TRIGGER WARNINGS!

This one has some trigger warnings! The details are at the bottom of the page for anyone who wants to check them.

If I put them here they'll contain spoilers for everyone.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The other thing Harry had been tackling that week was his mother's books. Harry had pulled out her book on the flower language in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the images he had seen in the maunders prank book. They were still bothering him. He didn't want to see them when he closed his eyes in his nightmares, didn't want to remember, didn't want to face the fact his father had been Sev's Dursley's.

The flower book hadn't been notated like so many of her other books. And it was more like an encyclopaedia or dictionary than a textbook. Each plant or flower had a drawing of it, the name and a detailed explanation of the meaning.

He flipped through the pages randomly, reading different flowers here and there but stopped when Wormwood caught his eye.

Wormwood. Suddenly he remembered Professor Snape's words from his first-ever potions class, 'What would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood? What is the difference, Potter, between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?'

Harry started frantically flicking through the pages, Asphodel and Wolfsbane were in the flower language too.

Of course, Sev... Severus Snape. How had he missed it?

It hit him like a punch to the gut, all at once that Professor Snape, his potions master, who hated his guts, who hated his father's guts, was the same Sev that played with his mother in the park, that his father picked on, that was abused growing up.

Something inside twisted painfully, and he frantically pulled out the Maunder's Grimoire, flicking through the pages. Yes, the dark-haired boy, so often the target of his father and his friends, looked a lot like a very young Severus Snape.

How had he missed it? Of course, Sev! Sev was short for Severus, Severus Snape, Potions Master. How the hell had he not put it together!? He clenched his jaw and started flicking through the book again. He'd read about a lot of the things the Maunders had done in Lily's diary, but he was hit now, but a feverish need to know. To know every sin his father had committed against Professor Snape. He needed to know what he'd done. Needed to know everything his father had done to the poor boy that grew to hate him and hated Harry too, despite loving his mother.

After that, Harry couldn't not reach out one more time to his mother's friend. Harry, as hurt as he was, as mad as he was, as much as he hated the way Professor Snape snapped and snarled at him (to a small justifiable extent), as much as he was loath to, for fear of his potion master's sure-to-come ire, Harry knew that once Sev had been his mother's friend. He couldn't help but reach out to that boy. He couldn't help but reach out to the unspoken message in those questions all the way back then.

I deeply and bitterly regret Lily's death.

He looked up and the ceiling turning the idea over in his head. Clenching and unclenching his jaw. Sev and Snape were the same person. Did he want to do anything with that? He didn't forgive, as a general rule but what Snape was apologising wasn't his fault. Was it? Either way Harry wouldn't mind melting his mother's Sev, as apposed to Snape. He scribbled a note on the back of his potions homework.

'If you asked me about Asphodel and Wormwood, about Monkshood and Wolfsbane, I would say that I would add a White Tulip and an Eglantine Rose. It would give you a daffodil yellow potion if you were to add a sprig of purple Hysinthea and a Star of Bethlehem.'

He was not going to say anything to anyone, Harry thought determinedly, as he put his potions homework back in his bag. If Professor Snape didn't want anyone to know that he was Lily's friend, Harry wouldn't tell. He'd done enough to the man already. His father had done enough to the man already.

But Harry had to know. He had to know what happened. Yes. He felt horribly torn about it. He wanted to know what happened, but if it had been him, he would not have wanted anyone to know. It would be a considerable breach of Professor Snape's privacy. But he had to know what his parents had done. He struggled with it, agonised over it before he slowly opened his mother's journals again.

He buried himself in her diaries, not pausing or looking up from his reading. He read through dinner, desperate to find some clue in a young Sev's world, desperate to find some good in the form of his mother to somehow make up for how bad his father was. He was desperate to have some sort of reassurance that it got better, that there was a happy ending, that at least his mother had been a good person and had been there for Sev.

But what he got from his mum's perspective seemed even worse as she talked about how Sev felt and how she hated it, and Harry's father. She and her friend Sev had clearly been very close growing up and continued to be through their Hogwarts years.

Harry wondered what had happened to them, feeling his heart clench at the continual reminders that her journal gave him, of just how awful his father and his friends were.

His mother's diaries had stopped at the end of OWL year. Shortly after Sev was assaulted in front of the school and Lily had stalked off after he called her a Mudblood. Sev'd waited for hours outside the common room for her all night. And when she finally came out, eyes red from crying, they had a screaming match.

She yelled at him for calling her a Mudblood. She'd been so hurt that he'd turned on her. That he'd used that word on her. He'd been quiet in regards to his friends using it. She didn't like it but she'd understood. She'd understood how hard it was for him in Slytherin surrounded by would-be Death Eaters when he wasn't one himself, when he was only a poor half-blood.

She understood needing to stay quiet and to fit-in to be safe. But then he turned on her, in a moment of embarrassment when she had been trying to help. That had been unforgivable. He'd yelled right back at her for calling him Snivillus and poking fun at his worn clothes, at abandoning him to be assaulted by the Marauders when they'd had him at their mercy.

They had screamed at each other, for hours, both furious and hurt. She hadn't spoken to him after that, despite how much she missed him. She could hold a grudge. Her parting words to him on the Hogwarts Express had cut Harry to the bone, on Sev's behalf.

"I never expected you to stand alone and stand out against them," she had written recalling their parting words, "I never expected you to stand up for me when it would draw their ire and the pain of their wands. We both know that's way too dangerous. They outnumber you too much and know where you sleep. I understand what you have to do, to stay in with the right people in that house; to survive there, such as it is in these dark times. As much as I hate it, I get it. Because there are no happy endings in the real world, we both know this.

There is no-one to save you in the real world. You have to do it yourself. Life sucks, and you have to do things you don't like to survive sometimes. Especially when you grow up as poor latch-key kids in Cokesworth like we did. But I expected you not to turn that bigotry on me. What happened Sev? It was us against the world. We swore houses would not change anything. Where's that Sev? I miss my friend, but he's nowhere to be seen."

Harry couldn't believe she'd left him like that, or that Sev'd said that to her, had called her a Mudblood. Harry ached as he read her entries. The more he read, the more he saw himself in both of them.

She had left him then, hadn't seen him all summer, but she had written down the look on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes that spoke of too little sleep or perhaps too much time trying not to get hexed into oblivion in the common rooms, and later too much time staying away from his family home.

She had stewed and worried about whether to forgive Sev straight away or not. She had talked and fretted at length how hard it was, being a poor boy from a muggle neighbourhood, with no Pureblood standing in the Slytherin snake pit. But that world turned on her, and she was angry at him for not being at her side, the way she tried to be for him.

Harry wished he knew what had happened. On the one hand, he was furious at his mother for abandoning her friend. But he ached for her too; for the one true friend that knew her, that understood her, that was her brother, her other half, had turned and hurt her.

He knew that pain.

He ached for that loss. He knew what that felt like, that world-shattering realisation that things would never be the same. The Sev in his mother's diary's seemed so different from what Harry knew. He was guarded and cynical and sarcastic. Sev was cold and detached but gentle and kind to his mother. Slow to open up and feel, but was passionate and had fun with Lily. Sev was nothing like the potions professor Harry knew. And Harry thought, maybe he was a bit like that too. It hurt.

Harry wondered if he'd ever meet that person. The Sev his mother knew. He wanted to. He wanted desperately to connect with something of hers.

Harry jumped a mile when his wand started buzzing. He cursed, that would be his alarm to remind him to go to Astronomy Class. Cursing, he bundled his things back into his bag and sprinted up to the tower. Astronomy had improved greatly now he could see. Harry was finding it much better now. He loved looking at the stars now he could see them clearly and was still amazed by how much easier seeing was with these glasses.

Tonight, he could not stay focused though. His mind constantly drifted back to what he'd learnt. And when he rushed back down to his cupboard after class, he wouldn't have been able to tell anyone what they had learnt.

He pulled out the Marauder's Grimoire again, when he got back to his cupboard. He read it cover to cover like his mum's Diaries. Prank after painful prank he slogged through it and realised the full extent of it. There was a lot his mother had never known about. His father and his friends had written all of them down. Preserved in all their excruciatingly humiliating detail. His father was just like Dudley and his gang.

By the time Harry had finished reading the books, he had to summon a mop bucket down to be sick into. Professor Snape had been hexed and nearly choked using soap on multiple occasions, he had been assaulted, striped naked in front of the school, and had been set-up with a werewolf to die. Black had set him up to meet Lupin under the full moon, Harry had to stop for a moment. That wasn't in his mother's diary, either it happened after fifth year, or she didn't know. He stared at the words on the page. His godfather had tried to murder Snape.

And! If Harry's father hadn't intervened on that full moon, to save his friends neck, Professor Snape would have died or worse, been turned. Sirius had known that and did it anyway. All for what? Because Sev was a Snake? Because he existed and was poor and unkempt and not well-liked? Because he was so smart, he made everyone else sound like morons?

He, Harry had been on the receiving end of so many similar incidents from his cousin. He had been through such similar hexing here at Hogwarts. All Harry could feel for the man now was sympathy.

His heart broke a little inside. Both for young Sev, for the pain he went through, and for the friend of his mother that he had hoped to meet, to make potions with, to talk about his mother with. The friend of his mother he would never get to know now. Professor Snape hated his guts because Harry was his father's son.

And his heart broke little for himself too. For having that dream broken, that hope, that belief that somewhere inside, his father has been a good person. But he wasn't. His father was not a good person.

People had lied.

In that moment, Harry hated his father more than he had ever hated the Dursley's. Despite all they had done, the Dursley's had always been horrible. That's just who they were. They never let Harry down as he had always known to expect that. But his father. His father had let him down. Harry had expected better of his father. His father was supposed to be a good man.

He felt angry to be so disappointed in the man, a man he never knew, never remembered. He felt ashamed that he felt that he deserved better from the man who was meant to be his father and a good person. But he wasn't a good person and that hurt.

Professor Snape made more sense now, Harry thought. No wonder he hated Gryffindors. No wonder he hated Harry. Harry would have too. He felt guilt well up inside him. All he could do was make amends for his mistakes and not make the same errors his father had.

Harry was floored though, as he finally drifted off into a tormented sleep. Despite Professor Snape hating his guts, and rightly so, he still gave Professor Flitwick the photos for Harry of his mother. He still protected Harry over and over again.

0o0o0o0

Harry was very quiet the next day; not really talking to anyone, not even Winky and Dobby. He found himself using formal language and behaviour to keep the world at a distance. He'd been doing that more and more lately, he realised. He'd been doing it to everyone, to the teachers, his peers, Hermione, the Twins, Neville, even with Bill and Charlie in his letters. Did he care though? That he was holding the world at arm's length?

He deflected Hermione's questions on their morning run when she saw the bags under his eyes. Didn't tell her why he had stayed up all night, didn't say why he was so quiet.

He didn't talk to Hagrid as they did the morning rounds in the forest, patching up one of the salamanders and tending to a Hippogriff's talon rot. Hagrid seemed to understand though. He'd always had been good with broken things, Harry thought self-deprecatingly.

He skipped breakfast again and felt so queasy that he could hardly get down anything more than Winkey's nutrient potion. Again.

Hermione, despite knowing, as she always did, that something was up, didn't push him, to his great relief. She just quietly kept him company as he buried himself in his studies and his books during class, then in the library. She followed him under the cloak between classes, as they avoided the school's population and stuck to his side as she helped him deflect the Gryffindor hex's that were now directed at her too.

He was grateful for her patience with him. She just gently took his hand every so often when he got too quiet and too lost in his own head, not able to differentiate between his own memories and images of his father bullying Sev.

Potions class was painful that afternoon. He'd managed to slog his way though History of Magic and through Charms. He had studied his way through lunch. But as always the class he'd been dreading came around much too soon. He'd meant to apologise to Professor Snape now the task was over. But now that he knew...

Now Harry knew about Sev, and his father... he wasn't sure he'd ever been able to look the man in the eye without feeling that burning shame and humiliation.

Harry kept his head down through class. They'd missed their theory and demonstration class on Tuesday, due to the task. He and Neville had a slightly harder time brewing their potion, but they planned it out diligently and managed to get it mostly right, to Harry's relief. He didn't need to give Professor Snape more ammunition against him. The man had enough.

He reluctantly loitered behind as the bell went, waving a concerned looking Hermione off. He needed to say something. He didn't want to, but he needed to. He owed it to the man to apologise for his own arrogance, and wrongdoing at the very least. He had no intention of ever mentioning his father.

Clenching his jaw with dread, hoping he was not just about to expose another weakness to be used against him, Harry carefully approached Professor Snape's desk as some of the class filed out. Greengrass just give him a discrete nod of approval on her way out. Malfoy sniggered and some of the Gryffindors elbowing Harry sharply on their way past him.

He gulped when he caught sight of Professor Snape's face. Harry could feel the loathing coming off the man in waves, making Harry feel a little dizzy with it. He didn't blame the man, though.

"Well, what do you want Mr Potter," Professor Snape sneered.

"Well," Harry stuttered his mouth suddenly very dry.

He swallowed and started again in a clearer, stronger voice, "Well Met, Potions Master Snape."

Harry bowed. Deeper than required, a show of respect, but once again, with his palms up, empty, a sign of peace, "I'm sorry for disturbing you sir, but might I have a moment of your time?"

Professor Snape looked momentarily surprised but said nothing, leaning against the side of his desk, his arms crossed. Harry looked up and felt cowed and awkward with Professor Snape towering above him. But then, most people towered above him.

"What do you want, Mr Potter" Professor Snape repeated after a moment, "I haven't got all day."

"Potions Master Snape," he said, but was cut off.

"Just Professor is fine, Mr Potter," Professor Snape said echoing Professor Flitwick, "it's about time you learnt some manners."

Harry glanced up. Professor Snape's face was blank, but he was peering at Harry like he was a particularly strange potions specimen. In the background, Malfoy had stalled to watch Harry get humiliated. Just like Dudley, it seemed to be one of his favourite pastimes. He snickered. Harry thought he may have imagined it, but a minute frown flicked across Professor Snape's face at that sound.

"Er, yes, sir. It is. I'm very sorry, sir," he started, then began properly, "I offer you my formal apologies, sir. I have recently become aware that I have been rude though my ignorance and may have appeared arrogant because of it. I had no idea about anything until now. I had no idea how important manners were or that they even had a different here from in the muggle world. I didn't know, but now I do, I realise that my behaviour and treatment of you was appalling."

"I'm very sorry sir," Harry continued, forcing his voice to stay steady, "I don't think you're horrible at your field, or that you don't deserve respect. Nor do I think you're an idiotic fool who I can learn nothing from. I did not intend to snub you so badly. I am fixing my ignorance and will endeavour to not repeat my mortifying behaviour. I am very sorry, Professor."

Professor Snape looked at him for a long time, his black eyes glinting. Harry couldn't read his face but hoped, though he knew he shouldn't, that Professor Snape would believe him, would forgive him.

"Detention Mr Potter, after dinner, for lying. Get out of my sight." He said after a long pause. While the words were angry, his tone wasn't.

Frowning, Harry left; Malfoy's snickering followed him out.

0o0o0o0o0

Harry went to the Potions Dungeons after eating dinner alone in his cupboard. While he actually liked the dungeons, lots of good places to hide and explore, or work undisturbed, Professor Snape's office was still terrifying due to its occupant.

The door was open when he arrived, and despite his great trepidation, he knocked on it anyway to alert the Professor to his presence.

"Professor Snape, Sir?" he asked tentatively when the Professor ignored him, "I'm here for my detention, sir."

Wordlessly, Professor Snape waved him in and pointed a potion stained finger to the chair in front of the desk before jabbing his wand at the door. It slammed shut, and Harry forced back a flinch. Professor Snape kept writing for a long moment, and Harry had to force himself to keep looking at Professor Snape's desk, instead of glancing anxiously at the door.

When he had finished, Professor Snape set his quill down and stood up. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the desk again. He peered at Harry with those cold black eyes of his.

"I do not accept your apology, Mr Potter, for I do not find it to be sincere or even truthful," the Professor drawled, in a dangerous voice after a long moment. "I do not know what little game you are trying to play this time, but you will cease and desist this instant."

Harry slumped in his chair. He had come here trying to mend broken fences. It had galled him, but he had swallowed his pride to try and right his wrongs and still Professor Snape only saw his father. Still, Professor Snape didn't really see him, Harry, but only what he wanted to see.

This is why we can't do nice things, he thought to himself bitterly, because no one ever believes us anyway!

"How can you possibly be such an unbelievably spoilt brat, to not know basic manners, you arrogant little snot." Professor Snape asked, disbelief colouring his seemly permanently, irritated tone, "or did you just not bother to read the books your guardians gave you. I know they were muggles and may not have known the details, but there were books." Professor Snape scorned.

Harry clenched his jaw to stop himself gaping. They were given books for him? He was about to protest when Professor Snape said, "never mind! I don't care. You will need lessons then, if you're telling the truth about that at least," he said, sounding resigned and furious.

Harry controlled the urge to cringe away from his tone. He would not show the man any weakness.

"Yes sir, but some of my Slytherin peers have offered, sir," Harry bit out holding back slowly growing fury, "Ms Greengrass gave me this list, but warned that I would need permission to get them from the restricted section, sir," he said holding out the list, trying to be helpful.

He had planned on just breaking in, but he probably shouldn't make a habit of it, in case it was noticed. If Professor Snape was actually going to give him a pass like Greengrass had said... Well, Harry wasn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

Professor Snape moved suddenly, making Harry jump. He sat down behind his desk again, pulling out a quill and scribbling on the bit of parchment Harry had given him, before for thrusting it back at him.

"Give the list to Madame Pince. She'll get them for you. And just those ones!" He said sternly as if expecting Harry to disobey, "and I suppose this is what prompted this out of character apology?" Professor Snape sneered suddenly, his eyes full of loathing again.

"No, sir!" Harry tried to protest taking the paper from him reluctantly and putting it safely in his bag, in case Professor Snape were to change his mind suddenly.

"Liar. I do not like being used! Get out," Professor Snape said furiously.

Harry wanted to run from the room, but held his ground. If he didn't fix this now, it would never change. He owed it to the man his mother had been friends with, to sort it out.

"No, sir! I really didn't know. I didn't get the introduction list! I only just found out about it, sir. My relatives didn't tell me anything," he said, reluctant to say anything about his relatives, for fear of it being used against him later. And Gods, he hoped Professor Snape didn't say anything to Dumbledore.

"I really was apologising, am apologising, sir," he pressed on, "it wasn't to manipulate you sir, but when you brought up lessons, I figured I'd tell you I'd already sorted it out so that you didn't feel you had to sir. I know you hate me. I didn't want you to feel you had to spend more time with me. You've been good to me. It's the least I can do, staying out of your way, sir." Harry said, scuffing the tip of his dangling foot. He hated it. He felt like a child on Professor Snape's chairs, his feet barely reaching the floor.

"Are you even listening to me, Potter!" Professor Snape snarled.

Harry flinched, and automatically said, "sorry!"

But couldn't quite hold back his next words, "don't call me that" then hastily added, "sir."

Professor Snape ignored him, "not only are you arrogant enough to try to manipulate me, and then lie about it, but you blame your ignorance and laziness on your relatives. They must be too in awe of your fame to be properly ashamed of you, to let you get away with acting so. Like father, like son," he sneered, voice full of loathing. "How proud he must be of you Potter, his son's behaviour and lack of manners, in his perfect image. You're just like your father, Potter" Professor Snape started in a snarl.

"I'm not my father! Don't call me that! I'm not!" Harry snapped, nearly shouting, as it all boiled forth suddenly.

"What?" Professor Snape spat out, surprised out of his anger, "it's your name! I will certainly not be calling you Gryffindor golden boy or the boy who lived." He sounded disgusted at the very idea.

"Potter! Don't call me Potter," Harry said, suddenly very tired and feeling very old, "it reminds me, and you, of my father. Neither of us need that!"

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed.

"It's your name, you spoilt twat!" He yelled back.

Harry was too angry to flinch, to be scared, to even think of anything other than desperately trying to hold his temper, "anything but Potter is fine! Hell, you could even call me Boy or Freak like my relatives do! Even that would be better!" he shot back, all attempts at holding his temper, suddenly shot to hell.

Snape just stared at him.

"Fine! You don't accept my apology? Fine! You don't believe me at all, about anything? Fine! But don't call me Potter. I. Am. Not. Him! You were right, you know." He spat venomously, "It galls me to say it, but you were gods be dambed right. My father was an arrogant snot. A bullying toe rag. I know he was horrible. He was no better than my cousin and my relatives i-"

Professor Snape cut him off, "don't. Lie. Potter!" so furious he was spitting, "we all know perfectly well you're a pampered, spoilt prince!"

"Sure! Really pampered! Really spoilt!" Harry spat, all his previously suppressed furry that had been slowly building since his name had come out of the goblet, spewing out of him at full force, "spending all day, every day working my ass off, blistering in the sun whether I want to or not! Whether I have eaten or not. Really pampered that is! Really spoilt! I'm treated like the Malfoy's house-elf, only to be locked up every bloody night when they can't stand the sight of me any more or want to forget I exist when they don't want me anymore! When they no longer have a use for me!" He could feel his nails digging into his palms. The pain felt good.

"Not that they wanted me to start with! They made that perfectly clear, every single bloody day!" he continued "I lived in a bloody cupboard for peat's sake! I'm not even allowed to own my own underwear! How fucking spoiled is that! So spoilt that before this place, an actual bed, hot water and access to a toilet whenever I like, was an unknown luxury!"

Harry didn't think he'd ever been so furious before. He felt like his insides were boiling. His legs shook, and his fists were so tightly clenched he didn't think he'd ever be able to unclench them or dig his fingers out of his surely bloody palms.

"I get starved and told to shut up and pretend I don't exist. I used to spend days locked up in the dark, wondering if I'd ever get anything to eat again. Now of course, they know the wizards are watching them so they just lock me in Dudley's second bedroom instead. Can't have the wizards watching the house catching on. Yeah, that's real fucking spoilt." Harry spat out almost screaming, shaking now.

"I am nothing like my father. My father is, from what I have read of his journal, and my mother's, a despicable human being, that was little more than a cruel and abusive bully. I'm ashamed to even be related to him" Harry continued viciously.

"I want nothing to do with him! I have no idea why my mother married him. He was a shit head. My Father was a swine! I want nothing to do with anyone who treats their peers like that. It's bad enough being treated like he treated you, at home by my relatives. I never want to be anything like him.

So screw you! I'm not my father! I'm not Dudley! What he did, I know what that's like! I never want to be like that! I'm nothing like Dudley! I didn't do it, I didn't- I'd never, I'm Not, I'm Not I-" but he clapped a hand over his mouth. Images of his father and Dudley blurred together again, as they had been all day. Dudley's horrible laughter echoing in his head coming out of his father mouth. He wasn't too sure where he was anymore.

"What did you say?" Professor Snape whispered, his face white.

Harry felt the colour drain from his face. He felt light-headed, He blinked, trying to focus on Snape and it came swinging into frightening clarity all at once. He hadn't meant to lose his temper like that. He hadn't meant to let that much slip.

He was always so out of control around Professor Snape. He always felt so alien, so angry, around Professor Snape. Harry stood there, frozen in terror. He had never meant to admit to another living being that he knew what his father was really like. He had never meant to almost admit to knowing what it was like to be in that position either, or that he knew what had happened. He'd never meant to so obviously confuse his father and Dudley. He'd never meant to admit he'd been in Professor Snape's position.

Fuck!

Professor Snape must have realised that he knew. He looked murderous. His harsh black eyes glinting wildly, "you know nothing boy," he spat out, so furious the words didn't quite come out right. It sounded more like a strangled hiss.

"Get out!" Professor Snape roared suddenly, spittle flying from his mouth, "get out and don't come back!"

Harry bolted, not even taking the time to hook his bag strap up around his shoulder before he made a break for it. All he could think about was Uncle Vernon yelling at him. He heard a jar smash against the wall on his way out, and the door slammed shut at his heels.

He tripped over his bag, hanging around his waist, jerked it up and ran as he felt something brittle and painful inside him break.

Why did he even bother trying to fix things? Adults were never worth it. First Dumbledore, then Mcgonagall, then Sirius and his father. Professor Snape was just another in a long list of adults to let Harry down. He should have known better. He pressed a bloody hand to his mouth.

Harry's last hope in adults shattered to pieces as he ran from the room deeper into the darkness of the dungeons, desperate to get away. Desperate to turn his heart off, close it down and never be hurt again.

0o0o0o0o0o0

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Bullying, trauma, assault, kids gaming up on other kids

Being stiped naked in front of others

Humiliation

Adults being assholes

0o0oo0o

OTHER END NOTE

Yes, this is actually important for plot development.
You'll get the flower translation in the next chapter.