Hermione was getting drunk and it was all Harry’s fault.
“That is not a legitimate drinking game!” She protested at the beginning of the evening, as they’d taken a table in The Keg and Knight. It was Wednesday night and the pub was filling quickly.
Sean, the Quiz Master, was setting up the podium while Hermione and her friends had claimed a table.
“I think it’s a brilliant game,” Ginny added with a smirk.
“So every answer I get right, I have to have a shot? That’s counterproductive.”
“That’s the point,” Harry smiled.
“Getting Granger wankered is not in anyone’s best interests,” a cool voice came up behind her. “In fact, has anyone thought about the hexes that will be flying around the office tomorrow when she finally drags her hungover arse in?”
Draco slid into the booth next to Hermione, effectively wedging her between himself and Harry. They always ended up like this, backs against the booth, eyes towards the windows and the doors.
Hermione scowled at Draco as he lit a cigarette and ordered a bottle of Odgens for the table. It was on the tip of her tongue to demand who invited him to her quiz night, until Dean Thomas and Blaise Zabini sank into the open seats across from her.
See, Blaise and Dean were not so secretly dating. Dean worked with Hermione at Jimbles and Rencraw, a leading law firm. Unfortunately, so did Draco. And being Draco’s friend, Blaise obviously invited him.
The group had come to a truce the year after the war, but Hermione still didn’t trust Draco. Not implicitly. In fact, not as far as she could hex him, but for the greater good, she accepted his presence. Sometimes, Hermione hated the "Greater Good".
She coughed and waved a hand in front of her mouth. “There are smoking laws, Malfoy.”
He smirked. “Only in Muggle London.” He took another drag of his cigarette, slid his eyes to Blaise and deftly killed it.
Sean came past the table and handed the team an answer sheet and a pen. No one actually carried quills and ink bottles with them to the pub. Well, no one except Hermione.
Once all the teams had answer sheets, he stepped up to the podium and began the quiz.
Hermione was on her fifth, or was that eighth, shot of Odgens and they had only begun the second round. She found herself laughing loudly at Harry’s dismal attempts at answering the questions and was leaning quite contently against Draco, who was getting rather drunk himself.
She pushed against him, but he didn’t budge. She poked his ribs and he glanced down at her.
“Move,” she whined.
“I need to go…” she couldn’t catch his eye.
With a humph of annoyance, he slid out of the booth, leaving Hermione without someone to lean on. She grabbed the edge of the table and levered out of the tight space. As she stood up, she swayed slightly, catching whiffs of Draco’s cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and whiskey.
Draco caught her arm, preventing her from smacking into his chin.
He glanced at the table, but no one seemed to notice the pair. He reached down and snagged Hermione’s handbag, catching Harry’s eye.
“Someone’s too smart for her alcohol tolerance. I’m going to make sure she gets home,” Draco said quietly, sending Harry’s eyebrows into his hairline. “Oh fuck off Potter, I’m not going to take advantage of a drunk woman, now am I?”
“A few years ago I’d have given a very different answer,” Harry toyed with the tumbler in his hands, not catching Draco’s eyes.
Draco did a cross between a huff and a snort at Harry. “Whatever Potter. I still don’t like you either.”
With that, he led Hermione out of the pub. A side along apparition in their condition could only end badly, so with a sigh, Draco headed out of Diagon Alley to wave down a muggle cab.
As soon as they stumbled into the cab(and Hermione had to help Draco give her home address, twice), the whiskey haze began to lighten.
“Malfoy, why are we in a cab?” she lowered her voice “A Muggle cab?”
“We’re in Muggle London,” he whispered back, head bent close to hers.
“You’re in no condition to Apparate, so, cab it is,” Draco explained quietly, his lips almost brushing her ear.
Hermione leaned towards the door, away from Draco, pinning him with an almost sober look.
“You know what Malfoy?”
Draco shrugged, not really caring what Granger thought. He just wanted to go home, have a shower and pass out.
She poked him when he didn’t respond and leaned closer to him. “You know what, Malfoy?”
“No Granger, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“I forgive you.”
Now, if there were three words that Draco never expected to hear in his lifetime, those three were among the top five combinations, which included ‘Blackpool is cool’.
He stared at her, searching her expression for some hint that she was mocking him. She had sworn she’d never forgive him quite a few times. Like the time he spilled coffee all over her deposition notes, or the time he accidentally sat on her new muggle toy called an iPad, or that time he scared her date away after mentioning some fictional curse she had on her hair.
Draco frowned, rewinding the evening they’d just shared. He hadn’t said anything mean, or made snide remarks. Her drinks only spilled when she knocked them over. In fact, Draco had been on his best behaviour. Which in and of itself was disturbing. But the matter at hand was, he had done nothing that she had to forgive.
“You’re obviously drunk and talking nonsense,” he said, turning to watch the adverts on the tiny screen mounted in the cab.
Hermione’s face fell. It was a sincere forgiveness. Why wouldn’t he just accept it and thank her?
She poked him again.
“I’m not that drunk. And I’m serious, I forgive you.”
Before Draco could open his mouth to respond, the cab pulled up outside a Victorian conversion just off Belsize Park. He climbed out quickly and walked around to open the door for Granger. As soon as she got out, he paid the cabby and followed her up the stairs to her front door.
“I have done nothing that you can forgive,” he snapped at her. “In fact, who the hell do you think you are going around forgiving people for no reason?”
Hermione pushed open her door and stumbled slightly when she reached up to hang up her coat. Draco followed her into the house, still arguing.
“Who the hell just forgives people for nothing? Is this some Gryffindor trait that recently came to life? Really Granger, school is out.”
Hermione ignored him as she put on a pot of coffee and pulled a packet of Jaffa Cakes from the cupboard.
“It’s like these cookies, Malfoy, they’re not a cake, nor are they a biscuit. They just are what they are. So I forgive them for that.”
Draco’s eyes bugged.
She turned to look at him, coffee pot dripping behind her, scenting the air with the rich aroma that can only come from a Malawian blend.
“Are you so hard on yourself that a little forgiveness unnerves you?”
“I’m not unnerved, Granger. I’m annoyed.”
With a decisive nod, she smiled and grabbed a cookie. The chocolate left a smudge on the corner of her lips. She turned to open the cup cupboard and teetered a bit in her high heels. He stepped around the table and grabbed her arm, steadying her.
“Yep, you’re still drunk.” He said.
Hermione looked at his hand where it circled her bicep. She leaned towards him. “So are you.”
He could smell the whiskey and chocolate on her breath and before he could rationalise his next move, his lips were on hers, sucking up the chocolate smudge.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Here he was, kissing Granger in her kitchen, pressing her up against the counter.
He turned her until they were facing eachother, lips still attached. He breathed in through his nose and fell into the kiss.
It seemed like an age before they broke apart, gulping down breaths of fresh air. Her arms were wound around his shoulders and using the momentum of his hands on her hips, lifted her onto the counter. Her shoes slipped off and thudded to the ground. He started kissing down her neck.
“Ow!” she cried.
He pulled away, eyes wide. “What?”
She rubbed at a spot on the back of her head and mumbled “Stupid cabinets.”
He grabbed her head and kept kissing her, feeling her thighs tightening around his waist.
Now, Draco always prided himself on being rather self aware. He knew what they were doing was very, very wrong. They were drunk and this could only end in awkwardness, or worse, his arse hexed into the next decade.
He pulled away and licked his lips. “Granger, you all right?”
She huffed a laugh and leaned in to kiss him. He dodged and pushed her away.
“Seriously,” he said.
Hermione sighed. “Oh for fuck’s sake Malfoy. Can’t a girl get a drunken shag without a fucking existential crisis these days?”
Draco blinked in confusion. Then shrugged. Oh well, drunken shag it was.
He lifted her off the counter, stumbling slightly as she tripped and slid against him. They stripped on the way to the bedroom, his head connecting with a random door frame one too many times.
By the time they reached her bedroom, she was down to her knickers. She turned to him, took his hands and placed them on her breasts.
“No socks in bed,” she said, while manipulating his hands.
Right, well, the drunken lady had spoken. He gently wrapped his hands around her waist and lowered her onto the bed. As he stripped off his pants, socks and shoes, she had wiggled out of her rather dull cotton panties and lay there, knees together, legs bend and to the side, casting him drunken come hither glances.
He fumbled out of his clothing and stumbled onto the bed next to her, his right arm landing a bit too clumsily on her hip.
“So, are you…”
She cut him off with a kiss and using strength he didn’t realise she had, flipped him on top of her, spreading her legs so that he was nestled between her thighs.
“Now Malfoy, or I’m kicking you out and making use of my detachable shower head,” she moaned, grinding against him.
Well, a gentleman could not ignore those orders, could he?
Draco lined himself up and pushed inside. There was no great moment, no real thought of OMG she’s so tight and hot. It was more a moment of – oh, wow, hot, tight, pound until I come.
Which he did.
Luckily for him, Hermione when drunk, climaxed pretty quickly.
Within a few minutes they were done. He fell to the side, wrapped an arm around her and passed out.
A wand buzzing rudely woke Draco up with a scowl. He elbowed the body next to him.
“It’s yours,” he muttered, before rolling over.
He felt Granger stumble out of the bed, grab a nightgown, stub her big toe and swear using terms that made him giggle. He heard the Floo activate and a murmur of voices before he felt Granger return to the bed, flop down beside him, and steal the blankets.
After that, he slept. Heaven knows what he was going to wake up to later…