Note: If I owned Harry Potter, I would be a lot richer than I am now and probably not writing fanfiction. That means I don't, if it wasn't already obvious :P

It was a dark night, as it usually was. Harry, Ron and Hermione had settled themselves into their favourite comfy chairs. The chairs had been previously occupied but Harry had soon solved that problem, being more important than everyone else in the room. The three companions were sat in silence watching the embers of the fire slowly die down when Harry was gripped by a sudden pain. Harry crushed his hand to his forehead, writhing in agony screaming from the sheer pain that his scar was exuding.

"OHMYGOD! HARRRRYYYYYYYYYYYY" Ron squealed like a fangirl - he couldn't let his only claim to fame die! People would go back to ignoring him and making fun of his hair... more than they already did. "What it is? What's wrong?" Ron fussed over Harry like a worried mother. Like his mother always did.

"Chill your bean, Ronno" Harry said coolly, waving his hand to calm Ron down. "It's only my scar, you know, the one I got from that time I beat the most powerful and dangerous wizards in like...the whole world" Harry said matter-of-factly.

Ron observed that Harry was acting very calm considering that he had just been in immense agony. Hermione looked up from her book to see what all the commotion was about. It was distracting her from Hogwarts: A History: a book that she must have read seventeen times that year already. Upon seeing that Harry had his hand to his forehead she returned to her book, trying to remember whether it was possible to apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds or not. Harry's scar hurting was nothing new and, quite frankly, she was getting bored of his attention-seeking.

Feeding Harry's already over-enlarged ego by paying attention to the largely exaggerated claims of pain in his forehead, Ron said "I think you should go and visit Dumbledore, just in case", Ron looked so worried that Harry actually considered listening to someone else's ideas rather than just doing what the hell he wanted, like he normally did.

"No. I am a way better wizard than Dumbledore. Besides, I've already been to see him 3 times today"

"Oh" said Ron, dejectedly. Ron always seemed to look dejected. Noticing this, Harry grabbed Ron's hand and squeezed it consolingly.

"Don't worry, Ron. One day I'm sure you will be able to do magic too," said Harry reassuringly

"I'm sorry" said Hermione, and not sounding sorry at all, "Do my ears deceive me.. or did you [she pointed accusatorially at Harry] just say that you were better than Dumbledore?" Her grating voice and superior attitude made Harry want to punch her in the face, but if he did that he would have to surround himself with better, good-looking friends, and that might take the focus of the story off him. Harry clenched his fist in his lap rather than smashing it right into Hermione's overlarge front teeth. "You can't even say 'Petrificus Totalus' properly" she continued, rubbing salt into the already sore wound,

"I CAN!" Harry roared. Harry roared a lot; perhaps something to do with his severe anger management issues, which surprisingly no one had ever picked up on. "Petril...petifilus...petrofltus" Harry gave up. Hermione was right, Harry could not pronounce spells properly. In fact the only reason Harry was still alive was because he has an enormous amount of good luck, in fact the magical world pretty much revolved around him...in his opinion anyway.

Just as he was about to blow somebody up, or even set some snakes loose, Harry took it upon himself to storm out of the common room, grabbing his conveniently placed invisibility cloak as he went. Harry really had no idea where he was going to go and so he resorted to just wondering around the school grounds. 12 paces later, a flashing image of Snape appeared in Harry's mind.

Dammit thought Harry. He always has to do Occlumens at inopportune times! The sudden image of Snape, burned into his brain, had made Harry flustered. He ran down to the lake, deciding to take a dip in order to cool himself off.

Reaching the lake, Harry shimmied out of his clothes, bar his undergarments. He was looking forward to this, deciding that getting wet in the dirty great lake might help clear his mind of the important things that were cluttering up his mind space (his scar... Snape... defeating Death Eaters... Snape... his next autograph session... Snape... that inferior wizard, Voldemort... and Snape). While Harry swam he began to contemplate life's greatest mystery: Why does Snape hate me? He contemplated I am famous, devilishly good-looking and sexy to boot.

Harry began to feel the biting cold increasing with every pull of his arms. He really was a wimp sometimes, he had only done 7 strokes and already the cold was more than he could bear.

I hope the Merpeople aren't out today Harry, thinking of how exposed his lower torso was to their ferocious tridents.

Unluckily for Harry, at that moment Snape swam into view, his lean legs kicking with a force that was carrying him quite rapidly through the murky waters; straight towards Harry. Snape was soon directly in front of Harry, who could not help noticing that the potions master was a good 95% naked, clearly a seasoned lake swimmer if he was able to handle the cold. Harry thought to himself how glad he was that he was not wearing white boxers. Treading water in see-through pants in front of a Speedo-clad Snape was not something he particularly fancied right now.

"Fancy seeing you here, Potter..." Snape whispered. The potions master did not often talk at a level that was audible.

Harry was rendered completely speechless..