Summary: Harry is tired. 215 words. R&R.
Harry was sitting in Transfiguration, fighting the urge to put his wand down, lean over onto his desk, close his eyes, and practice the challenging "drool-while-snoring" move, which was similar to, though not quite as difficult as, the infamous "pat-your-stomach-and-rub-your-head" move. McGonagall was going over the magical theory for the spell they would be learning the next day – second person human transfiguration, a ridiculously large topic. And Harry's eyelids were heavy, because yesterday had been Sunday, and he'd woken up mid-afternoon, then stayed up all night simply not sleeping, not really doing much of anything. And suddenly he wished he drank, because then, at least, he could say those words that make everything humorous: "I'll never drink again", rather than the much less humorous, much less eloquent, "I'll never stay up all night doing nothing important on a school night, especially when I have an essay I should be doing that's due then next day, and so I'm completely knackered right when it's time to go to class and I have dry, crusty oatmeal on the tip of my nose because I fell asleep in my breakfast, and everyone is looking at me strangely, because the Professor is saying something to me; I really should pay attention".
Besides, that would never fit on a t-shirt.
A/N: Dedicated to the purveyors of eye crusties everywhere.