In the crowd of students clad in Hogwarts robes, Harry Potter was nowhere to be found. Severus Snape cursed.
Potter promised to come by that morning for the salve to be reapplied on the bruised skin of his hands. Remembering how it looked like, Snape almost gagged. It took a while to convince the boy that it had to be applied with the salve just so he should live.
'If only the boy would listen, it would actually do him good,' Severus mused.
"--are still inside. Let me in, Malfoy." Potter's rough voice was heard near the Charms classroom. It was the other reason why Snape was looking for him. A bundle of notes was dropped when the boy hurried for class in the Charms classroom. Flitwick, being the man he was, took the things and proceeded to find his student. But Potter was not to be Found, for the boy had scrambled immediately to his next class. Snape found himself telling Filius that he would take care of it. After all, he thought defensively, the man had other matters to attend to rather than looking for a single student who had haphazardly left his notes in his Professor's classroom.
"Beat it, Pothead. I don't want to let you pass. This is Professor Flitwick's classroom. Do you have a written pass from the authority? Umbridge, perhaps?" Snape could only imagine the small lad standing in front of Malfoy, shaking his head whilst fiercely glaring at his enemy. It was a scene Snape knew so well. James Potter had done that so many times before.
Suddenly, he heard his godson shrieked, as if in pain.
"You git! Crabbe! Grab bloody Potter!" He heard Malfoy scream, then a scramble of feet, "Ow! Do not touch it, you idiot. The bloody Scarface bit me! Do not look at me, Goyle! I said, get him!"
As Severus went nearer and nearer, he could hear the bodies moving and feet shuffling and finally, Potter came into view. The boy had bruises all over his face, but was smirking as he held a bunch of parchments in his hands. He happily put them in his bookbag, then went with a skip on his steps towards Severus.
When Potter finally saw him, the boy's eyes went wide as saucers, green eyes filled with terror. Snape just stood in the middle of the deserted hallway, hands crossed in front of his chest.
Malfoy followed suit. The other boy was followed by his minions, each on one side of him. Potter looked so small compared to all of them. Draco himself was a lean lad, the other two being broad. They towered over Harry Potter.
With menace in his voice, Severus eyed the three of them and said, "You know what I am to ask. Care to tell?"
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Dear Professor Snape,
All I can ever say now is sorry, yet again. But this time, at least, I carry not the burden of my father. I carry my own. The look on your face earlier this day during the confrontation in the Headmaster's office cut through my Soul. I am sorry for having displeased you, I really am. I am sorry for proving you right all along.
I am a terrible student. I am terrible person. I should've known better than to rough house with Malfoy's lot. I know that maybe you were displeased with Malfoy the most, seeing as he is one of your Slytherins, but I just can't take it. I cannot take the way your eyes loomed over me all through the meeting and as I was apologizing.
I hope you should know how I feel right now. I feel downright stupid and the things you have said about me, given the day's happenings, has just proven themselves how true they are.
Maybe, I am indeed just like my father; arrogant, stupid and reckless. Maybe you were right as you reprimanded me in front of all of them, how much of an idiot I really am. If only I was allowed to cry and tell you otherwise, but I know that I am fifteen now- I am not a big baby to be fussed over. Maybe you were right; I am overestimating myself. I am not above the rules. No, I am not. I am under them, to be honest.
Maybe you were right when you said that those papers are just that, papers. I shouldn't be brawling over such petty things. But those papers were not just petty things to me, Professor. Inside them were my letters to you. Inside them were my feelings and my real self.
How I wanted to prove you wrong. Besides the expectations of being the supposed Savior, all I wanted ever since I was eleven was to prove all of the things you accuse me of as wrong. But every time you were there to see it, it all ends up wrong in some way. It's like the Murphy's Law.
You happen to know about Murphy's Law, don't you? You know, the one that says 'Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.' How true those words are when it comes to me and you!
Anyway, everyone in the dorm thinks I am asleep. I had found a Charm that works like a mannequin, a temporary replacement, but it can only last for a good four hours. And right now it's about a good thirty minutes, and I still have plenty of time to test the spell.
Do you think that my mother was good in Charms? Professor Flitwick said she is. I had to ask you because I always hear you talking about my Father, and I assume that at some point you at least knew something about my Mum. Professor McGonagall cannot say anything about her without tearing up. I've always imagined her to be kind and beautiful, and maybe, just maybe, she and I had several similarities.
How I wish that I wasn't like my Father too much. Maybe I won't disappoint you and I won't be as stupid and as arrogant and as full of myself as I am now.
Again, I am so sorry.
I wonder if I can ever say enough apologies to make you hate me less.
I think I ought to sleep. This is tiring to think about.
H. Potter
