Harry woke up feeling like total crap, with a pounding head and ferocious thirst. He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, where he leaned over the sink, cupping his hands and drinking water until he felt a little less parched. Every time he moved his head it hurt. He slowly walked back to his bed, with Seamus, Dean, and Ron all sniggering at Harry's hangover. Neville ignored them.

"Looking good, mate," said Ron. "Enjoy yourself last night?" Ron's sarcasm wasn't welcome. Harry was in no mood for it.

"Well, I have three weeks of detention with Snape starting tonight, so it wasn't the good time I was hoping for," Harry answered curtly. He didn't want to fight with Ron and Hermione, he just wanted space. Interactions like these with Ron hurt him a little.

"Oi, that sucks!" Ron chuckled and left the dorm. It did suck. He'd never had a hangover before, but Harry hoped that by evening it would be a little better. He had no idea what to expect.

He felt terrible all day. The best idea he could think of was to sleep, and skived off his afternoon classes to go back to bed. No one noticed or woke him up, but he managed to get down to the Great Hall in time for dinner. Eating and drinking made him feel stronger, and he knew he'd need his strength for detention.

Knocking on Snape's office door, he frowned at the idea of spending time with the man, especially since Harry could barely control his emotions. Odds were good he'd be in more trouble by the end of the evening, but he didn't care.

The door opened and Snape looked down at Harry, sneering.

"Potter," he said. "Come in and have a seat."

Harry sat in a chair facing Snape's desk and crossed his legs in front of him. He couldn't believe how relaxed he felt, not at all intimidated by the greasy git. Snape raised his eyebrow at Harry as he sat down, but didn't comment on the boy's casual posture.

"The Headmaster and I have discussed your drunken escapade," Snape drawled. "He was quite disappointed. He feels that my punishment for you is appropriate considering your misdeeds."

Harry shrugged. Was the Headmaster supposed to be pleased about it? Harry wasn't an idiot; he knew that he'd screwed up.

"You no longer care what Professor Dumbledore thinks, Potter?" Snape asked, keeping his expression neutral. "After all, you are the boy-who-lived, and he blatantly favors you."

"I really don't care what anyone thinks, professor." Harry looked him right in the eyes.

"Really," said Snape. "Yes, I've noticed that your fan club has thinned out considerably."

Snape rose quickly from his chair. "Stand up and follow me, I have a thoroughly unpleasant task for you this evening."

Harry followed Snape into the potions classroom and sat at a table in the front. He was presented with a knife and pile of some foul sea creature. Pickling jars were ready for him to pack full with the chopped bits. The odor was nearly unbearable, and it was obvious this task had been chosen due to Snape's knowledge that Harry would be feeling queasy. He was careful to show no emotion, and began chopping while Snape took a seat at his desk and started grading essays.

He didn't bother to ask what it was that he was chopping, but it appeared to be some sort of octopus. It was rubbery and difficult to cut. After about an hour, Harry's hand began to cramp up, and he started shaking it out. Getting back to work, his mind wandered, and he cut a deep gash into his hand by accident. He glanced up, but Snape hadn't seen his slip. Harry stared at his palm and watched it bleed. It didn't hurt, but he wasn't sure it would be a good idea to get blood all over the chopped octopus. Snape noticed that the steady sound of chopping had ceased.

"Potter!" he snapped. "Have you cut yourself? Why are you just standing there like an idiot? Get over here so I can heal the wound."

Harry shrugged and shuffled his feet as he walked up to the front of the room.

"You will stop shrugging and answer when you are spoken to," said Snape. "I will not tolerate this continued disrespect!"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. It occurred to him that Snape's anger was escalating, but Harry wasn't getting furious the way he normally would. He was numb. He felt a bit smug about it, because it was usually Harry losing his composure. Perhaps tomorrow night, with the hangover gone, he'd push Snape purposely; just to see what sort of reaction he could get from the man.

His hand healed, Harry returned to chopping for another hour or so, until the task was finished. He was dismissed and wordlessly left the room, heading up to the Tower.

Instead of walking directly through the common room toward the boys' dorm as usual, he took a seat in an empty chair next to Ginny, who was reading. She looked up at him and he smiled. He liked Ginny because she was kind and friendly without looking at him like he was a nutter. 

"Hi, Harry," she said, smiling back at him.

"How's first year going?" he asked.

"It's okay," she answered, "I get a little homesick sometimes, but it never lasts long. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Things have been a bit strained with Ron and Hermione, but I just need some time, you know?"

"It'll all work out, Harry. If you ever need to talk, I'm here," Ginny said, smiling again. Harry thought that Ginny might actually be someone he could talk to, if he ever felt that need.

They settled into their chairs, and Harry felt okay being around the other students. He looked over at Hermione, who was studying, and she gave him a small smile. For the first time this term he didn't feel angry with her, and he smiled back. Then he took out a book and tried to read. Since he couldn't focus, he thought about doing some writing. He'd begun a small journal, writing out poems and sometimes notes about how he was feeling. It wasn't something he'd ever been interested in doing, but it was surprisingly enjoyable, especially when he went back and read over what he'd written. Although Harry's marks in school were fairly good, he never saw himself as a good student. Somehow writing made him feel a little better about himself, and since he'd been feeling like rubbish for months, he planned to continue the journal since it brought him a touch of peace.