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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
NOTE: Dear readers, I've made a big plot change. I decided having the world know that Severus killed Dumbledore was too complicated. I'd rather focus on Harry, Severus, and the demons. So I made it was it is in Canon - only a few, such as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Order, know. Ron and Hermione are keeping mum about it, and don't entirely trust Severus, of course.

Also, in chapter 8, Voldemort tortures Severus for a different reason, now. He believes Harry has left Hogwarts, because Severus lies to him. He believes the lie. He tortures Severus because Severus is still at Hogwarts and supposedly watching Ron and Hermione.

This chapter, some parts I like, some parts not. Tell me what you think of Severus's reaction to Harry's memories. Too much? Not enough?

I'm figuring out the demon stuff the more I write this. =)

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UNLEASHED

A Snarry fanfic

by lordoberon

Chapter 9

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Sometimes, Severus thought that maybe he was still breakable. Other times, he thought that he wasn’t, and he determined that he never would be. After what he had survived, what could happen that would possibly be worse?

Of course, that way of thinking had exited his mind as soon as he saw Harry James Potter, and had to face James’s son.

Now was another such time where he was being challenged by life. Right now, his body ached at every single move. Torture exacted by the Dark Lord was always excruciating. This was not the first time it had happened to Severus, although it happened to him less often than other Death Eaters.

Couple that with the delicious sight of the Potter boy, wet and barely clothed, and Severus’ mind was on overdrive. It was too much bad and good in one day.

He could not sleep for anything. He had had a good wank in the bathtub, but his mind still went back over that vision…he had known Potter had a good figure, toned by Quidditch, but seeing it was another thing altogether.

Being a Seeker did not seem like it would get much exercise out of the body, but Severus remembered playing Quidditch in his past. It took muscle to grip the broom between your thighs, to whizz through the air at breakneck speeds and not strain something. It took extreme mental energy to be any Quidditch player, what to speak of holding the position of a Seeker, ever alert, forced to have lightning-quick reflexes or fail your team.

Plus, there was the inevitable tension that would pang inside your arms after directing the broom sharply in a game. Sometimes your fingers would cramp up after from having held the broom so tightly. Then there was the headiness of being in the air, something which had always prevented Severus from flying more. It made him feel ill. But had he not had that sensitivity, he had to privately admit he would still be flying. It was damn fun.

Potter’s body was one of the best examples of why Quidditch was a good thing. He was all lean muscle. He had a confidence in his movements that he probably didn’t even notice, being somewhat of a dunderhead in the observation department (unless he was looking for the Snitch). This confidence made him seductive to watch.

His shoulders would never be broad, but they were strong enough. His torso was tanned, with a flat belly, rosy nipples, and black hair that was not thick on his chest but more so in that enticing trail that crept downward from his navel. Before the self conscious teenager had buttoned himself up, Severus had caught a glimpse of white undershorts that did not conceal the shadow of dark pubic hair and a sizeable cock.

Just thinking of it again was making Severus hard. But also on his mind was the pensieve. The pensieve! Its image haunted him in his half-awake dream state so that he shot out of bed. Forget waiting. Now was the best time to look at the memories, anyway, since Potter was asleep.

He shoved his curtains apart violently. Then he wrapped a bathrobe over his thin night robes and stepped towards the table with the pensieve on it.

“Severus! Severus!”

“Merlin’s stained shoes!” Severus whirled towards the voice. His wand hand shook.

There, beyond the arm of the couch, was a head inside Severus’ fireplace.

“Remus moon-loving whiskey grubbing cankered fucking Lupin…”

Lupin smiled at Severus when Severus sat down ungracefully on a conjured chair. He tried to ignore the sleeping brunette just a foot behind him on the couch.

“I do not drink fire whiskey as much as I suspect you do in your office, Severus. I didn’t quite catch all the rest.”

Severus simply nodded, and then cracked his knuckles. “What do you want?”

The werewolf was tired-looking as usual, but the sparkle of something was in his amber eyes. Severus wished it wasn’t, because he was feeling more tired and annoyed the longer he sat there.

“Minerva said you wanted me? To help with Harry. How…how is he?”

Cranking sod begotten mother loving wolf, Lupin was having a sentimental moment. His looked around, and finally his gaze alit on Potter sleeping. He stared a moment, scrutinizing, and then his gaze became soft. With a tired sigh he looked back at Severus.

That look alone sent jealousy burning into Severus. It gnawed at him, ugly and sinister, making his throat tight and his blood beat loudly in his ears. He could never be caught looking at Potter like that.

“The brat is just fine under my care. Get a hold of yourself, man! You know the situation, I warrant. Tell me any ideas you have, or let me get back to bed.”

“Bed?” The werewolf tried to look concernedly at Severus in that same worried fashion, but Severus refused to take it. He scowled back. “You look like you haven’t slept in ages, Severus.”

“Well, that’s what happens when the Dark Lord is angry with you!” Severus snapped. He clutched at his left forearm, something he only did when he was very bothered.

Lupin sighed deeply. “What did he want?”

Severus reported, quick and short, and when Lupin just shook his head, Severus growled. “Give me a bone, Lupin, or I’m going to stop making that potion for you.”

“Alright.” The werewolf cleared his throat. “I like the idea of the pensieve, and I like the potions you’re experimenting with. I have faith that whatever you make will have an effect – or is already,” he hastened to say when Severus glared at him.

“But I have a suggestion. Your tactics are all very well; I understand you are concerned for Harry’s safety. We all are. But the longer the demons are in him, the less safe he is. I suggest taking the bull by the horns, summoning the demons straight up, and attempting a conversation with them. Maybe something we can offer them will be better than possessing Harry’s body.”

“Right,” Severus growled, “convince them to leave a powerful, youthful wizard body at the drop of a hat. Of course that will be easy.”

Even as he said it though, his mind was ticking away. He was the least one who wanted to deal with the demons in Potter, since they were highly dangerous to everyone, and had nearly killed him once before. Recently they had gotten to him with their new lusty tactics, and he was afraid – no, nervous – that they would try that again. BUT, he had effectively scared them with his potions.

Lupin had a point. Draw them out, get rid of them quick, it was ideal, wasn’t it? Even if it meant Severus had to undergo more suffering? If it meant Potter would be free, well then…that would be good.

Right? Everything would go back to normal…

Potter would loathe him again…

He would probably leave Hogwarts on a horcrux chase with his friends, and who knows what would happen to him, or when Severus would see him again…

Severus swallowed hard. Lupin was looking at him with questioning in his eyes. The longer Severus was silent, the more intense and searching his gaze became. Severus knew Lupin. He had a knack for catching on to people’s emotions and their cause. It was something that Severus both admired and hated. He hated being vulnerable.

“I like it,” he finally whispered, “risky though it is. I like it.”

What could they offer the demons that would tempt them away? When Severus said as much, Lupin’s brow furrowed. “Let us think on that. My tired brain does not want to give me an immediate idea right now, as I’m sure yours does. Let’s sleep on it, and meet again tomorrow night. Ten p.m.? I know you won’t be doing anything for Halloween.”

“Halloween?” Severus leapt in his chair. “Is it that time?”

Lupin gave him that bedamned searching look again. “Yes. How could you have missed it, there at Hogwarts?”

He had been teaching classes, but he was so absentminded these days…his mind residing with a certain seventeen-year-old in the dungeons.

“Papers,” Severus sighed. “And none of your fucking business. I don’t care for the frivolous ways Hogwarts likes to celebrate these ancient days. My mother always said they should be treated with respect.”

“I remember your mother,” Lupin said with a smile. “I met her that one time at the train station, and only later realized she was your mother.”

Severus grinned nastily. “And then you decided to hate her because she spawned me?”

Lupin shook his head. “No, not at all. You know I’m not like that, Severus. I thought she looked tired and sad…not quite unlike yourself at the moment, really.”

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Lupin! It was the last time I saw my mother, and the only time she accompanied me to the train. Forgive me if the memory puts me out. Thank you for summoning another image to keep me awake. Good night!”

Lupin tipped his head in a nod. “Night.” He left.

Severus scowled at the fireplace, and then turned around, slowly, to look at the boy.

Potter was so innocent in his sleep. His face was bereft of any sorrow, anger or pain. His cheeks looked so soft. That and his long eyelashes and sensual mouth made him part cherubim, part succubus. His long body was stretched out on the couch, again on his stomach – didn’t he know that was unhealthy? – and his feet almost went over the edge. One arm was hugging his pillow, and his face was half buried in it. Severus took in the long lashes, the rolled-up flannels revealing half of one leg, and the half-open mouth that revealed a peek at his tongue.

Merlin’s burning panties. Severus was not going to have an easy rest tonight.

When he woke, he forced himself through his classes. At the very end, potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin, two familiar twats came up to him. Severus crossed his arms and frowned at the Granger-Weasley twosome.

“Yes?"

Granger thrust forward a wrapped parcel, and stammered, “P-Professor Snape, please. This is for Harry. We usually do something for Halloween…and he isn’t here, so…”

Severus stared at the parcel. Then when Weasley glared at him, he snatched it. “Fine.”

They stared at him, surprised. Severus glared at them all the harder. “Alright, I said! Now get!”

They left, once glancing back at him.

When Severus returned to his office, he sat down on his desk and stared at the door that led down the hall to his quarters. He knew he should grade papers, but he wasn’t of the mind to it just now. He wanted to see Potter. It was a burning in his throat and an antsy feeling that made his hands unable to stop moving around and picking at things. He couldn’t grade papers or anything so trivial, when someone so important lay waiting for him beyond that door.

Merlin, he was so far gone! Having Potter around only made him like a sick addiction that Severus just wanted more and more of. He would wait until speaking with Lupin at ten to discuss his ideas for summoning the demons, but for now, there were other things he could do.

Parcel in hand, he stalked down the corridor and slammed open the door.

Potter was not on the couch. What?

Severus looked to his right. There, crumpled against his bed, was something. When he stepped inside, closer, he realized it was Potter. The boy was leaned up against the side of Severus’ bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. His arms were wrapped around his knees, and his hair was wild. His expression was angry, but there were obvious tear tracks on his cheeks. The wand that he was borrowing sat idle in his right hand where it lay on Severus’ bed sheets.

“Do you have to always have an entrance?” Potter attempted to sound sullen, but his voice shook, and was thick with snot from crying. His eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks were blotchy. The lightning bolt scar stood out starkly on his skin. Severus had always thought that the scar was ugly on an otherwise attractive face.

He tried to shut up the churning inside of him at seeing Potter in such distress. Part of him wanted to yell at Potter to be a man. Be brave, you dolt Gryffindor! The other part of him wanted to kneel down and wrap his arms around the boy. This was someone who, like him, had parts to his self that could never be understood by others. Severus knew this, though the boy was loathe to show it. Potter made little of his differences, wanting to blend in and socializing left and right…but he would always stand out.

It wasn’t just the scar or the good looks he’d inherited from both sides, or the trauma he seemed to carry around with him always. It was the pain that flashed in his eyes which he thought he hid. It was the way he always wanted to do things without help. He was a loner, even though he tried not to be. He hid parts of himself, and did not want everyone to see inside of him. Severus could relate.

He bent down, slowly, and put a hand on Potter’s head. He pressed down a little hard. Then he grabbed the wand and tucked it away. He wrapped a hand firmly around Potter’s and said, “Get up.”

Anger became surprise before it turned to anger again. Potter got up on his own, ignoring Severus’ hand. When he stumbled, Severus was there to catch him. He shut his eyes, feeling his own composure slipping as that warm, firm figure leaned heavily against him. In its heaviness there was a dependence that he had never felt from Harry Potter before. Had his friends seen him like this? They must have. But having not seen Harry Potter like this himself, Severus relished it. Potter’s breath was warm against the skin of his neck. His black hair tickled Severus’ nose.

Severus did not think he had ever savored anything so much in his life. The boy simply stayed there, shuddering slightly, sniffling. Vulnerable, he was putting himself at Severus’ mercy, and Severus could not but be merciful. He had felt the same many times after putting memories in his own pensieve. Anything but to be alone with the memories.

When he moved to tentatively put an arm around the young man, Potter pulled back. He marched to the couch, and sat down on it, with every muscle of his body tense.

Ah. There was that Gryffindor pride again. Severus hated and admired it. He took a deep breath and went to mixing a healing potion quickly in a small cauldron. “I can make you a tea for that,” he murmured.

Then he remembered the parcel. He’d left it on the floor by the bed. Finishing the potion quickly, he picked up the wrapped box on his way to the couch. He sat down next to Potter – a familiarity which rose the hackles on the boy, and also made him feel squeamish, but he forced himself to do it. He handed Potter the congestion potion, and when it was dutifully drank, he put the parcel in the boy’s hands.

“Your friends insisted I give you this for Halloween.”

He noticed that while Potter’s expression did not change, his hands gripped the box tighter. He walked away before Potter could see him smile.

While he tinkered over another potion, which required a lot of waiting, he listened as Potter opened up the box. His smile grew as he heard the boy laugh, and murmur his friends’ names.

Weasley was a dunderheaded fool, even moreso than Potter himself, but if there was one thing Severus liked about him, it was the way he made Potter laugh.

He worked over his potion some more, and when it was done, walked over to the couch. Potter was squished back into the couch, relaxed, his legs stretched out. It was hard to resist admiring the entire length of him. He was wearing muggle clothes again, this time on oversize grey shirt with plain trousers that had a rip at the knee. Why did he always wear such sodden bad clothes? Severus wondered.

Potter looked up at him, a Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean halfway into his mouth. He chewed it, swallowed, and then eyed the potion. “Another one?” His face was still ruddy, from crying or the blazing fire in the fireplace. He’d been forcing himself to sit by them on purpose, because it pained the demons inside of him.

“Yes. This one is a memory potion that works more long-lasting than most. It is bitter.”

Potter sighed, and took the small bottle from Severus. “There’s only so many potions in the world that can taste good, it seems.”

With a sigh, he drank the potion down. Severus was surprised he took the nasty concoction in a few gulps, and without stopping. Perhaps multiple trips to the Hospital Wing had done that for him?

The boy grabbed his throat with a groan, and heaved forward, as if it he might throw up. Then he sat back slowly. “Yuck!”

Severus smiled. “We’ll add that one to your dailies, since you love it so.”

Potter growled, and immediately began popping more Bertie’s in his mouth. When Severus remained, a flush rode up his cheeks and he scowled. “What?”

Severus licked his lips. “I want your permission to look at your memories. Since you’re seventeen now and of age, Minerva insisted I be formal about it. I told her you would probably say no, so it was stupid to make me ask. Also, Lupin may be coming here tonight to assist me in yet another dangerous idea for how to cure you.”

Potter sat for a moment, his head bowed. Severus waited for what felt like a long time. Finally the boy lifted his head a margin. “You can see them,” he whispered. “But you won’t like it. I’ve been working on it all day, and I’m up to my Third Year now.”

Ah. So that was why he’d been crying. Black and his godson had become quite close in their short amount of time together. In fact, Severus had not seen Potter defend anyone in quite the same way he’d hung onto Black. It had made him despise the fellow even more, for capturing Harry’s attention so. There he was, calling him Harry again in his head!

Severus was surprised that Potter said yes to such a gigantic invasion of privacy. But he clearly didn’t want to be riddled by demons for the rest of his life.

“How do people usually banish demons? Obviously we can’t use normal methods, since my case is weird, but…how?”

Severus sat down again – why did he keep stretching personal boundaries like that? Perhaps it sent a secret delight through him to make Potter so uncomfortable – and clasped his hands together. “Usually, it is difficult. A lesser demon can be forcefully summoned from within its victim and be forced into a vessel, such as an urn. A victim with more demons in him will be more difficult to cure.”

Potter was nodding now, listening.

“As his memories leave, it becomes harder for whoever is trying to cure him. The demons’ innate magic blocks anything that they see as invasion. When there is a pack of demons, one is advised to cast them out of the victim by using a combination of potions, disgusting blood spells that leave both victim and healer drained, and Legilimens to converse with the demons.

“However,” he looked over at Potter, who stared back, “When the demons are very strong and very many, such as in your case, they usually refuse to speak unless they are violently pulled out temporarily. While keeping a foot in the victim’s body, they emerge from the body to converse with the healer. Demons are the origination of the phrase, ‘deal with the devil,’ for they usually make a bloody, miserable contract with either healer or victim in order to agree to leave. Thus, their victims are never truly free of them, and suffer in some way in their later life. There have also been a few cases where the demons were reached through legilimency and dream potions on the part of the healer. It is this lighter method that I have been working towards, but Lupin and McGonagall insist that I quicken the pace. Dream potions take a long time to brew.”

Potter looked away and sat back in the couch’s cushions. Then he laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever paid that much attention to anything you’ve said in class, you know? Unless you were getting on my nerves. But now you have my attention.”

Again that becoming flush worked itself over his face, and Severus resisted the urge to read the boy’s thoughts. He was probably simply embarrassed at having admitted with a dolt he was and how little he cared for potions, when the art was what was currently keeping him sane.

“Thank you for that,” Severus remarked dryly. A little smirk eased over Potter’s mouth. He jumped up, and after pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the mantle, stood with his back to the fire.

“So, Remus is helping us? That’s good. What sort of deal is he thinking of striking with the demons?”

Severus sat back and let the boy stand there a moment, so he could just look at him. Then he shook his head and shook out of it. “We’re meeting at ten. No ideas as of yet.”

Potter frowned and his gaze became faraway. “If I think of something I’d like to trade…would that be okay?”

Severus growled. What, the boy wanted to give the demons something of him? “What could you possibly have that they would want?”

Potter shrugged. “I dunno. Grimmauld Place?” He smirked. The devil was trying to be funny.

A snort of laughter shot from Severus. “That rat shack? No. They want a human host, not a house.”

Severus resumed his potions work, categorizing what was in his cabinets. He missed the ones at home, where he had so much more. Really, he was only categorizing because he was waiting for the dream potion he now worked on to be ready. While he categorized, he occasionally glanced over at Potter. The boy was splayed on the couch again, paging through Quidditch of the Ages.

Damn papers. He had about ten of them, and he knew he should be working on them, but damn it all.

When some inner bodily clock told him it was time, Potter looked up from his magazine. “Dinner?”

Severus summoned it from the kitchens – he hated the bowing and groveling of House Elves – and then went to stand by the pensieve. Potter saw him, and frowned. But then, slowly, he nodded his head.

It was about time Severus had a look. Besides, he had spent too much time in the same room as Potter, and it was about to drive him batty. However much he enjoyed it, his bitterness would creep in to sour it soon.

Being as gentle as he could, Severus picked up the pensieve like it was a babe, and brought it with him to his office. He locked all the doors and dimmed the lights. Then he sat at his desk and just stared at the damn thing.

Sweat rolled down from his temple, but he did not brush it away. He stared down at the pensieve with his teeth clenched. He wanted to see these memories, and yet he didn’t. Were it him, he would hate the invasion of privacy as much as, if not more, than Potter did. He respected that. He did not want to violate Potter’s privacy. There were reasons Dumbledore had kept so much that he knew to himself.

But part of Severus was also dying to know. What had Potter been like as a boy? Who had he lived with, and when had he discovered his powers? How had they exhibited themselves? Did he remember his parents? All of these were mysteries, kept from the media and the wizarding world, including Severus. Only one Albus Dumbledore and one Harry James Potter seemed to know the whole of it.

With no specific memory to choose, Severus would begin at the beginning. He let out a deep sigh, gulped some fire whiskey, and then dipped his head inside the silvery, glittering substance.

He returned, gasping, but moments later.

Lily…Lily, his dear Lily that was not his…A sob tore up through his chest and out of his mouth. Shaking, he sank down, beyond his chair, down to the stone floor. He tilted his head to push his forehead against his desk.

He had known Lily died trying to save her son. Everyone knew it. And he knew the more of it, the story behind the news. But to actually be in that moment…hearing her death…hearing her pain…cold, cold tears, which he had resisted for so long, poured down his cheeks. He was filled up once more with that immense pain. It made it hard to breathe. He did not want to live. He shouldn’t. How could he, when he still felt responsible? It was he who caused that scream…who sent her death to her doorway…

Quickly he got a hold of himself, and sat back on his chair. He downed fire whiskey, and while he drank, his thoughts would not stop.

The tears were dry on his cheeks, but the pain wailed in him still. To distract himself, he forced himself back down to the pensieve, to more memories.

He witnessed a lost, lonely boy meander his way through life with no joy and no purpose, experiencing abuse daily for year after year. He witnessed the boy who lived under the cupboard, and had strange dreams, and made impossible things happen. For everything that was witnessed, he was beaten. For everything that happened, he probably wondered, was he going mad? Alone in his cupboard, he talked to the spiders, and became resilient, and cold, as year upon year of abuse piled upon him. He was not happy, but he dreamed, and he hoped, that things would change.

Then Hagrid came. And then he was at Hogwarts. And then – something went wrong. There was no sorting memory. Severus remembered it very well, but it was not there. Instead, there were memories of the troll in the dungeon, Granger, Weasley, Malfoy, and the Philosopher’s Stone…there was Quidditch, and suspicion of Severus, and the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye…and then, Voldemort, and that high, sharp voice.

Severus went back through it slowly. He put the memory of arrival at Hogwarts on slow, and watched the details of people’s movements. He watched as Harry looked around the Great Hall at the professors. He watched as Mcgonagall’s mouth moved slowly, and started calling out names…She was at the P’s…

Then it went black.

What had happened? Had the demons wiped the memory away?

Severus returned to the present, and shook himself. There was too much to hold inside of him. He wanted to hurt something, or throw something. He wanted to drink until he couldn’t think. The question of the missing memory burned at him, but it was nothing in comparison to the cold pain.

This was why he retreated from the world. This was why. It hurt too much. It hurt too much to be himself. Why did he have to care for anyone else? If only the boy had never existed…or, curse the high heavens, Longbottom had been struck instead of Harry Potter…

He sat there, with his shaking hands around a glass of firewhiskey, and cursed everything and everyone. He knew that if he stayed like this any longer, with no distraction, his magic would erupt out of him. It had happened before, and it was dangerous. But how could he not feel like this? He couldn’t very well forget everything he had just seen. No! Potter’s memories were unforgettable.

Most of his rage, he began to realize as rational thought returned to him, was aimed at a man who was now dead. Dead by Severus’s wand! Dumbledore had kept Harry there to protect him, but by Merlin’s beard, if Severus could kill him again right now, he would. A thousand times.

Dumbledore could have left Harry with anyone else, Lily’s protection be poxed. Instead, he had left him with the Dursleys, and forced him to live through years of abuse. And, Severus realized with horror, the boy had been living with them each summer for all of his years at Hogwarts, too. No wonder he seemed so attached to the castle and all of its residents, even the sour ones like the Bloody Baron. No wonder he was so stubborn about Hogsmeade, having not experienced anything like it before…and no wonder he was insufferable when it came to adventure and running headlong into danger. His life before Hogwarts was not a life at all. He had to experience that pain every summer, over and over and over…

The glass in Severus’ hand shattered, blowing all over the room and cutting a long scratch down his cheek. He pictured in his mind what he could do to Vernon Dursley, but nothing seemed to be quite awful enough. Nothing could take back the damage that had been done.

Then, there was the kindness. Severus had once sneered at it, and later, wondered at it. Now, it made his anger soften, and a sigh fell from his lips. It was a sigh of exasperation with a tinge of, he had to admit it, respect. Harry Potter was a sentimental, kind dolt, even after living with the Dursleys. He had saved more than he needed to in the Triwizard Tournament…he had saved the House Elf, Dobby, from slavery to the Malfoys…

Why extend such a kind hand to others, when no such thing had been extended to him? Perhaps it was this spirit which Dumbledore spoke of as being that which would save the wizarding world. It was this love in him which would defeat the Dark Lord.

It was a love that Severus could not fathom, and could not have for himself. He burned in a different way then, longing so hard and so bitterly that he had to swallow back tears of self-pity. Damn Potter for bringing this all surging up in him…

He made to stand, but the world whirled a little around him. Too much fire whiskey, damn it all.

Slowly, he plodded down the corridor, ready to collapse into a sleep that would be pure relief. Oh, how he wanted it right now. To not have to think or feel…

But when he entered his quarters, tired and sad and feeling bewildered, he got no reprieve. A warm, long body pressed against him…a hissing grew louder and louder in his ears…and a beautiful, soft mouth pressed against his. For a moment he was dazed under the spell of the pleasure it gave him. A hot tongue slid into his mouth and played with him, pulling back before thrusting in. It milked a whimper from him, and his knees grew weak, and his cock grew hard…

Then a hand was there, so good, pressing over his cock, handling it rough and hungry as he liked, making him curse and groan and gasp, “More…”

But when the demons stopped, and Harry Potter lifted his head to look at Severus with black eyes and a triumphant grin, Severus remembered.

It was Halloween. It was night. The demons were strongest in this moment. They had him so weak…

Then he was flung violently across the room. Pain exploded into his body as he slammed into the wall of potions and supplies. Rock battered his bones and glass sliced his skin. Potions and poisons leaked out, burning his hands and sliding down into his robes to turn his back into boiling, writhing pain as his skin bubbled. He was screaming and swearing, and then he fell abruptly to the floor.

He lay there, silent, feeling dead but for the pain that sang high in him. When he looked up, he saw he was alone. The door was ajar. Where had the demons gone?

It was rage alone, coursing through him, which forced Severus to stand. He slid his wand out, and with all the pain and fury riding him in waves, he ran.

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