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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
NOTE: I decided to make a drastic plot change to this fic, because it was getting too complicated. I made it so that only a few know Severus killed Dumbledore, no the whole world. McGonagall knows, and trusts Severus. And Harry, and the trio, and the Order. But (in previous chapters) Harry doesn't know why anyone trusts Snape. Ron and Hermione keep quiet because they see Snape as a threat.

Big change in this chapter - Voldemort's reasonings for torturing Severus.

Although shorter chapters make this fic longer, I'm going to be on a vacation for a week or so, so I'm not sure when I'll update next. Because I love you all so much, I decided to update before I take a break.

Plus, I like this chapter! Ugh it was fun! For both the bad and the good. And I am now liking my Harry in this fic. =D

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UNLEASHED

A Snarry fanfic

by lordoberon

Ch. 8

Harry did not, in fact, know how to put a memory into a pensieve.

He remembered watching Dumbledore do it, of course. It looked fairly simple. You place the wand tip to your temple, and just – pull it out, right?

However interested he was in the pensieve – he’d wanted one since he found out what it was! – Harry was more excited about the wand. Picking it up from its place by the bowl of clear potion, he lifted it and said, “Accio Firebolt!”

Then, he waited. While he waited, he couldn’t resist doing more.

“Lumos! Wingardium Leviosa! Expelliarmus – ouch!”

Harry had landed quite ungracefully across Snape’s bed, with the bedside table floating above him and the rug on the floor flat and scratchy across his nose.

It had been weird when Snape had pushed him back onto the bed earlier. For some reason, it had made his heart jump into his throat for a second in excitement. How odd.

Harry shoved the rug off of him, just as the Firebolt arrived.

“YES!” He laughed. “YES! YES! YES!!”

He leapt atop the Firebolt, which quivered beneath his hands. It had been so long. Chuckling, he rubbed his hands across it, taking in the scent of broomstick polish and dust. It had been just sitting in his trunk. Now he could take it out…

But he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. What if the demons came? They could flip out the whole school, or attack his friends…

“Shit.”

So Harry settled for flying – as fast as he could – around Snape’s quarters, leaned in tight to his broomstick, with cobwebs and dust from the rafters falling into his hair. When he’d done that plenty, he fell off the broomstick and landed with a satisfying “oomph!” on the large bed.

Harry sighed happily, looking up at his Firebolt. There was nothing like flying. It was the best. If he weren’t mulling over the possibility of being an Auror, he would definitely be on a professional Quidditch team. Seeker, of course.

He tucked the Firebolt under the bed, and returned to contemplating the pensieve.

What was the clear stuff? He’d thought the bowls were empty before memories were placed. Carefully, he placed a finger in the mixture, wand at the ready.

Nothing happened. Okay. Maybe it was just to hold the memories in? Then why had Snape acted as if it were dangerous?

Harry stood as close to the table as he could without being on it, and pressed the wand tip to his temple. Which memory should he put in first?

Maybe it had to be in chronological order…Harry grimaced. The first thing he remembered of his life was his mother’s death. Snape would have to see these…and hear Lily’s scream. Harry felt tightness clench in his gut, and swallowed hard. He wouldn’t think of this memory. Just put it in!

Harry shut his eyes, and remembered the flash of green light and Lily’s scream. Then, he pulled the wand tip away from his temple…

And almost dropped the memory. It hung, tiny and grey, from the end of the wand. Harry wanted to touch it, to see if it had a sensation against his fingertips, but he didn’t want to hurt it, either.

Slowly, holding his breath, he lowered the wand. Then he laid it gently across the rim of the bowl, and slowly…slowly…tipped the memory into the clear mixture. It sank away from the wand, and lay there, coloring the mixture a slight grey now.

“Okay. Not so difficult.”

But this was not going to be pleasant. If Harry had to do this in chronological order, it would take a long time until he got to Hagrid saying, “Yer a wizard, Harry.” It would be miserable. He would have to relive all that lonely time in the cupboard…Uncle Vernon’s shouting and beatings…Dudley’s torture…

Snape said he didn’t have to put all the memories in. But Harry wasn’t a dolt. He knew that all of his childhood, however miserable, had helped him become who he was. He didn’t want to change it. What if it made him less grateful for Ron being so accepting on that first Hogwarts Express ride? What if it made him shake hands with Draco Malfoy? What if it made him hate Voldemort’s bullying less?

Change one little detail, and he could be unknowingly changing a lot. Of course, he’d love to forget – Aunt Marge and her comments, being locked into his room at Number 4 Privet Drive, crying alone in the cupboard, being hungry, showing his welts from beatings to a laughing Dudley, never getting anything for his birthday…

It was seeing those snippets of the life of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, and how they formed the person who now called himself Voldemort, that had made Harry certain. He did not want to change, though it hurt, and though he had regrets, because if he really believed in Dumbledore, than he knew that he, Hary Potter, could overcome any challenge that came his way. If Dumbledore really believed that Harry could defeat the most evil Dark Lord the Wizarding World had known since Grindelwald, then Harry had to, well…stay Harry as much as possible, didn’t he?

So he stood there, and bit by bit, began to put his childhood into the pensieve.

After a while, he began to understand why Snape had advised him to be alone. He would not want anyone, even Ron and Hermione, to see him doing this. He would not want them to see him shudder, and cry, and fall to his knees…even the tears of joy, when Hagrid came, when Diagon Alley was remembered, he did not want them to see. They were his and his only. There were parts of yourself you shared with others…and then there were parts you kept to yourself. There was something sacred and special about having some part of you that only you knew, and understood, and paid attention to.

His childhood was one of those things he would rather keep to himself, thank you very much.

He was placing his Sorting into the pensieve, when his forehead felt like it erupted in flame.

“Aaarrgh!”

The wand flew up into the air while Harry fell down like a stone. He was not Harry anymore; he was tall and narrow, speaking in a high, thin voice to a man in black robes who knelt before him.

“Where is he, Severus? Where is he?”

The man lifted his head. His face was wiped clean of expression, dark eyes unusually shallow and empty above the large nose. His hair hung in his face a little, but he made no move to push it aside. He answered flatly, “The boy has left Hogwarts.”

“Why? Dumbledore sent him searching?”

They were in a dark, empty room. No one was there but them. Harry – no, Voldemort! – sat on a plush high-backed chair before a fireplace.

“I believe so, my Lord. We are keeping it very quiet at the school and letting the rumor go out that Potter is remaining there but hidden away, ill with a strange magical sickness. In actuality he has left, leaving his friends behind. I do not know if they plan to stay for the entire term or not. I am watching them closely.”

“Good, Severus. You are always diligent and loyal. However…what is this new focus on Potter’s little friends? They are not the real threat. Don’t you know that your position as Potions Master serves me? This is service to ME, Severus! Do not forget it.”

Anger was building. It burned. It burned!

Snape bowed his head down low. “My lord. I did not suspect the Potter boy would leave so suddenly, and without his friends. What if he seeks to distract with his absence, and the real plan is taking place at Hogwarts?”

“Ah, Severus. I had you pegged as knowing that boy, second only to myself. But you have proved a failure. You do not know the boy’s determination. His friends are insignificant. For your failure, Severus, I must punish you.”

The anger was fizzling over inside, but the high voice was calm, without a quaver.

Snape’s head suddenly slammed across the rocks. Blood flowed freely, sliding down over his eyelashes and dripping down his cheeks into the neckline of his robes.

There was a high-pitched, shrieking laugh. “There you go, Severus! That’s better, isn’t it?”

The long wand flicked into the air, and Snape was flung up into the air and slammed brutally against the floor. Then – “Crucio!”

Snape’s body was convulsing inward and then his limbs twisted outward, back and forth. He swiveled and wobbled and bent in on himself. Pain was evident in his sweating, pale face, his clenched hands, but no sound came from his throat. The wand stabbed out, hard, and now his body was seizing on the floor, at first slow, and then faster and faster – jittering so hard that it seemed his limbs would break. His teeth clacking together rang loudly in the air. A choked gasping came from his throat, but he did not scream.

Finally, it stopped. The crumpled man on the floor could not really be called a man. His limbs were all twisted at awkward angles and blood poured from his mouth when he coughed. There was blood all over him. He lay on the floor, still as a rock, except for his wide, open eyes, which stared unblinkingly at the Dark Lord.

Then, slowly, so slowly it seemed even that hurt him, Snape blinked. “My Lord,” he rasped, “You have taught me well.”

The anger pulsed away, and with it, the vision of the broken man faded away…

Harry opened his eyes with a gasp. His heart was thudding in him like crazy, and he couldn’t get in air. He opened his mouth wide, trying to pull oxygen into his lungs. His hands trembled on the floor, and when he tried to get up, he couldn’t.

His body ached, especially the small of his back where he had landed. A headache struck through him the second that he succeeded in sitting up.

“Oh fuck…”

The words left his mouth, but they were unsatisfying. There was no way to summarize the horror that he had just seen.

Snape…mercilessly tortured by Voldemort because of one tiny slipup…tortured because of Harry…his eyes staring as if he were dead…Merlin…

Harry stood up shakily, and then threw up on the floor. He fell down, almost face-first in his own vomit, and almost threw up again, but nothing came up. He wished he could get that vision of Snape, so broken and beaten, out of his mind.

“I…I hate this,” he whispered, “I hate it. Maybe I should forget some of the memories after all…this is definitely one I’d like to leave behind.”

When he succeeded in standing up, he cleaned up the vomit with a whisk of his wand, and then fell back, not on the bed, but on the couch that was now a familiar, comforting thing.

“I hope he gets back alright…how in hell is he going to fix himself up?”

Harry pressed his hand hard against his chest. His heart would not stop beating quickly. He shut his eyes, and the image of Snape wriggling all over in pain came to him again. Fucking Merlin…he did not want to see anything like it ever again. He did not want to see that happen to Snape. Even months ago, when all he’d wanted was to kill Snape…hell, weeks ago, when he’d still thought the man deserved hell…

He would not have put Snape through that pain in any imaginary scenario. Never. And he wished that it hadn’t happened, and that Snape could actually get something good in his life for once, instead of just a pile of shit all the time.

He felt shaky, so he figured maybe a bath would help. God…he wanted it all to end soon. He had to get Voldemort. He had to. No more torture. No more people going through that shit.

As the bath water ran, Harry sat down on the floor. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“I guess I actually sort of like him,” Harry said aloud. Even saying it was a sort of experiment. It sounded weird. “I like Snape,” he whispered. “He’s…he’s…”

Brave as fuck. Why the hell did he get sorted into Slytherin? Slytherin head of house?

“He’s brave as fuck, and he doesn’t take shit from anyone, and he faces death with no qualms about it. Seems pretty fearless. Pretty tolerant of any shit, after…”

After trying to save my mother and then having her die at the hands of the person he called ‘master.’

Harry shuddered. He didn’t know what kind of mettle it took, to serve the Dark Lord that had killed the one you loved. People called Harry brave, and all sorts of other good things, but it all paled in comparison to the selfless act of repeatedly purposefully putting yourself in danger, putting yourself in the presence of the person who had killed your beloved, just so you could help some old wizard live out his dream about some kid…the kid of the man who had married the girl you fell in love with.

SHIT.

There were no words for this man, except, perhaps, absolutely brilliant. In a weird, depressing sort of way.

Harry left his clothes in a muddle, and sat back with a sigh in the bath. Ugh. Now he could just drift into a dream land and forget what had just happened…

He did not know how long he stayed there, half-asleep, drifting into memory and dreams. A loud rapping at the door made him lift his head slightly from the water.

“Mmm?”

The door slammed open, and Harry whipped his head up to stare into the baleful glare of Severus Snape. The man was shaking. His face was not broken, and blood remained only in cracks along his cheeks. He looked normal and healthy.

“Mister Potter,” he almost shouted, “Get your carcass out of that bath before I drag you. I have just arrived home, and I would like a private moment in my own goddamn bath. GET OUT!”

Harry sat up, and then slunk back down. What if Snape had just seen all of him? There were no bubbles left!!

“W-Would you stop shrieking at me and turn the fuck around? MERLIN!”

Snape turned around obediently with one crisp, angry squeak of his boot. “LANGUAGE!”

“FUCK LANGUAGE!” Harry roared. “YOU INTERRUPTED ME!”

“YOU’RE NOT A PRINCE, POTTER -”

“I KNOW! YOUR MOTHER WAS! THAT DOESN’T GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BARGE IN ON A MAN’S BATH!”

“Hmph.” Snape turned back around while Harry was pulling his trousers over his damp under shorts. Damn the man! Why had he forgotten the wand in the bedroom? And why did Snape have NO towels?!

“I can do as I please, Mister Potter,” Snape said with an evil grin. “It is my home, after all.”

He was watching Harry with obvious delight at his struggle as Harry yanked the trousers finally up over his hips. If only his fingers would work faster!

“Stop LOOKING at me!! What, is Hogwarts your castle now? Since when? Don’t you have a home to go to over summer and winter break??”

“I do,” Snape said with a growl. He was still watching, as Harry, finished buckling himself up, pulled his jumper over his head. He had the eerie feeling, as his head was inside the jumper, that Snape was scrutinizing his every inch, from head to toe. It gave him the jeepers, in a bad way, but it also made a lump in his throat that was a nervous, curious aching. Why wasn’t Snape snapping something cruel about Harry’s physique? He was pretty scrawny.

Harry wondered where Snape lived when he wasn’t at Hogwarts. “Well, I hope it’s more pleasant than this dark little hell hole,” he snapped, pulling the last bit of jumper down and glaring at the man across from him.

“To you?” Snape smirked. “It’s merely a bigger hellhole, with more windows and an upstairs. Now get!”

Harry “got,” having barely enough time to grab his trainers before Snape practically booted him out. He picked up the wand from where he’d dropped it on the floor, and then stared at the pensieve.

Was there anywhere he could put it where Snape wouldn’t find it? Probably not. Snape would probably find his Firebolt, too, for that matter. Damn. What if he broke it? Tore it up in tiny pieces? Harry hoped not. Hopefully he’d just give it McGonagall to put back in Harry’s dormitory (where Ron would put it in Harry’s trunk, he’d better!)

Harry sighed. His hair was still wet and his ears felt too soggy. He rubbed them on the shoulders of his jumper and flopped onto the couch.

Snape was such an aggravation. How had he healed himself so quickly? Was he just that good, or had he visited the Hospital Wing? Perhaps the latter. There had been time between his torture and his return, after all. Or maybe Voldemort had had some big Death Eater meeting that Snape had had to remain present for. Hmph. Probably showed Snape off to the other Death Eaters as a warning…

Ugh. Don’t think about it, Harry. You already threw up once.

Harry grabbed his pillow and slammed it over his face. No matter how much he slept on it, it still smelled like Snape. It was an odd mix of scents – ashes and ink and something lemony that Harry sortof liked. It made him think of the lemon pies Petunia used to make, which he’d gotten a couple bites of once. Delicious. She actually could cook when she wasn’t being a lazy arse.

He then noticed the sleeping potion at his “couchside” table – huh, trust Snape to put it there before coming to interrupt Harry’s bath.

He was very detail-oriented in an odd, annoying, Hermione sort of fashion.

But it wasn’t likeable, Harry insisted. Not in Snape.

He downed the potion and slept.

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Don't you just love "aaaaargh"? I've never seen any writer use that to delineate someone screaming bloody murder or whatever. Maybe it's a British thing? I find it humorous, honestly, which is not appropriate for some parts of the books where JKR uses them. I also love how she puts "effing".
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