(Four Hours Later, Number Four Privet Drive)

Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and savior of the wizarding world, let out an exhausted sigh as he fell---face-first---onto his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive.

Today had actually been relatively livable. The Dursleys had paid him little heed, except to give him chores to do and make sure he did them. Wearily, he raised his head and squinted at the digital numbers on his cousin’s old alarm clock. Midnight.

With a groan, Harry dropped his face back into the thin pillow and pulled the equally thin sheets over his head, more than prepared to fall asleep. A sharp rapping on his window, however, startled him from his half-doze.

Grumbling, he hauled himself up and forced his exhausted body to climb out of bed and cross to the window. He *really* did not want his Uncle to wake up. Besides, Hedwig was an hour overdue.

Sure enough, upon opening the window, Hedwig swooped in and landed on his shoulder, giving his ear an affectionate nip. Attached to one leg was what seemed to be a rather thick scroll of parchment. “Girl,” he whispered, stroking her chest feathers, “what have you got there?”

The snowy owl hooted softly and held out her leg. Gently, he undid it from her leg. Another soft hoot and affectionate nip, then she flew over to his desk chair, perching herself there.

Harry glanced at her in slight surprise, before swallowing nervously and making his way back over to the bed. Sitting down on the edge, he slowly unrolled the scroll, apprehensive. He had *not* expected the Potions Master to write him back.

It was, therefore, a rather ill-at-ease young Gryffindor who began to read his teacher’s letter:

Dear Harry (it began),

I received your letter, and I must say, I was not expecting it. I had not anticipated an apology from you in any form.

I thought you were your father.

It is now very clear to me you are not. And it is for that I must apologize. I treated you as James---not as Harry. And you are very much Harry.

You are not Lily, either, but you do have some distinct traits of hers. Your eyes are merely one of them.

Lily and I were very good friends at Hogwarts---cousins, actually. Her mother was my aunt on my father’s side.

Whenever my father came home drunk, my mother sent me off to her sister-in-law’s, if at all she possibly could. Your mother helped me through some very rough times, no matter what slurs I threw at her. She had a heart of gold, your mother did, and compassion to match. A compassion to rival even your own. And she had a quick tongue on her, as well. She was the only one who could beat me in a verbal sparring match. We both know where you stand on that.

I loved your mother, Harry. Very much so. I am only sorry I did not see some of her best traits in you---or rather, chose to ignore them. I was bullheaded, and for that, I apologize, as well.

Perhaps things can change from here on out. You are not your parents, Harry. They were both very great wizards, and the shadows they cast are very deep, but you need not fill them. You cast your own light, and it is about time I acknowledged that.

Sincerely,

Professor Severus Snape

“Well,” Harry choked upon finishing the letter, “that certainly caught *my* attention.” His cheeks were wet, but he really did not mind. Re-reading the letter, he wondered if the older wizard was aware of just how precious a gift he had given him.

Likely not. But Harry fully intended to let him know when next he saw the man.

A third glance over the pieces of parchment, and he realized he had missed one. Shuffling carefully through them, he was quite startled a moment later when a small, dusty bottle fell onto his lap.

“A Portkey?” he muttered in confusion, “wha---?”

P.S. (the slip of parchment read):

The Headmaster was quite displeased to hear that those ‘relatives’ of yours did not listen to Moody and Arthur. As I am sure you have realized, the bottle is a Portkey. It is enchanted to get you to Headquarters where you will be staying for the rest of the summer. I do believe the Weasleys and Ms. Granger are there already. They will be expecting you promptly at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. The password is “Spinner.” Rest well and remember to clear your mind before sleeping.

Professor Snape

Harry smiled slightly, a warm feeling coursing through his veins. He chalked it up to joy at being able to leave Privet Drive and the Dursleys much earlier than he ever had before, and at being able to spend a good chunk of the summer with his closest friends. But he wondered if now it was not also because of something more…

That night, it was a very relieved fifteen-year-old who fell asleep at Number Four Privet Drive. He did as his Professor reminded him, but honestly, could probably have gone without it, such a blanket of peace surrounded his mind. That letter had done wonders for Harry, and Voldemort would not be getting into his head anytime tonight. For the first time in far too long, the Boy-Who-Lived fell into a peaceful sleep, unimpeded by nightmares.