any sleep tonight.

Ten minutes later was she breathing easy as she walked through the immense double doors. The room instantly lit up, the wall torches igniting as if she'd commanded them to. She didn't give them a second thought, however, and walked straight ahead to the nearest bookcase, not knowing in the least where to begin.

"Is this French?" she asked of the book she'd plucked from the shelf. Turning it over in her hands, she eyed it almost as if it were a dangerous creature. And, as she went to put it back, she realized that the entire shelf was all books in French. And the next. And a few shelves over were books in Italian. Further down she found languages including Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Greek, Japanese, and many others she could not place. Finally, after marveling silently at the extensive collection of multi-language books, she found where the English section began and quickly chose a heavy, dusty book to settle in front of the fireplace with.

She cracked the crumbling book open carefully and was immediately enthralled with its contents. So absorbed was she that she didn't hear the library doors open and close, or the footfalls that followed.

"Find something you like?"

Hermione jumped so far out of her chair it appeared something had nipped her rear. When she saw who it was, she fixed a heavy glare and settled back into her seat.

"Do you enjoy sneaking around and scaring people?" she demanded hotly.

"Very much," he laughed. "What are you doing in here so late?"

"What are you doing following me?" she shot back, ignoring his question. He only smirked and lowered himself into the chair opposite her.

"I heard you get up. I was curious as to where you were going." He leaned in and tipped up the book in her hands to see the title. She was seconds from slapping his hand away when she stopped, reminding herself that she was in his home and this library had been given to her as a gift. A gift that she was still extremely uncomfortable with and wary of. "Good choice."

"Draco?" He looked up into her eyes. If it was not for her hardened exterior around him she would have melted into a puddle. What was it about those brilliant silvery eyes that caught her breath so? "What's with all the shelves of books in different languages?"

He shrugged and sat back.

"My parents knew a lot of languages, which they unfortunately insisted I should know as well."

"You mean to tell me you know all those languages?"

He nodded, a sneaking smile gracing his lips.

"It comes in handy every now and again."

"Say something," she said, almost excitedly, the ancient book forgotten on the table beside her. "Something in—" She glanced behind her, saying the first language she saw. "—Portuguese."

"You're serious?" he laughed. She nodded. "Very well, but you have to come closer."

When she didn't move, he reached forward and yanked her into his lap. She entertained the idea of clawing his eyes out for a moment, only to remain silent and still in his arms, his cool gray eyes fixed calmly on her.

"Portuguese, huh?"

"For now," she replied, mirroring his usual smirk. If his hormones were an animal, they'd be a lion, and he'd be the ringmaster at a circus, barely about to keep them at bay.

"Alright then." He cleared his throat and tightened his grasped around her waist. "Se somente você souber fraco você me faz."

"What does that mean?" The shiver of rising desire that coursed through her was unmistakenable.

"I want to take you right here on this floor."

She rolled her eyes at his haughtiness, though encouraged him to go on in French.

"Je vous déteste tellement parce que vous êtes tout ce que je peux penser."

"Did you just say you hate me?" she gasped in a startlingly playful manner.

"What else?"

"Say something in…er…Spanish. I love Spanish accents."

"Very well, but I don't have an accent… Pero pienso que comienzo a caerme enamorado de usted, y no pienso que quiero pararme."

"I wish I knew another language," she pouted, her hands spreading across her belly. "I want you to teach our son other languages."

"I planned to. How else would we talk about you while you're there?"

"One more?"

"What?" he groaned. This was not what he'd planned on doing once he found her all cozy in the library.

"Italian."

"E se mai vi dicessi questo ridereste nella mia faccia. Dunque suppongo devo essere contento con proteggere lei ed il bambino," he said, holding her eyes, the foreign words rolling off his tongue as if they were his native language.

"Bambino? Bamb—That means baby, right?"

"And you thought you couldn't speak another language."

"I can speak it just fine," she said, poking him in the gut. "It's knowing what I'm saying that's the problem."

"What do you want to say? I'll tell you."

"You'll tell me?" she laughed. "And I suppose there are about a million strings attached."

"Nope," he said, bearing his hands as if they proved he was telling the truth. "No strings."

"Alright," she sighed. "I want to say: I am better at magic, in every way, than Draco Malfoy."

He chuckled at her request. "What language?"

"Um…Italian, I suppose. I like how that sounded."

"Ok. Listen carefully." He leaned into her ear, his hand placed firmly, yet gently on the back of her neck. And, in slow spaced words, he told her how to say it, his lips brushing against her cheek before she sat back. "Your turn."

"L'amo più di la vita, Draco Malfoy," she repeated, her words and pronunciation jagged and unnatural.

"Try again." He sounded almost agitated with her. "Pretend it's English and you need to say it."

She gave him a strange, questioning look, but did as she was told. Her reward was a shining smile, as if she'd just complimented him greatly instead of insulting his magical abilities.

"Again," he whispered huskily.

"What are you making me say, Draco!" Clearly he was trying to make a fool of her, and she would not have it.

"What you wanted to say, bambino," he assured her.

"Don't call me baby," she snapped viciously, tumbling off his lap. "I came here for some peace and quiet, and because I couldn't sleep. You were not supposed to be in that equation."

"Funny how I was though."

"Excuse me?"

"You said you couldn't sleep," he pointed out. "Which means you were up thinking about me and how much you want me."

She scoffed in disgust, silently baffled that he'd actually guessed her reason for restlessness.

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," she spat, and trudged from the library, thanking God a hundred times over than they were returning to the castle tomorrow.

"Les rêves doux mon amour."

It was seven o'clock in the morning and Hermione was the only one up, aside from the dozens of house elves who bustled around unseen, preparing for the day. She made a mental note to razz Draco about owning house elves when she was alone with him again.

She made her way to the library, almost by memory, and slipping soundlessly through the doors. In a few hours everyone else would be up, and shortly after that they would depart for Hogwarts. She could not simply leave such a treasure until Christmas without one last look. Besides, there were so many books that if she didn't spend a great deal of time in here she would never get to.

Somehow she'd wandered into the deepest corner of the room, a small section of books that were covered with cobwebs and dust. She wished there were someone around to reprimand for such awful care of these relics, and had to instead settle on a loud huff. The books before her were so old, yet seemingly unused, their spine uncreased and in all over beautiful condition. Running her fingers along the bindings, she halted at a plain black leather-bound book, giving no indication of what was inside. She opened it to the first page, realizing immediately that it was no book at all, but a journal that somehow made its way into this dark corner.

"Maybe it's Malfoy's," she laughed cynically as she carried it to the chair she'd been in the night before. She was definitely going to love being able to come here whenever she wanted once she lived her. Perhaps agreeing to stay at the Manor wasn't such a horrible idea after all. "Now let's see what was so secret he had to hide it." But the very first line revealed that her initial assumption had been wrong. It was a journal, but not that of Draco Malfoy. It was owned and hidden by Melantha Blake and, as she read on, page after page jammed with frantic and sometimes blotchy words, she found out exactly why it was left here and in the precise place it was kept on the shelf.

It held the secret which Hermione had seen in her eyes, painted across her face and imbedded in every move she made. And she was no longer suspicious or apprehensive of the woman. She was, on the contrary, completely saddened and guilty that she could have ever doubted her or her motives.

As she closed the journal and tucked it back into its place, she realized, with startling clarity, that she was the only living person—other than Melantha herself, and of course Headmaster Dumbledore, who knew everything—that knew the secret. And she didn't believe, even for a second, that the words she'd read were anything but the truth. For why would she write such things if they were untrue only to hide them away, never to be revealed?

She settled back into her chair, unable to read anything else, her mind wrapped in thoughts of Melantha.

I have to speak with her, she thought, her brows knit in concentration. But how?

For the remainder of the day Hermione said little to nothing, which did not go unnoticed by the others. But no one pressed her, figuring that if she needed to talk then she would confront them. Besides, she could never keep secrets from her friends for long.

After a filling lunch the students went up to their rooms to finish packing and load the carriage. Melantha followed, flittering in and out of the rooms and making small talk with them. Everyone aside from Draco, of course. It was abundantly clear that they were estranged, and that the only reason she agreed to aid Draco was for the unborn baby's sake.

"Did you swallow your tongue?"

Hermione looked up from her suitcase, which she was just now closing, and gave Draco a weak half-hearted smile.

"Well?"

"I'm tired," she lied, hefting the luggage off the bed. Draco immediately came to her aid and wrenched the bag from her hands. She didn't protest.

"You know, Hermione," he said, inches in front of her. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about the other day in the library. I've never known you to be so submissive." His smirk widened across his features.

"You're a good kisser," she said simply, attempting, and failing, to get passed him. He grabbed her wrist and backed her towards the bed, her suitcase forgotten on the floor. He lowered her willingly onto the mattress, his singeing hot lips making trails across her neck, his teeth nibbling here and there at the taut creamy flesh. If he was going to be the father of her child, then he wanted to know what his mind would not allow him to remember. He wanted to know her, lithe and sweaty beneath him.

"You are beautiful, 'Mione," he whispered, his words like honey as they dripped from his lips. And the use of the personal nickname did not go unnoticed by either.

"So are you," she breathed back, capturing his lips. She could no longer deny her physical want for him. It didn't matter in this moment that he was crude and arrogant and that she loathed his very existence. What mattered, pressed deep into the soft covers, was the passion he exuded, and how completely helpless it made her feel. That, and the thoughts that had been racing through her mind since the night before. She wanted so badly to tell him, but at the same time knew it was absolutely impossible. And it was this deciding factor that allowed her to yield to his ministrations like an old lover.

"I have to tell you something," he said, his eyes locked on hers. It had taken more than willpower for him to stop, even for a second, for he knew that this might be the only chance he had to be with her.

"Then tell me."

"Hermione! Draco! Are you ready ye—"

They scrambled to their feet just as Melantha came into the room, their disheveled appearance giving away their recent activities. Draco quickly slipped past his aunt with Hermione's suitcase, mumbling something about packing the carriage.

When their eyes met Melantha's face was a mixture of emotions. It was almost as if she were happy about what she'd walked in on, but there was something deep within her that was also incredibly angry. And Hermione knew that that was the case exactly.

"I thought you knew better than to pursue anything with my nephew," she said rather sternly. "He's a Malfoy—"

"I know, Melantha," Hermione cut in, stepping close enough so that only she could hear.

"Know what?" She'd completely dropped her motherly demeanor.

"I went to the library last night. Buried deep in a far corner, covered in dust, was a black leather journal. And it was yours. I know everything."

"Hermione, you mustn't—"

"I don't plan on saying a word," she assured the older, now very distraught woman. "But you must promise me something in return."

"Anything," she all but cried. And there was no questioning it; the journals had not been lying.

"You'll come clean before I have the baby, before Draco and I move in here with you."

Melantha sighed painfully, but nodded, knowing that it was the right thing to do.

"One more thing."

"Y-Yes?"

"Does anyone else know?"

She nodded slowly, tears rising in her hazy blue-green eyes.

"Who?"

"Dumbledore," she whispered. "Dumbledore, and…and my brother-in-law, Galen Blake."

Muhahahaha! What, oh what, could this great big secret be? Melantha seems terrified out of her mind that she has to reveal it. But when? Of course I know, heehee, but I'm not telling. Because I'm a cruel author like that :P

REVIEW! My chickadees!

In my other genre of fics (DBZ) I've had some of my characters speak many other languages. I thought it fitting that Draco should, seeing as if family is so "sophisticated". And, of course, what I had Draco say to Hermione was not what he told her he said. Now bear with me, because the translations are not entirely accurately, seeing as I got them online and can't speak two words in another language. The phrases are listed in order of appearance.

Portuguese: Se somente você souber fraco você me faz—If only you knew how weak you make me.

French: Je vous déteste tellement parce que vous êtes tout ce que je peux penser—I hate you so much because you're all I can think about.

Spanish: Pero pienso que comienzo a caerme enamorado de usted, y no pienso que quiero pararme—But I think I'm beginning to fall in love with you, and I don't think I want to stop.

Italian: E se mai vi dicessi questo ridereste nella mia faccia. Dunque suppongo devo essere contento con proteggere lei ed il bambino—And if I ever told you this you would laugh in my face. So I suppose I have to be content with protecting you and the baby.

Italian (What Hermione actually says): L'amo più di la vita, Draco Malfoy—I love you more than life, Draco Malfoy.

French (the last thing Draco says): Les rêves doux mon amour—Sweet dreams my love.