As soon as he saw Snape turn back, Harry darted as fast as he could. He was going to do everything in his power to escape. He couldn't let Snape see him, not after his emotions got the better of him. He knew that Snape recognized him, but Harry didn't really care in the spur of the moment. The only thing that mattered to the young Gryffindor was making sure Snape didn't see the tears in Harry's eyes. Harry could only guess how Snape would react to that sight.

In his mad dash to escape, Harry's black journal clattered to the ground long forgotten as its owner fled. He had realized his journal was missing after he was certain Snape wasn't following. Almost immediately after this realization, Harry felt his heart leap into his throat. It just wasn't his day. He could only imagine the various glares he'd receive from Snape later that evening.

Harry sighed heavily before leaning against the wall on the fifth floor. He hung his head as his spirits fell. He couldn't help it. Thanks to Dudley and the rest of the Dursleys, deeply engrained into his psyche was the instinct of running. In Harry's mind, he had learned at an early age how easy it was just to run away. This approach never worked with his Uncle Vernon, but it always worked with Dudley because his plump dimwitted cousin would always forget why he was chasing Harry in the first place.

Again, Harry sighed. He knew the second he saw Snape again that he'd have to explain himself. How can a person tell another the reason he runs is that he found it is just easier to run? Snape would definitely not understand Harry's reasoning. While Harry knew about Snape's own turbulent childhood and could probably relate better with him than most, he also knew that the older wizard wasn't very skilled in controlling his emotions (especially anger) in terms of dealing out Harry's punishment.

Maybe he won't notice the drawings, Harry thought. He then nodded. Yeah, I bet he won't even notice. He has better things to do than to read my journal. There's probably a rule against it too. I have no reason to worry. He won't read it. Harry then drew in a deep breath. He was now much calmer than before he fled. However, I should probably fess up to him before I do get into trouble. Harry then headed back down to the dungeons. With time, the instinct of fleeing would dwindle and Harry knew it. He'd take his punishment like a man and pray to Merlin himself that he didn't end up being a new ingredient.

However, when Harry arrived in the dungeons a few moments later and in front of Snape's quarters, he found that the wizard wasn't home. This quaint fact sent Harry into a little panic attack. He whirled around and gulped. What if Snape took the book to Dumbledore, he thought. Oh, god, I am so dead. He's going to kill me now. I don't have a chance. The students are going to be using the new Potter potion. He's going to kill me. Wait…wait…no, you're just overreacting. Snape isn't going to kill you, Harry. He's going to MURDER you!

Harry then drew in a deep breath in efforts to calm himself. It didn't help, though. In fact, it only made things worse because Harry then couldn't breathe. I'm dead. I am so dead. He's going to kill me. He'll probably curse me. I don't have a chance. He's going to murder me and feed my body to the squid to get rid of the evidence. All this time I thought Voldemort would be the one to kill me, but it was Snape. It was always Snape.

Harry clearly could imagine his murder. Snape would dramatically sweep into the room with his black robes billowing hypnotically around him. The professor's dark eyes would glisten murderously in the little light that was in the room. He'd whip out his long ebony wand and stare at Harry.

"Any last words?" that Snape would drawl as he smirked evilly.

"Please…please, Snape, don't kill me," Harry would beg and plead. He was too young to die. Granted, nobody really needed him anymore. Voldemort was long gone, but that didn't mean Harry was necessarily expendable yet. He had things he wanted to do before Death knocked on his door. For example, Harry wanted to do that famous Quidditch move on his broom. Granted, it had later killed the Seeker who had performed the move, but Harry didn't really care. Harry also wanted to make love to a girl. He didn't care who it was, just that it was a girl. He wanted to feel what it felt like to have someone love him. He wanted to go with Ron and the rest of the boys to a place of ill repute and raise a little hell. He wanted to…to do something other than die. He couldn't die yet. He hadn't done any of that.

"Please, Snape, please don't kill me!" Harry yelled for real. Within seconds, he felt hands latch onto his shoulders before shaking him roughly. Harry's teeth rattled from being shook so hard.

"Potter," Snape, his Snape, his very real and live angry Snape, growled. "Control yourself."