He had never known that he - Harry Potter - the mediocre and underage wizard who was supposed to kill one of the most evil beings of all times, could do legilimency. But he just could.

It came easily to him. Voldemort's legilimency skills were supposed to be phenomenal. He had obviously passed that little gift on to Harry, just like he did with parseltongue .

As soon as Snape saw that Harry was not only attempting it, he seemed to somehow know what he was doing, he turned away and tried to break the eye contact.

But it was too late.

Do not attempt any magic in here or we will both be squibs.

This was the message that Snape sent him. Harry didn't believe it. How could he? Of course the man didn't want him to invade his mind and risk Harry finding out how Voldemort was planning to kill him.

When Snape realised that Harry wasn't pulling back, he quickly created an image in his mind. Harry saw an almost unconscious Dumbledore, his hand withered, his face pale and old-looking. Snape towered above him, a look of grim concentration on his face.

"Severus. I'm so lucky to have you..."

"How long do you think I have?"

"I cannot tell. Maybe a year."

"No. You must kill me."

Harry was sorely reminded of Slughorn's tampered memories. This couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Snape had created these half-sentences in his head to convince him of the impossible. It must be some form of manipulation.

Strangely, Snape made no attempt at all to throw Harry out. None. Maybe it was true and this place sucked the magic out of any wizard? It sure felt like it.

After a few seconds, Snape's mind became totally blank. So the man was obviously able to occlude without using magic. Harry wasn't going to be convinced by this. It was Snape's fault that Harry had no parents. Why he had to stay with the Dursleys. And... it was his fault that Harry could hear his parents' screams in his head whenever a dementor came near him. Or whenever Harry went to sleep.

Without wanting it, the memory of his mum begging for his, Harry's life, came to his mind.

Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry... Not Harry... please... Have mercy, have mercy...

Suddenly, the blankness vanished and images were zooming in front of Harry's eyes at a sickening speed. Images that did not come from his mind. The screams were destroying Snape's ability to occlude his mind.

He saw his mum sitting in some woodland, reading a book to... to a young Snape who couldn't take his eyes off her. They both were maybe eleven or twelve years old.

Then he saw a teenage Snape sitting in Hogsmeade, watching the Marauders laughing. And Lily amongst them. The next image was one Harry was familiar with. He cringed when he remembered breaking into the pensieve, having to watch his own dad doing what Dudley used to do. He didn't want to see his dad lifting Snape up by the ankle. He heard the word mudblood shouted from a distance. With all his might, Harry pushed that memory away. The next thing he saw was Snape trying to apologise to Lily.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not interested."

"I'm sorry!"

"Save your breath."

Then an older Snape, kneeling... kneeling in front of Dumbledore.

"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

"No - no message. I'm here on my own account! The prophecy - the prediction... Trelawney..."

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"

"-he thinks it means Lily Evans!"

The voices were fading and Harry had a very hard time understanding what was going on.

"You disgust me," he heard Dumbledore say.

"Hide them all then," Snape croaked. "Keep her - keep them safe."

Something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal.

Snape was sitting in Dumbledore's office, slumped forwards in his chair. He looked as if he had lived a hundred years of misery. "I thought... you were going... to keep her... safe."

Harry winced. He had seen enough. He wanted nothing more than to get out of Snape's mind. Words still echoed in his mind and a throbbing headache started to emerge.

"The boy... the boy must die?"

"And Voldemort himself must do it. That is essential."

"I thought... all these years... we were protecting him for her. For Lily."

Harry started to feel sick and wished he had never cast the spell. Neither would live, neither would survive. He had been raised like a pig for slaughter. The world started spinning. Harry had no idea how to retreat properly. Occluding would have been the way, but had never learnt how to do that.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on one single emotion. This had worked to force Voldemort out his mind, maybe it would work with Snape as well? He thought about his parents, about Sirius... about Dumbledore, and how he was lying on the bottom of the tower, his limbs strangely twisted, all strength gone. This would have worked to drive out Voldemort. Because he had never felt grief in his life. It didn't work for Snape though. How could it?

There was no reaction whatsoever from the potions master, maybe he wasn't even conscious any more?

Then he tried to concentrate on absolutely nothing. He imagined the emptiness he had seen in Snape's mind when he entered. It worked. It was difficult. Harry had just found out that he was sentenced to death. And that there was no way out at all. Emptiness, he tried to force himself. Think nothing. Occlude your mind.

Slowly and painfully, the memories started dissipating.

Harry found himself kneeling on the floor, clutching his head and groaning. When the pain started to subside, he looked over to where he thought Snape was standing. Except that he wasn't standing any more. Snape had fallen down and his position looked very uncomfortable. Harry was reminded of the time Snape had been knocked out by several expelliarmus in his third year and had to be transported back to the castle by a charm.

After he scrambled to his feet, he nearly fainted from the severity of the headache. He scrutinised the Potions Master and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The man seemed to have no life left in him and Harry seriously feared that he had killed him or injured him. Harry knelt in front of him, trying to find out if he was breathing.

Snape looked pale, almost as white as the wall behind him. His cheeks were sunken in and he wore a bitter and angry face expression, even when unconscious. Harry saw that his hand was badly broken and twisted. In the last few minutes, Harry had successfully managed to break a teacher's hand and invade his mind so violently that it made him lose consciousness.

A teacher who not only was on his side, but had saved his life numerous times in the past six years. And he had obviously cared for his mother. He'd been horrible to him though from the first day.

After checking his pulse, Harry was relieved that at least, he hadn't killed the man. He just couldn't be responsible for another death. There was an old glass in the corner and Harry quickly washed it in the sink and filled it with water. He lifted the man's head and poured some in his mouth, hoping that the reflexes would kick in and he was able to swallow it.

Then he got bandages from one of the first aid boxes and professionally cleaned the cuts and applied a splint. He had done this many times. When he was finished, he pointed his wand at the professor and murmured ennervate.

The same strange sensation crept over him. As if his magic was being exhausted with every spell. Harry stood back up, his wand still pointed at the man and waited for him to wake up. He knew that Snape might be angry with him and even though he was on his side, he might attack him.

When the man opened his eyes, Harry had to take a step back. Anger was not the word to describe his former teacher's face expression. He had never seen such concentrated hatred and aggression in anyone's eyes. Snape not only despised him, he completely and utterly loathed him. Harry was sure that he was going to jump up and attack him any minute. So he retreated until he bumped against the wall behind him.

Snape slowly stood up, not keeping his eyes off Harry, still giving him that terrible look that made Harry shudder.