Tuesday
12:00 AM
(Hermione Granger's P.O.V)
The girl stared at the sky.
She stared at the inky depths as if held the answer to her problems. For somebody used to always having solutions, this ignorance was picking at her, cutting at her, eating her up from the inside as she searched furiously every day for a reason.
She'd gone on a date tonight. Yes, Hermione Granger was quite the serial dater. Not out of like for the lifestyle, but out of desperation. Padma and Ginny, who shared a friendly hatred (as in, they were friends who fought constantly for fun), were ruthless when they put aside their hatred to decide on one thing: her life was "just plain sad and lonely" (Ginevra Weasley on that one). She'd been on so many dates, some with figurative blindfolds pressed firmly over her mascara-coated eyelashes, and some where she regretted agreeing before she'd even gotten out of the shower.
Hermione had met some great people in these dates, admittedly. There was the Muggle with whom she'd had a fascinating discussion about the psychology behind language; the Hufflepuff that had promised to endorse her struggling business; the American wizard who she'd encouraged to speak, if only to listen to his accent with a bubbling pleasure in her stomach; and, tonight, Anthony Goldstein.
This had been Padma's idea. Anthony and her had been a thing back during the school days. They'd broken up before the week was up simply because it "wasn't right." Still, Padma maintained he was an intelligent boy that was really quite sweet, and Hermione should "give it a go" because they both knew he "won't try to get into your pants, Mi, really." She'd slipped into a slinky black dress regretfully, brushed out her hair and styled it uneasily, let Ginny apply makeup flinchingly, and arrived at the gaudy restaurant already wanting to go home.
The date had gone splendidly.
A smile came to her face as she remembered how he'd taken one look at her, whistled, and told her, "Girl, there's no way we're eating here with you looking like that." He'd winked at her, put a gentlemanly hand around her shoulders, and whisked them both away to a nice restaurant that she'd only read about in the papers, with the air of somebody who looked at the enclosed pictures hungrily, knowing she'd never afford the place.
"Really, the other place is excellent," she'd protested, not wanting him to a) spend lots of money on her when she wasn't even planning to kiss him and b) brag about said money.
"Hermione, I worked here for a while after school, I have a lot of coupons," he'd answered playfully. By the way the cook had greeted him when they'd laughingly snuck through the back door, she didn't doubt the story. They'd spent an enjoyable dinner in the kitchen, throwing flour at each other and watching the chefs cook with awe.
He'd walked her home, and then it had happened. This moment had occurred with many other men (not to imply sluttiness, for Hermione Granger would never risk promiscuity). He leaned in for a kiss, she suddenly felt an urge to throw up that was quite contradictory with her admiration for his soft-looking lips she had been partaking in only moments before, he closed his eyes, and a second later found himself kissing air with the kissee a couple feet away.
She didn't know how it happened, but every time she tried to kiss a boy - kiss, dammit, a goddamn light peck - she found herself flying to the side. Anthony had responded predictably: first with confusion, then with dawning anger, and the kind of self-righteousness that spawned from the belief that she had moved purposefully and led him on the entire night. He'd apparated away without so much as a by-your-leave.
Hermione's groan was loud in the stillness. Really, it just wasn't fair! She didn't believe in love in first sight, or soul mates, or any ridiculous beliefs invented by singles who wanted to console their lack of ability to land a boy/girlfriend, but the notion was rapidly growing on her. "I don't want a boyfriend!" Hermione cried out, glad for the Silencing spell she'd cast upon her arrival. "I sound like a bloody sixth year, now," the twenty-three year old huffed to herself. "Whining about boys and talking to myself. Ridiculous. I am an empowered woman, dammit! My work saves thousands of kids and adults! Why the hell am I wasting my time with boys?"
She could just imagine Ginny's suggestive look and Padma's stifled grin. It did nothing to help her temper.
"Boys are dangerous, anyhow," she grumbled, sitting down on the cool bench. "Why, I could recite statistics until I was blue in the face! One in four women experience domestic violence in her lifetime. Do I want to be one of 1.3 million girls who get assaulted by their intimate partner? No, thank you."
She was being unfair, she knew this in the rational part of her brain that wasn't often subdued. Men suffered too - wasn't her latest project a poor boy that had been hit by his sadistic girlfriend? She'd certainly spent enough hours diverting time from her failing business to help him. "Shut up, mind," she implored herself. That was the problem with being Hermione Granger. Her mind never stopped working. She'd begun talking to herself at age ten, when she'd puzzle through both moral and intellectual problems out loud until she hit upon a solution. Crazy-talk, the girls at her Muggle primary school had called it. She'd suppressed the urge as she got older, presenting a façade of somebody always in control. She hadn't sworn audibly in forever, instead releasing her 'potty mouth' in the privacy of her head.
"Can't I dwell in self pity for one night?" Hermione asked the round moon. "After all, females 20-24 years old are the greatest risk of - of - of nonfatal intimate partner violence!" She forced the term out. It was getting steadily harder to recite statistics like this. It only made her realize how childish she was being. Why was she bemoaning the loss of a male presence in her life when there were people going through so much?
Her cell vibrated softly. Hermione grabbed the Muggle object out of her pocket, sliding her finger across the screen to answer the call. "What, Padma?"
"How'd you know it was me?" Padma joked. Hermione didn't designate that with a reply. Both of them were well adept at using Muggle technology; it was a necessity while doubling up at the Muggle uni they'd attended. It was a common phrase for the two of them to use, mocking their society's inability to use something as simple as a phone. Hermione was an iPhone sort of girl herself, taking advantage of the great amount of organizational apps to schedule her life, while Padma preferred a sliding phone because, according to her, "I like to use my phone with dirty hands, and what, am I supposed to wipe palak paneer all over the screen?"
"Why are you calling, Pads?"
"So, how's the date? I was hoping to catch you either on your house phone - which you didn't pick up - or sounding all breathless on your cell, meaning you and Tony had really hit it off." The suggestive lilt of the Indian girl's voice made Hermione sigh.
"I wish, Pads, I really do," she admitted. "I mean, I'm not going to sleep with him on the first date - "
"Well, duh, that's a tad desperate," came an agreement.
"Anyway, but I wouldn't be adverse to kissing him, he really was quite handsome," Hermione said. She wouldn't have admitted this to anyone else - Hermione Jean Granger did not disclose desires to engage in lecherous acts with men - but Padma knew her well, and she trusted the other girl. "It happened again."
The groan crackled over the connection. "Oh, Mione," Padma said melodramatically. "I'm telling you, it's Ron making sure you won't kiss any man but him!"
"We broke up five years ago. We're best friends."
"Still - hey, Ginny wants to conference call, nay or aye?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure." She heard a beep and Ginny's overenthusiastic greeting, before continuing her story. "Ron's going out with Alicia, anyway. Which I completely approve of. But anyway, this definitely started happening a year ago...after Malfoy's birthday party, remember? I swear somebody hexed me there, or slipped a potion into my drink, or something."
"Your sparkling apple juice, you mean? That does not constitute a drink, Mione..." That was Ginny. Who believed drinking anything but alcohol at a party was a sin, instead of the other way around. "I assume Goldstein didn't go over well, then?"
Padma: "Definitely not."
Hermione, bored with the conversation: "You guys, I was really enjoying wallowing in self pity over here..."
A laugh that only could have belonged to a redheaded Ginny Weasley spilled out of the phone. "In that creepy park? Mi, I'm definitely coming to get you."
"Ditto!" Padma rushed out, and then Hermione was left staring at a buzzing phone. She turned it off and slipped it back into her pocket. Irritating, annoying friends!
Tuesday
12:45 AM
(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)
What was she doing? She definitely had a Silencing spell up, one that he could not, for the life of him, break. It was infuriating. She had started to have a conversation on a...telly? No, that was the box. Phone. Yes. That was it. A cellphone. Draco supposed the conversation was over, and she was heading home, when suddenly two other figures appeared in the park.
He stumbled backwards and crashed down, tripping over a log in his surprise. He would recognize those two anywhere. Flaming red hair...that had to be Weaselette. The other one he knew entirely too well, seeing as his sordid relationship with her sister had ended the twins' communication for a year and a half. Padma Patil and Ginny Weasley. He watched, heart racing, as the Weasley gave his mate a restrictive hug.
Patil was definitely laughing as his mate tried half-heartedly to fight back. He closed his eyes in an effort to concentrate; from his mate, he felt a large amount of annoyance, and a kind of grudging happiness. It was the emotion he felt when Theo or Daphne were butting into his business and refusing to let him wallow by himself. He wanted them to shut up because it was irritating him, but at the same time he didn't want them to stop: it was nice, sometimes, to have somebody who cared for you enough to not listen to a word you said.
So, it wasn't abduction, then. His grip on his wand loosened slightly, now that he knew he wouldn't have to go charging in to save his mate. He tried to peek around Patil's body, hoping to see his mate's face, but to no avail. Draco was beginning to think Theo was right, and the curse prevented him from seeing his mate's face if he didn't know her name. He'd circled the park multiple times tonight, trying for different angles to see her face, and she just happened to lean back into shadows or turn her profile sideways at the exact moment he looked. Infuriating.
He watched as Weaselette and Patil disapparated with his mate, before he too left the empty park, his mind buzzing. He reappeared in his penthouse, where he sat at his desk. He pulled out a sheet of parchment where he was accumulating information about his mate to help him find out her identity.
Mate:
-Brown hair
-Witch (probably halfblood or Muggleborn, or somebody who likes to shop at Muggle grocery stores)
-Punctual (has rituals)
That was it, so far. He added:
-Friends with Ginny Weasley and Padma Patil
-Uses a cellphone (not a pureblood, probably)
Oh, no. No no no. This was lining up too perfectly for it to be mere coincidence. He refused to let that thought line up in his head, put a wedge in his mind before he could acknowledge the connection. It had to be somebody else!
He went over to his filing cabinet, tapping the drawer labeled 'School (Students)' with his wand. "Padma Patil and Ginevra Weasley," he spoke loudly. "Complete file."
His desk glowed green, and a second later two stacks of paper - one larger than the other - appeared on his desk. He seated himself and pulled the smaller towards him. Padma Patil. He flipped past pictures of her in varying states, from the Hogwarts Yearbook pictures to a small, but pretty, picture of her that had been in the Daily Prophet. He skipped most of the General Information, highlighting his attention on "relationships." He wasn't a stalker, or anything like that, who actively pursued information to file. A handy spell his godfather had taught him resulted in his complicatedly organized system, where any public information about the person was automatically compiled and filed. He had some private information on people, but only those he deemed a high priority - Harry Potter, for example, or his father's Death Eater friends. Patil's file was slightly larger than most of his school acquaintances simply because he'd fucked her prissy twin for a couple of months.
Relationships...he pursued the subheading that should read 'Friends.' Okay. Friends..."Sort," he ordered the file. "Sex: female. Appearance: brown hair."
There was a list of sixteen brunette women that Padma Patil was publicly friends with. He took Ginerva's file and repeated the procedure, matching up the pictures. He was left with two names of brunettes that were friends with both women.
One: Katie Bell.
Two: Hermione Granger.
ShitshitshitshitshitFUCK.
"Katie Bell, find file," he said hurriedly, tripping over his words. "Faster, damn it!"
Please let her be single, please let her be single...anyone's better than Granger.
He grabbed her file and scanned past the picture of her laughing face in her Holyhead Harpies Quidditch suit. "Single, single - goddammit!"
He let the file flutter to the floor, contemplating suicide, for Katie Bell was happily married to Oliver Wood and had a young son, Eddie. Mates couldn't marry people other than the Veela. Veelas could marry whomever the shit they wanted, as long as they were willing to deal with the consequences, but mates could not. Ever.
"Hermione Granger. Bloody fucking hell."
He grabbed a handful of emerald powder, flicking it into the fireplace. Correction: he tried to flick it into the fireplace, but only succeeded splattering Floo Powder all over his expensive carpet. Cursing, Draco summoned the powder back to him and tried again. First Granger was his mate, and now he couldn't even put damn powder in the damn Floo...
Five attempts later, a slightly grimy handful of Floo Powder landed squarely in the middle of the fireplace. Yes! All the grains went in! Draco prepared to Floo his friends, but groaned as he realised there was no fire. He reluctantly summoned the grains and with an "Incendio!" tried again.
The majority of the powder went in after he employed a stylish flick of the wrist. Draco chose to ignore the few grains scattered on the wood in between his carpet and the fireplace in favor of saying, "Daphne Greengrass."
The green flames swirled between several colors before Daphne's head appeared in the flames. He raised his eyebrows as her perfect appearance melted right off her the moment her image stabilized, leaving a crabby face with bags under the eyes and a strange sheen to the over-moisturized skin. His wards prevented against any appearance-concealing charms.
"Oh, shut up, Draco," the girl huffed. "I was preparing for my beauty sleep. Do you realize it's nearly one thirty in the morning, and we have to go to work tomorrow? Really, your attendance and dedication has been spotty of late..."
"It's my damn company, Daphne," he replied acidly, the words 'Hermione Granger is mate' on the tip of his tongue. Shit. How was he supposed to do this? Maybe he wouldn't tell her... "I can do whatever the hell I want with it."
His mate was miles away and still causing mental dilemmas. He had to tell her. Daphne would murder him if he withheld information as precious as this. Daphne rolled her green-blue eyes expressively. "Yes, but you do have people relying on their employment, and after all the work I did to convince that idiot that's my younger sister to write the book on you, I'd appreciate it if you at least maintained the image that you are responsible."
"You are rather verbose in the wee hours of the morning," he observed sardonically.
"Never say 'the wee hours of the morning' ever again."
He laughed, remembering why he was friends with the sharp woman. "Touché, Daph, touché. You're busy, then?"
"Yes, trying to sleep, but tell me what you've discovered then, if you're so eager."
"What a welcoming invitation," he shot back. He looked shiftily over. "I know who my mate is."
Daphne looked like she wanted to shriek. "Let's hear it, then!"
"Hermione Granger." He watched her reaction carefully.
Her face dropped, she looked shell shocked, but she only said, "You don't look surprised at all."
"I feel surprised, damn straight I do, but at the same time..." Draco grimaced. "It's like the bond is making me feel happy."
"Oh, hell no," Daphne said, with feeling. He grinned. Draco enjoyed Daphne's company even more when she let down her hair, so to speak, something she only did in the presence of Draco and Theo. "Budge up, I'm coming through."
A second later, she appeared through the Floo. "Call Theo, would you?"
"You call him," he shot back.
"It's your Floo."
"You're making demands of me."
"Rock-parchment-quill?"
They prepared for battle. Draco watched her face very carefully, knowing she was doing the same for him. 72.7% of the time, she did quill first, while he preferred rock. She probably would try parchment, then, which meant he should cast quill...although, that left a possibility that she would do rock just to trick him. He puzzled over this for a quick second...knowing Daphne, she would double-bluff him, shooting quill just because she knew he would think about it. But, would she triple-bluff him and go with parchment because she knew what he was thinking?
"Rock, parchment, quill, cast!" Daphne said, and immediately held up one pointer finger at the same time he made a fist.
He smirked, crushing her quill with entirely too much pleasure. "I believe that makes our running total, twenty-seven, me, sixteen, you?"
"No, we reset last week," she countered. "That makes it four for you, and one for me. Two out of three, Draco?"
He recalculated the odds. Quill was out. Daphne never did a losing move twice. She pounded a fist against her palm at an angle, as if she were preparing to flatten her hand to parchment. He quickly stuck one finger out as his suspicions proved correct. "Five for me, one for you, now call the lover boy and tell him to get his arse over here."
Her cheeks flushed gently. "I do not fancy Theo," she said fiercely.
"Yes, you do," he accused.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"Liar."
He smirked at her, and her blush deepened. "Who do you fancy, then?"
"What is this, fourth year?" She answered immediately. "Let me just fetch Theo, Draco, honestly. You're being childish."
Tuesday
1:15 AM
(Daphne Greengrass' P.O.V)
She turned her back on Draco, trying to control her blush. Dammit! She had better facial circulation than that. Honestly, she had to get her act together. It was hard, sometimes, being so close to two such fanciable men. She'd had a crush on Draco since she was fourteen and he arrived at the Yule Ball looking extremely delectable in silver robes, a handsomely bored look on his face the entire time. Theo, on the other hand, was sweet in a way Draco could never accomplish. He made her laugh, and, she wasn't going to lie - the first time she saw him shirtless, she was breathless.
It was infuriating.
Draco was out, anyway. There was no way he'd ever fancy her, not now that his mate was in the picture. The stupid women! She didn't know him. She didn't know how he crinkled his nose unconsciously when he was displeased, or how a pulse ticked in his jaw when he was mad. She didn't know how his eyes seemed to go greyer when he was focused intensely, and more blue when he was laughing. His mate didn't know anything she knew about him. Bloody Hermione 'The Swot' Granger!
Theo, well, she didn't want to talk about. The bloody man had skipped out on crushes during their school years, trading in girls for academics, and seemed to never recover from that. She couldn't remember the last time he'd looked at a girl with interest. He'd never even had a girlfriend!
Was he gay?
"Daphne, what are you thinking about?" Draco interrupted her thoughts.
"Is Theo gay?" She blurted out, before flushing deeply. "I mean..." Daphne trailed off, smoothing her skirt and patting down her hair to hide her embarrassment. Draco started laughing. And didn't stop. She stared at him, nonplussed, as he cracked up, holding his desk for support. What in Merlin's name was so funny? "Draco!"
"Oh, I love you sometimes, Daph," Draco revealed, still laughing to himself. She put on a skeptical face, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. Oh, he looked so good, with mussed hair and laughter lining his too-stern face.
She said primly, "You better. What's so funny?"
"If only you knew..."
The bloody prat. Draco had loved secrets for as long as she remembered. "Tell me," she ordered.
"I can't..." Still chuckling to himself, he took a handful of Floo powder and flicked into the fireplace with a move that was entirely too effortlessly cool. How was it fair that he could just look so...suave, doing something like throwing Floo powder directly into the fireplace? She couldn't do that, unless she wasted half of her powder practicing. Draco had it all, sometimes.
Except his mother is a selfish bitch and his father was an insane megalomaniac who tortured him.
She shook these thoughts from her head, only to see a decidedly grumpy Theodore Nott climbing through the Floo. "Bloody hell," he said huskily, massaging his throat. "Is this a slumber party?"
"Oh, definitely," Daphne chirped, feeling better about her messy appearance at the sight of her other best friend. Theo's curly hair was frizzing up around his head, his glasses askew. Her gaze traveled down his body...he was wearing a blue plaid bathrobe, but underneath it she glimpsed blue boxers and a delectably bare chest. Catching her watching, he yanked the robe around himself.
Daphne Greengrass, you're acting like a randy sixth year. Control your hormones!
"Looking good, Greengrass," Theodore said, with a significant look at her greasy face. She stuck her tongue out at him and checked her watch.
"Merlin, it's past time to wash this off!" Without a by-your-leave, she fled to the nearest bathroom. She wasn't anyway near the vanity of Pansy Parkinson, but she did have an extensive self-care regime. It was hard being the sole female in a trio. She wasn't going to handle it like Granger used to; when you're the only girl, people looked at you scrutinising. Granger glomped around with toilet-brush hair and spotty skin. Sure, now she'd cut her hair so it was flattering, and her skin was much clearer now, so that Daphne had to admit she was pretty in a plain way. Daphne, on the other hand, looked picture-perfect whenever she was in public. Unfortunately, to achieve this affect, she had to use her nights to exfoliate.
After scrubbing her face and brushing her hair into two side braids, so tomorrow she'd have bouncy, curly hair, Daphne looked at her image. "Very cute," the mirror assured her. "Pretty without makeup."
Daphne smiled charmingly, thanked the mirror, and returned. Naturally, the boys were sitting in the study, tossing back shots of brandy. She summoned one to herself, taking a dainty sip. Finding it satisfactory, Daphne downed the entire thing, much to the amusement of her men.
The men. Not my men.
"Nice going, Daph," Theo said, predictably the first to speak up. "You're almost a man now."
"Going for a Heidi look there with the braids?" was Draco's contribution.
She grimaced. Heidi was a vapid story of a Squib that had been greatly embellished for Muggles. In reality, Heidi had been brunette who slept around so much she was sent to live with her strict grandfather. Daphne wasn't sure how the blond, orphan version originated. "You can be my first victim," she replied flirtily.
Theo choked.
Draco found this amusing.
Daphne sat down on the leather chair next to Theo and regarded them with raised eyebrows. "Have you shared the news yet, then?"
"It's Granger, isn't it?"
Draco spluttered. "How the bloody hell did you know?"
Daphne rolled her eyes as Theo leaned back, looking infuriatingly superior. "Oh, it's fairly obvious," he said loftily, "Considering the factors. And let's face it, Draco, she was the only girl that used to rile you up back in school."
This was true. Daphne could hardly count how many times Draco, incensed by whatever she'd done now, had paced the Common Room, loudly proclaiming his hatred for the "filthy Mudblood."
"She's bloody Muggleborn! Our kids would be half!'
"Don't pretend you care about those things," Daphne said sharply. Much as she had to agree with Granger's unsuitability, she'd lived through one war about blood and wasn't about to let Draco mouth off. "You sound ridiculous."
Draco sneered angrily, his face closing off. So childish. "Hermione Fucking Granger!"
Daphne crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. "Draco," she said slowly, with the immobility of someone who knows their next words won't be received well. "What do you think about the match?"
To her surprise, he downed a shot before saying softly, "My bond thinks it's a great idea." Without prompting, he continued, "But it doesn't matter what I think, does it? I know it's true. I can feel it."
(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)
He could feel it. He could feel it in every fiber of his being, from his hair to the nails on his feet. He felt a strange thrumming warring with a pull so strong he felt as if he'd fly across the floor. When he closed his eyes to blink and held them closed, he felt irritation and begrudging happiness so clearly he almost thought he was feeling those emotions.
No. It was her.
He felt her, felt her sitting at a table, maybe, felt her thinking how ridiculous this entire endeavor was. He felt her better than he felt himself, as if every part of him was focused intently on this one glowing dot he could see faintly ahead. He knew without a doubt that, if he wanted, he could apparate to Granger no matter where she was in the world.
Dammit.
As soon as he'd read the words on the paper, he'd felt a shift. Cliché as that was, Draco had immediately felt a growing sense of urgency. With horror, he recalled a passage he'd read during one of his woe-is-me drunk nights:
Upon discerning her mate's identity, the Veela is immediately prompted to consummate the bond. While the time varies from person to person, a pattern has been found: consummation before the next new moon is vital. If this does not happen, the Veela will be brought under the curse upon the dawning of the next day.
"Theo," he blurted out, "When is the next new moon?"
Theo looked surprised. "Um..." He calculated intensely. "Seven days."
He had seven days to seduce Hermione Granger.
Shit shit shit!
"Tell her she's your mate," Daphne said instantly, reading his mind like usual. "Tomorrow. That gives her a couple days to research before she accepts it as fact."
"No," Theo rebutted instantly. "Seduce her naturally, and then tell her she's your mate."
Daphne looked angrily at Theo, Draco just watching the pair wearily. "No, are you crazy? She'll feel used."
"Your way might leave Draco like Bellatrix Lestrange!"
What would Granger do?
Draco considered this. If he seduced her - pretty damn impossible in such a limited time - she'd feel jilted and used and would never speak to him again. If he told her, she'd go off in a research craze, but ultimately do the right thing.
"I think I'll tell her," he said, the words falling from his lips with hesitation.
Daphne and Theo shared a look, but didn't mention anything. Now was not the right time to argue. Instead, Daphne said carefully, "Are you to tell your mother?"
"No," he said softly. "Not until the bond is consummated."
Theo's grin came quickly, "Imagine, our Dray having sex with Granger. I bet she's wild."
"Don't try to be crude, Theo, it doesn't become you." Daphne sniffed.
Draco poured about half the damn bottle in his shot glass after enlarging it, feeling the alcohol slither down his throat. He was taking this calmly, but he felt a freak out lurking at the edges, threatening to overwhelm him. Only when he was alone would Draco truly have a fit.
"I say we have another drink," Theo suggested, probably seeing how Draco cradled his glass.
Daphne opened her mouth to protest, then shrugged and snatched the bottle right out of Theo's hand. "Cheers."
Tuesday
9:01 AM
(Draco Malfoy's P.O.V)
He came to, sprawled over a leather chair, sticky with the residue of last night's drink...that is, the residue of a few last night drinks. Draco wiped his eyes and yawned, stretching, only to curl back into a ball as his head throbbed, threatening to explode.
"Fucking hell," Draco whimpe-er, that is, he whispered. Draco never whimpered; it was a distasteful thing to do. "What the bloody hell?"
"You said 'hell' twice," came Daphne's voice from somewhere over there. He heard a drawn-out groan. "Aw, shit, I feel like - "
"I just fought a few dozen Mountain Trolls," Theo interjected. "Merlin, when I suggested a drink, I did not mean 'let's get piss-roaring drunk'."
"What time is it?"
"TOPSY! Er, Tippy! Dammit, Tipsy!" Draco hollered, cursing his inability to remember a damn name. A pop answered him.
"Master Draco," said Tipsy. Draco glared at the elf with one blurry eye, sure he was hearing a hint of humor in the creature's voice. "What is it that you require? A Hangover potion?"
"Three of 'em," Theo chimed in. "And the time?"
"Two minutes past nine in the morning, Master Theo," the short elf recited dutifully, knowing Draco was very particular about the time. Saying 'nine,' for example, was cause for a telling off, even if it was simply 9:02.
The trio's responses were predictable. Daphne started with an obvious comment, related to work: "We're late."
Draco chimed in with a sarcastic comment: "No shit, Sherlock."
Theo called him out: "Using Muggle expressions, Dray? Really?"
Draco groaned loudly.
"Boys, honestly, we need a good excuse - " Daphne broke off as a steaming goblet of Hangover Potion appeared next to each person. Draco, quite used to the taste by then, downed his in one go with hardly a splutter. Theo did rather well with his, but Daphne sipped hers for quite a while until she got it all down.
"It's Daph's fault." Theo suggested.
"Naturally," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. She stood, stretched, and pressed her fingers to her dry, decidedly non-exfoliated cheeks. "This will takes ages to fix..."
Draco took charge. "Daphne, you go home and clean up. Theo, you're Public Relations, go do something about our lateness." He paused, swallowed hard, and said hesitantly, "And I'm going to track down Hermione Granger."
A/N: Not as long as I would like...I sort of feel like some of this is a little awkward (although I hate it when authors say this, I'm a hypocrite) so tell me if you want me to re-do something! However, I do really like parts of this (admittedly shorter than planned) chapter, so it evens out. I'm working on the next one as soon as I'm done posting this! Teaser:
"She was brushing her teeth when Draco Malfoy crashed through her ceiling and ended up with limbs tangled in her bathtub."
Review!