Something new for the weekend! I own nothing.
"We should get married."
Drunk as she was, Hermione Granger couldn't help but laugh at the outrageous proposal. Seated beside her at the bar was Draco Malfoy, a man who had long considered her beneath him. "Surely you can't be serious," she replied as she finished off her drink.
Draco shrugged and sighed. "I think I am," he said uncertainly. "And I think we should do it tonight before we both lose our nerve."
She set her empty glass down on the bar and eyed him suspiciously. "Why me?" she wondered.
Signalling the bartender, he ordered two more drinks for them. "Why not you?" he replied.
Hermione sat up straight and looked down at her refilled glass. "Because you hate me," she pointed out. Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "You only talk to me when you're drinking. We work in the same department, sit in on the same meetings, and you never even look at me."
"Funny, I always thought you were the one avoiding me," he replied.
"Well, I think you're drunk and have no idea what you're saying," she decided, tracing the rim of her glass with a finger.
Draco leaned on the bar and glared at her. "Yeah, how are you not more pissed right now?" he wondered. "We've gone drink for drink. The room is spinning. You still sound like you though."
"I told you that you should eat before going to the pub," she admonished. "You never listen though, do you?"
He seemed proud as he shook his head to let her know that, in fact, he had not taken her advice. "That's cheating," he told her. "Plus, it slows this whole thing down."
It had become something of a Friday night routine for the pair who never spoke outside of the pub. They had been enemies during seven years of schooling, and when he had been hired as a department assistant, Hermione had been sure she was in for more of the same treatment. Instead, he paid her no mind while in the office. Then, upon completion of his first week of work, their coworkers suggested grabbing a drink to celebrate. For the first time since they'd met, the pair talked. The next week, a note had been left on her desk, asking her to meet him at the pub at seven. She had gone weekly, and found that she enjoyed talking to the boy she'd once referred to as a ferret.
"So, you're saying you don't like talking to me?" she wondered, slowly sipping her drink.
Draco shook his head. "Why won't you marry me?" he asked.
"Because you're too drunk to mean it, and I'm not drunk enough to think that it's a good idea," she replied.
"Are you averse to marriage, or just me?" he wondered.
Sighing, she turned to face him. "I'm twenty," she stated. "Call me crazy, but that's far too young to get married. Besides, I always sort of thought it would be Ron. Now..."
Draco sat up. "Now what?" he asked. "The stories in the paper are true?"
After finishing off her drink in one swift gulp, Hermione nodded. "Blondes," she muttered. "Many, many blondes." She signalled for another drink and finished it quickly.
"Astoria Greengrass," he groused, finishing his firewhiskey. "She was supposed to be my blonde. Instead, the weasel got her. How does that even happen?"
Hermione shrugged and ordered them a round of shots. "Beats me," she replied. Draco handed her one small glass and took the other for himself. They held them up and clinked glasses before downing the bitter alcohol. "Are you going to be a bad influence on me?" she asked.
Draco grinned and ordered two more. "Probably," he replied with a cheeky smirk. "But you'll have fun. Your liver will eventually hate you though."
"There's most likely a potion for that," Hermione decided.
Draco merely chuckled and the pair continued drinking. It was sometime later that they finally stumbled out of the pub, Hermione's heels in her hand. Leaving was the last thing she remembered, and the morning after was painful.
The room was dark, the bed uncomfortable, and there was something heavy draped across her waist. Never before had she drunk so much during their nights out, and she now understood why. The nausea and headache she could handle. It was the forgotten bits of the night before that bothered her. And worse, she had no idea where she was or who lay beside her.
Dread and fear did nothing to calm her roiling stomach, but she had to know what had happened. Slowly, her heart pounding, she rolled over to face the mystery being snoring softly beside her. Her eyes had adjusted just enough to make out pale blond hair. "Oh, god, please be Draco," she said to herself. Though they were hardly friends, he was a step up from a random stranger. She shook his shoulders, hoping it would rouse him. She whispered his name, becoming louder and louder, and still he did not wake. Finally fed up with being the only conscious party, she slapped him.
"Ow, what the hell?" he asked, before groaning and burying his head beneath a pillow.
"Get up, Malfoy," she insisted. "Now. We did something last night or didn't do something, I don't know. And I want answers. And hangover potion. And pancakes."
He sat up and turned on the lights as he rubbed his stinging cheek. "Where are my pants?" he wondered.
Hermione held the blankets tightly over her bare chest. "What an excellent question," she muttered. "Did we...do you think we...we didn't-"
"Shag?" he finished for her. Hermione blushed and nodded. "Given our current state of undress, I'd say we did."
Hermione felt her stomach roll, and dashed to the bathroom. Draco winced as he gathered his clothes and dressed as she expelled the previous night's libations. When he finished his task, he picked up her dress and knocked on the bathroom door. "Hermione, I have your clothes," he told her, knocking again as the water began to run.
She wrenched open the bathroom door and glared at him. "It's Granger to you," she stated, grabbing her dress from his hands. With the door closed once again, he took to straightening up the room. She still had the bedsheet with her, but he arranged the comforter and pillows on the bed.
It was then that he spotted it.
A signed document; her signature, his signature, and a minister of the peace. "Actually, I think it's Malfoy," he called to her.