Snape's Anger

After the first Dark Arts class following Christmas came another pleasant weekend—

At least, that was true for most students.

Although Hogwarts' classes had become increasingly interesting under Tierra's successive Educational Reforms, students were still students—especially a bunch of eleven-, twelve-, thirteen-, fourteen-, fifteen-, sixteen-, and seventeen-year-old adolescents. After all, not everyone was Hermione; not everyone could spend their weekends, or even the entire Christmas holiday, studying like Hermione did.

Thus, despite having just enjoyed a cheerful Christmas break, Hogwarts' young wizards were more than happy to welcome another pleasant weekend—

But this weekend was not quite so pleasant for Harry—

"Get up, Potter!" Snape said sternly.

On the first Saturday night after Christmas, Harry was once again kneeling on the floor of Snape's office, struggling to empty his mind.

He had just been forced to relive a string of childhood memories he had not even known he still possessed, most of them involving Dudley and his gang humiliating him at primary school.

"What was the last memory?" Snape asked as he slowly approached.

"I—I don't know," Harry said. He rose tiredly to his feet, finding it increasingly difficult to distinguish the images and sounds Snape kept drawing out. "Was it the one where my cousin wanted me to stand in the toilet?"

"No," Snape said softly. "It was a man kneeling in the middle of a dark room—?"

"That was... nothing."

Snape's black eyes drilled into Harry's. Harry remembered that eye contact was crucial to Legilimency, so he blinked and looked away.

"How did that man and that room get into your mind, Potter?" Snape asked.

"That—" Harry avoided his gaze. "That—was just a dream I had."

"A dream?" Snape said.

A stretch of silence followed. Harry stared at a dead frog floating in purple liquid.

"Do you know