A/N: ... I have no excuse for it taking this long to update this poor story, other than that Life is absolutely INSANE right now. Between attempting to move out of my house to escape my psychotic family, College App deadlines approaching, Homework piling up, and Theater, I haven't even been sleeping very much. I went to bed at like 11:30pm last night and slept in until 3pm today, if that tells you anything. I've been exhausted. But enough of my whining - Instead of doing any of the aforementioned things on my to do list, I decided to post this so that you guys didn't think I forgot about you :)

As a completely random side note, A Very Potter Musical is AMAZING. Quirrel (Brian Rosenthal) makes my life. I'm seriously going to start writing Quirrel fics now. I love him.

Anyway, enjoy!

.:Chapter Two:.

The sound of dripping water assaulted his senses. A groan rumbled out of his throat, and he scrunched his eyes closed in a sorry attempt at blocking out the noise. Normally hushed voices drifted through the closed oak door, seeming to echo in the silence of the boys' dorms. Harry rolled over, pulled his pillow out from under his head, and promptly began the time-consuming process of stuffing the thing into his ears bit by bit.

His stomach growled, making the brunette pause for a moment to consider the last time he had ingested some form of semi-nutritious, solid, sustenance. He couldn't quite remember; there was a persistent fog that seemed to be circling and thickening inside his head. Sadly, whenever the fog collided with the side of his skull, it physically hurt. However, at the thought of food, his stomach turned over violently.

I am never getting that wasted again. Ever.

After three failed attempts at sitting up to go hunt down a Hangover Potion, Harry gave up and flopped back down on his mountain of pillows, exhausted, sore, and extremely frustrated.

A scream of agony choked itself off in his throat; somebody had ripped open his curtains, and was speaking in an incredibly annoying octave. Light seemed to be racing through the gap, each beam hoping to be the first to enter his aching pupils and add to the clusterfuck of pain going on in his brain.

"Harry? Harry. Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

"No." He rolled over, trying to cover his head with his arms. To a small degree, it worked. But there was still that tiny gap where light pushed through… Halfway through his nefarious plots about how to permanently disable the sun, Hermione walked away. He opened one eye half way, blinked a few times, and then realized that something was different. Silence. Hermione had gone into the bathroom and turned off that blasted leaky faucet.

Thank Merlin! I'll have to go buy that girl some flowers. Or a pony. Or whatever the fuck it is girls fancy these days.

Pulsing dance music and endless bottles of Firewhiskey drifted through his mind's eye, but no more. He shrugged, unconcerned with last night's events. It was most likely the same as every other party he had attended as of late – which was a quite a large number of parties. He would have sat at a table (as close to the liquor source as possible) downing as many bottles as he could, and watched the people who had the misfortune of living through the war make complete and utter fools of themselves on the dance floor.

He snorted as he shoved his books into his bag, grabbing a few quills as an afterthought.

The walk to breakfast seemed like it took a millennium and a half. Nobody else was in the halls; they were probably all still passed out in their dorm rooms.

He made it to breakfast relatively unscathed (if you don't count the two times he ran into a wall, or the time that he got stuck on one of the moving staircases that suddenly decided not to move), and sat down next to his friends. They looked about as good as he felt. Hermione's head was resting on her pile of books, and Ron was (for once) not even so much as glancing over at the mountain of toast in front of him. Harry decided to take the best of both worlds; he put his head down and avoided the sight and smell of food by transfiguring the heap of carbs into a pin cushion. If Hermione hadn't fallen asleep, she would have been so proud of him. They were the only Gryffindors at their table – except for a group of confused first years towards the end.

Just when the brunette began dozing off, the morning post came in. Many birds were disappointed; they would have to lug their burdens back up to the owlery because most of the students hadn't felt well enough to drag themselves out of bed this ungodly early. A soft hoot sounded near Harry's ears, a soothing sound. He glanced up, and his bloodshot eyes widened in surprise when he saw a noble looking black owl holding its leg out politely towards him. There was a small vial attached the bird's leg, filled with a very familiar (and very welcome) potion – a Hangover Potion. The brunette quickly untied the vial and downed its contents, sighing happily as the warm relief seeped through his system. His friends were glaring at him, but he simply beamed back as the liquid relief did its job.

"Lovely day, today, isn't it? Absolutely fantastic weather for flying." He turned towards the doors of the Great Hall, intent on utilizing the last half hour of breakfast out on the Quidditch pitch.

. He kicked off of the ground, closed his eyes, and reveled in the feeling of air rushing past him. He flew in lazy circles around the pitch for a few minutes, and then started picking up speed. He began doing a series of complex turns and maneuvers, working through some new strategies for the rest of the team in their upcoming match against Ravenclaw.

The bell signaling the end of Breakfast rang out from the main castle. With a disappointed sigh, Harry drifted back down to the ground. He shrunk his broom and put it in his pocket, gathered his things, and hurried off to Transfiguration.

The day seemed to drag on and on; every time he dosed off, the hands on the clock were trying to play a cruel prank on him, traveling back in time as opposed to forward. It was amusing to him, now that he was sober; to see the number of witches and wizards he passed whose eyes were bloodshot and angry was an indication of just how crazy last night's party had truly been. But alas, the bell finally rang and it was time for dinner.

A/N: That's all for now :)

Yes, "Clusterfuck" - a word I use all of the time to describe complete and utter chaos :) Welcome to my vocabulary. It's very technical and professional. *snorts*

I don't know when the next update will come, unfortunately... Preferably not too far in the future, but... Well. If I end up moving out (or falling behind in AP Chemistry again) I won't be getting time to write for a while.

PLEASE REVIEW - even if it's just to tell me how much you hate me for leaving you hanging for so long... Heh...

Much Love,

Arya Rose