To this, Hermione had to pause. Hermione wasn’t a puritan. She was no stranger to partying, or drinking, or even drugs - she was a Gryffindor for Merlin’s sake. She’d been to enough quidditch afterparties to know that it took 4 drinks for her to dance, but with 6 drinks and a joint, she’d feel the music. She enjoyed her partying era, but that’s all it was, an era. She was an adult now, and adults didn’t wake up on Sunday mornings hugging a toilet while their roommates cast aguamentis on all furniture unfortunate enough to have come across their path (Harry and Ron still never let go the night of Hermione’s 20th birthday, when she’d SPEWed all over the living room carpet, as they so lovingly put it).