Better Be Slytherin!

'Not at all. I believe I have a different metric for determining levels of pain than most.'

'What?'

'He means,' the Bloody Baron put in, 'that he has had too much exposure to pain to understand what normal feels like anymore. And he didn't mean to hurt you.'

Snape glared at the ghost. 'I would ask you to keep your nose out of my affairs, if I thought it would do any good.'

'It wouldn't,' the Baron agreed affably. 'Not at this time. The boy is what matters.'

Snape grunted what could be an acceptance of the ghost's words, or maybe he'd only been kicked in the chest. Either way, he said, 'But as I informed you previously, Mr. Potter, what we are to do tonight will not feel like that. Not if you don't fight me.'

Harry's insides felt cold. 'Why . . . why would I fight you, sir?'

With a sneer, Snape said, 'Because having another mind inside your own is disconcerting, at the least. In truth, I expect you to resist, though not unduly.' He paused, and Harry sneaked a glance at him, to find the professor studying him with those dark, fathomless eyes. 'I will be looking at your memory of the attack, and then I will remove it from my own mind and store it in a pensieve, so I may review it with the Headmaster.'

'A pen-what?'

'Pensieve. A magical device used to store memories for later reflection.'

'Well, why don't I put my memory directly into that then? Instead of having you take it out of my mind first?'

'Because the pensieve belongs to the Headmaster, and he has not given me its loan.'

'Oh.'

'Indeed.' Snape paused again, then raised his wand and aimed it at Harry. 'Let us begin. Keep your eyes open, as you did last night, and do try not to fight me, if you would. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir. I'll try not to fight,' Harry promised.

'Good. Legilimens.'

Images flew by, first of Quidditch tryouts, and then Teddy and him in the library with the box of candy, and then, disconcertingly, a memory of being up a tree with Ripper far below and snarling, as Aunt Marge cheered the dog on and Dudley laughed, practically rolling on the ground.

That wasn't the right memory! Snape had no right to see that!

Harry pushed against the presence in his mind, and it receded a little, but the image was replaced a moment later with one of his cupboard, locked from the outside – he could tell from the angle of the door; it always hung crooked when locked, as Uncle Vernon had made a mess of installing the bolt – and himself curled up on his cot and reading a purloined comic that Dudley had torn in half and thrown away before Harry rescued it, and then the door shook, and Harry stuffed the pieces of the comic under his cot before Uncle Vernon's purpling face appeared in the frame of the small door, spittle flying from his mouth while he yelled, even before he caught sight of the corner of the thin book—

NO! Not that one! Harry pushed that memory away, too. What did Snape think he was doing?

Obviously he was going to have to show him the right memory, or Snape would keep ransacking his mind. So Harry called up the attack in the corridor, recalling everything he could in infinite detail, and shoved that right at the presence in his mind, so clear it couldn't be missed. Then, for good measure, he shoved the professor right out of his mind, too; his private thoughts were private!

The next moment, he opened his eyes, to find he'd fallen off the chair and was on his hands and knees, panting for breath. Sweat covered his skin and his robes clung damply to him. His head pounded, and he wanted more than anything else to bite Snape's throat out with his teeth. The Professor stood over him, his dark eyes glittering with some unnamed emotion, and for a second, Harry thought it might be fear.

But then Snape's face went blank, as did his eyes. Though he held out a hand for Harry to take, Harry disdained it, getting to his feet on his own. His stomach lurched, but he kept his balance through sheer force of will.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. 'Well, well, Potter. It seems you are full of surprises.'

'You. Stay. Out. Of my. Head!'

With a gesture at the chair Harry had fallen out of, Snape merely said, 'Sit down. You and I have much to discuss.'

'I'm not talking to you!' Harry growled. 'You had no right—'

'Stop with the melodrama, Potter. I had every right to seek answers to your current dilemma. And you gave me explicit permission to do so.'

'What about those other things, huh? You didn't have the right to see those!'

Snape pursed his lips. 'I was also seeking information about your situation at home. As your Head of House —'

'Bollocks! You didn't ask to see that!'

The Potions Master drew himself up and glowered down with such ferocity that Harry was hard pressed not to flinch away when he spat, 'No. I did not. But I will brook no more of your disrespect. Now sit down!'

Harry sat.

'Now . . . you will tell me when exactly you discovered you could speak to snakes.'