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
- 10
- 11
- 12
Eleven

A week passed by. It dragged on slowly and solitary through the quiet Hogwarts grounds. Since his late night conversation with Snape, Harry kept mostly to himself, though he’d see Snape at mealtimes or as he roamed the castle. The man did not bother the boy much during this time, knowing Harry had to process his situation, knowing that aloneness was necessary… Harry, however, was occupied with other, lesser, things. Hedwig had been gone for a few days, leaving his room perpetually empty and rather sad, not to mention he had not seen Elisha once. He often wondered where she could have disappeared to and why it seemed that Snape was indifferent to her sudden departure.

Even more bothersome— Though Harry was alone during his waking hours, he was always accompanied by a blonde intruder at night.

His dreams had slowly progressed, and his uncle, eventually, disappeared from them entirely. This was something Harry thought he should celebrate but he scowled at the thought because his uncle was replaced by Malfoy. That, Harry thought, was more disturbing. At least he had a reason to dream about his uncle, a reason to feel anything toward the man, even if those feelings were repulsion or anger or fear.

But with Malfoy… there was no excuse.

Each night, Harry met Malfoy in the same place, in the same white outfit, seated on the dark chairs on the white tiled floor. Each night, the two stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like hours. Neither said a word. There were barely any blinks. And each night, Malfoy would eventually stand from his seat, close the gap between him and Harry, move his delicate fingers up Harry’s neck, toward his jawbone.

But, like clockwork, Harry would awaken before those fingers could reach his lips.

He became worried when he wanted those fingers to reach his mouth, when he wanted perhaps something other than Draco’s fingers to touch his lips… Harry hated himself for wanting to know what would happen next.

*

Harry awoke the morning of his birthday not realizing what day it was. In the tradition of the past few days, he awoke cursing himself wildly as he stumbled to the bathroom, trying to will away a leftover image of gleaming, needy grey eyes—

As he walked back into his bedroom, Hedwig appeared on his windowsill hooting dolefully. Three small parcels and four cards sat at the foot of his bed.

“Oh!” Harry said in surprise, knocking Malfoy out of his mind for once, and with a laugh like a bark, the boy remembered what day it was. “Thanks Hedwig!” he said to his bird, rushing to her first. He gave her a grateful pat and she flew to her perch only to fall asleep.

The boy opened each gift, two from his best friends and one from Hagrid—from Ron, a box of Honeydukes chocolates; from Hermione, a small leather bound book on the history of broom-making; and from Hagrid, a container of treacle fudge. Each of their cards wished Harry birthday wishes but Ron and Hermione’s were also full of questions—How was he? Why was he at Hogwarts? What had he been up to that summer?

Harry felt his happiness sink a little bit. He had not given any thought to contacting them, or seeing them, let alone telling them what had happened to him. He wanted to confess to them, but he wasn’t sure it was time yet. He put their cards down regretfully and made to take the fourth card. In familiar, loopy writing, he read—

‘Dear Harry,

I wish you a happy sixteenth birthday and hope that you continue to find your time with Professor Snape productive and comfortable.

I hope you will not object to coming by my office this afternoon at one at o’clock. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you, but do not fear. Our conversation will not venture in to any subject you do not want to speak about.

See you this afternoon.

Sincerely yours, Albus Dumbledore’

Harry sighed and put Dumbledore’s card down.

So Dumbledore wanted to speak to him. The boy was apprehensive even though the letter promised they wouldn’t broach any subject uncomfortable to him. Sighing again, Harry looked over at the nightstand, which contained on it a small clock and with a gasp of surprise saw it read 12:58—

He sprinted from Snape’s quarters in his pajama pants and long shirt, not bothering to change since he was already going to be late for their meeting. Harry briefly recalled Snape’s look of surprise mingled with his distant, confused calls for a happy birthday as the boy bolted out of the quarters, running down the halls of the school until he reached his destination.

“F-fizzing whizbee!” Harry groaned at the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office.

The gargoyle sprang to life at his words and moved to the side, allowing Harry to climb up the revolving stairs. The Headmaster’s door opened automatically when he reached it and Harry found Dumbledore seated at his desk, mulling over a few documents, the point of his quill in between his teeth. The old man looked up.

“Ah! Hello, Harry! Happy birthday,” he said graciously, putting the quill down at once. He smiled at Harry’s appearance. “Pajamas, I see!”

“I—yes, sorry Professor,” Harry stammered, stepping forward and feeling foolish for coming into the presence of Dumbledore with flannel pajamas on. “I just got your letter and I didn’t want to be late.”

“I always appreciate punctuality,” Dumbledore said, his smile wider, more genial than ever. “Please, have a seat.”

Harry sat opposite the man.

“So I take it you’re spending your time well?” the Headmaster asked, leaning forward on his elbows to better survey Harry.

The boy nodded, brushing his uneven, uncombed hair out of his eyes.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. “Well Harry, let’s get down to business. As I wrote in my letter, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you, one of those things being your uncle.”

“I thought,” Harry said, his voice dejected and slightly hurt, “you said I didn’t have to talk about anything I didn’t want to…”

“You most certainly do not,” Dumbledore said kindly. “What I wanted to tell you is that he has been officially convicted and sentenced to twenty years in prison.”

“Oh,” was all Harry said.

“I thought that news may bring you some relief,” Dumbledore said.

“Y-yes, sir. Yes, it does,” Harry whispered.

Dumbledore paused for a moment.

“Now on to more pleasant things,” he said, surveying Harry curiously. “I take it you have heard from your friends, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger?”

“Yes,” Harry said. He felt suddenly elated, remembering their letters, but there was a slight tinkle of guilt to that, especially because he hadn’t yet written back answering their questions.

“Would you like to see them?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry thought for a moment.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “But… I’m not sure how to tell them about… what happened to me…”

“A dilemma indeed,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “But, perhaps, you do not have to tell them immediately.”

“I suppose,” Harry said slowly. “But they’re curious… They want to know.”

“They are, as I understand it, your two closest friends in this world. Am I correct?”

Harry nodded.

“I think they would not mind waiting until you are ready. They seem to respect you a great deal,” Dumbledore said.

Harry blinked.

“Forgive me,” Dumbledore continued, “for meddling in your personal affairs, but I think it would be best for you to be surrounded by those who care about you most. Those who you trust fully and those who trust you. I think it would help you recover.”

“I agree,” Harry said quietly.

“I suggest thinking this through a little bit longer, perhaps for another day or so. And if you make the decision that you would like to see them, I will send word to their families and arrange for their arrival at Hogwarts for the reminder of the summer.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry whispered.

Dumbledore smiled.

“Of course,” he said. “And now, one more pressing topic.” The old man paused and glanced over at Fawkes, who was perched on his sill, quiet still and sleeping. “You need to resume your training against Voldemort.”

“I agree,” Harry said, sitting up in his chair, his attention rapt.

“Good,” Dumbledore said. “I would like you to continue to train with Professor Snape. It seems you two have put the past behind you, and it seems that you trust him.”

“We did,” Harry said. “And… I do. I do trust him.”

Dumbledore smiled.

“I’m glad to hear it,” the old man said. His eyes were twinkling brightly. “You and Professor Snape can discuss the details later this evening. He is aware that it is my wish that he trains you.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“Well then Harry, I daresay you’re free to go enjoy your birthday as you wish.”

Harry stood up from his chair and looked at Dumbledore, forming something together in his brain.

“Professor?” Harry asked, not moving.

“Yes, Harry?”

“I… I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to you about… my uncle yet.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Dumbledore said softly, leaning forward more than before so his earnest eyes glinted into Harry’s. “You must recover at your own pace.”

“But what if… I don’t want to talk about it?”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. Harry could not read his expression.

“Then, that is your right,” the man finally said. “You have the right to choose how you recover, and if you would prefer not to have that discussion with me, I respect that decision.”

Harry blinked at Dumbledore, not expecting that answer. He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear. Perhaps that Dumbledore would insist, perhaps that it was Harry’s obligation to tell the Headmaster these things, seeing as it was partially because of Dumbledore that he was rescued in the first place. Perhaps the man knew that Harry had placed all of his trust in someone else already, in Snape, and only in Snape would he confide.

Harry breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you, then,” Harry said finally.

Dumbledore bowed his head slightly at Harry.

“Of course,” the old man said softly. “Of course.”

*

As Harry stepped off the revolving stairs away from Dumbledore’s office, he saw her.

She was seated on the bottom of the closest staircase leading down to the second floor corridor. Elisha sat with her back rigid, eyes facing forward, her hands clamped together, as though she had been waiting for Harry all along. Her long hair spilled down her back in soft waves and she turned when she heard Harry’s footsteps.

“Hello,” she said with a faint smile.

“Hi,” Harry responded, seating himself next to her.

He looked into her face and was surprised to find her more tired-looking and prematurely lined, as though she had undergone months of stress in the days of her absence.

“I heard it was your birthday today, so happy birthday,” she whispered.

“Thanks,” Harry said, slight concern in his voice. She looked utterly exhausted, too thin, too sick. “Where have you been?”

She blinked and looked away.

“Here… But I’ve been training,” she whispered.

“Training? For what?”

She did not answer but changed the subject.

“What have you been doing?” she asked, though she knew full well... Disconnected images of Draco Malfoy had haunted her all week, as did the same dream Harry was having—his thoughts on Draco were hers and she had been working wildly to close her mind to them. She made progress but no longer allowed herself to sleep for guilt of what she would encounter in Harry’s dreams. They were not hers to watch.

“Nothing in particular,” Harry said, suddenly uneasy at the look on Elisha’s face.

Harry leaned forward.

“What is it?” he whispered. “Are you ill? You don’t look well.”

“I—I…” She was trembling slightly. She seemed desperate to tell him something.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay—” Harry said, his hand squeezing her arm in a reassuring way.

“I’ve been practicing Occulmency,” she finally burst out. “With Dumbledore. We’ve been training from dawn till dusk every day.”

“Is that why you’re so exhausted?” Harry asked. “I remember when I tried practicing, it made me sick—”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you should ask Dumbledore for a break,” Harry suggested.

“I can’t… until it stops.”

Harry looked puzzled.

“Until what stops?” he asked.

“Draco,” was her whisper.

Harry felt a thrill of dread and released her arm immediately. It fell limply to her side. The boy cursed himself for reacting that way and knew his nervousness came from the fact that he was seeing Malfoy every night, that the blonde seemed perpetually trapped in his brain—

“Malfoy?” Harry repeated, trying his best to keep his voice even. “Why would you have to practice Occulmency against Malfoy?”

“Not against Malfoy,” she mumbled; she looked on the verge of hysteria. Harry was briefly reminded of himself all those days ago when Snape found him, cornered him after his cutting…

“Hey we don’t have to talk about—”

“I haven’t slept in a week,” she whispered, her black eyes rounding on Harry, the circles underneath her orbs as dark as her irises. She looked slightly deranged. “I can’t sleep. When I sleep I see Draco. I see Draco because you do.”

“Me?” he said, shocked, praying he had misheard her.

“I’m practicing Occulmency against you.”

Her words reverberated throughout the empty castle corridor, bouncing off the portraits, windows and statues, bouncing, it seemed, off of Harry’s very skin, his pores. He felt his insides turn to ice, and his heart began to race, thumping viciously against his ribs, as if trying to break through.

How could this be? And how, if she was working with Dumbledore, had the man not told him? Harry had just seen him… Was he trying to protect Elisha’s privacy, her confusion and guilt? Was he trying to protect Harry too? Perhaps preserve their new, blooming friendship?

“How is this possible?” Harry croaked.

She looked away, as if ashamed and stared out of the high window directly in front of them.

“It’s my fault,” she said, still not looking at Harry.

“How could—?”

“I think it’s because I touched you,” she whispered. “Maybe when we shook hands… I’ve fostered some sort of connection to your head without meaning to.”

Harry stared.

“But how?” he asked, no longer frightened and merely awestruck again. He had never heard of something like this happening, unless the connection between himself and Voldemort counted… but Voldemort had never done something as simple as touching him to create that connection between their minds. Their connection was bathed in violence and bloodshed.

“How?” Elisha asked back, snapping her eyes on to his. “I wish I could tell you. Dumbledore has been attempting to explain it to me, but I don’t think he fully understands it himself.”

“So he knows?” Harry asked.

“Yes. I’m sure he told you.”

“As a matter of fact, he didn’t,” Harry said, not bothering to bite back the bitterness in his voice.

“Strange,” was all Elisha said.

“Has this happened with anybody else?” Harry whispered.

“Never,” she said.

There was a long pause between the two.

“So what happens now?” Harry asked after minutes of drawn out silence.

Elisha sighed.

“I continue practicing Occulmency. It’s beginning to work. I’d say in another week or so I should close my mind off to yours entirely.”

Harry did not have time to be impressed by her statement. He suddenly felt his heart thumping against his chest again.

“So…” he whispered, looking at her earnestly. “So you’ve seen… everything I’ve thought of?”

“No, not everything.” She blushed. “Just…glimpses…”

“You mentioned Malfoy.”

Her blush grew deeper, staining her cheeks a pleasant cherry red color.

“Yes,” she said. “Well I’ve been seeing your dreams when I sleep…” She sounded apologetic. Harry groaned.

“Ever since you mentioned him, I’ve been thinking about him,” Harry whispered, unsure why that honesty slipped from him.

Elisha did not look surprised.

“You have romantic feelings for him then?” she asked.

“No,” Harry spat quickly, shaking his head vigorously. “No. Never. Why—”

“I’m not accusing you,” she said quietly. “Your dreams are just…curious.”

“I don’t understand them myself.”

“Perhaps,” Elisha whispered, “you should not analyze so much with your head. Perhaps you should analyze with your heart.”

“My heart?” Harry said in a hollow voice.

“Listen to what it tells you. I’ve often found our brains get in the way of our feelings—”

“But there are no feelings!” Harry yelled, jumping up.

Elisha did not look moved by his sudden passion. She merely glanced up at him, listless and exhausted.

“You two are more similar than you realize,” she said, monotone.

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Draco has reacted the same way—”

“He dreams about me?” Harry barked.

“That I could not tell you,” she said honestly. “But when he speaks of you… He tries to smother his feelings with hatred and dislike, but people who do those things are usually the easiest to see through.”

“Or your read his mind,” Harry said quietly.

Elisha’s eyes snapped wide open. They were boiling with anger and irritation.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Her voice was as cold as ice, as cutting as a knife. She rose from her seat and glared at Harry with such ferocious intensity that he felt his skin burning. Harry stumbled back away from her in fright.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Draco Malfoy is my oldest and—up until I met you—my only friend,” she whispered dangerously. “I would never read his mind willingly and I have never done so. If you haven’t noticed yet, I can’t seem to control it when it happens with you. And if you haven’t noticed either, I am trying my best to close off the connection that I have with you, because it is not my right to see into your head.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry gasped.

“I bring up Draco because I think you two are fools for rejecting each other so quickly. For hating each other based off an intolerant house rivalry—”

“That’s not the only reason!” Harry yelled hotly, desperate to defend himself. “He’s cruel to me and my friends, he mocks me and follows me and tries his best to make my time at Hogwarts shitty.”

“But you don’t look past those actions—”

“There’s nothing to look past!” Harry yelled again. “You don’t know Malfoy as I know him. It sounds to me like he’s completely different around you. And trust me, I don’t know what that’s about but he has never given me any reason to like him or want to be his friend.”

Elisha scowled. She looked very much like her father when he was angry.

“You can’t possibly defend him when you haven’t seen him act like an asshole,” Harry said, calming his breathing and his voice. “That’s completely unfair.”

“I have seen it,” she said quietly. “I caught a glimpse of him laughing at you—he was holding a badge or something—”

Harry felt the color drain from his face. A clear image of Malfoy’s drawling, jeering face burst into his mind.

“It disturbs me to see how much a person can switch their personality,” Elisha continued. “It’s disgusting. I’m not defending him. I’m only asking—based off of what I’ve seen from you and the way he speaks about you—that you two start from scratch.”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” Harry said, his throat very dry.

“I like to see my friends happy… And, I’m sure I will be around you two often when the school year starts. I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to deal with my only two friends ripping at each other’s throats.”

Harry sighed.

“I’m sure you’ll make other friends,” he said.

“Possibly,” she said evasively.

Harry looked away from her, her words still reeling in his brain, replaying over and over, but the echo was not as sharp as it had been moments ago. Harry took a deep breath.

“If…if Malfoy is willing to apologize, I-I’ll be willing to start fresh,” he finally said.

“I think,” Elisha whispered, moving toward Harry so they stood side by side, both looking out of the giant window at the peaceful Hogwarts grounds, “that you’ll find he feels the same way.”

*

The rest of Harry’s birthday wasn’t as explosive as it had been in the early afternoon. Snape had made him a small, simple chocolate cake, which Harry ate with gusto. It was the first time in recent memory that Harry recalled Snape and Elisha sitting in the same room, at the same table. After dinner, he spent the night in quiet, contemplative silence, alone in his room. Elisha had stumbled off somewhere wordlessly.

Toward the later hours, however, there was a soft knock on his door.

“Come in,” Harry said.

Snape entered into his room, stopping at the foot of Harry’s bed where the boy sat, staring out the window.

“Everything okay?” Snape asked.

“Yeah, just… I’ve been thinking whether or not I want Ron and Hermione here. Professor Dumbledore told me they could spend the last few weeks here before school starts again.”

Snape’s face was impassive.

“If you think it’s best for you, I think they should be here,” the man said quietly.

“I think all us teenagers might drive you crazy,” Harry said, smiling slightly.

Snape gave him a small smile back.

“Luckily for me,” he said, waving his wand, conjuring a chair and sitting on it, “I wouldn’t have to look after them.”

Harry grinned.

“So what’s up?” the boy asked.

“Two things,” Snape said, crossing his legs and looking at Harry with a strong expression that made the boy slightly worried. “First, I think Dumbledore told you about Occlumency lessons?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“When would you like to begin?”

Harry thought for a moment and said, “Whenever works for you.”

“Ah, well then, later this week perhaps?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Now the second thing,” Snape continued silkily. “Did you and Elisha have an argument earlier?”

“What?”

“I thought I heard you two fighting in the corridors,” Snape said; Harry noticed with a jolt that he looked worried. “I apologize for her, she’s not used to—”

“No, don’t apologize. She didn’t have to apologize either. I’m…I’m glad she spoke to me. It was a necessary conversation.”

“I see,” Snape said slowly. He stood from his chair. “Well then, should I leave you?”

“Sure,” Harry said, pulling himself from the bed. “I’m going to sleep soon.”

“Sleep well then.”

“Thanks.”

Snape flicked the chair away with his wand and left Harry’s room in silence. The boy stared at the closed door for quite some time before pulling off his clothing and getting in to bed. When he fell asleep, he was met with Draco’s eyes again, but for the first time in days, this did not make him uneasy. He welcomed it.

TBC
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Endurance