Harry Potter (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} auror__potter) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} finnigans_rpg, |
Honestly, Harry had no idea where he was. He remembered making the decision to skulk around the house a bit, on the guise of looking for the bathroom should anyone question him. So far, no one had questioned him, and he'd managed to get himself lost, despite the fact that the Goyle's house wasn't exactly sprawling. And okay, he wasn't so much lost as he was tired, and maybe a little drunk.
Really, he should have been more vigilant with his drinks; and how had it become drinks anyway? He didn't remember making the conscious decision for that second (third, fourth, fifth?) drink. Alcohol was clearly not his friend. Oh, but the wall was his friend. The nice, friendly wall that he'd bumped up against, and was currently resting on. He looked up, blinked in surprise because the wall wasn't actually a wall, but a very tall, very broad person upon whom Harry was resting against.
"Hello, you're a very nice wall," Harry said, but it came out muffled, because Harry's face was mashed against the wall's chest. "I'll move in a minute. My feet don't work." He managed to tilt his head enough so this sentence was less muffled, but no less slurred because Harry found that words were hard. Who invented words, anyway. Words were stupid.