"Cast, Legilimens." The Dark Lord ordered. "We both know that you are a master of the mind-arts. You could have never managed to deceive me otherwise." There was hatred in that accusation, but Snape could not care about that, right now. He was cautiously approaching the bed, aware that a sleeping person was barely able to defend him- or herself. Snape touched Harry's cheek for a fleeting moment. When the boy's eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat, he cast. The force that repelled him from the teenager's mind was enough to throw him through the room. He landed in a heap at the bottom of the far wall, right under the window. Under different circumstances, he might have broken something. But his "luck" seemed to hold, while he hurt all over, he had little trouble moving.