Chapter Five
(A/N: THERE IS A SEXUAL SCENE IN HARRY’S POV AT THE 9:47 PM MARK. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.)
Avery Quinn Saturday, 9:08 am
“Beep, beep, beep, beep,” my alarm clock’s beeping sounds are the worst! At least I think I have an alarm clock… Wait, isn’t my phone my alarm clock? What the heck? My numb hand reaches over and slaps it, which causes the clock to fall over and unplug from the outlet. Thank God.
“Do you mind,” a hot, groggy voice groans, “trying to sleep here.” What. The. Hell.
My head immediately snaps over to the human being who is in my room. What happened? I’m not even in my room.
“Where am I?” I ask quietly. My eyes still haven’t quite adjusted to the darkness and I’m freaking out.
I hear a small, faint chuckle before a boy says, “Why, you’re at Hogwarts!”
“Louis! Leave Avery alone, lad,” a familiar British accent snaps. How does he know my name? “You’re at Blake’s house,” he adds.
“Would someone please turn the light on?” I sigh. This is so annoying just listening to these boys argues back and fourth. I don’t even know who the hell they are!
“I got it,” an Irish accent laces through my ears. Irish and British… Why does this sound so familiar?
“Blake’s house?” I repeat disgustingly. “Ew.”
A bright light immediately fills the room, leaving everyone groaning and covering their eyes.
“Shit,” the same Irish person curses, “should’ve thought that through more, yea?”
“You think, mate?” a high, British voice occurs.
“Someone tell me what’s going on,” I dramatically fall onto my pillow, groaning in the process. “My head hurts so fucking much!”
A faint chuckle comes from my right. “That’s because you got SUPER drunk and ran into a pole,” Blake, I think, informs me.
My head snaps up and glares at the foolish boy. “You would know better than to do something that stupid to me, Blake Johnson,” I reply in monotone.
“True, but you did run into a pole and hit your head a lot harder than we thought you did. It knocked you out cold,” a faint smile appears on his lips. “Do you remember the events that took place in the fine evening, also known as last night?”
“Wow, so formal,” a faint voice mutters.
“Um, all I remember is yelling at you and then sending a tweet to someone… I can’t remember who though.” My fingers rub my temples while I close my eyelids, trying to recall anything else.
The sound of a door slamming awakes me from my brainstorm. “Who was that?” I ask everyone.
The five boys look at each other and then back at me, then at each other, then at me, but you get the point. It went on for a minute before I cracked in annoyance.
