A Royal Mistake - Chapter Two
Hermione pushed her food around her plate dully, uninterested in her breakfast. Her brows were pulled tight together, a frown creasing the corners of her mouth. Harry elbowed her softly, giving her a look between sips of pumpkin juice. “Are you alright Hermione?”
It took her a moment to answer him but finally she nodded, “Of course.” He gave her a look over the rim of his glasses. She sighed; she didn’t want to tell him that she had woken that morning in a rather alarming state. Hermione had woken naked, her clothes strewn over the floor, and she’d found several bottles of firewhiskey beneath her bed. All of the bottles were empty.
Her cheeks flushed red as she thought about the discovery of those bottles. Her biggest problem wasn’t that she’d apparently gotten completely smashed, but that she’d gotten so utterly smashed that she couldn’t recall what had happened last night. Not even a glimmer.
She remembered bits and pieces of the day before, sure. She had gone to all of her classes, worked on the essay that Snape had demanded they write last minute, helped Ron and Harry with their own essays, and she distinctly remembered fighting with Ron. Her cheeks flushed harder, her eyes darting over to the red haired boy.
Harry gave a knowing sigh, patting her shoulder. “He’ll apologize soon, Hermione. Don’t let it get to you.” She took a minute to study her plate rather than argue with his psychological evaluation of her. She decided to be thankful that he’d thought up an excuse for her unusual behavior.
“Thanks Harry.” She smiled, giving him a noncommittal nod.
Across the room Draco was clutching his fork so hard in his hand that the ridges of the handle imprinted on his palm. He found it increasingly difficult to control his breathing with a certain mudblood in his vision.
It only gave him slight satisfaction to see her frown, her eyebrows pulled tightly together under her unruly hair. He could only guess what thoughts she was having in that oversized brain of hers, but he felt certain he had a fairly good idea.
Even so Draco was hardly soothed. Waking up in bed beside the female portion of the Golden Trio wasn’t exactly in his top ten achievements, though he did feel the urge to gloat about it. Hermione Granger- perfect little know-it-all-brightest-witch-of-her-age had been naked beside the Slytherin Prince, sworn enemy and so called scum of the earth. Potter would have a coronary if he knew, but rubbing it in to him meant admitting that he’d been within arm’s length of the Mudblood.
He dropped his fork unceremoniously onto the table, rubbing his face hard with his hands. It didn’t help that every time he shut his eyes he was greeted with crimson and scarlet shades and not even pumpkin juice and bacon could burn away the cinnamon-vanilla mixture at the back of his throat; floral and sweet, with a bit of a kick.
Draco was also troubled that he couldn’t exactly remember how he’d gotten into Granger’s bed. Not that he particularly wanted a play-by-play. How had the two run into each other? What had he said? What had he done? Had he really been so desperate for a shag that even the book-worm would do? No, he decided, that couldn’t be it. Granger must have come onto him. He remembered getting drunk, of course, but exactly when or where she joined the picture he couldn’t be sure.
He gave up on his breakfast, pushing the plate away with disdain. Pansy latched onto his side, whining like a foreign animal. He shrugged her off a bit harder than usual, strapping his bag onto his shoulder.
She stomped her foot. He rolled his eyes.
If he knew one thing for certain it was that he needed to figure out the events of last night before Double Potions with the Gryffindor scum.
It took her a moment to answer him but finally she nodded, “Of course.” He gave her a look over the rim of his glasses. She sighed; she didn’t want to tell him that she had woken that morning in a rather alarming state. Hermione had woken naked, her clothes strewn over the floor, and she’d found several bottles of firewhiskey beneath her bed. All of the bottles were empty.
Her cheeks flushed red as she thought about the discovery of those bottles. Her biggest problem wasn’t that she’d apparently gotten completely smashed, but that she’d gotten so utterly smashed that she couldn’t recall what had happened last night. Not even a glimmer.
She remembered bits and pieces of the day before, sure. She had gone to all of her classes, worked on the essay that Snape had demanded they write last minute, helped Ron and Harry with their own essays, and she distinctly remembered fighting with Ron. Her cheeks flushed harder, her eyes darting over to the red haired boy.
Harry gave a knowing sigh, patting her shoulder. “He’ll apologize soon, Hermione. Don’t let it get to you.” She took a minute to study her plate rather than argue with his psychological evaluation of her. She decided to be thankful that he’d thought up an excuse for her unusual behavior.
“Thanks Harry.” She smiled, giving him a noncommittal nod.
Across the room Draco was clutching his fork so hard in his hand that the ridges of the handle imprinted on his palm. He found it increasingly difficult to control his breathing with a certain mudblood in his vision.
It only gave him slight satisfaction to see her frown, her eyebrows pulled tightly together under her unruly hair. He could only guess what thoughts she was having in that oversized brain of hers, but he felt certain he had a fairly good idea.
Even so Draco was hardly soothed. Waking up in bed beside the female portion of the Golden Trio wasn’t exactly in his top ten achievements, though he did feel the urge to gloat about it. Hermione Granger- perfect little know-it-all-brightest-witch-of-her-age had been naked beside the Slytherin Prince, sworn enemy and so called scum of the earth. Potter would have a coronary if he knew, but rubbing it in to him meant admitting that he’d been within arm’s length of the Mudblood.
He dropped his fork unceremoniously onto the table, rubbing his face hard with his hands. It didn’t help that every time he shut his eyes he was greeted with crimson and scarlet shades and not even pumpkin juice and bacon could burn away the cinnamon-vanilla mixture at the back of his throat; floral and sweet, with a bit of a kick.
Draco was also troubled that he couldn’t exactly remember how he’d gotten into Granger’s bed. Not that he particularly wanted a play-by-play. How had the two run into each other? What had he said? What had he done? Had he really been so desperate for a shag that even the book-worm would do? No, he decided, that couldn’t be it. Granger must have come onto him. He remembered getting drunk, of course, but exactly when or where she joined the picture he couldn’t be sure.
He gave up on his breakfast, pushing the plate away with disdain. Pansy latched onto his side, whining like a foreign animal. He shrugged her off a bit harder than usual, strapping his bag onto his shoulder.
She stomped her foot. He rolled his eyes.
If he knew one thing for certain it was that he needed to figure out the events of last night before Double Potions with the Gryffindor scum.