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
- 11
- 12
- 13
Author's Note: As always, reviews are welcome!

Twelve

Snape crept from his living quarters and out into the empty castle corridor, moving purposefully, quickly, despite the darkness. He whispered the password and stepped onto the revolving staircase, tapping his wand impatiently on his thigh. It was late, and he was certain Harry had gone to sleep; perhaps Elisha had finally decided to as well. He certainly hoped so. She was looking sicker and sicker every day.

The door creaked open as if sensing his presence and the man walked into the quiet office to find Dumbledore staring at him, waiting.

“Severus?”

“We need to talk,” Snape said, striding in one swift motion and seating himself opposite Dumbledore.

The old man donned his night robes but did not look remotely tired; on the contrary, his eyes were wide and alert, his whole body rapt with attention.

“What would—” Dumbledore started, before Snape cut him off.

“She is not doing well,” Snape said, trying to keep his voice even, trying not to let out his frustration and the slight swell of fear. “Have you seen her face?”

“I see it every day, Severus,” Dumbledore said gravely.

“Well then you know more about what’s wrong with her than I do—”

“She is stressed, that’s all.”

“Stressed? Stressed? She looks on the verge of collapse!”

Dumbledore sighed.

“Her powers are causing her stress. I don’t imagine either of us can truly empathize, considering she has—quite possibly—more innate skill than you and I both combined.”

Snape stared with his mouth open. He didn’t care about hiding his feelings, on masking his expressions; now was not the right time.

“She is not affected by her emotions the same way you and I are,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes hard and grave. “I believe everything she feels is compounded by her strength, every fearful or happy moment is so extreme for her... It would cause anyone in her position to look as sick as she does.”

“But she’s never been this way before!” Snape shouted, no longer bothering to deal with testing his patience either. “In the eighteen years she’s been alive, not once has she looked like this! She’s going to collapse any day now—”

“She has almost mastered Occulmency,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I have told her more times than I can count to take a break, to relax, to get some sleep, but she doesn’t listen. She doesn’t want to. She fears what she will see if she sleeps, that’s how strong her guilt is.”

“What is she seeing?” Snape said sharply.

“She does not tell me,” Dumbledore said. “I haven’t been able to catch any glimpses either while we’re practicing. She does not let me in to her head much… And the things I’ve seen are nothing to worry about—mostly quick memories of her alone, usually by a lake—”

“A river,” Snape corrected. “There is a river by our house that she went to every day.”

“Yes, well that must be it then.”

“Why do they have the connection?” Snape continued, evening his breathing through his flared nostrils.

Both men stared at each other, tension hanging in between them.

“I think we both have figured out the answer to that question,” Dumbledore replied.

Snape looked away, an uncharacteristic blush flooding his cheeks. Dumbledore was not smiling.

“Do you think he knows?”

“Harry?” Dumbledore asked, sitting back in his chair and peering at Snape with the intensity of an x-ray. “I don’t think he has any idea.”

“We should keep it that way, for the present,” Snape said listlessly, cursing his reddened cheeks.

“I agree with you.”

“Do…do you think she knows?” Snape said, his voice so quiet it was barely audible.

Dumbledore thought for quite some time.

“I think… it is becoming clearer to her. But I do not think she is certain yet.”

“When will she be?” Snape asked.

“Soon, I imagine. At the rate she’s going with Occulmency…well, you won’t be able to hide anything from her for much longer,” Dumbledore said.

“I have no wish to do that.”

“I know Severus. You are trying your best to be a good father to her. But when she does discover this… do not lie to her.”

Snape did not answer. He was fidgeting with his wand nervously; another uncharacteristic impulse that he showed only in front of Dumbledore.

“I heard them fighting,” Snape whispered finally, looking up at Dumbledore.

The old man sighed.

“I did too,” Dumbledore confessed. “I was stepping out of my office after I met with Harry and I could hear their voices…”

“What were they saying?”

“They were talking about her ability to see into Harry’s mind,” Dumbledore said shortly.

“Did you tell him she could do that?”

“No,” the old man said honestly, now looking out of the high window. “I wanted her to be the one to do it. I wanted her to confront him and confess it. I did not want to get in the way of their growing friendship.”

“I don’t think Harry will be too happy about that.”

“Nor do I, but if he decides to ask me my reasoning, I shall tell him.”

“But they will be okay?”

“I think so, yes,” Dumbledore said, glancing over at Snape now. He leaned forward and said in earnest, “This may sound foolish of me to say but don’t worry so much about this, Severus. When the time comes for the truth to emerge…it will come. You can do nothing to stop it.”

“I know,” Snape whispered.

“You can only accept it.”

"But will they?" Snape whispered.

He was not looking at the old man anymore. He held his head in his hands and closed his eyes, wishing against all reality that he could have had an easier life.

*

There they were again. Grey, wide eyes.

There those were… those hands, thin fingers, running up his neck. But something was different this time. Harry was fighting his urge to awaken, having done so every day for the past week when the dream reached this point. In the dream, his eyes were closed tight, his heart racing, fluttering in his stomach; he willed himself to stay asleep.

To know what happened next.

He felt the fingers brush past his jawbone, tickling his lips. Harry’s heart was rummaging so fast he thought he might be experiencing a heart attack. He could barely breathe—spurts of air were entering through his nostrils, barely keeping him aware of the sensations flooding his body.

The fingers paused on his parted mouth; one finger ran slowly, longingly over his mouth. Harry did not bite back a moan. He opened his eyes and found Draco leaning into him, his eyes watering, desperate—

“Feel,” Draco whispered not breaking eye contact with Harry. Draco’s voice was heavy. “Feel me.”

Harry felt blood rush to his groin. Draco’s hands moved from Harry’s lips down his chest, taking their time. Harry was staring at the other boy, shocked and awed, nervous but curious. Just as desperate but not as contained. The long fingers snaked their way beneath Harry’s white shirt, breaking open the buttons on crisp linen with ease and grace. The fingers ran over his muscles, brushed over his nipples. With a jolt, Harry could see Draco’s hardness through his tight trousers. The black haired boy groaned despite himself as Draco leaned forward again, this time to push their lips together.

But Harry could sense his mind fighting to awaken, struggling to stop this pleasure. He tried to push himself more into the dream—for the first time, reaching forward and grabbing Draco. The blonde boy stared at Harry with such passion and reverence that the boy had never seen in real life.

In real life.

This was not real.

“NO!” Harry shouted, awakening immediately.

He lay in his bed, quite alone. Harry’s arms outstretched as they reached for Draco’s invisible shoulders, his entire body tingling.

*

The next day, Harry was haunted with broken images of Draco’s eyes, the lingering feeling of his touch and something much worse—

His godfather.

Sirius’ dark, brooding glare popped into Harry’s head at the most random moments, rendering the boy listless with guilt. After not having thought much about him since he awoke from the coma, Harry could feel anguish burning through him again.

What would Sirius have said if he found out Harry were dreaming about men? And enjoying those dreams? What would he say if he knew the object of his godson’s fantasies was the nephew of the woman who killed him? Harry felt disgusted with himself.

No matter what Elisha insisted, no matter what she said defending Draco’s character, the fact remained that he was Bellatrix’s nephew. That, even through that familial connection, Draco would be bound to Sirius’ death forever.

Harry felt contaminated, ashamed. He felt as though he should be honoring his godfather in a better way, in a more respectful way. It took all of Harry’s willpower to stop himself from sneaking into Snape’s kitchen, stealing a knife and reveling in the searing pain of cutting himself. He wondered if Elisha knew he was fighting his urge. He wondered how much she had seen, if anything. If she had finally succeeded in closing off her mind to his. His question was answered that evening when she came into his room without knocking and unannounced.

She stood in the doorway and stared at him, her tired eyes burning wildly.

“Don’t do it,” she whispered, moving forward.

“You saw then?”

“Yes, but just a little this time… Just enough… Don’t hurt yourself.”

Harry looked away from her, shame showing all over his face. He was sitting on his bed, as he usually was, still in his pajamas. He had not moved all day.

He expected her to turn around and walk away but she didn’t. She came forward, as quick as a cat, silent as wind and without reservation, crawled into his bed. Harry could not help but stare at her as she wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled him into an embrace.

“Why?” Harry whispered, closing his eyes and resting his chin on her shoulder.

He wasn’t sure what he was asking why to. He wasn’t sure why he was speaking, ruining this moment of tenderness with his shaking, gruff voice.

She did not answer. They held each other until they laid down and for the first time in a week, Elisha fell asleep. Harry followed her soon after, neither aware that Snape peered at them from Harry’s ajar door, a look of utter pain and guilt etched deep into the harsh lines of his face.

TBC
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- 13
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Endurance