Draco hiccupped loudly as he stared at his drink. Bloody hell, he was lonely, he thought to himself as he swirled the liquid in his cup. It was amber, and that was, in all honesty, all he knew about it. Beyond that, he was pretty damn forgetful.

He stood (badly) and suddenly seemed to remember that he was in a pub. It was easy to forget, how empty this one was. It was past three AM, he knew. Most of the regular get drunk and go players had left, and now it was Draco and a few small groups of others, clustered about chattering at each other. He ran a hand through his hair. Of course. Women had been attacking him all night in an effort to garner his attention, and now that he was in a mood to welcome it, they were all gone.

A sigh slipped from his lips, though it was rather exaggerated, as he made his way to the one group left that he recognized – Granger. Her friend – one of those damn Patil twins – had left her at the table.

She was very drunk. And mostly passed out. That was all there was to it. Draco flopped onto the seat with her, sliding in the booth until he was next to her.

"Granger," he poked at her ribs, eliciting a small grunt, "Granger, wake up."

When she did nothing of the sort, Draco merely frowned at her, taking another drink from his glass. When she blearily lifted her face from her arm, she blinked at him. "I must be in hell," she slurred thickly as she watched him, brown eyes dulled.

"Me too. Only in hell could you look sorta pretty."

Hermione didn't have the wits to be pissed. She even leaned in a little when he tried to kiss her, though he missed and hit her chin. Using his hands to steady himself, he finally made it to her lips, kissing her sloppily.

Hermione pushed him back. "I'm going to puke on you, Malfoy."

The momentary terrified look on Draco's face was all that cut through his stupor. But then – a rather ear shattering yelp cut through the bar as Hermione fulfilled her threat, and Draco found that puke was not only disgusting in the first place – but it was also horribly warm.

The next day at work, neither of them commented on it. Hermione had dark circles under her eyes and looked like hell. Her only pleasure that day was coming up behind Draco and making a retching sound.

She'd never seen him run so quickly, to her satisfaction.

"Ferret," she muttered softly to herself before sitting back at her desk, calmly sorting her daily business into piles, humming oh-so-quietly under her breath.