Errare Humanum Est

My blue rose: I'm not dead! I had writers block for this story since I'm not really sure where it's going or how it's going to end. It sort of writes itself (It's alive! It's alive!). Sorry about how short my updates are. I have an autism spectrum disorder that makes it really hard to get what is in my head down on paper so my updates will probably always be short.

He had left the dungeons just in time. The sorting was over and the Great Hall was full of children, eating, talking, laughing, and generally making more noise than was necessary. It made it easier for him to slip into a seat next to Minerva at the staff table unnoticed. Well, relatively so. Dumbledore shot him a glance with a smile and Minerva a stern glare with a frown.

Reflexively, he sneered back at her while his eyes raked the Gryffindor table for—ah! There! In his black school robes sitting next to Ron Weasly was… Harry Potter? Severus blinked. Harry Potter was a tall, lithe 17-year-old man who was just as handsome and arrogant as his father with his windswept hair and Quidditch prowess.

But this Harry Potter… This Harry Potter was noticeably skinnier and shorter than his age mates. His shoulders did not have that defiant set to them, his hair was more unkempt than windswept and, Severus squinted, were those glasses taped?

In fact he seemed not at all like James Potter heir of the Potter family. He almost seemed like another small, messy black haired boy, one who had been nervously wearing secondhand robes and bearing his mother schoolbooks on his first day at Hogwarts.

Severus swallowed hard. Had… Had he been wrong about Harry Potter? But he remembered that seven years ago—no, not seven years ago, now!—that Potter had been an arrogant brat even from the beginning. Severus drummed his fingers on the table, thinking hard, trying to remember…

"Severus, you haven't touched a thing!"

Severus barely suppressed a flinch at Minerva's interuption. His plate was indeed empty. He had been so engrossed in thinking that he had not bothered to fill it. To his annoyance she began to fill his plate with food from the nearest dishes.

"Minerva," he said through clenched teeth. "I can, in fact, feed myself, thank you."

"Yes, I can see by the wonderful job you were doing." She responded dryly as she piled more food on his plate. Returning to her own plate she continued as if they had been having a conversation.

"I'm afraid however hard you glare, Mr. Potter is not going to burst into flame."

"I was not—"

"Oh, I suppose it is Mr. Weasley who has earned your ire before his first term has even started?"

"Of course not!"

"So you were glaring at Mr. Potter, then?"

"No! I was merely observing—"

"Yes, of course, how foolish of me, you were merely observing Mr. Potter—by glaring at him so fiercely you have forgotten to eat."

"Minerva, if I am inclined to sternly observe a student who no doubt deserves—"

"To be maligned simply because he is the son of James Potter? Something he cannot help?"

Severus bit back his retort. Maybe he truly was in hell. Surely Minerva had never been this obdurate before? This last year she had barely said anything to him that was not strictly necessary. But then she had thought he was the Death Eater responsible for turning her school to a prison for children. He could not fault her for that.

"You should've heard what Hagrid said about those relatives of his. I knew they were a bad sort ten years ago. They hate magic you know." She shot him a sideways look.

"Mr. Potter almost reminds me of another young with less than understanding relatives who came here oh, how long ago was it? Twenty years ago or so?"

"Enough!"

Minerva fell silent, seeming to understand she had crossed a boundary. It was one thing for him to think that Potter reminded him of himself so long ago. It was quite another for Minerva the point it out in a feeble attempt to manipulate him into sympathy for the brat.

As a child he would've been angry and horrified to discover that his teachers pitied him. Glancing at Potter, Severus couldn't help but sense that the boy would feel the same way. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then stared at Potter hard, almost willing himself to see the vainglorious man with a horrible hero complex that he knew Potter to be.

Instead all he saw was an 11-year-old boy, small for his age, with messy hair and glasses chatting amicably with his new House. Impossible. It was impossible. Could he really have been wrong for all these years?

Sensing his gaze, Potter looked up at the staff table. Severus quickly schooled his features neutral. Looking distinctly uncertain Potter found his eyes; Severus gave him a curt nod. In return the boy offered him a tentative smile. Staring into Lily's long dead eyes he was hard-pressed not to return it.