The tapping of the window sill awakened Harry Potter. In his blurry vision, Harry could make out only a haze of the big black owl on the window sill. He hastily put on his glasses and blinked.
The black owl was sleek and nudged Harry with his head. Harry smiled, "Alright, alright. You big oaf, I'll get it!"
Harry reached from under his desk and pulled out a bag of owl treats. He offered some to the bird and the bird took it gratefully. While eatimg, Harry took the letter from the bird's legs and opened it.
Harry's eyes widened in shock.
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Dear Professor Snape,
I did not expect to be called by you at such an early hour. Again, I am sorry for being such a disturbance.
Thank you so much for healing my hand. I appreciate it. Really, I do, Professor. It feels good now.
I hope I'll be able to repay your generousity, sir, and I really wish I could do it soon.
I am thankful for everything you've done for me, and you even told me to keep out of trouble, even for a short while. At least, not while it does not concern any life threatening situation. Nobody ever cared if I'm in trouble or if I kill myself before. It's a nice, warm, cozy feeling and I really like it. So, thank you again.
I hope that toad Umbridge lays off me for a while. She likes to pinpoint at me for some reason and it sends shivers down my spine. I still think she has some sort of twisted reason why she desperately wants me to shut up, and I don't think that the Ministry is the only answer. My scar hurts when I look at her, just like what it did with Quirrel. Although, with Umbridge, I think, it's more of the gut feel rather than Voldemort.
To be honest, I hate people with some sort of cover up on their bodies (e.g turban on the head, scarf on the neck) because it reminds me of Quirrel and the stupid Philosopher's Stone.
Is it true that it can make people immortal? I myself wouldn't like to be immortal. It's tiring to even live up to fifteen and what more could it be if you can't die? They say it's power. Power? I don't even think that when you reach immortality you'll be considered powerful.
Sure, you'll live forever, but is forever even real? You don't know that and you can't be too sure of that, because with forever comes uncertainty. Even Merlin, I think, didn't want to be immortal. I think Voldemort's either crazy or just plain delusional to even want to live forever. Hell, even Dumbledore knows that immortality is beyond capabilities and they say he's the only wizard Voldemort feared.
Stupid Voldemort. He thinks that he's all high and mighty, doesn't he? When the truth is, he's a bloody crazed man. They say he's to be feared. What's to fear with that man? Voldemort will die and he can die. He died before. Maybe he thinks that nobody can kill him just because he's got followers that follow his every whim, when all he is- and all he was- is just that: a man. Doing great but terrible things does not even count as something that should determine whether he is to be feared or not.
Hermione once told me that I am too philosophical sometimes. I won't ask you if you think I'm philosohical because I know that it would only be biased. But I like Philosophy. I have read that somewhere before and its good. Philosophy makes you think of the things that are beyond yourself. Do you think that Voldemort needs to study Philosophy? Because I think it'll help him a lot if he does study that.
Is it wrong to wamt to make Voldemort turn back to being a man? Is it mental to even think of having hope for a man consumed by power and greed?
I think not.
I still want Voldemort to realize that there are things that are bigger than him and bigger than life. I, though it's mentally stupid, still want Voldemort to realize that power isn't everything. In fact, it's nothing, because in the end, we all die.
We die; and death is inevitable. Even Magic cannot escape the inevitable. Magic can prolomg life, but not immortalise it. For life, like all good things, end.
But Love, some might ask, why does it stay?
My answer to that is this: it doesn't stay. It lingers. But Love moves on from one person to another, and it is just preserved that way. Love is shared, after all. Love extends towards something bigger than yourself.
But Life? Once you have it, you cannot even share it. It's something you grab for yourself even if you might not choose it.
I witnessed birth once; our neighbor's wife gave birth. Although I didn't get to touch the babe, I saw its tiny hands, in a fist, grasping at Life.
And that, in itself, is a concrete example.
Why, one might ask?
Because I had once seen a person die. Guess what he did.
He opened his palms to a sky that was beyond his reach, and there was nothing there. He came to Life, just like all the others before him, just like all of us, hands formed into a fist. It was as if we want to take life for our own. We are the subject to our own greed. And then, as we all and we will do, he died. He died, hands open with nothing.
We came with everything, and we leave with nothing.
H. Potter
