Disclaimer: Don't own it, yo.

Set during fifth year.

Another week. Another Occlumency lesson. Another open opportunity to be harassed by him.

Today was like any other lesson; he had just finished plowing through a variety of childhood embarrassments, courtesy of Dudley. Harry was on his hands and knees, attempting to recover from the latest attack.

Looking up at him, he saw Professor Snape watching him with unhidden distaste. No different than how I'm looked at by my "family", he mused. He constantly wished he had a real family, if only to know what they were like. Instead, he had to settle for Snape's view and weekly criticism of Harry and ultimately, James Potter. Speak of the devil—

"Stop being such a lazy brat. Did I not tell you to practice? Just like your father . . ."

Except today was different. Today, Harry was rather fed up. And today was the day Snape unwisely chose to forget any reason and dump his hatred on him without hesitating.

"Too special to abide by rules, always better than everyone else. Exactly how your egotistical father acted, prancing around without concern for anything but yourself and your reputation . . ."

Snape continued talking, but Harry wasn't listening. He brought himself up off the floor and stared harshly at the ground. He didn't understand what was so beneficial to Snape that he felt the need to belittle him constantly, make fun of him, take pleasure in finding new ways to make his life hell. All for revenge on his father? The only thought that could cross Harry's mind while Snape spewed words chock-full of hate that had been waiting to spew over for an obviously very long time, was that his father was dead. He was DEAD, damn it!

"He was a fool and so are you—"

That was when the carefully controlled reactions and anger that Harry had learned to keep to himself threw themselves against his barriers.

Something cracked, that day.

The little crack in his built-up emotions had a surprising effect on Harry. Nothing immediately noticeable, no—but a storm was raging. Inside his head, the words cut ruthlessly and unsympathetically into anything already there. He didn't know why today of all days was when he actually listened to the words, and the intent behind them. The man now full-out shouting at him took no notice, but the loathing Harry could feel building within his mind was terrifying, even to himself. He wasn't sure if he was angry that he knew his father really was some of the things said, or Snape's hatred of his family, or Snape's ignorance on the issue, or something entirely different. Harry was not his father.

Reckless emotion pushed hard against his chest, painfully demanding escape that Harry would not give. The tears assaulting his glassy eyes burned to withhold. He needed out. OUT of this hell, anywhere away from this man and his words. His heartbeat rung louder than the verbal jabs. He needed to release this pressure or face exploding in front of the one person he would rather die before showing a weakness in front of.

Harry's jaw was clenched painfully and his expression nearly showed his sliding restraints. His whole body was trembling with barely-held rage. As the overpowering and colliding emotions overtook his bodily commands, a single tear slipped from the set of wide and livid eyes that were boring into the cold dungeon floor.

The most suffocating silence he had ever known followed this, while Harry didn't have the restraint to trust himself to move from his dangerous expression or stance. He withheld his anger for several long, tortuous minutes of absolutely no words or movement. Finally, with his eyes still hazardous and locked on the stone floor, and his jaw still clenched, Harry's voice came in a low, cold whisper.

"Are you happy now, sir?"

Harry left the rhetorical question hanging bitterly in the air as he swept out of the dungeons, not even bothering to look into the face of the Potions Master. If he had, he would've seen the crack of a mask; the mask that had been Severus Snape's deliberate ignorance for the last five years.