She didn't know which of them moved but when they stirred the next morning, they were half entwined with each other. Somehow neither of them had fallen off the small couch. They'd slumped down, and burrowed into each other's arms. If Hermione's head hadn't felt on the verge of cracking open, she would have tried to rapidly remove herself, but instead she just lay trapped under Draco in a state of stunned horror.
His expression showed similar horror and almost-panic when he went from asleep to abruptly awake. He tried to pull his arm out from under her, and they wobbled precariously on the edge of the couch.
“If you make me fall off this couch, I will vomit on you,” Hermione immediately told him. He stilled, and they stared at each other.
“Any ingenious solutions then, know-it-all?” he finally asked.
“Give me a minute,” Hermione said, flushing deep scarlet and closing her eyes as she tried to think of a solution. She was resolutely ignoring Draco lying on top of her. Draco, who was shirtless. The air in the room was cold but his skin was warm, and his breath ghosting against her cheek was hot. His whole body was hard and pressed snugly against her; his arm under her back making her arch into him. There was something distinct and growing pressed into her thigh near her hip and after a moment's bewilderment, she felt it twitch faintly — oh god!
She wasn't thinking about it. She hadn't noticed anything. She was thinking only of her hangover and how to disentangle herself from Draco without either of them vomiting on the other person.
Draco was on top of her with all his weight, but his arm closest to the edge of the couch was wrapped around her waist up past his elbow. When he tried to move it out from under her, their combined weight risked destabilising them to the point of toppling them both off the loveseat.
If he could get his other arm free, he could grab the back of the couch and free himself. But when he tried to move his shoulder, it also resulted in wobbling.
If he could move his legs off the couch first, then he could kneel on the floor and easily get free. But the process, Hermione suspected, would result in a great deal of waist-level friction.
“I think if I move my left leg—,” Draco started to say.
“Don't!” Hermione barked, feeling her face grow redder.
“Fuck! Granger, don't shout,” he said angrily, wincing.
“Just — let me think,” Hermione said, wishing bitterly that she'd had fallen asleep on the floor.
“Fucking unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.
Irritation kindled inside of her chest alongside her embarrassment over their current predicament.
“Don't blame me. I wanted to go home last night. You're the one who blocked the door and demanded I drink with you,” Hermione said in a sharp tone.
“I was drunk. Per your suggestion as a supposed medical professional, I might add.” His expression was disdainful.
“I apologise for recommending a source of pain relief while healing you,” Hermione said, glaring up at him. ”If my help is such an inconvenience to you, you can always go elsewhere.”
“I already intended to,” he said coldly.
Hermione's breath caught with sharp hurt, and she stiffened and then bucked under him sharply. He lost his balance and toppled, and she sat up quickly to avoid being taken with him.
He hit his head with a resounding crack on the wood floor.
“You are a fucking bitch,” he said as he gripped his face.
Hermione sneered down at him as she stood up.
“Yes, I think that's pretty well established now,” she said, pressing her lips into hard line as she snatched up her satchel and pulled the door open.
“If you have any useful information, leave a scroll. I'll pick it up later,” she said, stepping through and apparating before he could say anything in reply.
The moment she reappeared down the street from Number 13 Grimmauld Place, she proceeded to double over and vomit into a hedge. After she'd banished the mess and wiped her mouth, she rummaged through her satchel and pulled out the vial of hangover relief potion she had remembered to pack for Draco the night before.
She swallowed the potion, and her mouth twisted slightly as she stood in the empty street and tried not to cry as she reviewed the previous night from a perspective of sobriety.
She'd kissed Draco Malfoy. More than kissed him. Snogged him. Willingly.
She'd never kissed anyone else but Viktor Krum during fourth year.
But that wasn't what bothered her.
As she stood in the empty street, twisting the strap of her satchel, she feared she'd compromised her mission. Draco had handed himself to her. He'd asked for her company, and he'd wanted to kiss her. She had blown it by being drunk and vulnerable and insecure.
She wasn't sure whether having sex with him would have been the right move, but she hadn't derailed their snogging session with any calculation or strategy on her part. She'd baulked, and he'd seen it.
Willing. He'd been specific about that. The moment she'd hesitated, he'd shoved her back beyond his walls.