All Thanks to the Firewhiskey
A/N: I do not own any of these characters. I am just using J.K. Rowling's people as a jump start to my own fanfic. Thanks and Enjoy!
Chapter One: 1 Firewhiskey, 2 Firewhiskey, 3 Firewhiskey…Floor!
Hogwarts was buzzing. Another year had come and gone. This year's graduation would be no different then years past, except this year belonged to the famous Harry Potter. While the entire Gryffindor tower celebrated the end of finals, the end of Potions, and the end of Filch's late night escapades, one girl sat off to the side of the festivities, pondering on what the future would hold.
Hermione Granger, never one to take risks, had been named Valedictorian of her class. With graduation tomorrow, she was more interested in reviewing her speech, then joining the boys with their drinking games. As it was, she was genuinely curious about the effects of the firewhiskey. She was tempted to try a glass, but thought better of it. She had her address to prepare for.
Turning back towards the fireplace, she opened up her scroll. "…It has been my honor to be educated here by some of the finest teachers the wizarding world has to offer. If it hadn't been for professors like McGonagall, Flickwit, and Snape, I am sure my experience here would not have changed me into the person I am today. I am sure you feel the same..." Hermione stopped reading, and sighed closing her eyes. It was horrible, a complete waste of ink and time.
Glancing over her shoulder at the scene of her peers, she wished she hadn't spent seven years of her life distancing herself from everyone. Here she was eighteen years old, valedictorian, and with the same handful of friends she had had since first year. That didn't show much growth. She looked at Ginny and Harry, happy and joyous. She caught a look at Ron, who was shyly spying on Luna Lovegood. Hermione had to stifle a giggle. Luna and Ron, who would have thought? Off to Ron's left sat Seamus with Lavender; they seemed to be too busy with one another to take notice of anything else. Neville was talking to a 5th year with very pretty ringlets of brown hair. Everyone had someone and she had…..her scroll.
Suddenly, all she could think of was the firewhiskey. Dropping her speech to the floor, she hurried over to where Dean Thomas was handing out the drinks.
"Hey Hermione!" he smiled.
"Givemeadrink," she blurted out.
Dean looked confused. Had he just heard the Head Girl right? She wanted a drink? "Pardon?"
"Give me a bloody drink!"
Dean stared at her like she was a mad woman, but Hermione hardly cared at this point. She tossed back her head as she had seen others and let the warm liquid run down her throat. The drink raced through her, burning as it went. She dropped her glass and coughed. Dean came around, patting her on her back.
"Well done old girl. Didn't think you had it in you," he grinned, handing her another glass. "Here, the second one goes down easier."
Hermione looked at the glass and smiled.
The liquid tasted sweet as she sipped it slowly. Dean was right; this one did go down easier. Before she knew it, the glass was empty. She asked for another, and then headed over to join the boys.
Two Hours Later...
"Do you think she'll be alright?"Ron asked, as he and Harry carried an unconcious Hermione to her dormitory.
"She might have a headache in the morning, but I think the worst of it is over," the Boy-Who-Lived replied.
Ron scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I hope the Fat Lady doesn't take what she said too seriously. I mean, Mione was pretty out of it."
"I'm fairly positive that Hermione won't be joining us in the common room any time soon, Ron. The Fat Lady does not like criticism when it is in reference to her singing."
"Yeah, but Mione was just telling her what everyone else thinks."
"True," Harry nodded as they approached the Head's dorm. "But she also said there was a reason for being called the Fat Lady."
Ron's face broke into a wide grin. "Oh right, forgot about that one."
"Here, help me set her down," Harry instructed. Carefully, the boys laid Hermione against the wall by the Head's tapestry. "Mione," Harry tapped her cheek. "Hey, Hermione, wake up." Slowly, a pair of hazel eyes blinked open.
"Higuys," she slurred dreamily. "Whatchadoing?"
"It's time for bed," Harry said gently. "We brought you back to your room. Are you feeling alright to go in and get into bed?"
"Sure," she grinned, patting Harry's head. "No problem, dude." Ron supressed a chuckle. "I'll just be getting up then." It took several attempts before Hermione was on her feet, but once she was, the boys muttered the password and she stumbled on inside.
"Are you sure she'll be ok?" Ron asked, glancing at the closed entrance. "Maybe we should have left her with Ginny."
"She'll be fine Ron," Harry responded. "What's the worse that could happen?"
Draco Malfoy yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Four a.m. was an ungodful hour to be getting in, but it had been worth it. Blaise Zabini truly was a brilliant wizard. Who else would have thought to stick Mrs. Norris to the ceiling of Filch's office with Never-Ever-Coming-Off-Glue, courtesy of the Weasley twins. Draco may not have liked the redheads, but their products were good for a laugh, especially when that laugh came from Filch doing a hysterical jig outside his office. A grin fell across Draco face as he entered the Head chambers. It had been worth losing 200 house points to see that man dance.
The common room was empty. Draco figured Granger had gone to bed hours ago, not that it mattered. The know-it-all girl was hardly ever in their room. She was normally up in Gryffindor tower or at the library. Despite his feelings of disgust for her, he had found this past year tolerable. No matter. It was all over now. He would inherit the last of the Malfoy fortune, run the family business, which was still a secret to him, and marry some rich Pureblood wench. That was his destiny. Rolling his eyes as he thought of it, he entered his private chambers.
Moonlight was pooling in from the north window. Draco pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it on a chair seated in the corner of the room. Soon his trousers and socks joined them. Left in his emerald silk boxers, he took one more long stretch before heading over to his bed. The large canopy bed was adorned with silver and green furnishings, complete with several layers of covers and dozens of pillows in all shapes and sizes. However, on this night, there was something else on his bed. The body of a woman laid under the first layer of sheets.
But it wasn't just any woman.
It was Hermione Granger.
And she was completely naked.