Drinking Games

“It's your turn now!” Hermione giggled, burrowing further into the ragged, over-stuffed old brown couch. “You... have to tell me something you've never told anyone else!”

“Oh, no, I don't like that one,” Harry moaned quickly. “Can't you make me do something embarrassing instead?”

“Nuh-uh!” Hermione tutted. “You've gotta follow the rules!”

“Uh...” Harry wracked his brain for something appropriate, but he was finding it hard to concentrate. He tried to convince himself that it just was the firewhiskey clouding his thoughts. But that wasn't it, and he knew it. No, it was Hermione.

She was leaning back against the side of the couch, her legs extended out almost all the way to him on the other side of the couch. A delighted, avid expression was pasted on her face as she chewed absently on a tendril of curly hair. She was dressed sloppily in a loose set of pajamas, one sleeve slipped down to expose a bare shoulder and a blanket clutched up against her chest. Her golden brown eyes were fixed intently on his face, filled with laughter and anticipation.

She was undoubtedly the cutest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Once again, he tried to blame the firewhiskey. He had been single for ages, he was drunk and horny, and Hermione was a very attractive woman. But the excuse came up short again, for he didn't need firewhiskey to feel like this.

“I- I don't think I like this game.”

“Harry! You can't get out of it this easily!” Hermione hiccupped, and then giggled again. “I think I've had a little too much firewhiskey...”

“Me too...” Harry agreed, uncomfortable at the direction of his thoughts. “Maybe we should go to bed.”

“Harry James Potter!” Hermione shrieked, bouncing on the couch in agitation. “Don't you dare try and worm your way out of this!”

“Okay,” Harry sighed. “Well, here's something I've never told anyone else: I'm absolutely crazy about you.”

“That's better-” Hermione started before she processed what he had said. It took a moment longer than usual, due to her current condition, but suddenly her eyes went very wide and her mouth dropped open.

“You what?” she spluttered.

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly and rose to his feet. A sinking, hollow feeling had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach. Good job, Potter. Better cut your losses now and hope she doesn't remember any of this in the morning. He dared a quick look back and there she was staring at him like he'd grown two heads. He groaned.

“Harry, where are you going?” Hermione demanded as he shuffled miserably off towards his room.

“Er, bed,” he mumbled.

“What? Harry Potter, get back over here this instant!”

Harry's head jerked up and he looked back at Hermione in surprise. There had been something in her voice. But the brief glimmer of hope died as he saw the intense expression on her face. She just wanted to get to the bottom of this. And chastise him for being an idiot. Might as well get it over with.

“Ok...” he sighed and turned back reluctantly. A minute later he stood looking down at her on the couch. She reached out and jerked him down roughly onto his knees; their eyes were now on the same level. Hers were unreadable, causing Harry to groan again.

“Did you really mean that?” she demanded. “No, wait. Tell me what you meant.”

“I, um,” Harry searched for the right words to beg off. That it was just a big joke, haha, silly, drunk Harry. Then he made the mistake of looking into Hermione's eyes and knew he just couldn't lie to her. So Harry did the only thing left to him: let it all spill out.

“Hermione, when I get up every morning I'm thinking about you. I wonder how you're doing, whether you're thinking about me. I can hear the sound of your voice and it makes me smile.”

Hermione was still looking at him with a closed expression.

“At work all I think about is what we're going to do when I get home. And then when I finally do get home, my heart jumps a little when I see you,” Harry continued. “I hope that neither Ron nor any of the rest comes over so I can be alone with you. I can talk with you about anything, it's so easy. And I could listen to the sound of your voice all day and be happy.”

Harry had closed his eyes by now; he didn't want to see the look of pity and revulsion on Hermione's face.

“And you're beautiful,” he plowed on. “I know you think you're plain and it drives me crazy that you could think that! You're not; you're gorgeous! And you're the cleverest person I've ever met, not to mention kind and caring and fun and... well, you're my best friend! I shouldn't be thinking these things! But, if what I just said doesn't mean I'm crazy about you, then I don't know what would. I'm just stupid. It took me this long to figure it out...”

“Harry...”

“I think I should be going now,” Harry babbled, turning red. “I've said quite enough for tonight. I've better go. I'd better figure out how to fix-”

“Harry!” Hermione repeated loudly. He finally opened his eyes to see Hermione staring at him with a mixture of exasperation and- well, something. Fondness?

“Y-yeah?” he responded timidly.

“Shut up.”

Her hands shot out and tangled themselves in his hair, pulling his face towards hers. He had just enough time for a startled gasp before her lips sealed themselves against his. He froze in shock and disbelief, for a moment instinctively trying to pull away. But he found he couldn't; Hermione made an irritated sound and tightened her grip. He gave in, returning her kiss.

“Hermione,” he gasped as they drew apart for breath. “What-? We shouldn't... you're drunk! That's all it is...”

“I'm not that drunk,” Hermione flared, eyes flashing dangerously. “Besides, do you think I just go around snogging any old guy, even when I am drunk?!”

“That's not what I meant,” Harry protested feebly. “You're going to regret this tomorrow mornin-”

“The only person who's going to regret anything is you if you don't start kissing me! And I mean right now!” Hermione threatened, then took matters into her own hands again.

“I-I think we should go to bed,” Harry said unsteadily several minutes later when Hermione released him. She giggled.

“Yes, I think that's a good idea.”

“Hermione!” Harry gaped. “That's not- I mean- what's gotten into you-”

“Nothing. Yet. Carry me,” she extended her arms. Bemused, Harry automatically bent over and picked her up. Immediately, she started nuzzling his neck.

“Hermione...” Harry said in a strangled voice as he tried to navigate his way up the stairs. “That's very distracting.”

“Sorry,” she said in a voice that wasn't sorry at all. “Is this better?”

It was, depending on how you looked at it. They had to stop for several minutes until Harry could free his face again to see where he was going. Hermione weighed nothing in his arms, tiny as she was and as strong as his wiry frame was from constant Quidditch practice.

“Ok, last stop,” Harry said breathily, laying Hermione down on her bed.

“I still say you're going to be sorry tomorrow morning,” he added as he turned to leave.

“Get back over here, Potter,” Hermione growled. A sudden irresistible force gripped his body and forced him to turn around. She had hexed him! “I'm not done with you yet.”

“Hermione, let me go!” Harry said. “I won't go anywhere, I swear.”

“Yes, you will,” Hermione responded with a glint in her eyes, but she waved her wand and freed him. “You're going to come right over here.” She patted the bed beside her.

“Ok... you win,” Harry surrendered, not too upset about it. A brilliant smile lit up Hermione's face. Throwing caution to the wind, Harry took a flying leap onto the bed, causing Hermione to shriek with laughter. She punched him in mock affront, then pulled him into another knee-weakening kiss. Several minutes later she curled up on her side, head on his chest, arm flung possessively across his body and leg hooked with his.

“G'night, Harry,” she mumbled into his shirt and promptly fell asleep. It took Harry much longer to find his dreams, but he felt more at peace than he could ever remember.

“G'night… love.”

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