Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Derailed	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 19739 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-I:I
- 2-I:II
- 3-I:III
- 4-I:IV
- 5-I:V
- 6-I:VI
- 7-I:VII
- 8-I:VIII
- 9-I:IX
- 10-II:I
- 11-II:II
- 12-II:III
- 13-II:IV
- 14-II:V
- 15-II:VI
- 16-II:VII
- 17-II:VIII
- 18-II:IX
- 19-III:I
- 20-III:II
- 21-III:III
- 22-III:IV
- 23-III:V
- 24-III:VI
- 25-III:VII
- 26-III:VIII
- 27-III:IX
- 28-Epilogue
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter Five: Call you up in the middle of the night

Harry was finally released from the hospital two days later.

The trial was continuing and Hermione was reluctant for him to go, but the atmosphere in the ward had become intolerable. All of Ron’s old insecurities and self-doubts had come back, and seemed to have festered and become infected with poison. The ward had been filled with the venom of Ron’s hatred, all directed at his supposed best friend. And now new charges were levelled at Harry – that he had got off easy, that Ron had never once given up on Harry, and for what? The evil spewing from Ron’s mouth went on and on. Harry hadn’t defended himself, hadn’t tried to. Ron was right about it all.

Harry couldn’t believe that Ron truly thought Harry wanted the attention, or that it was all some plot to make Ron the forgotten victim. He, Harry, wanted nothing so much as to be forgotten, to be allowed to forget, but every day The Daily Prophet screamed headlines at him about the Death Eaters and what had happened to those who had been caught. Of course, every day they speculated on what might have happened to him, rather than on what had happened to Ron, which fuelled Ron’s anger.

Harry had already worked out, without being told, that Snape would be the last to stand trial. Harry would have to wait, stomach churning, sleep impossible, dick hard to find out what was to become of his captor.

So, released from the hospital wing, knowing Snape was yet to stand trial, he had gone to live at Grimmauld Place. He wasn’t keen to do so; it held too many memories, both of Sirius and of Snape, but it was his, and it was somewhere where he could be safe. And, more importantly, away from Ron.

That first night, dressed only in black cotton trousers, he paced the house, treading softly up and down the stairs, quietly passing the portrait of Mrs Black, running his fingers along the expensively papered walls. All of it gone to ruin. Wasted because of one wrong decision.

Harry wondered about the Black family. They had believed in their pure blood, had believed that Voldemort was the one to sort out the wizarding world’s problems, but they had been wrong, had lost. And the house was all that remained of them.

Was Harry wrong in what he believed? Was Ron right? Was Harry glad the papers were talking about him, not Ron? Was he jealous of Hermione’s feelings for the red-head?

He considered. No, he wasn’t jealous of Hermione and Ron. Sometimes he felt lonely, yes, and recognised something was missing from his life. And, of course, he had, until recently, wanted sex. He wished he didn't still long for Snape's brutal attentions. But every moment made him aware of the emptiness between his thighs, of the hardness of his cock and of just how much he longed for Snape to be inside him, controlling when he could come. One day he hoped he would want normal sex again. He couldn’t imagine feeling like this for the rest of his life.

He refused to feel like this for the rest of his life. He would not allow the rest of his life to be lived like that. He would take control.

When he glanced at the clock in passing and saw the time, he was surprised. 2.30. He had been wandering the house for over five hours. Lying in a bed in a hospital for so long had left him edgy and full of energy, and feeling the ache of arousal made it worse, but he had to at least try and sleep.

Climbing the stairs was surprisingly difficult. He didn’t want to get to his room. He was frightened, but he didn’t know of what. The dark house, far from being comforting, as it had been earlier in the day, was now oppressive and full of hidden dangers.

The door opened easily when he pushed it and he stepped into a bedroom. The shadows were especially dark in here, and it took him a moment before he could summon up the courage to enter. When he did he felt ashamed of his foolishness. It was just what it had always been – a decent sized ordinary bedroom. The room was as it had been when it had last been used. Harry wanted to scream at the inanimate objects for being the same when everything in his world had changed – he had changed, didn't the world sense that? He was no longer an innocent, a hero; he was now a tainted creature, used, abused, humiliated, possessed, claimed, and desperate for more of the same.

He was the monster hidden in the room.

He got into bed quickly, not changing or removing his trousers, almost jumping onto the mattress, afraid that under his bed lurked the manifestation of all the evil he had created. Under the sheets he pulled off his clothing, flinging it far from him so that the cold blankets slid over his super-heated skin. His body felt so hot; shame and guilt and self-loathing burned within him. His dick strained up, needing to be touched and abused. Clutching his hands into the bedding, he lay there, listening only to his heart thumping in his chest.

He stared at the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the utter darkness of the room. No light peeked in from the grimy window. The blackness of the mahogany door was nerve-wracking. The walls were dark sentinels, trapping him in place. The walls were comforting – holding him here, keeping him from the terrors of the wider world. Here, in a room, he was safe. He was alone.

Harry sat bolt upright, sure he’d heard breathing. He stared into the darkest corner, holding his breath.

Snape.

He’d heard Snape. He was sure of it.

“He - hello?” he croaked.

Nothing.

It took a frantic ten seconds of fumbling about on the bedside table before he found his wand and managed to cast Lumos with a shaking hand.

Nothing.

A careful search of the room from the bed revealed no monsters, no people, no anything in the room. Not willing to get off the furniture and risk being attacked by a hidden monster or something else hidden that was worse, he pulled his knees up to his chest, gasping quick half sobs of air in.

Leaving the wand tip glowing, Harry tried to settle to sleep. He forced himself to relax, to uncurl his body and lie down, but he couldn't relax, not with his arousal still jerking with each movement he made. If he came, he thought, it would all be better. But would it bring Snape out of the shadows to touch him? He looked down at his cock and reached out a hand. Did he want Snape to claim him or be free of the man? Aching, hating himself and hating Snape for making him want so much, he pumped himself harshly, crying out as his seed spurted over his hand and the sheets.

Even when his panicked heart beat had steadied to its usual quiet thump, he couldn’t rest. He just didn’t feel safe. Knowing there was no one in the room wasn’t helping. Too many demons swirled about in his own mind.

He checked his wrist watch. The hands pointed the time clearly – 4.50. It was time to take control.

Full of resolve, Harry knew what to do. He picked up his wand and cast a spell. A tight band of metal closed around his neck. He sighed, feeling the security of being Snape's possession, of having his decisions taken out of his hands. It was easier to be a prisoner and accept his place than fight and struggle but still lose. His cock throbbed and stiffened at the idea of once again being at the mercy of the older wizard.

He thought he heard Snape's voice order, “Come for me. Then sleep,”

So he did.
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