Perpetual Disclaimer: I do not own
most of these characters or Hogwarts. Other than that, the rest is pretty much
original; this goes for all future chapters as well.
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Green Glass: Part One
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Chapter 1: Thaumatoddy
Hermione Granger sat idly at an empty round table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. It had been five years since she'd last seen this starry ceiling, watched the food miraculously appear, or seen Harry bicker with Zabini like they were both two years old. In fact, it had been nearly so long since she'd seen Harry; they'd met once or twice with Ron the summer after graduation, but once three separate colleges pulled the trio apart, their ties became severed.
It was now half a decade since the day they were set free and nearly all had returned to reminisce. Ron was among those with business too pressing to spare an evening with old friends, and Hermione could admit a certain disappointment. It didn't help that Harry was acting possibly more immature than he had in seventh year. As she sat alone and traced the rim of her punch glass, Hermione watched her old friend work up a row with a former enemy. Blaise Zabini, the vainest girl in Slytherin, was standing with a purpose in the center of the dance floor, face red with fury as she fought with the most famous boy wizard in the world. Harry had initiated the fight, coming up behind her with an air of cockiness likable to Snape.
"So we meet again, Zabini. Found a new rat to chase?" he said before Hermione could intervene. She had been speaking with him, quite impressed with the way he'd grown up, and had excused herself for a glass of brew. When she had returned, however, Harry was stalking up to the pretty Slytherin brunette.
Blaise spun around, her silky hair bouncing against her cheeks. Her eyebrows were already drawn toward the bridge of her nose, angered at a forgotten voice remembered.
"Potter," she greeted, however maliciously. Without the slightest regard to building conversation, Harry burst out with malevolence, evidently hoping to insult her.
"Voldemort was a bloody hypocrite. He was a damn muggle-born himself," he said, ignoring the lapse of years and starting in as if he had only been fighting with her a moment ago. Hermione, at this point, let her eyes roll into the back of her head and plopped down in a wooden chair, watching the fight enrooted on the floor. The light music was drowned by their yells, and those dancing soon moved aside, circling them like vultures. Harry and Blaise stood alone in the center of the room, eyes locked and bodies tense. It was as if they'd never been apart.
"That is completely unjustified, Potter! No one even knows if Riddle was really his father! How could a dirty muggle produce such a wonderful wizard?" she yelled in response, immediately killing Hermione's hope that she would remain mature and stop the fight before it even started.
"Wonderful? Wonderful! And you say me unjustified!"
"As if Dumbledore was any better! He did the same things Voldemort did, but without any defensible reason! And you! You bloody killed him! Murderer!" Blaise cried, much like the spoilt child she was, and Hermione found herself surprised the girl hadn't stamped her foot.
"Yes I damn well killed him! And I'd do it again! I've done the world a favor, ridding it of something so vile."
Hermione dropped her hand onto the table, shaking her curls and taking a sip of her drink. Someone had spiked it, but it wasn't quite as much kick as she would have liked; a little alcohol to delude the situation would be very much welcome.
"Harry, Harry..." she whispered to herself, "you are such a jackass. Honestly." To her surprise, Hermione heard a hearty laugh. She looked up to see Malfoy who, without bothering to inquire of it's occupancy, took the seat beside her and placed his half empty glass on the table.
"And I would have to agree," he announced, smirking at her and leaning back in his chair. Hermione, who decided not to take a leaf out of Harry's book and provide a reaction, instead sighed and turned back to the scene.
"He acts like he's bloody twelve years old. Look... he's just stuck his tongue out at her," she pointed out, hearing Draco chuckle again. "You'd think he'd have grown out of this, but no... not Harry."
"Well, now, don't be so cynical. At least he has good arguments," he leveled, looking as if he were disappointed in his housemate. Hermione lifted an eyebrow at him, surprised.
"Am I mistaken, or are you defending Harry?" she inquired, to which Draco quickly shook his head.
"Of course not. I didn't say he was right... but Zambini's trying to make the dark lord look like a bloody messiah; even I'm not so ignorant as to ignore the fact that Voldemort wasn't a nice person."
"I believe those of us in reality would call that an understatement," Hermione said, laughing softly and sipping her punch.
"All right," Draco granted. "A being so dark and ornery the deepest pit of perdition would turn the monster away to avoid his company." At this, Hermione nearly snorted.
"If more Slytherin would admit that..." she started, but Draco interrupted her.
"If more Slytherin thought like me there wouldn't be such a house."
Hermione nodded slightly, her attention turned back to the fight before her.
"Is it just me," she wondered aloud. "Or are they getting closer to each other?" Draco laughed.
"Are you so blind? Here, allow me," he said, then turned his stormy eyes to the two people basking in hatred. He was silent for a moment, and Hermione began to think that he had stated his point and she had missed it entirely. Draco, however, had yet to prove anything. "Wait for it..." he coached a moment later, leaning forward as if the gain of inches would allow him a better view. "Five... four... three..." he spoke almost in a whisper, and Hermione cocked an eyebrow as her eyes followed the path of his gaze. Almost directly on three, Blaise Zabini leapt forward and pounced on Harry Potter, pressing her ruby lips violently to his. Hermione choked on her punch.
"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers. Her shock doubled however, when Harry pulled Blaise's thin body toward him and thrust his tongue into her mouth, instigating more force and zeal than her initiation had. Draco chuckled.
"I was a bit off..."
"How the hell did you know that?" she asked him in pure curiosity and Draco shrugged.
"Passion grows most honestly from hate," he told her, holding the shadow of a smile on his lips. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off Harry and Blaise, watching as he traced the contours of her body with his hands, taking in every curve as his mouth explored elsewhere. Blaise too had spent more than a moment basking in Harry's embrace; she ran her fingers through his hair and curled a leg around his, melding them together. Hermione shivered. "Jealous?" Draco asked, startling her out of her daze. She shook her head instantly.
"Of course not. I haven't even seen Harry in well over three years. I'm just surprised... I'd never have thought..."
"You should pay more attention, then. I was honestly off by quite a bit; I'd expected it about five years ago. In fact, I believe I had money on graduation," Draco said and shrugged. "I'm glad it finally happened. Really quite annoying, the sexual tension between them."
"I feel incredibly left out," Hermione announced, crossing her arms and pouting. Draco smirked at her.
"Oh," he cooed. "Is that my fault?" Hermione turned to him curiously. It was almost as if he was... flirting?
"At the risk of sounding cliché," she began. "Why are you being tolerable to me? Was I supposed to see that coming as well?" He laughed heartily.
"Perhaps if you were a little less self centered," Draco started, ignoring Hermione's open-mouthed and silent response. "You're not the only one allowed to grow up, you know. Quite a few of us have taken the liberty of following in such footsteps." There was a slight pause before Hermione burst out, as if Draco's last two sentences had never been said.
"How dare you call me self centered! Imagine! You of all people!"
"Come now... you're starting to sound like Potter. Never a good thing, that," Draco advised, taking a sip of his punch and smirking over the rim of his glass. Hermione sighed, acknowledging the truth in his statement. She shook her head and downed the rest of her beverage, then pressed her thumbs to the corners of her mouth to catch a few escaping drops.
"I think it's this castle," she admitted. "I feel as if I'm regressing." Draco smirked.
"Well we can't have that. The world be damned if Hermione Granger falls to stupidity. We've got to get you out of here."
"Aw," Hermione said, pretending to pout. She saw no harm in playing along. If Malfoy wanted to flirt, she was damn well going to flirt back. "But I've only just gotten here. Such a shame to leave such a lovely party."
"Aye," Draco agreed, placing a thin finger to his chin. "But a problem easily solved."
"Yes? Do elaborate," she urged.
"Well, bring the party with you. Of course."
"And how might I do that?" Hermione put forth, earning her very own smirk from her blonde bar-buddy.
"I'm not that difficult to relocate," he said suggestively, and Hermione found herself giggling. She shook her head at him and leaned back in her chair, resuming her watch of Harry and Blaise, who had evidently proclaimed their love to each other, as they were now dancing close, mouths detached, but bodies so near they seemed one person. Draco, however, sat straight. "I'm serious," he said. "Let's go somewhere." Hermione turned to him then, and lifted an eyebrow.
"You want to leave... with me?" she asked, to which Draco simply shrugged. "Why?"
"Well, I want to leave just now, and you happen to be the one I am talking to. I am only offering; by no means a binding contract. Come if you come, don't if you don't, either way, I'm off. Feel free to stay and keep tabs on Potter. Do enjoy yourself," Draco said, then stood from his chair and made his way out the doors, stopping only once to lift a coat from the back of another chair, quite nearly across the room. Hermione watched him leave, then turned back to Harry, who had his hands rooted to Blaise's rump. She quickly decided that she did not want to see their evening progress. With no other option of interest, Hermione swallowed her doubt and stood from the table, following Draco through the great hall doors. She hurried, afraid she'd missed him; she did after all have no idea where he was off to.
Realizing that Draco would have to either fly or walk to Hogsmeade and apparate, Hermione rushed through the entry doors and out into the night air, turning her head toward the Quidditch Pitch. She saw no blonde figure walking toward the broom sheds (where she herself had left her broom, as instructed), and therefore concluded that he must have headed for the dwarf village across the lake.
Hermione started down the path with quick footsteps, but a voice stopped her before she made it ten feet.
"In a bit of a hurry, are we?" asked the stranger and Hermione stopped mid- step, spinning around. A moment later, Draco stepped out of the shadows, a smirk adorning his otherwise flawless face. Hermione smiled embarrassedly, as if regretting her departure. Draco, always a gentleman, saved her the awkward chore of speaking. "I knew you wouldn't stay and watch Potter," he said, starting down the path, to which Hermione joined him. "Only an idiot would, and you are a bit off that, I would imagine."
"Oh, how generous a compliment," Hermione noted sarcastically and crossed her arms. She had left her cloak with her broom and the night was less than tepid. Draco chuckled.
"Have I given you more flattering?"
"No reason to waste a perfectly good opportunity," she countered, smirking and giving a sidelong glance. Draco looked positively thrilled to be having such a conversation.
"So very true," he said, but did not correct his injustice. Conversation was silent for a good few minutes, and it was not until the gates of the town came into view that Hermione spoke.
"Where exactly are we going?" she asked, eyes trained on the gravel path. Draco shrugged.
"Do you like Quidditch? I wouldn't mind catching the end of the second finals game," he suggested, head tilted slightly toward the sky.
"That's tonight?" Hermione asked, sounding disappointed, and Draco nodded. "Oh, I was sure it was tomorrow... but now that you mention it, I doubt they'd have a game on Sunday. Especially with that strike the Ireland keeper... Kuppling, it was, put up last season about it being the Sabbath." Draco looked impressed.
"Right you are. They've officially resigned Sunday games and practices, internationally. Therefore, as it would have been tomorrow night were it two years ago, it was changed," he informed as they stepped up to the gates, and opened the fence for his escort. Hermione granted him a tiny nod of thanks, and waited on the other side as he too entered the village.
"The only place I know of to watch a Quidditch game is that shop in Diagon Alley, and I'm sorry, but I'm not apparating all the way to London this late at night," Hermione insisted, hugging herself, and Draco chuckled.
"You know nothing. Come with me."
Draco led Hermione through the deserted streets of Hogsmeade, past many a dark shop and toward one of the few still lit. What looked like a neon sign illuminated the entire section of the street with a hazy pink light, proclaiming the alehouse as the 'Thaumatoddy'. Upon closer inspection, Hermione noticed that the sign was in fact not neon, but torch flames, evidently charmed to spell out the word. Draco seemed proud to be leading her to such a place, but Hermione couldn't help but be wary; she was rethinking her decision to go off with him. He had claimed to have grown up and she had been prone to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the truth of the matter was, she was alone with a stranger in a near deserted town at eleven o'clock in the evening. Not one of her best decisions, by far.
Draco walked with an air of confidence that almost worried her. He didn't seem to feel triumphant, however, and was by no means protective of her company. They were walking a good few feet apart, and had the need risen, she could easily have turned back and run off. These thoughts and the presence of her wand just inside her boot made Hermione feel a little better. However, as Draco stepped up to the door of the bar, she had to fight to keep from panicking.
Her companion seemed not to notice the thoughts and fears plaguing Hermione. Draco had nothing to fear from her, and therefore was quite content with her company. She was by no means boring, and so was the perfect candidate for a last minute rendezvous. He gripped the steel handle of the tavern door and thrust it open, allowing a warm draft scented with alcohol and cigar smoke to blanket them. The five men inside, including the bartender, chorus an irritated 'Close the door!' and so, again, Draco allowed Hermione to enter first. She was much relieved at seeing nothing but gristly drunk men inside and smiled sweetly as she stepped into the taproom.
The tavern was small and dirty, lined on all sides with a continuous bar. The four men sat in random places and only two seemed to be acquaintances. This left a completely open section of the counter for Draco and Hermione, who were quick to take seats.
In her spell of paranoia, Hermione had forgotten all about the Quidditch game; the reason they had come to the bar in the first place. She remembered, however, when she took her seat at the bar. Like in the Diagon Alley Quidditch shop, the bar was built like a display case. The sides were made of some sort of blackened wood, but the counter top was a clear sheet of glass, below which stood a miniaturized Quidditch Pitch. And, inside, thousands of tiny fans watched the players fly about and play their positions. Immediately, Hermione leaned over the counter and watched, attempting to catch up on the standings.
"Looks like America's leading Denmark by forty points," Draco said, sounding crestfallen, and Hermione sighed.
"Good," she praised, eyes trailing the American seeker. Draco laughed aloud, surprised.
"Don't tell me you're a Yankee! And I thought you intelligent," he said, shaking his head dejectedly, and Hermione smirked.
"Of course not. I'm rooting for Bosnia and, as they won last weekend, I would prefer they play an ineffectual team. So for this game, yes, I'm all for America," she rationalized, eyes alive as she watched the little players, lip nestled between her teeth.
"My mistake," Draco admitted. "But I'll have you know, the Denmark Deuces are my boys, and they're going to pummel the Yanks. After that, they'll do the same to your Black Swans."
"Oh, aren't we sure," Hermione debated sarcastically, but Draco didn't lose his confidence.
"I'd state my life on it," he reassured, but she didn't seem to be listening. A moment later, Hermione stood to her feet and leaned farther over the table.
"Go, go, go!" she urged the little chaser and Draco turned his attention to the game, looking worried. They watched with bated breath as the little Denmark keeper, dressed in red and white, patrolled the hoops, dashing every which way. The American chaser switched the quaffle from his blue arm to his red, as per his uniform, and swept right under the keeper, flying directly through the hoop. The crowd cheered, as did Hermione and one of the other men in the bar. Draco looked deflated. "Ha! Now they're up by fifty. Good luck with your divination; I wouldn't quit your day job."
"They'll make that up before midnight," he said passively, waving a hand in the air and keeping his eyes locked on the pitch. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.
"That sounds like a bet," she instigated, and Draco looked up. The tiny smirk on his face prompted Hermione to give a stiff nod. "You're on," she said, then lifted her hand. The bartender attended to them in a moment, hands wringing the water out of a cloth.
"Yap," he acknowledged, voice slurred. Hermione smirked.
"Ten cider shots," she ordered and Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"You sure about that, Missy?" the stalwart man questioned softly, as if she were a child. Hermione didn't look up from the game as she answered.
"I believe it is your job to do my bidding, not ask me questions."
Obviously impressed and slightly intimidated, the bartender did as requested, filling ten shot glasses with double hard pumpkin cider. He said nothing as he finished, and returned to his corner of the bar to continue scrubbing down the ale taps. Hermione, eyes alight, pushed five glasses toward Draco.
"We'll take shots," she announced, as if her intentions weren't in any way obvious. "For each Yank goal, you'll go, as will I for every Deuce. If you're correct in your predictions, I should be sick as a dog in half an hour."
"You sure about that, Missy?" Draco asked, mocking the bartender, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Fuck you," she mumbled just as the crowd cheered on the red and blue. Again the one Yankee fan in the corner howled his 'yahoo', and Hermione smirked evilly at Draco. "Well, well..."
"Hey," Draco said, picking up one of the tiny green glasses, filled with a clear, orange liquid. "I said they'd make it up... never meant they wouldn't fall a bit more behind." Hermione laughed softly and nodded for him to take his drink. "Cheers," Draco gestured, then swallowed the glass in one gulp. Hermione smirked at the twist in his face. Evidently, he wasn't a heavy drinker. That or he'd never had a cider shot.
Half an hour, six goals, and half a dozen shots later, Hermione was utterly smashed. Evidently, Draco had more insight than originally thought, as Denmark was now neck and neck with the Yankees. Hermione had finished her stocks and broken into his, never faulting in the game. In fact, Draco was growing a bit worried about her. He'd assumed she knew her limits, but evidently not; she was sloppy, disheveled, and loud, saying things he was pretty sure she didn't want him to know.
"Hey..." he said, quite loudly, and Hermione took the two empty glasses away from her eyes, with which she had been exploring a world tinted green. She giggled airily, then hiccupped. Draco watched with amusement as she cocked her head on her hand, and blinked flirtatiously at him. Hermione looked ridiculous, and, what's more, she no doubt thought it made her more attractive. "Where do you live?" he asked, thinking ahead. In the state she was in now, he didn't trust her to fly home alone. Therefore, it was up to him as her escort to make sure she got there safely. Hermione, however, giggled again.
"Anxious, are we?" she prompted, bobbing her eyebrows, and Draco dropped his head, laughing.
"Where? Do you remember?" he asked again, and Hermione nodded over exaggeratedly.
"Seventy-four Cushman, West Canterbury. Apartment 14D," she said, and Draco nodded. West Canterbury was the wizarding part of the village, and therefore he had nothing to fear when flying her home. "Are we leaving now?" she asked, excited, and he sighed, shaking his head.
"No, not yet. When the game is over," he told her, and Hermione looked deflated, shifting her stool closer to him and letting her head fall onto his chest. Draco, quite amused by her antics, draped an arm over her shoulders, if only to humor her, while he noted her address on a napkin.
"You know what, Draco?" Hermione asked, and Draco sighed.
"You smell nice," she said, and he couldn't help but to smile again.
"You know what else?"
"You have a cute arse," Hermione said, as if proud of him. At this, Draco laughed out loud.
"Again, thank you."
"You know who else has a cute arse?"
"Potter?" he guessed, but Hermione made a face and shook her head, then pointed at the miniature pitch.
"That one. Number thirteen," she corrected, giggling, and Draco smiled.
"Valdez? He's the Denmark seeker, though... you're rooting for the Yankees," he reminded her and Hermione shrugged overdramatically.
"That doesn't mean he can't have a cute arse," she said, watching the little man on a broom. All at once, he swept quickly toward the bottom of the pitch, and Hermione gasped, as if she had really been a foot away from him. "What's he doing?" she exclaimed and Draco bent over the table, moving a few of the shot glasses to get a better view.
"I think... yes! He saw the snitch, see? There... he got it! Ha, I told you we'd trounce you," he cheered, hugging her in excitement. Hermione laughed at his glee and joined in the celebration, although her team had been defeated. When the cheering died down and the other men in the bar began to file out, Hermione looked elated.
"Can we go home now?" she asked Draco, who was watching his Deuces make a victory lap around the field. He looked up innocently, to see Hermione staring with her bottom lip protruding and eyelids fluttering. He smiled and sighed.
"Yes, we can. I'll take you home," he said. "Did you fly?" Hermione nodded three times, then jumped off her bar stool and giggled as her pumps clicked on the floor. Draco shook his head and paid the man for their drinks, leaving three completely untouched, and took Hermione's arm, leading her from the tavern. "Come on," he said, "We've got to get your broom, then."
They stepped outside, to a one o'clock much colder than the previous eleven. Hermione, now with no shame to be doing so, buried herself into Draco for his warmth, and he allowed her to do so, feeling slightly guilty that he had been the cause of her delusional state.
When they reached the center of town and both Hogwarts and the broom sheds where in view, Draco pulled a wand from his pocket and pointed it toward the pitch. Hermione, however, stopped him.
"I can do that," she stated proudly, bending to pull her wand from her boot without any regard to Draco's view from behind her. He hardly minded. "Azzio boom-boom... Azzio cloakey," she slurred slightly, and nothing happened. To humor her, Draco repeated her spells correctly, and Hermione squealed as she saw both her broom and cloak floating toward her. She clapped her hands. "See? I told you so." Hermione put on her cloak and did the first button while Draco caught her broom. He placed it parallel to the ground and waited for it to levitate. "Draco, we should just go pop... it's too cold to fly. Plus there could be birds." Draco chuckled.
"I'm not letting you apparate like that. You could end up in Timbuktu or somewhere equally preposterous," he said, and swung his leg over the wooden shaft. He himself had apparated, as it would be much quicker, and therefore had no broom of his own to use. "Come on, sit in front of me. Don't want you falling asleep and sliding off," he said, beckoning her. Hermione smirked seductively and sauntered over to him, pausing at key moments. Draco, only mildly amused by her attempt to turn him on, simply sat stiff and still. She, contrary to his intentions, seated herself facing him, and slid her hands around his midsection, holding him close to her. Draco shook his head slightly and sighed. "Ready?" Hermione nodded, resting her head under his chin. Draco placed an arm around her to steady them both as he took off, heading straight for London.
He landed in front of the apartment complex written on his napkin about twenty minutes after leaving Hogsmeade. Draco gently shook Hermione, as he had no intention of carrying her to her floor. She blinked her eyes slowly and squinted at the streetlamp just above them. A moment later, she smirked, recognizing him.
"Hey..." Hermione said huskily, rubbing her hands up his back. Draco chose to ignore her advances; he'd had a thought on the way, and his questions needed answering.
"Are you married?" he asked, almost sternly, supporting her as he removed the broom from under them. Hermione grinned and slid her hands from below his cloak to the back of his neck.
"Aw..." she said silkily, brushing her nose against his. "You're so cute." Draco pulled her arms from around his neck and asked again, "Are you married?"
Hermione pouted at being shut down and shook her head.
"I haven't had sex since my freshman year at collage," she admitted, looking sad, but perked up as she remembered she was with a man at that moment in time. "But you'll hardly notice, I haven't lost my touch; I've been practicing." At this, Draco burst out laughing, confusing Hermione, but she grinned nonetheless.
"That's good to know," he said, slinging her broom over his shoulder and using his other arm to support her, as she wasn't very steady on her feet. "Do you live with anyone?" he asked, just to be safe. He really didn't want to be the bloke to go home with a drunken bird only to meet up with her boyfriend at the front door. Hermione shook her head, then nodded, grinning drunkenly throughout. Draco sighed. "Do you or don't you?"
"Yes... but she has her own room. Don't worry," Hermione again reassured, and he sighed, dragging her toward the building.
"If it's a she, I'm not worried," he told her as he opened the door, and Hermione giggled softly, reversing their roles and pulling him through the lobby. An elderly woman was sitting in a chair beside a door labeled 'Laundry Room' and reading a newspaper. She looked up as they entered, and Draco smiled at her, but as Hermione was pulling him behind her, stumbling whenever the floor changed levels, the old woman saw nothing admirable about him. She scowled and turned back to her paper, minding her own business, and Draco hurried his step, wanting to get Hermione home and in the care of whomever lived with her before he saw anyone else.
They entered the lift as another couple filed out, looking at them strangely. Draco gave them an apologetic look, as if ashamed of Hermione's behavior, and willed them to get to her floor without any further interruptions. He pushed the button marked 'D' and waited the thirty seconds it took to reach the requested level. Hermione fawned over him throughout this time, watching him through parted lids, hugging his arm, and twisting locks of his hair. For the most part, Draco tried to ignore it. Bits and pieces he let himself enjoy, but otherwise kept his dignity.
Without asking Hermione if she had a key, Draco knocked on the door of her apartment. She crinkled her eyebrows in confusion.
"Hey..." she said softly. "Don't do that... you'll wake Faye." Draco did not heed her words; he knocked again, and was greeted within minutes by a blurry-eyed blonde woman of about seventeen. She couldn't have been more than a year out of school.
"Hermione?" she asked groggily, blinking the sleep from her eyes and reaching to scratch between the big pink curlers in her hair. Hermione pouted.
"Hi Faye. Go away," she said, pushing past the blonde girl and pulling Draco along with her.
"What?" Faye asked, utterly confused as she closed the door behind them. "What's going on?" Hermione ignored her and instead spoke to Draco.
"Come on... my room's this way," she whispered, pulling him as she walked backward toward a hallway. Draco, however, stopped her and pushed her down onto the couch. Hermione giggled maniacally, hugging a throw pillow. Draco turned back to Faye, who was watching the scene with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest.
"She's very drunk," he explained, as if the girl were five years old. She laughed once, however, and started down the hallway Hermione had tried to persuade Draco to travel down.
"I can see that... guy I don't even know who is for some reason is standing in my living room," she muttered, disappearing into one of the rooms. At first, Draco had thought she'd gone back to bed and sighed, attempting to attend to Hermione. He knelt beside the couch and waited until she stopped giggling.
"That was fun," she said, then paused a moment before pitching forward and pressing her lips to his. She was very demanding, and Draco was so surprised he let her kiss him for a moment, but pushed her away quite quickly. Hermione looked absolutely devastated. "What?"
"You're drunk," Draco told her, but Hermione shook her head.
"No... just woozy," she said, attempting to continue their interlude, but Draco had the foresight to stop her this time.
"It's late," he countered softly. "Lie down... there we are." Hermione did as she was told, holding a childlike and continuous look of confusion on her face. "Now go to sleep," he instructed. "You'll have a bit of a headache in the morning." Hermione, as he stood up, was quick to pull herself onto her elbows.
"You're leaving?" she asked, sounding deeply sad, and Draco couldn't help but smile at her.
"Of course I am. You don't even know me."
"When will you come back?" she asked so innocently, Draco couldn't deny her the answer she wanted.
"Maybe tomorrow, to see how you're feeling?" he suggested, and a smile lit her face. As Draco shared her gaze, another presence in the room made itself known. Faye cleared her throat and Draco turned to her, noticing a vile of a greenish liquid he assumed to be a sleeping draft.
"I think you should go now," Faye said, eyeing him curiously. Draco nodded and disappeared into thin air, making Faye cringe and Hermione frown. The younger girl sighed. "Here, Manny. Drink this; we'll talk tomorrow... whenever the buzzing in your ears allows it."
A/N: I have taken the not-so-quick liberty of editing these chapters and reuploading them without the bothersome author's notes. No one reads those anyway. Reviews would still be nice.