Author's Note: Hey everyone. This is just a quick piece from today that was meant to be a drabble, but I can't write short things. Just a light-hearted, smutty bit of mostly PWP. Please don't take this too seriously.

Content warning for smut.

This piece is neither alpha'd nor beta'd, and hardly edited. But still, I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading.

The first thing Hermione noticed as she stirred into wakefulness was the aggressive pounding behind her temples. The swirling nausea pooled in her stomach. The fatigue lining every joint and muscle.

The next was cool silk on her cheek.

At the thought, her eyes snapped open and her heart leapt into her throat. Emerald green silk.

The unease in her gut coiled into a hard pit, and she suppressed the urge to vomit with deep, steady breaths. There was an explanation for this.

No one—certainly not her, at any rate—could have anticipated how out of control the final eighth year party would have gone the night before. As the Head Girl, it was her job to be responsible and show the younger students a proper role model to look up to.

But there had been something about the environment in the Heads' common room the night before as eighth years from all four houses gathered. They had survived the war, they had completed their NEWTs, and it was their last hurrah, in a sense. Even Hermione had found herself buoyed by the hopeful spirits, consuming at least her share of spiked punch.

And now, it appeared, she would pay for it.

Unfortunately, past a certain point in the evening, her brain was a hazy mass, blocking any proper recollections of how the night had ended.

In her current position, she was facing the nearest wall, but she could only imagine what—or who—she would see if she rolled over. Judging by the colour of the pillowcase, and the fact that the room was an identical layout to her own.

The thought made her stomach twist once more, even as a hint of anticipation lingered in the back of her mind, breaking through her efforts to push it back.

Her legs and stomach were bare upon a cursory inspection with one hand beneath the covers, but she wore her bra and knickers.

Surely, she would remember if she had slept with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione didn't have a surplus of experience to compare it to, although there were others, of course. But her dynamic with Malfoy was… complicated to say the least.

A flush coloured her cheeks at the thought of it.

Initially, she hadn't even been able to fathom the thought that Draco Malfoy had been offered the Head Boy position. It had been an issue of contention off the top that eighth years had been conferred the titles rather than seventh, and for several months, Hermione put up with him only for the sake of her own badge.

They had been granted their own Heads common room, and neither had frequented the shared dorm very often early on.

But being forced to work in close proximity with one another had led first to a resigned tolerance, followed by a begrudging acceptance. Stifling silence had drifted towards uneasy conversation, and after the duration of their eighth year, Hermione could consider him, if not a friend, an acquaintance.

An ally, of sorts.

More than once they'd had to pull together to wrangle unruly Prefects, and team up to present a united front towards McGonagall.

Over time, she began to see why he had been assigned Head Boy.

As it turned out, Malfoy had faced his share of terrors during the war, and had grown and matured like anyone else.

Partway through the year, she'd begun sleeping in her private Head Girl dorm. It was nice to work in silence, when the Gryffindor common room was so rowdy, and came with the added benefit that the residual nightmares that still haunted her on occasion no longer bothered anyone else.

Then Malfoy was often there, too. But he kept to himself, enjoyed studying in stifling silence as much as she did, and every so often, they would help one another with a particularly challenging assignment.

Hermione couldn't pinpoint the exact time when she had noticed how incredibly attractive he was, but it went along with her realisation that his personality wasn't terrible, either. That, on rare occasions, they could actually make one another smile.

Not that she ever would have admitted that to him, of course.

Blowing out a long breath, she summoned the depths of her Gryffindor courage to the surface, ignoring the throbbing in her head, and rolled to face the other side of the room.

The confirmation was jarring, even though there was really nowhere else she could be. She was in Draco Malfoy's bed.

What was more jarring was the fact that the blond was already awake. He had one hand bent at the elbow and propped beneath his head, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he lay on his back.

"Oh good," he drawled, as if it were any other day, "you're awake."

Hermione simply stared at him, uncertain what to do with his casual assessment. His chest was bare, but from her side along the far edge of the mattress, she couldn't tell whether he wore anything at all.

His silver eyes drifted sidelong to meet hers.

Blindly, he reached a hand to rummage in the drawer of his nightstand, and proffered two vials of hangover draught. Hermione accepted hers with a mute nod, and quickly drank the contents. Within moments, some of the fog of her hangover cleared.

If they had actually slept together, she couldn't simply tell him she didn't remember. She didn't know how he would react to that admission, but she wasn't keen to find out. So instead, she breathed a quiet, "Yes."

Malfoy pursed his lips, returning his stare to the ceiling. Once more he drawled, "Did you have a nice night?"

The question felt loaded, and Hermione didn't have the slightest clue how to respond. Was he expecting her to pretend as if nothing had happened? To gush about his prowess and demand a repeat performance?

It vaguely flitted across the back of her mind that maybe they hadn't done anything at all, and there was a logical explanation for why she was in his bed in her underwear.

Was the question a trick?

Hermione offered a muted, noncommittal, "Mmm."

"Talkative," he muttered with a sigh.

Surely the ceiling wasn't that interesting, but he still hadn't looked directly at her. Did he remember something and regret it? Should she leave?

Hermione opened her mouth to say something more—though she wasn't sure what—and lifted a hand to sweep her hair out of her face. Her eyes widened in surprise, lips parting with a sharp intake of breath.

His slytherin tie was bound around her wrist.

Finally he rolled his head to face her, blinking several times at the offending silk. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. Anxiously, she clawed at the knot, tugging at the tie until she'd released it from her wrist, and all but threw it at him.

"I think that's yours," she whispered, feeling warmth infuse her cheeks.

"Right," he drawled, coiling it into a roll. "Thanks."

She didn't know that she'd ever been so embarrassed. Feeling the need to escape his room, she made to push the covers away, realising she was still in her underthings. Although she supposed if they had slept together, he would have already seen her naked.

Merlin, why couldn't she remember anything?

Cautiously, she slipped her feet to the floor, sliding off the mattress as she kept herself covered with the blanket. Before she could fully rise from the bed, however, Malfoy huffed a sigh.

"Granger."

"Yes?" she asked, the word breathy from her awkward manipulations.

He swept a hand through his hair. "Don't you think we should… I don't know, talk about this or something."

Hermione froze, staring at him. She hung halfway off the mattress, uncomfortably, and shifted back on. She didn't remember any part of the encounter that they could discuss. Nodding, she breathed, "Okay."

Rolling to face him, she fixed her expression into that of expectation, as if she were waiting for him to begin.

The only good part of the situation was that Malfoy looked as uneasy as she felt as he pressed his lips into a thin line. "We don't have to bring this up in the future, if you don't want to."

"Fine," she said, managing a nod. "That's just… fine."

His eyes darted towards her. "Unless you want to."

She held his stare, her brows lowering. Something wasn't adding up. "What are you saying?"

"It's just…" Pursing his lips, Malfoy released a breath through his nose. Incredulous, she watched spots of colour rise to his cheeks. "I've come to respect you, right, and I don't want you to think—this isn't something I make a habit of—"

"Malfoy," she whispered, cutting him off. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes wide, and his effort at honesty stirred something with her. He wasn't the stranger he had been at the start of the year. "I have to be honest—I don't remember what happened last night."

"Oh thank Merlin, neither do I," he rushed.

Surprised, Hermione blinked at him. "You don't remember… anything?"

"Very early on." He squinted, as if trying to recall. "I think it was the punch."

"Definitely the punch," Hermione agreed with a sigh. She wasn't sure if it made the situation any better or worse that neither of them knew what had happened. "Theo spiked it."

"Oh fuck," Malfoy huffed, with a bit of a hoarse laugh. "That explains it. Theo's a lush."

The thought definitely didn't make her feel any better. "So… do you think we…"

He bit the words out with a careful delicateness. "I don't know."

With a grimace, Hermione rolled onto her back and blew out a breath. "Are you wearing anything?"

"My shorts," he said gruffly. She could only hope the conversation was as uncomfortable for him as for her. "You?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I have my underwear on."

"The tie," he groaned.

"Yeah," Hermione whispered. "That doesn't look good."

Malfoy cleared his throat, dragging a hand down his face. "We could wait and see if something comes to one of us. We might be able to view the memories in a Pensieve, but I'm not certain whether that works for things that have been forgotten." He paused for a long moment. "Or we could… try to force ourselves to remember."

"What do you mean?" His gaze swept her face, lingering just for a moment on her lips, and understanding dawned. "You think we could jar something."

She would be lying to herself if she said the idea didn't hold some merit. Especially with the way things had felt between them lately.

"I mean…" Malfoy trailed off, sweeping a hand through his blond hair again. "If we've already slept together, it doesn't really…"

Wracking her brain, Hermione tried to remember if they'd kissed the night before. But nothing stirred forth beyond the gaping void that was the entirety of the night after her second glass of punch.

Realistically, he had been the one to suggest it.

Before she could get caught up overthinking the situation, Hermione ducked in, pressing her lips to his in a swift kiss. She hadn't been prepared for the softness of his lips, the warmth that flooded her being when he kissed her back; her eyes fluttered shut, chest tightening as his fingers brushed against her cheekbone.

When he drew back, she could still feel the kiss, her lips tingling from the feel of his. Without opening her eyes, she asked, "Anything?"

"No." His eyes were still fixed on her mouth when she looked at him at last. But then he was kissing her again, and her lips parted at the sweep of his tongue, a soft, breathy moan escaping from the back of her throat as warmth flooded through her at his touch.

His kisses were heated but unfamiliar, and Hermione didn't find any memories flaring within her about the night before. But she buried her hands into his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

Maybe she was more attracted to him than she had even realised.

At last she wrenched free, her chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath, and her eyes met his, dark and hazy.

A wry grin tugged at his lips. "I feel like I would remember that."

Pulling herself from the lust-induced fog he had awoken within her, Hermione nodded. "Same. So what happened?"

Malfoy shrugged, taking her wrist between his hands. "Maybe you just fell asleep here." It took a moment for her to realise he was inspecting where his tie had been wrapped, and casually, he extended her arm towards the post of the bed, as if mimicking where it might have been tied. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks once more in an instant.

He leaned back, shrugging, but didn't release her hand. "No evidence of anything." Glancing away, he murmured, "I suppose Madam Pomfrey could probably tell you."

Sitting up on her elbows, Hermione took a look around the room. Her Gryffindor tie was on the floor on her side of the bed. Brandishing it, she mused, "I wasn't even wearing my tie last night."

Casually, he drawled, "I never would have pegged you for kinky, Granger."

She wasn't, typically, but it wasn't looking good. Especially when she spotted her skirt on the floor near the door. Groaning, she leaned back. "Why can't we remember anything?"

"Okay," Malfoy ventured, his eyes tightening. "So let's say we had sex. It isn't the end of the world, is it? Teenagers and all."

"No," she breathed, sinking back into the plush mattress. "it isn't the end of the world. It is weird, given it's you and I."

"Weird," he agreed. Then he frowned. "If we did, I wish I could remember. Seems a shame."

Hermione hadn't wanted to concede the fact, but she felt almost… disappointed. She could admit that there was a part of her that had been interested in him for a while, and after experiencing the heat of his kisses, she felt robbed of the experience.

Stifling a yawn with one hand, she realised she wasn't in a hurry to escape his bed any longer. And in fact, she was closer to him than she had been before.

"Shame," she agreed, belatedly, staring at his lips.

Malfoy's shoulder brushed against hers; he was watching her again, his expression intent with thought. Nerves churned in her stomach as she held his gaze, feeling her heart rate escalate.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, lips twitching, "we should do it again sometime. You know… just to be sure we don't remember."

Her eyes widened at the look in his stare, and she breathed, "Are you propositioning me?"

"Yeah," he said with a huff of a breath. Then he shook his head. "No. I'm asking you out—not the way I ever pictured doing this, though."

The way he phrased the words suggested he'd thought of it before, and warmth raced through her. With a short laugh, she couldn't hold back a grin. "I would like that."

Malfoy offered a breathtaking, crooked grin that awoke something within her as she pulled him towards her, their lips grazing again, and she didn't hesitate as he deepened the kiss, shifting above her as she dragged her hands down the muscles of his back.

His skin was hot against hers, and lust awoke and chased in her veins as he released her mouth, leaving a trail of kisses along her jaw and throat, his hands sweeping her sides and lingering on her chest.

"Anything?" she asked, the word hitching part way in her throat as her head fell back against the pillow while he sucked at a sensitive spot on her neck.

She coiled her leg around his waist, grinding up against him and he released a low groan with a murmured, "No."

Arousal fluttered in her core, and she dragged a hand down to graze his firm arse through his shorts, and he traced the flat of his tongue along the line of her cleavage, tugging one cup of her bra free and sucking her nipple between his lips. With a harsh breath, he asked, "You?"

"Nothing," she gasped, shifting her hips to press up against his hard arousal.

Lips parted, he stared up at her for a moment as his hand reached around her back, toying with the clasp of her bra. His eyes were dark with lust, and a surge of power raced through her. She whispered, "We'll have to keep trying."

His actions weren't triggering anything, and they both knew it. But she had no intention of asking him to stop, whether or not they had slept together the night before.

With a deft flick of his fingers, her bra released and he threw it to the floor, laving her breast with kisses and tweaking the other with his hand. A whimper broke from her lips at his ministrations, and she tugged at his shorts, pushing the waistband free of his hips.

Malfoy toed his shorts the rest of the way down, and when she took his hard cock in her palm he groaned, kissing her deeply once more. The feel of his bare chest grazing her nipples caused warmth to pool between her legs, and he held her gaze as he played with the lacy band of her knickers on one side.

Hermione nodded, gasping for breath as she slid her hand along the length of him, basking in the darkness of his stare and the reaction she drew from him.

With a hint of a smirk, he kissed her again, and mused, "I know I would remember this."

Though he hadn't worded it as such, Hermione recognised it for the out he was offering her, and it only further solidified her resolve. Smiling, she reached for his hand, and dragged it into her knickers.

He wasted no time in slipping two fingers between her folds, plunging them inside of her, and she could feel the smirk on his lips as he kissed her again, his other hand tugging her knickers down her legs.

As his fingers curled within her, Hermione's head fell back with a cry, and she wrapped a leg around his hips, grinding up into his hand as he drew her into an escalated rhythm. She dragged his cock towards her entrance, kissing him again, and as he buried a hand into her hair, he plunged into her to the hilt.

Resting his forehead against her temple, Malfoy's breath mingled with hers as they both froze for a single, drawn-out moment, and Hermione's head spun at the feel of him.

Against his ear, she whispered, "There's no way I forgot this."

And he began to move.

Gentle at first, cautious as she adjusted to the feel of him, and soft whimpers broke from her lips as she ground up into him on each thrust. Dragging her nails down his back, she drew him more firmly against her, and he met her stare with a smirk before slamming into her.

Words fell as a jumble from her lips, a quiet exultation of his name.

His pace escalated, his rhythm punishing as her back arched away from the bed, her head spinning with an overwhelming flood of pleasure. Malfoy gripped her hip as he drove into her, tugging her curls hard enough to sting with his other hand and latching onto her throat with his tongue and teeth.

Matching each thrust with her own movements, she clutched his firm arse; he shuddered, driving into her with still more force.

And when his hand shifted, his thumb dragging across her clitoris, her orgasm crashed over her with unexpected, blinding force, darkening her vision and wrenching a cry from her throat.

With a few more thrusts, he released a groan, burying his face in her neck. A thin sheen of sweat coated his temples, and Hermione swept a languid hand through his blond hair, a sated smile stretching her lips when he withdrew, casting her a roguish grin.

She drew him in for another kiss, idly teasing his tongue with hers, and as she searched the back of her mind for any regrets for their impulsive coupling, she found none.

In fact, she quite looked forward to getting to know him better.

Malfoy drew back with a final kiss and a slow grin, and mused, "Contraceptive?"

"I don't think I have my wand," Hermione replied, sinking into his hold.

Perhaps at some point during the year, she had come to consider him as more than an acquaintance, because she felt secure and comfortable in his embrace. Blindly reaching a hand behind him for the nightstand, Malfoy's brow furrowed while he stared at her, before wheeling around.

He brandished his wand, casting the contraceptive spell on her, but a knit of concern remained in his forehead.

"What?" she asked, feeling a frisson of nerves. Perhaps he hadn't meant for things to go so far.

But he opened his palm, revealing two tiny glass vials, each one with a smoky silver wisp inside of it. Clearing his throat, he murmured, "I just found these."

Hermione picked one up, seeing a small H written onto it in her penmanship. A quick glance assured the other had a small D. She grimaced. "I guess that explains why we can't remember anything. But why?"

His shoulders lifted with a shrug, and Malfoy shook his head. "I have no idea." He met her stare. "Should we watch them?"

Another question remained, hanging unanswered between them. Would it make a difference, now? She could see the thought echoing back at her in his stare.

"Not right now," she whispered with a shaky nod. "I don't want it to minimise… anything."

"What we just did," he affirmed. Hermione nodded again.

Her mind spun with possible reasons why they had decided to withdraw their memories; whether it was something bad, or something they had wanted to forget. But then why would they leave the vials to taunt their morning selves?

"For the record," Malfoy said, his tone almost deceptively light, "this doesn't get you out of going on an actual date with me."

Relief chased through her at the confirmation that he had felt something along the same lines of her, and that he hadn't simply wanted sex. She burrowed deeper into his hold, her eyes fluttering shut with a soft, "Deal."

A small clattering on the nightstand suggested he had returned the vials. "We'll watch the memories eventually," he decided.

A smile tugged at her lips, and she said, "I like that idea," as her eyelids drooped with the pull of sleep and she drifted off in his embrace.

Six months later

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, staring hard at her. "If we do this, we can't unsee what happened that night."

Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione nodded. "I'm sure."

A small Pensieve sat on the bed between them in the flat Draco had procured after they left Hogwarts. Hermione didn't technically live there, but she stayed over more often than not, and he had suggested it might be a matter of time.

His hand slipped into hers and she quickly entwined their fingers, meeting his stare with a nervous laugh. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

With a deprecating sort of smile, he snickered, and said, as if reminding her in advance, "I love you."

"I love you," she returned, quietly. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as he poured the vial into the Pensieve, its contents swirling and twisting on the surface. Before they could debate the situation any further, she dove in, pulling him with her.

The hours that followed were a whirlwind of chaos.

From the gradual thawing between them over several glasses of punch as Hermione spilled the red drink down her front, to the point where she stole his tie, wrapping it around her own wrist, and then later on, Draco wearing her Gryffindor tie around his head as they imbibed on still more of the spiked punch.

Watching the entire sloppy, sordid affair made her cringe, but Draco's grin at her side was contagious as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her in close.

Then at the end of the night, they watched as their past selves stumbled into Draco's room, drunkenly sharing teasing but hesitant touches, until Hermione kissed him soundly but briefly on the lips. Past Draco watched, a smirk on his lips, as she divested herself of her clothes, sticky from the punch, before she crawled into his bed. The smirk shifted into something more genuine as he climbed in after her, planting a kiss to her temple.

They watched as, at last, the pair of them drifting to sleep, they conspired to remove their memories as a startling surprise for their morning selves, laughing in an intoxicated hysteria as they labelled the vials.

The memories drifted off into a silver wisp, and Draco hauled them both from within the Pensieve, shaking his head with a chuckle. "That was something else. But I guess we never did sleep together that night."

"Just the next morning," Hermione returned with a smile.

"I did tell you," he murmured, drawing her in for a kiss, "I would have remembered."