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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Thank you so much for the reviews! They make me so happy. I definitely am not abandoning this fic; writing is clipping along nicely.

Apologies for slow plot progression. Will try to improve.

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UNLEASHED

by lordoberon

a Snarry fic

Ch. 6

“No. I asked you a question,” Potter spat, “And I was nice about it. Are you going to answer?”

Severus looked at Potter. The boy was trembling in anger, his fists clenched at his sides, the parchment now balled up on the floor. He had always had a quick temper when he felt like Severus was abusing him unnecessarily. Of course, he’d never realized how necessary it was.

The boy’s glasses were sliding down his nose now, and Severus stared hard into the glimmering green revealed. But he only lasted a moment before he had to look away. He marched back to his desk.

He hated how Potter’s eyes always forced him to look away. He could never properly look at the boy, not how he wanted to, and he could never properly show his emotions to him. But those green eyes made Severus want to give himself away, very badly, every time. They demanded the truth.

“I was having a nice drink before you came in,” he said, slamming the glass and bottle back into the drawer and shutting it.

“Sure you were,” Potter grumbled. He came right up to the other side of the desk, and then sat angrily down on the chair in front of it. On second thought, he got up, and began to pace back and forth. “So, you going to answer?”

Severus took a deep breath. Potter wanted to know about Lily. He wanted to know very much, judging by the intense anger he was now directing at Severus for not answering. But he also didn’t want to look vulnerable, or desperate, so he was instead being as aggressive and judgmental as possible. Stupid Gryffindor!

“What will you do if I don’t, Mister Potter?”

Potter whirled on his foot and came back to the desk, where he planted his hands firmly upon it. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it.

Severus smirked. “That’s right. Nothing.”

Potter shot him a glare so cold that Severus thought it would have frozen him to the spot if Potter could do wandless magic. It also turned Severus’ insides to jelly just a little. He admitted privately that he enjoyed seeing Potter riled up. It was sexy when it wasn’t ridiculous.

Finally Potter wore out his energy, it seemed, and he sat down on the chair and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

His voice was quiet and dull when he spoke, so different from the recent anger. “You said I don’t know anything about you. But then you…you saved me, with that memory, because I remembered that I was Harry and left the pain for a while…the pain of the demons, doing whatever they’re doing…driving me mad. So…if you don’t want me to know anymore…than just say it. I can understand that you just did it out of desperation, to make me remember my roots…” He swallowed. “To, to save me, and just that.”

But it was clear that there was no ‘just,’ and that Potter’s wheels were turning, as he stared at Severus’ desk, at the potions behind him, at the ceiling, at the floor, and at anything else but Severus. He knew that Severus had saved him, and he’d finally figured out that maybe Severus didn’t want him in the arms of the Dark Lord, and that Severus had saved him because he cared.

It was like an anvil had crashed into his neat little world, into all the little boxes he created in his head. Severus belonged in a certain box, he was sure, with labels of traitor and Death Eater, of hatred and disgust. The idea that Severus might have wanted to save Potter ripped all those labels away…even if, as Potter thought, Severus didn’t want him to know any more of his secrets, of his memories – of who he really was, beyond the familiar identity of a nasty school teacher.

But Potter was wrong. Severus wanted Potter to know him…and vice versa. He sat, stunned, at the discomfiting display of Potter sitting vulnerable before him. The anger was gone, the pride temporarily held at bay, because Potter was confused as hell at the moment, and he clearly wanted to know what the fuck was going on. Which was right, and which was wrong – the Severus Snape he had neatly organized in his mental box, or the one from the memories, who loved, who struggled, and who did not want Harry to die?

And he wanted desperately to hear about who his mother had been, from one of her once dear friends.

It was that which broke Severus. Because in all the years he’d hid his feelings, his past, and his real agenda from Harry Potter, he had always secretly wished to share with the boy the knowledge of his parents that the boy so wanted to know. He had heard of Dumbledore’s meeting with Potter in front of the Mirror Erised. He knew the bitterness left behind from bad parenting and bad family affairs. He knew the burning in the heart of wanting something that you knew deep down would never, ever be yours. He knew what it was to settle for something comfortable, something that made you mildly happy, when in bed at night you would long for what could have been, if only things were different.

“Alright,” he murmured, “Alright. What do you want to know?”

Potter sat up, and something like gratefulness glinted in his gaze, but he held back any other reaction he might have been feeling. “Can you tell me what she was like at school? And I don’t – I don’t mean my father, and Sirius, and everyone. I mean, what was she like as a new witch, and in classes?”

Severus closed his eyes, wishing he could close out the pain as well. He took a deep breath, and somehow summoned up words.

“…She was a very bright student. All the professors liked her. She worked very hard in all of her subjects. Her favorite classes were Charms and Potions. Hogwarts was very exciting for someone who had never been anywhere like it – as I’m sure you know. She wandered the castle at odd times, sometimes alone, and…she would share her findings with me, sometimes. She would scribble little things, occasionally, bits of song or poetry. She enjoyed the House Elves, a little like your friend Miss Granger…later, when she explored the castle with your father and those fiends, I saw less and less of her. She came to know ins and outs of the castle that I did not…Hogsmeade was a favorite, as it seems to be with all of our students. I personally dislike it.”

“Why?”

“It’s far too gimmicky and crowded…expensive, because there’s nothing else like it close to Hogwarts…too loud, too full of children and nonsense…I like Diagon Alley much better.”

Potter wrinkled his nose but said nothing. Finally, he licked his lips, and his next question was so quiet Severus barely heard him.

“Was she a good friend to you?”

Severus pressed his palms against his thighs, glad he was so hidden behind the desk. He did not hesitate, and looked straight at Potter.

“Yes. She was a better friend than I ever deserved.”

He pushed back the memories that threatened to surge up, and just looked at Potter. He wanted it to be clear. Lily had gone beyond Gryffindor loyalty and courage. She had gone beyond being a generally nice girl. She had been a gem, a treasure, which had fallen somehow into his hands from high above…and he had, after all of it, only caused her a sad death. It was an ungrateful, despicable thing which hung over him always. Protecting Potter did not really make up for it…especially when he had feelings for Potter.

The only person he had ever really cared for was Lily…and look at how that had ended.

Because he didn’t think he could keep this calm up if he said anymore, Severus looked away – always the first – and stood up.

“I think that’s enough for tonight, Mister Potter. It’s time we headed to bed.”

He met the boy’s grim look with one of his own, and was relieved when Potter turned away and walked back up the corridor. He said down the dark hallway, “I’ll be a moment,” and then shut the door behind him.

He let out a slow, deep breath, and leaned back against the door. Tension eased from his shoulders, and he slid ungainly down the length of the door to sit on the cold stone.

Alone in the silence, he let a tear slip down his cheek.

=====

It was night time, but Harry could not sleep. He had poured out the drink Snape had given him with dinner, knowing it was laced with a sleeping potion. How could he sleep, when he had so many things to think over?

He missed Ron and Hermione desperately. It was an ache within him not to have them around. He needed them to talk to right now! He wished he were with them, sitting in a comfy, squishy lopsided chair in the Gryffindor Common Room. He would discuss Severus Snape…and all the jumbling things swirling in his head…and maybe even share the parts about his mother, too.

What would they think? What would they think, when he told them, that maybe Snape wasn’t so bad after all? That with an ability to love like that, he couldn’t be the devious Death Eater who had fooled Dumbledore into believing in him…

He’d been right. Harry really didn’t know who Severus Snape was.

The absurd part of it was, after those memories, Harry did wonder. What had Snape’s life been like as a muggleborn? How close had he lived to Lily and Petunia’s childhood home? Why, in the memory, were his shoes worn and torn, and his robes second-hand? Were his parents still alive? What had they thought of him becoming a Death Eater?

And with the ache of a love…lost to another man, Harry’s father…well, if it were Harry, he would probably be a bitter, acid-tongued grump too. Harry did not like to lose. Perhaps Snape was far too resigned to it by now. It reminded Harry of Malfoy, in a way, except it was so much sadder, because Snape had really loved someone, not just status and possessions, and Snape was not a teenager.

Had he ever gotten anything he wanted? Lost his love…lost the position he wanted…what friends did he have? Perhaps they were a comfort.

But Harry had seen Snape cavorting with the Death Eaters in the pensieve in Fifth Year. It seemed that the friends from Snape’s school days had been Death Eaters…now, if friends, they were fakes, since Snape was only pretending to be on Voldemort’s side.

He pictured Snape in this room, alone day in and day out, making his potions…and an image came to him of himself, locked up in that tiny dark cupboard years and years ago…he remembered the desperation for entertainment, the frustration, the anger, and the sadness…

Did Snape feel like that? Or was he happy to be alone with his potions?

Maybe he was. The concentration on his face when he was bent over that cauldron seemed to hold certain enjoyment in it. Maybe potions for him was like Quidditch for Harry.

What would Ron and Hermione say? Ron would probably say he was bonkers and Snape was evil, through and through…Hermione might agree with what Harry said…or she would think he was rushing to conclusions too soon…only time would tell, really.

But Harry didn’t have any time. He already felt a sort of fire building in him, right at this very moment. His throat was tight; his neck beaded sweat. He felt his eyes tearing up.

Shit. He should have taken that damn sleeping potion. Harry hobbled over to Snape’s bedside, and leaned heavily on the bedside table. It took him minutes just to reach the table, because he was shaking horribly. He stared at the closed bed curtains a moment, wondering what Snape would do if he just whisked them open? Would he kill him, like a man who expected danger at every step would? Or was he sleeping away in there?

Maybe he could still sleep. He’d left the dregs in the goblet, after all, and they were probably most potent. And asleep or awake, the demons could get him. But they’d have to harbor and heavily drugged body if he’d taken the sleeping potion.

Harry hobbled back to the couch and drank the inch of liquid he’d left in his dinner goblet. There. Maybe now he could sleep…and the demons would not get him.

Harry felt like he was a kid again, fearing boogiemen under his bed…the Dursleys had always called that hogwash, especially when he’d said he felt like people were watching him during the day…

Of course, it had ended up true.

At least he had a powerful wizard, if questionably trustworthy, in the room with him now.

He fell asleep after thinking what a new thing that was to relate with Snape – gratefulness. But really, he supposed, the man had saved his life many times…so he deserved thanks…

When Harry woke, the first thing he registered was a heavy form over his, pinning his knees down and his hands up above his head. Then he noticed the fiery burn of something shackling his feet to the floor, and then the hot panting breath and glistening face of Severus Snape above him.

“WHAT th-”

Harry struggled to get out from underneath Snape, and out of the spell that was latching him to the floor with rainbow threads of magic. Snape stared at him a moment, and then slowly lifted himself up to stand.

Harry stared. The Potions Master was a mess. Half of his robes had been cut open. His torso was long and pale, and his arms surprisingly muscled. A long, red scratch ran diagonally across his chest. His hair was wild around his face, and his eyes glittered dangerously. In that moment, Harry was glad he could say that Severus Snape was an ally. For he knew that he had done that to Snape, and if it were anyone but him, possessed by demons, he might not be forgiven.

There was damage in that gaze, a hurt the man tried to hide, but it flickered there a moment before once again being swallowed up by anger.

Harry ignored the whisper in him that said, how did Snape stay so fit in the dark dungeons making potions? Instead he croaked, “I, I did this…didn’t I.”

Snape growled, and then turned around and repaired his robes with a flick of his wand. He turned back, shoving a hand through his unruly hair. Then he offered Harry a hand up. Harry stared at the offered hand a moment, and then took it. His body heaved upwards reluctantly. He noticed the chain of magic keeping him attached to the floor remained.

“The demons are stronger in you,” Snape rasped. “They are rebelling against the potion I gave you. They know that I am fighting them, and attacked me…” He cleared his throat loudly, but it didn’t help, and now his voice was a whisper. “They used new methods…and I was forced to retaliate very strongly.”

Harry wanted to ask questions, he wanted to know what exactly he had done, but the tension in Snape warned him away from it. He shook his ankle. “So can you free me already?”

Snape harrumphed, and then stood solidly in front of Harry. “Open your eyes wide. Now. Give me a moment.”

Snape raised his wand. For a brief second, Harry felt it as Snape touched his mind – euwgh, he hated that feeling! He would never get over it! Then it was over, and he sighed in relief when Snape silently freed him.
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