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Unleashed	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 17652 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does. I make no money in the writing of this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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This fanfic was on another site but sadly they had a gripe with me and I can't log in anymore, so I'm putting it up here instead, on good ol' AFF!

This fanfic is a plotty one, I warn you. Any gratification may be a long time in coming. This was written as a response to a challenge on Walk the Plank; I won't tell you which one.

This is a creature!fic aka supernatural. If that bugs you, click the BACK button now!

This is also my first Snary...;_; please be gentle!

Pardon overuse of "Merlin"; I find it funny to play with.

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UNLEASHED

by

lordoberon

a Snarry fic

Harry was in History of Magic when it happened again.

This time, he was chained to a tombstone. It was like when Voldemort had returned to life, except the tombstone was above him, and he hung from it, suspended in space. The chains bit hard into his wrists, making him bleed. He was surrounded by nothingness, darkness, but a circle of invisible beings, friend or foe, whirled around him. They chanted in a hissing, sibilant, groaning, moaning language which reminded him sometimes of Parseltongue.

As they whirled around him, he could smell the sweat and rot from their bodies. Occasionally something wet or hairy would glide against his body. It was, again, like the time Voldemort had risen from the dead, because that same feeling of dread rose up in Harry's throat.

What was brushing up against him? Who was chanting? Were they friendly, or preparing to kill him or eat him?

When he tried to get free of his bonds, they only tightened. They became so tight that he felt his bones might break. He was wandless and visionless. He could only taste, smell and feel and hear. Deprived of any sense of security, he hung there, shivering.

The creatures rushed at him. Screams erupted from all directions. They were high-pitched and horror-filled, reminding Harry of his mother's death cry. Perhaps these creatures were dementors, summoning that horrid cry into his ears. He shook as they crowded against him, stroking him, whispering to him.

He began to suffocate, and his bones were crushed by their heavy bodies, which became heavier the closer that he felt to death. He opened his eyes and saw that the creatures – black blobs, he couldn't really see them – carried bodies in their arms.

He recognized the bodies. Luna lay twisted, her mouth contorted in a silent scream. Neville hung with a rope tight around his reddened neck. Molly and Arthur Weasley lay twitching in a final embrace. Dumbledore, as he had appeared at the bottom of the tower, was also there, along with Sirius, James, and Lily. Finally there was Hermione, her skin ripped from her face, and Ron, blood gushing from a hole in his chest, feebly begging Harry to save him.

A scream shot from Harry's mouth, and while his mouth was open, the creatures rushed inside of him. And then he began to burn from the inside out...

Harry woke with a jolt, and his chair screeched forward and slammed loudly into the table in front of him. Shit, shit, shit! He hated that nightmare! Why the hell couldn't he ever stay awake in class! He hated Binns for being so damn boring, too.

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes.

Binns went on with his lecture, but every student in the room had their eye on him. Harry ducked his head down, coughing. Great, another reason for them to stare at him now. There had been reports all summer that he was grieving over Dumbledore, and even one inane article that he was furious with McGonagall for being Headmistress now. The worst parts were the ones that said that Voldemort planned an attack on Hogwarts, and was Harry ready?

(The answer was no; he was still looking for horcruxes, but had been convinced by Ron and Hermione to stick around for at least fall term).

There was a sour taste in his mouth. He shifted his head fractionally to the right, towards Ron. He didn't want Hermione across the way to see him talking and ask what he said. He didn't want everyone to hear this: "Did I scream or anything?"

Ron bit his lip. His eyes were wide and his face was pale. "Er, yeah, mate. You alright?"

Bollocks. If only he could wake up without a scream. "Sure, I'm -" Harry tried to center himself in his chair and it toppled backwards. Ron caught it before his head could slam into the table behind them. "Fine, just fine."

"Right," Ron said. "This is the second time you fell asleep and woke up like that in class. You're just dandy. Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing? Was it..."

"It wasn't him." Harry sighed. Ever since the summer when they had spent time with the Order, things had been tenser around Harry's connection to Voldemort's mind. If only it had just been that, so he could have a clue as to where the rest of the horcruxes were!

"Okay," Harry growled. The Hospital Wing was inevitable, it seemed. He shrugged off Ron's hand from his shoulder and glared back at Hermione's concerned look. She'd gotten to sitting next to Ginny more often lately. Ever since Harry had broken up with her a month ago, Hermione had tried to get them back together. Couldn't they give up on "Ginevra Potter" already?

Ginny was pretty and Ginny was smart. But she didn't fit Harry after all. A summer spent mostly at the Burrow, where he had been plagued by her coddling and cuddling nature when all he had wanted was to explode everything, had taught him that. Sure, when he defeated Voldemort maybe he would appreciate her cuddling and gentleness. But what if he didn't? It was, frankly, annoying.

Besides...Harry had started keeping tabs, mentally, on his fellow blokes at Hogwarts. It was a whisper that had gotten fiercer within him the last couple years. He was seventeen. He had little time before he had to be out in the world. Now was the time to explore and figure himself out. Of course, Voldemort would make sure he had no time for that. But without Ginny around, well, he could wish now, couldn't he?

When he tried to stand up, another round of dizziness hit him. He clutched at the next table up, croaking, "Sorry" to Ernie MacMillan and some other bloke. They stared as he stumbled past. He wove a drunkard's zig-zag trail to the door.

By the time he reached the corridor outside, Harry could barely walk. There was no way he was going to trip and crawl his way to the Hospital Wing! Besides, he didn't want the attention. People were still giving him awed stares and whispering about his fulfilling his "purpose of life" as "The Chosen One."

Seriously? If killing Voldemort was the purpose of life, then he had nothing to look forward to next summer. He planned to get Voldemort before the year was out. Meanwhile he had plans for the future. Shacklebolt had promised to put him in Auror training, and Lupin was already giving Harry some extra DADA tips.

Harry pressed up hard against the wall for support, and shuffled along with his head down. Like this, he made his way to Myrtle's bathroom. There, he slammed past a door into a stall, and fell to his knees. He felt like he was going to throw up his entire breakfast. His stomach heaved. He'd had treacle earlier, usually his favorite, but today it had tasted bitter.

Where were all the nightmares coming from? They came almost nightly now, and they always involved corpses, or his own death, and the creatures becoming him or eating him. Hermione insisted he tell one of the professors, but Harry refused.

Voldemort was soon to be dead, damn it, and Harry wanted normal, sweet Merlin. He wanted to play Chess with Ron. He wanted to win the Quidditch Cup one more time. He wanted to survive Potions and leave a good fuck you prank, Fred-and-George style, at Snape's door. He wanted to visit Dumbledore's portrait and Hogsmeade. He wanted to journal about his relief at being away from Ginny, which was ironic, because she had started him on journaling. He wanted to scout Hogwarts for attractive blokes, and not deny that.

Instead, here he was, practically nose-to-nose with a toilet bowl. A headache grinded through him and his stomach roiled. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

"Merlin's balls, Harry," he whispered to himself, "You've gone through hell and back. A flu isn't going to destroy everything. Get up."

He tried to stand, but his knees shook too much, so he knelt back down.

Myrtle's see-through head appeared in the toilet. "Looking for me?"

Great! Just what he needed! Why was it that every time he needed some time alone, someone showed up?

"Go away." It came out a hoarse croak.

Myrtle suddenly drew back. "Whoa! Your eyes!"

"What about them?" Harry tried to choke up something out besides words, but nothing came up. He shook his head to get away the sweat threatening to block his vision. What was Myrtle on about now?

"Your eyes went dark for a moment..." Her voice became musing. "But now they're normal again. ...Creepy!"

Harry wiped his fringe from his forehead. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. That's why I like you. Terrible things happen to you...We'll see how you die; maybe it will be even grander and sadder than my death. The unusual clings to you."

"It's not unusual," he retorted in a wheezy whisper. "It's just a flu. Or a cold. I don't get sick often, so I'm not used to it, but it'll pass."

He stayed in bed for the rest of the afternoon, and rushed to dinner late to meet Ron and Hermione.

"Hey!" He smiled at them, thinking, There. They'll see that I'm okay now.

"Oi," Ron slammed an arm over Harry's shoulder, and it felt like a hot iron. Harry shrugged it off. Maybe he had a fever, too?

He requested soup, and when it appeared, drank it down quickly. He got a second one, and a third, and when he was done with a fourth, Hermione looked up from her book.

"Harry, that's a lot of soup. Why so hungry?"

"Dunno," Harry said through a mouthful of bread roll. "Slept a lot. Sick maybe still."

He turned to Ron. "How'd Quidditch practice go without me? I'm sorry I slept through it."

"Sick?" Hermione scooted a little away from him. "I can't afford that. We're almost halfway to winter break, Harry! Tests are coming up soon." Then, more quietly, "Since when do you sleep through Quidditch practice?"

"Since nightmares," Ron whispered. He was leaning in so they could hear him. "Right, Harry?"

"Since nothing! Shut it, Ron!" It came out loudly, and a few fellow Gryffindors looked at him.

Harry scowled at them all, and downed a glass of pumpkin juice.

He turned away from Ron, only to see Hermione staring at him. "Harry...no reason to be so angry. We all know you've been having trouble sleeping lately. I'm glad you got some sleep this afternoon...hold on, turn towards the light?"

Harry tilted his head up. "What?" He had wanted to be angry with her when she tried to placate him, but now his anger dissipated suddenly.

Hermione squinted at him, leaning in a moment, and then sat back. "...Nothing. I thought I saw your eyes change color, but I guess it was just a trick of the light." She returned to her book.

Her, too? That's like what Myrtle said earlier. ...Odd. Harry was determined to dismiss it and not think of it anymore. People's eyes did not change color. He had always had odd eyes, anyway - Lily's eyes. If his eyes ever changed color, everyone would notice. Ha! Another reason for them all to stare at him. He was so sick of everyone and their staring and talking.

They would see. He would be an Auror, and then they would have a good reason to talk about him.

Harry turned to Ron and they quickly descended into a Quidditch discussion. It continued back to the Common Room before Hermione forced them to stop for a homework session. By the time Harry was done with Potions, he was about ready to kill Severus Snape. It was a mystery to Harry why McGonagall allowed him to teach Potions AND DADA, since she was one of the few Harry had revealed to that Snape had killed Dumbledore. Apparently, she, like Dumbledore, had a reason to trust the Slytherin Head of House.

At least it meant that Snape wouldn't get to teach DADA again, since Voldemort had cursed the position. Unfortunate that Harry had to be still at Hogwarts in the year that Snape taught it. The bastard…

Harry woke up hours later at midnight. What had woken him?

He listened to the quiet breathing of Ron in the next bed over, and Neville snoring down the row. Nothing. No nightmares, thank Merlin. He was getting so sick of them! And he seemed cursed to always have the boring classes before lunch, so that he'd be more tempted to fall asleep.

He felt wildly energized and awake. The night was alive! Forget normal, he wanted a night time adventure and a think. He grabbed his Cloak and whirled out into the corridors of Hogwarts. Maybe Hedwig wouldn't mind a late night visitor?

Passing through the corridors of Hogwarts, Harry felt relieved. He barely got any alone time lately. Everyone was always staring at him. He felt like even when he was alone, someone was watching him. The nightmares did not help. He'd had them for two weeks now, and for the past week, he never slept without one. Because he was sleep-deprived, he'd started falling asleep in classes. If Hermione knew how much, she would be furious. Ron knew all of it, which was why he kept nagging Harry about the Hospital Wing.

Hmm. What would Madam Pomfrey do if he showed up at the Hospital Wing at night?

Forget it. The night was too amazing. He walked slowly, pausing to hear the snores and chatter of the paintings, and the armor creaking. The night sky on the ceiling was full of bright stars.

He sighed deeply. Relaxation like he hadn't felt in so long settled over his shoulders. Here, he could think about everything, even the big things, like Dumbledore and Voldemort...and he could think of the blokes he knew and didn't know, and the inkling ideas he had of what he'd like to do with them. Mmm...

But he could also just drift and think of nothing. No eyes stared at him, no ghosts noticed him, and he avoided any signs of Peeves like the plague. The castle was his.

Harry felt more comfortable with Lupin than anyone else these days. He'd almost blurted to the werewolf last week how he had started to look at blokes differently in the past year or so, but chickened out at the last minute.

Well, plenty of time to figure that out. Plenty of time to figure out anything! Harry smiled. He couldn't wait till Voldemort was gone. It would be splendid not having a Dark Lord behind his back or in his head to deal with. He would have so much time.

As he ascended the stairs to the Owlery, he noticed something unusual: it was silent.

The Owlery was never silent. There was always action going on. Even during the day when the owls often slept, there would be a little bit of chirping noise, or you could hear their talons scratching against their stands, something. It was a comfortable hubbub that Harry always right now, there was nothing. Not a single feather rustle or hoot met Harry's ears.

He took the Cloak off and stuffed it into his robes pocket before opening the Owlery gate. Barty Crouch Junior as Mad-Eye had taught him constant vigilance!, and Lupin had reinforced this. Harry whispered a quick lumos.

The room appeared empty but for one white owl. Harry crept softly into the room and flashed his light in every corner and nook.

No enemy presented itself. Harry bent over the white owl and realized who it was.

"Hedwig? What's wrong?"

His owl stared up at him with wide, wide eyes. When he reached out a hand to pet her, she squawked loudly, and her wings lifted as if she might fly away. She was shivering.

"Hedwig..." Harry made his voice gentler, and drifted his hand down, down through her feathers. They were so soft. "What are you afraid of?"

A thrill shivered up Harry's back. He cast some of the spells Lupin had recently taught him, to check for intruders and recent visitors. The results were dull and normal. There was nothing that would frighten an entire Owlery into flying away. They couldn't all be hunting at the same time. Why was only Hedwig here?

Harry looked outside the window and studied the walls for some outside intruder. Maybe an Animagus like Skeeter had skittered away? He was reminded suddenly of that old Dracula tale, and how the title vampire had been able to crawl up and down walls like a lizard.

Then he sat on the windowsill and stared across the room at Hedwig. This was a fine spot for musing, especially with the night breeze, but he couldn't ignore his nervous owl. She fidgeted where she sat. He watched her scratch a toe against the stone, and then, as if deciding to stick out the battle, she became still and stared back at him.

Her expression still seemed to him to be afraid. Harry wasn't an owl expert, but this owl was his. He knew her moods and expressions. Hedwig was staring at him with fear. She was an old friend. Why was his friend afraid of him?

Anger trickled into Harry just a little, because everything seemed to be going wrong lately. He wanted to feel a bit of control, but instead it was slipping away.

Hedwig gave him one long look and then flew up to a distant corner of the Owlery, further away.

"This is ridiculous," Harry spat. "There's nothing scary about me. I'm not going to hurt you, Hedwig. I'm not going to hurt anyone."

He left the Owlery without petting her again, and found himself half an hour later standing nearly inside the Forbidden Forest.

He shook himself. It was freezing out here! And how the hell had he gotten here? He tried to remember descending the stairs to the first floor, and then down the grounds, but all that came up were other memories of doing that. So he pulled his Cloak tighter around him and stared out into the Forest.

Ignore it. Just ignore it. The eye changing colors and the quiet owlery are weird. But memory trouble? That's just from lack of sleep. If the nightmares weren't going on, I'd be sleeping fine, and everything would be normal. Once I get a decent sleeping potion under way, I'll be fine. I just have to buy the ingredients...or ask Snape...argh.

Harry raised his chin up and scented the air. It smelled like sweet pine, and there was an earthy, underlying smell, too, like wet soil. He imagined he could hear the bugs slithering in the dirt, and the trees creaking under a slight breeze. Ahh. His head felt so much clearer out here.

But...the Forest seemed unusually quiet, too, just like the Owlery. Harry couldn't even hear any crickets singing or any other normal, background noises for Hogwarts grounds. Fang was silent. Hagrid's hut was dark. No owls hooted, and there wasn't even a single deer traipsing about. Harry wished a centaur would pop up out of the blue. Everything felt so dead and ominous.

He poked his head beneath a branch, seeking for he knew not what. Maybe there was some creature out there, a giant spider or something worse, scaring the animals away. He wouldn't mind meeting it. Normal was good and well, but right now, Harry welcomed a fight. He wanted to release this tension boiling in him.

Not enough to enter the Forest alone, though. Nothing peeked out at him from that impenetrable black. Harry sighed, kicked the ground with his toe, and returned to the castle.

Severus was not having a good day. He had slept fitfully, and now someone was banging at his door. Merlin's tits!

He wrenched himself out of bed and performed a quick scourgify and another quick spell to make his clothes unwrinkled. Glaring at the mirror, he kicked it, and then stalked through his office and down the hallway to the big mahogany door.

"What is it?"

He found himself staring down at Granger. Why was she here, of all people? He hated any reminder of Potter that came by these days. The teenager had been avoiding him the entire term so far. It was nice not having those green Lily eyes and that full mouth hover in his vision...

"Professor, I'm so sorry to disturb you. But it's very important."

The young woman squared her shoulders and hefted her books higher in her arms. Severus frowned. "Get on with it. What is it."

She coughed. "Well, it's Harry, sir. He...he hasn't been sleeping well. He gets nightmares almost every night. He hasn't been telling me, but I can tell. His studies are suffering. Honestly, he's miserable. And he keeps saying he's going to make a good sleeping potion or go to the Hospital Wing, but I've talked to Madam Pomfrey and he hasn't gone. He's been especially irritable, too. I was wondering if...if you could help. Maybe he...maybe he needs Occlumency lessons again? Could I at least get some potions ingredients from you? Then I could help him myself."

Severus grunted. So. The Potter boy was in trouble yet again. So far this term, he had been...distant. Troubled, yes. He didn't talk in class. That was a first! He didn't sleep, either. He turned in his essays on time, even, and Severus hated to admit it, but Potter was surprisingly good at his DADA. Not necessarily Auror material, as had been whispered about, but...something a bit beyond ordinary, indeed.

"Mister Potter can gain some sleep while skiving off classes, Miss Granger. Just make sure he doesn't skive off mine."

That said, Severus closed the door. He smiled to hear the girl squawk in dismay and the satisfying crunch of the heavy door. Ignoring the knocking that commenced, he returned to his quarters.

He mixed together a quick potion to zap some energy into himself, and while he waited, returned to the book he had been perusing last night. In the midst of zargles and zoots, he found himself thinking of the upcoming Quidditch match. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. What sort of game would it be, with Gryffindor's famed Seeker in bad shape?

Fuck Severus' mind for admiring the boy's clean, smooth flying, and wondering if any of that agility on a broom spread to other areas. There was no denying that the arrogant git of a boy was growing into a man. If only he wasn't in both of Severus' classes, so that Severus could get some reprieve.

"Nightmares, my arse," Severus hmphed. "He's probably spending all night wandering his dear, precious castle in that bedamned cloak."

He swirled his way to a horrifyingly early Potions class with the First Years, and then struggled to keep himself from falling asleep through another with the Second Years. By the time DADA with Fourth Year Hufflepuff and Slytherin rolled around – which always involved preventing some sort of stupid bullying on the part of his House, damn them – his temper was short.

"MISTER INGLES! If you club Miss Shirl against the wall one more time, I will personally hang you from my office by your toenails, allow Filch to torture you as he likes, and feed you a potion that will make hell look like paradise. Detention for a week, seven p.m., in my office."

The students' wide-eyed looks dissipated into quiet chatter, and Severus overheard one of Ingles' friends say, "Blimey, he usually reserves that sort of shrieking for Potter. You really got the sauce. Wonder whose broomstick he has up his arse this morning?"

Severus exhaled sharply through his nose. "Mister Rott. A single more mention that involves broomsticks coupled with my arse, and I will personally feed yours to the giant arachnids in the Forbidden Forest. Silence."

He smirked at their grimaces, and was just checking on the potions work of one Miss Evergreen when a student slammed into the room.

"Professor Snape! Professor!"

Severus looked down at the short, breathless freckled boy hanging onto the door handle for dear life. "Yes?"

"H-Headmistress McGonagall needs you. Accident in – Seventh Year Transfiguration – "

"I'm sure Minerva is quite capable of handling it by herself. Or did she send for me?"

"Yes, sir," the boy gasped. "It's Potter."

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