One
Their group of friends chanted hoots and hollers of encouragement as Hermione and Draco raced to see who could finish their soup bowl of a margarita.
Draco came up for air, sucking in a deep breath before diving back in. But that second cost him. Hermione was slamming her glass down a few gulps before him.
“Dammit!” Draco groaned, the world a swirl of strawberry sugar and tequila.
“You snooze you loose, Malfoy.” Hermione waggled a finger at him, almost tripping over in the process.
“Alright, Mione’,” Ginny said while hanging on Harry’s arm, her eyes glazed over like the rest of them. “You won. You have to dare Malfoy.”
Hermione turned her gaze to the tall, broad blond next to her and pursed her lips. “I dare you…” She lit up with the idea, “To call your mother and tell her that you got a witch pregnant!”
Everyone bursted into laughter. Draco scowled before his face morphed as if to say ah-ha and said, “My mother doesn't have a cell phone.”
Hermione just smirked, “Then send her a howler.”
“Bloody hell!” Ron guffawed. “Hermione isn’t playing around.”
Draco rolled his eyes, the alcohol riding over his good sense and transfigured the table napkin. He spoke directly to the floating envelope, “Mother, I’ve gotten Hermione Granger pregnant. We are making plans for our wedding already. I’ll give you more details when I return.”
The envelope folded itself up and disappeared with a swirling pop!
“Malfoy,” Hermione cried, slapping Draco in the arm. “That’s not what I meant.”
Draco leaned in, his nose almost brushing hers. She smelled like the margarita they downed and there was a sparkle of sugar on her lips from the rimmed glass. Damn he could go for another one of those. Maybe Granger would let him lick some sugar off of her if he asked nice enough.
He didn't. Instead he said, “You should have been more specific on the fortunate witch.”
Granger opened her mouth to reply, but someone shouted, “I have more shots!”
They quickly changed objectives after that.
Hermione awoke with a headache that wrapped itself all the way around her cranium and settled deep in her eye sockets. She brought her palm to her face, trying to soothe the ache. She almost didn’t notice the cool metal rubbing her cheek.
Almost.
Hermione pulled back her hand, looking down at it to find a band of silver around her ring finger. She squinted at it before sucking in a deep breath. The Malfoy Signet.
Flashes of last night flitted through her mind. Margaritas. The howler to his mother. More liquor. Too much liquor. His mother sending a howler back. The Elvis impersonator in the chapel.
Hermione let out a startled yelp as realization hit her and threw herself out of bed, not caring that her hair must have looked like a bird’s nest and that she was wearing last night’s clothes. Going into the hallway, she looked around frantically, as if Malfoy would pop out from any of the closed doors to find her, clearly coming to the same stupid, idiodic conclusion as she had. But it was silent and Hermione had no clue which room he was in. More like she couldn’t remember. Merlin she would never touch tequila again.
She felt panic starting to bubble up inside her. What were they going to do? How could they do this? They will simply get it anulled. This kind of thing happens all the time in Vegas. It will be fine. She just needed to find Malfoy. Where was he? Why couldn’t she remember what room he was in? Where was he? How could they get fucking m—
The door directly across from hers flew open to show a wide eyed Malfoy. His white hair was sticking up in all directions, rustled from sleep. He, too, was wearing the clothes from yesterday.
“What’s wrong?” Were his first words, his voice strained. Hermione realized his eyes eyes were full of worry, not shock like hers. However, the emotion quickly shifted to horror. Malfoy spoke again before she had the chance to say anything. “We got fucking married last night.”
Hermione, despite herself, felt her shoulders slump in resignation to this truth. As if Malfoy saying it made it real and not just a nightmare she was trying to wake up from, but something they had to deal with rationally, and fast. This was real and, with a feeling of calm overcome her, fixable.
Hermione lifted up her left hand, the signet ring glinting in the florescent hotel hall lights. “It seems so.”