A/N: What is this?! Zooey actually updated?!?!

I know, I know: where the hell have I been for the past few months? My answer: working my ass off at school. Honestly, I've barely had the time to sleep, let alone write. Of course, I am really, really sorry there was so much of a delay between chapters. Please forgive me!

Anyway, this is dedicated to all of the lovely people who have reviewed this story and, more recently, urged me to find the time to add on to it (especially Freak, whose PM basically pushed me to get this out today [it would have been out yesterday, but whenever I opened , my internet would crash])

Disclaimer: The rumors are true. I am Harry Potter.

Lesson 5: Angst, Angst, Baby (Part I)

Hello, all.

It might seem strange that I am saying 'hello' in the middle of my book (because, of course, it is so unbelievably riveting that you've been unable to put it down... that, or you've got a permanent sticking charm on your hands), but I've got a perfectly good reason.

I kind of forgot I was writing this until Hermione oh-so-kindly reminded me.

Actually, the conversation more like went: "Ron, we've all finished dinner now. Want to go back and work on the book?"

What can I say? Time flies when you're eating pudding.

Now that I'm back, and in tip-top writing condition, I think that this would be a good time to remind you that sidekicking is not a job for pansies. This is serious business. In fact, a good number of people would not be able to adeptly deal with what I'm about to cover.

Got that? Good, because I'm not in the mood to repeat myself.

Back to what I was saying. As a sidekick, not only will you have to deal with—and, best-case scenario, survive—a myriad of Dangerous Situations (see Lesson One in case you've forgotten already, you're mad like Hermione and think you're going to be tested on this, or have since reading it smoked floo powder), you'll also have the supreme pleasure of enduring the wrath of your moody best mate.

Having your friend bite your head off—figuratively, of course (literally, I imagine, would be rather like hearing Percy sing; that is, very, very, painful)—is like realizing that, not only do you have gum on your shoe, but you've also got an exam (that you've not prepared for at all) in three minutes. And you're dating Lavender Brown. I pity the poor sod who this actually happens to.

Hypocrite.

Oh shut it. You know you love me.

I'm starting not to.

Can I get back to writing now? Much as I love exchanging such endearing compliments with you, I really must be getting on with this.

Sorry. Go on, then.

No, really, I have to—Wait, what? Did you just—? Cool.

I know I may have never said this before, but everyone needs a hobby.

As a matter of fact you have said that before.

Come off it, when have I done?

Just yesterday, actually. When we caught you making origami hats for the gnomes, remember?

I haven't a clue what you're talking about. Those were stars, not hats. And they were for Mum as a Christmas present, not for the bloody gnomes! Merlin. And they say you're the intelligent one...

Anyway, as I was saying before some inconsiderate people decided to ruin my rather inspired introduction: everyone needs a hobby. Some collect stamps; others have a passion for Oriental cooking; a rare breed of daredevil trains hamsters; some read too much for their own bloody good (ahem); and others still knit balaclavas for mice. You get the idea.

Harry, when not saving the world or playing Quidditch, engages in unadulterated angst.

I swear, he could have his own hardcore band or something (with me slapping some bass, of course—Ron, you don't play the bleeding bass... Yeah, but they didn't know that, did they? Thanks a lot, mate.)

He does this quite a bit, too. I'd reckon he plans his day around anticipated mercuriality.

In fact, here's a glimpse into Harry's planner:

A(nother) Day in the Life of Harry Potter

Ron, you know full well I haven't got a planner, and even if I had, I wouldn't write THAT at the top.

It's called Artistic License, Harry. I'll have you know that I've it on good authority that there are several people (namely, crazed females, which is never a bad thing—That's what you think) who would kill—or at least seriously maim—to have this information.

~*~

Wake up.

Rescue [insert cute/fuzzy/random animal here... not literally, 'course] from tree (or any hard-to-reach place, really).

Angst.

Shower.

Breakfast.

Angst.

Vanquish evil wizard.

Go to work.

Lunch.

A touch of Angst (in capitals).

Save the world (again).

Come back from work.

Tea.

Brood (for variety, y'know?).

Come back from work.

Dinner.

Snog Ginny (OI! What, it is MY planner, innit?).

Play Chess With Ron/Bother Hermione (my favorite time of day—OUCH! Merlin, woman!).

You guessed it: Angst.

Squeeze in another heroic act or two (if time).

Bed.

~*~

That is the most ludicrous thing I've ever seen.

See what I mean about the negativity? He's out of control!

Obviously, looking at the astronomical amount of teenage moodiness going on there, we (Hermione and I) have our work cut out for us.

This is the tactical part of your education. You need to learn and master how to (more or less) pacify someone whose mood swings are more violent than an angry Hippogriff. Actually, it's a bit like babysitting a ticked off Crookshanks (only involving a lot less orange).

Now, there are four different ways to go about this:

(1) Trying to head him off before he really gets into it (I think Hermione's managed this once, and he was still in a foul mood—don't rely too much on this one. Or at all, really).

(2) Snapping back at him.

(3) Mollifying him (This has about a 50/50 chance of success).

(4) Doing something I like to call Insert Ginny. (This works like a charm that's been cast by someone not me).

The first three are rather self-explanatory. If they're not, I'm sure if you ask them nicely enough, they'll spell it out for you. The last, and most effective one requires a bit more clarification. I'll give you an example.

(In case you haven't cottoned on, this part here is the example.)

Harry shuts himself in the attic to brood after overhearing a conversation that suggested he was being possessed by You-Know-Who (he wasn't, just for the record).

This is where you use this remarkable strategy. Insert Ginny. Problem solved.

For the dimmer of you out there (no offense), Insert Ginny is not a spell, so I don't suggest yelling it unless you want to look like completely out of your tree.

Now that you know how the practical works, I'll give you the theory.

This works because Ginny is about as stubborn as Harry is, and, where Hermione and I have learned to let him alone for a bit, she gets on his case and doesn't allow him to be a moody prat.

The only hitch in trying this spectacular method for yourselves is that you're going to have to find your own Ginny, 'cos I don't feel much like lending out my sister like some library book. You see, we've only got one of her, and, no matter how annoying she can be (Hey!), I think it would be safe to assume that, if I did launch a Ginny Rental Service, my parents would murder me without a second thought, bring me back to give me a good telling off, and then off me again, just for good measure.

It should be fairly blatant that, if that were to happen, my day would be pretty much ruined.

Not to mention, who would teach you all this stuff then?

A/N: It's still a bit rough, and I'm sure there are some grammar errors sprinkled in there (please let me know if you spot any!), but I felt completely horrible for not updating in so long, so I'm just releasing it as is. I'll probably edit for small mistakes later. In the mean time, however, what did you think? Like it, hate it? Tell me in a review! (I've just done the math, and if every person who has this story on alert reviewed every chapter once, I'd have around four hundred reviews... hmm... what a novel idea...)