A/N: Here's the next chapter, this time from Harry's point of view. Still no slash or even a plot - since Harry's going to be the other main character, I wanted to give him a character study chapter as well. Partly for me to work out what he was going to be like. I think I prefer my Snape chapter!

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it!

A Punk Professor? - Chapter 2

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, born to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World, groaned in his sleep and rolled out of bed. Landing with a CLUNK on the floor, he jerked awake, eyes snapping open in the bleary half-darkness. His scar was prickling again, as it seemed to have been doing all year, and he could vaguely recall images, presumably from a dream, of a meeting ... in a mansion of some sorts ... and he thought Pettigrew had been there ...

Sighing dejectedly, he clambered to his feet, staggering slightly as he stumbled in the blankets still wrapped around his legs. Once up, he scrabbled in the direction that he thought might find his bedside table - yes, the only hope for muggle and wizard-kind alike was virtually blind without his battered old glasses. Finding them, he pushed them up his nose, swaying a bit as his brain tried to convince his body that it was awake.

Now that his eyesight wasn't so impaired, he was able to look groggily at the alarm clock next to the four poster where one of his roommates, Dean Thomas, was currently murmuring in his sleep. 4:37, it read - or at least he thought it did; in this dim light, it was hard to tell the hands of the clock apart from the colourful 'Spiderman' image that adorned the object's face. Shaking his head and sighing once more, Harry collapsed backwards on his bed, simultaneously realising that he had virtually no chance of getting back to the attractive black void of sleep now that his brain had started to function, albeit in a stunted and early-morningish way.

This is definitely going to be a bad day, he thought, as he resigned himself to a few hours of counting nifflers, or whatever it was that Mrs Weasley recommended for situations like this.

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"Harry, mate!" a tall, gangly boy yelled, clapping Harry on the back as he walked up to join him by his four-poster. His shock of bright red hair, as well as his overly cheery manner, was just too much for Harry at this time in the morning - particularly considering his lack of sleep.

Before Ron - Ronald Weasley, Harry's best friend - could continue with his exuberant greeting, Harry had turned around and glowered in his face.

"What, Ron?" he growled, clenching his teeth as he attempted to keep his temper in check. He had no idea why his emotions were so out of control this year - he'd been fine last year, and then he'd been facing dragons, grindylows, merpeople and a sphinx before being forced to witness, and help, the return of Voldemort, the most evil Dark Wizard of all time. He'd asked Hermione about it, but she'd just started waffling about 'growing up' and 'reaching a certain age when ...' I mean, he thought, does she really think I don't know about growing up?! I'm not a baby, after all!

Dragging himself back from his digressing train of thought, he realised that Ron, who was now looking at him with a very odd expression, had been saying something. Not wanting to appear uninterested, he grunted in reply - after all, he had lost out on around three and a half hours' sleep, so, by these standards, a grunt was positively intellectual.

Ron shook his head, but before he could say anything else, Hermione Granger, the most intelligent witch in their year, if not the whole school, had joined them. She immediately started up an animated conversation with Ron, once Harry had brushed off her happy greeting, leaving Harry to sleepwalk after them all the way to the Great Hall.

That is, until it hit Harry that he had been perfectly right in his earlier assumption that this would be a bad day - what with Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, it couldn't be anything else. At that point he sood stock still and groaned aloud, head in his hands - Severus Snape and Dolores Umbridge were the two professors who loved to make his life hell. Rapidly he felt a black cloud gathering around his head as he reluctantly urged his feet onwards to breakfast and the latest 'bad day'.

A/N: Please review! Doesn't have to be long - you can just say "Good" or "Rubbish" if you like! I'd just love some sort of indication that people want me to write more, or not, as the case may be!