Title: The Pros and Cons of Firewhiskey
Summary: So, yeah. I should probably be shot for writing this. But I was bored with writer's block. So sue me! But really, please don't. I mean, I don't expect any reviews telling me this is good. I just wrote it cause…cause.
Disclaimer: Characters and such owned by J.K.Rowling, who would probably suffer a severe heart attack if she read this piece of bogusness (new word!), so let us hope she does not, because I do very much await the 7th book with eager anticipation.
The Pros and Cons of Firewhiskey
Draco Malfoy was very, very drunk. He sat, crumpled over the bar in the Leaky Cauldron, his robes in disarray and his hair quite tousled. He had not slept in three days. But it was worth it. The war was over. Voldemort was defeated. Their side had suffered many losses, but their victory far outweighed them in worth.
In the long run, anyway.
However, judging by the slightly frizzy brown curls he saw emerging from the cloak of a sobbing figure at the other end of the bar, Hermione Granger was deeply affected by the lost of her most treasured Ron Weasley.
He too was most devastated by the loss of his own beloved, Ginny Weasley, though not to the war. To Harry fucking Potter, of course.
Draco did not harbor the same hate he previously had for the Golden Trio (they were on the same side, for Merlin's sake), but he had always purposely avoided them at all cost, and most younger members of the Order, actually, when he thought about it. Ginny Weasley was one of the few exceptions. He knew all along their relationship would always be temporary, that Potter held the true key to her heart, and that the moment all was safe she would run back into his open arms. But it still hurt, nonetheless. He had truly liked her. It was hard not to.
After taking one more shot of Firewhiskey (what was he on, 10? 11?) he stumbled his way toward the lump of anguish that was the only thing he could make out in the otherwise blurry and fuzzy room. He plopped onto the stool beside hers without even addressing her, and her head shot up, staring at him with very bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. She sniffed, then spoke in a shaky, broken voice.
"Malfoy. I thought you would be at Grimmauld Place with everyone else."
"No, felt like getting piss drunk in solitude tonight. Why aren't you there?" He said this all very slurred, but surprised himself at his ability to form sentences, and meaningful ones at that. Actually, he surprised himself at being able to even form coherent thoughts. His alcohol tolerance must be higher than he suspected.
Then he fell off the stool onto the floor, and thought better of such an obviously inaccurate conclusion.
Hermione cracked a small smile. "You are dangerously wasted. You don't need to drink anymore, what you need is a room to stay in for the night." She signaled to Tom, who grinned happily at her and handed her a key to the only open room left at the Inn. It was very late in the evening (or very early in the morning), and the majority of people had finally stopped celebrating and had retired to rooms. It seemed the entire wizarding world had been doing nothing but celebrating, even those who had suffered losses.
She leaned down and grabbed his upper arm, helping him into a standing position. He smiled lazily at her, his face showing every sign of one who was plastered. He allowed her to lead him over to the stairs, still holding on to his arm tightly, as though afraid he would fall, when she ran into some problems of her own, and her bottom became introduced to the floor.
"Been doing some drinking yourself, Granger?"
She blushed slightly, got up and brushed herself off, and continued in leading him to his room.
"I only had two shots."
"Meaning you're a complete light-weight, my dear."
He stumbled into the room and grabbed her shoulder to steady himself, but ended up falling onto the nearby bed anyway, taking her down with him. She landed on top of him, and he smiled at the feeling a warm body pressed against his own gave him. Without even thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes.
"This is comfortable, don't you think, Granger?" He opened his eyes to see a completely horrified look on her pretty face.
Yes, Hermione Granger was pretty. Not a natural ravishing beauty like Ginny, perhaps, or stunning in the way the Patil twins had been, but yes, she was pretty, in her own fresh, big brown-eyed way.
He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his cloak, then proceeded to do the same to her (she found herself rendered frozen and incapable of movement by shock). He then pulled back the covers and snuggled under, pulling her with him. Her eyes were still wide open, and she looked almost frightened. He chuckled, then kissed her lightly on the nose.
"Don't worry, my pretty. I'm just under emotional duress, like you, and finding solace in your company. I'm not going to do anything. Just promise you'll stay with me here and sleep."
Still rendered speechless, she just nodded numbly and allowed herself to rest her head on his chest, which rose and fell more slowly once he fell asleep. His heart beat steadily and evenly, and it lulled her off to sleep quite effectively. With her last thought, Hermione Granger decided that she liked the drunk Malfoy much better than the sober one.
Author's Note: What a silly piece of semi-fluff. Honestly, I'm disgusted with myself. Well, review anyway.