Harry tried to decipher the man's expression, but as usual, it was unreadable. He clenched his fists, bracing himself for the worst.
He was on the verge of speaking—the anxiety gripping him, desperate to break the oppressive silence—when Snape, after staring at him for what felt like an eternity, finally spoke. His voice dripped with venom.
"Potter," he drawled deliberately, his tone slow and disdainful, "it seems I must do something that disgusts me profoundly."
Harry frowned, perplexed. Do what?
"Information has come to light suggesting that you are not responsible for what happened to Mr Trevis," Snape said, pausing as though the words physically burned his mouth, "and that you even… attempted to defend him."
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "Trevis has woken up?"
Snape fixed him with a glare of irritation and snapped angrily, "Tell me, Potter," he began, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "did you hear a single word I said, or are you so dense that you can't comprehend even the most basic concepts?"
He paused, letting the venom in his words settle before continuing, a cold, cruel smirk spreading across his face.
"Then again, I don't know why I ever thought, even for a second, that someone as blatantly incompetent as you could cast a spell of that level. You're weak, Potter. Weak and pathetic."
Harry felt his face flush, anger bubbling in his chest. "I'm not—" he began, but Snape silenced him with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Nevertheless," Snape growled, his face taut with anger, "new information has come to light that demands immediate clarification. Can you at least name the three attackers, Potter?"
He stepped closer, his voice rising with every word. Harry stood up in response, unable to remain seated in the presence of such an angry and dangerous man.
"Mr Trevis couldn't recall them," Snape continued icily, his tone now laced with derision. "But since you faced them so… valiantly, surely you saw them!"
Snape's black eyes glinted with sharp impatience.
Harry was furious—how dare the man treat him like this after everything That he caused him
He wanted to walk out, but two critical problems prevented that plan: first, he'd never willingly turn his back on an angry man, and second, just as important, he was in Snape's house and had no way to escape.
Not to mention, this little argument had already pushed his healing body to its limits. He was doing everything in his power not to clutch his side, not wanting Snape to see his weakness.
Harry had an idea who the attackers might be, but telling Snape would be suicide.
He clearly remembered the house colours of those three bullies, and given his history with Snape, he knew the man would never believe him. In fact, he'd likely assume Harry was lying just to get his precious Slytherins into trouble.
No, Harry decided. He wouldn't trust Snape. He knew the man too well and could already predict his reaction.
"I don't know who they were," Harry said, his voice calmer than he felt inside. He avoided meeting Snape's eyes, not wanting the man to read the lie there.
He stole a glance at the Potions Master. Snape's eyes were blazing with fury.
"You're lying, Potter," Snape said, his voice cold and unyielding. "And not only lying but doing it so clumsily that I wonder how you could be foolish enough to think I wouldn't notice!" A look of disgust crossed his face. "Are you protecting someone, Potter?"
He advanced on Harry menacingly.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he stammered, "No… what? No, of course not! I just didn't see their faces clearly—it was dark, and—"
"Stop playing games with me, Potter. This is your final warning," Snape barked, his fury evident as he raised his wand. "Tell me who they were!" he ordered furiously.
Harry's mind went into overdrive. He was trapped. Panic twisted in his gut. What was Snape going to do to him? He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was too terrified.
A cruel smile spread across Snape's face as he clearly revelled in Harry's discomfort. Before Harry could prepare himself, Snape moved. Harry barely managed half a step back.
"Legilimens," Snape spat angrily, and Harry was immediately brought to his knees by the sheer force of the spell.
He felt an invasive presence in his mind. His thoughts were a chaotic storm, and something was pushing relentlessly to access them.
The pain was blinding. Feeling Snape rifling through his mind left Harry feeling violated. And this intrusion was neither gentle nor restrained.
Desperately, Harry tried to raise a shield, to force the greasy-haired man out of his mind, but Snape was everywhere, overwhelming him.
He knew he was speaking through the agony, repeating the same words over and over: "Please," "Please stop."His voice sounded distant, as though coming from another world.
But Snape showed no mercy. He didn't stop, no matter how much Harry begged, no matter how pathetic he became.
Images raced by, too fast to grasp. Desperate to end the pain that felt like it was splitting his skull in two, Harry tried to think quickly of a solution.
After the disaster with Snape's Occlumency lessons, he'd done his own research, trying to improve in what had seemed a hopeless task.
He had studied theory, though he'd never practised it. Much of what he'd read had been too complex for him to fully understand.
Harry had always been better at practical work than theory.
While he didn't mind studying, being deprived of the magical world for eleven years had instilled in him a hunger for knowledge.
It wasn't on Hermione's level, and Ron often dampened his enthusiasm, but sometimes, when sleep eluded him in the middle of the night, he'd find himself reading extracurricular books.
He'd grasped the basics of how to expel a presence from his mind. The problem was, he didn't know how to execute it.
He'd often wondered how he had managed to hide memories of his abusive family from the man during Snape's lessons
Over time, he realised the answer must lie there.Whenever he'd been with his relatives and faced a beating or cruel words, he had learned to detach himself—to distance himself from the pain, to make it something far away.
With the pain in his head, currently being invaded by Snape, Harry tried to replicate what he had done when he was at the Dursleys.
In that house, it had been a defence mechanism, a way to survive, and today he would try to distance himself from the suffering of this unwanted intrusion.
He had always wanted to try this tactic, but back when he had his epiphany, his lessons had been brutally interrupted.
He focused on the present and saw that Snape was reliving the memory; it was just the beginning. The three boys were visible from behind, Trevis pressed against the wall.
"You're a disgrace to our own house…"
He put all the energy he had into distancing himself from the presence. It was easier said than done; the desperation he felt helped to some extent, he could feel a surge of power, and a moment later, Snape was no longer occupying his mind.
Harry gasped, kneeling on the floor, his hands clutching his head as it pulsed painfully.
His body was still hurting, not yet fully healed. He realised his face was wet – he was crying.
He furiously wiped his eyes with his sleeve, staggered to his feet, trembling with rage.
He looked at Snape, and with a bitter satisfaction, saw that Snape wasn't fairing any better. He had his hand on his forehead, as though trying to soothe his own pain.
"You had no right, Snape!" Harry yelled, his voice torn by the anger eating away at him. "Who do you think you are? You have no right to rummage around in my head!" His hands were trembling with fury, and he felt the need to strike something, someone.
"First you accuse me for no reason, you have me suspended, and then, when my innocence is finally proven, you… you attack me!"
Harry glared at the man and, at that moment, realised he hated him. He had always despised Snape, but he had never felt hatred for him before.
He hated his relatives, yes, but that was because they had hurt him in so many ways.
Hatred was a deep emotion, one reserved for someone who had wronged you deeply, and that day, Severus Snape had crossed a line – he had gone too far.
He savoured the new feeling, letting it wash over him, allowing it to flow through every fibre of his being. He felt powerful.
Snape was glaring at him, likely ready to snap back with one of his usual sharp retorts, when something strange happened.
The man's expression shifted abruptly, a look of worry and urgency flooding his features. His eyes widened slightly, as though he had just seen something terrible.
He moved towards Harry so quickly that Harry couldn't help but flinch.
"Potter!" Snape said, his voice sharp. Harry flinched as the man grabbed his shoulders, shaking him urgently. "Potter, look at me!" Snape seemed to struggle to keep control of his voice, but there was an emotion in it that Harry couldn't quite place.
Harry stared at him, confused and furious, his breath heavy. "What—?" he began to say, but stopped when he noticed his own reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, behind Snape.
For a split second, just a moment, his eyes weren't green. A red light had passed through them, like a fleeting, unsettling flash. It had disappeared so quickly that Harry wondered if he had imagined it.
Snape, however, had seen it, and didn't seem at all willing to believe it had been an illusion.
"Potter, answer me!" Snape insisted, his face tense. "Are you aware of what's happening?" His grip on Harry tightened, but Harry was too confused to understand what had shaken his professor so much.
"I'm fine!" Harry shouted, jerking himself free from Snape's grip. "Let me go! You have no right—"
"You don't even realise what's just happened, do you, Potter?" Snape hissed, his voice dripping with contempt and disbelief. "You're so thick, so blind, that you can't even see what's happening right under your nose!"
Harry backed away from the man, trying to put some space between them.
He felt tense. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his anger now mixing with growing unease.
"Your eyes, Potter!" Snape hissed. "What were you feeling in that moment?"
Harry stared at him, a mix of confusion and frustration on his face. "What do you mean?" he retorted, his brow furrowing. "I was feeling angry, I don't see how that matters! You attacked my mind, what was I supposed to feel, you tried to—"
"Don't try to distract me with your childish indignation," Snape interrupted, his tone biting. "Answer the question. What, precisely, were you feeling when—" he gestured sharply towards Harry's face, or more precisely, his eyes, "—it happened?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply but stopped, the memory overwhelming him.
The hatred ,burning and relentless, like a fire filling every fibre of his being. The feeling of power he had experienced, almost pleasurable, mixed with the desire to hurt the man who had tormented him so many times…
"I don't know," he lied, looking away.
Snape stepped forward again, his eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me, Potter. You can't afford to do that this time. It's not just your safety at stake."
"I told you I don't know!" Harry snapped, his anger flaring again, he felt again the sensation of hatred ,though this time it quickly shifted to discomfort.
Snape stared at him for a long moment, his black eyes seemingly digging into Harry's face as if searching his very soul. Then he tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a cold, humourless smirk.
"Oh, we've finally got there, Potter," he said, his tone full of venom and disdain. "Don't strain that underdeveloped brain of yours too hard, it might be too much for you. It's hatred, of course. Hatred, Potter, pure and simple. You wear it on your sleeve like you do with all your emotions."
Harry clenched his fists, his face flushed with frustration, but Snape interrupted before he could reply.
"What pathetic irony. I thought Gryffindors were too 'pure of heart' for something as contaminated as hatred. But no, even you, the glorious Chosen One, seem unable to escape failure."
He stepped forward, lowering his voice but making it sharper. "And don't worry, Potter. Whatever you feel towards me doesn't matter in the least. Your hatred doesn't touch me, nor do I care."
He straightened up, his gaze cold and distant. "What should matter to you," he continued, "is that allowing yourself to be consumed by such a raw, destructive emotion makes you vulnerable. The Dark Lord feeds on emotions like that. If you don't learn to control it, you'll be nothing but a puppet in his hands."
The anger drained out of Harry, the full weight, the meaning of what Snape had just said hitting him like a slap in the face.
He didn't even care about being insulted anymore.
If what Snape had said was true, then his hatred, his anger, made him a danger.
Not just to himself, but to everyone around him.
The thought made his stomach twist with fear. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville… what would happen to them if Voldemort got into his mind? And what if he hurt them?
No, he couldn't let that happen.
Harry looked at his professor, who was still glaring at him with disdain. He swallowed his pride, swallowed the fact that he had been humiliated and hurt by the man.
He was the only one around who could help him; there was no Dumbledore, and apparently, he didn't matter enough for the Headmaster to be here.
"How can I stop it?" His voice was tired in his own ears.
"Occlumency, of course. But, as you've already demonstrated, you're completely incapable of mastering the art," Snape's tone was mocking.
But then his expression changed.
"I'll talk to the Headmaster… about these new developments," he said slowly, as if emphasising his reluctance. "If anyone can offer a concrete solution, it's him."
Harry nodded slowly, relieved but not entirely at ease. He was about to thank the professor when he remembered what he had done to him, and so, he said nothing.
"However," Snape resumed, a wicked grin colouring his features, "There is something you need to tell me, if you wish for me to report this to the Headmaster" He paused, his gaze satisfied. "A trade, I'd say."
Harry clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. "What?" he asked, his tone betraying his irritation.
Snape moved closer, invading his personal space again. "The names, Potter," he said deliberately, "I want the names of the three attackers."
A wave of rebellion surged through Harry. He clenched his fists tighter, trying to stay calm, and with a tone that left no room for doubt, he replied, "If you think this information is vital to the war, Snape, Dumbledore will know regardless, whether I give you the names or not. So I fail to see why I should tell you."
A flicker of surprise passed over Snape's face, but it was quickly masked.
Then Snape adopted his usual sneer, a smug smile twisting his features.
"Are you certain, Potter?" he asked, his voice dripping with contempt. "Well then, this exchange is off. You'll have to manage without it."
He stepped away from Harry as if distancing himself would end the conversation.
Harry didn't hesitate for a second before snapping back, his voice full of defiance.
"You're bluffing, Snape," he said, staring him straight in the eyes.
Snape stopped, turned back, and loomed over Harry once more.
He glared at him with contempt, his voice cutting.
"Alright, Potter, you've made your point," he said sarcastically.
"You don't want to tell me those names, and you couldn't care less about Travis's fate, could you? You know full well those three will fix him as soon as he's out of the infirmary. I didn't think a Gryffindor would be cowardly enough to do nothing to stop them."
Harry met his gaze with determination, his voice betraying a hint of frustration.
"The point, Snape, isn't that I don't want to tell you the names. The point is that you won't like them, and you'll end up accusing me of lying."
Snape stared at him for a moment, his gaze as cold as ice.
"Test me, Potter," he said, his tone hard. "You'll see I don't tolerate bullies."
Harry was absolutely exhausted, his body aching for some rest. He was struggling to keep his breathing steady, trying not to clutch at his side.
He was worn out, and at that moment, he decided he didn't care anymore. What could Snape possibly do to him that he hadn't already?
With a sigh, he gave in and sat down, finally letting his hand rest on his ribs for a bit of relief.
Harry let out a bitter laugh, glancing at Snape with a mixture of contempt and defiance. "For someone who thinks he has everything under control," he said, his voice sharp, "you really don't notice when something's right under your nose."
Snape moved quickly, grabbing Harry by the shirt and nearly lifting him off the ground, his eyes full of menace. "Watch your tone, Potter," he hissed, tightening his grip. "Don't forget who you're speaking to. The next time you address me like that, it won't end the same way." His voice was low and icy, dripping with fury that seemed to make the very air around them crackle.
Harry did his best to hold his ground, but despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but flinch. His violent childhood had caused these reflexes, and he hated them—hated feeling weak.
Snape noticed, and, as if Harry had burned him, he released him abruptly. He studied him with an unreadable look before continuing, as if nothing had happened.
"Carry on, Potter. This time, think carefully about how you speak to me."
Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady the slight tremor in his voice. He cleared his throat a couple of times.
He looked Snape in the eye, trying to mask his vulnerability. "I don't really know who they are," he said, his voice betraying some uncertainty. He took another deep breath. "But the one who hurt my shoulder… I've seen him before. They're older, seventh years, and… they're Slytherins," he finished, dropping the bombshell. He was still unsure, but if Snape wanted the truth, here it was.
"Good, Potter," Snape replied stiffly, clearly displeased, but he didn't say anything else—no insult, no sharp remark.
Harry was taken aback—so much so that his mouth fell open.
"Don't look so surprised, Potter. It doesn't matter what house they're from. This kind of behaviour—attacking a child—will never be tolerated. Not by me." His eyes glinted with a suppressed fury. "I won't stand for bullying, Potter. And if you thought I'd let it slide just because they're from my house, you're even more foolish than I thought."
Harry didn't have much of a response. He was simply tired and sore. He just wanted the conversation to end. So he changed the subject.
"Will Trevis be all right?"
Snape scrutinised him for a moment, then sighed and said,
"Mr Trevis, Potter, will be fine, and for reasons I can't fathom, he's attributing the credit to you, insisting—quite forcefully—that I convey his sincere thanks." Snape's voice was flat, as if the words were physically painful to him.
Harry wondered, just for a moment, how much it had cost Snape to deliver that message, given how stiffly he spoke.
Snape didn't speak again, and Harry almost felt compelled to break the uncomfortable silence.
"Uh… thanks?" A smirk twisted on Snape's face, seizing the opportunity to mock him.
"Eloquent as ever, Potter," Snape continued, not waiting for a response. "Now, after wasting enough of my time, it's time to take you to your charming godfather. This evening, Professor McGonagall will collect you, and you'll return to Hogwarts to continue—or at least attempt to continue—your studies." A nasty grin tugged at Snape's lips. "Unless, of course, there's a reason for a permanent expulsion, which, given your talent for trouble, seems entirely plausible."
With that, he turned and swept his robes dramatically. He returned shortly after, handing Harry a vial of potion he recognised at once.
"Pain-relieving potion," Harry said, accepting it.
Snape seemed surprised by Harry's recognition and gave a curt nod.
"I don't want, Potter, that flea-bitten excuse of a godfather you've got coming after me once you've complained to him."
A wave of discomfort settled in Harry's stomach. "Sir… um, would it be possible to return to Hogwarts right away?"
The surprise flashed in Snape's eyes, but he quickly masked it with his usual sneer.
"Trouble in paradise, Potter?" he asked sarcastically.
"No, um… just, I'm behind on my studies, and I don't want to waste any more time… sir."
Snape gave him a look that clearly said he didn't believe a word of it, but didn't comment further.
The truth was, Harry wasn't entirely comfortable with Sirius. He loved him, certainly, and he was sure his godfather loved him back, but right now he had too many mixed emotions. The fact that Sirius hadn't helped him when he needed him, or the fact that Sirius want him more like James…
He had gotten lost in his thoughts, and Snape was staring at him again, as if he were some complicated potion to decipher. Harry didn't like the feeling one bit.
He was walking back to the tower. He had appeared with Snape at the outskirts of Hogwarts. Snape had agreed to his request, seemingly deriving some satisfaction from denying something to his godfather, and denying him the chance to see Harry right now was something Severus Snape, a Slytherin through and through, simply couldn't resist.
They hadn't spoken at all during the journey. Harry felt uneasy with Snape so close and was relieved when they finally reached the gates of Hogwarts and their paths diverged.
The glares he received in the corridor were hostile. He wasn't popular, as everyone thought he was a liar, but this latest rumour had struck another blow to his image—though, in truth, he didn't care.
It felt like he was back in his second year, when everyone suspected him of being the heir of Slytherin. He walked faster, eager to avoid the unwanted attention.
He was nearly at the entrance to his common room when he heard the unmistakable and irritating sound of throat-clearing from that pink toad.
He closed his eyes.
Damn it, why couldn't life just be simple for once?
"Ahem… Mr Potter, a word, if you please."
Here I am with another chapter, let me know what you think!
In the next chapter, we'll have a meeting with our beloved woman in pink. Are you ready?