Prompt, Sentence Starter: Frantic knocking jarred Hermione awake and a prickly sort of horror crept over her skin as she realized three things: she was incredibly hungover, she had been drinking with Malfoy the night before, and she was, somehow, miraculously, alone in her own bed.
Frantic knocking jarred Hermione awake and a prickly sort of horror crept over her skin as she realized three things: she was incredibly hungover, she had been drinking with Malfoy the night before, and she was, somehow, miraculously, alone in her own bed.
Of course, she was vividly reminded of a few other key details, like the feel of his fingers skimming across the nape of her neck while she backed them toward a wall. Or the way his knee wedged between her thighs as he flipped them around, and pinned her to the stairwell.
Or—
"Fuck!" Hermione gasped, clutching the sheets to her chest.
Skeeter had come across them, floating quill, and a charmed camera in tow.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
There was the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway, and Hermione glanced up. Malfoy stood there, his features appearing more pinched than normal, and a newspaper was crumpled in his hand. "I originally planned on giving you some space." He murmured. "Unfortunately, we're on the front page of the Daily Prophet." He unfolded it, and Hermione could see the exact moment she said they ought to take themselves elsewhere.
"Oh, Merlin." Hermione let her face fall into her hands. "I'm so sorry."
He nodded stiffly. "Right, I shouldn't have—"
Hermione peeked at him. "Where are you going?"
Malfoy froze, tossing a look over his shoulder. "As confident as I am, I'm not going to stick around when a witch rejects me, Granger."
A frown curved her lips. "Who said anything about rejecting you?"
Silence.
"Oh, oh." Hermione threw the covers off of her, aware that she was only in a long shirt—which come to think of it, she didn't think it was hers—and padded toward him. "I meant I was sorry for the unwanted attention, not that we…"
"Snogged."
"I think that make be putting it mildly."
He snorted, and glanced around her room. "Would you like to have breakfast with me?" Malfoy asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.
She grinned. "Let me get dressed. Unless…" Hermione peeked up at him coyly through her lashes. "How do you feel about breakfast in bed?"
Eyes darkened as they narrowed, and Hermione squealed as her back met the mattress, his lips finding hers.