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
- 1
- 2
- 3
Warnings: This chapter contains sexual assault.

Two

In the next few days, Harry was not disturbed. Not one of the Dursley’s came near him, not even his aunt. He thought he should feel some relief, but his mounting fear of his uncle woke him every morning at dawn. The boy would scramble to shut his alarm before pressing his ear against the wall dividing his room from his aunt and uncle’s. Harry caught glimpses of sound and muffled movement every day as Vernon prepared for work. Though his bedroom door was locked, Harry knew his uncle could use the spare key to burst in at any moment.

His increasing agitation at Hedwig’s disappearance did not help keep him calm. Harry had never felt more alone in his life. Sirius’ face would unexpectedly pop into his head, overcoming Harry with crying spells that would last hours at a time. The scissors were his sole relief. He made sure the house was silent (he hoped empty) before creating a new gash on his upper forearm. He would glide the blade steadily, lovingly over his skin taking care that, if necessary, a shirt could cover the marks.

Each time he cut himself, his breath hitched at the sting, his heart would pump hard and sweat erupted from each pore. His body rejected the pain but his mind was blissfully blank.

*

They were seated at the round dining table. A faint tinkle of music surrounded them.

“Would you like something else?”

Snape observed the girl from his chair, pushing forward a large salad bowl overflowing with greens. Though her own plate was brimming with potatoes, meat and gravy, the girl had touched nothing. She glanced solemnly at the bowl, almost as if it contained within it something tragic or sickly.

“I made this for you,” Snape insisted, keeping his voice even as he tried to mask the sudden, creeping hurt he felt at her rejection.

It was rare that Snape had the opportunity to cook for her. House elves usually nourished the girl, but the man took his chance with gusto. He spent his afternoon picking vegetables from the school greenhouses and gardens, lavishing over a simple, yet satisfying meal he thought would begin to bring her out of her shell. In the few days they were reunited they exchanged but a few clipped sentences and Snape found himself growing more desperate to foster a bond with her.

She sighed, brushed her fringe out of the dark eyes she shared with Snape. Silently, she shook her head at him and rose from the table.

“Where are you going?” Snape asked, jumping up too.

“For a walk,” was the reply.

She turned on her heel, rushed out of the dining area and into the corridor before Snape could call her back. He heard the distant slamming of a door indicating her removal from his living quarters. With a silent wave of his wand, Snape cleared the untouched food, plates and utensils from the table, offended that she found the castle more interesting than him.

*

There were scraping sounds of a key shifting in the door. The lock to Harry’s bedroom door opened. Harry, who had been lying down on his bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling hoping for Hedwig’s return, slowly sat upright. He attempted to control his trembling limbs. His heart hammered violently in his chest. His right hand crept to his nightstand, grabbing the scissors, hiding them in his palm. Just in case.

Vernon stepped into the threshold, his thick moustache twitching. He was in his work attire, a starched pinstriped suit; he held a plastic shopping bag in one hand, his briefcase in the other. He closed the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Harry asked.

Control yourself, he thought desperately, fighting the urge to launch forward and jam the scissors into his uncle’s neck. Calm yourself.

“Have you learned your lesson yet?” his uncle whispered, putting both bags down on the floor.

“Lesson?” Harry repeated coldly.

“The lesson—as to what happens to wrongdoers in my house,” Vernon snarled, an unflattering flush blotching his face.

Harry snorted. His anger, which had gotten the best of him the entire year, was overcoming him yet again. Though he knew it was foolish, he leaned forward on the bed, up on his knees so that he and his uncle were nearly eye-to-eye.

“The only thing I’ve learned,” Harry spat, his voice shaking with suppressed rage, “is that you’re an asshole.”

Before he could savor the moment, his uncle bounded forward, pulling his fist back. This time, his aim was true. With a shriek, Vernon punched his nephew across the cheek. Harry, winded, fell back onto his bed. The scissors he had been clamping in his hand flew forward to his uncle’s feet.

“So, planning on attacking me boy?” Vernon yelled, grabbing the scissors and slamming them against a wall so they broke. “I’ll show you—”

“No!” Harry cried, scrambling to his feet, but his uncle, so much bigger than he, snaked his hands around his neck like he had done days before.

He pushed Harry against the bed, using his obese body to keep him down. Harry was flailing and kicking, trying to breathe as he fought his uncle, but he couldn’t do both things at once. His uncle’s broad chest was flattening his nose, crushing his glasses, crumpling his organs from the excess weight…

Horrified, Harry heard the crinkling of a plastic bag opening. Seconds later, his left arm was yanked upward. His fingers tried to claw his uncle’s, but Vernon held the boy’s hand tightly, tying it to one end of the bedpost with rough rope. He did the same with Harry’s right hand. Harry screamed as loudly as his voice box would allow, hoping, praying that someone would hear him.

He aimed a kick for his uncle’s face as the man grabbed his leg. Harry missed and instead received an elbow to the stomach, causing him to cough and wheeze. His nephew successfully trapped, Vernon caught his breath. He stared down at the sputtering, pathetic boy as though he had never seen him before.

Vernon’s eyes flashed venomously as he began yanking Harry’s jeans and underwear off, pooling them near his knees.

“What are you doing?!” Harry yelped, horrified as his uncle unzipped his own pants.

Harry shut his eyes, crying as his uncle lowered himself on his body, opening his cheeks and prodding the hole with his member. Without warning, he thrust into Harry, smothering the boy’s screams with his thick palm. Harry thrashed against the bed, eyes exploding with tears. Vernon moved in and out, feeling Harry’s flesh rejecting him, ripping against him. He steadied himself against Harry’s protruding hips and grunted, shoving himself deeper. A moan escaped him. But his moans were not from pleasure; they came from the ecstasy of dominating the boy, showing him in the most crude and cruel of ways who maintained power.

He emptied himself inside of Harry. The boy looked on the verge of fainting again, his flesh ice cold and sickly white.

Vernon smiled down at his victim.

“This will be our little secret,” he hissed as Harry slipped into darkness.

His body was left exposed, bleeding, bruised and alone. Vernon made sure to lock the door behind him.

*

Weeks had passed since the girl walked out on dinner. Neither she nor Snape had any contact since, aside from the glimpses he caught of her entering and leaving his quarters. He was hoping that the next time he caught sight of her, he could try to engage her in some sort of conversation.

During the last week of July, Snape could be found sighing over piles of paper on his desk. He sat down and began organizing. As he leafed through a particularly large pile of former students’ homework, she suddenly walked in.

Snape’s head shot up instantly. He could not hide the surprise that came over him.

“Yes?” Snape said, a little too eagerly for his liking. But perhaps she was finally willing to give him a chance?

“Dumbledore needs to see you,” she said, fidgeting with a loose thread on her black shirt.

Snape frowned, his hope extinguished.

“Why?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“When did he ask you?”

She pursed her lips, as if annoyed.

“Just now,” she said. “I ran into him in a corridor.”

Snape opened his mouth to ask her another question but before his lips so much as parted, she was out of the study.

“God damn it,” he grumbled, pushing himself up.

He walked out of his study and his living quarters, turning left when he approached a larger, dimly lit corridor. The Headmaster’s office was not far from him and he reached the stone gargoyle within minutes.

“Fizzing whizbee,” Snape said listlessly.

The gargoyle sprang to life and moved aside, allowing Snape to enter. He stepped on the moving staircase and when he blinked, he was stationed in front of the Headmaster’s door. He was about to knock but the door swung open.

Dumbledore stood inches away from Snape, smiling his serene smile. Snape noted briefly that the Headmaster’s eyes were not twinkling as they usually would, but instead were creased slightly in worry or agitation.

“Good day Severus,” Dumbledore said, ushering Snape inside.

The old man perched himself behind his desk.

“She told me you needed to speak to me,” Snape said.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said quietly. “This is urgent."

“What’s wrong?” Snape asked, but as he did, he noted a small stack of letters piled on Dumbledore’s desk. Both men glanced at the pile.

“Are those for me?” Snape asked, confused. He never received letters.

Dumbledore sighed.

“No,” he said. “I’m afraid not, Severus. These letters are all addressed to Harry Potter.”

It was Snape’s turn to purse his lips together, in great imitation of the girl. Why would Dumbledore, for a second, think he would care about Potter’s letters?

Suddenly, a snowy white owl flew down from above, landing on Dumbledore’s shoulder. Snape eyed the animal warily, aware that it was Potter’s. He noted how the owl stood, lopsided on the Headmaster, as though its wing had been snapped. Why was the animal here and not with its owner?

“I’m afraid something may be happening to Harry,” Dumbledore said. He reached up and pet the owl. It hooted glumly. “You see, it’s been nearly a month since the students have returned home, and while it isn’t unusual for Harry and his friends to be separated for this long, it is unusual that they have not corresponded.”

Dumbledore pointed to the letters.

“As you can see, Harry’s friends, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, have sent quite a few letters to Harry’s home. He hasn’t responded to one. Understandably, his friends have grown worried at the silence and wrote to me.” Dumbledore paused, closing his eyes and then said, “About a week ago, Harry’s owl arrived here. She seemed to have traveled a long distance, and was gravely injured. I thought it odd the bird should come here, and come here without a letter.”

Snape scowled.

“Be that as it may, Headmaster,” Snape said, “how does this concern me?”

“I worry,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring Snape’s comment, “that something is wrong, Severus.”

“And how should I help ease that?” Snape snapped sarcastically.

Dumbledore opened his eyes.

“Harry, I believe, still harbors some contempt toward me, given my actions (or lack thereof) in the past year. Add the death of his godfather to those feelings and ask yourself, why would Harry send an owl to me, let alone his own? Would he truly have any reason to speak to me?”

“I suppose not,” Snape said slowly.

“And this is where you come in Severus … I know you and Harry have had a strained relationship at best, but it would put my mind at ease if you went to check up on the boy and see to it that he is safe.”

Snape felt a rush of color flood his face. He didn’t bother to conceal his frustration, though he knew he were behaving like a child who had been asked to clean dishes.

“Why must I go? What about Poppy? She’s still in the castle.”

“Poppy, as talented as she is, is only a mediwitch,” Dumbledore replied.

The man glared at Dumbledore. He knew he would not be able to worm his way out of this obligation.

“Fine,” Snape said, walking towards the door. “Fine.”

“Go tomorrow morning. Go early,” Dumbledore said, his voice tired and straining.

Snape nodded curtly.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, yes, you may leave Severus,” Dumbledore said.

Snape obliged him. He stormed from the office, fuming.

TBC
- 1
- 2
- 3
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