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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
In which everyone thinks too much...*groan* This fic needs to be done soon. I'll try to quicken the pace.

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UNLEASHED

by lordoberon

Chapter 14

A loud knocking on his door woke him up. He had no idea what time it was. His head was fine after drinking. After years of it, one little drink did nothing to him. What was that banging?

He wrenched the door open, and Potter almost fell on top of him. He wore a green jumper that made his eyes startlingly brilliant in his face, and plain dark trousers. His hair was messy as always. Somehow it was so good to know this was the real Potter.

“Hey! So. Um. You’re alive.”

How articulate. “How kind of you to notice,” Severus growled. “Now, out!”

Potter resisted when Severus tried to push him away. Even touching the boy’s shoulders beyond the shirt felt good somehow. Argh. Now all that attraction was back since Potter was himself again. Damn it!

“HEY! Stop it! I just wanted to check! You slept for almost a day. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Severus let his hands fall. He smirked, and then rolled his eyes. “Me? Alright? You think that after years of living amidst the company of Death Eaters, with the Dark Lord right next to me, that a little potion work and lack of sleep would be reason to worry for my life? Well, Potter, I would say your stupidity disappoints me, but…I expect it, sadly.”

“Hmph.” Potter frowned. Then suddenly he laughed. “I was actually just bored.”

He walked back downstairs to the sitting room, and Severus followed after a quick scourgify. What he would give for a real bath! But there was never time.

He summoned a pot of tea, and poured some for them both. Potter accepted his cup from the air in front of his armchair, and while he sipped from it, he eyed Severus over the rim.

It was dark. Severus felt more refreshed than he had in so long. The clock struck eight o’clock.

“Why are you staring at me?”

It had been about a minute now, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He looked at Potter. The boy did not blush, or look away.

He put down his tea, and just kept looking at Severus, so Severus drank his tea so as to avoid looking back.

“You look like your mother more,” Potter said suddenly, “But you’re tall like your father. You got his eyes. And the long hands.”

Severus closed his eyes. Where had this come from? Bored Potter looking at the family portrait in the downstairs hallway, eh? Bother. He’d have torn that down long ago if it wasn’t stuck magically to the wall. Besides. His mother had always liked that portrait.

“I suppose I deserved that, after all the prattle you hear about your mother’s green eyes and how much you look like your father.”

Potter shook his head. “No. I wasn’t trying to bother you. Just observing.”

He sat back. It was eerie. Severus leaned forward and put his tea aside. “Are you sure this is the right Potter? Stop being so damn quiet and start arguing with me. Do I have to throttle you to get a decent reaction?”

All these niceties and talk of family! What was this! Severus did not like it. He wanted belligerent and angry Potter back.

Potter laughed, and Severus knew that this was the real Potter. That laugh…it was so rare that he caused it. But he still didn’t like getting no reply.

“Come on,” he hissed. “Yell at me. Say ‘fuck you’ again. Something.”

Potter looked at Severus, and then he looked away. He put his tea down on the rickety little table, and got up. “Fine then,” he said, and there was a little of the stubborn, annoyed tone Severus was used to. “You asked for it.”

He tromped across the distance between their seating places, and leaned in towards the couch. Severus blinked as the boy took hold of his tea cup and put it aside. Was that supposed to bother him? He searched for a wand anywhere on Potter’s person, but there was none. Instead, Potter was placing his hand on the couch arm, over Severus’s hand. That was worse than a wand in his face, Severus thought. A wand in his face he knew how to handle.

He did not know how to think anymore, though, when Potter’s other hand pressed against his left shoulder, and suddenly, that delectable person leaned in. A soft, sweet mouth pressed tenderly against his. It was so warm and inviting. It was so good.

Then that callused broom rider’s hand pushed up against his neck, and up further to bury in his hair. Potter’s hand played in it, and tilted Severus’s head back by pulling at it. His tongue flicked against Severus’s lips, shy but also somehow eager, impatient.

Unthinking, instinctively, Severus opened his mouth. He moaned loudly as a hot tongue slipped in. He couldn’t help it. It had been so long! That tongue eased into his mouth gently, swiping only a little. It was so wet and hot…Severus wanted it forever. He felt his heart speeding as the invading tongue began to lick inside of him, hungry, tasting him…a groan spilled low from Potter’s throat. That sound alone sent arousal creeping in trickles down through Severus’s body. It tightened his groin and made his buttocks clench and his hands suddenly seize into fists at the back of Potter’s shirt.

Potter’s tongue thrust into him, deep and wanting, and Severus responded, curling his tongue around playfully, gliding in a rhythm that he thought he had forgotten. He began to respond more to the kiss, sucking, biting, and pulled back for a short breath. Then he dove in again, pushing into Potter’s mouth this time.

Then he remembered who he was, and who Potter was, and how there was a pack of demons inside of Potter’s body. He remembered embarrassment, which flooded him suddenly, and shame. What was he doing? What was he doing?! Potter didn’t want him! What was this! What the fuck was this game??

The spell of it all left him, and rage burned so tight in his throat that he could barely swallow. He pushed Potter away so hard that the young man fell back and slammed his head on the floor.

Severus stood up fast. “GET OUT!” He pointed to the door.

“What -”

Potter was panting, anxious, confused, angry.

Severus stabbed his finger at the door again. “LEAVE!”

Potter stood up shakily, his face red in anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but Severus didn’t let him. Again he pushed, and then he took out his wand. Red sparks flew from it, and one shot out and stung Potter’s cheek. He winced.

This time, because the third time did often work in Charms, when Severus yelled, “GET OUT!” Potter left. He stomped to the door and left, slamming it hard behind him.

Severus was alone, panting, with sparks shooting off his wand in multiple colors, mostly red.

“ARGGH!” He slammed his hand down onto the couch arm, and then tossed his wand on the table. He couldn’t seem to stop it as his hands punched into the wall behind the couch over and over. Rage was filling him up so much that he did not even think about what he was doing. He just kept tearing and tearing. He needed to break something with physical force. As he tore, he yelled and swore over and over.

After a while, the yelling left him, but the rage was still there. It kept his hands moving, even when they bled and crackled. He punched and hacked, his wand forgotten in his incensed state, because somehow wands were sometimes not good enough when you were angry. Maybe he’d gotten that from his father, who had beaten his mother when the letter from Hogwarts came.

There was something good about touch. Severus hated it, but in this moment he loved it. He loved the scent of his blood, the taste of it when he wiped the snot from his nose, then when he realized he was crying, over a stupid faked kiss from Potter, the raged filled him again. He tore at the wallpaper, at the cheap wall plaster, at the inside, and when he got to the family portrait he tore all around it. Instead of falling forward, it collapsed with a crash on top of him. Combined with the weight of the wall it was still attached to, it was heavy.

Dazed, angry, hurt, he lay there, sprawled in his sitting room, with the couch and the portrait mostly on top of him, and wood chips splintering his arms.

He hated being taken advantage of…being duped…being coddled…he hated the thought that Potter, who didn’t really like him in that way (as the students said) even if he did actually appreciate Severus somehow…he hated that Potter had kissed him, perhaps sensing somehow that Severus fancied him.

How did he tell? Severus had kept it hidden so well for years.

Had Lupin said something? Had Severus’s long look shared with Potter at Grimmauld given him away? Both? Neither?

Why fuss over it, though, even. Potter was a bored teenage brat, and had wanted some fun, and perhaps somewhere in his lusty brain he’d decided mid-kiss to keep going with the joke, because it was so fucking hilarious…

And so he was just like his father, after all, always laughing at Severus, purposefully embarrassing him, and stealing from Severus the one good thing that Severus could possibly call his…James, stealing Lily…Harry, stealing from Severus the little love light that had been burning, a bitter but soft beam, inside his heart.

Now all he had was rage. He threw the painting off of him, and snapped his wand up from the floor.

He had lain here for too long – nine o’ clock now – but. What to do?

Let Potter rot. He would, when he hadn’t before. Potter deserved it, through and through.

=====

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!! Why had Harry ever given Severus Snape a shred of faith? He’d been right! The man was a lonely bastard who needed no one and hated everyone except himself. Sod his memories, sod his being tortured, sod it all, he was still an unlikable little piece of dung.

Harry was furious with Severus Snape. He wished he had a wand. He had tried to apparate away, but when that didn’t work, he started to run. Cursing Snape, he ran back and forth through the little muggle village, until he began to sweat and stopped by the river to dunk his feet in the gross water.

Severus Snape needed no one, apparently.

Harry wished that he could need no one. If only he could be so self-sufficient. He could get rid of the horcruxes without Ron and Hermione’s help. He wouldn’t endanger his friends ever again. He wouldn’t have a desire for women or for men in him, he would just be totally content and not need anything except Quidditch and simple things like that that he could like without any heartache at all…

Why had he kissed him?! It was so stupid!

Trapped within his own body, he had observed the Slytherin side of himself come out in full force. He’d known it had always been there, the Sorting Hat had told him so…but to see it in action…urgh! He hated it. Yet it was also a relief to know that he’d been right all those years ago to tell the Sorting Hat, “Not Slytherin!”

He knew that they weren’t all bad. But seeing what it brought out in him…he was so relieved that he wasn’t Slytherin. If he’d let that part of himself out more, he would be that proud, angry, cruel person. He had dropped the memory of his Sorting when he’d had that vision of Voldemort torturing Snape, and somehow through the demons’ influence he had forgotten his own House. It was humiliating and terrifying.

He hadn’t had time to process it, because of Ron and Hermione. Merlin, had it been good to see them! He didn’t want to talk to them about thinking he was Slytherin, or if they knew about the demons; he talked to them about fun and Hogwarts instead.

But Snape had not let him forget, because he had changed from the snapping and scowling Snape of the last couple days, to a calm, smiling Snape. Harry knew then that Snape was glad he was back to normal.

Harry couldn’t help being curious and intrigued. He’d wondered why Snape cared…now he wondered, in what way? It certainly wasn’t the fatherly way that Remus and Mr. Weasley did. Nor was it the friendly camaraderie of Sirius. It was Snape’s own special brand of grumpiness, with an extra vehemence for Harry and Harry alone…and Harry had sensed that Snape liked to argue with him, as if it were a sport.

Then Snape had given him that long, long look at Grimmauld Place…

There was a tenderness there that Harry had never seen in Snape. It had alarmed him, but also warmed him. Not just that. There was need, too, and Harry had felt the desire to respond to that need leap up in him. He couldn’t help it. When someone needed him, he felt obliged to answer.

The pub stop had been an excuse to test the waters. He’d decided, what would be the harm in telling Snape that he actually enjoyed his company, oddly enough? He’d wanted to thank Snape in some way anyway, and Snape couldn’t pretend indifference. He’d done too much for Harry for that façade now.

Yet he had laughed off everything Harry said. That had made Harry angry. Why did Snape insist on shutting Harry out?

He’d stayed awake half the night thinking about it. Then, when Snape had slept for almost all day today, he’d thought about it more. Perhaps Snape was using reverse psychology, and all of his pretended past hatred for Harry was actually hiding a great amount of good feelings for Harry? Maybe if Harry acted more kindly, he could bring the tenderness he’d glimpsed up to the surface.

But his longing to be closer had gone too far…how had he let himself go? One moment he was trying to figure Snape out while lying awake at night, then he was being nice, then he was kissing him…and his desire, which he’d packed inside for a while now, spilled out.

Fuck, it had been so good…Harry moaned and slammed his hand down on the cobblestones. It had started to rain, so he now sat beneath the bridge. Anger still brimmed in him hard and furious…especially when he remembered how good the kiss had been. Snape had responded…why on earth had he done that? Indifference at the pub, and then he went and let Harry stick his tongue down his throat?

Was it all mockery, to pay Harry back for all the nastiness between them throughout the years?

Why had Harry thought Snape might like him?

The more he pondered this question, the more his anger turned into depression. He hadn’t even thought any of it through at all. Snape was around the same age as Remus, there was no reason he would blow through age difference for a romance with Harry. Besides, he was the most unromantic person Harry had ever met. He seemed barely able to hug Harry. He had no family and no friends. His only love had been Lily. Why would he ever consider anyone else?

Harry wished that someone would love him as much as Snape seemed to love his mum. He wasn’t freaked out by the fact that Snape had been somewhat obsessed with her; in fact, strangely, he sortof liked it. He hadn’t met his mum, and he liked that she had been such a wonderful person as to cause two very different men, James and Snape, to fall in love with her deeply. A love so deep, that one had died for her, and one remained, living so that her son could live…

When Harry thought of that, he felt the sting of tears prickle in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall and squeezed his eyes shut. The self sacrificing that Snape kept doing for Harry made Harry desperate to respond. At first he’d been disbelieving, then curious. Now he wanted it. He wanted to feel all that care that Snape seemed to have for him. He wanted to feel it, and respond to it, and have Snape respond back. Maybe that was why he’d kissed him. He wanted a reaction for once! A sign that Snape cared, because damn it, Harry knew he did!

And Snape had responded. His kiss was…fuck, there were no words. It was not like anything Harry had ever experienced. He’d thought Ginny’s kisses were good and swore they were heaven after his petty experiences with Cho, but…Snape…was something else.

There was so much need and desire in his kiss. How could that be a lie?

But the anger in him wasn’t a lie, either. His sour treatment of Harry, over and over, was not a lie. He really seemed genuinely angry.

Perhaps he had just kissed Harry because it had been so long since he’d been kissed? He was a very lonely man. Maybe he was just desperate. Harry knew he wasn’t that good at kissing, so it wasn’t like his kiss had fueled some intense lust in the man.

Again Harry wondered how Snape had responded when, demon-possessed, he had kissed him. Had Snape shoved him away then, too? Evidently he’d been slow enough that the demons had a chance to kiss him. That implied some level of desire for physical contact, even if he didn’t want Harry himself. He was human, after all.

What a fucked up human he was though. Harry had a headache just trying to figure him out. Or maybe that was all the mucus in his sinuses…damn crying…

He looked at his watch. It was now midnight. Snape hadn’t come looking for him yet. Harry was surprised.

The last straw had been reached, it seemed. They were beyond step one, or step zero. They were dead. Harry had no chance of ever figuring out Snape, or getting any sense of how neutral, hateful, or positive his feelings towards Harry might be.

Harry wished suddenly that the demons could be ripped out of him tomorrow. He didn’t want to see Snape anymore. He wanted to go hunt horcruxes. He wanted to forget that any of this term had happened, and go do something wildly distracting. He wanted an adventure so that his hormones would shut up and he would be too busy to think about kissing anyone.

Achy from running so long, he slowly made his way back to the house. He thought for a moment that the door was locked when at first he tried to open it and it didn’t budge. All the anger surged in him again for a moment. But then the door opened, and he went in, locking it behind him. The wards clicked alive.

The sitting room was empty. In the very middle of it, sprawled across the tipped over couch, was the Snape family portrait. Wreckage as if a storm had blasted through the room was scattered everywhere. Harry looked up and realized the entire wall where the portrait had been, next to the archway that led to the hallway, was gone. Now the wall behind the couch was half gone, and the archway would fit five doors instead of just one.

He looked down at the scrawny, dark-haired boy in the portrait. It only made annoying questions whisper in him again.

Forcing himself not to look at the door that led up to Snape’s bedroom, Harry walked around the wreckage. He went up to his bedroom, shut the door, and began to work madly on his pensieve. His borrowed wand he had found sitting in front of his bedroom door.

So Snape agreed. He wanted it to be over soon, too.

Good.
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Unleashed