Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. Because, get real.
A/N: This here is a little something that has been on my mine for a long time. Years, actually. But I've never written it out before! So, I decided to do so. I hope you guys enjoy! It's complete crazy fun! With a dash of a real plot added in, of course.
Prologue
Hermione Granger was not your average, normal girl. Well, she had plain brown hair and plain brown eyes and a mother and a father and friends and school and all of that. And she wasn't one to mess with drugs or alcohol or party all weekend long or wear slutty clothing or flirt with every member of the male population. However, she was a witch. And she was insane. Or rather, she had just decided she was insane.
Hermione Granger was quite comfortable with her life. She had wonderful friends, nice parents, good teachers (for the most part), enjoyable classes (for the most part), did well in her studies, and overall was pretty happy. She didn't think anything was missing, and therefore never went searching for it. The most searching she did was in her school's magnificent library, but she supposed that was what got her into this trouble in the first place.
Though she despised the foolishly blonde behavior displayed by many of her fellow females, and would never go as far as to call herself girly, she could not deny that as the years progressed, the gossip-filled, drama-centric, make-up devoted side of being a teenage girl perked her interest. Was it fun? To just act carefree and foolish? It just wasn't her nature, she finally decided. But evidently fate had something else in mind.
As mentioned before, Hermione wasn't a drinker. The most alcohol she had ever had in her life was a few glasses of wine while dining with her parents at formal events or restaurants. Never had she ever went to a party with a bunch of teenagers she didn't know or even gather with some close friends and get drunk. Nor did she go out to clubs in a ridiculous lack of clothing and have those mixed drinks with the strange names. Never had she even tasted firewhiskey before that night, or any sort of strong alcohol, whether it be Muggle or Wizard in fashion.
But then again, she hadn't done a lot of things before that night. Though she supposed she could draw back every outrageous thing she had done that night to the fact she was drunk, making the vile drink the supreme criminal.
Never would she ever drink again.
Or at least next time, she would get too drunk to remember what she foolishly did. Because remembering, well, that just made everything worse.