Dragging Hermione Granger back to Hogwarts was a challenging task. She chattered and laughed and stumbled and staggered all the way down the High Street, making no effort to quiet herself as they passed the more popular stops like Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks, both of which were bustling with villagers and students alike. Luckily, only a group of fourth-year girls seemed to notice the two of them walking together, and they all were too preoccupied to care as they dreamily recapped their visit to Hogsmeade's most romantic haunt, Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.
"Madam P-Puddifoot's!" Granger hiccuped as soon as the girls passed. "I can't believe people still go there."
"Frankly, Puddifoot could stay in business on Slytherin Sickles alone," Draco admitted, keenly watching her as she swayed ahead of him. "Girls of a particular background practically beg to be taken there."
"That's sort of—" She hiccuped again. "—pathetic."
"I suppose."
"So girls have begged you then?"
"I took Pansy a few times in our fourth and fifth year." Scandalized by his recollections of the place, he added, "She seemed to enjoy herself."
"But how? It's like paying to be stuck in Trelawney's room on a weekend."
Draco replied with a snort. His mother might have screamed if she heard such a sound come from his nose.
The short walk continued, though it was taking longer than it should have taken, as Granger kept darting this way and that, complaining of litter and collecting rubbish from the cobblestone street. She stuffed it all into her purse and it occurred to Draco that she might have forgotten she could make it all vanish rather than carry it around with her. He decided not to say anything, though, as her wand would likely be turned on him if he mentioned her Muggle heritage and one of their many inefficiencies.
Then suddenly, she came to a halt. She helplessly stared at Draco with bulging eyes, and after a brief second of wobbling to and fro, she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the ground.
"Merlin, Granger."
Draco took it upon himself to charm away the rogue chunks that had stuck to her curls. She murmured a small "thank you" and leaned against him for the walk up the hill.
They would have, Draco realized, looked rather cozy to anyone that happened to be walking behind them. Granger might have hated that, but she was too drunk to be making such distinctions in that moment, so he steadied her to the crest of the hill and back down it again.
"I feel dreadful," she grumbled, putting much more of her weight on him than he thought she needed to.
"Yes, well, you drank quite a lot."
"I want to go to bed."
As they came upon the edge of the Great Lake, Draco maneuvered around Granger so she was not standing so close to it. In her state, she was far too likely to stumble into its frigid waters, and rumor had it that the giant squid was less forgiving around winter.
"Malfoy, you're being such a—" She hiccuped and burped, nearly at the same time. "Excuse me!"
Draco wondered what she was going to say, but decided against asking, as she probably did not remember. Instead, he continued leading her towards the gatehouse just ahead, where he saw a silhouette standing alone.
As they drew nearer, he recognized it to be Pansy. Her shrill voice pierced his ears.
"Is she drunk?"
Granger had chosen the worst time possible to fall onto the ground. She pawed at Draco's hand for some help back up, and as he heaved her, he offered Pansy a stern gaze.
"You can't tell anyone, Pansy."
"And what exactly am I not telling anyone?" she asked, lifting a dark brow.
Draco knew what she was trying to do, but it would not work—not when he knew what he knew. "Well Pansy, unless you want me to tell everyone about you and Theodore Nott, I imagine you won't tell anyone anything."
She blanched. "He told you!"
"He didn't have to," Draco snapped, patting Granger on the back as she vomited again. "I saw you two at the Three Broomsticks. Rather public place to be meeting someone you meant to keep private."
"At least I didn't come back to the grounds with him."
Granger wiped her mouth with her sleeve and groaned.
"But you felt guilty enough to wait around here at the gates for a while. What're you waiting for? Too embarrassed to face your little boyfriend?"
"It's none of your business, Draco," Pansy said through gritted teeth. "If you say a word, I swear I'll make you regret it."
Granger was starting to wander ahead again, and based on the amount of stumbling she was doing, she required assistance.
"Then we have an understanding." He started after the Gryffindor girl for what felt like the hundredth time that evening and without looking back, he shouted, "Get back to the castle safely, yeah?"
"Yeah," Pansy grumbled, nearly inaudible as he created more and more distance between them. "Thanks."
As Draco caught up with Granger, he noticed the prying eyes of the student body. Some were clueless first-years, but there was a blonde girl that he recognized as a Gryffindor prefect, and it was her that was shaking her head in disapproval.
"Can you handle yourself once we get to the castle?" he asked, his voice low.
"Erm...yeah, probably," Granger mumbled, rubbing her temples. "Why is everyone—" She hiccuped. "—looking at me? Do I—do I seem that drunk?"
Draco glared at the first-years, who paled and scattered. "Well, Granger, I don't think you being drunk is the problem."
The castle loomed overhead, and as he ignored the judgmental watch of Professor Zigg, Draco accompanied Granger into the building. He was still a little tipsy, but he was steady, unlike her.
"Do you need help to get up to Gryffindor Tower?"
She shook her head. "I'm not—oh God." She held a hand to her mouth as though she were going to vomit again. After a long moment, the spell seemed to be over. "Sorry. Erm—yeah, I wasn't going to the common room. I need to go to my—" She made a face and swallowed. "—dormitory."
"Is your dormitory not attached to the common room?"
"No, it's—ahem—it's behind a portrait... He's sort of r-rude..."
"A portrait," Draco repeated. "If you haven't noticed, Granger, there are lots of portraits here."
She ignored him and started down the corridor. With a heavy sigh, he followed her, quite aware that she would get in a lot of trouble if she were caught as inebriated as she was, and he did not want his name to come up if that happened. Though he would not admit it, he was also a bit worried.
Following Granger around the castle was even worse than being seen with her on the grounds. Passersby pointed and whispered, professors narrowed their eyes, and a prefect even asked him what he was doing. By the time he convinced the Ravenclaw girl that he was not up to anything suspicious, Granger was long gone.
He plodded down the halls in search of her, nervous that she might have brought too much attention to herself and landed in McGonagall's office. Only when he heard her arguing with a Frenchman did he find her.
"...absolutely is the password!"
"It would be if you weren't slurring it like some sort of cheap alley witch from Rue Coupe-Feu!"
"Granger," Draco hissed, storming towards her. "Keep your voice down. You're going to get us both in trouble."
"Your friend has some sense. I would listen to him if I were you," the rude French portrait said.
"But I need in my room," she whined. "Brioche, brioche, brioche!"
"Fine then," the Frenchman sighed, "but I am quite tempted to report this to one of my good friends in the headmistress's office. You might have heard of her? A Miss Eupraxia Mole?"
The portrait swung open and Draco watched as Granger stumbled inside. Apparently, the rumors had been true when people claimed the girl that been given a private dormitory.
"She did not invite you in." The portrait snapped shut.
"Who said I wanted to be invited in?" Draco spat, and with that, he started the trek to the dungeons.
The next morning, Draco crossed the Slytherin Common Room much less conspicuously than he would usually dare. As they often were on weekends, Pansy, Evan Siftwell, the Greengrass sisters, and two younger girls were gossiping by the crackling fireplace, blankets wrapped around all but Siftwell. Pansy's head was lain in the Quidditch player's lap, which had to bother Astoria Greengrass, as Pansy was taking up much more space than necessary and the poor youngest Greengrass had been sequestered to the floor.
Draco took the final step down from the boys' dormitory, and right then, every pair of eyes landed on him except Pansy's.
"Getting a bit brave, I see."
Too tired to take Siftwell seriously, Draco drawled, "If your definition of bravery is rolling out of bed at well past nine, I suppose I've made the cut. Maybe I should ask McGonagall for some sort of medal."
Siftwell did not seem to like that answer, because he stood up from his place on the sofa, nearly knocking Pansy to the floor, and stomped towards Draco with a balled fist.
"You know what I meant!" he growled, nostrils flaring like those of a dragon. "I warned you, Malfoy. Slytherin wants nothing to do with you, and yet here you are, making an arse of our entire house, gallivanting around with Potter's little Mudblood. And now you dare come down those stairs with that smug look on your face and expect me to stand by and let you?"
Draco wondered if Pansy had told him about the previous evening. He assumed that she didn't.
"I'm not smug about anything," he finally decided to say, though the words felt unnatural rolling off his tongue.
Looking him up and down, Siftwell sniffed, "That's what I thought."
Draco swallowed his pride and brushed past the younger wizard. Whatever hunger he was feeling had wholly disappeared, but the Great Hall seemed like a safer option than being alone with any other Slytherins, especially Evan Siftwell and his group of simpering cronies.
Judgment emanated from everyone that passed him in the corridors. It did not seem that unusual, but he suspected rumors had traveled fast—or that the Daily Prophet had made its rounds. Granger tended to end up on the front page, and he figured he would be joining her.
When he finally reached his destination, he ignored the snarky comments from his fellow house members, as he was too surprised to see Granger that he could think of little else. Over the hunched backs of two Ravenclaws, he watched her as she sat quietly by herself, chewing on a sensible breakfast of jam on toast.
It was apparent that she had not yet recovered from the previous evening, as there were dark circles beneath her eyes that he could see even from his lonely place at the Slytherin table. Then, there was her hair. It was, impossibly, messier than it had been when he walked her to the uninviting entrance of her private dormitory.
In between bites, she waggled her fingers at him, and judging by the expectant stare she offered, he assumed she wanted him to wave back to her.
He didn't.
Instead, he downed a goblet of water and sat in silence, wondering how on earth he was supposed to act when he met with her that afternoon.