Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Endurance	By : WinterRaven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 29171 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-Nine
- 10-Ten
- 11-Eleven
- 12-Twelve
- 13-Thirteen
- 14-Fourteen
- 15-Fifteen
- 16-Sixteen
- 17-Seventeen
- 18-Eighteen
- 19-Nineteen
- 20-Twenty
- 21-Twenty-One
- 22-Twenty-Two
- 23-Twenty-Three
- 24-Twenty-Four
- 25-Twenty-Five
- 26-Twenty-Six
- 27-Twenty-Seven
- 28-Twenty-Eight
- 29-Twenty-Nine
- 30-Thirty
- 31-Thirty-One
- 32-Thirty-Two
- 33-Thirty-Three
- 34-Thirty-Four
- 35-Thirty-Five
- 36-Thirty-Six
- 37-Thirty-Seven
- 38-Thirty-Eight
- 9
- 10
- 11
Author's Note: Short chapter ahead but things are in transition for Harry! More to come!

Ten

The boy stole from his room, tiptoeing along the empty, dark hallway. He stumbled through the corridor and thanked the heavens when he saw a crack of light from underneath Snape’s door. The man was still awake.

Harry knocked softly once, twice, but there no answer. He pushed open the door slightly and glimpsed inside. He was met with the sight of a mahogany four poster canopy bed, its white linen flowing in a soft breeze from an opened window; there was a rich, red carpet adorning the floor; several bookcases spilling with literature lined the walls; a lamp was on, seated on the nightstand and next to it was Snape. He was perched underneath his sheets, back against the board of his bed. He held a book close to his nose. His black eyes skimmed the pages before him with such speed that his irises looked like blurs among the white of his eyeballs.

Harry cleared his throat. Snape’s head shot up in surprise, his eyes staring into the doorway.

“Goodness!” he said loudly, throwing his book aside. “Harry, is everything okay?”

“Not really,” Harry confessed. He did not step forward from his place by the door. “I’m sorry to bother you now. I know it’s late.”

Snape shook his head and peeled himself from underneath his covers. He wore his usual black, long sleeved shirt and trousers.

“Don’t apologize. I told you to come to me if necessary,” said the man, standing up from his bed.

He brushed his long hair out of his face and grabbed his wand from the night table. With a flick, he produced two large chairs from nowhere and invited Harry to sit at the one opposite him. Harry obliged, lowering himself onto the squishy seat, his hands clasped together nervously.

“What’s bothering you?” Snape asked, leaning forward, his tired black eyes glinting in the faint light.

Harry sighed and looked away for a moment. Now that he was here, he felt somewhat foolish. Did he really need to bother Snape over a dream?

“Nightmare,” Harry said quietly.

“Care to elaborate?”

Harry thought for a moment, wondering if he should mention the part involving Draco Malfoy. He felt a sudden hot flush come over his cheeks, a flush of embarrassment as he remembered clearly Draco’s grey eyes boring into his… Harry decided not to say anything about that. Instead he focused on the disturbing point of the dream, the second half.

Harry said, “My uncle again.”

“Ah,” Snape said. He looked at Harry thoughtfully. “You fear him still.”

“Yes,” Harry said, breathing in deeply. He reveled in the feeling of air filling his lungs. “I know I shouldn’t—”

“You shouldn’t?”

“Right,” Harry said, blinking. “I shouldn’t… because he’s not here anymore. He’s in prison somewhere and I’ll never see him again. Logically, there’s nothing to fear—”

“You’re being too difficult on yourself,” Snape said, leaning forward more so his eyes were aligned with Harry’s watering ones. “You’ve faced a terrible hardship this summer, something most people never have to go through. Can you really expect yourself to come to terms with what happened in the matter of hours since you woke to find yourself at Hogwarts?”

Harry paused. Snape was right. The boy had almost forgotten it had only been a day or so since he awoke from his coma, only a day for his exhausted brain to try to process his new situation, the people around him, the fact that he was assaulted, abused…

“I know you’re right,” Harry whispered. “But I need to get over this quickly. I have to begin training to defeat Voldemort.”

Snape sat back in his seat and sighed.

“You do have to do that, yes,” the man said. “But you also have to care for yourself, remember? You have to give yourself time to come to terms with what has happened to you. To allow yourself to experience the fear, to discuss it, to understand it, not to wish it weren’t there, not to wish it away. Repressing will not give you progress.”

“God,” Harry whispered, staring out of Snape’s open window now. “This is so hard…”

“I know,” Snape said quietly.

“I just want my mind to be clean. I want it to be normal. I don’t want to dream about these things anymore. I don’t want to have urges to hurt myself.”

“I know,” Snape said again, his voice soft, understanding.

Harry locked eyes with him.

“Why did you do it?” the boy asked, his tone desperate. He needed to know. He needed to know that he was connected with somebody else in his suffering.

Snape blinked and ordered his words carefully, his mind racing, reeling. He had been asked that question before by only one other person. Snape’s eyes had that hardened look again, as if he were trying to block memories from flooding forth and disturbing him; as if he were protecting himself.

“I did not understand how to deal with my emotions,” the man said, his voice monotone. “I was young when I started, not much younger than you.” He paused. “I did not want to confront what I felt.”

“What were you feeling?” Harry whispered, now on the edge of his seat, hungry to hear what Snape had to say. Perhaps they had everything in common in this regard? Snape leaned further back into his chair, as if trying to shield himself.

“Anger,” the man whispered. “Resentment, confusion.” He paused again. “Loneliness.”

The two stared at each other.

“I think you feel loneliness, Harry,” Snape said.

“Yes,” Harry confessed. He felt a tear run down his cheek and brushed it away harshly.

“You must remember, you are not alone—”

“I am when I’m in my head. I am because no one I know has been attacked like I have. No one I know has been abused by their caretakers, or hated or—”

“I have,” Snape said in a small voice.

The man decided it was better to tell the truth than to hide it. He needed the boy to recover, even if it meant opening himself up in a way he hadn’t since…Lily.

“Y-you—?” Harry stammered.

“My father,” Snape whispered. He stared into Harry’s eyes, willing himself to pretend Lily sat in front of him so he could confess what he needed to confess, so he could help her son. “My father wasn’t a happy man. He was a Muggle and disliked having a witch for a wife, and a wizard for a son. He often took his frustrations out on me, hit me, hurt me.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry gasped, suddenly flooded with guilt at cornering Snape like this, in essentially forcing forth that answer. “I’m so sorry, you don’t have to tell me—”

“But I do,” Snape insisted and before him swam Lily, wide green eyes open in shock. “I must. It will help you.”

“Thank you,” was all Harry could muster.

Snape stood from his seat. He walked over to Harry, closing the distance between them and did something that he hadn’t done for many, many years.

He hugged the boy.

*

Harry left Snape, feeling a slight sense of relief mingled with unhappiness and guilt. Snape, it seemed, had always had a difficult life. Harry sighed and crawled back in to his bed. He had an easier time falling asleep, remembering Snape’s warm embrace, knowing, finally, that someone else truly understood him, that someone could empathize with this pain, this confusion, this fear…

He drifted into another fit of sleep, at first tossing and turning and tossing—

And suddenly there was quiet.

There they were again. Those eyes. The grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

They were not on the Quidditch pitch this time; they were on the ground, on a white tiled floor. Each wore white clothing, a white sweater, light color trousers. They were both seated in stiff chairs facing each other, very much like Harry and Snape had been not so long ago. But this was different. While there was somberness in the air with Snape, that need to confess, to be understood—here, with Draco, there was electricity, tension. Harry felt his heart hammering in his chest as the blonde continued to lock eyes with his, his orbs burning into Harry’s, unblinking, needing.

Draco stood up from his seat, his tall, thin frame hovering over Harry's. The blonde reached down slowly, both his hands coming to rest on the other boy's shoulders. Neither boy broke eye contact as Draco's fingers moved up, inch by inch, toward Harry's parted, waiting lips. Harry could feel, taste Draco's hot breath, a faint trace of peppermint--

Harry awoke, his breath ragged and uneven. He sat up in his bed to find faint sunlight coming through his window.

Malfoy. Again. The second time in one night. Harry stared up at the ceiling. Why on earth the blonde was suddenly infiltrating his thoughts? He swore out loud, wondering why his heart was beating so fast for his enemy.

Confused, frustrated and alone, Harry did not fall back to sleep. He was not aware that Elisha had been woken by his dream too.

TBC
- 9
- 10
- 11
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Endurance