Draco groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Hangovers sucked.

His wanna-be girlfriend sucked right now too, for that matter, and not in a way he enjoyed. Pansy's hissy fits did not go well with Draco's hangovers at all. Something had to change here. Hell, he found himself missing Granger. She had been infuriating and self-righteous as usual, but at least she wasn't shrill.

"Did you REALLY fuck that Mudblood slag?" Pansy shrieked at high enough decibels to make dogs howl. Draco clutched his skull and thought about it.

Had he? He didn't remember, and Granger had not admitted to anything. Only his certainty that she was not devious enough to pull such a trick kept Draco from believing that she had simply placed them in bed together as a sick joke.

Well, it didn't matter, at any rate. She would deny the whole incident to the death if confronted, and he would rather not rile his parents by causing too big a scandal.

One thing was certain: if he had slept with her, he had rocked her world. No question.

Heartened by this rock-solid, unassailable fact of the universe, Draco gave a resolute grunt, put the incident behind him, and faced his day with firm resolve and classic Malfoy aplomb.

First order of business: get rid of the gold-digging banshee.

"Pansy," he snapped, not even looking up. The screeching abated, somewhat. "Piss off. You're terrible in bed and you're not classy enough to marry into the Malfoy family. Stop yowling and make yourself scarce."

Two seconds of stunned silence preceded an angry caterwaul that lasted for several minutes, which Draco ignored until it eventually wound down into hysterical sobbing and culminated in a dramatic, door-slamming exit.

Draco sat still for a long moment, head bowed and eyes shut.

Then the throbbing in his skull subsided a bit, and he smiled.

Great, next order of business: hangover tonic. He stood and threw on his robes and boots. Despite the splitting headache, he grinned.

He seemed to remember Blaise shooting some rather friendly looks at Loony Lovegood right around his sixth gin and coke.

Third order of business: tea at Zabini's. There was drama to be stirred.

He Disapparated.

Because Draco is an awful person and I love him, that's why. Also, there's a sequel, and it's up, so if anyone has this fic story-alerted, you might want to trot on over to my profile and clickity-click on "A Second Taste."