Finally managing to post this! Enjoy! :D
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Hermione's hangover
Oh. My. God. It hurts to think.
Those first thoughts penetrate deep into my aching - sorry, howling - mind. Like I've got not brain at all, but there is so much there to consider. There is so much mass... Mass of thought in this empty space, hulking it's load, crashing into the sides.
God, I feel sick.
Not that - as an academic - I have experienced a mass of hangovers over the years, but I have felt enough to know that this... This. This is not good. This is, in fact, the worst I have ever felt in my entire life. The racing images of the night before, the swirling, turning, churning... Oh god. Urgh.
Think, Hermione. Think. Just not too much. No overthinking.
Okay. I think I should lay here, in the dark, away from everything and everyone for at least seventy-two hours. That sounds perfect. And with those somewhat relaxing thoughts, I turn away from the single strand of sunlight bursting from beneath the curtain and pull the heavy white duvet on top of me. Near-suffocating, but allowing a gap for cooler air.
To make certain of my renewed peace - when I say peace, I mean the ounce of piece in the ton of noise in my head - I pull the opposite pillow over my ears and close my eyes. It's somewhat better to think of one thing and concentrate. But then things veer and I feel very, very ill all over again.
Slow images of the night before represent themselves as if for approval. I remember dancing with the boys, and talking to Malfoy, and... Malfoy? Draco Malfoy. Yeah, that's a weird thought to have. But I know that he was there, and so it must have happened. That thought would not be there beside Ron and Harry otherwise.
Three sharp raps on the door bring me from my reverie and moment of quiet. Who the hell is that. And then... Not now.
I don't even bother to think about moving; there's no chance. I simply refuse. Instead of opening the door like a good person might do, I lay in the bed, pretending to have imagined the three knocks - knocks which seem to be, irritatingly, occurring again. Every reverberating sound is like someone is knocking a nail into the side of my head.
Maybe I should be thinking about how to cure this hangover? And to never drink again. Pah. What rubbish.
"Hermione?" It's a he. I can tell that much. Other than that, I really do not care. In fact, I don't care anyway. All I have to do is ignore whoever it is and fall back into the pleasantness that was sleep... "Hermione, it's Malfoy." Bollocks. Unexpected, yet ridiculously predictable.
"Urghmmn..." I answer, only wishing him to leave me alone. And to remain in this bed, where light nor sound can hurt me. Where my stomach doesn't churn quite so much. Urg. Don't think about it. You'll make it worse. "Piss off."
God, this is horrible. The words barely sound at all.
"Are you going to let me in?" I don't respond, just revel in the silence after his words. The knocking he performed still echoes in my head, on replay, trying to force ill on me. Urgh. No thanks. "Alright, fine, I'm coming in then."
I barely have time to utter a resounding "no" before there is a click as the door is unlocked. My stomach is sinking as well as churning. Thanks Malfoy. How dare you interrupt my peace. Finally, another click of the handle and the slight creak as the door opens. I can't see him and I don't intend to.
"Leave me alone," I say through the thick sheets. I swear I hear him laughing and rebuff it instantly. How dare he.
"Come on, Granger, you need to get up." A no-nonsense statement. But one I refute. He sighs and I listen, past the blaring noises in my head. "I'm not here to take the piss, I am here to get you out of bed and down to see your friends to celebrate their wedding. You must move to be able to have the hangover cure I have supplied and we can move past this."
I consider him. Then groan. Bloody Draco Malfoy. Talking ridiculous stupid things to get me to get up... But I know it's silly. Either way, I do need to see Harry and Ginny on the morning after their wedding.
It's as though I can feel him smirking as I lift the pillow from my head and push back the duvet. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out an inkling of the noise and the light and sit up, feeling dizzy. That abhorred duo of feeling both light and heavy headed all at once.
Malfoy is standing about two feet away from the side of the bed, looking only the way sodding Draco Malfoy can. Completely casual, and yet mastering the look with eloquence. A white cotton button down and hands tucked into pockets of his dark blue trousers. Blonde hair as though his fingers have dragged through it several times already. The annoyingly stylish cause of my feeling rotten.
"You look like shit." I glare at him, not even feeling the need to express with words. "Drink that," he intones, nodding to the glass positioned on my bedside table. Presumably one he brought with him. I scowl at the contents and then at him.
"That looks disgusting," I reply, having no intention of touching that, let alone drink it. He shrugs. "How did you get in?"
"Key." He pulls a slim silver key from his pocket.
"From who?"
"Front desk," he answers. "Your friends and I were of sound mind. Didn't want you wallowing in hangover-land."
"Who else is up?" I ask immediately, then feeling very dizzy afterwards as my head snaps up to his again. I clutch it feebly and wait for the room to stop spinning so I can focus on his answer.
"The newly weds, the twins, a few old people, and a couple of Potter's dad's friends - Lupin and the other man." I sigh in relief. Not Ron, yet. "So, we need to go and greet the party," Malfoy says slowly, as if waiting for it to really sink in. Like I am some kind of stupid person. Or foreign.
Probably seems that way. Me being so far below him.
Ah, bitter thoughts.
"But first you should drink that," he declares, quietly. I shake my head at him and bury myself in the duvet again, trying to get away from the ache and the spinning and the rising bile. I will not be sick. I will not be sick.
"This is all your fault, Malfoy," I reply, not even indicating that I heard what he said. I will not accept it.
"How do you figure that?"
"Because you're a sneaky and charming little bastard." My voice is muffled by the duvet. I don't think about what I am saying. As long as I am saying it to the duvet, and Malfoy happens to be listening, I can accept that.
"Right," he says slowly, as if assessing my utter insanity.
"That's probably how you got the key," I babble. "Had your way with the receptionist."
"Granger, I think she's about eighty years old," he exclaims, incredulous that I may suggest such a thing.
"Back to Granger, am I?"
"I'm going to forgive your bitterness because you look like shit."
"See, you're a charming bastard!" I raise my head again to meet his eyes and glare. I will not look at the vile yellow drink standing on the bedside. He will not win. Surely, he must know that? But, alas, he doesn't appear to be backing down. A single eyebrow is raised a smirk is residing below the exterior. I narrow my eyes ever so slightly.
"At least I'm charming, I could be a whole lot worse."
"You could," I admit. Then almost laugh. I really do feel like utter rubbish. My hair feels matted beyond recognition and I am not entirely sure whether I took off my makeup last night. An oops would certainly be in order. And it might explain Malfoy's perplexed expression. And the sudden moment of pause. Maybe I do look awful.
"Granger, just drink it. It will make you feel a million times better. Guaranteed." He folds his arms. Closed body language.
"No. I don't trust you." He rolls his eyes. Again, as if he is dealing with a child and I find myself glaring at him again. I don't take well to this sort of behaviour towards me.
"For God's sake, just drink it!" He half-shouts, resolve broken and glaring. Lacking the small friendliness in humour. "It will taste disgusting, but it works. This is a Malfoy speciality."
"I am not tasting anything that comes from you." I smirk at him this time, feeling as though I could gain power from being the one laughing at the other. The innuendo having come faster than my understanding of algebra. And that is saying something. Malfoy scowls at me but then laughs as I feel another wave of nausea crash over me.
"It's just a hangover cure." I glare at him. The three of him that stand before me in this state. My stomach churns again and I clutch the duvet for a little stability. A flash of concern dashes over his features and his whole body twitches toward me. He attempts a joke anyway. "Come on, Granger, you can try my other speciality when I am not certain you won't throw up."
"That's disgusting," I murmur as bile rises up again and I gag. "I'm going to be sick."
"That's why I said later," Malfoy says quietly, the joke dying now. Then he steps closer and says, "Hermione, it will help."
I sigh heavily and look up at him, my head feeling heavier more than anything. I just want to go back to bed. Instead, I ask, "How bad is it? Be honest."
He laughs. "It's really disgusting. But it will make you feel better instantly. It's got proven hangover cures all in one."
"Including the weird ones? Like sweat and rhino horn dust and sheep eyeballs?" I ask, perhaps more tentatively. He shakes his head and again. Malfoy looks at me funny, curious as to what on earth is going on probably. Maybe wondering how I know of such things. Oh well, not that it matters. "Okay, fine. But get that bucket thing in case I throw up."
He raises an eyebrow but does it anyway. I sigh once again and fight against the need to rest and sleep and block out all of my senses. And fight against the banging around in my skull. Must be awake.
Malfoy sits down on the bed, causing it to bend to the added weight. I try to ignore him and instead watch the drink on the table, before picking it up. Don't sniff, I won't be able to drink it if it smells awful. Which it will. I am better that the yellow is egg, and there's probably a manner of disgusting things in there as well. Pickles, maybe.
Quietly, I sing, "Drink up, me hearties, yo ho," and down the entire thing.
Oh lordy. That is... I can't explain. It makes me cringe and shiver, but thankfully, it's worth it.
"Bleugh," I say, shuddering. But I instantly begin to feel better and the reality of the situation stumbles upon me.
Draco Malfoy, sitting on the bed in my room, giving me the drink to cure my hangover and smiling like some bloody idiot. And of course I have to wonder, what the hell is going on.
"Yeah, I understand," he says, chuckling.
"Why are you here?" I ask, setting down the glass and shuffling backwards in the bed until I hit the hard backboard.
"Making sure you weren't throwing up in your sleep and killing yourself. Something honourable like that." He shrugs simply and crosses one leg over the other. A sign that he is probably lying. No worries, I can work around that.
"You were worrying? Caring?" I poke.
"You could say," he admits, nonchalantly. "But not in the prissy way you may insinuate."
"Too manly to care, right?" I joke and shift my feet beneath the duvet. He moves backwards to allow them more room; I watch him curiously for that. He can't actually care.
"I prefer the word masculine." Of course.
"Why are you here?" I ask again. Unsure of whether I should hope for a different result. I am almost certain that there should be some hidden meaning. Is there not always something else going on?
"You already asked that," he acknowledges. I nod in agreement.
"Yes, but you lied," I tell him immediately, watching his expression for a change. But there is nothing. Aside from the closed body language. And his obvious past of lies and being mean. And Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was a liar back then, so he could definitely lie to me now.
"No, I didn't," Malfoy parries, his eyebrow raised. As if really questioning my judgement. Pah. What a thought.
"No creepy personal gain here?"
"The fact that you have to ask greatly insults me, Granger." He chuckles a little darkly and I smile faintly back. Malfoy shakes his head slowly and drags a pale hand through his far whiter blonde hair. An old habit from throughout his high school life as I knew him. He smirks again, lost in a memory. "I knew what you'd be like. I remember Hannah Abbots eighteenth birthday party."
"I remember being amazed that you were invited," I recall, the corner of my lips twitching at the memory. My horror of him having turned up mirroring that of yesterday. And his harsh words beginning before someone pushed a drink in his hand and told him to be nice or he would be asked to leave. Not that those passing comments made any difference in the long run.
"Being a cool kid. Naturally," Draco muses. "Anyway, I remember you having drank a lot more than you were intending and being sick all over me. And then everyone waking up the next morning and you especially not being able to move very far at all. And threw up over Weasley."
"Oh gosh, no! I remember that!" Suddenly I feel a little mortified. I maybe had forgotten all about that in the past years - the pain I caused Ron even before our relationship. How he was a social pariah before and got even worse when it came to dating me. That must have been an embarrassing moment for him as well. I am not even sure we were dating at that point. Were we?
"It was my favourite part," remarks Malfoy.
How the hell do you remember that?" I ask in slight amazement. Having barely remembered that monumental night myself, it's somewhat surprising that Malfoy - blonde extraordinaire and haughty to the point of not-caring-at-all - remembers even an inkling of it.
"I am fairly observant, thank you very much." His voice is perhaps a little clipped. Back to the reason for the lie?
"But that was so long ago," I reason.
"A memorable night, nonetheless. And, today, I knew you would be somewhat the same or worse. Based on that experience imprinted on my memory." I nod, unsure of what to say. He makes to get up from the bed, hands placed gingerly on thighs. "We should go." I almost want to ask why and want to stay here with him. But I know I can't be thinking that, now that my mind is far clearer than it was. "Don't worry everyone looks as awful as you do. And watching Potter and Weasley's sister is sickening enough. Love. Bleugh."
I grimace at him past the laughter. "That bad?"
He nods and shudders. "Have a quick shower and get dressed. You'll look fine." Malfoy really does stand up. But when I make no move to get out of bed, he pauses and watches me in anticipation. A slight crease between his brows. But I'm not sure I want to move and make myself look fine. "Come on, let's get you dressed and we can get out of here and have some fresh air."
"Get me dressed? No way, stay away from me," I laugh, pondering at his strange choice of words. He rolls his eyes ever so slightly, as if feeling maybe a little bit... Unfavourable to his language choice. I move the conversation away. "No way with you in here."
"Well that's understandable and easy to solve." A pragmatic response. For once, I feel glad. "I can either wait outside or you can change in the bathroom. I'm not leaving entirely because I will not have you throwing up and missing the wedding breakfast."
"Shit. Fair enough."
"Yes, exactly. Now hurry up. Do you want anymore of my delectable hangover cure?" He asks, with maybe too much of a mischievous gleam in his eye for my liking. Draco Malfoy, what is going on.
"Know what, I think I'll be fine." I could at least pretend that I enjoyed it. But it did make me feel better. So kudos in that respect. He laughs and moves towards the seat on the left hand side of the door, arms placed on the rests. Waiting. But I don't want him to be watching me. I'm wearing pyjamas. Is this awkward yet?
You know it is
I hurry from the bed as fast as I can and close the bathroom door behind me.
As they do in the morning hours, strange thoughts run through my mind as I go through the process. Clean my teeth - I wonder what there is for breakfast. Brush out my hair - What does Malfoy have for breakfast. Take off pyjamas - is this weird. Get into the shower - this is definitely weird. Get out of shower - is Malfoy thinking about me in the shower. Dry myself - is it weird that I am thinking about Malfoy thinking about me in the shower.
This is ridiculous. Obviously it's weird. It's weird and strange and I am not sure what to make of this.
The shower has made better work of my face than sleep could have. I now look fresh and rested, rather than sleep-deprived and sickly. Always a pleasant sign. I wrap the towel around my body tighter and secure the one on my head.
Hand rested on the door, I remember... Malfoy. Malfoy is out there. I cannot go out there like this. Not now. Not ever. Not in front of Draco bloody Malfoy.
"Shut your eyes," I shout through the door.
"Why, what have you done?" he answers back immediately.
"I forgot clothes." I can practically feel him laughing, his mirth reverberating around the small room and through the door to me. Where I am standing, feeling like a complete idiot, and utterly not needing his piss-taking. "Shut up and close your eyes until I say open."
"This sounds like a trap, but okay," he replies. I wait a few moments, uncertain whether he would actually agree to something which put him at a total disadvantage. "My eyes are closed. You can come out. I won't look." Again, I pause. But I have to, there's nothing else to do.
The door opens easily with a click and I rush to the wardrobe in which my clothes are set. Underwear, a skirt and a spotted top. Sorted. Good good. My feet pad against the thick carpet and the door shuts behind me. I can breathe. I can breathe. I can breathe. Heart, stop hammering. Thank god I didn't look at him. I might have picked up something slightly more reserved. Like a pair of jeans, long-sleeved shirt and thick coat or cardigan. Something which leaves everything to the imagination.
God, what a thought.
"You're safe," I call through the door, shimmying into my clothes.
"I don't like closing my eyes."
"Me neither," I reply. "Makes you feel vulnerable."
Clean teeth again, brush hair again. I don't need to dry it. Instead, I push it back into a messy bun and exit the bathroom, knowing I can't possibly spend another moment in anticipation. What will people think? Even though there is nothing for anyone to think on.
"How's this?" I ask, the door opened and presenting myself with jazz-hands.
"Beautiful." He says the words without pause. It makes me falter. For one tiny second. "Now let's go," places his hands on his thighs and stands up, turning for the door.
"Beautiful?" I murmur, turning to reach for my shoes by the suitcase at the wardrobe. Taking a moment or several to think on the word. Beautiful. How silly a thought. How very plain I am. The shoes allow me to have this moment or several to ponder what on earth he could have meant. But then how do I know he meant anything at all? I don't. Not clue. Classic. Reading into every thing he might say as some hidden meaning.
"Let's forget I said it and get out of here," comes Draco's voice from a million miles away. "We look suspicious."
"Did you mean it?" Before I can even stop myself. Curse my enquiring mind.
"Of course I meant it. Now, stop fishing and put those damn shoes on." He speaks quickly again, but there is the more familiar - however weird familiarity is with Draco Malfoy - joke in his tone. The inflection in the 'damn'. The quirk of a smile.
"Then why should I forget it," I utter, mostly to myself more than anything. Thinking out loud. If Draco even hears my sentiment, he makes no comment about it and waits while I lace up my trainers and don't look at him. No one has called me beautiful before. Oh how sad, Hermione Granger.
Bitter tone detected.
"You're joking, right?" I look up at him in surprise. Did I say something I hadn't meant to? "Not even Weasel?" Still not getting it, Malfoy... "Not one person ever? No one? Called Hermione Granger beautiful?"
"Shit, did I say that out loud?" He nods and laughs at me. The first response my brain has is hurt. Somewhere in my stomach, sinking down to my toes and causing a slight sting in my eyes. "I don't know why you're laughing. It's not funny. You called me ugly constantly as a teen."
And he doesn't even say a bloody word. Just watches me like he gets off on some pain issued. So all I can do is hurriedly tie my shoes and reach past him to the door handle. But of course he's standing in the bloody-shitting way. Tall and lean, a muscle machine. Malfoy: mastermind of room thirteen. Fucking move you arse.
"Granger, just stop for a moment."
"Jesus! Just let me out!" I cry in desperation, more frustrated than upset but certain I could veer either way.
"Please! Just listen!" he implores, standing right over the door handle and moving as if to take hold of me. I flinch away from him. "Fuck," he says, wiping a hand over his face. "I thought we had already established that I was an arse when I was younger. Just because I had certain opinions then does not mean that I have the same ones now." He pauses, collecting himself while I listen. Waiting for him to mess up. "I may have called you ugly, but again that was spite. Granger, you have always been exceptionally intelligent and as pretty as any girl at Hogwarts. Do not let my past words and the lack of words of that ginger idiot dictate what you think about yourself."
The silence that follows is absolute.
Malfoy has his eyes shut, head pressed against the back of the door. As if waiting for some sort of punishment to follow. For me to demand more of him. For me to tear him apart for some word he said wrongly, or an intonation that was incorrect in some pseudo-maniacal way.
"Are you done?" I ask, quietly. He swallows.
"I just think you deserve someone who calls you beautiful." My brown eyes meet his grey ones and I nod almost imperceptibly. I am not entirely sure how to end this moment of quiet, but thank the lord that Malfoy does. "Now let's move before we miss the breakfast. I am certain there is a pile of bacon with my name on it."
I huff in slight laughter.
We escape the room and begin trudging down the corridors, side by side.
"Do you feel better?" he asks. I smirk at him.
"Yes, thanks to you. Guess it's all balanced out," I answer with a light-hearted tone.
"Since I apparently caused you such pain by being a charming bastard?" One eyebrow raised. Back to normal. Thank God.
"Exactly!" I laugh and we begin the descent down the stairs to the horrors of breakfast.
Malfoy and I chat amicably as we move down the stairs, which seem to take much less time than they did the evening before. I find myself almost resenting this, but I am so very glad that I am able to walk them with a little more grace than before. Without uttering innuendos and stumbling at every step. This is definitely a better state to be in.
Thanks to Blondie.