-Pansy x Hermione
-Hogwarts Eighth Year
-Head Girl Hermione
-Mean girl Pansy Parkinson
-on AO3 with same title and username
-JKR owns the world and characters
-I don't support JKR
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The morning after a party is usually filled with regret. 'What did I do last night?' echoes through the halls as friends reconnect to deal with the details of their night of debauchery. People search for their lost belongings: earrings that fell off on the dance floor, lipstick left on the bathroom sink, knickers left on the floor of a bedroom. They are mostly unsuccessful but claim their losses are a worthy trade for a night of chaos. This morning, the morning after the infamous Gryffindor party, was no different.
The Common Room was a mess: stains on the sofa cushions, ants congregating around dropped crisps, red solo cups scattered across the floor like morning dew on the grass. A picturesque tableau of the aftermath of stupid teenagers making incredibly bad decisions. Hermione did her best to clean the grime of the room, making everything slightly less sticky. She would work on assembling a task force to do a deep clean later, but now Hermione had bigger fish to fry. A meeting with her Headmistress was one particularly large tuna.
"Morning Hermione," Parvati called out to her as she walked down the stairs, her eyes hidden behind large dark shades. "Hungover?" Hermione asked politely, Parvati's pained expression answered her question.
"I am never drinking again," Pavarti shuddered.
"Care to wager that?" Hermione teased. Parvati liked to party and one nasty hangover wasn't bound to change that.
Parvati rolled her eyes, "Oh screw you, we can't all be saints."
"I'm not a saint."
"Sure, sure. I'll see you at breakfast, I've gotta run, I'll be begging Madame Pomfrey for pain relief, this headache won't be going away on its own."
"Throw in a bit of flattery, works wonders," Hermione suggested.
"I really am never going to drink again," Parvati assured Hermione, who still wasn't convinced.
She continued, "Last night is a blur and not in a good way, I'm ninety percent sure I danced on a table at some point," Hermione was reminded of the sight of Parvarti dancing on the table to some horrific riot girl song—the table was left with scuff marks and the partygoers were left with brilliant memories.
"Trust me Parvarti, you definitely did."
Parvati groaned, "Scale one-to-ten, how slutty?"
"Oh, there was quite a bit of grinding involved, a solid nine at least," Hermione gritted her teeth.
Parvati seemed suddenly grateful for the memory loss, "Buggering christ, well hopefully the pain relief'll help with that too."
"I wish you luck," Hermione smiled at Pavarti as she left the common room.
Hermione, herself, was filled with regret that was remarkably different from her peers. She didn't drink too much, she stuck to one butterbeer and hardly got tipsy. Her belongings stayed on her person, her dress remained zipped, her sensible heels stayed on her feet, and her knickers did not end up on the floor. Still there it was, that buzzing in the back of her mind, the sting in her gut, the whisper of regret: you messed up. So, Hermione found herself facing an emotional hangover following the Gryffindor party, plagued by guilt rather than a headache. It was pain that couldn't be fixed with a bloody mary or hair of the dog.
