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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
- 2
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Thank you so much for the reviews!

I would just like to clarify...this fic IS a supernatural fic, but Harry does not turn into a vampire, werewolf, or any creature [at least not in my current plans]; I guess I shouldn't have said "creature!fic"; pardon my misuse of the term, I was tired. You shall find out more...

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UNLEASHED

A Snarry fic

by lordoberon

Ch.3

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Oh Merlin! Merlin…the creatures within Potter’s body grabbed Severus up and squeezed him tight. They whispered to him and tried to take every secret he had from him. But Severus knew Occlumency. He blocked them, powerful though they were. If he could block the Dark Lord, how could he not block them?

Yet…they were powerful. As Severus was diligently explored by the slimy things, he explored them in turn, for he was not trapped in their embrace, though they tried to take his body, too, and tried to take his mind and powers and ingest it, so that their occupation within Potter’s body would become unstoppable.

Perhaps they already were unstoppable. Surrounding Potter’s core, they had turned it black. It sparkled like a black diamond in the night, invisible, and yet when Severus touched it, it glowed suddenly with a silver light. He held it and tried to examine it, but the invading entities’ power was so strong, it blasted him away.

Severus sat up shakily from his spot across the room, and standing up, entered inside once more. This time, he left Potter’s core alone, and entered into Potter’s mind as he used to do in Occlumency lessons.

Easily he slipped through the walls, which had always been flimsy if not nonexistent. Instead of memories though, he met blurred images and blank spots. He could hear the garble of voices, but they sounded far away. He was relieved that he had not met with utter blankness. Potter still had his mind. After all, he had called Severus by name, and he had perhaps picked out that Ravenclaw boy on purpose. What had that been about?

Severus shoved the distracting question away and plodded instead through the blurred visions of Potter’s mind, scrambling for an image that was clear, or a voice that could be properly heard. Until he could clean up the mess in Potter’s mind, there was no way the boy would be strong enough to expel the demons that had taken over his body.

Satisfied somewhat, Severus exited the boy’s mind, and sat back on his bed.

Demons. How had demons gotten inside Potter’s body? Did they have to do with Potter’s reported lack of sleep? And why did they make Potter promiscuous and bloodthirsty? The other signs were familiar – the blackened eyes, the violence and anger.

He would test all the components another day. Now, while Potter was still unconscious, he had to get some sleep. He took his pillow from the bed and pushed it gently beneath Potter’s head, and taking a heavy quilt from the shrunken-down wardrobe inside his bedside table, he expanded it to normal size and threw it over Potter.

He tucked the edges around Potter’s feet. Then he swore, and returned to his bed.

There was no time for sentimentality in this disgusting mess of Potter’s. He had to fix him, before other problems – like the Dark Lord – came crashing down on them.

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Harry’s waking consisted of a shiver that ran through his body. He wriggled in his sleep, grasping the blanket and pulling it tighter around himself. There. Now it was cozy. He pushed his head deeper in the pillow, noting that it wasn’t as soft nor as plush as the pillow he usually had on his bed. Frowning, Harry turned to the side, and found that his hand brushed against a soft barrier. Pressing it, he noted it was like a firm cushion or a couch.

What? His bed in the Boys’ Dormitory did not have a soft wall in any which way. It was wide, and squishier than this mattress, and this pillow did not smell like him at all, but someone else…a smell that was a little tangy, but with an underlying subtle muskiness to it…

Harry sat bolt upright. Where in Merlin’s beard was he?

He took in his surroundings. A fire blazed in a black marble fireplace to his right, frighteningly close to the right side of his body. Directly in front of him a wall ran down from the fireplace to a gigantic wooden door. The door had some mythological beings carved on it, he noticed. There was nothing on the wall except a strange glowing tapestry. Two bookshelves sat against it.

Harry ducked down, feeling for his wand in his pocket.

It was not there.

He swallowed back panic and anger and moved his head so he could see over the back of the couch. Hopefully nothing and no one would notice him.

A gigantic bed with white sheets and heavy black curtains sat shoved up against one wall, the curtains open. No one was on it. It was extremely neatly made.

Harry looked behind him.

And suddenly he knew where he was. For on the wall was the most awesome collection of potions supplies he had ever seen. They were on simple stone shelves which came out of the wall. Glass, wooden, marble and ceramic bottles and bowls held them. Some were clustered together in little groups. Others sat wide apart. The ones that were larger were closer to the top – spare supplies? – And the glass ones were mostly towards the bottom. The only sort of organization it seemed to have to it was that everything, absolutely everything, was labeled in a meticulously neat hand. And carved into every single container was the same name, but Harry couldn’t make it out.

He squinted, realizing he did not have his glasses on.

Looking around the room, he spotted them on the fireplace. In the corner away from him was a collection of cauldrons which only confirmed the horror and anger that was tight in Harry’s throat.

He was in Severus Snape’s personal quarters adjacent to the office that Harry never wanted to enter into again. That was why he had been doing well and biting back any protests in both of his classes with Snape, so that he wouldn’t have to talk to the man ever again or deal with him whatsoever.

Why was he here?

Harry tried to get up, but the effort alone made him dizzy. He could not even sit up. At the same time, a familiar drawling voice said, “So, you are awake.”

Harry stared down the man who had just entered from the fire. He continued to glare as Snape dusted off his robes, and then managed to keep it as Snape leaned in uncomfortably close, peering at Harry’s eyes.

“Good,” the Potions Master rasped. “You are well again. At least for a time.”

“WELL?” Harry shouted. “What do you mean, WELL? I can’t MOVE! Get me out of here!”

Harry glared back at his professor’s icy look, and then held it for a long time. He would not back down. Finally the professor looked away, something like a smirk curling his mouth. Harry felt relief. It was normal for the Potions Master to smirk at him, not for him to say “good” to Harry being “well.”

Then Snape sighed, and transfiguring an empty vial into a chair, he sat down with his back to the fire, looking Harry up and down. That look made Harry uncomfortable. He felt like he was being examined by Madam Pomfrey, except it was much more chilling because this was Snape. And thank god the man did not touch him or prod him like Madam Pomfrey would have. Harry noticed the man had his wand in his hand.

“What do you remember last?” Snape asked quietly. He was pressing his fingers gingerly around a red, welted ring around his left wrist.

The question deflated Harry’s irritation. He stared at the puffed reddish skin that Snape was playing around with and his mind went blank. What did he remember last?

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I…”

And then it came back to him. The snakes, their bodies shivering and gliding all over him, worshipping him with their words, licking their forked tongues into his ears, making everyone stare, even McGonagall, making sure that his last year at Hogwarts was even more reported on than his others, making him squeamish (even though he usually liked them) because they reminded him of his nightmares, making him feel suddenly unbearably hot and filled with fire…

“Snakes,” Harry spat. He hated the way his voice shook as he said, “They came in from everywhere, it seemed, and surrounded me, and slid all over me, and I couldn’t breathe…I couldn’t think…”

He hadn’t meant to say all that, but it spilled out of him as he remembered it.

Snape coughed. “And then?”

The irritation returned. Harry growled in his throat. And then, what?! Why wasn’t he in the Hospital Wing, if something was wrong with him? Why had Snape brought him here, to his personal room? Had McGonagall ordered it? Why would she?

The bold, unblinking stare that met him somehow coaxed the boiling point within Harry to a low simmer. Was that a spell? He wouldn’t put wandless magic beneath Severus Snape. Nothing seemed to be beneath the Half Blood Prince, the scum…but a formidable scum, nonetheless.

“I was angry,” he sighed. “I tried to get them off of me.” Why was he telling Snape all of this? He wasn’t, really, he realized…he was telling himself. For the more he strained to remember, the more he realized, he could not remember past that point. All he could remember were the snakes being all over him, and everyone around him being angry, alarmed, and afraid, not for him, but because of him.

It had been the worst feeling in the world, second only to the grief of losing Sirius and Dumbledore.

“I…don’t remember anything after that,” Harry whispered. Something had happened after that. He was sure of it. Otherwise he would not be here. Had Voldemort entered his mind in some new way that required Occlumency again? Had he done something to especially anger Snape?

Somehow he felt neither of these guesses was the answer. He stared determinedly at the frayed threads of the quilt. He clutched it with white knuckles, and then saw this and immediately let go.

“I see.”

Snape’s dark brooding eyes were still staring at Harry, and Harry hated it. When he turned his head to glare at Snape and opened his mouth about to retort something heated, he was shut up by the lazy smile that Snape had on his face, and the way his eyelids dipped down to reveal long lashes, before those eyes were on him again and that face became suddenly serious.

“You were attacked, Mister Potter.”

The words were like a gong in the night.

“What?” Harry noticed the oddly normal tone Snape used on him, the “Potter” instead of something derisive, but he was too strung up suddenly to bring attention to it. “Was it Voldemort?”

The hand that had been tickling the edges of the wrist wound suddenly clutched over the left forearm, where the Dark Mark lay beneath. Harry smiled at Snape’s sudden movement. Served him right. Lying, cheating, murdering bastard…he could kill him now. This was his perfect chance.

Dumbledore had been wrong. Snape cared for nothing and no one but himself, why would he be faithful to Dumbledore? What could he have done to make Dumbledore trust him? And McGonagall? The entire Order was reluctant to do anything against Severus, it seemed. Was it out of fear, or trust?

Snape’s voice was clipped now. “No, it was not the Dark Lord. It was a pack of demons. They got inside of your body somehow, and took over. You are responsible for the injuries of over forty students; I thought you would like to know.”

Gone was the ordinary, bland tone that Snape had been using, replaced by the condescending, smug tone Harry was used to. Harry curved his fingers into fists at his sides, shaking.

Demons! How was that possible? Where had they come from? Snape had said inside of his body…just like the creatures in his nightmares…

“I want my wand,” Harry hissed, torn by the urge to blast Snape apart or shake the man until he gave Harry all the answers to his questions. Surely this was why he was here; everyone thought Snape, as the DADA professor, was the right man to do the job of exorcising demons.

“You cannot have it, I’m afraid,” Snape drawled, and stood up from his chair, which he transfigured back into a vial. Harry sat in fury, waiting as the man replaced the vial on a shelf, and then came around to stand by the back of the couch.

He looked at Harry amusedly as Harry glared at him.

“WHY?” Harry bellowed. “GIVE ME MY WAND!”

“Potter, Potter,” Snape whispered, “Do be calm. We wouldn’t want them taking you over again…” He patted Harry's shoulder.

Harry froze, and then grabbed Snape’s hand and flung it away. “Don’t. Touch. Me. What are you…what are you going to do about this?”

Snape smirked again. “You mean, what are we going to do about this, Potter. You are going to help me. We’ll be a team, you and I.”

The man did not hear the swear words that Harry said to his back when he left the room, and returned all too soon, albeit with a tray of steaming vegetable pie, eggs, toast, and a glass of cool pumpkin juice.

“You are strong enough to hold this now, right?” He asked Harry as he stood, waiting.

“Of course I can, you –“

“Shut that foul mouth, Potter, or I’ll take House points. Now eat.”

The tray was put none-too-gently over Harry’s knees, and Harry realized suddenly that he was ravenously hungry. He grabbed the fork and spoon and began to eat. He was beyond caring that Snape was still there, at least for now. The Potions Master’s tinkering in the background did not bother him, nor the way the professor occasionally glanced at him over his cauldron work. He was SO HUNGRY!

When he was done, he lifted his head. “Is there any more?”

A hushed, “Sshhh,” came from across the room. Harry looked over. Snape stood bent over his cauldron, tipping golden, sparkling bits of something into his cauldron very slowly. One. Two. Three tips.

Then he looked up, and wordlessly pointed his wand. Harry shivered, remembering the last time Snape had pointed his wand at Harry, how they had fought at the gates to Hogwarts after Dumbledore died…

Food appeared again on Harry’s tray, and he ate it with equal speed and enjoyment. When he was done, he sat back and closed his eyes.

There was no way he was going to sit around here while Snape experimented on him. He was going to get his wand and leave. Maybe it was even time he left Hogwarts altogether. He had to look for horcruxes as Dumbledore had instructed him.

“Mister Potter,” Snape barked. “I would be more careful what you think ‘aloud,’ in that dull brain of yours, if I were you. What you are searching for is vital for the solving of anything, since many problems can be blamed on the Dark Lord. He is going to soon be looking for what you are, too, since Dumbledore already destroyed some. Be careful.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something furious. How did Snape know about the horcruxes? None of the other professors seemed to know, or the Order…Dumbledore had trusted Snape – immensely, apparently. That ‘be careful’ was not mocking. Snape was serious.

Hmph. Snape, pretending to care, pretending to be his friend! He wouldn’t doubt the food had been poisoned, except that he knew Snape was a Death Eater, and as such, he knew that Voldemort wanted to kill Harry himself.

“You have me here, wandless and alone,” Harry said. “Why not bring me to him?”

Snape continued in stirring his potion, and for a minute Harry thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, whispering, “Ten,” Snape stopped stirring and looked up.

“If I deign to answer your question, Potter, I doubt you would believe anything I said. There is no right answer to your question, for you already have a set idea in your mind of who I am and what motivates me.”

They stared at each other, and then Harry frowned and looked away. He stared into the fire as Snape sneered, “You know nothing of me, Potter.”

“Who would want to?” Harry murmured. He was watching the fire now, gazing into its flickering lights, and he felt suddenly like his mind became a little sleepy. He kept staring at the fire, watching the way sparks flew up, listening to their popping sound, which was very loud in his ears.

He found himself rolling down weakly from the couch, and reaching a hand out to the fire. As soon as his hand got within a foot of the flame, he yelped in pain. “OUCH!”

Even his voice seemed too loud in his ears.

Disturbingly, his pain brought Snape immediately, and the man grabbed Harry’s hand and inspected it. Deeming it fine, he was about to heave Harry back onto the couch.

“Wait a second,” Harry hissed, “Can’t you do that with your wand?”

Snape chuckled. “You think I can’t lift you, Potter? I carried you here from the Great Hall. You’re as light as a feather.”

“I can do it myself -”

Snape watched as Harry attempted to lift his body up from the floor. All it did was send a searing headache striking into him, and the fire got even more bothersome to be near to. He felt like his face would burn off if he remained this close to it any longer. He was about ten inches away, but it burned!

Rolling his eyes, Snape took out his wand and whisked Harry onto the couch with a flick. “There. Now tell me what hurt.”

Harry gnawed at his lip, refusing to answer.

“Potter,” Snape growled. “If you don’t let me help you, you’ll be stuck like this until I find out how I can strengthen you. And when you’re not like this, the demons will be controlling you. Who knows what they’ll make you do next…”

Something about his tone made Harry wonder, what had they already made him do?

“What did they make me do, Snape. Tell me.”

“Ah, the legend speaks. I will tell you the horrific details, Mister Potter, if you tell me what made you cry out in pain. Was it the fire?”

Harry nodded sullenly. He hated being around Snape like this! It was bad enough in classes. No matter what Snape had said, he would get his wand and leave.

“You’re such a brat when you’re not feeling well. At least it’s easier to pry answers out of you.”

Smirking, Snape resumed his position over the cauldron.

“Wait! Aren’t you going to tell me what happened? What did the demons make me do?”

Snape tilted his head, greasy hair falling down lower on one shoulder. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

When Snape was done telling him, Harry shut his eyes, trying not to show his reactions at all on his face, because he was sure Snape was watching him.

Merlin’s tomes…he had injured tons of students, from his own House and Slytherin. He had shamed McGonagall to the whole school, effectively, by proving her unable to overpower him. He had kissed some boy in front of the entire school, and drank his blood…

That was it. He was definitely leaving. After hearing that, even hunting horcruxes with a bickering Ron and Hermione, with little clues, sounded suddenly like paradise! He would go up against dementors and Voldemort himself, rather than show his face to the school again. Injuring innocent people…

Shame was the next emotion that gutted him, after hot embarrassment that flooded his cheeks red. He had hurt people, and many. Yes, he had been out of control and taken over, like an Imperius curse, but still…his magic, raw and unchained, had struck out. It had broken bones and burned skin. It had hurt people that were innocent and deserved nothing like that. It had made an impression on them that they would never forget.

He felt like he was going to be sick, but because Snape was right there, he held it back.

The next chance he got, he was going to nick Snape’s wand from under the professor’s big nose.

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Apologies for Harry's possibly OOC brattiness in this chapter (a dash of CAPSLOCK!Harry from OotP, anyone? haha). It gets adjusted soon, I promise.
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