She slightly turned her head to watch as the noisy group rounded the corner. A group of Slytherins her age staggered down the corridor, laughing stupidly. Hermione held her breath as she took in the sight: Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy all looked slightly looped with impossibly wide shit-eating grins on each of their faces. Goyle bumped into Crabbe and stumbled, making the group cackle even harder. Blaise Zabini rested his hands on his knees out of exhaustion from laughing so hard. Hermione caught sight of a bottle of Firewhisky in Crabbe’s hand, and it soon made sense: they were drunk. Wasted, in fact, from the looks of it.