I'm not gonna lie, I REALLY like to write Hermione drunk. I never had until I got a prompt for it in my drabble collection, and it was so much fun to write her drunk there that I extended it to a longer story here.

Just so you know, Hermione's thoughts are italicized like this. Flashbacks (of which there is only one) are marked accordingly, and are underlined AND italicized.

Bubbly, bubbly.

Warm and fizzy.

Happy, careless, silly.

Oooooh, colors. Pretty swirly colors.

Green. Suddenly, green.

Where did all the colors go?

*Flashback*

"Oh, champagne, good. Finally something that'll make this night worthwhile. You drink champagne, don't you, Hermione?"

"No, I've actually never tried it. Is it good?"

"Oh, Mione, you have no idea."

*End Flashback*

Harry was deeply regretting introducing Hermione to the wonder that was champagne.

She had drank about twenty glasses already, even though the reception had only been going on for about forty-five minutes, and now she was starting to act odd.

She felt odd too, though he couldn't know that.

He knew he ought to get her home; Ginny had been shooting daggers with her gaze at them from across the room in her white dress. Harry bet she was regretting the decision to have unlimited wine and champagne available to the wedding guests.

He approached his fiancé, who was sitting on a swivel-stool at the ballroom's bar. She had a full glass of the yellow alcoholic beverage in her hand and was spinning the chair, a gleeful smile on her face, screaming "WHEEEEEEEEEEE!" The other guests and the members of the wedding party were glaring at her like she was naked at a children's playground.

He had no doubts that she would end up that way if he didn't get her home NOW.

He reached his hands out and grabbed the seat, stopping it when she was facing away from him. She made a discontented sound, and then leaned over the bar and threw up. Harry grimaced and rubbed a hand on her back until she was finished. She didn't even seem to know he was there until he said,

"Hermione?"

"Wazzat?" she slurred, sitting up and wiping a hand across her mouth.

Sour taste. Bad. Yuck. Burning throat.

Strange voice. Deep voice. A man.

Fuzzy image...hee hee, so fuzzy...like a teddy bear...

Hermione tried to turn around in her bar stool without incident but instead splashed her overly full glass all over the floor.

"Oopsie!" she giggled. She attempted to stand, but slipped on the new puddle. This new man's strong arms caught her mid-fall.

Who was he again? There were so many colors, she could hardly see his face.

And then, green.

"Harry!" she exclaimed happily, her addled brain finally making some sort of connection. "Glad you could make it!" She tipped the glass back and chugged down what was left in it. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"We came together, Hermione," he said patiently. But she had already moved on to the next thing.

"I like the golden fizzy potion," she squealed up at him. "It's sweet and bubbly and tastes like rainbows and sunshine and unicorn pee. HA, PEE!" She burst out laughing and was unable to stop.

"That's nice, sweetheart. I like it too," he said, trying to stand her back up, but she resisted him. It was like trying to steady a plastic bag full of water.

"Can you give me more?" she asked, shoving her empty glass under his nose. "No more, see?"

"No, you've had quite enough," Harry said. "I think it's time we get you home, love. Ginny won't appreciate you getting drunk at her wedding."

Hermione flapped her hand in a "Who cares" gesture and made a pssshhhh-sounding noise.

"Ginny, schminny," she said, a whine lacing her voice. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? Just a titchy?" she said in the worst fancyman accent he'd ever heard.

"No, Hermione. Come on, let's go."

"No!" she said, sounding and looking like a spoiled toddler, crossing her arms in front of her and sporting a pout to rival all pouts. "I don't wanna!"

Harry sighed. "Then you give me no choice," he said.

And with that, he lifted up Hermione and slung her over his shoulder.

"Eeep!" she squealed as her feet flew out from underneath her.

Harry waved goodbye to Ginny with his free hand, calling out "Congratulations!", and then tightened his grip around his fiancé. Hermione was saying "Everything's wrong and the other way up" over and over again incredulously, as if she couldn't understand why the world had suddenly been flipped over.

Harry took his wand in his free hand and apparated them home.

Right in the middle of their bedroom, to be precise.

All the sounds and people are gone.

Especially the people in black and white, that gave me the golden fizzy stuff. I miss them already.

Now, everything is tight.

Squeeze-y and push-y and unpleasant.

Where am I going?

HOW am I going?

I don't like this.

He laid the still-babbling Hermione down on the bed and undressed her. She fought back, screaming "I'm getting married, get your hands off of me!" and ignoring his attempts to convince her that he was, indeed, her fiancé. But once he started pulling a nightgown over her shoulders, she began to relax and remember who he was.

He began to undress as well, ready to get into his boxers and go to sleep. The wedding had been long and boring, and he was exhausted.

The whole time he undressed, Hermione made catcalls at him and whistled, then fell backwards laughing when he turned around (underwear-less) and glared at her. (That did nothing for his self esteem.)

Finally, he climbed into bed, and lazily used his wand to turn off the lights. Hermione yelped, "It's DARK!"

"Yes, love," he said, yawning.

"Where'd the lights go?"

"I turned them off. I'm going to sleep, and you should too."

"I don't wanna!" she protested. "I'm not tired!"

Suddenly, she leaped out of bed and raced to the adjoining master bathroom. Harry grimaced at the unpleasant sounds and smells of vomiting that filled the air.

He could hear her groan loudly, and then start brushing her teeth. She'll sure be tired now, he thought.

And he was right; Hermione trudged back to bed and closed her eyes the instant her head hit the pillow.

Just before she dozed off, she murmured, "Harry, you make me feel the way champagne makes me feel."

"And how's that?" he responded tiredly.

"Reeeeeeaaaally goooooooooooood."

Harry smiled and turned over on his side: "Goodnight, Hermione."

He didn't just make her feel good. He made her feel a whole other mess of things.

Bubbly, bubbly.

Warm and fizzy.

Happy, careless, silly.

But Hermione was unable to tell him any of those things, as she was already asleep.

If you want to read the drabble this was based on, it's called Champagne, and it's chapter 39 of Perfect Harmony, a 100-word drabbles collection.

Review please!