All in the Family; Ch. 1
Title: All in the Family (1/?)
Rating: R (or M for mature)
Genre: Humor, romance, a hint of drama
Pairing(s): Draco/Harry, Draco/Hermione (implied), Ginny/Luna (implied)
Summary: "I think, first of all, we shouldn't tell anyone. And secondly, we shouldn't talk about it. Most importantly, it's probably just a good idea if we pretend it never happened."
Something happened between Draco and Hermione, something that never should have even been considered . . .
Reviews accepted and appreciated. Feedback is love!
He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he knew that it wasn't where he was supposed to be.
He was supposed to be in his flat, on his pull-out, sleeping away a hangover from a recent binge. And, even if he wasn't tucked neatly and safely into bed, he should at least have been in the right part of London.
Honestly, he wasn't even sure he was still in London, which was vaguely concerning. All that he knew was that, wherever he was, he was warm and cozy and naked, and there was someone else in bed with him.
Draco stifled a groan, attempting to shift as noiselessly as possible to avoid waking the woman next to him. The fact that it was a woman's bed made the events of last night particularly curious - Draco was fairly certain he hadn't been with a woman since sixth year, when a certain dark-haired Slytherin had shown him the benefits of an experienced man. Something must have been slipped into his drink, or perhaps too many drinks had slipped down too easily. There was no way to be sure.
He managed to turn himself over, and looked over the sweetly sleeping face of a lovely brunette. His eyes traveled down her body, appreciating her lightly-freckled complexion and ample curves. And then, like the proverbial sack of bricks, it hit him.
He'd slept with Hermione Granger.
Harry was going to be furious.
Her eyes fluttered open, and a soft smile graced her before an unrivaled look of horror took over. A small noise that sounded rather like, "Eep!" escaped.
"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?!" she shrieked, holding the sheet against her chest in shock and fury.
"I wish I knew," he offered pitifully, noting that his voice had the graveled pitch of a long night's festivities. The four words were the first he'd uttered since awakening.
"Well, how did you get in here?" she demanded, her fury rising visibly with every syllable. Patches of a surprisingly brilliant crimson colored her face and neck.
"I would assume," he said, slowly and rationally, "that you let me in last night. I certainly didn't sneak in while you were sleeping."
"Don't you dare make jokes about anything that could have . . . happened last night! Can you imagine what this could do to my reputation?"
Despite himself, Draco was having a hard time taking Hermione's concern as seriously as perhaps he should have been. If "what he'd heard" was true, her reputation was long past spoilt. "I daresay we'll be the talk of London now. All over the tabloids and whatnot."
While she probably knew that her stare would harm him no more than would patting his head, Hermione nevertheless attempted to kill him with a fiery glare. "Tabloid coverage is a very real possibility. We're not exactly considered commoners by the Wizarding community."
Draco half-wished that a serious threat of any sort still loomed over the UK's Wizarding world. The tabloid coverage and speculation of which former Order-member or Death Eater was sleeping with whom was far more tiresome than even housing Voldemort had been.
"What, exactly, do you propose we do, Miss Granger?" Draco drawled, attempting to be as civil and level-headed as the situation would allow. His stomach growled uncomfortably. Pancakes sounded absolutely necessary as a solution.
She sighed and flopped helplessly (and more than a bit dramatically, he thought) onto the bed. "I have no idea."
"Well, how about some pancakes?" he suggested, rubbing his stomach to reassure it that some sort of food stuff or another would soon be there.
"Pancakes?" she asked disbelievingly. "How are bloody pancakes going to help anything?"
Running his fingers through his hair, exasperated, Draco explained, "I'm hungry. You're probably a bit peaked, too. Pancakes are probably one of the only breakfast foods safe after a night like what I imagine this last was."
Hermione was silent for a few beats, staring blankly at the ceiling. After quite a while, she said, "You know, I don't recall anything that happened last night, past when Harry left the pub."
Oddly enough, neither could he. "Maybe something was spiked," he reasoned, thinking it the only solution that both of them would be affected so similarly.
"Maybe." She sighed. "It just doesn't make any sense to me at all. Why would we leave together? Why didn't you go with Harry?"
He grimaced. "Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Granger."
"I don't have to read it to know that you two have something. He's one of my best friends, you realize. There isn't very much that Harry keeps from me."
Not entirely sure how to respond to that and still pondering what had wiped away the evening, Draco took his turn staring off into space. "Maybe," he eventually vocalized, not realizing until after the word left him that it had no space in the conversation. "I'm really starving. Do you have food in this hovel or are we going to have to be seen in public together?"
She scowled but otherwise ignored the jab. "I have a few things here and there. Not so sure about pancakes, though. Maybe there's a box of mix in a cupboard."
Getting up from bed, Draco realized exactly how awkward the entire situation really was. His bits were hanging out for all to see, and his clothes were nowhere to be seen in the room. With a sigh, he sauntered into the kitchen, spying the boxers he'd been wearing the night before on a coffee table in the main room. He struggled vainly to remember exactly how they'd gotten there.
There was a nearly-expired box of QuikMix in the cupboard above the range, and the single egg the recipe called for was found easily enough in the otherwise-depleted fridge. Draco thanked whatever higher being had put this in order for him, and then started about preparing breakfast.
His wand, thankfully, was on the countertop in very plain sight, and seemed to be untampered with. Malignancy officially excused itself from his rather short list of possible explanations. The vague concern grew an inch or two in diameter.
Most wizards cooked with their wands. Draco, however, didn't quite feel up to wielding any form of magic, and didn't want to be responsible for any accidents. He tore through the drawers in search of a whisk, annoyed when he couldn't find one anywhere. The recipe called for a whisk, and he intended to have one, goddammit.
"Hermione!" he called, wincing at how tired and careworn he sounded.
Rather than call across the flat, Hermione padded softly into the small area devoted to food preparation. "What, Draco?"
"Where is the whisk?"
"The what?"
"The whisk. The wire whisk you use to mix things together with."
"Oh, right. I haven't got one." She rifled around in a rather unorganized drawer next to the fridge. "Use this," she said, holding up a large spoon.
He grabbed it and sighed, thankful he'd thought to put his boxers on. It would have been difficult to appear so indignant and frustrated if he'd still been naked. "Fine. Do you have a measuring cup?"
Reaching into a cupboard, she asked, "What size do you need?"
"You have a variety of measuring cups and you don't have a wire whisk?"
"I don't use wire whisks, Draco. I use spoons. They work just fine."
"Just give me a two-cup."
She handed him a moderately-sized glass measuring cup, and he poured out the necessary milk and water. "You shouldn't add the water before you add the milk," Hermione scolded.
"And why not?"
"Because the recipe calls for milk, then water."
He blinked. "You've got to be kidding me. Forget the fucking pancakes. Is there an IHOP somewhere around here?"
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
"So, why is your kitchen in such disarray?" Draco asked, sipping at a cup of coffee. The sudden rush of caffeine in his blood was proving helpful to a speedy recovery.
They were in a privately-owned "Pancake House," having been unable to find a suitable IHOP. Hermione had ordered french toast rather than pancakes, and Draco had requested the restaurants' specialty: the bottomless stack. An uneasy silence had reigned between the two while they waited for their food to arrive.
"My kitchen is not in disarray," Hermione argued. "I know exactly where everything is."
Draco snorted. "Those drawers are an abomination."
"I didn't know you were such an activist for organized cutlery," she shot, sucking furiously at the straw in her ice water. "And where the hell is my french toast?"
The level of insanity that she was approaching was making Draco quite uncomfortable. "Calm down, will you? I don't want to be made a spectacle."
Hermione laughed. "Yes, well, that's a bit late for that, then, isn't it?"
Draco was saved from having to ask what that was supposed to mean by the arrival of their food. The gloomy waitress ominously informed him that there was plenty more where his pancakes came from. Taking it as a promise rather than a threat, he dug in with gusto.
"Ugh, you eat like a pig," Hermione grumbled, picking at her french toast daintily.
Swallowing a quarter of a pancake whole, Draco replied, "You must have kept me busy last night. I'm famished."
As he had hoped, she had no response to that.
"And I'm not being piggish," he added, slowing down a bit and cutting his food first. "I just haven't had anything to eat in at least fourteen hours."
"That doesn't excuse bad manners."
"There is nothing wrong with my manners. You're the one shouting for your food like a toddler."
An odd gleam came alight in her eyes, and Draco half-wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. "Give me a break, will you, Malfoy? I've had a bit of a rough time. I'm tired. And you're not exactly my idea of good company."
He couldn't argue with that. Hermione certainly wasn't high on his list of people to associate with. So then, why are we here?
It was time to stop drinking.
They ate mostly in silence after that, and Draco took advantage of it to savor the delicious, buttery sweet taste of his pancakes. To him, they were the ultimate comfort food, and he was definitely in need of comfort at the moment.
"What do we do now, Draco?" Hermione asked, her voice a little sad.
"I'm not sure what you mean," he replied. He fully intended, at the moment, to devour at least two more stacks of pancakes, although intuition told him that this probably wasn't what she wanted to hear right now.
"How do we . . . deal with this whole thing?" she rephrased, staring at him intently for some kind of answer.
"Well," he said, setting aside his empty plate, and waving at the waitress to bring another, "I think, first of all, we shouldn't tell anyone. And secondly, we shouldn't talk about it. Most importantly, it's probably just a good idea if we pretend it never happened."
"But, Draco, I don't even remember if we used . . . " she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, "protection."
It was a good thing that nothing was in transport to his mouth at the time, because the splutter that her worry caused was nothing short of a spit take. "You have got to be kidding me," he exclaimed, earning a few stares from the closest tables. Their curiosity earned them a vicious sneer. "Hermione, do you honestly I'd . . . have something . . . to give to you?"
"That wasn't what I was worried about, Draco!" she snapped.
"Well, then, what are you worried about?"
Hermione sighed. "Never mind. Just never mind."
Finally wrapping his mind around what she was trying to tell him, Draco's eyes grew to nearly the size of his pancakes. "Aren't you on the pill?" he asked, urgency filling his voice.
"That's none of your business," she huffily replied.
He laughed. "I think you made it my business last night, with whatever the hell happened there."
"How are we even sure that anything happened?" she nearly-shrieked, and even Draco's snootiest glares couldn't save him from being stared at by everyone in the diner.
"Calm down, will you? I told you I don't want you to make a scene."
"I'd rather make a scene than be carrying your seed!" she shot.
Involuntarily, his eyebrow crept up to his hairline. "Okay, you're getting just a little bit hysterical. Let's take care of the check." He looked at the bill, and realized that he had no idea exactly how much a pound was or what the hell it looked like.
"Have you got any muggle money?"
Chapter Two
Rating: R (or M for mature)
Genre: Humor, romance, a hint of drama
Pairing(s): Draco/Harry, Draco/Hermione (implied), Ginny/Luna (implied)
Summary: "I think, first of all, we shouldn't tell anyone. And secondly, we shouldn't talk about it. Most importantly, it's probably just a good idea if we pretend it never happened."
Something happened between Draco and Hermione, something that never should have even been considered . . .
Reviews accepted and appreciated. Feedback is love!
He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he knew that it wasn't where he was supposed to be.
He was supposed to be in his flat, on his pull-out, sleeping away a hangover from a recent binge. And, even if he wasn't tucked neatly and safely into bed, he should at least have been in the right part of London.
Honestly, he wasn't even sure he was still in London, which was vaguely concerning. All that he knew was that, wherever he was, he was warm and cozy and naked, and there was someone else in bed with him.
Draco stifled a groan, attempting to shift as noiselessly as possible to avoid waking the woman next to him. The fact that it was a woman's bed made the events of last night particularly curious - Draco was fairly certain he hadn't been with a woman since sixth year, when a certain dark-haired Slytherin had shown him the benefits of an experienced man. Something must have been slipped into his drink, or perhaps too many drinks had slipped down too easily. There was no way to be sure.
He managed to turn himself over, and looked over the sweetly sleeping face of a lovely brunette. His eyes traveled down her body, appreciating her lightly-freckled complexion and ample curves. And then, like the proverbial sack of bricks, it hit him.
He'd slept with Hermione Granger.
Harry was going to be furious.
Her eyes fluttered open, and a soft smile graced her before an unrivaled look of horror took over. A small noise that sounded rather like, "Eep!" escaped.
"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?!" she shrieked, holding the sheet against her chest in shock and fury.
"I wish I knew," he offered pitifully, noting that his voice had the graveled pitch of a long night's festivities. The four words were the first he'd uttered since awakening.
"Well, how did you get in here?" she demanded, her fury rising visibly with every syllable. Patches of a surprisingly brilliant crimson colored her face and neck.
"I would assume," he said, slowly and rationally, "that you let me in last night. I certainly didn't sneak in while you were sleeping."
"Don't you dare make jokes about anything that could have . . . happened last night! Can you imagine what this could do to my reputation?"
Despite himself, Draco was having a hard time taking Hermione's concern as seriously as perhaps he should have been. If "what he'd heard" was true, her reputation was long past spoilt. "I daresay we'll be the talk of London now. All over the tabloids and whatnot."
While she probably knew that her stare would harm him no more than would patting his head, Hermione nevertheless attempted to kill him with a fiery glare. "Tabloid coverage is a very real possibility. We're not exactly considered commoners by the Wizarding community."
Draco half-wished that a serious threat of any sort still loomed over the UK's Wizarding world. The tabloid coverage and speculation of which former Order-member or Death Eater was sleeping with whom was far more tiresome than even housing Voldemort had been.
"What, exactly, do you propose we do, Miss Granger?" Draco drawled, attempting to be as civil and level-headed as the situation would allow. His stomach growled uncomfortably. Pancakes sounded absolutely necessary as a solution.
She sighed and flopped helplessly (and more than a bit dramatically, he thought) onto the bed. "I have no idea."
"Well, how about some pancakes?" he suggested, rubbing his stomach to reassure it that some sort of food stuff or another would soon be there.
"Pancakes?" she asked disbelievingly. "How are bloody pancakes going to help anything?"
Running his fingers through his hair, exasperated, Draco explained, "I'm hungry. You're probably a bit peaked, too. Pancakes are probably one of the only breakfast foods safe after a night like what I imagine this last was."
Hermione was silent for a few beats, staring blankly at the ceiling. After quite a while, she said, "You know, I don't recall anything that happened last night, past when Harry left the pub."
Oddly enough, neither could he. "Maybe something was spiked," he reasoned, thinking it the only solution that both of them would be affected so similarly.
"Maybe." She sighed. "It just doesn't make any sense to me at all. Why would we leave together? Why didn't you go with Harry?"
He grimaced. "Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Granger."
"I don't have to read it to know that you two have something. He's one of my best friends, you realize. There isn't very much that Harry keeps from me."
Not entirely sure how to respond to that and still pondering what had wiped away the evening, Draco took his turn staring off into space. "Maybe," he eventually vocalized, not realizing until after the word left him that it had no space in the conversation. "I'm really starving. Do you have food in this hovel or are we going to have to be seen in public together?"
She scowled but otherwise ignored the jab. "I have a few things here and there. Not so sure about pancakes, though. Maybe there's a box of mix in a cupboard."
Getting up from bed, Draco realized exactly how awkward the entire situation really was. His bits were hanging out for all to see, and his clothes were nowhere to be seen in the room. With a sigh, he sauntered into the kitchen, spying the boxers he'd been wearing the night before on a coffee table in the main room. He struggled vainly to remember exactly how they'd gotten there.
There was a nearly-expired box of QuikMix in the cupboard above the range, and the single egg the recipe called for was found easily enough in the otherwise-depleted fridge. Draco thanked whatever higher being had put this in order for him, and then started about preparing breakfast.
His wand, thankfully, was on the countertop in very plain sight, and seemed to be untampered with. Malignancy officially excused itself from his rather short list of possible explanations. The vague concern grew an inch or two in diameter.
Most wizards cooked with their wands. Draco, however, didn't quite feel up to wielding any form of magic, and didn't want to be responsible for any accidents. He tore through the drawers in search of a whisk, annoyed when he couldn't find one anywhere. The recipe called for a whisk, and he intended to have one, goddammit.
"Hermione!" he called, wincing at how tired and careworn he sounded.
Rather than call across the flat, Hermione padded softly into the small area devoted to food preparation. "What, Draco?"
"Where is the whisk?"
"The what?"
"The whisk. The wire whisk you use to mix things together with."
"Oh, right. I haven't got one." She rifled around in a rather unorganized drawer next to the fridge. "Use this," she said, holding up a large spoon.
He grabbed it and sighed, thankful he'd thought to put his boxers on. It would have been difficult to appear so indignant and frustrated if he'd still been naked. "Fine. Do you have a measuring cup?"
Reaching into a cupboard, she asked, "What size do you need?"
"You have a variety of measuring cups and you don't have a wire whisk?"
"I don't use wire whisks, Draco. I use spoons. They work just fine."
"Just give me a two-cup."
She handed him a moderately-sized glass measuring cup, and he poured out the necessary milk and water. "You shouldn't add the water before you add the milk," Hermione scolded.
"And why not?"
"Because the recipe calls for milk, then water."
He blinked. "You've got to be kidding me. Forget the fucking pancakes. Is there an IHOP somewhere around here?"
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
"So, why is your kitchen in such disarray?" Draco asked, sipping at a cup of coffee. The sudden rush of caffeine in his blood was proving helpful to a speedy recovery.
They were in a privately-owned "Pancake House," having been unable to find a suitable IHOP. Hermione had ordered french toast rather than pancakes, and Draco had requested the restaurants' specialty: the bottomless stack. An uneasy silence had reigned between the two while they waited for their food to arrive.
"My kitchen is not in disarray," Hermione argued. "I know exactly where everything is."
Draco snorted. "Those drawers are an abomination."
"I didn't know you were such an activist for organized cutlery," she shot, sucking furiously at the straw in her ice water. "And where the hell is my french toast?"
The level of insanity that she was approaching was making Draco quite uncomfortable. "Calm down, will you? I don't want to be made a spectacle."
Hermione laughed. "Yes, well, that's a bit late for that, then, isn't it?"
Draco was saved from having to ask what that was supposed to mean by the arrival of their food. The gloomy waitress ominously informed him that there was plenty more where his pancakes came from. Taking it as a promise rather than a threat, he dug in with gusto.
"Ugh, you eat like a pig," Hermione grumbled, picking at her french toast daintily.
Swallowing a quarter of a pancake whole, Draco replied, "You must have kept me busy last night. I'm famished."
As he had hoped, she had no response to that.
"And I'm not being piggish," he added, slowing down a bit and cutting his food first. "I just haven't had anything to eat in at least fourteen hours."
"That doesn't excuse bad manners."
"There is nothing wrong with my manners. You're the one shouting for your food like a toddler."
An odd gleam came alight in her eyes, and Draco half-wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. "Give me a break, will you, Malfoy? I've had a bit of a rough time. I'm tired. And you're not exactly my idea of good company."
He couldn't argue with that. Hermione certainly wasn't high on his list of people to associate with. So then, why are we here?
It was time to stop drinking.
They ate mostly in silence after that, and Draco took advantage of it to savor the delicious, buttery sweet taste of his pancakes. To him, they were the ultimate comfort food, and he was definitely in need of comfort at the moment.
"What do we do now, Draco?" Hermione asked, her voice a little sad.
"I'm not sure what you mean," he replied. He fully intended, at the moment, to devour at least two more stacks of pancakes, although intuition told him that this probably wasn't what she wanted to hear right now.
"How do we . . . deal with this whole thing?" she rephrased, staring at him intently for some kind of answer.
"Well," he said, setting aside his empty plate, and waving at the waitress to bring another, "I think, first of all, we shouldn't tell anyone. And secondly, we shouldn't talk about it. Most importantly, it's probably just a good idea if we pretend it never happened."
"But, Draco, I don't even remember if we used . . . " she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, "protection."
It was a good thing that nothing was in transport to his mouth at the time, because the splutter that her worry caused was nothing short of a spit take. "You have got to be kidding me," he exclaimed, earning a few stares from the closest tables. Their curiosity earned them a vicious sneer. "Hermione, do you honestly I'd . . . have something . . . to give to you?"
"That wasn't what I was worried about, Draco!" she snapped.
"Well, then, what are you worried about?"
Hermione sighed. "Never mind. Just never mind."
Finally wrapping his mind around what she was trying to tell him, Draco's eyes grew to nearly the size of his pancakes. "Aren't you on the pill?" he asked, urgency filling his voice.
"That's none of your business," she huffily replied.
He laughed. "I think you made it my business last night, with whatever the hell happened there."
"How are we even sure that anything happened?" she nearly-shrieked, and even Draco's snootiest glares couldn't save him from being stared at by everyone in the diner.
"Calm down, will you? I told you I don't want you to make a scene."
"I'd rather make a scene than be carrying your seed!" she shot.
Involuntarily, his eyebrow crept up to his hairline. "Okay, you're getting just a little bit hysterical. Let's take care of the check." He looked at the bill, and realized that he had no idea exactly how much a pound was or what the hell it looked like.
"Have you got any muggle money?"
Chapter Two