AN: This chapter's short, but hopefully it can tide you over until the next installment!
Hermione unsteadily uncorked her bottle of elf-wine.
"Damn it! The bottle's empty."
"Good, it tastes like piss anyhow," Malfoy muttered. "Reach under my cabinet and pull out the brandy - there's a good girl."
"Good girl? I'm not a dog, Malfoy," she replied tartly. "There's no brandy left, either, just a full bottle of... Creme de Violette. It's so pink... and creamy. How precious, Draco! Do you have a bottle of Shirley Temple mix hidden in your cupboards, too?"
"Oh, shut up, Granger, my mother bought it for me." He sighed deeply. "It'll have to do, the shops are all closed in Hogsmeade by now. Blaise, bring out a few glasses, will you? I'm a bit wobbly on my feet right now."
"That's because you're a drunk, Malfoy. Totally unseemly behaviour for Hogwarts' future Potions professor," Hermione bellowed.
"I'm not going to take over for Slughorn. People like me, who are set to inherit vast sums of galleons, don't generally plan on working. McGonagall can find someone else to pay a pittance and treat like shite. I will be drinking pricey brandy and smoking even pricier cigars in my manor house and ignoring the plight of the unwashed masses."
Blaise stood up. A nauseated expression ghosted his pretty features, and he dove for the lavatory. The horrible sound of retching followed a moment later.
"Blaise has drank too much," Hermione said, plunking herself down next to Malfoy on the sofa.
"Your powers of observation astound me," he said.
"Just as your ability to be an arse whether drunk or sober astounds me."
"What can I say, Granger? It's a gift."
"Is that your gift? I thought your gift was - in your words - your god-like shagging ability."
Malfoy felt his cheeks grow warm, and he struggled for a response. Luckily, Blaise saved him by staggering out of the lavatory.
"I'm out. No more for me, my friends, my good, good friends. Sorry, Drakey, you'll have to fetch your own glass to drink your poncy violet liquor."
"Waste of dishwashing anyhow, we'll drink from the bottle," Hermione reassured him. "Do you want me to walk him home, Malfoy?"
"Walk me home? I'm not a dog either, Granger," Blaise muttered. "It's just down the corridor anyhow. I've got plenty of sober-up potion."
"I brewed it," Malfoy whispered into Hermione's ear. "So it'll work like a charm."
"Malfoy, successfully brewing a fourth year potion is nothing to brag about," Hermione replied.
Malfoy scowled. "You look like a sexy twentysomething, and yet you sound like McGonagall..." He paused. "I think you need to drink more, Granger."
Blaise covered his ears. "Ugh, too much talking. I'm leaving."
The door shut behind him with a bang. Malfoy unscrewed the bottle of Creme de Violette and took a sniff.
"God, that's awful. It reminds me of Weaselette's rubbishy perfume."
Hermione took a swig. "Actually, I quite like it. Your mother and I agree on one thing."
Draco frowned at the mention of his mother.
"Ugh, my mother's invite. I'd completely forgotten about it. She'll be waiting for a response."
"I don't particularly want to go to Malfoy Manor." She bit her lip worriedly. "No offense. I don't exactly have great memories of your home."
When Hermione put it that way, Malfoy wondered how his mother could be so stupid. Invite his girlfriend into the house where she'd been tortured? Have tea and crumpets right over where she'd been imprisoned? Pass by portraits who would undoubtedly screech racist epithets as she walked past?
It was, in thinking on it, the height of obliviousness. He jumped to his feet and began to scrabble through his desk drawers.
"Fuck, I'm all out of quill ink," he muttered.
"I left a few biros in the upper drawer when I was marking essays here last week," she said, "use one of those."
He smiled at the idea. Using muggle featherless quills to write a note to his mother? A note to turn down her invite for tea with all of her stuffy, well-bred friends? It was too perfect.
He pulled out a sheet of creamy parchment, fisted the biro, and scrawled out a response.
"Granger, come and look at this. Give your approval before I owl it off to her."
DEAR MOTHER
GRANGER AND I ARE VERY BUSY THIS WEEKEND AND WILL NOT BE COMING FOR TEA
YOUR SON DRACO
"Why did you write it all in capitals?" Hermione asked. "And wouldn't it have looked better with punctuation?"
"I don't know. I'm drunk, Granger. It's an accomplishment that I managed to spell my own name properly," he replied. "Besides, who cares? I'm not escorting you to the manor so my mother can interrogate you over petits fours. It's ridiculous. It's offensive."
She nodded slowly and glanced again at the note. "Well, thanks, Malfoy. Owl it off."
He rang a bell for his pure-white owl and tucked the note against its leg.
"Bring that to my mother," he told it. "The faster, the better."
The two of them settled onto the sofa in comfortable silence, passing the bottle between them.
"So what if she asks what we're doing?"
"Hmm?" Draco asked.
"What if your mother asks why we're too busy for tea?"
"Ah... we're going Christmas shopping. I was planning to floo to London this weekend anyhow." He yawned widely. "That's convincing, right?"
"Ugh, only a week left. I'd forgotten." She sighed.
"We'll get it done in a few hours. Just buy expensive wine, chocolate or jewellery for everyone."
Hermione yawned and sank deeper into the sofa cushions. "Not all of us have the money for those kind of beautiful, impersonal gifts, Draco. I suppose Blaise and I will hit up the cheaper shops while you throw galleons around the boutiques like tuppence."
He made a vaguely affirmative noise, but before she mentioned it, he had no intention of bringing Blaise along. Not that he would tell her that, of course.
A few minutes later, he could tell that she was falling asleep when she shifted. Her head slid toward the crook of his elbow; and although it uncomfortably weighted down his arm, he couldn't bring himself to push her off.
"Malfoy?" Her voice was muffled with sleep.
"Yeah, Granger?"
"Do you really think I'm a sexy twentysomething?"
He grinned and fought off the urge to brush her hair from her face. "Of course. A Malfoy wouldn't be caught dating just some average looking bint."
She smiled and he could feel her chest shake with sleepy laughter. "Silly."
Her breathing evened out, and her weight completely fell onto his shoulder. After a few minutes' spent watching her peaceful expression, his arm began to fall asleep. As delicately as he could, he slipped her off his shoulder and eased her until she lay flat on his sofa.
"Sweet dreams," he murmured.
She smiled in her sleep. After draping a blanket across her, he doused the lights with a quick Nox, and retreated to his own bed.
xxx