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Hermione's Drunken Mistake

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Title: Hermione’s Drunken Mistake
Author: Catkin026
Rating: MA (Sex/Language)
Note: This is an AU. It bears very little semblance to the books lovingly written by J.K. Rowling and will have very little mention of events that occur within any of the seven books, or the play ‘Harry Potter And The Cursed Child’. I am taking these characters and throwing them into my own playpen.
This will be a slow burner, as this isn't a genre that I have ever written in and actually posted before. I have only ever included romance as a backstory to any previous stories I have written, and this is the first time it is the main focus. I have a few chapters already written up, but only the bare bones for the most part. Please bear with me as I will need to re-arrange quite a bit of this before I will be happy enough to actually post it.
If there is anything too noticeable, or anyone reading has a critique that will help the continuation of this story then please leave a review. Any of those will be read and taken into consideration. Any Flames on the other hand will simply be used to melt the chocolate I love so much.
Many thanks for looking into this story.
Catkin
*
Ugh. She’d forgotten to close her curtains again. Constant, steady streams of –warmth-, though they fucking qualified more as near-nauseating heat, mixed in beating light turning the insides of her eyelids red and her head... Her head took exception to that. Add in the throbbing against the back of her eyes, the pain screeching across the top of her spine...
Ah Hell.
Oh yes, -please- give her something else for her body to complain about. She absolutely, definitely –wanted- another one of –those- headaches. Not as if she hadn’t suffered enough of those through the past week, far more than her fair share for fuck’s sake, and if she now had to spend her entire weekend fighting off another one...
What, exhaustion wasn’t bad enough? What about her near irrational irritability that hadn’t escaped –anyone’s- notice, whether they be friend or foe? She’d been practically –cultivating- the pair of them, so of –course- it was only fair to add a splitting headache as well.
No. No. -Really-. She didn’t have enough on her plate already. This could be easily slid in when she just wanted to fucking sleep and relax for the first time in ages!
Fucking Hell, -that- was it! She’d reached her breaking point! She should have hit it days ago, but no... –Now- she had had it with the entire fucking world!
She needed her over-stuffed, comfy chair in her living room (one of her favourite bits of her furniture in one of her favourite parts of her apartment) and she’d stay there! And the only time she’d ever leave it, was when she wanted the added comfort of food.
And she’d order that in.
No, that still required too much movement. –First- she would have to move her phone to her side table –before- she collapsed into the chair. –Then- she would have laid everything out perfectly. And if she –really- couldn’t bother to get back on her feet later on, then she might even sleep there.
The chair had already proven –numerous- times to be almost as good as her own bed.
Yes, that sounded perfect. Sounded absolutely fucking perfect for Hermione.
And water bottles. She didn’t want to get dehydrated while she –recovered-, and since the prospect of remaining in the chair for the rest of the weekend could only be viewed as Heaven...
Only way to deal with Fate and this latest Round of –how to fuck over Hermione- was to fall back to the tried and tested method, especially since she felt as if-
Shit. Shit. Shit! Fucking shit!
She’d done it again, hadn’t she? Done something –extremely- stupid, therefore leaving her body groaning under the strains of what felt like a car wreck, her mind ravaged by at least three jack hammers (but Hermione had a very good feeling that somewhere else in her head would start soon enough), and all because...
Well, currently the –because- refused to reveal itself to her at this exact moment but...
But she’d figure it out. Eventually. The truth of the entire matter would unwind itself from the stuffiness of her head, it always did in the end, and... No matter what abuse she had thrown at herself, or the current state of her mind, the memories of how much she had fucked herself over –popped- into her consciousness and...
The last time had involved drinking.
Hermione’s lips slightly pressed together.
Yeah, a –lot- of alcohol, staying up way too late and... And her best friend needing to break the monotony of daily life.
And Harry and Ron had been there as well. Or more, -attached- themselves to Hermione and Ginny. They’d hardly been –invited- along, but whether through a loose comment from one of their friends, or a –deliberate- one to cause trouble, Harry and Ron had caught Hermione and Ginny inside the first chosen restaurant of the night and somehow...
The two had kept to their promise to have –fun- with Hermione and Ginny for two hours. Slightly better than their usual behaviour, but Hell... The two wizards had lost their tempers spectacularly when they bloody –had-. Add in the fact that it had involved Muggles...
It had started with –one-, but that’s usually how it did, right? One man getting a little too friendly with Ginny, and somehow... Harry and Ron, to this day, still –insisted- that they’d acted so crazy because the alcohol had made them a little protective. Hermione called it bullshit the first time she heard it from their lips, and held that assessment all these months later.
The alcohol played a factor. It had exacerbated the entire situation, and the two wizards’ very strong feelings of –looking- after Ginny and Hermione, but couldn’t have all the blame placed on it. The two could be sober, and even –then- they apparently completely forgot that Ginny could look after herself. Ginny had gone through Hell and back, fought against her own family –and- somehow gotten under the skin of one of the most irritating bastards Hermione had ever met.
The resulting chaos left the rest of the night/morning a wash-out, long before Hermione fell to the after-effects of just the drinking alone, and with the two boys too wasted to even –attempt- to go back to their own apartments... There –had- been a brief discussion between Hermione and Ginny of just throwing the two into a taxi and giving their addresses to the driver but...
But past events that were –not- to be spoken of (even after a year) dictated that this would –not- be a good idea, and so the only option left was... All four of them share a taxi and Hermione’s apartment chosen to be where they all crashed since hers was the closest. And the last of her memory of that night she had was barely having enough strength to kick the two wizards to the other side of the bed so that herself and Ginny could squeeze in.
By the time she had woken up around mid-day, the Night Out had apparently hit her harder than the other three, she’d stirred in her bed to the sound of... By the coherence of Harry and Ron, arguing loudly within the kitchen, and Ginny, who sounded as though she had just crawled out of bed to yell at them, she’d guess the two had –attempted- to make breakfast.
Problem lay with the fact that Harry and Ron, even though they’d been up for a little while, still couldn’t keep themselves from nearly setting fire to the toaster. And Ginny took exception to that, thankfully. Hermione would –prefer- to not lose any part of her kitchen again, but still...
Waking up to the hoarse shouting of Ginny had –not- been on Hermione’s plan of recovering from the Night Before. The argument had –started- with the two’s near destruction of Hermione’s kitchen, but as Hermione had stumbled into the hallway...
Ginny’s mind had suddenly –fallen- into the memory of the Muggle man and... It had been slightly good for Ginny to not only let all of her anger out at the two wizards, but also not give the two the chance to hide behind the fact that Ginny was drunk and therefore not understandable. Unfortunately for Hermione though, dealing with the fallout of all of this left Hermione... The nasty side-effects of being hung-over made it difficult to appreciate the true potential of it.
None of this helped that despite all of –points- Ginny had made against them, and –won-, Harry and Ron –still- refused to agree that they had been in the wrong. To this day...
Scrunching her eyes shut even tighter, Hermione forced herself to draw in a deep breath.
No. All she could do, all she had left at her disposal, was to –pray- that there hadn’t been any re-run of that. Nothing she could do about it –now-, but if it –had- been that kind of Night Out, and it –had- involved a lot of drinking then...
Hopefully, all she had to suffer through would be this hang-over, and not one that resulted in something as bad as another fall-out between herself, Ron and Harry. She had no wish to go chasing after either of them, especially since in her head...
Let’s put the entire aftermath of mind and body as another sign that she really must hate herself. Not –slightly- annoyed for getting herself into this matter, oh no. She must have a very good reason, or a bad one, for letting herself get into this state and...
No, she definitely needed to, at least for a day, be pissed at herself. And try to make it up by inhaling copious amounts of Potions, plenty of comfort food and...
She might wish to seek Harry and Ron later on the day, probably after dinner, to see if either of them may have any –idea- of what might have happened. The wizards were close to Hermione and Ginny, and sometimes after the more –eventful- occasions, Ginny was prone to contacting either of them to just... talk. An entire day should be more than enough for Ginny to be social enough, to drink enough coffee and intake enough food, and find a more amusing take to whatever had happened.
Hermione would undoubtedly not –agree- with it, but finding it out second-hand from Harry and/or Ron might give her some insight.
Oh, she’d still have to speak to Ginny at some point. No way for Hermione to get away from that, because no matter how much Ginny had drunk the Night Before, she’d still have the clearest memory of it all. Ginny would know –why- Hermione had ever agreed to go on this Night Out in the first place, as even with Ginny’s persuasive skills...
Somehow those –abilities- of Ginny managed to over-ride Hermione’s own Common Sense time and time again, and last night... It probably had happened again.
But all of that, -that- could occur later on. Ginny needed her coffee, food and the few Potions she could –bother- taking, and Hermione the exact same, but water instead of coffee. The two had undoubtedly been –out- until the very early hours, and so the capability of an –actual- conversation between Hermione and Ginny wouldn’t be possible until...
Hermione groaned softly, burrowing her head further into her pillow.
Still would be nice if Hermione could actually –remember- what had happened the Night Before. But of the actual Night, including the few hours that would have stretched into this morning, Hermione couldn’t recall... Anything. Not a single bloody sausage of anything that could be construed as important that would inform of her of –what- the two of them had gotten up to. That they’d...
-‘Mione, this is not some stupid meeting between you and those lazy assholes of The Ministry,’ said Ginny, not even bothering to direct the words at Hermione as yet another clump of –unworthy- clothes were flung over the slightly younger girl’s shoulder, adding it to the other rejects. Hermione barely bothered to snort in reply, as soon enough...
Better to just let Ginny continue on ranting to herself, hardly actually looking for any kind of real answer from the older witch, because at one point Ginny would interrupt herself once she’d realised she’d gone through all the various outfits Hermione possessed. And considering the amount of clothes already surrounding Ginny in a semi-circle...
Ginny would be running out of potential mix and matches to –barter- Hermione into wearing probably within the next ten minutes, -if- Hermione awarded the witch some –bonus- time. There would have to be at least –one- more inner argument within Ginny’s mind, though Hermione would be privy to a few hissed words while Ginny debated between several combinations before Ginny would look over her shoulder and –pull- Hermione back in.
And then, of course, there was the possibility that Ginny may disregard everything within the dresser before returning to Hermione’s closet with a fury at the sudden decision that the –right- choice must be in there instead. Somewhere.
It all would result in the same account anyway. Ginny would-
‘For fuck’s sake, Mione,’ continued on Ginny, ‘I am taking you bloody shopping, -again-, and you –will- actually have proper clothes for our Night Outs.’
‘You already did that,’ replied Hermione, the little added phrase of –two months ago- remained tightly behind pressed lips. She would –not- give Ginny that ammo against her.
Slumping even further into her nice, warm, comfy bed, breathing in her latest choice for detergent (lilac and lily) and... This is where she –should- remain. Soothe herself with the non-threatening, never disappointing cocoon of her mattress and sheets, and order in a meal. Go as far as to set up her TV on her dresser, so she could immerse herself in stupid Friday night shows.
The only problem with this –plan- lay with Ginny, who...
Ah, the fact that something was –wrong- must have been noticeable within Hermione’s words. And Ginny had caught it. Hell, bad enough that Ginny knew that Hermione hadn’t had the –best- day, though luckily not –all- of it, or what had caused most of it.. If Ginny did, all that existed in Hermione’s future was-
‘Then why can’t I –find- any of the ones I bought for you? I’ve already searched all of the places you usually –try- to hide your –actual- decent clothes, and you’ve had so few times to actually wear them...’ said Ginny, her left hand twirling in the general direction of Hermione’s chest of drawers. –That- piece of furniture had been the first to face Ginny’s whirlwind search, losing any kind of previous organization due to Ginny’s destruction and...
If Hermione hadn’t already suffered through incidents extremely similar to this multiple times before, she might actually be blushing at how half of the contents of her underwear drawer now either hung off the knobs of the drawer, or along the edge, or now in one of the many crumpled messes scattered around Hermione’s floor.
‘It became stained,’ Hermione replied, allowing herself to briefly close her eyes. Not exactly the smartest action to do in front of Ginny, as the younger witch had this inane capability of being able to blurt out a few words, seize upon them and just run with them. Ginny never needed much, and Hermione had long ago learnt to nix even the slightest –hint- of Ginny being close to getting an idea. Yet, at this very moment...
Or maybe not such a good one since the little niggling reminder, that –wonderful- little scene of Ron attempting to throw the beer in his pint glass at the guy, losing grip of the glass in the process and... If it –had- managed to hit the guy, then Ron’s-
‘You’re a witch,’ said Ginny, holding up a pale green silk shirt with narrowed eyes. ‘You know how to remove stairs.’
‘It was beyond repair,’ retorted Hermione, earning herself a sniff from Ginny.
‘It only splashed on your top,’ the slightly younger girl said, giving the slightest shake of her head before dropping the shirt onto the floor. ‘And your skirt was perfectly fine. Should be perfect for tonight.’
Ha. Could hardly be –described- as a skirt in any way. It more lay in the precise vicinity of a tight circular wrap around Hermione’s middle and legs that made it near impossible for Hermione to walk. Let alone survive in what constituted as –Summer- in England.
She’d bloody well looked out of her window this morning before work and it was raining. Highly likely the clouds would unleash it all over again later on.
‘I ended up soaked, Gin,’ said Hermione, glancing over at the toe-tapping girl to see yet another potential contender in Ginny’s hands. ‘Top –and- bottom. Smelt like a bloody brewery, and nearly found myself arrested by the police after the –incident- with Ron, Harry and the Muggle because the –police- thought –I- was publically intoxicated.’
Add in the fact that she had gotten in between Harry, Ron and those Muggles had almost sealed her fate in the eyes of law. No –sane- person would try and break up a fight considering how –weak- she appeared, unless she had a few drinks in her.
‘But you –didn’t- end up arrested, Mione,’ said Ginny, before sighing heavily. ‘Damn pity though. Can’t believe that Night Out meant you lost the entire outfit as well... Fuck. You looked –good-. Have to remember where we bought it.’-
So, the Night Before had contained the usual kerfuffle between herself and Ginny on garments. Clear indication that there –had- been an evening spent –out-, and... And if her inner thoughts –during- the entire –choosing- of clothes was any indication then... Then Ginny had won exactly –what- Hermione had ended up wearing.
Hermione gave a low grunt, muttering a continuous –No- within her head as she shook her head, albeit slightly hindered by the fact that her head was currently burrowed deep into her pillow but... But the sentiment was there anyway.
Last Night-
-Flashes of colour around her. Around the swaying body of Ginny only inches away. Near misses and brushes of skin against her. Wicked smiles, predatory looks wrapped up in forms drifting in and out of smoke billowing around the enclosed room. And...-
Dancing. Somehow Ginny had convinced her to go dancing. Bad enough for whatever outfit Hermione had been thrown out into the Night in, but add in the darkened, packed –halls- of –those- kinds of clubs mixed with alcohol-
There was –always- bloody drink involved when Ginny got Hermione dancing. First for Hermione to gather enough courage to get out onto the Dance Floor as Ginny never let a silly thing like –No- get in the way of –wanting- Hermione to dance. Being slightly tipsy –helped- soothe the entire –loss- of the argument and what was to come.
None of this calmed Hermione’s fears of what –could- have happened. Slight consolation that she’d just woken up, that in –time- she’d remember more but...
But at least she had that. And dancing-
-A touch on her hip, not belonging to Ginny. The young witch embracing Hermione around her shoulders, so not her. Lazy stretch of Ginny’s neck, eyes alighting on the man firmly standing in the two’s Personal Space with a hand outstretched; an offer to sway to the music, to be cocooned into the arms of the man, and see how it went.
Ginny’s participation to this drew an even cockier grin from the man, the gentle back and forth of his amused eyes between the two, complete with drawn out studies of the witches’ form. He obviously liked what he saw, but the chance of adding Ginny to his conquest bordered on the likelihood of Ginny –not- getting into another argument with Um-Bitch.
And there had been a very close call less than three weeks before.
Snorting softly, Hermione dipped her head into the crook of Ginny’s neck.
‘You are enjoying yourself,’ murmured Ginny into Hermione’s ear. ‘Don’t lie.’
‘Yeah, this music is –really- making me want to stay here all night,’ Hermione said.
‘You know full well we aren’t staying here –all- night,’ said Ginny.
‘I can help you with that,’ cut in the voice of the man, his entire body shifted so that he returned to the easy focus of the two women. All Hermione had to do was look up and... there he would be.
And same for Ginny.
‘I promised you before,’ continued on Ginny, giving Hermione’s shoulders a slight squeeze. ‘Two clubs at worst.’
‘Should have held out for only one,’ Hermione muttered back.
Ginny snorted.
‘You weren’t going to get that,’ she replied. ‘And the music should change soon.’
Highly unlikely, but... The closeness of Ginny could barricade some of the awful beats from her near defenceless ears. But at least one could be pressed against Ginny’s shoulder and... Well, if Hermione angled her head right, she might be able to block the other by Ginny’s cheek.
Or Ginny could read her mind and provide this without a single word.
Hmm, maybe this Night wouldn’t be –that- bad.
‘You ladies want to go somewhere better?’ inserted the man’s voice again, an eyebrow raised as the right-side of his mouth twisted to reveal a dimple. ‘I know somewhere –really- good.’-
She hadn’t, had she? No. No! She wouldn’t have wandered off with the man, not when she’d obviously been so content in the arms of Ginny. Her best friend, despite her common audacity to –push- Hermione into slightly unpleasant circumstances, would never have let her and...
Might not have managed to keep to her bed last night, but now... Now Hermione had every right to remain in her bed. She could enjoy the comfort, the light coolness and...
And thank Merlin she’d managed to crawl into her apartment this far. Her couch, for all of its brilliance at being a near perfect place to snuggle down into while watching television, could only offer a dismal Third Place to her beloved bed, to her comfy chair, and yet...
Yes, it could have been worse. She might have woken up to find herself drooling into her carpet again. –That- had been after a particularly bad Night Out, -not- the one involving the Harry, Ron and Muggle Man Incident, and the addition of coughing up fluff had only worsened her temper.
Damn it. Now her leg decided to join in. It just –had- to twinge. And giving in to the urge to stretch... -that- little decision earned her the wonderful reward of her back treating her to a near spasm.
Fucking lovely!
Apparently that fell under the category of added strain and...
She couldn’t have fallen, could she? No. No. Those kinds of protests would more likely be from... too much dancing. Ginny always encouraged that, and... too much walking in high heels. Ginny always insisted on those being part of the ensemble and...
Hermione had long ago, thankfully, talked Ginny out of ridiculous inches being added to her height, and so at worse it would be five inches. But the combination of all that dancing and walking, even with the added protection of Charms, still couldn’t keep her feet from paying for it the next morning. And pretty much the rest of the day.
Curling into a ball in order to rub her poor afflicted feet, Hermione came to another realization. Her covers brushed up against skin, as did her hand as she reached down. She was....
Huh, so somehow she had remembered to undress herself before falling into bed. Undoubtedly, there was the downside of her clothes being littered all over the floor, but hopefully... Hopefully, she had at least waited until entering her bedroom before scrambling out of them. Hermione did –not- need a repeat of that embarrassing scene of a few months ago when Ron had used his own key to access her apartment.
What little Common Sense and Logic Ron –did- possess should have taught him it never worked well for him. Last time had involved him walking into her lying on top of her covers, bare-ass naked and...
Well, it had taught him a lesson of just –inviting- himself into her apartment. A bit of one anyway, since herself, Ron and Harry had lived in close quarters before. Accidents happened, they’d occurred through their entire Seventh Year, and several years after. And even later on, the three had taken up home together until Ron had moved out to be with his girlfriend and...
Now, when Ron –let- himself into her apartment he at least made sure it was late enough in the day for Hermione definitely to be fully clothed, or that it would be empty. And in the case of either, it always, apparently, was down to –pull- up Hermione’s level of –fun-.
But... it didn’t matter –that- much. Maybe later on Hermione would be able to dredge up enough –care- to check. At this moment though... Hell, she deserved a few more hours of sleep, no matter what the damn sun wanted.
Or her head for that matter. If she wanted to keep on resting, then damn it... Until Hermione –had- to get up, -had- to take one of the Hang-Over Potions she kept in her bedside table in order to manage it, then she’d bloody well stay in her bed. All problems could rot as far as Hermione cared, including the headache.
The pain in her head alone was a bloody stinker.
Wand. Her wand would help that. Maybe not the –direct- way to deal with her headache, but at least her wand could help kick the sun’s beams out of her bedroom later on if the sun –insisted- on keeping up this intensity. And until then, she could use covers and maybe even her pillows to at least lower the brightness enough that she could... rest.
She’d need to figure out where the Hell she’d dropped it eventually. Hardly be handy, near her bed or anything, but still... Hopefully it would be close. Once Hermione dragged herself to the stage of getting up, actually having to –go- more than a few steps to actually take –care- of herself didn’t feature very high up in the list of possibilities. The less physical exertion needed to pass onto the future points, the better.
And why the promise of remaining in her comfortable chair in her living room for the rest of the day was such a –necessary- for Hermione.
Maybe she should attempt Wandless? Summoning remained a Basic Spell, one of the first learned with the help of a wand, and the same if the witch/wizard decided to venture into Wandless... It was still regarded as the easiest one to learn. And even with the strain already exhibited by Hermione’s mind and body...
Yes, she could probably manage that. It shouldn’t over-tax her that she wouldn’t even be able to fall into her chair and... Or maybe she should go as far as to move her television set into her bedroom? Never really bothered to do it before, though Ginny had sworn blind multiple times it remained the –only- way to spend the morning after a Night Out. Of course, this statement always accompanied the sarcastic voice of Ginny’s Partner, who –definitely- took a completely different view of it all.
Undoubtedly because the television –appearing- in Ginny’s bedroom meant that –he- couldn’t sleep in. Not that he...
Hermione slightly scrunched up her nose at the snippet of...
-‘If you –can- find it in your heart,’ honeyed in his voice, leaning up against the frame of the door, with his arms crossed and even one foot hooked over the other in an almost careless fashion. Not allowing a single smidgen of exactly how much the bruise on the side of his stomach made his body ache, especially considering the position he currently pushed it into. But Hermione had already endured a long one-sided conversation of Ginny’s, kept her mouth firmly shut as Ginny attempted to force him to go to a Healer (and if he was so against that then at least go to her Mum), but he... He wouldn’t let himself be convinced. Stubborn still, to a bloody fault, but every now and then... He’d speak up to be sarcastic all over again. ‘Can you please attempt to –not- wake up the entire apartment building tomorrow morning. –I- want to sleep. Not –deal- with angry neighbours.’
‘You will be given plenty of -that- if you go to bed early,’ replied Ginny in an almost bored voice as she passed by the other doorway to the living room, some kind of bottle clutched in her hand.
‘I am –not- being woken up several hours before I have to,’ he said, a pointer finger tapping angrily against his arm at each punctuated word.
‘Your Meeting isn’t until eight,’ said Ginny, now off from somewhere in the area of the actual Quarters of the apartment.
‘And I need to prepare,’ said Ginny’s Partner, head ever so slightly... tilted. Not as a –jab- to counter any disagreement from Ginny, or any little physical –twinge- from Hermione at certain points being bandied around, or even to –dare- the two to Publically acknowledge the true meaning behind his answer. Draco had let slip that there might be –more- to this Meeting than previously admitted, but rather than immediately lash out, try to –hide- what he had said as he would have done years before...
He paused instead, to admit the significance, and for Ginny and Hermione to realise what he had allowed.
‘You are getting up before five?’ called out Ginny, footsteps already moving closer to the kitchen in order to make sure she didn’t become distracted by anything.
‘There are reasons,’ said Draco, irritation colouring his Tone as Ginny... Hell, she’d obviously decided to –not- let it go, seized upon the portion of words that Draco –didn’t- want, and... –Now- the two were to have a discussion over it, no matter –what- Draco preferred.
‘Are Blaise and Greengrass helping?’ said Ginny, standing a few feet away from the kitchen, causing Draco to sigh before he turned around to direct his next words –at- his Partner.-