It was Friday night, and Severus Snape was seeing how fast he could get drunk. This stupid letter refused to write itself, and some liquid...courage? No, that wasn't right. Liquid creativity... the clear liquid searing and warming and inducing all sorts of mad visions*. But none of these mad ideas seemed to fit.
With a sigh, as he rested his head, on his arm, on his wide wooden desk, he thought "The only thing worse than being a babysitter is being a chaperone."
Sobering slightly, he thought vehemently, I won't do it!
The morning dawned cruel and cold, the sunlight flickering dangerously off frigid air. Severus Snape woke with a dragon-sized headache, prowling his mind and promising fire if he so dared as to move. Merlin! What had he done? Slowly, his thoughts assembled themselves. He had started to write a letter... Potter! His thoughts went red, for a moment, in fulminating rage. Inside him, his conscience thought reprovingly, He didn't force you to drink, Sev. You know that. And perhaps Severus Snape did. But he also was a decent judge of children, and he knew a lazy gadabout when he saw one. And Potter was nothing if not a lazy gadabout. Quiddich! But Potter was the only person Snape could ask. Everyone else was doing as well as they could (or in the case of a few of the Gryffindors, would not improve enough even if they were performing at full potential, something that Severus Snape was fully certain would take thumbscrews).
It was this Severus Snape that wrote a letter to Harry Potter that morning, and we the audience can bless our lucky stars for that, his previous tries being far more conflagatory**. Wishing to keep his headache at bay (preferably by lying under the covers until noon or so, he hadn't been getting much sleep...), his brushstrokes were firm and short.
That evening, when Potter at last consented to be in the Great Hall for meals, an only slightly haggard and sallow face followed his, as he read the letter. Severus Snape was confounded to see Harry Potter smile.
Mister Potter,
Improve your grades in Potions class, posthaste.
I ask you this as a favor, and I am willing to provide adequate recompense.
I believe 24 hours of my time ought to prove sufficient, if used wisely.
If used unwisely, they'll get you out of a considerable number of detentions.
Severus Snape
*absinthe, in case the description didn't explain itself.
**not quite a neologism, surprisingly. (googling for spelling, which isn't quite right, as it's not used often enough to make it into the online sources. Anyone got a good OED handy?)
[a/n: god, I love Snape's point of view. Sarcastic, a touch mean, and very, very prickly. Please, read and Review! Poetry next time.]