"Harry Potter, our new… celebrity."
Snape narrowed his eyes as the boy stared insolently – innocently – back at him, mocking – beautiful – green eyes confused.

He hissed silently under his breath. The boy was already rubbing on his nerves. Groomed to idiocy, no doubt, like his father. For a brief moment in time Snape's eyes darkened in remembrance as, instead of the first year wizard staring back at him, the eyes took a darker shade and the face reconstructed itself into a sneer 'Snivellus.'

He returned the sneer, fingering his wand in his sleeve, prepared to draw it in retaliation.

Then the entrancing emerald eyes returned and he shook those thoughts away. That waste of space was gone, as was his Lily. Why she had wasted her life on such a useless fool, he didn't know, and would forever grief over.

And yet here was the opportunity to strike back at the man who had stolen his light, provided he ignored those thrice-damned eyes!

Lily's beautiful eyes should never be seen on James Potter!

And so he sneered again, "But that will be of no use to you in my class, no one will fawn over you here, Potter, and you'll be exposed as just what you are. Useless."

He barely caught the flinch that shook the petite frame – god, he looked like a girl – but he had been able to survive this long thanks to his quick mind and sight. He wouldn't miss a public display of weakness, not with this boy.

And suddenly he was vicious.

The boy was pampered, a few harsh words and he was already cowering! And he just wanted – needed – so much more to hurt him with.

He registered the second flinch as he probed the boy's mind; not acknowledging the awareness it took for a wizard to be aware of his legilimency. His mastery of the art allowed him to continue speaking, even as he extracted the evidence from the boy's mind to use against him.

"Living with muggles!" he ignored the fact he sounded prejudice, "That accursed Aunt of yours. Filthy woman. And her fat lump of a husband! How disgusting!" he sneered again, "And yet you come out looking like a bloody girl, Potter," the words began to escape him before he even thought of it, the memories in the boy's head inspiring each insult, "You're a freak!"

And with a sudden shock he realised he was echoing the words from the memories.

With that he tried to retreat, tear his way from the verbal abuse but the words had triggered the Gryffindor's repressed memories and he was kept in his spot, locked in the movie theatre as the horror film of the decade began.

And suddenly the memories of the verbal abuse ended, the words merely echoing over and over again as the real torture began.

The beatings. The beatings and beatings and beatings. The blood and the cupboard. The bullying and the isolation. The hatred and darkness. The helplessness. The power.

And suddenly, with chilling resolution, everything stopped. Snape stared, wide-eyed, as the boy in front of him reigned in the pure, undiluted magic that had been twisting around him feverishly, and silently stood and walked out of the class with his books.

And without a thought of the remaining students, Severus sank into his chair and summoned and firewhisky. He needed to forget now. Dealing would come later.