The Time When Draco Flew Home

Draco blearily opened his eyes, blinking several times to clear his vision. He felt bile rise in his throat and his stomach shift heavily and he prayed he wouldn't throw up. Last night had been a big one, and he was finding that now he was approaching his thirties, he couldn't drink like he used to. With a concentrated effort, Draco pushed himself over so that he was lying on his back. Mid-morning sunlight was flooding the rooms, and a light breeze was travelling through, lifting the curtains lightly and cooling Draco's sweaty skin. He noticed with slight concern that the balcony doors were ajar and he realised he couldn't remember how he got home.

Last night was Blaise's stag do, and he'd certainly made the most of the celebration. He heard clattering coming from the kitchen and frowned. That didn't sound good. Hermione had a tendency to do chores the muggle way when she was pissed off. With missing memory from last night, Draco felt the fear crawl up his spine. He must've done something wrong and he didn't even have a clue about what he would need to apologise for.

Trying not to move too much for fear of upsetting his nauseas stomach, Draco groped blindly in the air next to the bed and muttered 'accio wand'. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the wood thump into his palm, and he closed his fist on it automatically. He shifted slightly so he could point his wand at the glass on his bedside table and rasped out the spell to fill it with water. Slowly and carefully he sat up far enough to get some of it into his mouth. His head was swimming in circles, and it was making it hard to concentrate.

Draco was pretty sure he had some potions for this sort of self-imposed ailment in the bathroom cabinet, and after taking a couple more minutes to muster his strength, he pushed himself to standing. Being vertical only made the nausea worse, and he hastened, albeit still moving very slowly, to the ensuite bathroom. He wrenched open the bathroom cabinet, only to look on in despair as he noted the empty spot where his hangover potion should be. The feeling of suspicion that he did something quite disastrous only deepened, but before he could contemplate it further, he felt his stomach twist and he lurched sideways across the room to vomit loudly into the toilet.

By the time Draco made it through to the kitchen half an hour later, he was feeling very sorry for himself. He found Hermione elbows deep in bubbles at the sink, an array of pots and pans surrounding her.

Draco sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and slumped pitifully over it. "Good morning." He mumbled. Hermione's shoulders tended visibly under her blouse and she spun round to fix Draco with a glare that would have made even McGonagall shrink back.

"Good morning?" Hermione questioned with a quiet fury.

"It's not a good one, I take it?" Draco said, his weariness preventing him from taking in full stock of the situation.

"Imagine my surprise," Hermione began, whipping off one muggle washing-up globe after the other, flinging suds across the kitchen, some of which landed square on Draco's jaw. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. "When I'm woken up at four in the morning by you flying drunk into the balcony doors."

Draco swallowed. So that was how he gotten home. He had a vague memory of thinking it would be a cracking idea to fly across London rather than make the walk.

"Not to mention that anyone could have seen you, you could have fallen to your death, you could've hurt someone." Hermione spat out his trespasses with venom.

Before he could stop himself or think rationally, Draco responded. "But I didn't."

Draco could see Hermione bristle with magic and noticed blearily that at some point since removing the gloves, her wand had found its way into her hand. He wondered how subtly he could get his own wand from the pocket of his pyjamas. Just in case.

"You could've." Hermione spat back, she raised her wand, but spun to point it at the pots and pans. The water vanished, and the pots lurched violently into the air, finding their homes with a lot of loud clattering. When she turned back around, Draco was horrified to see she was crying.

"Ah shit, Hermione." Draco clambered off the stool and enveloped the crying witch in a tight hug. He wiped tears from her cheeks. "Shit, I didn't mean to make you cry."

"You could've hurt someone or been seen. I don't give a damn if you want to get drunk on a broom and hurt yourself." Hermione hiccoughed, tears still trailing down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Draco muttered, choosing to ignore for the moment the part where Hermione was happy for him to cause himself injury.

Hermione pulled back so that she could look him in the eye. "Sorry about what?"

"Making you cry?" Draco winced as her saw he'd said the wrong thing. Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Wrong answer."

"Shit, Hermione." Draco dragged a hand through his blonde hair. "It was a ten-minute flight, in wizarding London, at three in the morning. Minimum damage done."

He could see the fight on Hermione's face, as she wrestled with her morals against the limited damage of the situation.

"You won't do it again." Hermione stated; her lips pursed.

"Nah, Hermione. I never normally take my broom. It was only because we were playing 5-aside quidditch."

Hermione scowled and she wiped away another couple of tears.

"I want you to say you won't do it again because you know its wrong, not just because its fucking unlikely."

Draco didn't respond. Hermione thumped him in his chest with her fist. "Jerk."

Hermione stepped back so she could look at him. Draco winced at the fury on her face.

"Don't tell me this is it." Draco felt his heartbeat thump violently in his chest.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't know."

"Fuck, Hermione. I don't want to lose this over something so small."

"You should've thought of that before." Hermione sighed. "I don't want to end this, Draco."

"It's not going to happen again." Draco took a step forward. "C'mon, Hermione, you know that."

Hermione nodded. "You know I'd ride anyone for this, hex them into next year."

"You want to hex me?" Draco asked.

"No."

"Okay, that's good." Draco took another step forward. "Hermione, I love you."

"I love you too." Hermione's voice was quiet.

Draco closed the gap between them and took Hermione's damp face in his hands. Gently, he lifted her face up to look at him, and pressed his lips against hers. He tried to pour every ounce of love he felt for her into the kiss. To his relief, Hermione lips pressed back against his, her hands coming up to pull him closer.

"I love you." Draco muttered between kisses. Hermione let out a small moan. "We'll be okay, right?"

Hermione moaned again. "Yes." She said. "Yes." She kissed him some more before finally adding. "Take me to bed, Draco."

Draco did not need asking twice.