What's in a name?
A rose by any other name would spell as sweet.
So Romeo would, if Romeo he were not called.
Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare
Ginny woke up, rolled over and discovered three things.
The first was that she was excruciatingly hungover. She'd been drunk six times in the eighteen months since she turned eighteen and she had not enjoyed any of the 'day after'. This was by far the worst, compounded by the fact that she could not remember anything from last night. Her head throbbed and her mouth tasted like a chocolate frog had died, turned into a zombie and crawled into her mouth only to die again. All of which begged the question: what had she been drinking last night?
The second thing to soak in was that her bed felt abnormally spacious today. She always had projects going and they always took over her bed. She was into knitting and sewing and lately she was getting into blacksmiting. Her blacksmithing tools had never made it into bed with her but she constantly had a stack of papers or books. Usually she couldn't roll over without running into something, even when she was in school.
The third thing was that her bed was not entirely empty. When she rolled over, she landed on someone.
THat realization woke her up fully. She sat up, staring blearily around the room. It was not her room and she instantly looked down. She was still wearing the dark blue tank she remembered putting on the night before and she was still wearing underwear.
Oh thank god, she thought and looked over at her bed mate who had barely stirred when she sat up.
It was a guy. He had his head under his pillow, sleeping on his stomach.
Who the fuck was it? Not Harry, she decided with a little bit of relief. She was interested in Harry, of course. But she didn't want to hook up with him when she was blind drunk.
Whoever she was in bed with, he had nice shoulders, she decided. Then she decided she was still a little drunk. His back was much too pale and fair to be Harry but there were scars running down it. She found herself staring at them.
She shook her head. Sex had not happened so perhaps it would be best if she just bailed now. Pretend this had never happened.
Her jeans were draped over one of the chairs and she inched out of bed, trying not to wake whoever the hell was in bed. She took note of her surroundings then. The place was plush. The sheets were soft and comfortable. Egyptian cotton, she imagined. The desk was black walnut, looking expensive. One of her Carolina boots was sitting on its side on the desk top.
She slid out of the bed and shimmied slowly into her jeans. She didn't have her wand but her wallet was still in her back pocket. She was trying to remember anything about last night. They'd been out celebrating. She, Hermione, Ron and Harry had all graduated, Ron and Harry from Auror academy, Hermione with a bachelors degree in spells (a four year degree she'd gotten in less than three). And Ginny had her teaching certificate. In less than two months, she would start as a teacher in Hogwarts.
She reached up to rub her face and swore as something scratched her face. She looked down at her nails but they weren't long enough. Then she looked at her hand. Her left hand.
"Oh, my fucking god," she gasped.
That was when the guy in the bed pulled his very blonde head out of the covers.
"Weasley?" Draco Malfoy croaked. "What the fuck are you doing in my room?"
Ginny ran into the bathroom and threw up.
(A/N: What? Me? Start a new fic with no provocation or reasoning? Would I do that? Here's the story, my loves, I was going to update If Only If Only today. COme to find, I did not save it to my flash drive. So, I wimped out and started a new story. As for the plot, it's entirely unoriginal. We've seen it six million times before and in fact I'm reading one called Honeymoon Hangover and guess what it's about? Regardless, the first part of this story got stuck in my head and I couldn't shake it. So I gave in. I promise to update If Only sometime next week, and hopefully I'll post a few other chapters too.