He felt Snape's mind nudge against the shield around his worst memories, but as he was off guard they weren't strong enough. He felt the cracks ripple through his mind before he was even able to blink. He desperately tried to repair them, but it was too late. Suddenly, he was in a whirlwind of memories, unable to stop the flurry from Snape's prying mind.

Harry was no more than 7 years old, locked in his cupboard under the stairs.

"No Aunt Tuney I promise I'll be good! I'll do all my chores! I'll do them better! I'll d-d-do it, I promise!"

"No! You burnt the ham! You think freaks like you deserve forgiveness? Just wait till your uncle gets home, you'll be sorry then!

"No please, please!"

Uncle Vernon stumbled in, brandy on his breath and whiskey stains on his shirt. He was clearly drunk, and his fists were clenched in anger.

"Where's my dinner, where's the Freak?"

"Oh, you'll never guess what that brat has done now!" Harry began trembling, and removed his shirt, sitting on the bed, waiting for the blow.

"That bastard. Oh, I'll make him pay, I'll make him pay alright." He began to unlock the door and unbuckled his belt. Harry bit down on his tattered pillow to quiet his screams as quiet tears trickled down his face. His back began to bleed as his uncle mercilessly whipped his back

The memory suddenly shifted. Harry was in the garden, now looking about 10, weeding, covered in dirt and much too large clothes over his malnourished frame. His face was dull and gaunt, when suddenly Dudley came up behind him, friends in tow. He roughly grabbed Harry by the collar who practically went flying into the mud. Head spinning, he barely got the chance to look up before he began to get pummeled. Bleeding and bruised, he watched on as Vernon did nothing but watch and smile.

Again, the memory shifted. He was now in Hogwarts, second year Snape presumed, judging by the way that Lockhart was present. However, something was off Snape could feel the horror in Harry as Lockhart got closer, before Harry flung him out of the memory. What Harry didn't know was that this would make things much, much worse.

The new memory was of Harry crying in pain, Lockhart brutally assaulting him.

"Please stop! Please! I'll be good, I promise! Please it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!" Harry pleaded. Lockhart showed no signs of slowing down, speeding up instead and roughly grabbing Harry's hair and covering his mouth. Harry tried to keep talking but he couldn't, his pleas muffled.

"Oh yeah, you like that don't you, slut? Yeah, take it bitch."

Harry screamed as Lockhart finished, leaving him a huddled mess on the floor.

Suddenly, the next memory started, Lockhart in clear view and rapidly approaching, Harry roughly thrust Snape out of his mind.

Harry was sobbing, pushing himself away from Snape, crawling on the floor.

"Are you happy? Are you fucking happy Snape?" He screamed, though it was not of anger, but of pain and anguish. Snape locked the door and sat at his desk, before roughly throwing his head into his hands. His hands ran through his greasy, black hair.

"Language, Potter" he said, though it was rather weak and his voice cracked midway through.

"Language? Language? Don't tell me to fucking watch my language! I'll say whatever I damn please, Snape! Fuck you!" His breathing quickened, and his eyes had the same expression as a deer in headlights. He ran for the door.

"Alohamora! Alohamora! Aloha-alohamora!" He screamed. When the spell failed, seeing that Snape had locked the door with something above his abilities, he started to pound on the door. When that didn't work either, he collapsed onto the floor, hand still on the door.

—-

Okay, I'm really bad at writing long chapters, I just end them when it feels right. But, in the next chapter we get some of Snape's opinions! Anyways I'm churning these out right now to avoid my own problems, so please enjoy my PTSD induced rantings!