A/N: I've finally figured out why my writing has been sort of … eh … lately. I tried to give up tea! I've realized my mistake, and I apologize! I'm now drinking copious amounts of tea again, so fear not! Oh… by the way, I don't own Harry Potter.

Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. Ron was retarded. Adorable, but absolutely retarded. After that little 'incident' with Ron, Hermione had fled the comfortable home she and Ron had established over the course of the last few chapters. Not truly knowing where to go, she decided to flee to her brother-like-but-still-incredibly-hot friend Harry's house.

But isn't Harry dead again, you ask? Reply: the author can't remember, and is far too lazy at this point to go back to her previous chapters and check! Moving on!

Hermione apparated into the living room of Harry's flat, and flung herself onto his shoulder, as he was conveniently waiting there for her with a rather large bottle of firewhiskey. Because honestly, that's the only drink the author could think of at the moment. Hermione began to sob uncontrollably, choking out the current situation to Harry.

"I know that already, Hermione. Why do you think I was sitting here waiting for you with firewhiskey?"

"But how did you already know?" A confused Hermione asked, while groping for a glass to fill to the brim with the alcoholic beverage.

"Are you kidding me? I'm Harry-fuckin'-Potter," he said, as if that answered her question. Hermione only raised her eyebrow, before shaking her head and taking a large swig from her full glass.

Only a few hours later, both Harry and Hermione were incredibly toasted. Harry was sprawled out on the couch, his left leg stretched over the top of his couch and his right arm hanging off the side of the couch, leaving him in a very awkward position. Hermione was stumbling around the room, still ranting about her problems with her love life.

"I mean, honestly, Harry! Is he that thick? I thought he loved me!" She yelled, most of her drink sloshing onto Harry's wall as she flung her arm forward to add emphasis. "It is kind of blatant how you're supposed to answer those questions! And Harry, I'm tired of contemplating the implications of the situation! Why are there so many bloody circumstances where we're in trouble!"

Hermione continued to babble on, though Harry was only half-listening. She uses lots of big words when she's drunk. Maybe I should stop her tirade before my walls permanently smell of firewhiskey. Hey… tirade… that's kind of a funny word. Moving on! Hehehe… I just thought that.

"Herminnie… Hermy-one… Hermalone… Herm-own-ninny… Wow… your name is really long… Now I understand why Vixen couldn't say it," Harry slurred, before rolling off the couch with a loud thump.

Hermione spun about on her heel too quickly, and ended up falling onto the floor as well. "Vixen? Donner, Comet, Blitzen… Bugger, what are those other ones." Her face screwed up into a look of utter concentration, before she simply burst out laughing. "OH! Victor! I get it now." And with that, her vision faded into darkness, the now empty glass rolling from her hand.

Harry frowned, staring at his fallen friend. "Who's Victor? Nobody said anything about Victor." He finally passed out after that little comment, both oblivious to the fact that there was no point to that entire thing. Moving on!

Reviews, anyone? I hear they're delicious. You should try them! Especially here! Ok, so now that I've dropped my not-so-subtle hints, I leave you with a single question:

…Seriously, what are those other ones? Vixen… Donner… Comet… Blitzen… kljasdf;ljkasdf'in...