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
- 17
- 18
- 19
Eighteen

Part of Snape’s prediction came true—Harry was front-page news.

It happened quickly, within a few days of the school first buzzing about his sexuality. Harry, who had avoided the Great Hall as though it contained a plague, was finally persuaded to have breakfast by Ron and Hermione. They didn’t think Harry should hide himself, hole up in Snape’s quarters for no one but his friends to find him. Harry agreed, reluctantly, and Ron made sure to look extra menacing that morning as they stepped into the hall.

All eyes were on the trio as they walked to their house table. With a sigh of relief, the Gryffindors did not treat Harry any differently than usual; the boy was a little more relaxed, especially since he pretended the rest of the hall was not present or staring at him. He kept his gaze locked to either Ron or Hermione’s faces, not even bothering to look over to find Draco Malfoy; he only wanted to concentrate on one thing at a time. The blonde however, was watching him carefully.

Hermione had purchased a copy of the Daily Prophet to read over her breakfast. She paid a tawny barn owl five knuts for the paper. Ron was passing Harry the syrup for pancakes and the two were beginning what promised to be a good conversation. Everything seemed normal until Hermione spat her orange juice out at the sight of the cover.

“Hermione?” Harry gasped.

Ron immediately grabbed a pile of napkins and began cleaning up the front of her stained robes, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice. She was staring, stunned at the soggy paper. Other students were now beginning to look at her.

“Harry,” she whispered, turning to him. She grabbed Ron’s hand in a convulsive movement as if trying to steady herself. The redhead stared at her. “Harry…the paper—”

She pointed, with her free hand, to the dripping headline. Ron groaned and Harry felt his fingers turn icy. It read: The Boy Who Lived—Gay! Directly underneath the blaring font, in slightly smaller print said: In a stunning confession, Harry Potter admits his deviant sexuality.

“They make it sound like I wanted everyone to know,” Harry snarled, grabbing the Prophet with a quick swipe.

“You’re going to read it—?” Ron started but stopped.

Harry ripped the paper directly in two. He took those halves and proceeded to shred them so that they were nothing more than little squares littered around him. Harry turned to look at Ron, who was smiling at him. Some of the other Gryffindors whistled in appreciation at Harry’s act of defiance. Someone shouted, “Right on!”

“Shall we get on with breakfast then?” the redhead asked when the table quieted down a bit.

Harry nodded, grateful that Ron got the hint; he didn’t want to talk about the article, didn’t want it mentioned. He wanted to act as though everything were normal. Ron squeezed Hermione’s hand and she sighed, understanding too.

The boy tried to eat as much as he could, but found that he had lost his appetite again. Yet he remained in the hall, though his urge was to flee it. The newspaper headline made him feel queasy and enraged. Why was it that he had to suffer this way? But he knew leaving the hall, hiding himself away would mean his ill wishers won and he failed. Snape was right.

In that moment, Harry decided to do what Snape said—to keep his guard—and do more—to fight, to stand strong for what he was. He would not let himself be intimidated anymore, pushed around by headlines or people. Little did Harry know, his new stance would soon be put to the test.

*

Another week elapsed. The school began to fall into a busy rhythm of classes, homework, clubs and team meetings. In between all of that, however, Harry found he was still garnering peculiar looks as he passed others in the halls; people would point and stare, openly laugh at him, but more disturbingly, taunt him with horrible names and jeers.

But Harry held his head high; he held it proud, thinking of Draco most of the time for strength, the way Malfoy had walked from the Great Hall the morning he defended him, straight backed and unashamed. He thought of Draco, what the blonde must be dealing with on his own, alone; he thought of Draco when he felt that he couldn’t survive another day, when the taunts would get so bad that he would come back to Snape’s quarters crying, when he would break down in Elisha’s waiting, kind arms.

Harry hadn’t seen the blonde often at all, but when he did see him, Draco was always by himself, always lonesome as he went down the halls after a class, or in the Great Hall to have a meal with only a textbook for company. Draco sat alone in the one class he and Harry shared—Potions. Harry was always overcome with an urge to leave Ron and Hermione and sit down next to the blonde, to put his head on his shoulder, to hug him, to kiss him, to offer him his hand at friendship, and perhaps…something more.

But Ron and Hermione stuck by Harry, almost like two guards. They defended their friend with ferocity, losing some of their own friends in the process. Harry saw the arguments they had with others, saw how much they suffered along with him, and couldn’t help but feel so lucky that they were so loyal to him.

Then there were his professors, each who showed their support in a different, subtle way. McGonagall often shed house points from anyone who taunted Harry and Lupin became fiercely protective of the boy, insisting, after their second class, that Harry come to his office later that week for a talk. And of course there was Snape, who watched Harry like a hawk, always checked up on the boy to make sure he was safe while maintaining his double role in the public. Snape insisted on practicing dueling with Harry every night since their conversation, and though the boy thought Snape was blowing things out of proportion (no one had threatened him yet) he soon became grateful at Snape’s extra precautions.

It was a Saturday when it finally happened.

Harry spent the crisp, blue day with Ron, Hermione and Elisha enjoying the final weekend of summer weather. They were on the front lawns of the school, well away from other clusters of people. Hermione had been completing some homework and was nose deep in a book for Lupin’s class; Ron and Elisha played a game of chess while Harry merely sat and watched them and on occasion, quietly observed the grounds.

After a few hours, Ron finally broke the silence.

“So tell me something Harry,” the redhead said to his friend, leaning over to the boy as one of his knights crushed Elisha’s pawn. “You not doing Quidditch this year?”

Harry sighed and looked away. He knew why Ron was asking him that.

The boy had received a letter from Dumbledore a few days prior. The letter invited Harry to take the position of Quidditch captain, and though the boy was tempted, he wrote back, declaring he didn’t want it. This came as a shock to Ron when he showed up to try-outs and found his best friend nowhere in sight.

“I decided not to,” Harry remarked quietly.

“And why not?” Hermione piped in, putting her book down.

Harry turned to them; they were looking at him curiously.

“It’s not because everyone’s giving you a hard time is it?” Ron asked shortly.

“That’s part of it,” Harry admitted but before any one of them could protest, he continued, “But I’m also busy… I just… I think it’s best if I keep things on the down low for a while.”

“But you love Quidditch,” Ron said weakly, as if he couldn’t process what he was hearing.

“I do. I really do,” Harry agreed. “But I can still fly, right? It’s not like I’m giving it up forever. I just don’t think I can handle the responsibility of being captain, you know? It’s a lot of work.”

“So let’s fly tonight then,” Elisha said. She grimaced as her pawn was dragged off the board, knocked out cold by another of Ron’s pieces.

“Tonight?” Harry repeated.

“Yes, we’ll play a few rounds. You and Ron versus Hermione and me—”

“Oh but…Elisha, I’m not that great,” Hermione said, looking stricken.

“Neither am I,” Elisha said with a smile, though Harry knew this was a lie. He had seen her fly that summer and she was superb, perhaps better than him.

The four of them grinned at each other. A few feet away, Draco Malfoy sloped past alone. He and Harry caught sight of each other and Harry felt his laugh stop in his throat. Draco looked, quite possibly, thinner and more malnourished than Harry had ever seen. He was dressed as impeccably as ever, but his insistence on wearing black washed out his skin, especially in the sunlight; he almost looked ghostly. Harry was overcome with an urge to rush over to Draco and kiss him but he forced himself to remain seated.

Someone else spoke, snapping Harry back to reality.

“Draco,” Elisha said, “Come sit with us.”

He turned to find her perched on her knees, looking imploringly at her blonde friend but Draco shook his head.

“Thank you but I should do some work,” was his response.

He walked away, slightly hunched. Harry felt his heart skip a sad, lonesome beat. He wished Draco would have accepted the offer.

“How is he doing?” Harry couldn’t help but ask Elisha.

She sighed.

“I’m not too certain. He’s been keeping to himself, mostly,” she said softly, eyeing Draco’s back as he walked further and further away from them. “He tends to do that sometimes.”

Harry looked away; he understood entirely, of course, about the need to hide for a little while. He only wished he could be as much of a help to Draco as Draco had been to him.

The rest of the day passed quickly and after a brief dining session in the Great Hall, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Elisha walked out onto the empty Quidditch pitch for a match before sunset. He and Ron made a good team, having played together the year before and though Hermione was horrible at the game, Elisha made up for her lack of skill by beating Harry and Ron single handedly four times in a row.

They were all sore and exhausted by the time they finished their matches; Hermione was whimpering that she needed a shower and some tea and Elisha agreed with her. Ron and Harry were both worn out but energized at the same time—it had been so long since Harry had flown and the sport always filled him with simple happiness.

The entrance hall was silent as they all walked up the main flight of stairs. It was late. Wanting to take a shortcut to reach their respective dorms, the four turned left down the first corridor. The path was usually not taken because it was rather dark and spooky, but it would bring them to their destinations twice as fast.

Harry was daydreaming about a warm bath when he stopped in his tracks.

That’s when he heard it, when they all heard it—a muffled sound emerging from around the corner, the echoing sting of slaps, of bodies against bodies, of someone trying to let out a repressed cry for help. There was a great thud of a body slamming against a wall and Harry felt his heart stop in his chest. The strangled yell that followed the slam, the begging voice pierced Harry and he knew who it belonged to.

Elisha seemed to register what was happening first. She dropped her broom and ran quickly down the rest of the corridor. Harry sprinted right after her, ripping the billowing robes off of himself. He pulled his wand from his pant pocket as he went, ready to fight.

He and Elisha turned the corner where the commotion was going on and Harry froze again, paralyzed with what he saw.

Draco Malfoy was being assaulted. The blonde was cowering against a wall, his face covered in blood, his usually slick hair smothered in clumps of red. His top had been ripped from him, so he was nude from the waist up; his pale skin was marred with bruises and cuts. He was thrown continually, slammed back into the stones every time a punch made contact with him. Someone pinned him back, sending vicious throws to the blonde’s ribs and chest all the while screaming insults and curses; the hall seemed to be echoing with malicious laughter. Draco was choking and sobbing, trying to fight off his assailant but there was more than one. Two huge boys were pummeling him. Harry’s frozen brain registered they were Crabbe and Goyle.

Elisha bellowed a roar of rage that woke Harry from his fear.

In awe, Harry watched as she stepped forward with incredible speed and with a silent slash of her wand through the air, Crabbe and Goyle were blasted backward. The force of the spell was like a cannon blast, shaking the floor and ceiling. Draco promptly keeled over now that he was released, toppling sideways to the ground in a tangled heap. He was coughing up blood and semi-conscious.

But suddenly there were more people, more students, wands drawn and ready and pointed directly at Harry and Elisha. They seemed to be coming from the shadows.

A high, girlish voice shrieked, “Get them!” and before Harry understood what was happening, flashes of light erupted throughout the dim corridor. Ron and Hermione who had appeared out of nowhere were dueling vicious Slytherins. Harry dodged a spell and ducked behind a suit of armor with only one goal set in mind—Get to Draco.

He aimed spells left and right from behind the suit, keeping his eye on the blonde. Draco seemed safe for the moment; he was so close to the wall and the fight was feet away from him but Harry wanted to be sure he was breathing; he mastered his fear and inched forward on his hands and knees but when he glanced up, he froze.

Pansy Parkinson had emerged seemingly from thin air, her wand pointed at Harry in triumph. Before Harry could even register a spell, the girl stopped as quickly as she had started. Her body was suddenly rigid, her hands snapping to her sides as she dropped her wand. She fell to the ground and Harry saw it was Elisha responsible for the Body-Bind curse.

But one look at Elisha’s ferocious face brought back the fear into Harry. It prickled his skin, his pores; people were dueling wildly in every direction, misdirected spells bouncing off the walls, shattering portraits and stone and sending debris and dust flying everywhere; someone gave a yell of pain; there were sounds of a scuffle, but nothing terrified Harry more than seeing the murder in Elisha’s eyes.

He wanted to cry out, to say something, to help her—the remaining five Slytherins all pointed their wands at Elisha at the same moment and with an insane laugh she blocked each of their spells with one fluid motion.

In the other corner, Ron seemed to have realized the danger they were in. He had grabbed Hermione and threw her out of the line of fire and Harry moved, quickly too. He had to protect Draco. He rose and sprinted toward Draco now that the other students were all facing Elisha. He dodged everything that came his way. He skidded on his knees, grabbed the boy’s limp body and pushed him further against the wall, shielding Draco with himself.

All he could do was watch in terror as Elisha blocked every spell aimed at her with absurd ease.

Her face was alit with malice, eyes burning with sadistic glee as she cast spell after spell back toward her attackers with such speed she looked like a blur. The group that tried to bring her down was dwindling, bodies falling one by one. A Slytherin girl tried to run away from the fight but Elisha’s spell caught her square in the chest and she crumpled to the ground immediately, like a rag doll; a boy sent a jet of green light at Elisha’s heart but Elisha laughed again and produced a shield charm so powerful it blasted the ground apart below her attacker. He went sailing in the rubble and Harry instinctively wrapped his arms around Draco’s body, shielding him from flying stones and glass.

The other three tried to duel Elisha with all their might; Harry saw the effort in their faces, their fear, their trepidation as Elisha seemed to read their minds, know their moves before they could even open their mouths to cast them….

Three curses flew at her at once and she raised her wand into the air, pointing it upward. The spells seemed to vanish into black smoke feet before they reached her. She aimed her wand at the three stunned attackers and slashed the air with a triumphant yell. Nothing happened for a moment but then they collapsed, screaming in wild agony and pain as though they were on fire. As quickly as it began, it stopped. They fell silent.

Harry’s breathing was flaring painfully through his nose; his heart was exploding in his chest. He held Draco in his arms, terror filling him as Elisha lowered her wand slowly, blinking herself back into reality; it was almost as if she were in a trance. Harry looked down at Draco’s limp form, his battered body, the blood on his face. Harry did not look back up again when there was new commotion; new footsteps, the shouts of adults, professors.

Harry vaguely registered Snape’s voice through all the madness. He was screaming at his daughter. He barely heard Elisha’s faint response. A strong pair of hands was on him, forcing him up, but he refused to stand.

“Draco,” Harry moaned, not letting go of the body. “No—Draco!”

“Harry, it’s okay,” someone said to him. “We need to get you all to the hospital wing.”

“I’m not letting go of him,” Harry said, his voice hollow. He gripped Draco’s thin arm with all of his might, praying that he wasn’t dreaming that Draco’s skin was warm, alive.

Harry felt more strong hands on him now—hands were reaching forward and prying Draco from him. Harry closed his eyes and let himself be steered in the corridors; he felt nauseous, ill, dazed, as though he wanted nothing more than to vomit for hours and hours.

What had just happened?

When he opened his eyes again, strong hands were pushing him into a squishy mattress. Harry looked up; Lupin’s face blurred into focus; he was white and clammy and frightened. Harry didn’t realize he was covered in blood and sweat and grime. He didn’t pay attention to what was going on around him but suddenly tried fighting back against Lupin’s body, fighting to stand.

“No!” Harry yelled. “Draco—where is he?”

Lupin pushed him back into the bed with such force that Harry was winded.

“Stay here!” Lupin screamed, slamming Harry back again. “They’re tending to Draco now—”

Lupin pointed. Harry’s head snapped to the left. In the furthest corner of the hospital wing, Promfrey, Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore were huddled over a body, moving quickly, muttering incantations and spells to heal the wounds. Harry could not see Draco’s face from where he was but he caught a glimpse of the blonde’s white, pale hands, sickly white…

“He…he’s alive?” Harry croaked, his throat so dry he thought his voice box would rip. He not fight back the tears spilling from him.

“Yes,” Lupin said his voice shaking. He sounded nervous, surprised at Harry’s reaction.

Harry buried his face in his hands, his whole body trembling. At least he’s alive, Harry thought, trying to master his breathing. It’s going to be okay.

He wanted to drift away and sleep for days and days but then he remembered about everyone else, his close, dear friends... His head shot up again, looking around the wing for Ron, Hermione and Elisha—they were in the beds next to him. None of them were seriously injured but each was covered in soot and debris and blood. Ron and Hermione shared a bed together, huddled close, arms wrapped around each other; Elisha was alone to Harry’s right, thin arms crossed, silent tears spilling down her dirty face. Harry took advantage of the fact that Lupin turned his back to him and jumped from his bed to Elisha, ignoring a sharp pain in his back. He kneeled at the foot of her bed.

She was pale and clammy, her hair sticking up in every direction; Harry could hardly believe that a few minutes ago she was the wild warrior fighting in the halls, smiting down anyone who dared to get in her way. Right now she looked like a lost child. Her wide, black eyes were staring in Draco’s direction and her breathing, like Harry’s was uneven and ragged.

“Elisha,” Harry whispered. He reached his fingers forward and closed them around her hand.

She gave him a glazed look but did not respond or move.

The two gazed at Draco; Promfrey was the only one left around him now, tending to a few more wounds and cuts. Dumbledore and McGonagall stood at the foot of Draco’s bed, surveying the scene in the wing. They were both emanating silent rage. Dumbledore’s crystal blue eyes darted to the beds opposite Harry and his friends. Ten beds were occupied with ten unconscious bodies—each was tied down to their bed with thin, black ropes. With a jolt in the pit of his stomach, Harry noted all of the bound occupants were Slytherins, Draco’s former friends.

Snape had walked from Draco’s side and was approaching Harry and Elisha. Lupin watched them quietly but did not interfere. Snape, like Dumbledore, was also infuriated. Harry felt heat radiating from him and recoiled slightly when he bent forward to face the two teenagers.

“What happened?” Snape said, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips hardly moving.

Elisha looked away from him and yanked her hand away from Harry’s. She burst out in tears. Harry stood and tried to comfort her but she pushed him away. The boy sighed but Snape did not seem to care that she was crying. He was glaring at both of them.

“They were attacking Malfoy,” Harry said listlessly, pointing in the direction of the unconscious forms. “We ran into them. They saw us and started dueling us.”

“While I admire you valiant efforts to save Draco,” Snape snarled, “you do realize a quarter of that corridor is now blasted apart? You realize you could have—”

“Did you just want us to let him die?” Elisha shrieked, sitting up straight. Her yell made everyone in the wing jump.

Snape gaped at her. Harry did not come to Snape’s aid. From behind him, Ron and Hermione approached Elisha’s bedside. They gathered around her, staring up into Snape’s face, ready to explain their actions.

“They would have attacked us if we didn’t defend ourselves,” Ron said wearily.

“And they certainly would have killed him,” Hermione whispered. “He didn’t stand a chance… There were so many of them.”

Snape sighed.

“I don’t mean to sound callous,” the man said finally; Harry saw a twinkle of worry in his black eyes. “What you all did was heroic but dangerous—”

“There wasn’t any time to call for a professor,” Hermione continued, her eyes shining. “Like Harry said, they attacked us first.”

The man blinked and looked away. Perhaps this was the first time in memory that Harry recalled Snape letting a student talk back to him unpunished. Snape seemed to want to say more; his eyes kept darting over to his daughter, but she glared away from him, staring determined, in the opposite direction. Snape tugged at his dark robes as Dumbledore approached the five of them, closely followed by McGonagall.

“Severus,” the old man said in a quiet voice, “leave them. They have dealt with enough for one evening—”

“What’s going to happen to them?” Elisha interjected, her shaking finger extended to the cluster of unconscious students opposite her. She seemed to be steeling herself to her bed, as though her urge were to rip herself from it and kill each occupant, slowly and terribly.

Harry saw the flash of rage in her again and backed away from her a few paces, feeling the fear rise in him again. Dumbledore surveyed her impassively.

“When they wake…which I daresay will not be for a long time thanks to your handiwork, Miss Snape…they will be expelled promptly and tried for terms in Azkaban,” Dumbledore whispered.

“They should be sentenced to the Kiss,” Elisha snarled, sounding more like an animal than a young woman.

“I understand your need for revenge,” Dumbledore said in his soft, calm voice. “I do very much, but it is not in my power to assign such grievous punishments.”

“No,” Elisha spat. “I wouldn’t expect it to be.”

She made a motion to rise from the bed but Harry extended his arm to stop her. He was afraid of what she could do if she grabbed hold of her wand. She looked him curiously.

“I want to hurt them too,” Harry whispered, stepping forward. “All I wanted to do in that hallway was…was kill them. But we can’t stoop down to their level. We can’t let anger consume us like this.”

Elisha said nothing to him, but gave him a cold, appraising look before sitting back against her pillows. The adults watched Harry in awe.

“Tell us Malfoy is going to recover,” Harry implored to the professors standing before him.

“He will,” McGonagall said in a stiff voice. “It will take time for him to recover but he will, in the end.”

“Good,” Harry breathed. He squeezed Elisha’s shoulder. She had commenced weeping again. Ron and Hermione were hugging each other close.

“I think, in the meantime,” McGonagall continued, “we should reward you all for your bravery. Fifty points each to Gryffindor, Miss Granger, Mister Weasley and Potter…” She turned to Elisha and looked at her kindly. “And Miss Snape, you showed immense skill and quick thinking.”

Elisha cried harder. Harry clung on to her and McGonagall said in a voice of deep kindness and gratitude, “You have all committed an act of great good. Remember, you are all responsible for saving a life tonight. You should all be proud.”

*

The professors stayed in the Hospital Wing, taking turns to monitor the students as the night wore on.; they stood guard in front of the wing’s entrance in two hour shifts. At her father’s insistence, Elisha drank a sleeping draught and was snoozing peacefully next to Harry. Ron and Hermione had done the same and had curled up next to each other in the same bed, Ron’s arms wrapped around Hermione’s little frame, pulling her close. Harry was the only one who refused to drink anything. He sat awake, stubbornly, even as the wee hours of the morning approached.

The beds with unconscious students had the curtains drawn around them, so Harry was spared the sight of the people he wanted to harm. He sat awake and felt the thrumming in his head, begging him to sleep, the sharp pains coming from his lower back, the soreness in his shoulders from having held Draco’s body upright in the corridor…

Harry glanced over at the entrance door, which was ajar; a slit of light from the main corridor poured into the wing, which was itself rather dim; a few candles were lit but that was all. Promfrey was locked in her sleeping areas and occasionally Harry heard the sounds of footsteps pacing or clips of a broken conversation between Snape and McGonagall. Harry looked at the clock above the door; it was nearly three in the morning. Knowing he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, he pulled himself from his bed; he was intending to do a few stretches when soft whimpers froze him in place.

They were coming from Draco.

Without thinking twice, Harry rushed to Draco’s bedside, taking care to move as silently as possible. The blonde seemed to be asleep—he knew Promfrey had also given him a sleeping draught—but perhaps it was finally wearing off. Harry glanced down at the cut up face; a fresh scar ran down from Draco’s left eye to his cheek, marring his perfect skin; blooming bruises spread out about his arms and chest; his broken bones had been mended but he still looked painfully woebegone.

Almost as if he knew someone was above him, the blonde’s eyes suddenly snapped open. Harry gasped in surprise but Draco did not seem to be bothered by Harry’s presence. With a jolt, Harry realized Draco seemed comforted at the sight of him.

“Oh,” Draco whispered weakly. “It’s you.”

“Yes,” Harry responded, bending down slightly so they were eye to eye. He wanted to badly to take Draco in his arms and comfort him. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Draco said, and flinched as he tried to move. He sighed. “How long have I been here?”

“A few hours, I suspect.”

“And yourself?”

“The same time.”

“Is Elisha here?” Draco whispered, trying to sit up but failing. Harry extended a shaking hand and helped the blonde upright, his skin coming into contact with the bare skin of Draco’s thin torso. Harry gulped.

“Y-yeah, she’s here,” Harry said. “She’s asleep.”

“Oh.” Then, “She can be an animal, sometimes,” Draco whispered, pressing his bruised back against the headboard now. He was glancing into Harry’s eyes. “Only when she gets riled.”

“I noticed,” Harry said, remembering vividly the look of unrestrained violence in Elisha’s face.

The boys were silent for some time.

“You saved my life,” Draco said.

Harry looked away.

“It wasn’t just me.”

“You’re right, but you were the one who held me, shielded me,” the blonde whispered.

Harry felt the color rising in his face.

“I’m sure Elisha would have—” Harry started.

“I heard you,” Draco said, his voice low. “You were begging someone to…to keep me near you.”

“I didn’t want to let go,” Harry admitted. His heart was hammering wildly now. “I-I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I knew I would be okay when I felt you next to me.”

Harry blinked, his mouth slightly open. What was Draco saying?

“I was ready to die,” the blonde admitted, bowing his head. “I was ready to let go until I felt you near me.”

Harry had stopped breathing.

“I owe you my life.”

“No,” Harry squawked, hating the way his voice broke when he spoke. “No. You—”

“I do,” Draco said flatly.

The blonde held his trembling hand out before him. Harry clasped it with his own and the boys shook but when Harry made to pull his fingers away, Draco’s tightened against his. With a pang, even in the darkness of the wing, Harry saw Draco’s eyes were wide and swimming in tears.

“Please,” Draco whispered, his voice breaking, “don’t leave me.”

Harry shook his head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said strongly.

“Promise me you won’t.”

Harry’s breath hitched.

“Please,” Draco implored.

Harry had never heard anyone beg like this.

“I promise,” Harry finally managed to grit out. “Do you want me to pull up a chair—?”

“No.” Draco’s whole body was trembling. Harry instinctively knew what he needed.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

Draco burst out into silent tears and nodded. With gentle grace he didn’t know he had, Harry leaned forward and wiped the wetness from Draco’s face, all the while grasping Draco’s hand in his own. Draco was trying to calm his breathing, averting his gaze from Harry’s but Harry didn’t move until the blonde looked up at him. Blue met green; an electric shock went through Harry. The boys stared at each other for a long time, until Harry shifted onto Draco’s bed.

The mattress groaned underneath their combined weight; Draco was trembling like a leaf, his breath coming out in tight wheezes. Harry forced himself to calm down; he had never been so close to another human being before, had never been so intimate, vulnerable but he seemed to know what to do. He scooped Draco close to him as he made them both lay down. Draco’s head was perched in between Harry’s chest and shoulder. Harry felt the blonde cautiously put his thin arms over Harry’s heart, his lungs, wrapping their bodies tightly together.

Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s soft blonde locks and the boy beneath him sighed.

“I feel safe with you,” Draco whispered.

“I know,” Harry said.

“You promise you won’t leave?”

Harry glanced down at Draco to find the blonde staring up at him; he gave him an intense look, a gaze that he hoped would convey more than he could ever possibly say in that moment.

“I swear it.”

TBC
- 17
- 18
- 19
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Endurance