Just an idea. Enjoy! (:
Draco Malfoy had been hearing the rumors for years. The first time the words had reached his ears, he had flown into a fit of rage like the immature little boy he had been—but times had, thank Godric, changed. As the years went by, the rumors had lost their venom, until their consistent buzzing became more like that of pesky gnats than that of a sinister chainsaw. But he had never forgotten them, vowing he would someday check their validity—and that someday was today.
Yes, today. Smoothing back his perfect platinum blond hair, Draco flashed himself a smile in the gilded mirror in front of him, satisfied. Charming and disarming as always. Today, or rather, tonight, he would finally know whether or not Potty and the Weasel had, in fact, used a cleverly concocted Polyjuice potion to slither their way into the Slytherin common room and actually talk to Draco himself during their second year.
It was absurd, really, that Draco would be unable to identify that his two favorite "friends" were actually themselves. But the more he had thought about it, the more doubtful he had become. Seriously, though—Crabbe and Goyle did so much grunting and unintelligible, simplistic actions that they really could be indistinguishable from Potter and Weasley. Well, Weasley, at least—Potter could show the occasional stroke of brilliance, but not without the help of Granger. She, of course, had been the brains behind the whole Polyjuice scandal, if it had occurred.
Speaking of the Muggleborn—yes, Muggleborn, he really did try to refrain from saying 'Mudblood', especially when referring to her—herself, Draco checked his watch, sighing rather elegantly. He propped his feet up on the table, admiring his dragon-hide boots. If she was here, Hermione would probably throw a fit—she hated it when he did that, especially on the table, she always emphasized, they shared. That's right, they.
Being Head Boy had its perks, but one of the disadvantages was having a shared common room and adjoining bedrooms with Head Girl, Hermione Granger. But, Draco had to admit to himself, that disadvantage was slowly losing its—well, badness. Sure, he would have preferred an easy, buxom girl, preferably blonde, but he found his complaints quickly receding. Granger was quick and witty, and humorous when she wanted to be, and ever since she had shrunk her front teeth and fixed her bushy hair issue, fairly pretty. In fact, the only time she had ever irked him slightly was after she and Weasley broke up—she had moped around for a good week, before he had told her to grow a pair and get over it. She had, and her newly single status fit her well.
Sighing again, Draco tapped the glass face of his watch. It must be moving slower than usual, but then again, he could just be being impatient. One of his only flaws, impatience, frequently pointed out by his mother. But either way, Draco knew that at eight o'clock, on the dot, Hermione would be clambering through the portrait hole like she did every night, books tucked under her arms from her evening spent at the library.
Draco shifted his feet, careful not to disturb the two wine glasses and the bottle that rested on the table, accompanied by two coasters. These simple little props were essential for his night with Granger—okay, so yes, in order to get her to spill the beans, he had decided to use the classic "get-the-girl-drunk" move, but he put his own little twist on it. Fishing a small, clear bottle from his pocket, he clicked it against the table top—Veritaserum. He had nicked it from the Potions' classroom storage room, thanking Godric it had been an ingredient in the fifth years' class that morning, or else the powerful little mixture would most certainly not have been there. Draco was certain that the Gryffindor girl would not be able to resist his charm, especially under the influence of alcohol and Veritaserum.
He leaned forward and filled the glasses with the light wine—well, it looked like light wine, but Draco knew that, after a few glasses, the drinker would be so intoxicated, they would most likely not remember any of the events that had transpired the night before. Perfect. Besides that minor side effect, though, Draco knew that the wine was exquisite—made of white grapes and peaches. Draco tugged on the stopper of the bottle of Veritaserum, tapping the little bottle against one of the wine-filled glass's rims, releasing a couple of drops. He had just re-capped the bottle and slipped back inside his pocket when he heard a shuffling coming from the portrait hole. On cue, Hermione dropped out, landing lightly on her feet. She offered him a smile and walked over to the table.
"Hey, Draco." Her hair was tugged back into a ponytail, loose tendrils hanging rather daintily around her face. She smoothed the front of her striped blouse, stopping abruptly as she spotted the wine on the table. "What's this?" Her voice went from calm to suspicious in a split-second as she sat down beside him on the couch.
"Oh, this?" Draco asked casually. "It's been a busy week, you know, Friday night. Just thought you might just want to relax."
"Relax?" Her voice was skeptical.
"Oh, come on, Granger. Are you really going to pass up the offer of having a drink with a devilishly handsome guy?" Draco flashed her a grin and watched Hermione's eyes travel up and down his long, lean body, so leisurely stretched out, appraising him. He knew exactly how good he looked in the white form-fitting V-neck shirt he had on, as well as the slightly skinny distressed jeans he wore.
It didn't come as a surprise when she let you the breath she was holding.
"Fine," she sighed, rubbing her hands on the thighs of her jeans. "But just one." Draco raised a perfect eyebrow as he handed her the spiked glass, taking the other for himself. He watched her raise the glass to her lips, tilting it upwards, her face portraying undisguised surprise at the taste.
"Mmm." Hermione said, smacking her lips slightly. "This is really good."
Draco cocked his head, smirking. "Still only having one?"
~x~
Three glasses later, Hermione was pleasantly tipsy. The space between them on the couch had nearly disappeared, and Hermione's cheeks were flushed with heat. Giggling, she leaned forward, shoving her now-empty wine glass into Draco's face.
"More?" She asked, giving him a lopsided grin, half-falling into his lap.
"Of course, but only," Draco took the opportunity to look down her partially opened blouse—"If you answer a question."
"Question?" Hermione looked confused, befuddled by the wine.
"Yeah." Better sooner than later, Draco thought, orienting her upright. "Did you help Harry Potter and Ron Weasley break into the Slytherin common room during second year?" Draco spoke slowly and clearly, trying to be as specific as possible. Draco watched Hermione's not so subtle expressions change as the Veritaserum started to work. Slowly, she nodded. Draco smirked. Victory.
"What did you use? Polyjuice potion?" Again, a slow nod. "Why?"
Again, she tried to lie, but the Veritaserum forbade it. She looked up at him, looking exactly like a little child. "B-because I thought it would make them trust me more." Her lip quavered. "And because I liked Ron."
Draco snorted. "Weasley?" Hermione nodded again, bouncing up and down on the sofa, seemingly bubbly again. Draco rolled his eyes. Alcohol.
"I thought he was so cool, not to mention adorable—although, Draco, he was nothing on you."
"What?" Draco sat bolt upright.
"You're gorgeous." She gushed, running a hand down his arm. Draco smirked. "I mean, just perfect." She cocked her head coyly, stopping her bouncing to look him in the eye. "Since you asked me a question, can I ask you one?"
Draco shrugged. It's not like she would remember this tomorrow. Bracing himself for whatever might come flying out of her mouth next, he said, "Sure."
"Are you part Veela?"
Draco choked on the sip of wine he had just taken. "Wh—what?"
"It's just not humanly possible to be that good-looking." Hermione tapped her chin, as if she was thinking. "At least, that's what I told Parvati." Hermione frowned, her brow furrowing. "I think it was Parvati. . . .maybe it was Lavender." Her eyes brightened as she turned her attention back to him. "Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Part Veela, you git." A very badly misjudged elbow collided with his arm instead of his ribs, making him almost spill his drink.
"Not that I know of, Granger. Anything else relatively incriminating you would like to know?"
Hermione slumped, a slight pout on her full lips. "I wouldn't say being a Veela is incriminating."
Draco sighed. Some things never changed—like how much he hated and loved dealing with smashed girls at the same time, though her childish expression was tugging very slightly at his heartstrings. "No, I guess not."
Hermione looked at him quizzically. "What?"
"I said, I guess not."
"What?" Hermione leaned forward, her nose crinkling.
"I said—oh, just forget it." Draco shook his head, slightly exasperated.
"Forget what?" Her tone was completely innocent.
"Never mind, Granger."
"I wanna know!"
"I said, never mind!"
"What?"
Draco smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Oh, Godric. Alright, he thought to himself. You got what you wanted. Make her leave. But something about her expression made him pause. "I think it's time for you to go to bed."
"Why?"
"I have a feeling you're going to have a pretty bad headache tomorrow." Draco stood, helping her to her feet. Hermione swayed on the spot, and Draco snaked an arm around her waist to steady her. She grinned flirtatiously up at him, batting her eyelashes. He could smell the alcohol on her breath, and Draco groaned inwardly. This was not exactly how he had planned on this night ending. He tossed her bag carelessly over his shoulder and helped her into her room, settling her on the bed. Hermione sighed and flopped backwards, giggling.
"Dray-co."
"Yes, Hermione?" His response was tired.
"I'm thirsty."
"Still?" Draco rolled his eyes and fished his wand out of his pocket, conjuring a glass not unlike the ones sitting out on the table. Tapping his wand against the rim, he said, "Aguamenti." A thin spout of water trickled out of the tip and filled the cup. He placed it on her bedside table, along with a small flask of hangover potion he knew she'd be thankful for in the morning. "You all good now?"
Hermione nodded. He turned to leave. His hand had found the doorknob when he heard his name being whispered. Draco glanced back over his shoulder at the bed. Hermione lay there, her body now tangled up in the sheets, hugging a pillow to her chest.
"Draco? Wanna have a sleepover?"
Despite himself, Draco grinned. "Not tonight, Hermione. Maybe some other night, okay?"
Hermione nodded rather sadly and rolled over. Smiling, Draco left the room and shut the door quietly behind him. The truth was, the only reason he had declined her invitation of a "sleepover" was because he did not want to be within hitting range when she woke up tomorrow morning with a splitting headache, the only thing her remembering is sitting by him on the sofa. Though he would take her up on the offer. . . .eventually.
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