Draco's head crackled with pain at the knocking sound. After a moment, he realized it wasn't a dream, but the front door. He blinked - he'd kicked off his shoes and peeled off his outer-robe in the middle of the night, but other than that, was still fully clothed. His back ached - what had possessed him to be chivalrous and give up his own bed? Why hadn't he just been a total arse to Granger, as she deserved?
The pounding continued. He rolled off the chaise, staggered over, and swung the door open.
Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber stood on the doorstep. Pansy stood behind them, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed. "Where's Hermione?"
"I already told you she's here," Pansy spoke up. "I told you thirty seconds ago. Do you have the memory of a goldfish, Weasley? I mean, you even checked on that childish little map of Potter's. You clearly saw that she's in Draco's room."
"Let us in to see her! What have you done to her?" Weasley took a step forward, as if trying to intimidate Draco.
"What I've done with her is none of your business," Draco replied tiredly.
Fuck off, he wanted to tell them, but for the sake of civility with Hermione, he didn't.
"Now, Draco, surely you didn't do anything rash after our conversation about shagging Mudbloods..." Pansy spoke up.
Draco cringed inwardly - Pansy was never one to pass up an opportunity to bait her enemies and she looked positively joyful at Ron Weasley's enraged expression. That was rich - Weasley's indignation about Granger's honour when he was positively the biggest whore in the Auror office.
"You better not have done anything to her..." Ron exclaimed. "Or I'll..."
"You'll what? You were so distracted by the possibility of getting a shag last night that you blew Hermione off."
"Wait, what?" Potter finally spoke up. "What did you say to her, Ron? I thought you said she had raging PMS and stormed off."
Pansy giggled. "Not quite. Seems she wasn't too pleased at being told to wait around while Weasel tried to get into some underage Gryffindor knickers."
"Oh, Ron," Harry groaned. "Do you ever think with your other head? Shite. I told you to tell her to wait an hour so Ginny could join us. It wasn't meant to be an opportunity for you to find a date."
"Draco?" Hermione's plaintive voice trickled through the doorway.
He found himself inexplicably drawn to her, and inexplicably eager to get away from the pointless bickering between Pansy and Granger's two pals. Both Ron and Harry reddened at the sound of their friend's sleepy voice calling out his name.
For some reason, he didn't relish their anger.
"Good-bye, Potter, Weasley," he said. "Pansy, I'll stop by your guest suite later and we'll get lunch."
"I'll be ready and waiting." Pansy looked pointedly at Ron. "I'm dying to hear about your night after you carried Granger off."
Ron spluttered again, but Draco simply shut the door.
"I'm going to wait until you leave, Malfoy!" Ron shouted as the door clicked shut.
Hermione yawned and blinked. She could hear muffled voices through a closed doorway - Ron, Harry, Draco, Pansy...
Pansy. Shite. Her last clear memory was of sitting in Blaise's sitting room next to Pansy Parkinson and Draco, and gulping back an offensively strong vodka soda. After that, her memories were a blur - she vaguely remembered drinking shots and drumming on a table with her wand, but other than that, everything seemed so fuzzy...
And that was when she realized she was definitely not in her own room. It was far too dark; it smelled like cedar; and the sheets were soft and silky. Her heartbeat quickened. She flipped her wand out from her waistband.
"Lumos!"
She inspected her surroundings. She lay on a double bed with brown satin sheets; the walls were heavy stone blocks; on a night stand next to the bed lay a copy of Potions Monthly and a booklet entitled Member's Newsletter: Conservative Party of Wizarding Britain.
Malfoy. What was she doing in Malfoy's room? In Draco Malfoy's bed?
Oh, God. She'd never do something that foolish. She would never, could never think of Malfoy that way... could she? Had vodka washed away all of her common sense? Was she now - Christ, how embarrassing - Draco Malfoy's latest one night stand?
It was at that point the door squeaked open, flooding the room with light.
"I thought I heard you moving around."
"Ah... Draco..." She stumbled over her words. "What happened - that is - I mean, I'm in your bed..."
"We shagged like mad rabbits. Surely you remember the throes of passion, Granger? You told me I was the best you ever had. In fact, the best lay in Britain, if not the world."
Her initial shock melted into irritation. "Oh, do shut up, Malfoy. I had to ask. You, after all, are prone to shagging anything you can get your hands on."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I think it would take a lot more than alcohol to get us to that point, hmm?" He sighed, and a worried frown flitted across his delicate features.
"You're certain nothing happened?" Hermione asked. "You look rather worried."
He glared. "Of course I'm sure. I'm the one who only had two drinks, remember? May I point out that both of us are fully clothed?"
"That doesn't explain why I'm in your bed."
"Because you got drank a half-bottle of vodka, passed out, and I couldn't take you back to your own rooms because Weasley was outside your door caterwauling like a dying ginger tom."
"Oh." She swallowed, feeling her face redden.
"Besides, if you and me had shagged, I would've tossed you out." He examined himself briefly in a nearby mirror. "I never let the girls stay overnight. They might get... ideas. Romance. Weddings. Gold-digging. That sort of thing."
"Ugh, Malfoy. You're such a pig."
Her stomach let out a noisy growl and she groaned, feeling a sudden wave of nausea. Draco rolled his eyes and opened up a nearby dresser. Over his shoulder, Hermione could see a phial of hangover cure, a spare toothbrush, and a bubbly pink bottle she immediately recognized as contraceptive. Her face warmed, and she felt a flicker of annoyance at his one-night-stand supplies.
"Here." He tossed the hangover cure her way. "Don't vomit on my bedsheets. They're Egyptian cotton, and neither of us can afford to replace them."
"That's what I like about you, Draco, you're so kind."
He crooked an eyebrow. "You have no clue how you behaved last night, do you?"
She looked down at her own lap and when she spoke, her voice sounded small. "Go on. I know you're dying to embarrass me."
"You tried to start a fistfight with Pansy and you told us Weasley had a small prick," Draco lied.
"Well, I haven't got much sympathy for Pansy. She probably deserved it... but oh no, I can't believe that I said that about Ron. You better not make fun of him for it. I'm never drinking again..."
"Christ, calm down, Granger, I'm just taking the piss. You didn't start a fistfight or say anything about Weasley's manhood. Though I'll file small-dick Weasley aside for later." He leaned against the wall and watched her as he spoke. "You weren't that bad. You had a shots drinking competition with Blaise, attempted to sing some second rate Muggle pop music, swore excessively, and told me you wanted to become a Quidditch WAG. Oh, and you said you hated Aurors, as well - understandable, I suppose, given your history with small dick Weasley..."
"Oh, piss off." She threw a pillow at him, but he caught it.
"Temper, Granger." He gestured to a door in the corner. "I'm going to shower. You might want to answer the door. Weasley said he'd be waiting there until you came out, and I don't really want to talk to him on my way to breakfast."
With that, he stalked out.
Malfoy, unsurprisingly, had mirrors in both his bedroom and has sitting room. On her way to the front door, Hermione happened to glance at her reflection in one of them - and realized she looked utterly disheveled. Her hair stuck out in every direction. Smeared mascara ringed her eyes. Wrinkles marred her cotton dress.
Ron would take it as concrete proof that she'd slept with Malfoy.
Her wand neatly ironed out the creases and removed all traces of mascara, but the hair - as always - resisted. Twenty minutes and ten spells later, it still looked like a brown pom-pon. In frustration, she finally took to smoothing it down with her hands.
It was at that moment that Draco's bathroom door swung open and he walked out.
Shirtless.
A towel wrapped around his waist.
Water dripping over his flat, pale stomach.
Who knew he was hiding that under his robes?
Hermione gasped. Draco jumped.
"What the fuck are you still doing here?" he squawked.
"I... erm..." Her face burned. "I was trying to fix my hair before I went out."
He stared at her a moment. His mouth twisted into a smirk.
"Granger, that could take hours." He gestured to the door. "It's also a rather convenient excuse to spend half the day in front of my mirror rather than dealing with your little boyfriend. I don't care if you look like you've been attacked by a flock of seagulls, get rid of Weasley now before he really begins to irritate me."
"I need to get rid of him right now? Okay, Draco."
She shrugged, and swung the door open.
"Granger, give me some warning!" he hissed as he fled into his bedroom.
Serves you right, arsehole, for being such a demanding prick... and for making fun of my hair.
It was only after she opened the door that she realized putting a half-naked Malfoy on display would probably incense Ron even further.
As it turned out, Ron was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Harry stood at the open door, watching Malfoy's retreating backside with a tightly-controlled expression.
"Ron left." His voice sounded clipped. "Which, I suppose, is for the best, considering Malfoy's current state."
"Ah..." Hermione replied awkwardly. "It's not what it looks like. Malfoy was just having a shower, and walked out while I was in his sitting room..."
"How coincidental," Harry muttered. "And after giving you liquor and bringing you to his bedroom. Be careful around him, Hermione."
"Oh, good grief. We're just friends." She smiled, but her traitorous mind kept thinking back to earlier in the morning, when she'd seriously worried that she'd slept with Malfoy; when she'd seen his smooth, water-slicked body step out of the shower.
Harry touched her arm. "Make sure it stays that way."
"Harry, don't be silly. Ron and I... we're meant to be together. It's always been that way, right? And you know I could never think of Malfoy in... that way."
I could never think of Malfoy that way, she told herself mentally. Never.
Harry scrutinized her face as they walked toward her apartment. "We haven't spent enough time together lately, Hermione. Let's go for breakfast together in Hogsmeade."
She nodded and tried to focus on Harry's conversation. But try as she might, her mind's eye kept returning to Draco's slender figure, wrapped in a towel, his thin lips smirking at her.
But most worrying was that, when she tried to replace Malfoy's slender figure with images of Ron, her mind steadfastly refused to comply.
AN: Sorry for the delay, I'm a victim of the infamous Type 2 Error and it took me a week to find the workaround. I hope, however, that I haven't lost you all with the delay! I've got a few future chapters written, but I let them sit for a few weeks before proofreading/editing, so expect new chapters very soon...