A/N: Here it is! The moment you've all been waiting for! Sorry, it took my longer than I thought it would to update. But! This one is longer, so that is my retribution. I've been feeling majorly musey lately, so hopefully I can get an update up soon.
Just a heads up, though. I'm starting school soon, as are most people, so I probably won't have too much spare time to keep writing. I'll see what I can manage, though! I'm sure I'll be able to finish the story!
A great big thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers! I love you so!
Disclaimer: I don't own HP, yadda yadda.
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Chapter 3
There was something really bright shining on her face. Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly but the bright light still managed to get under her eyelids. Sighing, she opened her eyes. There was a ray of sunlight coming in from the window, and it was aimed straight at her face. Squinting, she groaned. Her head was pounding. Wait a second, she thought. Why was there a window? Where the hell was she? The last thing she remembered was laughing with Harry at the Friday Formal. And why was she so cold? She realized that she was only covered by a sheet. There was no blanket on the bed, which was odd. Even though it was spring, the mornings and nights were still pretty cold. All of the students still had blankets on their beds. About two seconds after she made this acute observation, Hermione realized that she was definitely completely naked. Suddenly, she was completely awake.Â
She raked her eyes across the room, taking inventory. There were four other beds in the room, all mercifully empty. Heaven only knew where their usual occupants were. That was the first tip-off that this room was not her dorm. Her room had fewer beds than this one. The walls were red, though, so that was a good sign. She was still in Gryffindor. One of the beds had numerous muggle posters above it, all depicting some sports team or another.Â
After completing her mental inventory and still having no clue where she was, Hermione's eyes fell on the sleeping figure next to her. He was facing away from her, but she could recognize that messy black hair from a mile away. "No," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. This was not happening. There was no way... There must be something wrong with her. She had to be imagining things. She covered her eyes with her hand and inhaled sharply through her nose. This had to be a mistake.Â
Just then, the sleeping figure flipped over so she could see his face. At this point, there was no denying the fact that it was Harry. His hair was pushed off of his forehead, and his scar seemed to mock her from his forehead. To her horror, Hermione registered that she was getting teary. This is not the time to be getting weepy, she firmly told herself, but her tear ducts didn't seem to be taking orders from her brain at the moment. She angrily wiped away her tears. There has to be some sort of logical explanation for this, she reasoned, her practical, Hermione-ish side kicking in.Â
She sat up, holding the sheet against her chest. That proved to be a bad idea, as her stomach immediately stated churning menacingly. She sprinted for the bathroom, which luckily proved to be in the same spot as the one in her dorm. After she had emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet, she remembered that she was wearing literally no clothing. Hoping that the room was still void of conscious humans, she hurried back to the safety of the sheet.Â
Her dress. Her beautiful, unbelievably perfect dress. The dress that she had spent hours obsessing over, the dress that she had hardly believed to have existed. It was lying on a heap on the floor. For some reason or another, Hermione found herself crying for the second time in a brief period of time. Why was she so emotional? It's because you just realized you slept with you best friend, she told herself. As if reading her mind, Harry stirred. His eyes blinked open, and then squeezed shut as hers had. He groaned and put a hand to his forehead. Hermione, not having made it to the bed, was frozen in place in the middle of the room, waiting to see what happened next. A few moments later, after his eyes had adjusted to the glaring sunlight, he looked up, saw Hermione, and started coughing violently.Â
"Oh my God!" Hermione shrieked, and snatched her dress off the floor. She held it up and made sure that it covered everything it needed to.Â
After Harry had recovered from his coughing fit, he managed to say, "May I ask why you're standing naked," he choked slightly on the last word, "in the middle of my dorm room?" Hermione, still a little shellshocked, took a while to respond. "You probably know better than I do," she said in a small voice.
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, angrily searching for his glasses. She glared at him.Â
"It means that I have no bloody idea, Harry!" At that, she scooped her remaining clothes off of the ground and stormed into the bathroom, forgetting that the dress didn't cover her back. Harry quickly averted his eyes. He sighed, ruffled his hair, and then reached over to pull some clean boxers out of his trunk that he slid on. He also grabbed an old shirt of his that he hardly ever wore. He knocked lightly on the bathroom door.
"Hermione? Here, take my shirt. I don't want you getting that dress even more fucked up." There was a pause, then the door opened slightly. Hermione stuck her hand out for the shirt. "Put that on, and then we can talk, okay?" Harry said in a weary voice the the crack. She didn't respond, but in a few minutes, Hermione emerged from the bathroom, wearing his shirt and a nasty expression.Â
"What?" she asked venomously, crossing her arms over her chest. Harry sighed again and then looked away. After a long pause, he took a deep breath.Â
"Hermione, you can't go blaming me for... whatever happened." He glanced over at Hermione, whose gaze was determinedly fixed on a chair in the corner of the room. "Do you remember anything from last night?" he asked, plopping back down on the bed.Â
Hermione exhaled sharply through her nose. "The only thing I remember, Harry, is that you kept filling up my glass. Obviously my judgement was impaired." Harry muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "No shit," but Hermione ignored him. "All I'm saying is that you seemed pretty intent on getting my hammered."Â
"Well, what the hell are you implying?" Harry snapped, firing up at once. She thought about it for a moment, then sighed. "I don't know," she said weakly. "I'm just a little... overwhelmed at the moment." Another pause. She sat down on the opposite side of his bed. "I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't blame you. I'm just as responsible. I just think we need to figure out exactly what happened, and then go down to breakfast." He studied her face for a moment. "Okay," he agreed, nodding. "So. Last night." He ran his fingers through his hair again. "Last night," Hermione echoed. They sat in awkward silence for almost a minute. "Basically," she said at last, "what I remember is coming downstairs, Ron yelling at Ginny for her dress, then they both disappeared. You gave me alcohol," she shot Harry a look, at which he threw his hands up in self defense, "and I just kept drinking." Her brow furrowed in deep concentration. "Oh, and we were laughing a lot. About really inane, irrelevant stuff." Just the memory of the previous night was making her head throb.
Harry nodded slowly. "That about sums up what I can recall," he said in a defeated tone. "Wait!" Hermione cried, standing up suddenly. "I just remembered... oh God." Her face paled. "What? What?" Harry said, looking up with alarm. "I just remembered how everyone decided that they were going to go have a sleepover or something in the Room of Requirement, but we stayed back. And then you... and then you lead me up here and--" She broke off with a worried look on her face. "And we shagged," Harry finished softly. "Basically," Hermione said in a stifled voice. She turned her face away from him. There was no way she would let Harry see that she was crying again. What was wrong with her?
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After that incredibly awkward exchange, they had established that they would try to keep the entire incident as hushed as possible. However, they had accepted that people would most likely speculate about what had happened. They knew that the fact that two intoxicated teenagers had gone gigglingly up to the same room and not emerged until the next morning had not gone unnoticed. It was to be assumed that the infamous Hogwarts rumor mill would start churning its gears in due course. They had agreed that they would both change, but they would go down to breakfast separately, so they could attract the least amount of attention possible.Â
Fifteen minutes later, they were both seated across from each other in the Great Hall, determinedly avoiding the other's gaze and being regaled by tales from the night previous. They had apparently missed out on "one hell of a night," Dean Thomas had said, shaking his head in awe. Out of nowhere, Hermione felt arms snaking around her neck. She freaked for about three seconds before realizing they belonged to a certain redhead. "Um, Ron?" she said, bemused. "I'm Hermione."Â
"I know that!" Ron said, sounding slightly muffled. He evidently had his face pressed against her hair. He laughed and then leaned closer to her, so that his lips barely brushed her ear. "I can't wait for our date tonight." A look of revulsion passed across Hermione's face, but only for an instant. Harry was the only one who noticed. "Wh-what?" she sputtered. Ron released her neck and then sat down next to her. He looked crestfallen. "You don't remember?"Â
Hermione shot Harry a worried look. "Oh! Of course I remember!" she lied, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, hoping that Harry would notice. "It's just that... when, exactly, did I agree to this?" She tilted her head slightly and waited for an answer. Ron looked even sadder. "Just last night. I can't believe she doesn't remember," he muttered to himself, turning away. "Oh! Well, Ron," Hermione said, everything clicking in her mind, "you see... last night... I don't really remember last night very well," she muttered to him, trying to make it subtle. Lavender, who had obviously been listening in, said loudly, "Oh my God, Hermione! I saw you last night! You go girl!" Hermione blushed scarlet. "Anyway," she pressed on, trying to stay on topic, "When and where are we going?" Ron took a deep breath, then a grin broke out on his face. "Six o'clock in the Common Room," he said, evidently cheered up. Hermione tried to smile back. "Great," she said weakly.Â
The rest of breakfast passed without any more startling news. Hermione was relieved to hear that she had not gotten married or anything so extreme while she had been under the influence. "Er, Harry?" she said, as he was about to leave the table. "Could I have a word? Defense Against the Dark Arts homework," she offered as explanation to the confused looks she was receiving. She lead him into the Entrance Hall. "What are we going to do?" she hissed at him, starting to freak out. They had planned on coming clean to Ron, but after his Big Announcement, she knew that telling him would kill him. "We can't tell him now!"
Harry groaned. He hated the prospect of keeping something so major from Ron. "Are you sure we couldn't--" Hermione's eyes flashed. "Harry! Really, how can you be so thick! Do you want to break his heart?" She sighed. "I don't like him that way, Harry. You have to help me get out of this somehow." He groaned. "I'll see what I can do." Hermione smiled at him.