A/N: Written for the 31 Days of Writing Challenge: October 16, Substance Use.

No beta, just Grammarly, all mistakes are mine. If you loved this (or hated it) let me know about it in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff or Facebook at Shan Crochetaway. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Summary: Thorfinn makes a half-drunk confession to Hermione.

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Thorfinn Rowle

Rating: T

Warnings: N/A

Half-Drunk Confession

"It's bed for you," Hermione said, yanking on Thorfinn's arm. "Up you get."

"Can't tell me what to do," Thorfinn slurred at her, leaning heavily in his chair. His glass of Firewhisky was empty and on its side. "I'm an atuld… adlut… adult. Thasss it, I'm an adult!"

"You are," Hermione agreed, heaving at his arm again, but the big man didn't budge. "But you're a very drunk adult and you'll sleep better in your bed."

"That…" he pointed his finger at her and narrowed his eyes, "is a very good point. Anyone ever tell you you're smart?"

"A time or two," Hermione said, suppressing a grin. "Come on, big guy, help me out here."

"Yeah, alright," he agreed and heaved himself up out of the chair. Hermione slid one arm around his waist as he placed his arm over her shoulder. "Smart, but short, very short," he said, frowning down at her as they both listed sideways a bit before Hermione got them upright.

"I've been told that too," she agreed and tried to get him walking, though his feet didn't budge. "Come on, Rowle. Help me out here."

"Finn, you gotta call me Finn. Told you that before." He slowly started moving, weaving a bit as he did. Hermione tried to guide him to the doorway.

"Right, Finn. Let's go, door's over here."

"Why are you so nice to me?" he asked. Then he leaned heavily into her and for a moment Hermione panicked, thinking he had passed out, but instead she felt him nuzzle the top of her head. "Smell nice."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "Let's get upstairs, shall we?"

"Never told me why you're being so nice," he responded as she guided him into the small corridor that held the toilets and the stairs to the second floor of the pub where there were a few rooms to let.

"Pub's closed, Rowle. And since you're in no shape to Floo, Apparate, or fly home, and you have enough money in your vault to cover the bill, we'll put you up for the night."

"So nice," he repeated, then tightened the arm around her shoulder into a near strangling hug.

"Alright, Rowle, loosen up there," Hermione choked out, pushing his arm away from her throat.

"Upstairs, eh Granger?" he said as they began climbing the steps.

"Yes, to put you to bed," she reminded him. They paused for a moment when he tilted precariously backward. She yanked him upright and almost fell forward under all his weight.

"You coming with me, though, right?" he asked. "To bed? I don't want to get lonely."

Hermione chuckled. "Sure." At that point, she would say anything if it meant getting him off to bed and her off the clock. Her own bed was calling her name, she had pulled a double shift as one of the other bartenders had quit last week.

"Gonna hold you to that," he slurred heavier and Hermione sped up their pace. If Rowle passed out, there was no way she was going to be able to get him into a room. He had to weigh at least twice what she did.

Finally, they were at the top of the stairs. None of the rooms were let for the night, so it was easy to maneuever Rowle into the closest one. He began snoring almost the moment he was on the bed. She turned off the lamp that had lit up upon their entry and shut and locked the door with a sigh. At least someone would be in to open the pub in the morning. And she trudged up the next set of stairs to the small flat she kept on the third floor.

The next morning, Hermione was enjoying a cup of tea when a knock sounded on her flat door. She frowned. It was too early for the morning barkeep to be in. And other than Rowle, nobody else should even be in the building. She opened the door to find a Rowle looking entirely too chipper for how early it was and how much he had drank the night before.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"You broke your word," Rowle said, he was frowning, but Hermione could hear the grin behind the words.

"About what?" She shook her head, she had no clue what he was talking about.

"You promised you were going to share my bed," he reminded her.

"I didn't promise. You asked and I said 'sure' which honestly could mean about anything. Mostly, I just wanted to get you upstairs and in bed so that I could go to bed."

"There was a perfectly good bed downstairs."

Hermione shook her head. "Why are we having this conversation? You were pissed out of your gourd."

"In vino veritas," he said with a wink. "Perhaps being pissed out of my gourd is the only way I can muster up the courage to talk to you."

"If that's true, then what is your excuse for right now?"

"It's only been five hours or so, I'm still feeling a mite drunk," he admitted with a shrug. "Go out with me? There's a great breakfast place around the corner."

Hermione was about to turn him down. It seemed like a terrible idea, but he got the best puppy dog look on his face and said, "Please? I'll make up for having you to carry me to bed last night."

"Oh, alright," she agreed. She was rather hungry. Rowle's face lit up like Christmas had come early. He wasn't really her type, but if he was that excited to eat breakfast with her, what could it hurt?

~Fin~