complimentary colours • drarry •

15 hangovers

Sunday 13th December 1998

Harry woke with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. He groaned into his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. The room was silent as he laid in his misery, until Pepper meowed from where she was sat on the pillow by his head.

"Shh," he hissed, lifting his head.

His bed curtains were open and when he attempted to open his eyes, he squinted against the light. He shifted to look out of the window and saw that sun had barely risen over the mountains. He probably hadn't missed breakfast. Though, as he sat up, the movement causing his stomach to churn, he didn't think he would be able to keep anything down.

Massaging his temples did nothing to dull his headache as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress, placing his feet on the floor. He looked over at Draco's bed. It was empty. He shouldn't be surprised that even a hangover would not stop Draco from being an early riser. He was probably in the library studying, while everyone else was in bed, feeling awful.

He forced himself to get up. Only as he frowned down at his bare chest did he realise that he was still wearing his shirt and jeans from the night before.

He struggled to remember what had happened. He had no idea how he and Draco had even got back to the castle. He realised, with a hint of dread, that anything could have happened in the gap in his memory. He could have said anything, done anything.

He eyed Draco's neatly made bed nervously.

He'd never drunk that much before. He and Ron had gone out a few times over the summer, but they'd had a few glasses at most, so having a hangover was a new experience for him. One he would not be keen to repeat.

He slipped off his shirt and stepped into the bathroom. Turing on the shower, he stripped down and pulled a clean towel out of the cupboard. The water was scolding against his skin as he stood under the spray and let the water sooth his body. He enjoyed showers. The hum of the water was just enough to quiet his mind and stop his thoughts from drifting. By the time he was done he almost felt better.

Alas, as he stepped out of the shower, the tiled floor icy against his feet, the room still spun and he still felt like he might throw up any second. Brushing his teeth helped. At least it got rid of the left over bitter taste of firewhisky.

He picked out his comfiest hoodie, got changed, then walked down the stairs. There were a few people in the common room. He scanned their heads for Draco, even though he knew he generally avoided the it. Unsurprisingly, he was not among the other eighth years, but his absence still added to Harry's concern and he wondered where he'd rushed off to.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Pansy was walking in the opposite direction, back to the dorms. She passed him without a glance but before she could go too far Harry turned around.

"Hey, Pansy?" he asked. She stopped and looked down at him, retreating a step. She assessed him, eyes traveling from head to toe judgementally.

"Yes?" she said, in that intimidating way she always did.

"Have you seen Draco?" he asked. "He wasn't there when I woke up."

She raised an eyebrow and a smirk played at the corner of her dark red lips. "Oh? You two had fun last night then?"

He paused. He wasn't quite sure he knew what she was suggesting. He didn't know Pansy well enough to know if it was a joke.

"Uh..."

She laughed.

"I'm only teasing, Potter. Calm down," she said. "No I haven't seen him. He spends so much time with you these days, I never know where he is."