Dunderhead - A Harry Potter story: Snape becomes Harry's mentor

Chapter 3

Harry opened the door and walked warily into enemy territory. He braced himself for the jeering comments that always began the lesson.
They issued faithfully from the Potion Master's mouth just as Harry closed the door. "Mr Potter," Snape said in an even voice. "On time for once I see. Interesting, I was beginning to think you incapable of such a simple task."

Harry ignored the remark and sat himself down on the familiar chair, awaiting the attack he knew would come. He tried to breathe easy even as his heart drummed with trepidation.
"Dare I hope that there will be an improvement today?" Snape said contemptuously. "Or will it be the usual... failure?"

Harry ignored the insult.

"Legillimens!" The attack came from out of nowhere and a wave of memories flooded Harry's vision.

He was in the library and Hermione was chastising him for leaving his essay papers all over the desk.

He was scrabbling back on his bottom in the forbidden forest, his mouth open in a silent scream as the shrouded shape of Voldemort flew towards him.
"Pathetic as usual, Potter. If it is even possible, I do believe that you have got worse!" Snape's voice cut through Harry's re-living of his memories as the scene changed again. "Freak!" Dudley and his gang chased a seven year old Harry into an alley. "What's wrong, Potter? Nowhere to run?" They laughed as they advanced on him. Harry gasped and Snape briefly swam before his eyes, standing menacingly in the dungeon classroom they practiced in and glaring at him with the look of a predator. "Such a saint, Potter! He can't even breathe without a round of applause from his mudblood friends!" The Slytherins, lead by Malfoy, were laughing at him.
Snape swam before Harry again. He was clearer than before, and still glaring at him with undeserved anger: "Your incompetence never ceases to astound me, even the dimmest Muggle would have been able to resist me by now, by instinct if nothing else!"
Harry sat still while Hermione dabbed essence of dittany onto his quidditch grazes.

Cho Chang was sending him meaningful glares across from the Ravenclaw table after their pitiful date in Madam Pudifoot's tea shop.

Harry did not want to re-live the terrible kiss that he had shared with Cho and, by luck, his memories went backwards in years. Aunt Petunia was tearing up a Christmas card Harry had made.

Uncle Vernon was screwing the post box shut so that no letters could be received.

The neighbours of Privet Drive were giving scornful looks as they passed by Harry pulling weeds in Aunt Petunia's garden.

Harry tried to think of something happy to combat these depressing memories. He thought of the first time that he had ridden a broomstick and he focussed on the light, adrenaline-filled feeling that had so pleasantly overwhelmed him in that moment. However, just as this memory had popped into his mind, Snape seized it with an iron grip and pulled it down a dark hole. Harry was in a graveyard and Cedric's body was lying feet from him, staring unseeingly into the starless night sky.

Wormtail was lying on the deadened, brown grass cradling his stump of an arm.

Harry was watching himself twitch on the ground, having experienced the cruciatus curse used on him.

Harry was bound to a large and jagged gravestone statue as he watched Voldemort's followers swoop into the Dark Lord's inner circle.

On and on they went, again and again, memory after memory. Over the next hour, Snape continued to tear the memories from Harry's mind and berate him when he failed to block the attacks. But finally, much to the relief of both, the Potions Master withdrew and lowered his wand, putting it away.
The Legilimency attacks had stopped.
The verbal tirade, however, was not half finished. Harry had fallen out of his chair and now he knelt, panting and heaving on his hands and knees, gasping for air. The emotions he was feeling only made the physical exhaustion worse. Though he was glad the attacks had stopped, Harry struggled to deal with everything that he was feeling: sadness, resentment, hopelessness, dejection. Snape loomed above him. "Nothing! No improvement whatsoever. What a joke, Potter. Not even Longbottom could be so incompetent!" Snape ridiculed.