[A/N: This chapter is rated R, as a result of my perverted mind. Don't make me say I told you so. :P]

CHAPTER 2: Wrecked

To her surprise, Hermione found herself at the Three Broomsticks later on, with her hand wrapped around a large mug filled with the famous Firewhiskey. iIt's not bad/i, she thought to herself as she finished her second mugful. Beats Butterbeer by a wide margin. This one gets you wasted quicker. Just what I need.

The entire pub was almost deserted, with everyone probably at home, spending the holiday with their respective families. Only Hermione and a couple of other witches, plus Madam Rosmerta, were there. Madam Rosmerta was behind the counter, polishing glasses, and the two other witches were smoking pipes and enjoying a nice game of wizards' chess. Ugh. Don't get me reminded about anything that should concern Ron tonight.

She, Ron, and Harry had met each other during their days as young witches and wizards at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course, she hadn't known then about Ron's disgusting bathroom habits, because if she had, then maybe she wouldn't have considered marrying him. Maybe I wouldn't even have liked him in the first place, she added bitterly, and laughed to herself under her breath. Maybe I wouldn't even be here, my holiday spent with a beer bottle in hand.

After her fourth tankard, she considered leaving. If only I could get up and walk around normally… The influence of alcohol was heavy, and she was known for her low tolerance for alcoholic drinks. And so she slumped in her seat and absentmindedly played with the beer bottle upon the counter, contemplating about staying in for the night.

She didn't bother to raise her head as she heard the tinkle of the bell that came with the indication that someone else had just come in. It didn't matter to her. After all, lots of people came in the Three Broomsticks at midnight, but the new arrival begged to be noticed, for he sat in the swivel chair right next to her on the counter.

"I need a drink," the blond man drawled in his bored voice as Madam Rosmerta came to attend to him.

Hermione turned her head to look at the man and barked out a bitter laugh. "Well, well, well. Look do we have here," she announced theatrically, her words slurring. "Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince." For some reason, that seemed to be funny for her, because she couldn't stop giggling afterwards.

Draco looked at the brunette sitting right next to him, his eyebrow raised. "Do I know you?" he asked, clearly not recognizing her. She was sinfully attractive, that was for sure - but how come she knew who he was exactly when he had no idea who she was?

That sent on another round of fresh giggles. "Why?" she asked him, pouting her lips. "Do I look so different now? You and I went to schwoool together."

"This woman is clearly intoxicated," said Draco to Madam Rosmerta as she served him his order, gesturing towards Hermione. "Maybe you should consider taking her upstairs to one of your rooms so she could sleep it off."

"Yes, I think so, too," Madam Rosmerta replied. "She's drank her fourth mug of Firewhiskey. That would make just about anyone smashed by now." She turned to Hermione. "Come on now, honey."

Wagging her finger in the air, Hermione said, "No-no-no-no-no-no," to Madam Rosmerta as soon as she prepared to take her upstairs. "I want to talk to this boy."

Draco raised his eyebrows but didn't send her off anymore, visibly interested in what she had to say. A grin was even present on his face. "Boy?" he echoed, clearly amused.

"Yes, boy." Hermione chuckled. "Tell me, what do you do now, besides taunt everyone whom you consider lower than you are?"

The grin on Draco's face disappeared behind the mug of whiskey as he drank deeply from it. He lowered the drink and glared darkly at her. "And just who do you think you are?" he growled.

"Me? Oh, I'm nobody," she told him, waving him off. "Nobody to the likes of you, anyway."

He drank his first mug in three large gulps and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he reached for another. "Don't tempt me, you," he said irately as he glared at Hermione. "I just had a fight with my wife and don't make me get my anger out on you."

"You don't recognize me," she said in a singsong voice, and laughed again. "Oh, this is good! That way, I won't have to feel embarrassed about whatever it is that I say or do tonight. Hahahahaha!"

Draco seemed to have as low a tolerance for alcohol as Hermione did, because, on only his fifth mug of Firewhiskey, his words slurred and he was visibly going red in the face. He bought Hermione some more drinks subconsciously and she drank greedily, the evening passing by. Apparently, it seemed as though they both were unstable drunks. They talked together, laughed together, drank alcohol together, became more intoxicated together - but Draco, oddly, never recognized the stranger who seemed to somewhat soothe his agitated nerves.

"You said you had a fight with your wife," drawled Hermione later on, drinking from what might possibly have been her twelfth. "Why?"

"She caught me cheating on her!" Draco proclaimed proudly, clearly intoxicated by then. "I slept with this - hot chick -" He made an ostentatious gesture with his hands.

"Merlin! You bastard," she reprimanded him, slapping him across the arm, but the seriousness was lost as she was laughing so hard. "I had a row with my husband, too," she admitted sadly, and before she knew it, tears were falling from her eyes like waterfalls.

"You don't say?" he asked in mock-surprise, drinking from his own twelfth mug as well. "Guess we're both heartbroken tonight."

"And it's Christmas Day," she added, sobbing. "Misery does love company."

Hermione slumped forth in the counter, her newly-straightened hair cascading down the polished tabletop, and sobbed loudly. Her emotions seemed to be at the peak now that the alcohol was truly consuming her. "He said I was fussy," she blubbered out, "and that - that - he couldn't believe we got m-m-m-married -"

"Your husband is undeniably imprudent," he consoled her, gently patting her back. "You're a beautiful, feisty woman. I'd much rather have married you than my wife." He made a face.

She looked at him with her tear-stained face. "Really?" she whispered out.

"Really," he admitted, the beautiful brunette enthralling him. And before he could stop himself, he reached for her and kissed her, tasting the alcohol on her tongue.

Hermione couldn't help herself then. She couldn't deny the sweetness that exuded his very kiss - his warm and soft mouth - and she kissed him back, throwing both her arms around his neck and having both their tongues mate. They kissed with a passion not unlike that of old flames, and both of them couldn't remember the time when kissing their own spouses had been this intimate and… consuming.

Hermione giggled as the kiss broke. "I feel like a teenager again," she admitted, still clinging on tightly to his neck.

"Guess we know what teenagers do." Draco winked. Tension was clearly present between them - it wasn't the unpleasant one - and they both were aware of that. "We need a room, Rosmerta," he called out drunkenly.

Madam Rosmerta looked at the both of them in disbelief, but, thinking that it was none of her business at all, shrugged and took a key off a hook. "Room 12-B is empty tonight," she told them, giving the small key to Draco. "It's right upstairs, twelfth room on the left."

Draco gave a mock-salute, resulting in another round of fresh giggles from Hermione, and threw down a handful of Galleons on the counter. "For the lady's drinks and mine. Keep the change," he said, and took Hermione's hand and led her to the wooden staircase leading to the upper floors and the rooms.

They certainly were like teenagers again - they stumbled and kissed their way up the steps to their designated room, and as they reached their room they fumbled with the keys and stripped each other bare of the other's clothing, their lips not leaving one another's as soon as they entered.

"You are rounder than my wife," commented Draco as he appraised Hermione's lusciousness, kissing her neck in lust. Hermione's nails dug into the hard, muscled skin on his back.

"And you," moaned Hermione, "are ithicker/i than my husband. And longer- and harder -"

"Merlin, you're good!" he groaned out soon after as Hermione worked the magic of her tongue around his body. "How come I don't recognize you, if we went to school together?" he moaned out in frustration.

"You were a naughty boy back then," mocked Hermione, and took him into her mouth. She normally wouldn't have acted out in this way; liquid courage certainly was taking its hold on her. "You were mean to me."

"I was mean to everyone - Merlin!" he cried out again. "Just tell me who the hell you are." He reached out and took her face in his hands, searching for any familiarity as he gazed intently upon it. "You certainly do look familiar, but -"

"Would you rather we have sex, or discuss my identity?" she teased, letting her fingers run up and down his length painstakingly slowly.

His breath caught in his throat. "Sex, please," he spluttered out, and before she knew what had hit her, he had plunged himself to the hilt, burying himself inside her. His hands grasped at the skin on her hips with a pressure not far from violence, and the bed creaked as though it might fall apart with their ravenous needs. They rocked back and forth, each sensation igniting the fire in each of their nerve endings.

Draco had never been full of any remorse in the years he'd spent as Astoria's husband. After all, Astoria was perfect: she was beautiful, she was elite, and she belonged in the high class. His only problem was that she was no good in bed, and so, as a compromise for allowing himself to marry her, he often sought pleasure from others.

He never believed that he could find any one person who could surpass her.

I should've married this girl! he thought wildly as he spilled his seed into her. The sensation of fulfilling sex was intoxicating.