The moment Katie woke up she knew she'd made a very bad mistake: the cool floor under her skin was offering a brief respite from the nausea creeping along her veins. Why the holy hell had she woken up? And slowly, as she became aware of her surroundings, the question she wanted to ask was why she was curled up underneath Ang's kitchen table, a pile of quidditch jumpers acting as her pillow and a teatowel covering her bare shoulders.
"Fuck," came the greeting from the normally cheery Gryffindor. Her head felt like it had met the business end of a drill and remnants of an impressive night out thumped behind her eyebrows. Experimentally she brought one hand up to her nose but blinked at it several times before remembering they were the same ones she'd put on the night before. Come to think of it most of what she remembered was patchy. "Painkillers. Please give me painkillers."
Somewhere along the way Katie had misplaced her top and nestled a little way under her sports bra was her dragon, sleeping soundly. Katie glared at it and longed to go back to the bliss of being asleep. There was no chance of that with the amount of alcohol she'd had last night and her friends voices carried through the flat.