You have hated Harry Lewis ever since he was rude to you at VidCon three years ago, so when the opportunity arises to mess with him (and get some content out of it) you take it. Will you change your mind about him in ten days?
contains: a revenge plot, harry being duped but falling in love with the crazy anyway, fluff, minor angst and a happy ending
summary: 3 years ago Harry was rude to you at vidcon, leading you to swear off the sidemen forever | Harry x fem!reader
notes: the first of the series! also imagine this is london vidcon and that the sidemen actually go to these things okay thanks
content: 1.3k wc, rejection, harry being mean
series masterlist!
VidCon was everything you’d imagined it would be – and so much more.
The convention centre buzzed with an electric energy that made your skin tingle. Everywhere you looked, there were creators you’d watched for years, faces you recognised from thumbnails and Instagram posts now walking past you in real life. The air smelled like overpriced coffee, plastic promotional merch, and the feeling of too many people crammed into one space. Camera flashes went off every few seconds. Excited screams echoed off the high ceilings whenever someone spotted their favourite YouTuber.
You’d been planning this trip for months. Saved up your money, booked the cheapest hotel you could find, and convinced your best friend to split the cost of the weekend pass. This was your first Vid Con, and you were determined to make the most of it.
Your channel was small – barely ten thousand subscribers – but you were proud of it. You’d been posting consistently for almost a year now, and your little community was growing. Coming to VidCon felt like a rite of passage, a way to immerse yourself in the world you were trying to break into.
“Oh my god, is that Zoella?” your friend gasped, grabbing your arm and nearly spilling her coffee down your shirt.
You laughed, craning your neck to see. “I think so! Should we-”
But she was already dragging you through the crowd, weaving between clusters of fans and creators. You clutched your phone tightly, heart racing with excitement. This was it. This was the world you wanted to be part of.
The day passed in a blur of panels, meet-and-greets, and spontaneous encounters. You’d gotten a photo with a few mid-tier creators, attended a workshop on video editing, and even worked up the courage to introduce yourself to a brand representative who seemed genuinely interested in your content.
By late afternoon, your feet ached and your voice was hoarse from talking over the constant noise, but you were riding high on adrenaline and possibility.
That’s when you saw him.
Harry Lewis – W2S – standing near one of the main vendor booths, partially hidden behind a merch display. He was taller than you expected, wearing a simple black hoodie with the hood pulled up, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, the other clutching his phone.
Your heart jumped.
You’d been watching the Sidemen for years. Their videos had gotten you through some rough times – late nights studying for exams, lonely weekends when you felt disconnected from everything. Harry was always your favourite. His chaotic energy, his sharp wit, the way he could make you laugh until your stomach hurt – it all felt like comfort.
“Holy shit,” you breathed, freezing mid-step.
Your friend followed your gaze and grinned. “Is that-”
“Yeah.” You were already smoothing down your shirt, checking your reflection in your phone screen. Your hair was a bit messy from the crowds, but you looked decent enough. Presentable. Normal.
“You should go say hi!”
“I don’t know…” Suddenly, your confidence wavered. What if he was busy? What if he didn’t want to be bothered?”
“Come on, you’ve been talking about the Sidemen all weekend. When are you going to get another chance as good as this?”
She was right. You’d regret it if you didn’t at least try.
Taking a deep breath, you started walking toward him, your friend hanging back to give you space. Your palms were sweating. Your heart hammered against your ribs. This was fine. This was normal. Creators came to VidCon expecting to meet fans. He’d probably be nice. Maybe you’d even get a photo.
As you got closer, you noticed the details you couldn’t see from far away. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he kept glancing around, looking at the exit. The tightness in his jaw.
He looked exhausted.
But you’d come this far. You couldn’t back out now.
“Um, excuse me? Harry?”
He turned toward you, and for a split second, you saw something flash across his face – irritation, maybe, or just bone-deep weariness. Up close, he looked even more drained. His eyes were slightly red, like he’d been rubbing them, and there was a tension around his mouth that made him seem older than he was.
“Hey,” he said flatly. Not rude, exactly, but not welcoming either.
You pushed forward anyway, smiling brightly despite the sudden knot of anxiety in your stomach. “Hi! Sorry to bother you, I just- I’m a huge fan. I’ve been watching your videos for years, and I just wanted to say that your content has really helped me through some tough times, and-”
“Yeah, thanks.” He cut you off, his tone clipped and dismissive. He wasn’t even really looking at you, his gaze sliding past your shoulder toward the crowd behind you.
The smile faltered on your face. “Oh, um, I was wondering if maybe I could get a quick photo? I know you’re probably busy, but it would mean-”
“Look, I’m not doing photos right now, alright?” His voice was sharp, edged with something like frustration. “I’ve been here all day, and I just need a fucking break.”
The words hit you like a slap.
Your face went hot. Around you, the noise of the convention seemed to swell – laughter, music, the constant chatter of hundreds of conversations happening at once. But all you could focus on was the way Harry was looking at you now, really looking at you for the first time, and there was nothing in his expression but irritation and hate.
“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Yeah, whatever. Just… not right now, yeah?” He was already turning away, pulling his hood further over his head like he could disappear into it.
You stood there, frozen, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. Your throat felt tight. Your eyes stung.
“Okay,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”
He didn’t respond. Just walked away, shoulders hunched, hands still buried in his pockets. Within seconds, he’d disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing alone by the merch booth with your heart sinking into your stomach.
You turned and walked back to your friend on autopilot, your face burning with humiliation, and your eyes started to water.
“What happened?” she asked, concern creasing her forehead. “Are you okay?”
“He said no,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “He was… he wasn’t very nice about it.”
“Oh, babe.” She pulled you into a quick hug, and you had to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. You would not cry at VidCon over a YouTuber who couldn’t spare thirty seconds to say no, nicely. You wouldn’t.
But god, it hurt.
It wasn’t just the rejection – you could have handled a polite “no thanks” or even a “sorry, I’m not feeling up to it.” It was the coldness. The way he’d looked at you like you were an annoyance, an obstacle, something to be brushed aside and forgotten.
You’d approached him with genuine kindness, genuine appreciation for his work, and he’d made you feel small.
“Fuck him,” your friend said fiercely, rubbing your back. “He’s probably just having a bad day. It’s not about you.”
“Yeah,” you said, but you didn’t believe it. Not really.
Because the thing was, you understood that creators were human. You understood that they got tired, overwhelmed, overstimulated by the constant demands of fans and crowds and cameras. You would have understood if he’d explained that, if he’d been apologetic or even just honest about needing space.
But he hadn’t been. He’d been dismissive and cold, and he’d made you feel stupid for even approaching him at all.
As you and your friend made your way toward the exit – the magic of VidCon suddenly tarnished – you made a decision.
You were done with Harry Lewis and done with the sidemen. Done with giving your time and energy and emotional investment to people who clearly didn’t give a shit about the fans who’d supported them.
The hurt in your chest hardened into something else. Something sharper.
Resentment.
You’d remember this moment. You’d remember exactly how he made you feel – small, embarrassed, invisible.
summary: harry makes a bet and takes you to dinner | Harry x fem!reader
notes: part 4 to how to lose a guy! harry enters finally! the next one will be pretty long so look out for it soon!
content: making a bet, drinking, the first of the duping, fluff
series masterlist!
Harry was having a good night.
The party was better than he’d expected – good music, decent drinks, and enough familiar faces that he didn’t feel like he had to work too hard at being social. He’d been chatting with Ethan and Josh for the past twenty minutes, mostly taking the piss out of each other in the way they always did.
“I’m just saying,” Ethan said, gesturing with his beer, “you’re nearly thirty, mate. When’s the last time you were in an actual relationship?”
“I’ve been in relationships,” Harry said defensively.
“I said actual relationships,” Ethan clarified. “Not just shagging someone for a few weeks and then ghosting them.”
“I don’t ghost people,” Harry protested.
“You do,” Josh said, grinning.
“Name one time,” Harry challenged.
“Sarah,” Ethan said immediately.
“That was different-”
“Emma.”
“She ghosted me first-”
“That girl from the club last month whose name you can’t remember.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Harry admitted.
The guys laughed, and Harry shook his head, taking a drink. He knew they were just winding him up, but there was a kernel of truth to it. He hadn’t been in a serious relationship in… god, years, probably. It wasn’t that he didn’t want one, exactly. It was just that he was busy, and dating was complicated, and most of the time it was easier to just not bother.
“I’m just saying,” Ethan continued. “you’re losing your touch, haz. Time was, you could pull anyone in this room. Now? I’m not so sure.”
“Fuck off,” Harry said, but he was smiling. “I could absolutely still pull anyone in this room.”
“Prove it,” Josh said.
“What?”
“Prove it,” Josh repeated, his grin widening. “We’ll pick someone. Anyone here. If you can get them to fall for you, we’ll… I don’t know, pay for the entire trip to the World Cup final?”
“Wait, really?” Harry said incredulously.
“Sure”, Ethan said. “Not like you’re going to win.”
Harry scoffed, “This is gonna be too easy, anyone would be crazy not to-”
“But,” Josh cut him off. “You have to get them to fall in love with you by that awards thing.”
“But that’s only ten days away,” Harry argued.
“Well, if you’re so good, then that won’t be a problem, will it?’
Harry considered it. It was a stupid bet, and he’d been backed into a corner. There was no way he could do it in ten days. But there was something appealing about it anyway – the challenge, the game of it.
“Alright,” he said. “You’re on.”
“Brilliant,” Josh said, already scanning the room. “Let’s see… what about her?”
He nodded toward a girl near the DJ booth. Pretty, but Harry wasn’t interested/
“Nah,” he said.
“Her?” Ethan suggested pointing to someone else.
“Too young,” Harry said.
“You’re so picky,” Josh said. “And anyway, we’re the ones picking for you, remember?”
“I’m selective,” Harry corrected.
“Okay. Her.” Ethan said, and something in his tone made Harry look up.
He followed Ethan’s gaze across the room, and-
Oh.
She was standing near the windows with two other girls, holding a drink and laughing at something one of them had said. She was wearing a black dress that was simple but somehow incredibly effective, and even from this distance, Harry could tell she was gorgeous.
“Her,” Ethan said definitively. “That’s your target.”
Harry watched her for a moment longer. She was looking around the room now, her expression thoughtful, like she was searching for something. Or someone.
And then for just a second, her eyes landed on him.
Harry felt something shift in his chest – a spark of interest, maybe, or just the thrill of the challenge.
“Alright,” he said. “Her.”
“Excellent choice,” Josh said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go get her, tiger.”
“Don’t call me tiger,” Harry said, but he was already moving.
You were trying very hard to look like you weren’t watching Harry.
After agreeing to your friends’ insane plan, you’d positioned yourself near the bar, nursing your drink and doing your best to appear casual. Lauren and Mara had retreated to a nearby table, giving you space but staying close enough to watch the show.
Your heart was pounding. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this.
Harry was across the room with his friends, but you could feel his attention shifting. You’d caught him looking at you a few times, and each time, you’d made sure to look away just quickly enough to seem uninterested but not so quickly it looked suspicious.
You were playing a game, and you were good at it.
“You look like you’re plotting something,” a voice said from beside you.
You turned, and there he was.
Harry Lewis. Up close. Smiling at you like you were the most interesting person in the room.
Your stomach did a complicated flip – part anger, part nerves, and something else you didn’t want to think about too much.
“Do I?” you said, keeping your voice light. “I was just thinking about getting another drink.”
“Allow me,” Harry said, signalling to the bartender. “What are you having?”
“Rum and Coke,” you said.
“Classic,” he said approvingly. He ordered your drink and another beer for himself, then turned back to you. “I’m Harry.”
“I know who you are,” you said, and then immediately wanted to kick yourself. Too eager. You were supposed to be playing it cool.
But Harry just grinned. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”
“Depends,” you said. “Do you want me to be a fan or a stalker?”
“Is there a third option?”
“Sure,” you said. “Vaguely aware of you but not particularly invested.”
Harry laughed, “I think I like that one best.”
The bartender set your drinks down, and Harry handed you yours. Your fingers brushed for just a second, and you felt a jolt of something you refused to acknowledge.
“So,” Harry said, leaning against the bar. “If you’re only vaguely aware of me, does that mean I need to work harder to make an impression?”
“That depends,” you said. “Are you trying to make an impression?’
“Maybe,” he said. His eyes were very blue, you noticed. Annoyingly blue. “Is it working?”
You took a sip of your drink, looking at him over the rim of your glass. He was charming, you’d give him that. Confident without being arrogant, funny without trying too hard. If you didn’t know better - if you didn’t remember VidCon, didn’t remember the way he’d made you feel – you might actually like him.
But you did know better.
And the fact that he clearly didn’t recognise you, didn’t remember dismissing you three years ago like you were nothing – that made your blood boil.
“You’re doing alright,” you said finally.
“Just alright?” Harry said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. “I’m wounded.”
“I’m sure you’ll recover,” you said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I might need some encouragement. Maybe your name would help?”
You hesitated for just a second – long enough to let him think you were deciding whether he was worth it – then smiled.
“It’s Reader,” you said.
“Reader,” he repeated, like he was testing how it sounded. “I like it.”
“I’m glad I have your approval,” you said dryly.
“See, this is what I mean,” Harry said, grinning. “You’re funny. I like funny.”
“Good to know,” you said. “I’ll add it to my list of your preferences.”
“You’re making a list?”
“I’m a very organised person.”
“I’m learning so much about you already,” Harry said. “Organised, funny, vaguely aware of me/ What else should I know?”
You tilted your head, studying him. This was it – the moment where you could either shut him down or reel him in. And despite every instinct screaming at you to tell him to fuck off, despite the anger still simmering in your chest, you found yourself smiling.
“I guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you said.
Harry’s grin widened. “Is this an invitation?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll take it,” he said.
And just like that, he was hooked.
An hour later, you were sitting across from Harry at a small table in an upscale restaurant a few streets away from the party.
You weren’t entirely sure how it had happened. One minute you’d been trading banter at the bar, the next he was suggesting you get out of there and grab some food. You’d agreed before you get out of there and grab some food. You’d agreed before you could think better of it, and now here you were, reading a menu that didn’t list prices and trying to remember the plan.
But god, he was making it difficult.
“So,” Harry said, settling down his menu. “Tell me something real.”
“Real?” you repeated/
“Yeah,” he said. “Everyone at these parties always does the same small talk – what do you do, how many followers do you have, blah blah blah. I want to know something actually interesting.”
You considered him for a moment. He seemed genuine, his expression open and curious. It would be so easy to give him something real, to let your guard down just a little.
But you couldn’t afford to do that. Not yet.
“Alright,” you said, “Something real. I’m terrified of birds.”
Harry blinked. “Birds?”
“Birds,” you confirmed. “Especially pigeons. They’re basically flying rats.”
“That’s… not what I expected,” Harry said, but he was smiling.
“You said you wanted something real,” you said. “That’s real. Your turn.”
“Okay,” Harry said, thinking. “Something real. I’m scared of heights.”
“Really? Don’t you and your friends do crazy things involving heights sometimes for your videos?”
“Yes, and no one knows. It’s embarrassing. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” you said.
The waiter came by to take your orders, and the conversation flowed easily after that. Harry told you about a disastrous video shoot from last week, and you told him about the time you accidentally posted a video on your account of you falling flat on your face. He made you laugh – really laugh, the kind that made your cheeks hurt – and you found yourself relaxing despite yourself.
“So what made you want to start YouTube?” Harry asked at one point.
You hesitated. The real answer was complicated – something about wanting to be heard, wanting to create something that mattered, wanitng to prove that you could. But that felt too vulnerable, too honest for someone you were supposed to be manipulating.
“I liked the idea of making something that was mine,” you said finally. “Something I had complete control over.”
“I get that,” Harry said. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Being your own boss.”
“Most of the time,” you said, “Sometimes it’s terrifying.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”
There was something in his voice – a note of understanding, of shared experience – that made your chest tighten. You looked at him across the table, really looked at him, and for just a second, you forgot why you were here. Forgot about your first interation, forgot about the video, forgot about the plan.
For just a second, he was just Harry. And you were just you.
Then your phone buzzed with a text from Mara.
How’s it going???
Reality came crashing back.
Right. The plan.
You were supposed to be reeling him in, making him fall for you so you could spend the next ten days miserable. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
“You alright?” Harry asked, noticing your expression.
“Yeah,” you said quickly, putting your phone away. “Sorry. Just my friends being nosy.”
“About me?” Harry said, grinning.
“Maybe.” You said.
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” you said, but you were smiling.
By the time you finished dinner, it was nearly midnight. Harry insisted on paying – “I asked you out, didn’t I?” – and then walked you outside to wait for your Uber.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he said.
“Yeah,” you said, and you were surprised to realise you meant it. “Me too.”
“Can I see you again?” Harry asked. “Like maybe tomorrow?”
This was it. The moment when you sealed the deal.
“I’d like that,” you said.
“Brilliant,” he said. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” you said.
Your Uber pulled up, and you moved to get in, but Harry caught your hand.
“Hey,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad I talked to you tonight,” he said. “I almost didn’t but… I’m glad I did.”
Your heart did that flip again, and you hated it.
“Me too,” you said softly.
You got in the car and watched through the window as Harry waved, his smile still in place. As the car pulled away, you let out a long breath and pulled out your phone.
There were already a dozen texts from Lauren and Mara in your group chat.
Lauren: OMG HOW DID IT GO
Mara: did you get his number
Lauren: are you still with him
Lauren: omg did you go back to his place
Mara: omg you slut
Mara: ANSWER US
You typed out a quick response: mission accomplished. he’s officially hooked.
The replies came instantly.
Lauren: YES
Mara: I KNEW IT
Lauren: okay so when are you seeing him again
You stared at your phone, thinking about the way Harry had smiled at you, the way he’d listened when you talked, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you.
Tomorrow, you’d start. Tomorrow, you’d become the nightmare girlfriend from hell. Tomorrow, you’d make him regret ever approaching you at that bar.
But tonight – just for tonight – you let yourself feel the smallest hint of guilt.
summary: you find the perfect target for your plan | Harry x fem!reader
notes: part 3! I'm gonna be super busy the next week, so I'm gonna try my hardest to keep updating the series! hope you enjoy!
content: 1.1k wc, at a party, drinking
series masterlist!
The party was exactly the kind of event you’d learned to navigate over the past few years – exclusive enough to feel important, casual enough not to be insufferable. It was being held at some trendy venue in SoHo, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs, with a DJ spinning something in the corner and bartenders mixing elaborate cocktails that probably cost more than your first camera.
You’d arrived with Lauren and Mara just after nine, fashionably late but not obnoxiously so. Lauren had made good on her promise – you were wearing a black slip dress that managed to be both elegant and effortless, paired with heeled boots that made you feel taller and more confident. Mara had done your makeup, a subtle smoky eye that made you look put-together without trying too hard.
“Alright,” Mara said, linking her arm through yours as you surveyed the room. “Operation find a test subject is officially underway.”
“Can we please not call it that?” you said, though you were smiling. “It makes me sound like a serial killer.
“You’re not killing anyone,” Lauren said from your other side. “You’re just… temporarily ruining their faith in relationships.”
“Much better,” you said dryly.
The three of you did a slow lap around the venue, drinks in hand, taking stock of the crowd. You recognised a few faces – other YouTubers you’d collaborated with, a couple of Instagram influencers you’d met at previous events, some TikTokers who looked barely old enough to drink.
“What about him?” Mara said, nodding subtly toward a guy near the bar. Tall, dark hair, decent jawline.
You considered it for a moment, then shook your head. “Too young, he looks like he’s still in uni.”
“Fair,” Mara said.
“Him?” Lauren suggested, gesturing toward a blond guy in an expensive-looking jacket.
“Too posh,” you said. “I’d feel bad.”
“That’s literally the opposite of the point,” Lauren said.
“I know, I know,” you said. “I just… I need someone who won’t make me feel guilty. Someone who probably deserves it a little bit.”
“So we’re looking for an attractive asshole,” Mara summarised.
“Exactly,” you said.
You continued your circuit, scanning faces, weighing options. The problem was that everyone here seemed either too nice, too young, or too boring. You needed someone with enough confidence to handle your chaos, but enough ego that you wouldn’t feel terrible about taking him down a peg.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” you admitted after your second lap.
“We’ve got all night,” Lauren said. “The perfect victim will reveal himself.”
“Please stop calling him a victim,” you said.
“Test subject?” Mara offered.
“Worse.”
“Guinea pig?”
“Mara.”
She grinned. “Fine. Your future fake boyfriend who you’re going to psychologically torment for ten days. Better?”
“Marginally,” you said.
You were laughing, taking a sip of your drink, when Lauren suddenly grabbed your arm.
“Oh my god,” she said, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.
“What?” you said, following her gaze across the room.
And then you saw him.
Harry Lewis.
He was standing near the bar with a group of guys you recognised – other Sidemen members. He was laughing at something one of them said, his head thrown back, completely at ease. He looked good, you had to admit. Better than he had at Vid Con, though that wasn’t saying much. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, nothing fancy, but he wore it well. His hair was slightly messy in that deliberately careless wat, and even from across the room, you could see the easy confidence in the way he held himself.
Your stomach dropped.
“No,” you said immediately.
“Yes,” Lauren said, her eyes lighting up with glee.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s perfect,” Mara said, catching on. “Oh my god, it’s actually perfect.”
“It’s not perfect,” you hissed. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“Why,” Lauren asked, though she was grinning like she already knew the answer.
“Because I hate him,” you said, “I’ve hated him for three years. I can’t- I can’t date him, even fake date him! I can’t even look at him without wanting to-”
“Exactly!” Mara interrupted. “That’s exactly why it’s perfect!”
You stared at your friends like they’d lost their minds.
“Are you serious right now?” you said.
“Completely serious,” Lauren said. “Think about it. You need someone you won’t feel guilty about sabotaging, right? Someone who deserves it?”
“He was rude to you,” Mara added. “He dismissed you when you were just trying to be nice. He made you feel like shit.”
“Which is why I don’t want to spend ten days with him. I can’t stand the guy!”
“But that’s the beauty of it,” Lauren said, her voice taking on that persuasive tone she used when she was trying to talk you into something ridiculous. “You won’t get attached. You won’t feel bad. You can be as unhinged as you want, and at the end of it, when he’s running for the hills, you’ll feel nothing but satisfaction.”
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Because… she had a point.
“I don’t know,” you said slowly.
“Come on,” Mara said. “He’s perfect. He’s attractive, he’s successful. He’s got a massive following. Your audience will eat it up. And most importantly, you already hate him. There’s literally no downside.”
“The downside is that I have to spend ten days pretending to like someone I despise,” you said.
“That’s different,” you protested.
“How?”
You didn’t have a good answer for that.
“Look,” Mara said, her voice softening slightly. “I get it. He’s the last person you want to deal with. But think about the video. Think about how good this content is going be. You, taking down a Sidemen member? Your subscribers will lose their minds.”
“And he won’t even see it coming,” Lauren added. “He probably doesn’t even remember you.”
That thought sent a fresh wave of anger through you. He probably didn’t remember. To him, you were just another faceless fan he’d brushed off at a convention three years ago. Forgettable. Insignificant.
But you remembered. You remembered every detail of that interaction – the dismissive tone, the way he’d looked at you with displeasure, the humiliation that had burned in your chest as you walked away. That stuck with you for months after. Affected the way you interacted with people in the industry, afraid that everyone would brush you off or not want to talk to you.
“Fine,” you heard yourself say.
“Fine?” Mara repeated, her eyes widening.
“Fine,” you said again, more firmly this time. “You’re right. He’s perfect. I won’t feel bad at all.”
“That’s my girl,” Lauren said, squeezing your arm.
“But if this backfires-” you started.
“It won’t,” Mara said confidently. “Trust us. This is going to be brilliant.”
You took a long sip of your drink, your eyes still fixed on Harry across the room. He was still laughing with his friends, completely oblivious to the fact that his next ten days were about to become a nightmare.
