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
- 23
- 24
- 25
Author’s Note: This chapter contains an offensive slur; no insult is meant to any reader, creed, sexuality or lifestyle. Just wanted to put that out there.

PS to Hollibell – Dumbledore is manipulative, but his intentions are good. Keep an eye out for him.

Twenty-Four

Fingers interlaced, chest upon chest, breathy moans and stifled cries released from their lips.

He was in him again, moving with sensual slowness, allowing Harry to feel every part of him, allowing himself to cherish and love and adore every part of his new lover, this wonderful being beneath him. He couldn’t seem to get enough.

They were tangled together, Harry’s legs crossed over Draco’s back on instinct, pulling him deeper and deeper; Draco brushed continually against his prostate, loved his innermost parts, wanted nothing more than to have Harry forever.

Is this kind of bliss meant to last? Or does it tear away quick, evaporate into thin air as though it were never there?

*

Snape felt foolish, disgusted, horrified at himself to think that he would be safe, that he would not be summoned by the Dark Lord any time soon, that he would be free to enjoy the company of his lover, better get to know his daughter, have his only worries be the simplier ones—protecting Harry and Draco.

He thought, perhaps for once, things would be a little normal.

But that wasn’t the case.

He and Lucius stormed from Dumbledore’s office, left a terrified Narcissa there at their insistance, so when they returned, they knew they would find her safe, protected.

They walked down Hogsmeade road in the quietness of the evening, let the cool night air brush over their nervous skins; they tried to calm themselves before entering the presence of Voldemort. It had been so many weeks, months… Why now? Why tonight?

“Don’t Apparate yet,” Snape whispered to Lucius.

The two men were hidden in the shadow of large oak trees; Hogsmeade was deserted this time of night, the cobblestone roads empty and uninviting. They stared at each other, Snape’s eyes overflowing with emotions that only Lucius was privy to see.

“What—” Lucius started but Snape grabbed his face without a second thought and pressed their lips together.

Their kiss was fiery and desperate, filled with longing and fear.

Snape broke apart first.

“Act normal and everything will be fine,” he whispered into the blonde’s ear.

Lucius squeezed his hand and then they let go. They turned on their heel at the same moment, Disapparated into the night with a crack like a gunshot, like a whip coming down on the back of a terrified man—a sound of pain.

*

“More, more, please,” Harry was begging.

His hands were digging into Draco’s back, needing, pleading. And Draco drove in to the hilt but he did not pull out again. He stopped, allowed himself to savor this feeling, allowed his lips to find Harry’s.

“Why—”

“Let me feel you, okay?” Draco whispered against Harry’s mouth. “I love being in you like this—”

“I love when you’re in me,” Harry murmured, his eyes glinting with need. He wanted to say so much to Draco, wanted it all to spill from him and it did, his mind not fully processing the words. “I love when you take me. All I want is for you to have me—”

Draco groaned, his eyes rolling back slightly. He was staring at Harry, his eyes brimming with passion.

“Harry,” he growled, possessing his mouth with his own but their kiss was slow.

“I want to be yours.”

Draco began thrusting again, causing both boys’ lips to break apart as whimpers flooded them. Harry grabbed Draco’s head and pushed his ear to his lips. He knew now was the time.

“I love you,” Harry whispered.

And Draco gasped.

Is this kind of bliss meant to last?

*

The circle had already formed around their master, the circle of hooded figures, heads bowed. Snape did not know where he was when he landed evenly on the ground—it sounded like wood, wood paneled floors and his gaze was below him for a moment, analyzing the space—dark tiles, a nearly black room, the sound of a fire burning in a grate somewhere, the sound of the even breathing of the Death Eaters around him.

They were in a house somewhere, perhaps a mansion. He tried to remember if they had been summoned here before. Snape couldn’t be sure.

No one said a word as a few more cracks sounded throughout the echoing room, indicating the arrival of the final Death Eaters. Snape was still staring at the floor, praying Lucius was mastering himself, beginning Occulmency at this moment, shielding his thoughts from Voldemort.

And then he spoke.

“It has been many weeks, my dear friends.” Voldemort’s voice was slippery and cold. “Many weeks since we’ve last met.”

There was a general murmur of assent around the circle. Voldemort paced in the middle of it, examining each bowed head carefully as he went.

“I have delayed in calling you all for a reason,” he whispered and Snape controlled his trembling; Voldemort had just passed him, the sound of his long robes billowing behind him. “What happened at the Department of Mysteries weakened me.” There was a long pause. It seemed that Voldemort was now at the opposite end of the circle to Snape. “But I have recovered enough.”

“We are glad to hear it, my Lord,” came the voice of a male Death Eater somewhere to Snape’s right.

Voldemort made no response. Instead he said, “Lestrange. Step forward.”

Snape heard the sound of someone moving to the middle of the circle and then suddenly, “Crucio!”

The screams belonged to a woman—Bellatrix—and she was wailing viciously. Snape snapped his eyes shut, willing his body and mind to be calm. If she was being tortured that meant—

Voldemort seemed to stop; her sobs died down, echoing in the large chamber.

“Rise,” he snarled at her, “And step back into place.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” she gasped. There was the sound of her moving back into her part in the circle.

And then terror struck Snape. He felt Voldemort brush past him again, move to the man next to him, next to—

“Malfoy,” Voldemort hissed, his voice venom.

Lucius did not have time to respond; Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse on him instantly and Lucius’ cries rent the air, ripping at Snape’s chest. It took everything in his power to remain standing still, and his hands were curled into firsts, his nails digging so hard into his palms that he was drawing blood, it was steadily dripping onto the ground…

It seemed like an age before Voldemort stopped. Snape was forcing his tears away, grateful for the hood that covered his face in darkness, shielded his expression from everyone around him.

The screams ended and Snape let out a silent exhale, praying that it was over.

“You failed me Lucius,” Voldemort snarled as Lucius wept on the floor. “You let the Prophecy go.”

“M-my Lord!” Lucius gasped, coughing up what sounded like blood. “My Lord, have mercy—”

“Crucio!”

There was the sound of Lucius’ body flailing on the floor; Severus steeled himself, tried again to master his breathing, tried to convince himself it would be over soon. His mind went to inexplicable memories, things he knew that would distract him enough, at least for the present, so he wouldn’t rip his cloak off and tear at Voldemort with his bare hands.

And the memories came—

She was five.

He was pushing her gently on a swing in a Muggle park; it was almost evening, so the sun was setting and they were the only two there. She was giggling, her little legs moving back and forth as he pushed her higher and higher; she was squealing with delight, her long black hair whipping behind her—

Then, she was eleven and it was a summer morning. She and Snape were making pancakes in his kitchen, and she suddenly threw some batter on his nose, laughing, “Look at you, Daddy! Look! You look so silly!” And Snape laughed back, giving his daughter a rare, caring smile—

Snape bit back a sob, forcing himself to stop before the sound could escape him. And it seemed that Voldemort had stopped his torture as well. The Dark Lord was saying something to his Death Eaters, but Snape barely registered what it was. He hardly heard Lucius’ labored gasps next to him—the man was back upright, he was okay, he would be okay…

He brought himself back to the present moment.

“—what we must do. Now, back to you Lucius,” came Voldemort’s hiss somewhere on Snape’s right. “I’ve heard a rumor.”

The room was entirely silent, the tension electric.

“About your son, Draco,” Voldemort continued, his voice deadly.

“M-my … Lord?” Lucius gasped, wincing in pain as he spoke.

“He’s a filthy little faggot, is he not?”

The room suddenly burst with laughter, the cruel ringing of Death Eaters’ mirth—it seemed to bounce of the walls and into Snape’s bones. Lucius stiffened next to Snape and did not answer. Snape forced himself to laugh along with the rest of the Death Eaters, knowing if he did not, it would be most suspicious; he felt a sick, swooping sensation in his stomach and he wanted nothing more than to disappear somewhere, crawl in a hole and perish.

Voldemort was laughing too, a low, evil chuckle and Snape finally looked up, broke his gaze from the ground. He saw Voldemort’s flat, white face, his cold, red eyes staring straight at Lucius’ bent, broken form. He held his bony pale fingers in the air, his hand up and the laughter died instantly.

“I’ve heard the rumors, yes,” Voldemort hissed, moving so that he was now inches away from Lucius’ wan face. “A faggot, Malfoy? Is your son out and proud?”

The laughter started again but Voldemort yelped, “Silence!” and the room became still again.

“You will reform him,” Voldemort snarled, “Reform him or he dies. I will not have any of this debauchery in my regime.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” Lucius gasped, his expression unreadable. “You are merciful, my Lord. Thank for you giving me the chance to show him reason—”

“Be quiet,” was the low response.

And Voldemort moved from Lucius to Snape. Their eyes locked, red on black and Snape lifted his head up so Voldemort could have a better look at him, lifted it with confidence and assurance.

“Speaking of children,” Voldemort whispered, his gaze boring into Snape’s, “how is your daughter, Snape?”

“She is well, my Lord. I am honored at your concern.”

Snape’s voice was silky, even; it gave no indication of his terror or nervousness, his mind was shut off entirely, calm, waiting.

“She is at Hogwarts now, is she not?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And why did you move her so suddenly?”

“She wanted to train, my Lord.”

“Train?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Voldemort sneered, staring into Snape’s eyes with such force that the man thought he might bowl over and burn alive from its intensity.

“Does she require training, Snape?”

“She is powerful enough without it, my Lord.”

“I very much agree.” Voldemort turned his back to Snape and began pacing in the middle of the circle again. “I have heard word of her prowess. Lucius’ abomination of a son was attacked recently, was he not, Snape?”

“He was, my Lord.”

“And your daughter put the children of my fellow Death Eaters into a coma, did she not?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Impressive. I was told she displayed powers that evening that most grown men in this room cannot perform… but I must ask whose side is she on?” Voldemort snarled, rushing up to Snape’s face so suddenly that he jumped.

Snape steeled his mind as he felt Voldemort invade it and the man threw back false images, false memories of his daughter poring over Dark Arts texts, zealously researching Voldemort’s name in a faceless, vast library, all with Snape standing over her, watching her closely…

“Ah,” Voldemort whispered, a lipless smile flashing on his flat face. “She seems eager, Snape.”

“She is, my Lord,” Snape whispered.

“She is an adult now, yes?”

“My Lord?”

“She is old enough for the cause, do you not agree?” Voldemort hissed.

“I do agree, my Lord,” came Snape’s hollow reply.

Snape’s eyes fluttered suddenly in terror, and he felt as though he had been winded. He knew what was coming, after years of trying to protect her, stop this from happening—

“Then bring her to me, Severus,” the snake-like man hissed. He was smiling his lipless, terrifying snarl. “I require your daughter.”

*

Their Apparition back was swift and quick. Voldemort dismissed them quickly, told them to return when the mark next burned. Snape went first, Lucius second and the rest of the Death Eaters afterward.

Snape landed onto the Hogsmeade grounds, landed in a heap, on his knees—he felt his pants tear against the concrete, felt the searing sting of ripped flesh, broken skin but before his mouth could open to release a wave of terror, Lucius was on him, gripping him, trying to pull him upright.

“Severus!” Lucius whispered, his voice cracking. “Speak to me—”

Snape buried his face in his hands, forgetting that his palms were covered with blood. He allowed Lucius to shake him, but he did not budge. Lucius was breathing close to him; he could feel the fear in the man’s body, clenching him with a vicelike grip; he could smell the blood that Lucius had coughed up when he was being tortured…

“Severus, please. We need to get back into the castle. We need—”

But Lucius suddenly stopped speaking. He gave a small gasp and Snape’s bleary eyes snapped upward, staring into the distance. Directly ahead of them, not but a few feet away was a face so ghostly pale, a face that knew—

“Elisha,” Snape murmured.

She stepped forward and stared at the two men, her eyes hard and glinting.

“How—?”

“It’s time, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice still and grave. “He’s asked for me.”

Snape buried his face in his hands again, unable to speak. He felt as though there were a heavy weight on his voicebox, constricting him, paralyzing him.

“How did you know?” Lucius asked, staring at her in shock.

“When should I go?” she whispered, not bothering to answer him back.

“Go?” Lucius said, hollow. “The Dark Lord never specified a time—”

“I’ll go now then. I know where to find him.”

“No!” Snape yelled, jumping to his feet; he looked like a maniac with his own blood smeared on his cheeks, his eyes popping from his skull. He was finally pushed to the limit, past endurance. “Not tonight. We’ll go back and speak to Dumbledore. There has to be a way out of this—”

But she gave him a look of pity, a look far beyond her eighteen years, a look that told them both that she had been preparing for this moment for a long time, that she was not naïve enough to believe it would never come.

“If I don’t go,” she whispered, “the only way out is death.”

And Snape shrieked. He tried running forward from Lucius’ strong grip to grab her but she was too quick.

She Disapparated into the night, leaving behind Snape’s hollow, screaming sobs.

*

Harry let out a wail of pleasure; it poured through his mouth and into Draco’s waiting, eager ears.

Their orgasms ripped through them, so powerful they nearly hurt. Draco was crying out against Harry’s neck, the feeling was simply too much for his body to handle. Harry could barely breath, pinned underneath Draco’s spent and sweaty body, a feeling so perfect, so complete and lovely.

He wanted nothing more than to spend hours and hours, days and days locked in this embrace with Draco; he wanted nothing more than to hold his lover above him forever but something happened to him, so quickly and unexpectedly that he let out a shriek of pain as it flashed.

Harry’s scar seared against his forehead, burned so violently he thought his head would rip in two.

Draco yelled and threw himself off of Harry, shocked and terrified but when he saw the pain Harry was in, he scrambled back up, holding Harry’s sweaty head in his hands.

“Harry!” Draco yelled. “Harry what’s wrong? What is it?”

But Harry knew, seemed to know what was happening, his instincts overwhelming him.

“Elisha,” Harry gasped, sitting up so fast that his forehead connected with Draco’s chin. Both boys fell backwards, groaning in pain. “Elisha!”

“What? What is it? I don’t understand—”

“There’s something going on with her,” Harry whispered, his chest rising and falling as though he had run a marathon; his eyes were wide, confused. He felt fear that wasn’t his, a sense of danger that had nothing to do with his situation and he stared at Draco, not understanding how he knew these were Elisha’s feelings, until—

“Our minds are still connected.”

Draco blinked, not understanding.

“Harry,” he murmured, gripping his lover’s shoulders hard. “What the hell just happened?”

“I need to see Snape. Snape and Dumbledore,” was all Harry said.

“Are you not going to tell me why?”

Harry and Draco locked gazes. He briefly contemplated saying nothing but then he remembered Draco’s imploring voice: No secrets and no lies between us. Harry took a deep, shaky breath.

“Elisha and I have…we have this weird connection. Neither of us understand why or how it’s there… It was a lot stronger during the summer but I thought—we thought—she had closed her mind to it.”

Draco blinked in awe.

“She closed her mind to it?” Draco whispered.

“We thought she did.”

“Can you read her mind or something?”

Harry shook his head, the action making him feel ill.

“It doesn’t work like that. It never did. I just… right now, I just felt her emotions. It happened quickly, and I don’t know why but something must be wrong, something must be happening—”

“Let’s go talk to her! She’s here, isn’t she?”

“I don’t think so. At least not anymore.”

The two stared at each other in terror.

“Where the hell did she go?” Draco whispered but Harry did not answer.

“I need to hop into the shower and get dressed. So do you and then, let’s—”

But the bedroom door burst open and Draco gave a bellow as he leapt toward a pillow, whipping his wand from it. Harry scrambled for his pointing it directly at the doorway, not caring that he was naked and sweaty. He didn’t know what he expected to see but it wasn’t Snape—covered in blood—or Lucius Malfoy, his hair caked in muck and grime.

“Father!” Draco yelled, a red flush of embarrassment mottling his face. He grabbed a sheet and swung it over himself and Harry.

“I don’t care about that!” Lucius yelled, stepping into the room. “Get dressed, the both of you. We need to—”

“Where’s Elisha?” Harry asked suddenly.

The two men glanced at each other briefly before looking back at Harry. Neither answered and their expressions were instantly unreadable.

“Where is she?!” Harry screamed, feeling himself overwhelmed with rage. He didn’t care that Snape and Lucius looked deplorable, as though they had been tortured. All he wanted to know was why they weren’t answering him.

“How do you know she isn’t here?” Snape whispered, looking suddenly deranged and terrifying.

“I—what? It doesn’t—”

Harry felt his voice disappear in his throat; Snape was giving him a horrible glare, one that tore right through him. For the first time in a long time, Harry felt fear when looking at the man.

“No more questions. Get the fuck out of bed, the both of you,” Snape snarled. “Take a shower, bring your wands and meet us in the sitting room in ten minutes. We need to go to Dumbledore.”

TBC
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Endurance