'Perhaps,' said Snape, his dark, cold eyes narrowing slightly, 'perhaps you actually enjoy having these visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special - important?'
'No, they don't,' said Harry, his jaw set and his fingers clenched tightly around the handle of his wand.
'That is just as well, Potter,' said Snape coldly, 'because you are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters.'
'No - that's your job, isn't it?' Harry shot at him.
He had not meant to say it; it had burst out of him in temper. For a long moment they stared at each other, Harry convinced he had gone too far. But there was a curious, almost satisfied expression on Snape's face when he answered.
'Yes, Potter,' he said, his eyes glinting. That is my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again.' He raised his wand: 'One - two - three - Legilimens!'
Podemos ver como Snape estava começando a perder o controle, aproveitar isso, desencadear sua raiva nessa tortura psicológica. Apesar de ser um grande Occlumens, no momento, a única coisa em sua mente era o ódio e a frustração que sentia por Harry e James.