Hello! Thank you for stopping by my story. None of these one-shots will make sense if you haven't read Twenty Letters (I wasn't able to put a link in, just visit my profile).

In order to reach out to the followers of the original story, and to stay within FF's rules, THE FIRST HALF OF THIS ONE-SHOT IS NOW THE LAST CHAPTER OF TWENTY LETTERS. Again, read that bit there before carrying on.

For those of you who have read Twenty Letters, including the last chapter, here's an overview of what's going on: There's so many "What if?' scenarios connected to Twenty Letters that I couldn't resist writing a few. As stated in the summary, I won't be limited to "What if's." There will be an epilogue of what happened after the last letter at some point. A few ideas for the original plot will be revealed, and the title the story was almost given. Until then, enjoy!

Harry walked into his first potions lessons of his fifth year with sweaty palms and a ripe understanding of the professor awaiting him. Snape had been friends with his mum. Best friends, even. But he'd gone and called her a Mudblood. And the letter had made it seem like the wounds ran deep in Lily's heart to the day she died.

"Why are you so nervous, Harry?" Hermione asked him for the thousandth time that day. "It's just potions."

"Yes, but the letter," he reminded her.

"I didn't think you were actually going to tell him," Ron said.

"Of course I am! Mum wanted me to!"

"Well, so long as you don't explode anything, he might hear you out," Hermione said.

The lesson itself did nothing to help Harry's nerves. Hermione did all right, her potion having a small number of undissolved lacewing flies in it, but Harry's was far from great. It was thick with the dead insects, and smelled of old robes. Ron's was gloppy, and Neville's was bright red. Even the Slytherins, who received a plentiful amount of helpful tips from Snape, didn't do so well. It seemed that Snape had chosen an especially difficult potion for the first of the year.

After the lesson, during which Harry did better than normal, he approached the greasy-haired professor. Snape was as intimidating as ever, and looked down on Harry with such disdain that Harry wondered if it was ever possible for the man to have befriended his mother.

"Yes, Potter?"

"I have a message. From my mum."

"You have a message from your mum?" Harry nodded mutely. "Foolishness! Your mother is not a ghost!"

"No, sir. But she wrote me letters. And I found out-"

"You know."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. There was no need to ask what the professor had meant. Harry knew that he had called Lily a Mudblood.

"What did she say?" he asked, sounding exasperated. He turned away from Harry, moving essays from his desk.

"She said to tell you she's sorry."

At first, there seemed to be no reaction. Then, Snape turned to Harry, his coal black eyes flaming. "Leave, Potter!" he demanded.

Harry did as he was told, ducking out of the room for fear of Snape's recoil.

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Harry was just as nervous for their second potions class as he had been for the first. Snape hadn't seemed pleased with him after their last meeting, and Harry had no doubt the Snape would be even Snape-ier than normal.

"You told him something that's supposed to be good, right?" Hermione said. When Harry nodded, she continued. "So how can he be mad at you?"

"He's Snape," Ron reminded her. "He's always mad at Harry."

Hermione sighed and shook her head, which was just as good as her admitting Ron was right.

A half an hour into the lesson, Harry's potion was a vile green, even though it was supposed to resemble "a dark forest." Hermione's, naturally, was a shade darker than Harry's, and on its way to the correct colour. As Snape stepped toward him, cloak brushing the floor, Harry avoided the professor's gaze. He'd minimized his interactions with the man so far, and intended to keep the habit.

"Potter," Snape barked, staring into the potion.

"Yes, Professor?"

"One stir clockwise," he said, squinting into the luminous green depths.

"Sir?" Harry said, trying to decide if he'd heard correctly. It was always a possibility that Snape was going to sabotage his potion, Harry reminded himself.

"I said, one stir clockwise. Ask me again and you'll be getting the wrong instructions." With that, he left Harry's potion to go observe another student's.

"What just happened?" Hermione whispered to Harry.

"He told me how to fix my potion."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know."

"Well, even Ron's potion is a darker green than yours… I'd try it if I were you."

"Hey!" Ron said. "My potions aren't always that bad!"

"Last lesson wasn't your best," Hermione reminded him.

Harry carefully stirred his potion once clockwise. The green darkened to that of a lime. Still skeptical, he stirred it again. It was now the colour of grass. After several stirs, his potion was the desired shade, and he moved onto the next instruction.

No matter how weird it had been, Harry knew for sure it was because of what he'd told Snape. He didn't know what it meant, but he did know it was important. For the rest of the year, Harry, along with other Gryffindors (even Neville!), received significantly better treatment from the Potions Master. It seemed as though Gryffindor had risen in Snape's eyes, albeit not to Slytherin's level (which was unparalleled by any house), but to that of Hufflepuff.