Everything\'s Free in America

Hermione rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. It was seven-thirty. The pounding came from the door of her room once more.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” she called, the throbbing in her head intensifying. “What is it?”

“It’s Ron and Harry,” a voice said, muffled by the door. “Are you coming to breakfast?”

She threw the covers off the bed to get up and go to the door, frozfroze. No, no no no no no. No. Hermione stared for a silent moment at the sleeping figure of Draco Malfoy and felt like she might throw up. He was sprawled on his back, totally confident even in sleep.

“Um, no,” she called. “I had a late night. I’ll meet you guys after, okay? Bring me up a pastry?”

“Okay,” they said together. She slumped back against the pillow.

Malfoy stirred.

“Do they always eat so bloody early?” he asked. He put his arm over his eyes.

“Most people do.”

“Not after a night like this last,” he muttered. Then he lowered his arm. He turned his head slowly. The artfully tousled locks were now more tousled than artful. Hermione met his eyes with a challenging stare.

“Granger?” he asked. He didn’t sound very surprised, but then, he was probably extremely hung over and

“Unless this is a very complex hallucination.”

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t think I could get that drunk,” he said absently, more to himself than anything. “But wow does my hur hurt.”

Hermione could not help but check him out as he pushed the covers down toward his feet. He stood up and walked over to the bathroom sink, totally unconcerned that he was naked. She felt her cheeks heat slightly and looked away as he yawned into a stretch. Malfoy retrieved a glass of water and downed it at a leisurely pace. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, with surprising affability. Hermione nodded and he brought her one, settling back on the mattress. He piled the pillows up behind him and leaned back against the headboard. Hermione opened the drawer of the nightstand and surreptitiously removed the little foil packet. She was grateful for her decision to go on thel; sl; she dreaded the thought of mothering a Malfoy bastard as the result of a drunken one night stand.

She also picked up a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Can I have some of that?” Malfoy asked. She handed him the bottle and downed the handful of pills. He swallowed two dry. For a moment they were silent. Finally, Malfoy spoke once more.

“Did we really have sex last night?” he asked.

“Or early this morning?” Hermione glanced around the room, at the strewn clothes on the floor. Still, they could have just undressed and passed out, she supposed. Then Malfoy tilted his head down and to the left. She suppressed a giggle. “I think so,” she said. “That’s a pretty nasty hickey you’ve got there, Malfoy.”

He touched the livid bruise on his neckhat hat could have possessed us?” he breathed.

“The demon of liquor,” Hermione said. She crawled out from under the covers.

“Where are you going?” Malfoy asked.

“I’m getting a shower. I can smell your stench all over me.”

“It’s not a stench,” he protested. “It’s designer cologne.”

“Well then I reek of your designer cologne.” She headed toward the bathroom.

When she emerged, Malfoy was still there. He’d had the decency to put on his boxer shorts, but he was again sprawled lazily. Hermione rolled her eyes. She’d dressed in the bathroom to avoid his unnervingly cool gaze. There came a knock at the door; she felt suddenly panic


“Stay out of sight,” she hissed. Malfoy sneered and flipped the channel on the television. Hermione went to the door and looked through the peephole. She sighed and opened the door a crack.

“Hey, Hermione, I brought you some breakfast.” Ron held up a covered plate and a bottle of orange juice. She smiled weakly. “Are you feeling all right?”

She took the plate from him. “Thank you, Ron. I’m all right. Jessica and I went clubbing last night, and I had a bit too much to drink.”

He nodded sagely. “I know how that is. Give us a call, if you feel better and want to go do something.” Ron started to turn away. “Oh,” he said, startling her. “You’ll never guess who Harry and I ran into this morning.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. Malfoy was watching her, amused. “No, who?” she asked.

“You remember Theodore Nott? He was a Slytherin in our year.” Ron made a face. “He was at breakfast with some floozy. God, she had a laugh like a hyena.”

“That’s very interesting, Ron,” Hermione said tiredly. “I’ll call you in a little while, okay? Are you going to be in your room?”

“For a little while.”

Hermione nodded. Ron turned to leave and she closed the door behind him.

She set the plate down on the table and uncovered it. Malfoy’s eyes were still on her. “Do you want some of this?” she asked. He made an ambiguous gesture.

“I shouldn’t eat anything,” he elaborated.

Hermione laughed. “Weak stomach?” she asked, taking a dramatic bite of a bear claw. Malfoy’s lip curled and he looked away.

“I know my limits,” he muttered. He got up and got himself another glass of water.

“There’s a shocker,” Hermione said. She sat down and opened the glass bottle of orange juice. “Are you going to go back to your room?” she asked after a moment. Malfoy turned off TV. TV.

“You’re right.” He rubbed his eyes, which Hermione noticed were bloodshot. Clambering to his feet, he gathered his clothes from the floor.

“You’re not going to go like that, are you?” she asked. Malfoy shrugged. “Youin yin your underwear.”

“And?” He picked up his shoes and set them on top of the bundle of dirty clothes. Hermione shook her head. Malfoy opened the door.

“Wait, Malfoy,” she said.

He turned back. “Oh, you’re not going to make a big deal out of this, are you?” he asked. His voice sounded weary. He leaned against the wall by the door.

Hermione stood. Malfoy watched her approach, his expression unchanging. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him. He pressed her lips open with his. After a moment she withdrew. Malfoy was smiling obnoxiously. “Go on, get out of here,” she said, opening the door. He bowed and exited.

She watched him walk down the hall toward the elevators.

“Where’d you dig him up?”

Hermione led.led. Harry leaned against the wall by her door. She stammered; Harry smiled.

“I…I ran into him at a club,” she said, her cheeks pinking. Harry chuckled.

“Ron figured you were hung over. We didn’t realize you had…company.” Hermione looked at Harry carefully. He obviously hadn’t recognized Malfoy; maybe he hadn’t seen the young man’s face. “I didn’t know you fancied blonds, though.”

“Well, knowknow. When you’ve had a few drinks, everybody looks good,” she giggled nuslyusly. Harry hummed absently. “Come in, Harry,” she said, opening the door for her friend.

He looked at the mess of bed sh and and settled himself instead on the chair. Hermione perched on the corner of the bed. “We’re going to go to the United Nations today,” he said, leaning the chair back until it was on two legs.

“Sounds fascinating.” Hermione finished her orange juice and chucked the bottle at the trash can. It clunked loudly on the way in. “Muggle international relations have always intrigued me.”

Harry nodded. He cocked his head slightly, and Hermione waited for him to say something. His gaze was fixed on some point she couldn’t decipher.

“What?” she asked.

“Your friend left you a present,” he murmured, standing up. He nudged the little puddle of black fabric with his toe, revealing embroidery. Hermione felt hysteria rise up in her throat; from where she sat, she could see the intricate Chinese Fireball and the curling letters: Malfoy. Harry didn’t seem to notice. “Do you think he’ll want this back?”

“What is it?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral. Harry knelt. No, no, no, Hermione thought desperately.

“A pocket handkerchief,” he said, picking it up. Once he’d determined that the pool of fabric hadn’t been on another man’s crotch, it was safe to touch it. Hermione’s eyes grew very wide as he turned it over in his hand. She bit her lip as she watched his gaze flick over the embroidery. He slowly, agonizingly, raised his eyes to hers. They were inscrutable; his expression could have meant anything.

“Um, I,” she stammered.

Harry didn’t say anything.

The silence was inupteupted as the door was pushed open. Hermione had put the latch over so it wouldn’t fall closed and lock her out, and Ron had noticed this.

“Oh, there you are, Harry,” he said. “Feeling a bit better, Hermione?”

“Yes, much better,” she said airily. Harry carefully folded the handkerchief and set it on the bed beside her. She carefully put it into her pocket. Ron missed the brief exchange. Hermione nodded and stood up. “Well, if you’re ready, we can go,” she said brightly, smiling. Harry rose to his feet and ran a hand over his hair.

“Give it up, mate,” Ron said, tousling Harry’s unruly locks. Harry slapped at him halfheartedly, but his eyes stayed on Hermione.

She looked away.