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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Thirteen

They awoke within minutes of each other in late afternoon. Harry yawned loudly and stretched, only to find his hand brushed against Elisha’s warm forehead. He glanced down and saw she was curled with her body toward his, her head nestled comfortably between his arm and his chest. She was breathing deeply, steadily, her face looked calmer than usual, more at peace. Harry couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t dreamt that night… He could recall no grey eyes, no sensual touch. He was mulling over his slight disappointment when he glanced down again and saw this time that Elisha was awake, silently looking up at him.

“Are you okay?” Harry whispered.

He was shocked to find her face broke into a grin.

“No dreams,” she said.

“Well… I didn’t dream,” Harry said slowly, feeling crestfallen that he was ruining Elisha’s perceptions.

“You always dream,” she said matter-of-factly as she cleared her throat. She sat up and pulled her long hair into a bun so her prematurely lined face was clearly visible. “Everyone always dreams, every night. It’s just…you don’t always remember. But I know I didn’t see your dreams last night… I had my own, not yours.”

“Y-you did?”

“Yes,” she said, her smile wider. It lit up her face so her tired, wan skin looked momentarily luminous. “I think I’ve closed the connection.”

“Wow…” Harry whispered. “That quickly.”

She beamed at him and her face lost the harshness of her father’s. Harry suddenly wondered who her mother was – she must have been very beautiful because Elisha looked positively radiant and refreshed, despite her generally sickly and bony appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked.

“Sure.”

“What… what did you dream about last night?”

Elisha peered at him curiously.

“Draco,” was her answer.

Harry felt as though his stomach had dropped in a bucket of ice water. Her too?

“But not the same way that you do,” she continued, sitting up straight. Her eyes burned into his with severe intensity, so much so that Harry had to look away. “My dream wasn’t really a dream. It was a memory of Draco and I by a river. We were fishing.”

“Oh,” Harry said quietly.

“I’m not romantically interested in Draco, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Harry glanced back at her, feeling nervous and clammy.

“Though he is handsome,” she said, a smirk on her face.

“I—uh…”

“I know your dreams weren’t platonic,” Elisha said softly; her voice was gentle and understanding. “It’s up to you to admit that to yourself but… don’t worry about Draco and I. We’re friends and only friends.”

“T-thanks,” Harry whispered.

There was a long silence between them, where Harry thought about Draco, his eyes, his dreams, pushing his lips against the blonde’s—

“It’s okay if you like him,” she said, putting her bare hand on his clothed shoulder.

“I-I don’t know what I feel,” Harry admitted in a small voice. He felt the beginnings of shame rising in him, making his cheeks pink. He should have never asked her that question; it was too personal. “I’m confused. I’m confused about everything.”

“I know,” she said.

“H-how… how do you know?” Harry whispered, looking back up at her. “How do you know it’s okay to like him?”

She peered back in thoughtful silence.

“You cannot control whom you fall for,” was her quiet, kind answer.

Perhaps not, Harry thought miserably, for this was the first time acknowledging he could have some semblance of feelings for Malfoy. But despite his inner turmoil, one thing was certain— he needed a distraction.

*

Some hours later after another visit to Dumbledore’s office, Harry felt slightly relieved. He had requested that Ron and Hermione stay at Hogwarts for the last three weeks of the summer. Harry, however, did not ask Dumbledore why it was he was never told about Elisha’s powers—the fact that she at one point was seeing into his head, experiencing his thoughts, emotions, dreams. Harry was too consumed with distracting himself to make that his priority.

He whiled away the days until Ron and Hermione’s arrival with Elisha dutifully by his side. They took walks together in the early morning, played Quidditch during their free time, had meals together with a quiet, contemplative Snape. Harry was grateful for the fact that Elisha had seemed so understanding about his potential feelings for Draco, that she did not judge him for liking men, or liking this particular male, but it seemed every time Harry was gripped with the urge to ask her a personal question or two about Malfoy, Elisha would disappear for hours at a time to train with Dumbledore. She would return in the evenings exhausted, would collapse on her father’s sofa and promptly fall asleep.

But eventually, Harry began his own Occulmency training too.

On the first evening of their lessons, Harry and Snape stood a few feet apart from each other, wands drawn and ready. Unlike the last time Harry had experienced these lessons with Snape, the boy was not particularly nervous or angry. Now that he and Snape had mended their relationship, the boy was certain he could learn infinite amounts from the man; perhaps he could finally understand how to close his mind. Harry thought of Elisha’s impressive ability to master Occulmency in the span of a week and became more determined to do the same.

In between the boy and the man was Dumbledore’s Pensive. It lay on an empty wooden table, sifting with Snape’s pearly white thoughts. Harry briefly wondered what it was Snape was concealing from him, remembering quickly the one memory he glimpsed of his mother, the one memory of Snape being hung up by his ankle by his father, James… The boy went cold with shame.

“Tell me when you’re ready, Harry,” Snape whispered. His black eyes were locked on Harry’s, the orbs expressionless. Harry wondered if Snape was nervous.

The boy took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s start.”

“Remember,” Snape said, pointing his wand directly at Harry’s head. “Remember to close your mind. Concentrate. Imagine you are putting a plug to the drain that is your thoughts.”

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

“Brace yourself then!” Snape said. “One…two…three…Legilimens!”

The force of the spell caught Harry off guard though he tried his best to do as Snape said, to plug the drain. He couldn’t. Before he could control what was happening, disconnected images erupted from his brain, clear and stinging— He and Sirius were together in Grimmauld Place during Christmas, enjoying glasses of butterbeer… A flash of Hermione and Ron laughing on the snow covered Hogwarts grounds in their third year… A flash of Elisha asleep on his bed earlier that week, her face quite calm and serene… But suddenly, an image of Harry bringing down scissors to his wrist—

“No!” Harry screamed.

He found himself lying on his back on the wooden panels of Snape’s living room floor. The man had rushed forward and was helping Harry up. The boy tried to control his trembling.

“I-I… I didn’t want you to see—” Harry stammered, his forehead dripping with sweat.

“I know,” Snape said quietly, forcing the boy to stand upright. “These things are going to happen if I break into your mind. You must learn to close them off to me. Concentrate.”

Harry felt clammy and cold and nauseous. Snape’s large hands were still firmly on his shoulders. The two stared at each other; Harry saw a flash of worry pass over Snape’s eyes as he surveyed him.

“Do you want to go again?” Snape asked tentatively.

“Y-yes,” Harry gasped, wondering if he would be able to stand when Snape let go of him.

“Okay,” Snape whispered.

He released Harry; the boy trembled from head to toe.

“I-I’m ready,” Harry said, pointing his shaking wand in Snape’s direction.

Snape pursed his lips together, as if he suddenly disapproved of these lessons, but said nothing further. He too raised his wand, his black eyes glinting in the light of the setting sun.

“One… two… three… Legilimens!”

Harry was able to hold Snape off for a few moments before the power of his spell broke through his determination. Again, Harry was flooded with images of his past— A ten year old Dudley laughing at him as he tried to ride a broken bicycle… a disconnected, quick image of his uncle’s looming figure but far worse, Harry thought as the image came to him next… Draco Malfoy’s eyes, those grey eyes, those hands running up Harry’s body, over his chest, Harry moaning, throwing his head back—

“Stop!” Harry cried again, now on his knees. He dropped his wand. He held his head in his hands. If he had glanced up at that moment he would have seen Snape wearing an expression of pure shock. The man could not believe it— Harry and Draco? Harry, gay?

“Let me help you up,” Snape eventually said but Harry smacked his hands away without thinking. Snape did not move; he looked down at Harry curiously.

“I… It was a dream,” Harry said, excuses flying out of his mouth, his voice shaking as much as his body as he stood himself upright. The boy was leaning over a chair now, trying to catch his breath. He willed away the vomit that threatened to rush up his throat.

“It’s okay,” Snape said, patting Harry’s back. “Really, I would not judge either way.”

“I but… I—”

Harry could not think. He looked pleadingly up at Snape, as if willing the man to forget what he just saw. Harry did not realize he was on the verge of tears.

“We’re done for today,” Snape said firmly as he made Harry sit down on a chair.

“N-no,” Harry muttered incoherently. “Maybe one more—”

“No more times,” Snape implored, his right hand gripping his wand tightly. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not for a few days.”

Harry hung his head.

“Why does this happen to me?” he whispered, ashamed.

“Why does what happen to you?” Snape asked, pulling up a chair in front of the boy.

“I can’t… I can’t seem to fight this off, no matter how hard I try. I was lousy at this last time and I haven’t improved.”

“Occulmency,” Snape said, “is one of the most difficult branches of magic to master. It is far simpler for a wizard to wave a wand and mutter an incantation than to force his mind to close. Concentrating with such effort on the brain is taxing. It cannot be explained in a textbook, it cannot be demonstrated... You shouldn’t beat yourself. You’re a sixteen year old boy. Not many full grown wizards can master Occulmency.”

“But… but Elisha did. We’re almost the same age,” Harry whispered, now looking up at Snape. He saw another flash of worry in Snape’s eyes.

“Did she?” he asked stiffly.

“Yes,” Harry continued. “She told me so. She and I… had a weird connection… but she shut it off in less than a week.”

“That is unusual,” Snape said, putting extra stress on that last word.

“But she still did it,” Harry whispered. “How long did it take you?”

Snape pursed his lips together again.

“About two weeks,” the man said quietly, a flush of embarrassment overtaking his cheeks. The man did not like firing off his accomplishments.

“Two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Christ,” Harry said in disbelief.

“You have to understand, I only mastered the basics then—”

“Still. That’s more progress than I’ve ever made… How old were you?”

“In my early twenties,” Snape said.

Harry gaped at him.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to do this?”

Snape saw the nervousness in Harry’s gaze, the way the boy averted his eyes, the tears he was trying to will away. Snape leaned forward and put a supportive hand on Harry’s shoulder again.

“Yes,” Snape said soothingly. “I have complete faith in you.”

But Harry and Snape did not pursue another Occlumency lesson for some time. Three days had passed since the first one but Harry had something else on his mind. That evening, Ron and Hermione were set to arrive at Hogwarts.

The boy spent the day nervously pacing his room. Hedwig seemed to echo his feelings so he let her out to fly early that morning and had not seen her since. His two friends were coming at six that night; Harry glanced at the clock on his nightstand—it was nearly five. He decided to throw himself in the shower in an attempt to wash away the agitated tingling he felt—he had not seen Ron or Hermione in far too long, and though he knew they were unaware of what happened to him that summer, he was sure he would have to explain sooner rather than later…

Harry dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. Before he stepped out of the bathroom, he glanced down at his arms. The bruises that had plagued him were still fading, now a dull greenish hue, instead of deep purple. What remained were outlines of his scars from cutting. Harry made a mental note to don a long sleeved shirt so his two best friends would not see the marks of his pain. How he would explain the cuts to them, he did not know.

He dressed in plain black, reminding himself strongly of Snape and Elisha, wondering if their dark aesthetic was rubbing off on him. He didn’t bother to comb his messy hair and as he was fixing his shirt in the mirror, someone knocked on his door.

“Come in,” Harry said, turning around.

Elisha walked into the room. Like Harry, she wore all black, but unlike him, she did not seem burdened by nervousness. She was glowing, a strong flush in her cheeks. She looked healthier and with a jolt, Harry noted, happier too. Perhaps she had been getting consistent sleep?

“Hey,” she said quietly. She sat herself at the edge of his bed. “Excited?”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, flattening the front of his wrinkled shirt. “I am… but I’m a little scared.”

He turned around to face her directly. She cocked her head slightly.

“Scared? I thought they were your best friends?” she asked.

In the days before their arrival, Harry spent quite a lot of time talking to Elisha about Ron and Hermione, outlining their personalities and the adventures the trio had been on together. The girl, Harry had noticed, seemed just as excited as he was to see them. Harry had often wondered if she had much social interaction with people her age… He never asked but he got a strong feeling Draco Malfoy had been her sole companion for quite some time.

“They are,” Harry said, sighing. “But… I know I have to tell them… about—you know, about my uncle and everything.”

“Not tonight, surely.”

“No, not tonight. But eventually. They’ll want to know.”

“I’m sure they will, but from how you describe them, they would never pressure you,” she said kindly.

“I guess you’re right.”

She smiled at him softly.

“Well… Shall we get going then?” she asked.

Harry glanced over at the clock. Fifteen minutes to six. He nodded and Elisha jumped down from the bed. She extended her palm out to Harry and the boy took it gratefully. They—he, Elisha, Snape and Dumbledore—were to gather at the front lawn on the Hogwarts grounds, facing the winding long road to Hogsmeade. Ron and Hermione would be entering the school from the small village.

Harry and Elisha emerged onto the front grounds within minutes of leaving Snape’s quarters. They were still grasping hands and moved quietly. From the entrance doors, Harry saw Snape and Dumbledore’s backs, both men facing toward the path to Hogsmeade, waiting, it seemed in silence. Harry and Elisha walked to meet them, burst out into a mild evening. The sun was setting, blood red, over the Forbidden Forest.

“Hello Harry, Elisha,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, dressed in robes of deep lilac for the occasion. He was wearing a placid smile, unlike the man next to him.

With utter amusement, Harry noted Snape’s sour look, his dark robes billowing about him. He was clenching his large hands together in annoyance, his eyes narrowed. He gave Harry a curt nod and the boy could not help but be reminded of all the times Snape had given him that same look in class or in the corridors. The boy mused over how much the times had changed.

“I expect they’ll be arriving soon,” Dumbledore said, mostly to Harry. He was still infectiously cheerful.

Harry nodded. Elisha had released his hands and now stood with hers in her pocket. She kept glancing back and forth from Harry to Dumbledore and occasionally to her father, pursing her lips in equal annoyance whenever they made eye contact.

The boy turned to say something to her but she suddenly gasped, her eyes locked on the distant path. Harry’s head snapped around and even though their outlines were small, he spotted two distinct figures making their way toward Hogwarts—

Harry seemed to have lost all control of himself in that moment. The nervousness, apprehension he was feeling earlier melted away and with a strangled cry of happiness, he bolted from the group waiting with him, sprinting down the winding hill toward two figures running equally as fast toward him.

Harry saw bushy, wild hair flying behind his best female friend; he saw mad, vividly red hair waving closer and closer, two flushed faces, huge grins. Ron reached Harry first and the two jumped into a leaping hug; Ron was roaring with laughter and glee, shouting things Harry could not make out properly. The boy felt another, smaller body collide into his—Hermione’s. She was shouting just as happily, her little hands grasping onto both boys.

The three embraced tightly and did not let go for some time. When they did, Harry found he had to look up at Ron—how much had he grown?—to find the redhead grinning ear to ear.

“Blimey,” Ron said. “My mum would freak out if she saw you. You’re so skinny!”

Harry laughed and backed a few paces to get a better look at his two best friends. Hermione was a full head shorter than Ron now; he towered over both Harry and Hermione, which was quite a feat, considering Harry was rather tall himself. Ron must had surpassed the six foot mark. He too was thin, but unlike Harry, he did not look ill. He was tanner, stronger, healthier. Hermione bore the same signs of being well cared for—her skin glowed as she smiled up at her friends.

“It’s been a while,” she said.

“Yeah it has,” Harry whispered. He could not help but glance back at the group he had left behind. Ron and Hermione peered up the hill, toward the castle too.

“Oy,” Ron said, squinting his crystal blue eyes at the group. “Who’s there?”

Hermione, who had been glancing as well, clapped her hand over her mouth in realization.

“Er…” Harry said, feeling a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, leaning forward more. “Is that Snape?”

Harry blinked and suddenly felt quite stupid. How had he not planned a way to tell them about Snape? Their reconciliation? His daughter? Harry had been so worried about explaining the abuse he suffered at his uncle’s hands that nothing else had crossed his mind.

“Snape?” Ron said weakly, frowning. “Who’s the girl?”

He jerked his head toward Elisha. Even from this distance, Harry could see her smiling. Harry grinned back; that seemed to have given him peace of mind. He turned back to Ron and Hermione, who were waiting, on the balls of their feet, for some sort of answer.

Harry cleared his throat.

“Well it seems like I have a lot of explaining to do,” he said sheepishly.

He broke into a grin and relief flooded him when Ron and Hermione did too.

TBC

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to update. I will try to be more consistent, and to Lemo -- You're on to something there but not quite 100%! Everything will reveal itself in due time.

As always, reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading.
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Endurance