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Unleashed	By : lordoberon Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 17651 -:- 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
- 9
- 10
- 11
I am so sorry that this chapter doesn't progress the plot much, yet again! The next one will, I promise! Man, this is going to be a loong fic...I haven't done such a long one in years.

Don't worry, Severus will discover that Harry was almost a Slytherin! I plan on it. =)

Please keep reviewing! They encourage me to keep going even when I feel stumped as to what to write next.

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UNLEASHED

A Snarry fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 10

The demons were never subtle. This was their folly, for it made them easy to track. They left destruction in their wake. Bloodied bodies, ripped paintings, lopsided suits of armor…Severus followed the trail until he reached the great door of Hogwarts.

There, streaking towards the forest was a small, leaping figure.

A larger figure tried to stop it, but was pushed with a violent shove into the wall of his own house, where he collapsed.

Severus stopped for only a moment to collect his breath and send a bit of healing into Hagrid. He tried to summon Patronuses to send for Pomfrey and Lupin, but could think of nothing happy. So he went on…straight into the Forbidden Forest.

Pine needles whipped underneath him and branches scratched all over him, but Severus did not stop. He could not think. He could not feel sorry for himself. He could not collect his breath anymore. There was no time. There was nothing else that was important. Only Harry. Nothing else. It had been that way for a long time, and it still was, and he did not know if he would ever be able to stop it continuing.

Love, although it was suffering for him, as everything else, was still unstoppable. Even when it was in him - bitter, ugly, mean Severus Snape. Ha! If only he could remain poisonous, rage and cold and unaffected, then the suffering would be less. If only he could not feel so intensely when it came to one maddening young man.

Harry Potter was always breaking Severus’s boundaries.

Now, he forced Severus to run until he thought his legs would buckle beneath him. He dragged him deep into the Forest, past the arachnids, past the blinking, glowing things, past centaurs, dryads and naids, until it was all black and there was nothing more to see.

A slim form pushed Severus down, pressing fingers at his throat. The demons were done with him, and ready for him to die. If he would keep chasing them, they would not stand for it. Death was his punishment.

He tried fire. He tried spells. But they kept on pressing at him. He could not breathe at all. Spots were firing behind his eyelids. Hatred and rage had led him here, to this point in his life, to this death.

He would not accept it. If force would not win, then maybe Dumbledore was right. Maybe tenderness and love, cheesy and sickening as he found them, were the answer…it frightened him, and it made him broil, to be forced to be so vulnerable.

But if it would save Harry, then he would do anything. Yes, that’s right, anything!

So he pulled the boy down by his collar, and kissed him as hard as he could. He pushed his hands against the boy’s chest, over the heart, and like a Patronus formed from love instead of happiness, he sent strong wandless magic blasting into Harry Potter, pushing it into his limbs and his mind and the blackened core that the demons had corrupted. It was a powerful, ancient method, but it was also nothing to do with the mind. It had to come from the heart.

Something emptied from Potter, smoky and shrieking, like the first time he had attacked the demons. Then the boy collapsed over Severus. Severus felt exhausted enough to die. But hopefully he wouldn’t. Damn what McGonagall and Lupin thought – his tricks were working!

He sank away into nothing places. Finally, rest.

=====

“We have to do something. This is the second time he’s practically killed Severus. I don’t think Severus can tolerate much more.”

“You would really have us draw the demons out? They’re forceful enough when they possess Harry. Wouldn’t they be stronger out and talking to us?”

“No, Minerva, it doesn’t work like that. The demons always want hosts and are always stronger inside someone. If we drew them out to talk, they’d be wispy and weaker.”

“Well,” the woman’s voice sounded sour, “What would you offer them? Blood? Your newborn babe, Rumpelstiltskin style? Don’t look at me like that. I knew you and Tonks are together.”

“Well,” Remus coughed. Light was starting to come into Harry’s world. He blinked violently.

“Oh, you’re awake! Thank Merlin. Harry!”

Harry opened his eyes to the familiar, awful Hospital Room. He leaned over his bed and threw up. Oh, he felt horrible! His every limb was stinging, and he felt like his brain was a blob of fuzz.

“He looks awful.”

“Not to worry, dear!” Madam Pomfrey stuffed something in his face. “This will stop the nausea!” He drank it greedily.

Then he lay back and sighed. He waited until his stomach stopped burbling, and then opened his eyes again.

“Is he alright?”

Remus Lupin and Minerva McGonagall were standing at the foot of his bed looking at him. His tired werewolf friend looked up when Harry asked his question. “Is who alright?”

“S- Snape. Did I…”

Did I kill him? Did I make him not want to help me anymore? Is he going to survive? He’s brave enough to face Voldemort, and he’s saved me time and time again. Is he still willing to try saving me one more time?

Remus looked over at a closed up bed across the Wing from Harry. “Yes, Harry. He’s going to be okay. It was a close one…” He cleared his throat, and stopped.

“Harry…” McGonagall edged up to his bedside, and put a feather-light hand over his. Her skin was soft and wrinkled in aging. “I know you won’t like what I’m about to say, but you’ll have to let me finish. Hogwarts is too dangerous for you, Harry. And for others. When the demons take you over, they are very strong and have a tendency to hurt people. Now, all the Order wants to help you, but each has their own tasks given them by Dumbledore. Severus is the one who has been helping you. I asked him if he wanted more help, and he agreed to Remus. We’re going to have to move you someplace else, and I was thinking of Grimmauld Place. It’s yours, after all. What do you think?”

“But…it’s not mine,” Harry said through a mouth that felt of cotton. “I mean, it is, but, I want the Order to use it. And…” He looked away. “I’d rather not stay there.”

Remus put in quickly, “You could stay with me and Tonks’s family, Harry.”

Harry thought about it. Tonks’s family? Well, perhaps he could. Perhaps he should. He had to go somewhere else. But he didn’t want to hurt Tonks or her family, either. And they had to live there, it wasn’t a visiting place, like Hogwarts was for students or Grimmauld was for the Order.

A place that he could stay with as few people as possible seemed best, a place where Snape and Remus could help him. Even as Harry thought of it, grief gripped his heart. He had hurt more of his fellow students. He would be even lonelier than he was in Snape’s quarters here. At least here, he still felt part of the school, and Ron and Hermione could send him things…

He was so sick of all this. He missed going outside!! It had been so long…

“Can I go somewhere with a lawn? A-An outside area I can be? I’m sick of being inside.”

Remus opened his mouth, but a low voice answered Harry’s query. “You can stay with me. I have a large, unkempt lawn in the back. You won’t like the hellhole of a place, but the lawn can be yours during your stay.”

The curtains of the bed across from Harry shot back, and Severus Snape stood up on shaky feet. He clasped his torn black robes around him, but beyond the rips, Harry could see reddish wounds and odd greenish bubbles against his skin.

“What do you think?”

Lupin and McGonagall stared at him, and then at each other, and then at Harry.

Harry bit his cheek so he wouldn’t smile. “Perfect.”

It took five horrible Hospital Wing, waiting days before they got to leave. Snape had to heal, gather his office items, report to the Dark Lord, and ready his house for a visitor. It was a sunny morning when he opened the Hospital Wing doors, bowed to Madam Pomfrey, and then came to Harry’s bedside.

“Are you ready?” A black briefcase balanced in one of his hands, his wand in the other.

“Yes.” Harry had a small bag of items, shrunken down, and had exchanged school robes, once and for all, for muggle attire.

“Good.” Snape smirked lazily. “I was ready to leave you behind if you weren’t. Come on.”

Harry followed Snape down a secret passageway, and down into the dungeons. Then there was another passageway, straight out from Snape’s office, which eventually had them out onto Hogwarts grounds, next to the lake.

Snape paused there, and seemed to teeter between two things, his mouth working. Finally he spat, “Say goodbye, Potter.”

Harry stared. What? Wasn’t he going with him?

Snape cursed. “Not me, you dolt! The castle!”

Oh. Harry grinned. Snape had affection for Hogwarts, too? Or he knew that Harry felt it was his real home? He glanced back at it, but just once. Oh, he would miss it! Thinking of leaving sent a pang through his chest. He turned back around.

“You know, castles can’t talk,” he remarked, as they walked across the green towards the Hogwarts gate. It was weird to see the gate. Harry so rarely paid attention to it during his time at school.

“You are an idiot,” Snape hissed. There was a pop as they left Hogwarts grounds. “I cannot believe I am letting such an insufferable person into my living space.”

Harry scowled. He had quite liked the idea of being in Snape’s back lawn, and seeing something different. But Snape was being a fucking arsehole, like usual.

“Arse,” he whispered.

The Potions Master glared at Harry. “Language, Mister Potter.”

Harry found himself roughly pulled forward, and winced as the older man wrapped an arm around him. This reminded him all too much of when Snape had seen him crying recently and tried to hug him or something. It was so awkward, and so obvious that Snape never did it. He pushed back the gratefulness that slipped into him at the memory. It had been comforting…

He shut his eyes for the squeeze of Apparition, and they popped away.

While he stood recovering, reeling in dizziness, Snape slid into a dark alleyway. By the time he emerged, Harry felt normal. The sky overhead was overcast and everywhere smelled like rain. They were next to a dingy pub with a broken sign. A line of broken, ugly little houses turned around the corner. A muddy river sat across the road from them, so sluggish it barely seemed to move.

Harry jumped when Snape returned to stand in front of him. The man began casting some spells, but Harry could not pay attention to them. Gone was the intimidating Potions Master with his billowing black robes that made him resemble a bat. Instead, he wore black trousers – trousers, Merlin’s bleeding eyeballs! – and a black jumper that covered his arms. A lower neckline than the tight choking kind he usually wore revealed his neck, and a bit of his chest. Harry even spotted a couple dark hairs.

Pointed boots made him seem taller. Unheeded by long sleeves, his hands seemed suddenly naked. Harry spotted five ink spots on one hand, two calluses on the other, and all fingertips were odd colors from potion-making.

He stood, stunned, taking Snape in. The man was less imposing. One could look at his face more, somehow, but also less. His dark hair seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, so different from the greasy glimmer of dim dungeon classrooms. His figure was trim but strong, and his legs just kept on going. Fuck. He looked good.

“Write a book about it,” Snape snarled, seeing his staring. He grabbed Harry’s hand and yanked him along.

“I’m not five, you arse, I can walk on my own,” Harry growled, “let me go.”

When he was let go, it was so sudden that he almost fell over. Determinedly he followed the older man’s path, trying his best not to notice the sway of a tight arse over those long, long legs. But he couldn’t help it, he just couldn’t. He took in the black cloth stretched over fine, broad shoulders, and the elegant, floating way the man had of walking. He eyed the long, dark hair, and wondered if maybe it was soft. Maybe the grease was because of potions?

By the time they reached the last little brick house, Harry was flustered and so ready for a distraction. Anything! Please, Merlin!

The door opened, and Harry was pushed unceremoniously first, where he almost tripped on a ragged rug. It had used to be blue, but was now rather grey. He stood up straight and looked around.

They were in a shabby sitting room with a tired-looking couch, two armchairs, a table, and many bookshelves stuffed so hard they looked like they might fall over. A window looked out onto the street behind the couch. To the left was a dark, dimly-lit hall.

“You really meant it when you said it’s a hellhole,” Harry said. He sat down on the couch and sneezed as dust flew up from it. He was disappointed. This was Snape’s house? It was so…ordinary. It was nothing at all like the fantastic Burrow.

“You can leave any time you like,” Snape said. He yanked off his jumper, revealing an equally black, buttoned-up shirt, and headed straight towards the wall – which turned, instead, into a door. When he returned moments later, he handed Harry a glass of water.

“Drink that while I show you to your rooms. Then I won’t have to hear you.”

He led Harry to the hallway. Harry drank some water but paused at a portrait on the wall. It looked like a family portrait, for everyone in it was as sallow-skinned as Snape. There were three people. He wanted to look at it more, but found his collar suddenly grabbed. They proceeded up a stairway.

“There are hidden stairways and areas inside this house,” Snape said. “Do not go looking for them.”

What kind of comment was that? Harry almost laughed through a mouthful of water. Did Snape know him at all?

That made him think of Snape looking at his memories, though, which made his stomach plummet. He drank his water and kept shut up.

They were in yet another dusty, dark hallway, with two doorways. Snape led Harry to the one at the back left corner of the house.

“This is your room.”

He opened the door, tossed Harry’s bag on the bed, and then led Harry to the other room in the other corner. “Here is the main library.”

Here, here, was a room that was paid a little bit of attention to. Gone was the dust and most of the cobwebs. The room was narrow, jutting out to a balcony. The walls to the left and right were covered by more bookshelves. A red Indian carpet covered the plush floor, and two armchairs, considerably less beaten-up, sat in the middle of the room on either side of a polished black lamp.

Harry walked down to the end of the room, and opened the glass doors to the balcony.

The back lawn was ‘unkempt,’ as Snape had described it. Vines snarled up and down the stone walls, almost covering them. Shrubbery grew all the way up from the ground to the bottom of the balcony, nearly curling over onto the balcony floor. A row of trees lined the back wall for privacy.

Rose bushes and plants Harry didn’t know the names of sat, higgledy piggledy seeming, but actually they grew on either side of a narrow cobblestone path. The path circled around a greenhouse in the very center. Upon squinting at it beyond its shining coat of rain, Harry recognized some magical plants.

It figured Snape would live in a muggle neighborhood and never invite anyone in. He really had no friends other than Death Eaters, it seemed. So, no friends at all, really.

Harry looked over his shoulder. Snape sat on a chair in the library, looking weary.

He stepped back inside, making sure to lock the glass doors behind him. As he did, he felt magic zip into the doors. A ward, eh?

He went to stand in front of his professor. “Um. Can I see the rest?”

“There is no ‘rest,’” Snape retorted. “Simply my room and my lab, neither of which you are permitted inside.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “And the kitchen? Why is it hidden behind that secret door?”

“It is connected to my lab. Now let me have some peace without you.”

Snape left the room. Harry followed him down, back to the first floor, and sat on an armchair, sneezing again. “If I don’t know where your room is, how will I find you?”

Snape stared into his fireplace, and then grumbled. “Fine. Here.”

He whirled his wand, and a door behind one of the book shelves banged opened. All it showed was a rickety stairway that looked to lead into yet another dark hallway.

“How do I get your attention when you’re up there?”

Snape rolled his eyes at Harry and stood up. He walked through the doorway, and then looked back at Harry. “Just knock.”

The hidden door snapped shut behind him. Harry heard the man’s steps creaking over the stairway, up, up, and then another door opened and shut.

Whew. And he still had the borrowed wand on him. Snape was so tired, he’d forgotten to fetch it back from Harry. Now he could use it for more than just pensieve work.

He was totally alone. Again. God! Harry flung his arms out and slammed them onto the arms of his chair. This was so dull! He hated this! He wanted to be back at Hogwarts! Maybe he should have said yes to Remus’s host offer after all…Tonks was so funny…

But she was not nearly as trim and lean, or deep-voiced, or long-fingered, as a certain Potions Master…Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. Why had the world gone so mad? Couldn’t he just be back to his normal crazy life, with a dark wizard at his heels and Terry Boot to eyeball? That was bad enough! Demons and older men who grumped at you and tried to hug you and looked suddenly good in tight clothing were just too, too confusing!

With a sigh, he began to peruse the downstairs collection of books.

Many of them were on potions. He put a couple aside that looked interesting, because they were about people and places and not just potion craft. Then he looked for books on other subjects. There were so many, and they were meticulously arranged. There was a large section on history – both magical and muggle, Harry noticed. There was a bit of psychology, mostly muggle. There was a cooking section, which bled into chemistry and physics. There was a smattering of fiction, and a section on herbology that was quite sizeable. That bled into gardening, and then a couple untitled books that looked dark. And then, wedged between Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and A Study of Muggle Economics, was a book called, The Wind in Your Ears.

Harry pulled and wiggled it until it was in his hands, and flopped it open. Immediately an entire forty pages of the book fell out, barely hanging onto the spine by a thread. Cursing, Harry tilted it back up in with its fellow pages. The words Quidditch and flying popped out at him. He picked up one remaining page that stuck out from the back of the book.

It was a page of notes which he recognized the handwriting on immediately. On it was a list of Quidditch player positions, including some he did not recognize, and a quick drawing of a Seeker after a Snitch, looking awfully familiar…

Harry chuckled. “He drew me?”

He read the rest of the notes. Snape discussed a particular game between two old teams that, as far as Harry knew, did not exist anymore. Then he saw: disbanded in 1882. After that, there was a discussion on moves, including the Wronski Feint which Harry remembered so well from the Quidditch World Cup before Voldemort was reborn.

Snape liked Quidditch? Since when? Then again, he did attend games. Especially the ones between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Guess he had some House spirit that came out. If he liked it so much, though, why did he seem like he had a tight wad up his arse in regard to Quidditch, especially where Harry and Ron and detentions were concerned?

A very contradictory man, indeed. Harry wondered what else Snape was hiding. His stomach began to growl right about then. He got up and approached the wall with the hidden kitchen door. He found that once he took out his wand, the door opened for him automatically.

Well, that was nice. He hadn’t fancied standing around guessing what Snape’s password might be while his stomach raged on. Funny that Snape would make it so easy, though, if these did lead down or up to his labs. Harry imagined Snape in his robes in a dark, dank underground lab and smirked to himself. “Fancies he’s Batman, he does. Or Dr. Jekyll.”

The kitchen was small, like everything else, but not as dingy. It looked more used, and it was the most wizardly part of the house Harry had seen so far. A tiny magical clock ticking by the sink told, not the time, but what the neighbors were doing, complete with which direction they were from the house and their addresses. Spooky. The cupboards, a plain wood, were covered in old Daily Prophets and other wizarding news. Harry noticed a couple about him and some Death Eater news in there, along with potions work and muggle breakthroughs in science. Hmm.

The refrigerator was stuffed with food, but most of it was rotting. Harry poured himself a glass of milk and made a massive sandwich with odds and ends. His stomach didn’t really care what he put in it, at this point.

About to leave the kitchen, he paused. If he were Severus Snape, where would he put the secret entrance to his potions lab? Harry wanted to see it in its full glory.

He looked at every tile of the floor, but nothing seemed amiss. He tapped at them with his wand, too; he was seventeen now, so he could do magic outside of school. He tapped the walls, the cupboards, and even the plates, silverware, and behind the refrigerator. Nothing. Damn.

Snape was a sneaky sod.

Accompanied by his large sandwich and milk, Harry left the kitchen. He pulled the table closer to his armchair, and swore as one of its legs broke off. A quick reparo hid the damage, and he ate his sandwich in happy silence.

Done, he whisked it all back to the kitchen magically, and sat back with his milk and the old, crumbly Quidditch book. How old was this anyway? He looked at the publication date in the front: 1418. Damn.

It was hours later when a bonging clock made Harry shoot straight up from his chair. He slammed his head on the lamp, and swore loudly.

“Language, Po -”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry whined, rubbing his sore head. “You would’ve said something worse. I’ve heard you swear when you drip potion things on your feet.”

“Things? The word your feeble brain is looking for is ingredients.”

The Potions Master was sitting on the couch with his booted feet propped up on the one crappy table. He ruffled his newspaper in an angry manner, shooting Harry a glare over it, before resuming his reading.

Harry smirked, and kept looking. Snape was still in muggle clothes – how odd, in his own home? – and wore a pair of dark reading glasses perched on his hooked nose. When he sensed Harry staring at him, he folded the newspaper under his arm and glared over the rims of his glasses.

“To what do I owe this honor of your attention, Mister Potter? As you so wittily pointed out recently, it is not of your habit to pay me the slightest attention with what little brain matter you possess.”

Harry licked his lips. It wasn’t exactly his brain matter that was paying attention…he squirmed in his chair. He felt sweaty. His body was betraying him…stupid body! What happened to Terry Boot? But even thinking of that handsome young man wouldn’t strike out the arousal that Harry was feeling from staring at Snape.

“You’re wearing muggle clothes in your own house. It doesn’t make any sense. What if a Death Eater stopped by and you were wearing that?”

Snape snorted. “Death Eaters do not usually stop by. I live in a muggle area, and I frequently go outside for walks. Therefore, robes are a hassle, unless I am working in my lab on a project.”

He seemed like he wanted to say more, but instead, he simply took up the newspaper again.

Harry retreated upstairs the moment Snape’s attention was off of him. He was sweating heavily, and when he dove into the guest room he was staying in, he was relieved to be able to lock the door.

What in hell was happening to him? Aroused, by Severus bleeding Snape?! He threw himself onto his bed, shoving his bag aside and grabbing the pillow on the way. Prostrate, with his face buried in a pillow that did not smell like Snape, he felt a little better.

But then his mind conjured images of Snape shirtless…his imagination played with the idea of those long-fingered hands tugging at his cock…and that frowning, shapely mouth, what had it been like to kiss it? If only he could remember…

A groan spilled past his lips. Harry detested that he was getting hard off of what he was picturing. He couldn’t seem to stop it, though. Once there, it was hard to draw his mind away. Even Terry Boot, pictured wet from a bath, or the sensation of his hand as Harry remembered it being, soft and smooth, couldn’t banish Severus Snape. Like always, he was an intense force in Harry’s life that would not let up on torturing him.

Harry surrendered to his body. He unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it to the floor. Then he eased his right hand down into his trousers.

“Bloody hell…” His hand felt so good, grasping, pulling. He rubbed his thumb over every burgeoning inch.

“Mm…mm…Mmm!” He couldn’t stop making sounds for every tug. His cock was heavy in his hand now. What would it be like to have Snape’s mouth there? His tongue? The thought made Harry whimper.

He peeled the constraining trousers and shorts from his body, and lay there naked. He jerked his cock into his hand, rubbing over the bed sheets, hissing at the delightful friction. His cock was erect now, pleading with him. His neck, chest and thighs felt slick with sweat.

He put his other hand in the mix, wetting a finger thoroughly with a suckling mouth. When it plunged into his hole, fucking him, he bit the pillow to bury his noise. He added in a second finger, thumbing the head of his cock all the while. Mercilessly he teased the slit, gasping, choking in his moans so they wouldn’t carry downstairs.

When a third, wet finger was inside of him and thrusting as hard as he could manage, he felt his orgasm rising up in him. Snape in his mind had his mouth over all of Harry’s cock, his shimmering hair shaking as he bobbed over Harry’s cock. And then those dark, brooding eyes looked straight up at Harry…

And Harry came in a burst, moaning his finish. He withdrew sticky fingers from himself and just lay there, panting.

It felt so good, SO good, to treat himself. It had been too long, too long cooped in a dark room with no privacy, too long with Snape always possibly around every damn corner, or popping up in the Floo…what a relief to have his own room again. Bloody Merlin, wanking at the Dursleys’ was easier than wanking in Snape’s Hogwarts quarters!

Harry sighed in happy relief, and spelled the mess away. He rolled over onto his back and looked at the clock ticking by the window. Nine p.m. When had it gotten so late?

He put his clothes back on and unpacked his belongings. Then he realized what a gross mess he was. But where was the loo and a shower or tub?

He opened the door just as the stairs creaked a warning. Snape walked up the stairway towards Harry, and gave him a quick once-over, as he seemed wont to do with everyone. Could he tell Harry had been wanking? Harry tried to form a hard wall in his mind against Legilimency, just in case. The effort simply gave him a bit of a headache, though.

Snape was wearing robes again, thank the gods. He looked entirely put-out, a grim scowl on his face.

“Lupin will be arriving soon, at precisely ten o’clock. Be ready.”

Be ready? To have yourself assaulted by magic and demons yanked out of you for a little chat, right? What was Harry supposed to do to get ready?

As Snape turned around, Harry reached out his hand and grabbed the man’s shoulder. The professor flinched noticeably, and then turned back. “What?” He was getting sourer by the moment.

“Er…is there a bathroom?”

Snape rolled his eyes and led Harry back into the guest room. Oh, thank god Harry had thought to clean up his mess! Snape pointed to a pale door that Harry hadn’t even seen in one corner by the window.

“You have your own.”

Harry muttered, “Thanks,” and as soon as Snape was gone he locked the door again. Then, peeling his clothes off as he went, he disappeared into the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, he swore.

He looked like he’d just been shagging or gotten shagged. His clothes were rumpled and crooked. The button of his trousers was undone. His hair was awful, and his face was flushed. Even his pupils revealed his secret, wildly dilated. Oh shit. He hadn’t hid it very well, had he? Well, he couldn’t apparate, so Snape couldn’t have thought he’d left the house to go shag someone. Unless someone who could apparate had appeared in Harry’s room to shag him. But Snape had those wards…so there was no way anyone could get in. There was nothing to it – Snape knew Harry had had a damn good wank.

Well, Snape was a man. He could handle it. Plus, as he’d told Harry, he used to be a teenager, too.

Harry enjoyed a luxurious, wonderful bath.

By the time he was done and clothed again – in a plain shirt with pajama flannels – it was nine thirty-five. Okay. What did he have to do before Remus showed up?

When he opened his bedroom door, he almost tripped over a stack of books. Looking over them, he realized they were the ones he’d put aside for himself earlier. The Quidditch one was missing that little page of notes with the drawing of him, though. Huh. Is that what Snape was so mad about? Or was it really the knowledge that Harry had wanked?

Shit. He was going to have to stop trying to figure Snape out, or he’d go bonkers. Harry sped down to the sitting room.

No one was around. Okay…he sat down on an armchair and waited. Five minutes went by, and then when Harry went into the kitchen to dig through the fridge again, suddenly Snape appeared behind him.

“Gah! Don't do that! Making a new poison in your lab?”

Snape had a steaming bottle in one hand, which he placed carefully on a countertop.

“They are not poisons, Potter. They are potions. Some are poisonous, but not all. Would you like to see poison? Here is the effect of the one which spilled on me when your demons threw me into a wall.”

He slid a sleeve of his robes down. His left shoulder had a giant wound on it. It was black and fleshy, looking more like meat than any part of a human being. Harry gagged.

“Is it going to be like that forever?”

“No, thanks to this nasty drink I take every evening for a week.”

Snape held up the bottle in cheers, and then drank the whole thing down in one go. Harry watched his throat take it in slowly, adam’s apple bobbing. He looked at the callused, strong hands around the bottle, and the smooth, narrow lips wrapping in an ‘O’ around the bottle…

Then he had to look away fast. Argh!

He stalked out of the kitchen and resumed his place on the armchair by the bookshelves. The fireplace was across the room, in a weird little corner by the kitchen.

Snape sat down on the couch, and simply stared into the fire. When Harry looked closely, he saw that the man was biting his lip in pain. There was a distinctive sizzling sound coming from the black wound on Snape’s shoulder.

Shame burned through Harry. He knew that he wasn’t personally responsible, logically, because it wasn’t his fault that the demons were in him, and he hadn’t told them to throw Snape around. But he still felt responsible, and after all the times Snape had saved him, he felt like he owed the man something already. He had incurred major debt. Now he was simply incurring more.

What could he ever do to repay Snape?

“Hey. Snape. When’s your birthday?”

The Potions Master turned towards Harry slowly. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Harry sighed shortly. “No. When is it?”

The man was looking at him with narrowed eyes. “January ninth, if you must know.”

“Oh.” Harry looked down at the floor. Damn. “That’s far away.”

Snape gave a derisive snort. “Since when have you had the need to give me a birthday present, Potter? Suddenly finding a fancy for me in your heart?” He snorted again. “Don’t play me a fool.”

Harry glared at him. “I’m not! I wasn’t trying to prank you or something!”

But it made sense that Snape was confused. After all, Harry hadn’t said thank you or anything to show gratefulness. But…he studied the grey carpet. How? Where to start? “Thanks for saving my life loads of times and sorry I thought you were an arsehole because you still sortof are”? That was idiotic. Snape would just laugh at him some more.

“Look,” Harry grumbled, saying under his breath, “I saw him torturing you.”

Snape’s eyes widened in surprise, and then his expression quickly flashed back to a scowl. “Oh, I see. So you desire to repay me because I was tortured and the matter involved you. Sorry, Mister Potter, but your bank accounts of Black and Potter combined would not suffice for all the times I’ve saved your arse and been tortured in regards to you. So sod off.”

“Well, fuck you!” Harry growled. His hands were clenched on the arms of his chair. “Sorry for trying to be nice for once! I guess it’s too much for you to handle! You like being a lonely bastard in your dark little holes, be my guest!”

He stomped across the room, and planned stomping some more on the stairs, when suddenly his arm was seized and he was forcefully pulled backwards. His progress backwards stopped only because the arm of the couch got in the way.

Harry turned his head and glared down at Snape. The man had a vice hold on Harry’s arm. For a second, staring into all that anger, Harry felt a shiver slither into him. He knew Snape was powerful.

“You are not going anywhere,” Snape intoned in a low hiss. “You will stay put until Lupin arrives, and take whatever comes like a man. If I hear another word out of you, I am going to hex you into kingdom come.”

Harry yanked his arm out of that painful grip. “Merlin’s balls, you will,” he groused, stomping back to his chair. “You’d have done it already if you wanted to so much.”

He could tell that he’d gotten to Snape. There was too much danger glittering in those black eyes. Maybe the entirety of having a guest at his house was proving too much for Snape. He’d seemed cranky all day.

Finally, they were given a reprieve when Remus appeared from the fireplace with a lovely pop. He dusted off his robes, which made them look only slightly better, and stepped into the room.

“Well,” he smiled, “I see you two have been getting along.”

Harry said nothing, and neither did Snape. Remus laughed. “Come on, I was just joking!”

No response. “Alright, alright,” he said, “I know this is hard on you both. Let’s get on with it.”

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Let's get on with it, indeed! Next chapter: plottiness and Harry and Severus go on some little adventures together.
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