Babygirl (SEQUEL to Fuckboy - Draco Malfoy)

3. pulse points.

Draco collapsed the moment he shut the door to his dormitory.

With the rest of the seventh-year Slytherins still partying downstairs, he slid down against the door unseen, falling to a thud. He sat against it with his elbows on his knees, grasping his head with shaking hands. He pressed the heels of both hands into his eye sockets.

He had touched the Mudblood. He had pressed his body flush against hers. He had tasted her breath in his mouth. He had touched his lips to her skin. Worst of all, he had slammed her skull against the wall and vice-gripped her jugular as if he were trying to crush her fucking windpipe.

At the thought of this violence, he started to dry-heave and scrambled up onto his feet, stumbling into the lavatory.

He blamed it all—the intrusion into her dormitory, the words he had said, the erotic aggression, and now the vomiting—all on the alcohol. After he emptied the contents of his stomach, he retched and dry-heaved for several more minutes before sitting back, numb, his arms laid weakly across his knees. He rested his face on his kneecaps and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. He pushed it back, slicking it disgustingly away from his face.

At the catharsis of vomiting up an entire bottle of firewhiskey, he went numb. There was nothing to do—no way to take it back.

Dirty and ashamed, he passed out on the lavatory floor.

- - -

"Malfoy, fuck the fuck off!" Theo seethed the next morning when Draco awakened him from a deep, drooling slumber.

Draco smacked him on the back of the head with his DADA book. Theo was tangled up in his comforter wearing only his boxers, looking like he had been pile-drived by the Hogwarts Express. He was crusty with drool and his hair was flipped up into one big spike at the top of his head.

"Get up. Class," Draco barked.

"Uuuuuuuuuugh!" Theo roared, flailing and hiding in his pillow.

Blaise was at least attempting to get dressed, but he was moving so slowly, class would be over by the time he tied his shoes.

Draco tossed Blaise a hangover potion.

"Drink that, and let's go," he snapped, because Blaise was being completely decrepit.

"Tell Snape . . . I'm sick . . ." Theo said into his pillow.

"Fuck no," Blaise gruffed—the first thing he had said all morning. "If we have to go, so do you, Nott."

Eventually, Blaise downed half of the hangover potion and tossed the rest of it to Theo. Then the three of them tredged upstairs to the common room, stumbling bleary-eyed out of the portrait hole.

They were almost late to class, slipping in at the very last second. Draco walked in quickly, his eyes glued to the floor, and took the far seat of a two-seater table. Blaise crashed down next to him and leaned his chin onto his hand.

As Snape started to show a slide show, Draco leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. Blaise kept flinching whenever Snape clicked to the next slide. Draco could hear Theo groaning under his breath from a distance.

The girls were all looking rather worse for wear. Onyx was next to Theo, drooling and nodding off. Parkinson was literally asleep—her eyes were closed and her head was resting on the Mudblood's shoulder.

When he woke up that morning and remembered what had happened in the Mudblood's bedroom, Draco solemnly swore that he would never look at her again.

This resolution lasted for about ten minutes before his eyes wandered in her direction against his will.