It is not until dinner that I think about my letters. The rest of my day hasn't been as strange as breakfast. In fact, it actually was a rather normal day for me. Well, except for Malfoy, but I'm trying not to think about him. Honestly, I don't understand why he'd just suddenly start being nice to me. He even apologized for telling Professor Sinistra about my stupid plan to get the Sword of Slytherin. Where are his self-preservation skills?

"Mr. Potter, might I see you in the sitting room for a moment?"

I glance towards my door before sighing. I've been secluded in my room ever since I finished my essays for my classes. I slowly walk out and towards the sitting room. Snape doesn't look happy. I then sigh. Why can't I call the man Dad? I wanted a dad. He said that it was all right if I called him Dad. Why do I keep calling him and thinking of him as Snape then?

"Is something wrong?" I ask quietly.

"I meant to inform you of my decision this morning, but with the…events, I could not. Sit," he says motioning towards the couch, which I do. "As I have mentioned to you numerous times already, I do not believe in corporal punishment."

"I know."

"Therefore, as you heard at breakfast, I am dueling Professor Sinistra tonight."

"Yeah, I know." I then sigh softly. "I guess I can't go, right?" He curtly nods. "I understand."

"You will also write me an essay detailing what you mean to others." My eyes widen.

"You're joking, right?"

"I hardly ever joke, Harry," he replies. "I expect the essay in my hands tomorrow morning."

"Fine," I grudgingly sigh. "How late are you going to be tonight?" I don't know why I ask it.

"The duel should last about an hour, but it is my night to patrol." I nod before sighing. "I realize that you believe writing an essay is a rather idiotic punishment, but I wish for you to understand how your actions affect others." I glance away from him. "Detail everyone, Harry, not just your friends."

"I get it, Dad," I mumble, not realizing that I called him Dad for the second time. He then leaves.

Shaking my head, I walk back to my room and grab Ron's letter. I don't know why I'm so angry. I deserve this punishment. I know that I do. I disobeyed Snape just so I could do what…be even more famous than I was? Sometimes I'm so pathetic.

Harry,

So…ever since you told me about Snape and Sinistra, well, I've been thinking some things. I mean, I know my brothers said something about 'Uniting Slytherin' and all that. But do you think it might happen? That'd be so wicked if it were true. Could you imagine the look on Malfoy's face? After all, we both remember how Sinistra wiped Malfoy's smile clean off his face our third-year. Oh, by the way, I'm supposed to ask how long you think they've been together because my brothers and I have been talking about it, and well, it does explain Snape's strangeness somewhat this year.

Okay, so, Mum and Dad told me that Snape's planning to adopt you. I know that you probably wrote me some letter asking me not to be mad at you. Well, mate, I'm not mad. Actually, I'm happy for you. While I still think it'd be cooler if we were brothers, we'll still be brothers even if Snape's your dad now. That's what best friends do. You've wanted a family for a long time, and if he gives you that, then who am I to complain? We might even get the House cup now with him being your dad. Surely, he's not going to take points from his son. I mean, even he isn't that big of a git. Am I right? Well, I have to go, but really, Harry, I'm not mad. Really, I am happy for you.

Talk to you later

RW

I sigh before smiling. Leave it to Ron to cheer me up. I then toss his letter off to the side and grab my letter from the twins. As I open it, I immediately burst out laughing at the various drawings of Professor Sinistra and Snap—Dad…he's my dad now. I really have to start calling him dad. Even Ron thinks of him as my dad. This is so ridiculous. It's just one stupid word.

The first picture is of the Astronomy Tower with two figures at the very top of it. I can just make out S—Dad's billowing black robes. My smile widens as I notice Professor Sinistra's figure. In the picture, she's staring at the stars while S—Dad's staring at her. It's a rather sweet looking picture.

The second picture is similar in setting. However, Dad's on one knee now holding Professor Sinistra's hand. I then laugh as I notice how the twins drew Dad. I can definitely see the hesitation and awkwardness in Dad's eyes as he stares at her. At the very bottom of the drawing, Fred or George has written 'Slytherin United.' Staring at this picture, I feel like I'm actually seeing it in real life. However, I then move onto the last picture they've included.

This picture appears to be of Dad's and Professor Sinistra's wedding in the Great Hall. Seriously, I'm starting to wonder about the twins with the amount of effort they put in these drawings. Every professor is in it, and the headmaster appears to be officiating. Professor Sinistra is in a lovely white dress, while Dad's in black robes as always. I can make out the Weasley family, Hermione, Neville, and others. The twins even drew my parents into it. My mum's in a very beautiful crimson dress and my dad's wearing brilliant dark blue robes. With a strange glow surrounding them, they both look happy as they're staring at Dad and Professor Sinistra. However, strangely enough, I can't find myself in the picture. I peer at it closer, thinking that I just have to be in there somewhere. I mean, Draco Malfoy, the big prat himself, is in the picture. I just have to be in there somewhere.

Suddenly, the picture starts to move as if it is one of the moving portraits from the grand staircase. I watch myself in the picture walk towards Professor Sinistra before she wraps her arms around me in a sort of maternally way. My chest aches at the sight, especially when Dad puts an arm around me. It looks like… Dad's not smiling, but then again he never does. Professor Sinistra definitely is smiling enough for the both of us, and I look…happy. A few moments later, the following words slowly appear at the bottom of the portrait, "Hope you get that family you've dreamt of, Harry."

"I do, too, guys," I whisper. I then inhale deeply. I've put off writing my essay long enough. I grab a spare bit of parchment from my end table and walk out of my bedroom towards the sitting room. Something I've learned is that I become distracted easily. If I'm truly going to write that essay Dad wants, then I know I have to do it far from the temptation of my friends. I take a seat on the couch and quickly fold my legs underneath me in efforts to become comfortable. My quill dips into the inkwell that's on the coffee table before scratching the parchment just barely. I smile thinking back to the numerous scolding remarks Dad gave me about my handwriting. I now write with a sort of elegance, but it still has that familiar jerkiness to it. I know what Dad wants from me, brutal honesty. I can give him that, but it might not be what he wants in the end.

What I Mean To Others

To ninety-nine percent of the Wizarding population, they see me as this sort of savior child. They think that when I was a baby I defeated one of the darkest wizards in the history of our world. Since his return, all of those people who held me up in such high esteem then now expect me to do it again. They all think I have some sort of hidden power, but I don't.

To my cousin Dudley, I was a punching bag that he just couldn't resist to torment. He loved getting me into trouble with my aunt and uncle because they'd reward him. I was the hated freak, and he was their precious child that could do no wrong in their eyes.

Aunt Petunia thought of me as the freakish offspring of her horrid sister and brother-in-law. I never knew until Hagrid came how badly she hated Mum. She was jealous of Mum because their parents thought Mum was perfect. She took that jealousy and rage out on me by ordering me around like a house elf. Clean this or clean that she'd order…as if she couldn't pick up her own damn house herself. Why would she do that, though, when she has her freakish nephew to do that?

To my uncle Vernon, I was a thing he could take his temper out on. It truly didn't matter if Dudley broke the telly or him, and it really didn't matter if I did finish all of my chores before he came home. I was still the one he beat or took a belt to in the end. He once told me that the reason he beat me was to beat the freakiness out of me. Then again, he was also the same man who told me once that I enjoyed our little times together because I loved pain. For the longest time, he was my dark wizard that I had to fight, and I couldn't even defeat him.

To the headmaster, I'm just an innocent young boy who happens to have bad things happen to him. This frustrates me more than you'll ever know. I can still remember the look of extreme sadness on his face when he brought me to you in the middle of a storming night. I can remember how he apologizes to me repeatedly for thinking that no one could get to me there and that I'd be safe with the Dursleys. I can remember how he sought absolution for leaving me there all those years, but he didn't know the truth. I'm quite certain that no one knows what the Dursleys did to me. He just had his suspicions. Since that madman who killed my parents had his followers try to kidnap me out of the Dursley residence, I obviously couldn't go back there so logically he had to give me to you.

To Professor McGonagall, I think she thinks that I'm her last hope to beat you and Slytherin. While I love playing Quidditch, looking back on everything now I just can't help but wonder why she allowed me to play it at such a young age. She tries to treat me as a child as the headmaster does. She looks at me with those same eyes of pity that I've seen ever since I attended Hogwarts. Sometimes, I think that when she looks at me, she sees my parents, not me. She never mentions it, but then no one ever does. Ever since I attended this school, everyone upon first meeting comments how much I look like my father or how my eyes are so like my mother's. For years, I liked it…until I realized that people were trying to live their pasts through me.

To Professor Flitwick, I'm a famous hero. During our first class actually, he fell off his stack of books because of how excited he was to meet me. Granted, he's calmed down through the years, but I can still see the excitement in his eyes. I don't blame him for this, though. I understand. I supposedly defeated a very dark wizard when I was a baby. If they weren't gawking at me, I'd be excited too.

Professor Sinistra is another one that is hard to figure out. This past summer she has acted very motherly with me, and I have to admit that I love it. I don't know if that's because of her feelings for you, though, or if she is just being nice to me.

To Hagrid, he thinks of me as a hero, but also as a young man. He understands me better than most people do. He tries to brighten my day if I'm not having a good day. He thinks of me as his friend, which I like to think that I am. I don't know what I would do if Hagrid wasn't here at Hogwarts. He was my first connection to the Wizarding world, and that just tends to stick with you.

I mean to the Weasleys a young man who was the son of their dead friends and a friend to their youngest son. I can't decide if they pity me, but I think they do care a great deal for me, though. Mrs. Weasley knits these sweaters for me that look kind of odd and hideous, but I love them to do death because she makes them with love and I know it. She does love me, and I'm sure Mr. Weasley does too.

To Remus and Sirius, I'm their connection to my parents. I don't mention it to him, but Sirius has called me James before. I didn't think anything of it at first, but it hurts me, though. I'm not my dad. I tried so hard to prove that to you, but even Sirius thinks it. Remus was the first person ever to mention my mother to me. He told me how lovely she was and how much people loved her. He taught me how to cast my first Patronus, and he really was an awesome defense professor. But I can see in his eyes that he badly misses my parents. He tries to hide it, but I can see it in his eyes.

To Ron and Hermione, I mean a great deal to them because we're best friends. We have been ever since that day the troll entered the lavatory and tried to kill Hermione. Ron, however, does get jealous of me sometimes because people give me things and he has to earn them. I think that he understands that I would do anything to have a normal life just once. Hermione sometimes gets angry with me because I don't take things as seriously as she does, but I think she knows that I'm just trying to keep myself above the water of dread that follows my life.

This leaves me to deal with one last person, you. When we first met each other, I'd say that what I meant to you was the same as what I mean to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. You wanted to take your revenge against my father out on me. We hated each other. That was no secret. You destroyed several of the potions I brew out of pure spite and then mocked me for it later so that the Slytherins would have a laugh. You'd breathe down my neck as I brew just trying to make me screw up so you had yet another reason to ridicule me. I guess there's still a lot of anger in me over those years. However, none of that matters anymore, though. I know the truth now.

I remember the look in your eyes when the headmaster and I showed up in the middle of the night in a fierce thunderstorm. Anger was the first emotion. Then annoyance came before pure shock about my state. The headmaster informed you that Death Eaters had somehow managed to break the blood wards, and you only nodded. You allowed us into your home. You kept your eyes on me the entire time, and it unsettled me greatly. I didn't understand why you were staring at me like that. At first, I thought that you thought I deserved my wounds, but that wasn't it. You said nothing as the headmaster told you that he would draw up the papers so you could have custody of me. You just kept staring at me.

Then the headmaster left, telling me that everything would be fine now. I remember how I thought the moment he left that you'd kill me. I remember how I forced myself to remain calm as I waited for you to kill me, but nothing. Instead, you conjured a bowl full of water and a washcloth to wash my wounds. I remember feeling extremely numb as you healed me without a word, and how incredibly safe I felt later as I screamed into your shoulder as you held me after I relived my experience.

Somehow, during our past year together we grew close. You must have realized at some point that I was not my father, and that night might have been it. So now, what I mean to you isn't a person to take your anger out on, but a person you love. I might be overstepping my bounds with that declaration, but my assumption is because you adopted me. Right now, what I mean to you…is a son.

So in efforts to make some sense of things, to the majority of people, I mean hope to them. Hope that one day that HE will be gone and that life will return to some form of normalcy. However, to you, I mean a chance to reclaim something that you thought you lost. It's arrogant to think this, but I think that if something happened to me that I'd devastate a lot of people like Ron and his family, Hermione, Professor Sinistra, the headmaster, the entire Wizarding World, but most especially you, Dad. And I'm sorry that I don't think before I act. I should just be glad that I have you and leave it at that.

All my life I wanted a family, and you've been giving me one all this time. I just was too blind to see it. You probably were angry with me disobeying, but I think you were mostly angry that I put myself in danger again. So far, I've had one near-death experience you've saved me from each year. Our first year, you saved me as my broom tried to throw me off when Professor Quirrell jinxed it. Our second year, you scolded Ron and me for flying a car into the Whomping Willow and later after the Chamber fiasco. Our third year, you stepped in front of me when Lupin transformed into a werewolf in efforts to shield me. I guess what I'm trying to say is thanks. I need someone who isn't afraid to discipline me because he thinks I'll break. I need someone who doesn't think of me as a savior for our world. I need someone to protect me from time to time. I need someone like you, and I'm glad I have you, Dad.