It is three years later that Snape was faced with the truth once more.

It is a fine Spring day, one perfect for collecting both pixie dust and unicorn hair; warm enough for the unicorns to frolic yet cool enough that the pixies aren't hiding in a tree. Severus Snape is man enough to admit that he gets intense glee over the fact unicorns like him, despite being a man, but the glee usually comes from being one of the few potioneers who are willingly gifted the hair from the unicorn themselves.

However, he was unable to utilise such a day because he was fully booked for classes both before and after dinner. Slytherin help club was on earlier this day; how Parkinson was passing History of Magic with O's mystified even him but he did not press. That took him to 2pm. Double potions with the 1st year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff entourage - not the worst set of skills he's seen, but 11 year olds will never be his favorite. Next dinner. Now Potter.

Some weeks before, Dumbledore had explained that Potter was in dire need of help. He had snorted in laughter at the time- the boy had been subpar in everything he had done, so why now was Dumbledore concerned - except it was Snape himself who was tasked with the task of helping Potter.

Occlumency is not something taken lightly. It takes years to master (although he himself only had taken 19 months to perfect and 2 years to master) and he has no doubt that Potter would rather ask a woman out than protect himself against the Dark Lord. Everything he learns about the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Him was against his will and now to throw occlumency in the mix. It is clearly a recipe for disaster.

A knock is heard. Snape can't tell who he'd prefer: a Slytherin so he can procrastinate this god-awful 'remedial potions' or Potter himself to get it over with. He opens the door with a flick of his wand.

It's Potter. How joyous.

"How polite of you to be only 2 minutes late, boy. Tell me what you know of Occlumency." He wants the explanation done quickly so he could see the practical parts of the boy's mind. No such luck and that boy merely looked at him blankly.

"Occlumency is the art of the mind. It will allow you to close your mind from attackers, so they see nothing, or allow you to implant a fake memory for them to see. The Dark Lord is an expert Legilimens. This means he can invade your mind at any time to extract memories and even feelings from you. You must be prepared to close your mind from him."

Like a hypocrite, he takes this time to move his own memories from his mind to a pensieve. He will not allow Potter, lest he be capable, to see his memories.

"Close your mind. Legilimens."

They were simple instructions, so really he shouldn't have been surprised the boy hadn't followed them.

The professor rifles through his memories with ease. He isn't looking for anything in particular, but he is curious despite himself. Potter's brain is truly an open book.

He feels himself flying through the boy's mind, there are memories tinged with red, tinged with pink, some even zipping around like that of a snitch's erratic movements. (The irony of the child's brain resembling a quidditch match does not escape him one bit.)

He sees kisses of both the Weasley girl and Chang girl, and changes pace immediately, those were tinged with pink. Attempting to catch a fast one, he pushes further into the boy's mind, but they only speed up and the memories tinged with red grow bigger. Interesting.

Returning to the present, he sees Potter on his knees wearing a pained expression. He almost sighs at the pitiful attempt.

"Up, boy. We will try again. If you able capable...?"

The boy, like a fool, meets his eye to glare at him so the professor uses this lesson to teach.

"Legilimens."

The red memories are what he's aiming for now. They seem to grow more vibrant and bigger as he nears them and can actually feel the boy himself try to resist. Deciding its his right to be curious, under the excuse of teaching, he leeches himself at the nearest few.

A fat man yells until he's red in the face through a cupboard slot -"Stupid freaky boy". A familiar corridor and hallway. A pudgy child stomps on Potter's ankle until it cracks. A dog chases the the boy up a tree as a woman laughs at him. Petunia Evans swings a frying pan at his head. Petunia Evans? A familiar corridor and hallway.

The professor pulls out of the child's mind and simply stares as the child collects himself from the floor.

It is eerily similar to the events 3 years previous - the one he had merely cast aside. Petunia Evans was a miserable and spiteful woman in her youth and now as an adult she has gotten no better. He wants to ask. He needs to ask. Dumbledore has said it isn't his place to. Does Dumbledore know? Is abuse happening under their noses? Is this abuse? Has Potter just been hiding a natural Occlumency talent this whole time? The memories merely fabricated? Are the memories fabricated?

The kid looks up at him with distrustful eyes and the Professor knows instantly the worst is true.

"You need to clear your mind before bed every night, boy. Potter." He corrects himself, the memory of that man still lingering in both their minds. The child clearly understands his correction as his eyes widen slightly and an ugly flush appears on his face.

Similar to himself as a child, when Lily confronted him.

"Wednesday. After dinner. Dismissed."

The Gryffindor runs out of the room. It allows Snape some breathing room.

Two truths are revealed.

One is that he has no idea how to go about this. With his own Slytherins, this matter would be dealt with instantly. But this is the Boy-Who-Lived. The child he has been bound to protect by one man whilst bound against by another. It will need precision and care, if dealt with at all.

Two is that Dumbledore must be told. About the corridor that is. He has no doubt the Headmaster is already aware of Potter's home-life.

This thought gives way to a scowl and he requests a floo call with Dumbledore. A pit of something lies in his stomach. Neither dread nor regret. But similar to that of falling 1000 meters from a Quidditch Pitch.