About Last Night

Moving In

All of Saturday was spent in shock. Draco, still clad in his day-old trousers, did not move from his position on the couch; his silver eyes were agape, clearly lost in thought as his palms held his chin up. He ignored the throbbing of the headache caused by his hangover by swallowing poison to combat the symptoms. By no means, however, was his body reacting to the alcohol. After three shots and no tingle of numbness, he set the bottle at his feet and continued to hold his silence.

He had fucked up. He had really, really fucked up. This was not like when he was nineteen and he demolished his family's home in France during a wild party and was deported back to England. This was far worse than the time he slept with the Spaniard princess on the eve of her wedding to his own cousin. This even trumped the time he had gotten so plastered he slept with Astoria Greengrass before seducing her mother when he snuck out of her bedroom, then got caught by Mister Greengrass, who was so enraged he had a heart attack and almost died. 

Yeah...Marrying Granger and possibly impregnating her was definitely the dumbest thing Draco had done.

Sunday somehow came and Draco was only brought back to the present when he heard Delta's voice calling for him.

"Master," said the house-elf, "there is a woman in the kitchen, Master. She says to Delta she is making Master lunch, but Delta always makes Master's lunch."

"Can you make someone disappear for me?" Draco muttered slowly. "I'm not saying kill her, but perhaps knock her over the head with a hard object, snap her wand in half, and then apparate her to the most remote place on Earth. Make sure she has no way of getting back to Britain, if you are so kind."

"I is sorry, Master," Delta replied with complete displeasure on not being able to follow an order, "but Ministry checks on Delta's activities to makes certain Master is behaving."

Draco scowled. He knew the Ministry even kept tabs on the company that made his boxers to ensure he was being a model citizen, but that did not have the power to aggravate him at the current moment. How the hell was he going to get rid of Granger?

Speaking of the devil, she entered the living room carrying a tray. Just as Draco was still in his clothes from the night this disaster occurred, so we she. All Granger had covering her lacy undergarment set was his button-up. She smiled tentatively when she rested the tray on his center table, picking up his bottle of whiskey in the process.

"Eat," she instructed him. "You'll feel better. There's also a Sobering Potion in there because I know you must still feel sick."

"I'll feel loads better if you fucked off, Granger," Draco replied, not bothering to be cordial whatsoever (not like it was in his nature, anyway).

She took a calming breath. "We've been over this. I am not going to leave until we are sure I am not pregnant."

"You are not!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because!" he retaliated, clearly not his best use of logic (not like any of this was). "You can wait as long as you bloody want, but do it at your own place."

Granger narrowed her brown gaze at him, ready to counter-argue, but there was a knocking at the door. Delta hurried off to tend to it.

"Who the fuck is it now?" Draco growled. "Potter and Weasley ready to fight me for shagging their best friend?"

"It's Blaise," informed Granger.

Draco snapped his neck to glare at her. "What'd you mean it's Blaise?"

On cue, the mentioned man appeared at the entrance of the living room. He was without his Auror robes, suggesting that he had taken a day off and was clearly not pleased that he found himself in Draco's flat once more (especially since his days off were usually spent with a girl he refused to give identity to or having tea with a mother he resented).