Title: Venomous

Author: Phinea Rogue

Rating: PG-13

All the characters belong to JKR . . . (but Tarquinius is a bit of my creation).

I have a day off today (yay for me!), so I've decided to update this story. All night long I dreamt of drinking tea with milk (better than of Voldemort, your fault, lilypurewhite, since I've been reading your fic, Voldemort is haunting my dreams!), and I couldn't help myself now not to make one. But I don't really like tea with milk (it's better with lemon), besides, I prefer green tea. Why do the English put milk into their tea? wonders Summary of the new chapter: Severus comes to Privet Drive to start teaching Harry Occlumency once again. Try to guess how the lesson will go . . .

Chapter Six

The atmosphere in Aunt Petunia's surgically clean kitchen was so heavy with mutual dislike that it was almost possible to cut with knives. If gazes had the power to kill, both Snape and Harry would have been long dead. They glared at each other menacingly, unblinking, over their cups of steaming tea and coffee. Snape had coffee, as black as his eyes, and was holding his cup with both hands as if warming his fingers, while Harry toyed with his spoon nervously, wary of what he might expect from the teacher. After seeing Dumbledore in a T-shirt, Snape's muggle clothes couldn't shock him. Then again, faded black jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt were much sober than the 'Lemon Drops Forever' T-shirt of the headmaster.

It was Snape who spoke first. 'I suppose you have not practised much since our last lesson. As it is, I would be surprised if you practised at all.'

That smooth, silken voice! Harry's heart began to pump faster as his anger pounded through his veins like venom. He clenched his teeth and lowered his gaze to Snape's revealed throat. Oh, how he wished to grab that throat and squeeze it, squeeze and squeeze . . . His fingers moved unconsciously, imitating the gesture. It made Snape laugh dryly, seeing Potter furious as never before. Harry's eyes fell to Snape's injured hand now resting on the table. If he had a hammer . . . To his delight, the Potions Master hid his hand under the table as if he were afraid that Harry might indeed conjure a hammer out of nothing. That simple movement boasted boy's confidence.

'I saw you with Voldemort,' he said and watched how Snape's dark eyes narrowed.

'You will call me "sir" or "professor", Potter,' he spat, then leaned back in the chair, sipping his coffee, 'I know you saw me. Did you enjoy yourself?'

'Oh yes, professor,' smirked Harry sweetly, 'you're particularly amusing on you knees.'

Right after the words had left his mouth; the boy wondered what had possessed him to say that to someone like Snape. With his left hand, Snape grabbed Harry's collar and pulled him roughly through the table to himself. A nasty, sly smile swept all Harry's courage away as the scornful, pallid face of the professor leaned so close that their noses were almost touching. Potter gulped; painfully aware of Snape's darkened black eyes, wry grin and strong hold on his collar. In case that he was to survive this, he knew that Aunt Petunia would skin him alive for he had broken her porcelain tea mug.

'Potter,' snarled Snape and his eyes bore to the very bottom of Harry's scared soul, 'tell me, do you know me as someone you can be impertinent to?'

Harry shook his head; desperately wishing those eyes would turn away. If Voldemort had glared at him like this, it wouldn't be so terrifying. He's going to kill me! He's going to kill me! But then another wave of anger washed over him and Harry felt a sudden urge to attack Snape physically, to make him bleed and beg for mercy, to put an expression of pain on that face. Without thinking (after all it could be his last action before death), he launched at Snape to punch him anywhere he could, to break his bones and bruise that pale skin.

Obviously shocked, the professor didn't react quickly enough and together they fell to the floor. Before Harry could hit him, he was thrown away and Snape's wand was pointed directly between his eyes.

'Most people, as they get older, get also wiser,' he hissed, 'but you, Potter, seem to be an exception. How thick you will get in ten years is beyond my imagination.'

Harry looked up defiantly, hating him, 'Come on, professor, curse me, hit me.'

But Snape lowered his wand. 'Stand up, you mindless fool! I would never hit a child.'

Harry scrambled to his feet, muttering under his breath, 'I'm not a child!'

'The way you make use of that tiny grey substance in your head certainly proves your words,' smirked Snape and sat back into the chair, 'Now, if you're capable of controlling your temper, you will sit down and answer my questions.'

Harry remained standing, his whole frame trembling in unsubsidised anger. The look in Snape's eyes was murderous, and he couldn't stand them piercing him like this, so easily as if they were the sharpest knives, stabbing him with brutal force. He wanted him to fight him, but Snape had calmed down and just stared at him, hardly ever blinking, and certainly not aware of what his eyes were doing to Harry. There was a strange expression on his face. Harry had expected hatred and loathing, but Snape's face showed only calmness. Why this calm? Snape lifted an eyebrow questioningly, waiting for a reaction from the boy.

'Sit down, Potter.'

Despite his calm demeanour, the Potions Master's smooth voice sounded cold and impatient. Something in the tone made Harry clench his fists. Snape's lips curled in a wry smile as he stretched his legs and leisurely waited for Potter to do something. Seeing him like that, comfortable and indifferent, Harry felt his throat tighten. 'I hate you,' he whispered, fighting back the traitorous tears. Snape hadn't moved. 'I hate you like no one else, I want you to know it. You . . . you . . .' he choked, embracing himself, 'You're worse than Voldemort . . .'

Through a mist of tears, Harry saw Snape flinch. He couldn't tell what made him do that, the comparison to Voldemort or Voldemort's name. 'I've never given you a reason to hate me, professor! Why . . .'

Cautiously, Harry took a step backwards as Snape's eyes narrowed. He had wanted to beat him mercilessly, he had longed for seeing him on his knees, broken and begging, but now . . . He couldn't even bring himself to yell at the man, nor to touch him! How could Dumbledore trust this man? This man who cared for nothing and no one, who wasn't touched by Sirius's death or his anger. No, he couldn't stay any longer in Snape's presence, he wanted, NEEDED to, get as far away from him as possible. He didn't know how he could escape those hypnotising eyes and their owner, but he saw no other way out than to run. And run he did.

Harry bolted out of the kitchen, leaving the surprised wizard behind, and ran as if he were running for his life. Snape was after him, he was painfully aware of that, but on the other hand he was a good runner and an athlete and what's more, he wasn't weakened by Cruciatus. Another chance for him was that hopefully Snape wouldn't use his wand in a Muggle area.

Thanks to his quick feet, Harry had already left Privet Drive far behind and much to his relief, Snape was losing him. A turn to the right, then to the left, and houses grew scarcer and scarcer . . . His lungs began to ache in an agonising pain, the terrible pain which was there every time he struggled for air, all the while wondering how long would Snape last. When he turned, he saw he had become a tiny black figure, blurred as he rushed. Harry swirled back and was about to resume his running, when he bumped into someone.

A cry reached his ears – Snape's. The man he had bumped into was tall, dressed in black robes . . . Death Eater robes! Harry's eyes widened as more dark-clad figures emerged, circling him, laughing at him. 'Poor, poor baby!' mocked him a woman's voice. Harry shivered. 'Size him!' shrieked Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry turned round and round, shaking in rage and helplessness. Had Snape chased him into Lestrange's arms? And Dumbledore had believed in him, an improved Death Eater! And now here he was, surrounded by Voldemort's followers, far from the Dursleys' house protection. Someone jumped at him and to his astonishment, what he could feel afterwards was the familiar tug of a portkey. He was going to Voldemort.

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When his legs fell to the ground again, Harry pushed the arms that were enclosing him away and stepped back. However, there were no Death Eaters and no Voldemort, he was in an old forest hut full of dust and dirt, with broken furniture and shattered windows. A man's voice cursed as he struggled to his feet, brushing the dust from his dark robes. When he had been done with it, he straightened himself into an imposing height and looked down at Harry. Harry looked up and frowned. He didn't know this man, yet he was familiar. The grey eyes reminded him of Lucius Malfoy, the man had the very same eyes, ruthless and cold, colder than death. But his other features . . . Long black hair, pale skin and hooked nose . . . 'Not another Snape!' moaned Harry, collapsing to the ground exhausted.

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You know what to do now . . . I appreciate all your reviews, thank you very much.