Yet another attempt at fanfiction, by me, Carrie. I based this a wee bit on one of my favorite movies of all time. Read on and see if you can figure out which one it is. (To those who don't like to guess, I'll tell next chapter, okay?)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hermione, I do not own Draco, I do not own a house, I do not own a get the idea.


My name is Hermione Granger, and as of 10:30 AM, Thursday, September 1st, my life sucks.

It sucks ass.

Why is that, you ask? Well listen my children and you shall hear: not only is it my seventh and final year at Hogwarts (this makes me a bit sad because I love this school and leaving it means I have venture out into the "real world" which means I actually have to work for a living...), but I am returning to school without having done anything remotely interesting over the summer.

Oh wait. My bad. I did do one thing over the summer that, to most girls, would be the prime topic of conversation for at least the first two or three weeks of school, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day.

I had my first kiss. That magical moment where you realize that someone loves you, that they may even want to unite themselves with you in the most intimate act that can occur between a man and a woman. The moment when you can hear the choir of angels singing, and the world is filled with rainbows and kitten. The moment when you fall in love, and become a silly, jabbering creature with a visible aura of happiness and a permanent face-splitting smile.

Actually, it wasn't like that at all.

I had slept over at the Burrow for the weekend, hanging out with the Weasleys and Harry, just like every summer. During that weekend-for a while, come to think of it-I had been getting all these weird little vibes from Ron, you know, the ones you get when a guy likes you and probably wants to try something? Needless to say, never having been the object of any boy's affection before, I was very excited and even responded with some weird little vibes of my own. Finally, on that last night, I knew that was it. It was the last time I was going to see them before school, and I was just positive he was going to try something.

And try something he did.

Right outside my father's car, while everyone else was standing not 50 feet away.

I admit, the location was incredibly unromantic, even for Ron, but what the hell. I was willing to let it go.

He gave me a hug goodbye, just like he always did, and then pulled back slowly to look into my face and make sure I wanted to kiss too. Well, of course I did. So I smiled very encouragingly and even leaned forward a wee bit just to reinforce my hint.

I was prepared for a small peck, maybe a little bit of an open mouth or something.

I was not prepared for tonsil surgery, and that's what I got. (A/N: This situation really happened to me-you can't make this stuff up! This was my first kiss. Ew, right?)

Oh Holy Jesus.

I backed up as quickly as possible, smiled weakly, waved even more weakly, and jumped in the car, praying that my father had gone temporarily blind and hadn't witnessed that catastrophe.

The choir of angels didn't sing. They cried. With laughter.

And there you have it, my failed romantic life in a nutshell.

But other than that, I'm the same.

I look the same, I smell the same (same damn vanilla-smelling shampoo-my mother buys everything in bulk and she buys too much so it never runs out), and-let's face it-people are going to see me the same.

Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired bookworm. Nerd Queen of the Universe, the All-Knowing Superdork.

In other words, I am still...boring.

Only the thing is, I'm not boring. I like to do a lot of things, which includes going to parties and getting so shitfaced the only thing I can do properly the next day is drag myself to the loo and drape myself over a toilet bowl. Alright, I admit I've never exactly done that, but it always sounds like a hell of a good time.

I'm not going to sit here a bore you with a list of things I like to do because, truth be told, you probably like the same things.

Point is, I had always imagined this year to be different. Don't ask me how or why, it's just the way I thought of my seventh year. I always imagined that I would have a fabulous time, especially in my graduating year.

And now, here I was. September 1st, in King's Cross exactly thirty minutes before the train is supposed to leave, surrounded by witches and wizards and muggles, all jostling to get someplace and be somebody.

And I cannot describe just how much it sucked.