A/N: The characters and the universe in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I don't make any money.
And, um, this is my fist fanfiction EVER so this should be fun :D Hope you enjoy. And I'm not a native speaker so sorry about the grammar!
Summary: HP/SS Slash. The story ignores HBP and DH. I borrowed some of Snape's memories, though. It's Harry's seventh year and Dumbledore is determined to protect his mind. Who else would be a better Occlumency teacher than Severus Snape? With the pressure of beating the Dark Lord and the battle between Harry's determination to stay with Ginny and the sexual awakening he experiences, who knows just what might happen… though don't we all do ;)
Chapter 1: Like Violence
Harry was sweaty.
His head was throbbing, his anger pulsing.
Funny how those two things seem to mix so easily. He was shaking, aching, wanting to throw something at the wall or the man before him.
It had only been the first five minutes of the lesson.
"Giving up already?" The low, mocking snarl seemed to come from inside his head and yet he was sure the words weren't his own.
Fighting with Dudley as a child
Being locked up in the cupboard
Hagrid telling him he was a wizard
Harry panted, struggling to push the man away from his mind, to stop his memories being tossed and turned and made mockery of.
Peter Pettigrew transforming into a rat and escaping
The full moon
Sirius at the Ministry
The mess that was his memories seemed like a blurred show of broken pictures. There was nothing he could do but watch. And sweat.
The quidditch world cup
Playing quidditch with the Weasleys
Seeing the Grim on the sky
There was sweat on Harry's forehead — sweat caused by concentration (or the lack of it).
There was sweat on his memory — sweat caused by an exhausting quiddich game.
There even seemed to be sweat around his brain — sweat caused by the fact that no one other than Severus bloody fucking Snape was having fun with Harry's own, private (not anymore, though) memories, turning them like pages of a very open book.
The cemetery the Ministry his own bed after a bad dream
Cedric dead
Sirius dead
dead
dead
Dead.
Except it wasn't a dream.
Everything blurred and Harry felt the sharp pain on his knees as they hit the stone floor of the dungeons. He rubbed his head, opened his eyes and tried to focus his vision. He got up slowly, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"Pathetic, Potter," Snape mocked. "You seem to have gotten even worse. And here I thought it would not be possible. I must have underestimated you when I said your talent in Occlumency was just about as developed as Mr. Longbottom's potions brewing skills."
Harry kept his mouth shut though he was shaking with anger.
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…
"You certainly are just as arrogant as your father was, not even bothering to answer. Where are your manners, Potter?"
"Don't bring my father into this," Harry hissed between his teeth. "He's got nothing to do with it."
"Defending the great James Potter, I see, even though you never knew him."
Harry held his breath for a moment.
Do NOT explode. Just stay calm. You are above this.
"Tell me, Professor." I am calm. I am calm. I am calm. "Do you take pleasure upon inflicting pain on other people," he asked, his voice dead calm.
"Do not overestimate yourself, Potter," Snape spat. "You really are arrogant, thinking I might enjoy this. Trying to teach you night after night only that you can feel sorry for yourself."
"I'm not the one selecting the memories."
"I don't select. Your worst experiences are on a silver platter. Any half-decent Legilimens could see them."
"And what about your memories," Harry asked before he could stop himself. As the words escaped his lips, he knew he had crossed a line.
Memories of his mother, happy memories, filled with smiles and laughter
Their fingers entwined, their bodies next to each other
James Potter
Then, later, promising to protect Lily Evans' son.
Glimpses of what Harry shouldn't have seen, words he shouldn't have heard.
Harry looked at Snape and Snape glared back, black eyes filled with panic and fury. It felt like witnessing something almost as private as the memories that should have remained secret, seeing his professor's almost always so impassive face reflect so many emotions at once.
Harry's heart pounded on his throat. He couldn't look away.
"I shouldn't have…" he began.
"You are dismissed," Snape said quietly.
"But…"
"Out, Potter."
He let himself out quietly, feeling more sad and exhausted than angry.
They had been practicing Occlumency for a couple of months now. Harry had been surprised Snape had agreed to teach him after the… thing… with the Pensieve. Harry hadn't really had any other choice than to agree as well. It had been the only reasonable option as the visions had become so bad the past year.
Snape was vicious but tried to beat Harry to learn Occlumency — Harry knew that.
He knew, too, that he hadn't learnt a thing.
Every time he walked to the classroom, he felt scared beyond what was reasonable. They were only memories, after all.
It didn't feel like just memories, though.
It felt like violence.