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
- 26
- 27
- 28
Twenty-Seven

The weeks crept by but before Harry realized it, December was upon them. A deep chill spread over London into Grimmauld Place, encased him and Draco in their bed every morning as they tried to find warmth throughout the frigid, unwelcoming house. Harry, Draco, Ron and Hermione were left alone most days, left to entertain themselves, whether it was through cooking or hours of conversations with each other or too many games of exploding snap at midnight. And the four began to grow closer, Draco and Harry especially, who reveled in each other’s company even when some days were excruciatingly boring and un-stimulating.

But they all had to train.

On the days that they received outside company, each teenager was expected to endure hours of spell-work practice, dueling practice, took exams as though they were still in school, had to study and sit through mock classes with either Lupin or Snape breathing down their necks. Both adults constantly insisted that they had to be kept on their toes, up to par with their studies, ready in case anything happened. Though every time Snape or Lupin reminded them of this, Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes and think, When would something happen?

They were cooped up in that house, locked away like precious treasures, not once allowed to see the light of day. Would all this training actually come in handy? They had all grown sickly and pale from being indoors for over two months and they had all—Harry noted—grown equally as feverish, dying to go outside for a moment, just a second, to sniff some fresh air or feel the cold wind smack their faces.

They needed a reminder that there was life, an existence outside of that dingy house, they needed to see other people besides themselves or Snape and Lupin, they needed to hear from Dumbledore, to have him in their presence, to be reassured that what they were doing—their self imprisonment—was actually working, achieving something positive.

But that didn’t happen. And soon, Harry found himself too desperate to stay in.

*

It started gradually, the desperation.

Harry found as he awoke one morning, wrapped up in Draco’s strong arms, he wasn’t quite comforted as he thought he should be. He certainly wanted Draco with him, always, wanted every day to wake up with his lover, their naked bodies pressed together in sweet slumber, but Harry also wanted to explore more with him, explore themselves together in the outside world, perhaps sit under a tree during an afternoon and admire the clouds in the sky, or play a game of Quidditch, one-on-one, enjoying the breeze as it washed over them; Harry started fantasizing about going out to restaurants with Draco, or grabbing a cup of coffee like Muggles did at the little cafes on street corners, or walking into a grocery store and buying fruits and vegetables together.

He wanted freedom. He wanted the simple things.

And he certainly didn’t want them to feel like they were trapped, forever, with only each other for company. He wanted there to be breathing room between them—quite literally—and no one in the house was getting that.

Harry knew that he wasn’t the only one growing frustrated. Though he tried his best not to show it, Ron was perhaps the most agitated of all of them, breaking down and crying multiple evenings in late October. He wanted to see his sister since she was still at Hogwarts, he wanted to make sure his father and mother and brothers were doing okay.

But most of all, Ron wanted news about Voldemort. All of them did.

What they got from Snape and Lupin were scraps of information. Snape always seemed overworked and on the brink of a nervous breakdown, and considering he was playing the role of double agent (as was his daughter), Harry could not blame the man for seeming exhausted. So they never asked Snape any questions. Everything was always directed at Lupin, and the man seemed reluctant to give them any true information. Perhaps he was trying to protect them but Harry felt himself growing angrier after every time they saw each other.

Harry knew however, that the growing rage wasn’t truly for Lupin, who was just taking orders, doing what he had to do by higher command. The anger was for someone else—Dumbledore.

How could Dumbledore expect Harry (or any of them) to fight against Voldemort if they didn’t even know what was happening outside of the walls of Grimmauld Place? During the hours he spent thinking, locked in his own warring brain, Harry would mull over how Dumbledore never quite seemed to learn from his mistakes—the old man had also imprisoned Sirius as well—and where had that led to?

Harry wanted real reasons why they were being locked up. Wanted coherent answers from no one but Dumbledore himself.

Somehow, he would have to get them.

*

“Let’s try again, Harry.”

It was Snape who whispered that, watching Harry with a worried expression. They—as they did every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday—converted the basement kitchen into a work place, laying out mats and cushions around the room for dueling practice and Harry’s private Occulmency lessons.

He and Snape had begun the lessons the first week of November, and though December was now upon them, Harry felt as though he had barely improved. He still had tremendous difficulty closing Snape off to his thoughts and grew more frustrated each time the man broke through or when he collapsed from weakness. And now Harry was panting and pushing himself up from the ground, his entire body trembling, sweating. He had just seen memories of himself in the graveyard with Cedric Diggory’s body, memories of the night Voldemort returned…

“On second thought,” Snape said, moving from the corner of the room toward Harry (who was in the center), “maybe we should stop for today.”

But Harry shook his head, trying to force his voice box to work.

“We always end early,” the boy gasped, glancing up into Snape’s lethargic face.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“But Voldemort’s not going to be so nice about it,” Harry rasped, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his tired green eyes.

Snape’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’re right,” the older man said, tracing his lip with an idle finger. “But—”

“What is this achieving?” Harry asked before Snape could say anything else. “Are we actually making progress?”

“What do you mean?” was the sharp response.

Harry sighed and finally stood upright, planting his glasses right back over his eyes so Snape’s thin, sallow figure came into sharper focus. Harry examined the lines on Snape’s forehead for a moment before continuing.

“I mean…sometimes I feel like we’re not doing anything by being stuck in this house.”

Snape was silent for a while.

“I imagine this is extremely difficult for you—for all of you,” the man whispered. He waved his wand and produced two squishy chairs and pointed at one for Harry. “Here, sit down. Let’s talk.”

Harry nodded and took a seat opposite Snape, groaning in relief as the soft cushion padded underneath him, soothing his aching muscles and bones from the falls he endured during his lesson.

“I apologize for not having a candid discussion with you sooner,” Snape said, crossing his legs and fingering his wand. “There has been a lot going on and you shouldn’t be treated like a child.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Harry muttered, suddenly feeling guilty. “I know you have a lot to deal with—”

“Be that as it may, you of all people deserve to know what’s happening out there.”

Harry stared.

“Should I call Ron, Hermione and Draco in here?” the boy asked.

Snape shrugged.

“Only if you want them with us.”

Harry thought about it for a long while before agreeing. Snape stood from his seat and murmured he would return soon before leaving the kitchen. Harry sat in silence, waiting for a few minutes before the sound of many footsteps met his ears. He knew it wouldn’t be fair if Snape were only honest with him—everyone in the house deserved to hear the full news along with him.

Draco, Ron and Hermione walked into the kitchen before Snape did; they all smiled softly at Harry and took a seat on the large bench that had been pushed against the wall. They dragged it over to where Harry and Snape’s chairs were.

Snape sat down again.

“I was just telling Harry,” the man said, smoothing out his robes and glancing over each of them in turn, “that you all deserve to know what’s going on outside of this place.”

“’Bout time,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Normally, Harry would have grinned at his friend’s cheek but one look at Ron’s stressed, anxious face wiped any laugh from Harry’s mind. Hermione had a comforting hand on her boyfriend’s lap and Harry noticed she too looked deflated. Harry and Draco glanced at each other and sighed, feeling Ron’s anxiety vibrate through them.

“So, what do you want to know?” Snape asked, leaning back in his seat, waiting for the inevitable onslaught of questions.

But no one spoke immediately.

“Well?” Snape whispered, surprised at the lack of responses.

“What’s going on at Hogwarts?” Ron asked first, his deep voice cracking.

“Everything is running as smoothly as usual,” Snape remarked slowly. “Your absences have been noted by a few, mostly by other professors, but no one—thank goodness—has asked too many questions. Dumbledore was prepared to answer all inquiries that came his way—”

“What about my sister, Ginny—”

“She is doing fine,” Snape said kindly to Ron. “No one in your family is in any immediate danger. We took you and Miss Granger out of Hogwarts as a precaution because of your association with Harry.”

“Right,” Ron whispered, looking down at the ground. “And…you’re sure everyone is…is safe?”

“Yes,” Snape responded, giving Ron a sharp look. “I wouldn’t lie to you—any of you.”

“Thank you,” Ron murmured, clamping on to Hermione’s hand with his own; he seemed far more relieved than he had been those past few weeks, as though a weight were lifted from his shoulders.

“Your father and brothers have continued their work in the Ministry and of course, they still are working for the Order—”

“And what exactly has the Order been doing?” Harry piped in, eyeing Snape carefully.

Snape paused for a long while, sighing.

“The usual, really. Keeping tails on suspected Death Eaters, maintaining cover within the Ministry and at Hogwarts, doing little jobs here and there.”

“And what about you?” Harry pressed. “What about Elisha—?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered, leaning forward toward Snape. “Where is she? We haven’t seen her in weeks.”

Snape sighed again and ran his free hand through his long, black hair. Were those gray strands littering his inky hair? Harry had never noticed them before.

“You aren’t the only ones that haven’t seen her,” the man said slowly, the ends of his mouth twitching as though he tried to repress a sudden sob. But he composed himself quickly. “She’s been training nonstop with Dumbledore. I’ve caught glimpses of her here and there at dinner but she wakes up at the crack of dawn and works for hours into the night.”

“Why hasn’t she visited?” Draco asked, his voice not containing his hurt. “I understand why my parents haven’t—it would look too suspicious… but Elisha—”

“Is also playing a double role,” Snape interjected, his black eyes flashing. “She needs to keep up appearances as much as your father or mother do. As much as I do. We all need to be extremely careful.”

“Has she been called again?” Harry whispered, his voice barely leaving him.

Snape’s eyes were wide and Harry already knew the answer. Snape nodded, looking downtrodden.

“Many times, actually.”

“And yourself?” Harry asked softly.

“Not as often as she.”

“Has she taken the mark?” Draco asked, his voice sharp and biting.

“I—I don’t know,” Snape whispered, suddenly looking stricken.

“B-but…wouldn’t you know—?” Harry started, his eyes wide and fearful.

“I suppose the Dark Lord would tell me—he has done no such thing yet. I think she is fulfilling the little tasks he assigns her, here and there…”

Harry could tell Snape was not giving them the whole truth. Maybe Snape knew if she had been marked or not…but perhaps admitting it was too much for the man to bear. Part of him wanted to press Snape for more answers but the look of mingled horror and fear on Snape’s face stopped him—Harry suddenly recalled that night, the night Elisha first came back from Voldemort’s side and the terrible, dead look in Snape’s eyes, his all consuming worry, near madness…

“Will we see her again?” Draco had whispered.

And Snape seemed to snap himself out of his thoughts. He gave a swift nod.

“We’ll all be here for the Christmas holidays,” the man responded. “Including your parents, Draco.”

“That’s soon,” Draco whispered, forcing himself to smile. It looked unnatural and painful and anxious. Harry wanted to scoop his lover in his arms and hold him tightly.

“Yes it is,” Snape agreed. “In a week, we’ll all be here. So I suggest that you all keep doing what you’re doing. Continue to train and study—”

“Then will we be allowed out?” Harry asked; there was a slight pleading tone in his question.

Snape sighed again.

“I wish I could give you an answer,” the man admitted, “but that is Dumbledore’s call, not mine.”

“Well you can tell him we’re starting to get fed up in here,” Harry said, not bothering to bite back his snarl of annoyance. Luckily, his friends murmured their agreement; even Hermione gave a shy nod. Draco pressed his lips together, as if stopping himself from continuing Harry’s irritated statement.

Snape eyed them all carefully.

“I’ve told him that many, many times,” Snape said. “But Dumbledore believes this is for the best. I cannot change his mind. I have tried.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Harry whispered, looking away from Snape.

He tried to repress the sudden wave of anger that threatened to overwhelm him; he was consumed with an urge to leave the kitchen right then and find his way back to Hogwarts. He wanted to knock down Dumbledore’s office door and yell at him for keeping them locked up like pesky animals, like they had done something wrong.

“I will try again, of course,” Snape continued, nodding slightly toward Harry. “I know this is unpleasant for all of you, but like I said, try to keep it together.” His black eyes focused especially on Harry, as if reading the boy’s thoughts. “Let’s see what happens during the Christmas break.”

“Right,” Harry said, crossing his arms and huffing disagreeably, as if hoping his negative thoughts would magically expel from him.

*

The week that went by was too slow for Harry’s liking and he found himself growing more agitated as each day passed. He wanted to see Elisha desperately, but not as badly as Draco. His blonde lover could hardly sleep or eat for missing her so much. They were both consumed with an ever growing worry about her—Harry often thought about her absence even from her father, someone who could empathize with her new role as a double agent, and he wondered what it was that Voldemort was asking her to do, what news she would bring when they saw each other.

But soon enough, the holiday vacation emerged and the teenagers tried their best to make Grimmauld Place cheerful, burgeoning with Christmas spirit. They magicked holly and tinsel around the stair banisters, scrubbed down the kitchens and even tried transfiguring an old cabinet into a Christmas tree (only Hermione was successful).

The afternoon of Christmas Eve, the house was bustling more than usual with constant rings to the front door. Ron was finally reunited with his family for a short while; his parents, Ginny and Fred and George were around for a few hours, enjoying a Christmas Eve tea with their son, but they left before sundown. When they said hello to Harry they were stunned to find a nervous Draco Malfoy lurking in the background, but no one questioned them. This came as a relief to the two boys. They decided to keep mostly to themselves in the bustle, locked up in their room laying in contemplative silence together.

After the Weasleys departed there were more guests to entertain. Lupin emerged at sundown with Tonks and Draco’s parents and Draco left Harry for a little while to be with them. Dinner was being cooked down in the kitchens and the basement was full of noise, laughter, and a joy that Harry had not felt since being at Hogwarts.

He felt calmer, more at ease now that he was reminded that there was outside life to this place. Still, he longed for Snape to arrive. He longed to see Elisha.

They arrived late, much after dinner when everyone was sated, a little drunk from too much eggnog—Ron and Hermione were cuddling in a corner, and Harry sat with his arm around Draco and Harry noted, with a deep happiness that the Malfoys were attempting a civil conversation with their former enemies, Lupin and Tonks. But suddenly the kitchen door opened and everyone in the room was silent; Snape stood in the doorway, his black coat covered in snow; he was clutching two traveling bags in gloved hands. To his left was a black clad Elisha.

She seemed painfully thin but cheerful, her cheekbones jutting forward with her big smile, her hair much longer, almost running down the full of her back; she wore a heavy wool coat that came down to her knees and her black eyes were alight with glee at the sight of Harry and Draco.

They both stood at the same time and rushed to her together. All three embraced in silence, squeezing each other with all their strength. Even through the fabric of her coat, Harry could feel Elisha’s bones, her thinness—up close she looked more stressed than Harry had ever seen and they locked eyes. Hers were flooding with tears.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been here,” she whispered to the both of them, now holding on to their arms with her bony fingers. “I’ve been so—”

But Draco cut her off with a kiss to her cheek.

“No apologies,” he whispered and Harry nodded. “But you need to eat something.”

She laughed.

“Anything left?” she asked.

“Plenty,” Harry said, pointing to the food-laden table, overflowing with a roasted turkey, potatoes, tarts, desserts and jugs of beer and pumpkin juice.

She smiled at them and Draco and Harry helped her out of their coat, greeting Snape at the same time.

“I happen to be hungry too,” the man said, a soft smile on his wind-bitten features.

They all went to the table and suddenly the room was bustling around it, everyone back at the center, laughing gleefully and stuffing themselves with more food (that they certainly didn’t need), refreshing beer and drinks. Harry snorted into his pudding when he saw Snape down two fairly large jugs of beer on his own before turning to Lucius with a silly grin on his face.

“Snape, drunk?” Harry whispered to his tipsy partner and Draco turned a red face over to the Potions Master. Draco and Harry were smirking. Even Elisha smiled bashfully.

Harry could not remember a better evening.

Everyone’s worries seemed to have washed from them, left them at the door and they were up all night, not bothering to sleep. But Harry and Draco snuck out of the kitchens, leaving Elisha deep in a pleasant conversation with Hermione.

The two boys tip-toed back up to their room and Harry felt the powerful flush of drunkenness pummeling him, pushing him to Draco and forcing his blonde lover against a wall as soon as their door closed. They were kissing wildly, Harry’s hand fumbling to Draco’s pants, rubbing the growing hardness there.

“Jesus Christ,” Draco gasped, his breath tasting of sweetness and beer.

Harry felt compelled to be the aggressor this time and he unzipped Draco’s pants with fervor before dropping to his knees and taking all of Draco’s length into his mouth, sucking and licking the stiff appendage.

Draco’s hands were buried in Harry’s hair, his lips parted in a silent scream as Harry swallowed Draco to the hilt over and over. A strangled groan escaped from his lips as Harry closed his eyes and reveled in the taste of Draco’s cock, the feel of it moving through his lips, into his mouth—

And suddenly Draco’s hands were pulling Harry’s head back, Harry’s reddened lips releasing Draco’s cock with a pop. Harry’s emerald eyes found Draco’s lustful blue ones.

“I don’t want to come yet,” the blonde whispered as Harry stood up.

Their lips met again in a heated kiss and Harry fisted Draco’s shirt, pulling it off him quickly, stumbling as they found the mattress. Draco fell on top of Harry and groaned as he yanked Harry’s pants down to his ankles, so his cock sprang into the cool air.

“Open for me,” Draco murmured against Harry’s mouth and with a whimper Harry spread his legs. Draco prepared him quickly, shoving two fingers into Harry’s tight heat before sinking his throbbing cock in.

They moved together in wild need, skin slapping against skin and sweat pouring from them and it was with a sharp cry that Harry came as Draco flooded his insides.

For the rest of the evening, they didn’t move, fulfilling their desire to remain tangled within each other.

*

The next morning was a rush of Merry Christmas’s and present exchanges. No one had gone home that night, instead finding sofas and spare beds to crash on. Harry and Draco stumbled into breakfast to find Elisha talking with Narcissa Malfoy and the two boys broke apart to sit with their friends and family.

But Elisha spotted Harry and gave him a serious look. He did not move from the doorway as she stood from Narcissa, leaving the blonde to join her son.

“Is it okay if I steal you away for a little while?” Elisha whispered.

Harry nodded, examining her face as he did so—her tired eyes, dark circles, the visible collarbone beneath her black sweater. The two departed in silence, walking up the stairs out of the basement kitchen and into the dimly lit, empty hall.

“You’re not mad that Draco and I left early last night?” Harry asked, suddenly nervous; it occurred to him that their departure may have been rude but Elisha shook her head.

She suddenly embraced Harry without any warning, clamping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. Harry was entirely taken aback and for a few moments stood stiffly, before gently wrapping his arms around her too-thin body, feeling underneath her flesh the knobs of her spine.

“Elisha—?”

“You’re so lovely,” she whispered into his skin before pulling back quickly. Harry was startled to see her eyes shining with tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

But she shook her head again, gripping tightly onto his hands with her own cold, clammy ones.

“I wish we got to spend more time together,” she said softly, blinking and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“What?” Harry said, his question almost a gasp. “You were busy, Elisha. I’m just glad you’re here.” When she didn’t respond, Harry whispered, with a plea in his voice, “Please, don’t feel guilty.”

She took a great heave of breath into her lungs and smiled sadly at Harry. Harry reached a shaky hand forward and wiped her onslaught of tears away, feeling stricken at her sadness, the fact that she felt so terrible for not having been there all those weeks and how could she? She, who was risking her life to protect his, to protect everyone’s… Guilt should be the last thing on her mind. Harry wanted to do something to stop her tears, to reassure her everything was okay but he was struck dumb and watched her with a solemn expression.

But she seemed to be holding something back, as if a declaration wanted to spill from her mouth.

She hugged Harry again and said nothing more.

*

The house was back to the four of them within another day but all Harry could think about as it emptied was his last conversation with Elisha, the sorrowful, almost troubled look in her gaze, the strength of her hug, of her sadness.

He had not told Draco about what happened between them, thinking perhaps Elisha had spoken to his love separately as well. When they all departed, she held Draco and Harry especially tightly, her lip trembling as if she were trying to hold back a sob.

The door closed behind Snape and Elisha and immediately Harry and Draco turned to each other, eyebrows raised.

“She’s stressed,” Draco whispered, his gray eyes swimming in worry.

Harry gave a deep sigh.

“Most likely,” the boy responded. “She’s in a terrible position.”

And Harry suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to be out there with the others, not cramped inside the house with Ron, Hermione and Draco. Harry wanted to fight, protect like Elisha was, play a substancial role in the war against Voldemort instead of lazing in his bed all day.

It took all of his strength not to walk out the door after them.

*

When Snape next returned to the house it was not but two days later, barging in through the front door along with Lupin; the sound was so loud and jarring that it frightened Harry and Draco awake and the two tore down the staircases only in their boxers, wands pointed in the direction of the foyer. Ron and Hermione were at the bottom of the staircase looking just as nervous but were slowly lowering their wands at the sight of their two professors.

And with a terrible jolt in the pit of his stomach, Harry saw Lupin’s face bore the clear signs of crying…

Harry felt his legs carrying him down the stairs, practically launching him in front of Snape and Lupin, both wearing grim expressions. Harry didn’t care that he was practically naked or that Hermione gave a gasp of embarrassment or that his scars were visible and open to anyone who looked at his arms—the panic in Lupin’s eyes was enough to render anything else unimportant.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked at once.

Snape pressed his lips together with a grave expression.

“Down to the kitchens, all of you,” was all the man said before whisking off downstairs, his black robes billowing behind him.

Harry’s heart skipped—what if this was about Elisha?

Draco seemed to have the same thoughts because he was soon by Harry’s side, trembling from head to foot as they made their way downstairs, Ron, Hermione and Lupin behind them. No one spoke as they entered the cold basement and everyone sat down at the benches around the dining table. Snape was the sole person standing and his hands were clasped together, his fingernails clawing into his skin.

“What—” Harry started again but Snape held an ivory hand up.

“Dumbledore has been attacked,” Snape said without any segue.

There were audible gasps down the table; Hermione clapped her small hand over her mouth and Ron looked horrified. The color drained from Harry’s face and he felt his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. He felt Draco’s cold, scared hand holding on to his and Harry had enough sense of mind to squeeze back.

“When?” Harry croaked.

“This morning,” Snape continued, his voice a snarl; he seemed infuriated.

“He was in his office, apparently,” Lupin whispered from the furthest end of the table. Harry jumped when he heard his soft voice and turned to stare at the man—he was such a sharp contrast from Snape that on any other day the difference would have been almost amusing—Lupin was a mess compared to Snape’s stern, collected face; his brown eyes were wide and worried and his hair was grayer than ever. “No one knows who harmed him.”

“What about the portraits?” Harry barked, his voice suddenly hoarse, as if he had been screaming. “They’re in there, wouldn’t they—?”

“They have refused to answer any questions. They seemed worried they will be harmed too if they say anything,” Snape said as he slammed his fist down against the table. Hermione shrieked in surprise. Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “I apologize,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I just…we can’t figure out who it was. I’m frustrated.”

“We all are,” Lupin whispered, brushing his gray hair out of his lined face. “We doubt very much it was a student which leaves—”

“Faculty,” Snape growled, making eye contact with Lupin. Both men looked grim.

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“But who?” the boy asked, stunned.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Snape whispered. “But it seems Dumbledore was correct to move you all out of Hogwarts when he did. I have no doubt in my mind whoever attacked him was looking for information on any one of you.”

Harry felt suddenly clammy and ill.

“Elisha—” Draco gasped. “Is she okay?”

Snape nodded and his eyes suddenly became softer.

“She’s unharmed, no one was hurt expect for Dumbledore,” Snape said. “But she’s shaken up. She was crying the whole morning.”

“Understandable considering they worked together nearly every day,” Lupin said.

“Indeed,” said Snape, nodding. “But we will have no hope of knowing who did this until Dumbledore wakes—”

“He’s in a coma?” Ron yelped suddenly, his frightened voice echoing throughout the room.

“Yes,” Snape and Lupin whispered together.

“But…but this is Dumbledore,” Ron said feebly as if disbelieving any of this. “He’s…he’s supposed to be the most powerful wizard alive…”

“Which makes his attack more disturbing,” Lupin said with a hint of fear in his voice. “The person who hurt him… I-I have no idea who it could be… But whoever it is must be incredibly powerful—”

“Especially since the office was in shambles,” Snape finished.

The teenagers sat in stunned silence.

“Shambles?” Harry whispered, and all of the anger he felt toward Dumbledore those past few weeks was erased. Who could have attacked the old man so viciously as to tear apart his office? Harry had a vivid image of the room upturned, glass everywhere and Dumbledore’s body lying in the wreckage…

“It seems they were dueling—Dumbledore and his attacker,” Snape said.

Harry tried racking his brain for someone in the faculty who could have hurt Dumbledore—who had a grudge toward the man? Who outside of Hogwarts? And suddenly, Harry knew, the question rushing from him.

“What about Death Eaters? Could it have been one of them?”

Snape shook his head.

“I would have known in advance,” he said with clear certainty. “The Dark Lord would have planned this more intricately… No, this had to be someone on the inside, someone either in the Order or a faculty member.”

“But we’ve come here to tell you lot to stay put,” Lupin said. “I know it’s been difficult for all of you being cooped up here but you cannot leave this house. I’m not sure when the next time will be either, given everything that’s happened—”

And Harry felt himself turn, if possible, colder at Lupin’s words.

Cooped up indefinitely? His stomach was doing uncomfortable flips. The idea of being trapped for much longer might drive him to insanity.

“We…we can’t even go out for…for air?” Harry whispered.

Snape shook his head again.

“Nothing,” the man said sternly. “Don’t even open a window.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Harry shouted, his anger getting the best of him. He felt immediate guilt at the look of surprise on Snape’s face, the gasp Draco gave near his ear. “I—I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, trying to master his breathing. “It’s just…I haven’t seen the sun in weeks…”

Snape sighed.

“Harry, I know,” the man said, now sympathetic. He eyed Harry carefully. “But please, until we sort this all out…do the safe thing, and stay in.”

I will, Harry thought, but I don’t know for how much longer.

*

But the next week, he cracked.

It had been almost three months since he had been outside—the thought of having to spend another day stuck inside the musty confines of Grimmauld Place drove Harry to consider throwing himself down the stairs.

The desperation was eating him from the inside out, boiling at every pore in his body and he was beginning to look a little crazed, something even Draco had noticed.

“I just…I just need air,” Harry groaned, after unloading his frustration onto Draco one morning. He was cradling his head in his hands. “I need to see a tree…something, anything.”

“I don’t know how we would manage to,” Draco whispered.

And suddenly, like a light bulb went on in his brain, Harry knew.

“The invisibility cloak!” Harry shouted, causing Draco to jump in surprise.

“What?” his blonde lover asked but Harry had run from the bed and wrenched his trunk open, throwing the contents out all over the bedroom until his hands came upon a fabric that was lighter than air, than water…

Harry was clasping it in between his shaking hands, a look of excitement flushing his cheeks. Draco gaped at him.

“Is that an actual invisibility cloak?” the blonde whispered in awe, standing up so he and Harry were nose to nose, only divided by the thin fabric.

Harry nodded vigorously.

“How about we take a quick walk around the block?” Harry asked, his eyes lit with glee.

Draco hesitated for only a moment but a sudden look of mischief came about him.

“God knows I could use a fucking walk too,” the blonde murmured, staring at the cloak and then Harry with reverence. “I need this as badly as you do.”

And the two put on heavier clothes and jackets, stashed their wands in their coat pockets and with drumming hearts, walked quietly downstairs. They agreed to convince Ron and Hermione to go out after them, wanting the other two to see their happy, sun kissed faces first.

Harry pushed all of Snape’s warnings out of his head, purposefully ignored the fact that Dumbledore had been recently attacked and he wrapped himself and Draco in the cloak so their heads were covered entirely and their bodies were huddled together underneath, invisible to anyone who looked their way. And Harry reached out with a trembling hand, unbolted each of the many locks barricading them from the outdoors and with a tremendous gasp of happiness, felt wind whip his skin, cold, winter air bite at his face, painfully bright sunlight slam into his eyes.

The little square outside of Grimmauld Place was peaceful and silent in the morning—the sidewalk was entirely caked in pristine, fresh snow, a white blanket around the quiet street. Draco and Harry exchanged joyous looks as the front door closed behind them and they walked cautiously down the front steps into the yard, reveling in the feel of the outdoors.

They walked past the iron gates of the house and onto the sidewalk—birds were chirping somewhere in the distance, bare trees were hugged with piles of snow, their branches sagging under the weight. Harry marveled at the beauty around him, so pleased that he could do this with Draco and as he thought about the stunned looks that would grace Ron and Hermione’s faces at their return, he accidentally stepped forward before Draco did. Harry’s foot snagged underneath extra fabric of the cloak and with a gasp of surprise, the cloak fell from over both their heads, revealing their stunned, disembodied faces in midair.

The two boys were going to laugh it off and pull the cloak right back over them but something shocked them both to the point where they froze, mid-smile.

It was a yell, a triumphant one—a war cry, almost. The sound of a man.

Draco’s face paled as the blonde scrambled to try to cover themselves again but it was too late.

Out of nowhere, black figures materialized onto the street, Apparating in a circle around them and Harry screamed, realizing who they were. He tried desperately to reach for his wand, dropping the cloak off them entirely but his hand hadn’t even made its way down to his pocket before he saw one of the figures point their wand at him.

Harry saw the red light before it hit him, knew he was about to be Stunned and he immediately cursed his foolishness—he felt Draco fall right beside him—and he tried to dodge the spell but it was too late.

It hit him square in the chest, the irrestible urge to faint overcame him but before he blacked out entirely he felt a thrill of dread.

The last thing he saw were the masks of the Death Eaters, gleaming in the innocent sunlight.

TBC

Author's Note: Many thanks to my usual reviewers, Ataraxia, Kuragari and Hollibell. More soon!
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Endurance