This wasn't her normal behavior. Not at all. But, then again, her world was slowly falling apart. Who needs to act normally?
She'd never been one to let one trivial little matter destroy her. Not even several. But she'd never been completely sane when it came to him, she recalled. She then mentally patted herself on the back, because being able to recall anything in this state was a very big achievement. She giggled at her witty sarcasm.
"Dee, bring me another one, will you?"
The bartender, who'd befriended her in the past hour--or had it been two? Didn't really matter--gave her sceptical look.
"Are you sure, Hermione? I think maybe you've had enough-"
"Nonsense! In fact, why don't you give some from all these nice people to you on me?! Yeah!" She grinned drunkenly at the other inhabitants of the bar, who cheered, understanding her scrambled words. Dee sighed and gave tight lipped shrug.
"If you say so."
So Hermione sat on her bar stool, drinking some mix of firewhiskey and, well, something she wasn't at all sure of the name of--didn't matter, either (Moody would be ashamed)--feeling much better than she had earlier.
"Dee-dee-dee!"
"Yes, Hermione?"
"You,"--here she paused to hiccup, and raised a shaky finger to point at the other woman--" have beautifulpurple hair, d'you know that?"
Dee raised an eyebrow at the bushy headed witch in front of her. "Hermione, my hair's blond."
The brunette leaned over the counter, almost falling off of her chair. She narrowed her eyes, squinting at the other girl, her head comically tilted. After a long moment, she slapped the table and laughed loudly, causing Dee to jump.
"So it is! Ha, I'm reeeeaaaally drunk, huh?"
"I'd say so."
"Dee, com'ere," Hermione attempted to whisper suddenly. Instead, it came out as a loud stage whisper. The bartender humored her.
"I 'ave a big secret to tell you! Don't tell pennyone, m'kay?"she asked, shaking her finger at Dee. She took the silence as agreement. "I have..." Hermione paused dramatically, "A orange cat! Can you believe that?! AN ORANGE CAT!" She collapsed back in her chair, laughing as if someone'd just told her Ron had made an outstanding on his OWLs. After a while, she finally stopped, taking a swig of the green concoction if front of her. She let out a satisfied sigh. Her gaze wandered.
"Oh, hello!" She shouted to someone in the corner. Dee turned to look, then raised her pale eyebrows.
"Hermione, that's a broom."
The other girl furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips. She tried to meet the rebelliously dressed blonde's blue eyes steadily, but failed miserably. Her own brown, unfocused eyes instead appeared to be looking over Dee's shoulder. She nodded seriously, looking accusingly at--well, past--the blond.
"Baroooms have feelings too!" She shouted, causing Dee to stare at her for a moment before saying,
"Okay, sure, Hermione. Now, why don't you give me that, and we'll call--wait, do you have someone to take you home? I-"
"NO!" The greatest, drunkest witch of all time snatched her drink back from the bartender, whom she glared at reproachfully. "Not done. You know, I wonder why people drink when they're depressed. Don't you?" She pointed at the blond again, slurring, "Alchohol is a depressant. So it doesn't help, yet we still--hiccup!--insist--hiccup!--on drinking--hiccup!-- it!" Then she belched, something that would have appalled her had she been sober. She grabbed for her drink, but miss judged the distance, and it spilled all over her work clothes. No matter.
"Whoopsy Daisy!" she giggled. Dee sighed, shaking her head, and cast a drying spell on Hermione's clothes, as the younger girl was in no condition to preform magic. "Lay it on me," Hermione ordered, giving her empty glass to her new friend. The bartender sighed as she followed the order, walking the few feet to refill the glass.
"DEE!"
Hermione's sudden, extremely loud shout made the blond girl wonder why she'd become a bartender in the first place. She hated seeing perfectly respectable, likable people, like Hermione, get torn up over something, because A) Most of the time, they didn't deserve whatever'd happened, and B) They came to her. Then they quickly drank more than they'd ever done before, and quickly went from depressed to more depressed, except happier about it. How sad, she thought.
"DEE!"
Another shout broke the petite blond from her thoughts.
"What?"
"Earlier," Hermione giggled," I said 'pennyone!' I meant to say 'anyone,' but I said pennyone! PENNYONE!" And, yet again, her bushy curls bounced about as she laughed uncontrollably, slapping her leg. Even Dee had to admit, Hermione was indeed a very funny drunk.
--
After a few more minutes, and quite a few more drinks, Hermione raised her eyebrows, swayed back and forth, and looked hard at the older girl.
"His eyes....were blue....like yours. And he was blond too! Well, I guess he still is, but that's just irreelephant, isn't it?" The smart girl stumbled over the word. "But they were prettier...more silver. No offense."
Dee nodded. She knew what was coming--it always did. They always eventually broke down, once they were drunk enough, and said something about whatever was bothering them. "None taken." The brunette girl did not appear to hear her.
"You know, I never meant-"
She was interrupted as a long, lean, extremely handsome blond man sat on the stool next to her. He turned to Dee.
"Firewhiskey, please." Then he turned his attention to the curly head next to him, opening his mouth to speak. He froze, though, his mercury eyes widening.
"Hermione?"
She nodded energetically. "Or Her-mi-oh-ninny. Whichever you prefer! Do I know you?" She leaned over to get a better look at him. This time, though, she wasn't as lucky, and did fall off her stool. She landed hard on her arse, blinking dazedly.
"Are you okay?"
The concern in the man's voice was evident as he hurried to help her up, guiding her to her seat, his strong, yet elegant, hands keeping a hard grip.
"Hermione Granger, are you drunk?" His deep, drawling voice was disbelieving. Never before had he seen her like this, red-eyed and incoherent.
"I do believe I am! Are you a lizard? Nevermind that, nevermind. Now, what was I saying, Dee? Ah, yes, his eyes were much more of a silver color," she continued, forgetting the man next to her. Dee looked at her sadly, not sure if she wanted to hear the story to come, for it was definitely going to be a sad one.
"I went to school with him, Dee. Hated the git, I did," she nodded emphatically. "Insufferable, for six years. And then, I realized--not long before the war, mind you--that maybe I didn't. Hate 'em, that is. Anywhoozy, he saved me, during the war. Just came swooping out of the sky." Her eyes were distant as she made a very wild, exaggerated swooping motion with her hand, and her voice got a dreamy quality to it. After another swig, she continued, in another loud whisper. "Scared the hell outa me, understand. He was a deatheater. Well, we all thought he was, but that's behive the point.
"We got to be friends, after that. Acquaintances, at least. Worked together. He was extremely attractive; I'd go as far to say beautiful, 'tween you and me. You probably know him, by rep-uuu-tay-shun." She slurred. She took another sip of her drink, giving Dee time to look at the blond man, who was listening closely, an intense look on his face. He must've felt her looking, because he turned and met her eyes. She gasped. Mercury. Silver. White blond hair. This was the man, the man who for some reason was the cause of this very drunk Hermione. Now, why did he look familiar?
"Everyone knows him, matter 'o fact. Do you realise I sound like Hagrid when I'm drunk? His name was very, very wicked sounding. I quite liked it. Draco Malfoy, that's his name." A sad sigh left her drunken lips. The blond man paled considerably, and just then, Dee placed his face. That was Draco Malfoy, from the richest wizarding family, the Quiditch player, the successful auror. She'd heard of him, damn sure.
"'Suppose it's my fault. I made a dreadful mistake, Dee. I never told him." The pain was evident in her voice, and she looked down.
Dee Wilderbe suddenly felt very out of place with the two in front of her. She believed she knew what was coming. "What didn't you tell him, Hermione?
When the curly haired witch raised her head, biting her lip, her doe eyes were brimming with tears."That I love him. And now that insufferable bimbo's got him. I lost my chance. No, no, I never had a chance, did I? He couldn't love the likes of me," she corrected herself tearfully. She seemed determined not to let the tears pour out of her brown eyes, but it was a battle she lost. In a sudden fit of anger, the glass that had served her so well for the past few hours was shattered in her hand, her magic going out of control for the first time in a good eight years. An angry breeze came, out of no where, but know one took notice. This was, after all, a magic bar. "I'd tell him, if I could. Always wished I had." Her voice got drowsier and drowsier as she continued. "I love him, I love the side of him that no one sees, I love the side of him that everyone sees. I love him,"she murmured, her rambling slowing down. And with that, she crashed. Her big doe eyes fluttered shut, the alcohol finally catching up with her. Her head lay on the counter.
Draco stared at her for a moment, then turned to Dee.
"I'm going to take her home now, if you'll excuse me," he said quietly, his voice strained. His glacier eyes were unreadable. Normally Dee would have protested, but she somehow knew it would be alright. She nodded, watching them. Her perceptive eyes didn't miss the gentleness with which he held her, nor the loving look in his eyes that she was sure no one was meant to see.
She'd sure miss that funny, bushy headed witch, she thought as she chuckled under her breath, shaking her head.
****************************
The next morning Hermione woke up on a very large, very comfortable fourposter bed. She blinked confusedly. Where the bloody hell was she? And what was the deal with this monster headache? She couldn't remember anything. Maybe...wait.....something about a broom? Good Merlin, she thought, I must've had a rough night.
She yawned and struggled to sit up, fighting the pounding in her head. This room...was extremely well decorated, for one thing. And everything was....Slytherin green.
Oh, crap.
It dawned on her, quite suddenly, whose house this most likely was. But she had no clue why she was here. And all she could think was 'What the hell did I do?'
"Thought you might want this."
That cold--not towards her, but cold none the less,-- drawling voice nearly gave her a heart attack. She turned to stare at Draco, her emotions a confusing turmoil. She considered running, but immediately dismissed the thought. Impossible. She hated running, anyway. Then she was afraid she'd make a fool out of herself by sobbing, but that wouldn't help her headache, now would it? So she settle for staring at him like a frightened rabbit, very un-Hermione like.
"I didn't poison it. It's for your headache. And don't bother denying that you have one."
She continued to stare wordlessly at him. He arched a pale eyebrow, making her heart stutter along with her voice.
"Um...th-th-thanks."
She took the cup from him, trying to stop her hand from shaking. She failed.
"What....what happened last night?" she whispered, not sure that she really wanted to know. She tried desperately to conceal the longing in her eyes when she looked at him. She turned her head to look out of the window, a futile attempt to avoid his presence. Kind of late for that, wasn't it?
He gazed at her for a long moment before replying, the unreadable look in his gleaming silver eyes that never failed to frustrate her. Then he drawled,
"You'll have to ask Dee, from the Mercury Dragon. I wasn't there the whole time. Funny you should pick that tavern, you know."
The knowing look he gave her caused her to blush.
"You make quite a funny drunk, by the way. After I showed up--and I don't appreciate not being recognized, mind you--you fell off of your chair. Then you proceeded to ask me if I was a lizard."
Hermione was becoming quite an interesting shade of red. How humiliating. "Yes, well, sorry about that, now I must be going." She stood up, and darted for the fireplace to floo home, but his long, elegant fingers wrapped around her wrist, shooting a spark like electricity through it. Any sane person would have shaken him off and made a run for it. But his touch made her stay without a fight, because, if you recall, she never had been sane when it came to Draco Malfoy. His voice was sharp.
"I'm not finished, Hermione."
"You should be. Or would you just rather to continue humiliating me?" She finally came to her senses and pulled away, stalking toward the door. Humiliation made her angry. But his long strides over took her. Draco grabbed her shoulder and swung her around to face him. Her breathing sped up erratically as she took in the minuscule distance between them.
"I said, I'm not finished," he said, his voice biting. His mercury eyes were ablaze.
"Then you started rambling on about some bloke. 'Bout how much you loved him, but never told him."
Hermione's face changed drastically as it went from cherry red to pale white.
"No..."
"Yes. You said you loved him, the side of him that no one sees. You said that you loved the face he showed to the public. Now tell me this Hermione." His voice got angrier with every word that fell from his full, perfect lips. He'd always had an incredible temper.
Hermione clenched her eyes shut, trying to blockade the tears that were already streaming down her face. Or perhaps she was just trying to not see the truth of what had happened. Her head shook back and forth in denial. She didn't want to hear what he was going to say next; she wanted the floor beneath her feet to conveniently swallow her whole. Of course it didn't.
"Tell me, Hermione. Do you really?"
Her eyes snapped open. Not the question she was expecting. His face showed nothing she expected to see; nothing she'd ever seen on his pale features. His eyes, those hypnotizing, mercury eyes, that were so often unreadable, were wide and pleading. They held what could only be described as hope. He still looked beautiful;vulnerably beautiful. All she could do was nod.
His lips captured hers, then. He was in control, and the kiss was furious and desperate. None of that bull about hesitance, or asking permission; he knew that she was his, and, after all, he was a Malfoy. And since when do Malfoys wait for anybody's permission? His tongue parted her lips; she surrendered willingly. Draco was not gentle; he nipped, and his grip was like iron. Not that she minded; she responded just the same. Both finally had what they wanted.
She pulled away, gasping for breath, causing him to glower.
"What about Pansy?"
His voice was low, more of a hiss. "She lied." Draco then pulled her back to him, reinstating the kiss.
Needless to say, Hermione was very glad for the loss of her sobriety.
Do I know where that came from? No. Do I like the idea? Yes. Was the story good? No, I don't think so. But for some reason, I insist on posting it. So I know it isn't all that good, and therefore, there is no need for flames.
I still hope you enjoy it, though, and I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading it!
--Paris:]
P.S. I may come out with something else similar to this, except it will be written better.
P.P.S. Do I honestly have to that I own nothing? Don't we all know that? Nonetheless, I don't own the characters.