Intoxication, or The Dangers of Alcohol and How Pansy Dealt with Them, Mainly by Making Really Bad Decisions

Chapter One: Poker Night

It all started out innocently enough.

It was poker night in the Slytherin common room that particular evening. Draco's idea, of course. Ever since the start of seventh year, he'd insisted on these "House bonding" activities, to bring them all closer, he said. To unite them in a front against all those fools and traitors who inhabited the school.

It was a good idea in theory, but when the bonding activities included such things as illicit midnight outings to Hogsmeade and poker night, things quickly spiraled into chaos. Because whatever they did, someone always managed to procure an exorbitant amount of alcohol.

And that was where all the trouble started, really. Alcohol and its evil wiles. For whenever alcohol was introduced, people got friendlier, poker became strip poker, and such was the case with Pansy and Malcolm.

She hadn't meant to end up playing poker with Malcolm, by any means. The fourteen year old Slytherin had never held her interest much, except to irritate her occasionally. But Blaise had gone off with Daphne, as usual, and Draco was who-knew-where and hell if she wanted to see Crabbe and Goyle in any state of undress, so her options were rather limited.

"Trip queens. What've you got, Pans?" asked Malcolm, peering up at her mischievously through his sandy fringe.

Pansy sighed. "Pair of fives and an ace." She had never been a great hand at poker. Or any game, for that matter. She'd liked the Hogsmeade rendezvous so much better. At least there had been dancing there. "And don't call me Pans, Baddock, or I'll break your face."

"I'll call you whatever you like once you take your shirt off." Really, Pansy didn't know why she was just now realizing the extent of Malcolm's insufferable brattishness.

But still, the rules dictated that she comply, as she'd already lost shoes and socks and hairband, although Malcolm had complained bitterly that that didn't count.

So she tugged at her hem, thinking that it could be worse, at least bra—wise. Judging by the gleeful look in Malcolm's eyes, he certainly didn't seem disappointed that it was the plain black and not the red and lacy one she'd considered wearing that day.

And then Pansy became aware that Malcolm's saucer-like orbs were not the only eyes fixed on her breasts.

"Shove off," she told Crabbe and Goyle, dismayed to hear the slight slur in her voice. Oh, honestly. They'd never take her seriously now. Not until after a few quick punches, at least.

"I'm going to bed," she informed Malcolm, gathering her scattered items.

"I'll get the cards and meet you in your room," he said, as if he expected nothing else.

Pansy ignored him, hoping the cheeky little bugger would get the hint and leave. But he didn't. Of course he didn't.

Pansy had no sooner flopped down onto her bed in the mercifully empty dormitory (although she did wonder where Millicent had gone off to; she hadn't seen her in the common room) when Malcolm bounded in, dropping cards all over the floor.

Pansy sat up and gave him her best glare. "Malcolm," she enunciated clearly. "I do not want to play cards with you anymore. Go away please."

He pouted. "But I didn't even get to strip."

Pansy threw up her hands. "Fine, you unimaginable pest. Strip if it makes you feel better. But then you leave."

"Then I'll leave," he repeated, ducking his head to hide a smile and beginning to unbutton his shirt. Pansy had the distinct impression that he was mocking her but in her drunken state couldn't confirm it. It hurt her head thinking about it.

But then she wasn't thinking at all anymore, because Malcolm had flicked open the last button and shrugged off the sleeves of his shirt.

It wasn't as though he were ugly. But he wasn't especially good looking either. So Pansy really couldn't explain to herself why the sight of Malcolm with his slightly scrawny torso, biting his lip and looking at her through his fringe captivated her so. She couldn't take her eyes off him, and quite suddenly became aware that she was only wearing a bra and a skirt that had hiked up rather scandalously around her thighs while she lay on the bed.

Malcolm was now toeing off his shoes, all trace of his mocking smile gone now. He padded over to the bed, leaned over her.

Pansy had started to cross her arms over her chest, but something made her stop and reach out to grab Malcolm's shoulders instead.

She felt no muscle definition under her fingers as she slid them down over his upper arms, only sinew and skin. Skinny, in the truest sense of the word. The arms of a child.

Malcolm had stopped, stiffened when she touched him. Normally, Pansy knew, she was taller than him. But leaning over her like this, he was just the right height. If she tipped her chin up just so…

Malcolm's mouth was warm on hers, moist, with the bitter tang of tequila and something heavier, like apples perhaps. Pansy sank into the kiss, reached up to wrap her arms around Malcolm's neck before she realized what she was doing. Then she remembered how thin his arms were, those arms now hovering hesitantly over her hips, hands not quite grasping. She remembered that he was fourteen years old and she was drunk.

She pulled away. "I meant what I said before," she said, hearing her own voice cold and distant in her ears, but also breathless. "You've had your fun, now leave."

And with that, she rolled over and pulled the blankets haphazardly around her.

He didn't shut the door on his way out.

xXx

A/N: So, here we bear witness to my insanity. I did not mean to start a new story, and then once I started it, I did not mean for it to be more than a one-shot. But such is life, and there will probably be around four chapters. Let me know what you think of it so far.