A/N: Sorry it's been so long! My school is ridiculously demanding. I had a hard time this year. Now I have a job and I'm pretty busy, but I managed to get this done. This chapter was longer, but I ended up dividing it into two parts. The second will come soon.

Again, I'm so sorry this took forever. I hate when authors do that. At least I didn't abandon it, right?

Read, enjoy, and review!

3. Don't close your eyes

"Harry, get up, Snape'll take more points if we're late," Ron was saying.

Harry glanced over the rims of his glasses at Ron, whose gaze was flickering between his fallen friend and the line of students moving into Snape's class.

"Ron," Harry whispered, "I can't. I can't go to class. Something's going on."

"That bag couldn't have hurt too much, Harry," Ron said, going to his knees to speak with Harry. "Remember, Neville has to carry it."

"I'm serious, I—"

Harry's frantic explanation of events was prematurely cut off by the imposing presence of their Potions professor. He looked up with bleary, sleep-deprived eyes at the greasy, sallow-faced wizard, who glared back. Harry held that pitiless gaze, hoping that Snape would glimpse the situation through Legilimency…maybe he would listen this time…

"Late for class again, are we?" Snape said softly.

Harry's hopes evaporated, and with them his apathy. Fueled by the rush of hatred through his body, he got to his feet, slowed only by the dizziness threatening to overtake him.

"We're not late for class again," Harry said sourly. "This is the first time this week."

Ron groaned and tried to step on Harry's foot to make him stop talking.

Snape only smirked. "As it's Monday, that's not very impressive, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor. Take your seats."

The other students were already situated, setting up their cauldrons and materials as Harry and Ron entered, followed by Snape, who slammed the door shut behind them. Harry hurried to be able to sit next to Hermione. He had to tell her earlier this time, that way the remainder of the twelve hours of hell could be put toward working on the problem.

"If you will pass forward your essays, please…" Snape began the class.

Harry leaned over toward Hermione, ignoring Ron's slightly annoyed look that Harry had stolen his seat. "Hermione!" he hissed.

Hermione shushed him and pointed to the front of the room, where Snape was telling them about Cleaning Solutions.

Harry snarled and unwrapped his swollen, bleeding hand to show to her, hoping it would garner some attention. Hermione gasped when she saw the words "I must not tell lies" cut into Harry's skin, barely readable through the curtain of blood flowing over them.

"Harry, why is your hand so bad?" Hermione whispered worriedly. "You haven't had detention since Saturday night, right? Oh, you should go to Madam Pomfrey!"

"I can't," Harry said, drawing his hand into his robes once again. "Hermione, I need your help. I've gone back in time. I shouldn't be here, I keep reliving the same twelve hours over and over again!"

Hermione blinked at him, brown eyes wide with worry and confusion. "Harry, calm down. Now, tell me again—"

"As if the joy of being late weren't enough for Mr. Potter," Snape's icy voice cut in, "Mr. Potter feels he must talk about his social life while he's supposed to be making a Cleaning Solution, which would undoubtedly do him more good."

The Slytherins chuckled at this. A strange ringing erupted in Harry's ears, and he whirled around in his seat to face the Potions Master, who was standing directly behind him.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry said acidly, "But I don't really need a Cleaning Solution. I, unlike other people, tend to wash my hair more often than once a year. That way, it doesn't need to be scoured by a Cleaning Solution."

The class went silent, except for a few ill-hidden chuckles from the Gryffindors and a groan of despair from both Ron and Hermione.

"Detention, Potter."

Harry started laughing. Three times in a row now he had managed to land himself in detention with Professor Snape. It occurred to him that if he kept returning to the past, he would be able to insult Snape over and over again, and he wouldn't remember. Then the thought of reliving the worst parts of Monday over and over again, with the only good part about the day being the time he insults Professor Snape, entered his mind and the cheerless laughter turned into the beginning of tears.

Harry checked his watch, oblivious to the stares of his fellow students and Snape. It was one fifteen.

"Tell me," Snape's silky voice broke the silence, "what is so amusing?"

Harry looked up, blinking. Snape's face was unpleasantly close to his.

"Nothing, sir," he said soberly.

"Nothing," Snape said softly. The bitter Potions Master leaned over Harry's table and met his tired eyes. Harry stared back into the abyss of blackness, once again willing the self-proclaimed Legilimency expert to pry the relevant information from his mind.

The rest of the class was completely silent, except for the gentle bubbling of cauldrons.

"I'm stuck in the worst day of my life," Harry thought desperately. "I shouldn't be here…I think this is your fault…"

Snape blinked suddenly, jerking upright. He scanned Harry once more with searching, calculating eyes before walking to the front of the classroom again, robes dusting the floor behind him. The Gryffindors in the classroom visibly relaxed, now that one of their own wasn't in danger of being killed.

"Get to work!" Snape said impatiently when the room continued to be still. The class immediately went to their potions, huddling over instructions and notes and cauldrons more fervently than necessary.

Harry sat down, suddenly too weary to care about his Cleaning Solution. He looked over at Hermione, who was watching him with a worried gaze.

"What's going on?" she whispered. Her ingredients were spread out on her table, untouched. It meant a lot to Harry that she cared more for his well-being than she did for her potion during this lesson.

"I need help," Harry whispered back. "This is going to sound crazy, but I've been reliving the same twelve hours over and over again."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean in twelve hours, I'm going to go back in time to this Potions lesson, for the fourth time," Harry said tersely. "It's like I'm stuck!"

Hermione glanced up to the front of the room. Snape was preoccupied with a book and a jar, so she continued to whisper to Harry. "Are you using a Time Turner?"

"No!" Harry's voice almost exceeded a whisper, and he looked around cautiously before going on. "No, I don't think so. There's only one of me around, so that doesn't make sense."

"Right," Hermione said. She took a moment to hastily add a few ingredients to her cauldron and stir, leaving the rod slowly swirling around the rim as she let go. "Well, I don't know of other ways to travel in time. A Time Turner is the only way, according to what I've read."

"That's what you said last time," Harry muttered. He rested his forehead on his good hand, closing his eyes. He was so tired and sore.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Ron whispered from his spot a table over.

Harry didn't bother answering. It felt so good to close his eyes.