Harry was forgiven as he prioritised Hermione over Ron in the days leading up to the Christmas break, and she was grateful to have her best friend back as Ron took to bullying her again. Seeing his extremely public relationship with Lavender and putting up with his unkindness was putting her off her food, but at least Harry and Ginny thought Ron was being a right asshole.
Coursework decreased in quantity as the holidays approached, which gave Hermione plenty of time to doll herself up and charm McLaggen into attending Slughorn's Christmas do with her. Ron wasn't attending, of course, but it was very satisfying to let him know and lead his gossipy girlfriend to discuss all of McLaggen's wonderful qualities in front of him.
However, by the time the party actually arrived Hermione was thoroughly paying her karma for her act of vengeance. McLaggen was extremely forward and obnoxious, and Harry scolded her like he was a disappointed parent when she ran into him. Hermione decided she would have a better chance of avoiding her date if she hid outside – preferably near the alcohol crates.
It was much cooler and quieter in the corridor by the kitchen entrance, and infinitely more relaxing with two glasses of champagne instead of an invasive date for company. Hermione cast a reflection spell and sharply inhaled with displeasure as she examined her destroyed updo. In an attempt to be romantic, possibly, McLaggen had run his hands through her hair, ruining hours of straightening and careful pinning into a fancy, snobbish bun. Sighing, Hermione let her hair out and re-tied it into a simpler ponytail. "What an asshole," she muttered to herself, and jumped when someone responded.
"Did Slughorn kick you into the mudblood section of the party?" Malfoy's voice asked from the end of the corridor, and Hermione groaned and grabbed her wand, turning her head to look at him. He walked over to her and looked at the bottle crates. "At least it's well-catered."
His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed to be in a more agreeable mood than when she walked into his study session. In the spirit of the holiday and the spirit of not wanting to deal with any more obnoxious guys, Hermione extended a ceasefire. "Can we not do this right now?" She waved at the crates. "Here, a peace offering. I'll even share my segregated alcohol with you."
He stared at her for a second and then strode over to the stack of crates. "I guess Slughorn-tier wine is sufficient," he declared, and grabbed a bottle, aiming the cork at the wall.
"How do you make any friends with that insufferable attitude," Hermione wondered aloud, heart thudding in her chest as she tried to evaluate the dangerousness of the situation. Malfoy slid down the wall to sit beside her, chugging in a very Gryffindor manner from his war spoils. "No glass? What would Narcissa say."
"Don't think there's a protocol for drinking with the swine," Malfoy remarked as he paused and caught his breath.
"I forgot, your sense of manners is actually incredibly rude," Hermione replied, watching with disdain as he continued to down his champagne as fast as possible. He set his bottle down and looked at her, eyes still strangely red. Hermione suddenly wondered if he was ill – Malfoy looked like all the life had been sucked out of him, sweat shining on his gaunt face.
"Well, I was at least polite enough not to ask why you left the party to drown your sorrows. Only ugly girls do that," he informed her, and she rolled her eyes so hard she accidentally hit her head against the stone wall.
"Ow. For your information, I'm out here hiding from someone who never learnt to keep his hands to himself, so not that ugly, thank you," Hermione replied, the effect of her retort somewhat ruined by her slurring and the knocking of her head.
Malfoy frowned. "That's hypocritical considering your propensity to start fights, isn't it?"
"At least I don't start fights by trying to sexually assault someone," Hermione said, swirling the last of her drink around in her glass. To her surprise, he poured the last of his bottle into her glass, and got up to get another. "Oh, thank you," she said, taken off guard.
"Does he only have wine?" Malfoy asked, searching around for something stronger.
"I'm not sure. What's your regular poison?" Hermione asked, and he returned with another open bottle with which he refilled her second glass.
"Whiskey."
"Mm. I'm a gin girl myself," she replied. "But, you know…in Gryffindor you get used to drinking anything."
"I think that's standard for all the houses," Malfoy said. "Why didn't you hex him?"
"What?"
"Your unwanted suitor."
"Oh. Well, uh…it's complicated," Hermione finished lamely, and Malfoy snorted at her weak excuse. "I actually did once, though," she remembered, and she jumped as Malfoy threw his head back and laughed; obviously the wine had gone straight to his head.
"Did you try and strangle him too?" he asked.
"No. Confundus charm."
"Is that how you convinced him to go out with you?" Malfoy asked drily.
"No. I think it's more like this date is punishment for my bad deed," Hermione said, ignoring his insult.
"So you ran away from it," Malfoy said, staring into his second bottle of champagne.
"Not very brave, I know," she replied, sipping from her glass and keeping an eye on how much Malfoy had drunk from his second bottle. A silence fell between them which gave Hermione the time to reflect on how deeply unsettling this conversation was. She had never spoken to Malfoy this long, or this civilly, before. A thought suddenly occurred to her as to why he might be so amicable, and the concern tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it.
"Has someone hexed you or something?" Hermione asked. "You don't look very well."
Malfoy responded by conjuring up a bucket and beginning to throw up.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, you did drink two bottles of wine in five minutes," she said, and gingerly patted him on the back.
But Hermione returned to her initial evaluation after he finally finishing vomiting and started to violently shake.
"Malfoy? Hey – did someone hex you?" Hermione shifted to crouch in front of him, trying to pry his arms out of the way of his head and chest so she could see his face.
Immediately there was a loud bang, and Hermione found herself thrown several metres away, knocked onto her back and unable to breathe. It took a couple of seconds in her alcohol haze to feel the pain, and then to realise what had happened. Infuriated, she rolled onto her side and aimed her wand at Malfoy, but he aimed a curse at her before she could cast anything. A white line of fire struck the top of her head and snaked down her back – in her drunkenness and shock she could only notice the smell of burning hair, rather than any pain.
Still winded, she aimed a stunning spell at him and heard the thud as his immobilised body fell over. Staggering to her feet, Hermione walked over to him, ready to treat him to a broken nose the way he had hurt Harry earlier in the year. Her anger evaporated, however, when she looked into his frozen eyes and realised he had been overcome by a panic attack.
"Oh – hang on," Hermione said, grabbing his wand before starting a familiar ritual. 'Airway, relax, release,' she recalled, casting the charms to open up Malfoy's throat, dampen the racing anxiety, and release his body from her magical bind. "It's ok. You can breathe now, try breathing. Here, lean against the wall, it'll help your lungs open up." She gave him a false, encouraging smile, an idea occurring to her. "Hey, I know a charm you might like – expect patronum!' An otter burst from her wand and rolled about in front of him, the happiness slowly invading their personal space.
Hermione sat beside Malfoy, careful not to touch him while his shaking subsided. He stared at her patronus, although from the look on his face Hermione was pretty sure his mood had gone from terrified to totally blank. She had never tried her Harry-is-freaking-out routine with alcohol before – it was possible her spell work was heavy-handed, or it was affecting Malfoy more because he was piss-drunk. Perhaps this was for the best, though – he had attacked her, and he'd likely be much angrier when he came back to his senses. It was time to end this ill-advised drinking session, she decided.
"Come on, then," Hermione said, standing up. She turned to look down the corridor to check no one else was there, and winced when the burn down her scalp and shoulder blade hurt as she moved her head. Malfoy was so still he seemed catatonic, and Hermione cautiously and slowly reached out to tug at his wrist. "Come on," she repeated, and Malfoy finally got to his feet.
He was barely awake and she still had his wand, so Hermione felt reasonably safe leading the way to the Slytherin dungeon. The castle was freezing and empty, and Hermione felt more and more apprehensive as the cold sobered her up. She felt too awkward to turn to look at him until they reached the wall barring the entrance to the Slytherin common room, but when she finally did there was no trace of discomfort or anger on Malfoy's face. 'I don't think I've ever seen anyone so miserable,' Hermione thought. He looked like a dead man who had been unwillingly necromanced back to life.
Hermione pulled out both their wands and returned his. "Here," she said, holding onto her wand in case he became hostile. "Go to bed."
Malfoy didn't say anything or even look at her, and she used the prefect override to open the entrance to the common room. She backed away towards the staircase and watched him eventually walk inside, the bricks sealing up after him.
Hermione headed back to Gryffindor tower and went to bed herself, but the persistent thought of 'what the fuck' rolled around in her head for a long time before she fell asleep.