Author's Notes: Takes place at some point during OotP. But it's only short, so don't really have many! Oh, please review and make me go SQUEE!
Professor Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, sat in his office quietly contemplating the entertainment he would have this evening. So far, he had concentrated on trying to draw out the most frightening or disturbing of Harry's memories, as the ones that the Dark Lord would target and Harry should get used to guarding most closely. However, this tactic was clearly not working well at all. The boy made no effort and just seemed to stand there and enjoy the slide show. A different tack was needed. Something that would rile the boy, make him want to defend his thoughts, while still providing some sort of entertainment. After all, it wouldn't do for him to give up his evenings for nothing.
A small smile crept across Snape's thin lips as an idea drifted into his head like a whisp of smoke. Yes, he thought, that would work nicely.
An arrogantly sure knock sounded through the room, and the professor quickly smoothed the smile from his face. One must keep up appearences, after all.
"Come in, Potter," he drawled, withdrawing his wand. Snape was not a fan of pre-amble with people he liked, let alone with those he could barely tolerate.
"Professor," Potter said shortly, inclining his head. It would seem he had had a similar idea as he drew his wand almost immediately.
Professor Snape stood from his chair behind the desk and stepped slightly to one side. "Seeing as all my previous efforts to try and make you a better student than you are have failed, I have decided to try something different tonight." He allowed himself a small smirk. "See if you can spot what I've changed." He raised his wand arm, and watched Harry stealed himself with some sadistic pleasure. "One -- Two -- Three -- Legilimens!"
He was so used, by now, to the sensation of suddenly entering another's mind that he didn't even sway. Show me your embarrassment, he thought clearly, as the images that assaulted his mind began to sharpen. Show me what you don't want me to see, what would make you blush.
A single image sharpened from the stream of nonsense. He saw a small, raven haired boy pinned against a wall as a much larger boy - who Snape knew to be his cousin - hit him in such a way that the bruises would not be visible. Snape rolled his eyes and thought, another.
This time the image to sharpen was one of a slightly taller Harry - he would guess about ten - stealing a glance at a tall blonde girl from across the playground, and look quickly away as her eyes raised to his. Professor Snape smirked thinking, better ... more like this.
The fuzziness of the next image suggested that this memory was a dream. Potter, at about the age he was presently, was again pinned against the wall by a much taller boy, but this time there was no pain or animosity on either face. The two boys shared heated kisses, each grasping at the others' robes and hair. Much more interesting than fear. More.
The images were becoming less distinct, and the room was just starting to filter back into focus. The boy was starting to fight the spell. He could almost feel the anger rolling off him in waves. One last one. Make it good
The final image was one that burned through Snape's eyes and engraved itself on his mind. The small, skinny, awkward boy before him stood naked in the shower with water pouring over his shoulders. His breath hit the white, sterile tiles in front of him, steaming them slightly, his eyes closed in concentration and lust. His hand ... Well, Snape thought it would be rather more prudent to not dwell too much on what that hand was doing, how fast it was stroking, how the boy's hips bucked to meet it...
For the first time, Professor Snape found himself rather dazed from the memory. The room was swimming back into focus and he noticed that, although Harry was now kneeling on the floor, his wand was raised and he was wrenching out a stunning spell. Snape quickly dodged to the right, scowling as the spell singed his favourite quill. "That is quite enough, Mr Potter. But you see that you can fight it off, given suitable-" he quirked an eyebrow, "-motivation."
The boy was breathing heavily, his eyes fixed to the ground and a flush rising up his neck. He nodded briskly.
Snape sighed, rubbing at his temples. He found it slightly unnerving that every time he closed his eyes, even to blink, that image would be heavily imprinted on the insides of his eyelids. It was definitely that causing the headache he could feel coming on. "Very well, I think that's enough exertion for tonight. Get out."
Harry pulled himself up from the floor quickly (Much to Snape's relief - Harry kneeling at his feet did not make matters better!) and almost ran from the room, still blushing furiously.
"I think next week we shall return to fear," Snape murmered quietly
to himself, as he conjured a glass of brandy to soothe his troubles.