Yankee Accents

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 Seven: Waking Up Beside You

Written By: Auburn Lily

Hermione woke that next morning to the sounds of someone violently retching in the toilet. She only had a few minutes to become confused before she felt something stir in her own stomach, and was up in no time, ignoring the closed bathroom door. She snatched up a chamber pot that sat on the nightstand and heaved until her guts were dry.

She set the chamber pot down gently, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She slowly glanced around the grimy room she currently resided in, and took notice of the windows that little or no light filtered through. She also noticed her clothes and someone else's clothes discarded heavily around the room. Her nose picked up an arduously musty scent that could only mean one thing.

Sex had happened in this room.

She wondered what had possessed her to sleep in a bed that had been so disgustingly violated in. 'Damn prostitutes,' she thought bitterly to herself. She ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, and bit her lip before looking around the room for a mirror.

That was when she realized that she was completely naked.

"Look pretty good like that," said a high-pitched, puberty endowed, boyish voice from the mirror. "Mind doing a little dance for me while you're at it? Great performance last night, by the way. Simply spectacular."

Hermione blushed, and then choked. "What? Performance? What are you talking about?"

"You mean you don't 'member? Pity, it seemed to me it was incredibly orgasmic, the way you were screaming and moaning the entire time. You were pretty drunk, though."

"Drunk? Moaning? With you?" Hermione asked, quite disoriented, and dreading the answer.

"Tall, blonde, drunk himself," the mirror replied bluntly, quite bored now that she wasn't going to dance for him. "I think you were screaming his name. Dray is the only thing I got out of it. You were slurring quite a bit, mind you," it added disapprovingly.

"Dray, Dray, Dray," Hermione pondered under her breath, tapping her lip with her fingertip. Than it hit her, as she remembered the silky feel of his hair, his steel gray eyes staring down at her, tittering on the brink of lust and love, and the wonderful feeling he invoked in her that she hadn't felt since that last night almost ten years ago.

"Oh my god," Hermione whispered, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes widened in shock, and she slowly backed up, tripping on an old traveling trunk that stood pushed up against the foot of the bed. She fell backwards, arms flailing, and hit the lumpy mattress, her hair surrounding her like a halo and her arms flying up behind her head. She froze, because she could smell him all over the sheets, and all over her, in her hair on her skin. She could even taste him in her mouth.

"Merlin, how many times did we do it?" she asked rhetorically.

The mirror, ignoring the rhetoric, answered promptly with, "At least four times."

Hermione groaned and at that moment the bathroom door opened to reveal a Draco, dripping wet and clad in only a white towel perched on his narrow hips. The moment he saw her laying on the bed, naked, he licked his lips.

"Glad to see you're awake," he said disdainfully, before letting the towel slide off of him. Hermione, barely able to contain herself, drank the sight of his body in as if she would never see it again. He walked over to the bed and sat down on it beside her, clasping her wrists above her head with one hand, and letting the other hand wonder freely down her body, touching her in the most sensitive places.

Her eyes widened in shock once more, and she struggled to get away from him before a voice went through her head saying something like this, "It's nothing Hermione. You know that. And you also know you enjoy it. Pressure is already building down there. So just let him do whatever he wants to you, I say." And that was true. She always had enjoyed the feeling of his fingers on her skin. And he was sending shivers through her entire body at what he was doing now. She tilted her head back, and a small moan escaped her lips before she tried once more, quite unsuccessfully, to wriggle from under his grasp.

"We can't do this," she mumbled, barely discernible.

"Why not?" Draco asked as his mouth replaced what his hand was doing. "We did it all last night, even though I barely remember it at all. I just remember what you do to me, and I know I want to be with you forever."

"We can't do it," Hermione said, a bit stronger this time. But even as she said it, and as his tongue entered her, and as she bit her lip to prevent herself from screaming, she knew what he said was true. 'No!' yelled another voice inside of her head. 'It's not right! Don't you remember what he did to you so many years ago? He made you give up your child. You left because of him. You left everything you had because of him.'

She wriggled once more unsuccessfully from underneath him, and looked up at him with pleading eyes. He smirked evilly, obviously encouraged by her objections, and allowed his loose hand to wonder more freely around her body. He lowered his mouth to her neck, and tasted her pale, salty skin. Hermione, caught between pleasure and recusancy, arched her back and bit her lip till it bled.

Just than, a knock sounded from the door, and a small, house-elves' head peeked through.

Draco raised his head from his journey across Hermione's chest, and growled. Hermione, torn between relief and sub-conscious disappointment, ripped her wrists from his inattentive grasp, and sat up, staring at the house-elf with a mixture of anger and gratitude spread like marmalade across her face.

"Pardon me, sir and miss," the house-elf squeaked, covering its saucer-sized eyes with its small hands, and dropping the tray it carried. It squeaked once more, and bent to retrieve the broken contents, all the while saying, "Tillie very sorry, sir and miss," positively shaking from breaking the fake porcelain. "Tillie's master sent her, sir and miss, to bring your breakfast, sir and miss."

Hermione summoned a tatty robe from a hook on the wall, and after putting it on, walked to assist the elf who was about to suffer from an aneurysm. She whispered "Reparo" and the tray and dishes mended together, flying back into Tillie's arms.

"Thank you kind miss," Tillie muttered.

"Thanks for interrupting," Draco said coldly from the bed, which he had sprawled out on, hands behind his head.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and then took the tray from Tillie's arms.

"Thanks, Tillie."

"Miss is most welcome. Is there anything else Tillie can get for sir and miss?" she asked, bowing lowly to the ground.

"No," Draco said, shooting her an evil glare. "But you can leave, so we can finish what we started."

Hermione snorted, and turned back to Tillie "You could get those dirty clothes, and have them washed?"

"Yes, misses," she replied hurriedly, rushing forward and scooping up all of the clothes in her tiny arms. "Tillie will have them back in no time, miss and sir." She bowed again, before rushing out the door, nearly tripping in the process.

After shutting the door, Hermione lifted her nose in the air and, without so much as a glance at Draco, stalked to the bathroom, and locked the door.

---

When she got back out, Hermione noted that Draco had gone ('so much for pureblood etiquette,' her mind had muttered) and that her freshly laundered clothes lay pressed on the bed, which had also been cleaned. Now, instead of the room smelling like smut, it smelt of linen and old porridge that sat on the writing desk.

"Bloke left," the mirror wheezed. "I think he was a bit bummed, after Tillie barged in."

"Thanks for the update," Hermione retorted sarcastically. She snatched her clothing off the bed in a bad temper, and once again slammed the door behind herself.

"What have I done?" she asked herself, as she slid down the bathroom door, curling into a fetal position. Unluckily, at that moment, she got another bout of queasiness, and had to hurl some more in the toilet bowl.