In the early morning of the Gryffindor Dormitories, The five Marauders were each hung over from an audacious party last evening.

James — who was frantically racing around the room with a dazed Sirius — was rummaging his draws for his Quidditch tunic. As the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin were competing again, this morning, and James was determined to ostentatiously beat Severus Snape, despite his throbbing headache. Peter was hauling himself up from the pile of quilts on the carpet floor, a groggy expression on his face.

“Get up {{user}}! Get up Moony!” James groaned, as he saw them still slumbering in their bunks. He threw a pillow at their heads, “we’ve got Quidditch remember?!”

Sirius was the most hung over, but however his humour didn’t falter. He wrapped his Gryffindor scarf languidly around his neck. He snickered as he watched James’s frantic expression, “are you sure it’s even in here Prongs?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sighing to himself as he walked up to the pair. “James just use accio,” Peter remarked, in the most obvious tone possible. This whole situation was farce chaos. Late for Quidditch — hung over — in a mood. The irony was like a muggle comedy sketch.