Harry Potter One Shots

Not Completely Terrible

All rights belong to the author, skinnylove

"Potter!" Snape snapped.

He glanced up. "Yes? Sir?" His eyes swam wearily.

The Professor's lips narrowed into a strict line. "Why is it, Potter," he sneered, "that you cannot concentrate for longer than two minutes? You must have acquired you father's genes," he snarled, black eyes glinting dangerously.

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from replying...That would do no good, as he had come to learn very fast at the Dursley's. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again," he apologised in a low voice, eyes darting around the Potion's classroom like he was hoping for a rescuer. As if, he snorted.

"Something funny?" Snape growled.

Harry shook his head, his black fringe falling into his eyes.

"Again! Legilimens!" The Professor spat out, and, before Harry could reply, could call out, could brush his fringe away, could do anything but blink, his mind was awash with memories and the feeling of someone clawing through them viciously.

Harry's breath's shortened, his thoughts awhirl, completely beyond his control.

Snape was angry. Scrap that, he was goddamn furious. The pathetic boy failed dismally at Occlumency; the brat was begging the Dark Lord to invade his mind! Stupid child, why had he even bothered to show up for this lesson if he so obviously didn't think himself, Dumbledore's Golden Boy, worthy of lowering himself to such mundane lessons? Did he think himself so above everyone else that he didn't have to practice Occlumency? Oh, of course, Snape growled, Potter is better than everyone else. Perfect Potter, always the heroic Gryffindor.

Incensed, the Professor ripped through Potter's mind without thought for gentility nor kindness – and, on some level, Snape realised that this was inexcusable, that what he was doing was wrong. No matter his feelings for the boy, it wasn't right, bruising his mind like so; wreaking havoc and grasping at memories – some most likely private...but honestly?

He wasn't sure he wanted to stop. This was James Potter' son – the offspring of a man who'd made Severus's life at Hogwarts as horrible as his home was.

Harry panicked. Snape was looking at his thoughts, going through his mind! Another image went past, and he tried to block the man from seeing it, but he couldn't, he was too weak, too stupid, too useless - !

It was his first Potion's class, and without a doubt Harry had been looking forward to this class the most out of all of them.
Eagerly, he grasped his quill and sat, quivering in his chair, in excitement. Today, he thought in wonderment, Today, I learn Potions. I learn the very essence of magic, of binding random ingredients together and giving them a new purpose – a higher, grand purpose – that would help others, and he could do this – he, Harry James Potter – could finally be something other than just a "stupid, useless freak of a boy" that "tainted" his household, his Aunt's precious "Duddykins".

I can be someone to no-one, he bit his lip. No longer will I be a no-one to a someone.

Glancing down, he noticed detachedly that his hand was shaking. Concentrate, Harry, he warned himself firmly.

A loud Clang resounded through the Potion's Laboratory, and he jerked his head up. Professor Snape, he thought in reverence. "That's the Potion's Master of Hogwarts, Harry," he remembered Hermione telling him. "They say he can brew a Revictiloper Grastintiok in under thirty minutes!"

The man, tall and imposing, stalked into the room, his black cape swirling ominously behind him. He seemed impossibly frightening, and besides himself, Harry couldn't help feeling a little afraid...but this man was not his Uncle Vernon, and he'd do well to remember that.