Fine Print: Severus Snape, Theodore Nott, Hogwarts, and anything else you recognize is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm simply using her creation. Everything else belongs to me, unless money is exchanged, in which case, it still belongs to J.K. Rowling.

I could honestly say that I had only been hungover once in my life. It should have discouraged me from drinking ever again, when my father realized I was "of age" during Christmas break and proceeded to buy me the most expensive present he had probably ever bought anyone; Sixteen shots of Firewhiskey. I discovered I had the tolerance of a house elf, a fresh appreciation for my younger sister when she patiently made sure I didn't choke to death on my own vomit, and a new understanding of my father. That had been over twenty years ago and I had avoided all but the mildest alcoholic beverages since.

Until last night, when a stupid fifteen year old boy had made me remember things I would rather forget. After tossing and turning for hours, anticipating the inevitable conversation with Dumbledore, I had opened up a bottle of elderflower wine (a present from a Slytherin parent) and proceeded to empty the whole thing. Now I was paying the price.

I tried to brew my own hangover cure, but after three cauldrons full of slop that had no comparison to the consistency of a hangover remedy, I was forced to conceded defeat. That meant I could suffer for the rest of the day or go to Pomfrey like a disobedient student.

Sighing, I carefully made my way to the hospital wing, my head pounding in time with my footfalls. The first day of break and most students were sleeping in, so the halls were quite deserted. I got to the hospital optimistic that my hungover state would remain secret.

An optimism that was quickly trampled by Pomfrey, who didn't seem to understand "Could we speak privately?"

"Oh, Professor Snape. Have you come about Montague? I'm afraid he's not doing much better. He couldn't keep anything down last night. I've had to feed him magically, there's this new technique from St. Mungo's, perhaps you might be interested as a Potions Master, using potions to pull water and nutrients through a patients skin, I have the bottle if you would like to take a look at it, or perhaps."

My stomach was revolting. I needed to get Pomfrey alone, and I needed to do it before I embarrassed myself. "I'm not here to see about Montague."

"Oh, then you must want to know about Nott. Well, he's up and about. I'll be releasing him by lunch, why don't you come and speak with him, as you can see he's back to the right col.Professor Snape! Are you quite alright? Here's a bucket, we seem to be using them often lately. Here, sit on this cot next to Nott, there you go, do you have a temperature? Shakes? Headache? It could be the flu, there's a nasty one going around."

Before Pomfrey started drenching me with cold medication, I set her straight to the cause of my symptoms.

"I'm in need of some hangover remedy." I spat out, with as much dignity as I could. "Mr. Nott, I heard that snicker, and if there is so much as a whisper of this around the common room I will personally make your life a living hell." That quieted Nott's giggling, but did nothing to soften Pomfrey's disapproving look.

Pomfrey set off in search of the requested potion, and left me with the still quietly snickering Nott. Who have been nursing a weeks worth of detention if he hadn't had Slinkhard's book out, and had obviously been taking notes.

"Well, at least you're studying." I grabbed the book out of his hand and read the page he had been studying, then began firing questions at him. That forced him to stop laughing. He answered most of my questions glibly, until I finally was forced to hand the book back to him with a grudging, "Well, at least I'm confident you'll pass Defense Against the Dark Arts. I wish I was as sure about Transfiguration"

"The written, at least."

"Well, if you fail the practical, at least you will be in good company." I had started an evening practice group for my fifth and seventh years, so they would have at least some chance of passing the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical. Unfortunately, Potter's lessons and increased scrutiny from Umbridge had put a stop to that. "I doubt you will." Nott had shown a knack for practical defensive magic. Show him a nasty spell once, and not only had he mastered it, he was already thinking of ways to "improve" it. Even Malfoy stayed away from Nott's belongings.

"Well, if I'm attack, at least I'll know what spells I can't use to defend myself. Of course, I'll be dead, because according to that stupid book, anything more powerful on than Stupify would be unethical."

I couldn't really disagree, but to publicly denounce Umbridge's choice of books would be professional suicide. Nott held out his hand to take the book back. I noticed a thin white scar on the back of his hand.

"Mr. Nott, what's that on your hand?"

"It's just a scar. Papercuts from one of my books."

"Mr. Nott, make a fist and hold out your right hand. Right now."

The scars were light, but I could make out a sentence in Nott's distinct scrawl.

"I will not draw in class. As much as I agree with that statement, I fail to see why it is etched into the back of your hand."

"I .."

"If you don't give me a good, believable explanation in five seconds I am assigning you a weeks worth of detention."

"It's from detention with Umbridge, sir, I mean Pro-Headmistress Umbridge, I made some drawings of her in class, and she caught me."

What kinds of drawings, I could only guess to well. Nott had been reprimanded for making unflattering sketches of me in his first year. A quick look at the front page of Slinkhard's book confirmed my suspicions. I had to smother my laugh with a cough. He was quite talented with the quill. Pity he wasn't as talented in Transfiguration or Potions.

"She carved this into your hand."

"Oh no sir, she has a quill, she has me write lines."

"In your own blood."

My sister had attended Drumstrang, and had such a quill had once been used on her. Unfortuantley for the teachers at Drumstrang, my sister was not the sort of person to take an overly harsh punishment lying down. She quickly discovered a charm which would force the quill to take blood from who ever had given it too her. She had promptly demonstrated when she was home for break, with no regard for the position she was putting me in. Let Karkaroff torture my sister or let my sister torture him. Ultimately my loyalties had stayed with my sister.

I looked at Nott. Oh, hell, I would probably regret this tomorrow, but no teacher or student had the right to torture a student with a magical object.

"Mr. Nott, I want you to listen very closely. The next detention you have with Professor Umbridge, cast a reflecting charm on the quill before she hands it to you. Once she has handed it to you, cast the shield charm. Blood will come out of her instead of you. Be careful not to get caught, I can't protect you from her. This conversation never happened."

Nott's face looked truly bewildered. "What conversation?"

Pomfrey came back with her disapproving face and the hangover potion, which I gratefully drank. As I left, Pomfrey had one parting shot.

"Professor Snape, that will be a detention for you and thirty points from Slytherin for behavior unbecoming Hogwarts staff."

Acknowledgements Many thanks to BekaJWP, Nemo Returning, and CrossedScarsX for reviewing.

CrossedScarsX; There will be two more chapters. I'm using this story as a bit of a postquel for a story I'm currently writing about Snape's summer between his fifth and sixth year.