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Snape was drunk. Very, very drunk.

This was not… not cool. He’d woken up next to a student, the damned Head Girl—from Gryffindor!—and that was bad enough without her being Potter’s best friend and one of his least favorite people. Then it turned out she was actually good to talk to when he was too drunk to care that it was Hermione Granger he was talking to. And he’d ended up having a thought or two that wasn’t right on so many levels as she lay in his bed or sat in his armchair in his robes. He couldn’t remember having a morning half as strange.

Malfoy needs to die… Malfoy needs to die… He was chanting it, he realized, to the tune of “The Farmer in the Dell.” Hi, ho, the dairy-o, Malfoy needs to diiiiiiiie!

Snape found himself bursting into the Slytherin common room. It was early, but Malfoy was awake and sitting by the fire—Malfoy hadn’t slept well since his father’s death last year, during the final battle with Voldemort. Malfoy stared up at his professor, startled, worried and completely confused.

Snape pointed his empty tequila bottle at Malfoy like a sword. Malfoy began reaching for his wand carefully, looking scared—terrified, really, but then it wasn’t every day a powerful wizard and ex-Death Eater ran into the room wearing nothing but a sheet around his waist and brandishing an alcohol bottle at you.

Snape caught himself before yelling the Killing Curse when he realized he wasn’t holding his wand. Instead, he started shouting at Malfoy like… well, like the drunken madman he was.

“It’s none of your business if I slept with her! None! And I didn’t, honest! Granger and I are… are… just friends!”

The look on Malfoy’s face made even the intoxicated and enraged Snape laugh.

The Prank War, Chapter 3