Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Endurance	By : WinterRaven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 29172 -:- 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
- 28
- 29
- 30
"I believe Icarus was not falling as he fell / but just coming to end of his triumph." –Jack Gilbert, “Falling and Flying”

"I want to sleep for half a second / a second, a minute, a century / but I want everyone to know I am still alive / that I am the elephantine shadow of my own tears." -Federico Garcia Lorca, “Gacela of the Dark Death”

Twenty-Nine

Harry’s knees collided with the floor, the first true physical sensation that pumped through him since watching Elisha perish. He didn’t know how many moments passed by, minutes, seconds, hours but he only knew the feel—the sting on his skin, the tearing of his pants open against the rough hardwood floor, the warmth that spread around him as he bled, red puddling around his trembling body like a little pond. And it seemed that suddenly every other sensation of his came blaring into focus—the violent sound that met his ears nearly causing him to bowl over—the sound of people screaming, Draco’s wild cries, weeping, bangs and shouts—the smell around him of pine, reminding him inexplicably of Christmas trees.

Harry blinked and tried to focus. He would have to get up and avenge Elisha’s death, he would have to retaliate. Move. Function. Act.

He couldn’t move. If Voldemort had pointed his wand in between Harry’s eyes right then the boy would not have been able to fight back. He would have watched blearily, weakened, sickened, overcome with the sensation to vomit, with the sensation to succumb, to go into the darkness like Elisha had, follow her into the shadow of death…

But that wasn’t necessary. There was a sudden, blinding flash of light after Voldemort’s triumphant yell, seconds after Elisha fell and the Dark Lord’s shout morphed into a scream, a wail of pain—

Harry barely registered what was happening.

His eyes shut on their own from the force of the light, and his entire body erupted in goosebumps at the sound of Voldemort shrieking in agony, a sound that reminded Harry of a pack of wounded dogs, yelping and scratching at each other… And then Voldemort’s scream was mingled with that of his Death Eaters—there was a sound of running and the ground underneath Harry trembled with footsteps and he could catch their muffled, panicked words.

A Death Eater screamed, “We need to leave, my Lord!”

Another yelled, “Take him, take him! Let’s go!”

And though Voldemort was still crying out as though he had been stabbed, there was an eruption of cracks as scores of bodies Disapparated, taking a wounded Voldemort along with them.

And then—

“Harry! Harry!”

It was Tonks’ voice. His eyes snapped open and he stared around the cavernous room, confused at what had just transpired. Voldemort and the Death Eaters were gone completely. Elisha’s body remained in the middle of the room, laying as it had been before but with a jolt, Harry noticed her skin was glowing, luminious, almost with a diamond shine—and in the far distance, two figures were sprinting toward her, their masks thrown off somewhere, the only two Death Eaters who remained behind. Snape and Lucius.

Harry felt Tonks’ arms heaving him up; he didn’t realize he was trembling so violently because she shook along with him and he turned around, not understanding what was going on. Tonks’ wide brown eyes met his and he saw her face was covered in blood, some of it was dripping from her fushia hair onto her forehead. She shook a dazed Harry again.

“Say something!” she yelped, her voice strong and clear, the panic in her skin.

“I—I…” Harry tried but that seemed enough for her. She let go of him.

Harry glanced to his left to find Moody on his feet, his gnarled face facing the direction of Elisha’s fallen form, both his eyes wide in awe at what was happening; Lupin and Draco were near by. Draco, on the ground, his face covered in his hands, crying hysterically, Lupin standing, his mouth open trying to comfort Draco and watching in horror at the same time as Snape skidded over to Elisha’s body.

Snape dropped to his knees and wrapped her in his arms, pressing his ear to her chest as though hoping to find a heartbeat there. Her hands fell limply to her side and her body, Harry realized, still had that strange, unnatural luminous glow—

And Lucius was running to Snape, his pale face paper white from terror and sadness. And Harry heard Snape’s growing wail, a sound so terrible, a cry that told of a man that didn’t know where his anguish began or where it ended.

Snape was pleading with Elisha’s body, “Please, please! Please, no!” Lucius was over him, prying him off gently, finger by finger and Lupin was walking toward them both, as if in a trance, just as lost as they were.

“My daughter!” Snape screamed, his face wild now—Harry saw it clearly as the two men pulled him off Elisha—his features were twisted in agony as though he were suffering unbearable torture, his black eyes blank tunnels. And Harry felt a sudden consuming numbness, spreading from his head down to his toes like a cancer. It wasn’t like this with Sirius’ death. Harry remembered quickly the rage he felt after watching his godfather die, the violence he was compelled to impart… but now, he was incapable of crying, moving, feeling anything.

Lucius was cradling Snape in his arms, his blonde hair falling graciously around him and Snape wept against his partner’s chest, clawing at the man’s robes as if trying to grab hold of some reality. Lupin was bent over Elisha, closing her eyelids with his fingers but he gave a sudden, sharp gasp and stumbled backward, almost tripping over himself.

"Harry!” Lupin said, his voice carrying within it surprise and fear.

And Harry forced himself back to the present moment, tried to wash out the sound of Snape and Draco’s mingled cries, and he felt weak for not being able to comfort his lover as Lucius comforted Snape… But Lupin shouted Harry’s name again, and Lucius’ eyes were on them both.

He felt an arm around his shoulder—it was Tonks and she was leading him toward the center of the room, toward Elisha…

Harry tried not to look down at her but all he saw was her face—it looked almost as if she were sleeping—but he was distracted by the way her skin was shining, glowing. Was he the only one who noticed this? Suddenly, something was shoved in his face and Harry gasped from surprise.

Lupin was holding something to his eyes.

“Harry, look at this,” the man said sharply.

Harry stared at Lupin’s open palm. Within it was a small vial wrapped in a sliver of parchment. Clearly scribbed on the parchment was ‘Harry Potter’ in impeccable cursive. Harry automatically took his hand out to the vial and slipped the paper off it, only to find it was a glass flask he held. In it was swirling a contents that wasn’t quite air or fog or water—

“They’re memories,” Lupin whispered in quiet awe, examining the capped vial closely.

Harry unrolled the parchment with shaking hands. He read the tiny writing:

‘Harry,

I am so sorry it has come to this. I wish I could have sat you down in person and told you what I was planning to do. I wish we could have embraced once more but I knew I needed the separation from you to go through with with my plan.

Everything needs to be explained to you. I need you to look at the memories I have collected for you—all of them my own. Please watch them in private first, then show them to Draco and my father. You all need to understand why I have done this. You need to understand so that you can continue your work to finish Voldemort because you, my dear Harry, and only you alone, will be the one to defeat him.

Know that I did this because I care deeply for you. I love you and Draco and my father too much to allow you to live in a world with an uncertain, dangerous future. I know that what I have done will ensure that you and Draco and countless others can live in peace and harmony, in the safe future you all deserve. Do not blame yourself for my actions. I would have committed them one way or another with the knowledge I obtained recently, the knowledge that you will soon have.

This is my sacrifice. My strength will become yours. Know that even in death, I will be with you, always.

I love you, brother.

-Elisha’

Harry stared at the letter, re-reading it countless times, his breath hitching in his throat, his heart racing wildly in his chest. He could only stare at one word and it rang in him over and over again, like a light, like a bell, vibrating—brother.

Brother.

Harry gasped and felt the tears rushing forth. He almost fell over but Tonks caught him around the middle. His brain was rushing with too many thoughts, and he tried speaking but Lupin was next to him now, running his hands soothingly over Harry’s shoulders. But Harry pushed both adults off him and they stumbled away in quiet surprise. Harry knew he couldn’t be coddled right now, he needed to say this, had to get it out, had to know.

“I need the Pensive,” Harry said, staring at Lupin’s face. Lupin seemed shocked, not expecting those words to leave the boy. “I need you to get it for me.”

“Wh—Harry, we just—”

And Lupin opened his mouth to protest, his eyes stricken, but Harry snarled. He felt himself overcome with anguish and rage, especially as the sounds Snape was making blared into focus.

“Please!” Harry screamed. “Just—just get it, okay?” He took a deep breath and tried to still himself. “I just…I need to understand…”

“I know,” Lupin whispered, his brown eyes brimming with tears. And Harry noticed he looked so old, so worn for such a young man. “I’ll bring it to you as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” was all Harry said and he turned from Lupin and Tonks, left them staring at him in confusion; he turned and left Elisha’s body—he couldn’t look at her again and he felt weak and pathetic and so lonely—he left Snape and Lucius, knowing Snape had a comforter in Lucius’ arms. Harry turned to the person who needed him desperately, the person who he needed, the person who was being comforted by Moody—but Moody, no, he wasn’t enough.

Harry swept in between Moody’s somber form and his hunched, buckled lover, and Moody seemed to understand immediately. He walked away without a word, only a nod, the gesture articulating his sorrow. Harry pocketed Elisha’s vial of memories and her letter and without any segue, scooped Draco into his arms. He felt Draco break underneath him, the sobs melting with his own—Draco’s hands were scrambling against Harry’s back, his head buried in the crook of Harry’s neck and Harry felt Draco’s tears pooling there.

He didn’t know how long they held on to each other, he didn’t pay much attention when he felt other hands on him, stronger, adult hands or other voices whispering that they had to go. Harry barely realized it when Lupin gripped hard onto his arm, barely registered that they were leaving, being taken back to Grimmauld Place via side-long Apparition. Harry was barely conscious when he was laid into a bed, did not notice Ron and Hermione’s frightened, confused white faces in the doorway, or when Draco was laid in after him so the two boys were nose to nose.

He only remembered the quiet stillness of their synched breathing, the feel of Draco’s hands finding his, fingers interwined as if the human connection would take the pain away, the bliss of allowing himself to let go, to surrender to fear and sleep.

*

There were her eyes, imploring, burning and Elisha’s voice, shouting, “I need you to understand!” and Harry awoke screaming, tore himself from Draco as he fell over from the bed, landing with a loud thud onto the ground. Draco gasped awake at the yell and sat up in the bed, fumbling for his wand, some sort of protection—

Suddenly the bedroom door banged open and Lupin and Tonks were pointing their wands inside the dim chamber, eyes wide and alert, as if expecting to come across an attack. But they surveyed the scene quickly and saw exactly what had happened.

“Harry!” Lupin yelled, rushing inside as Tonks went to Draco’s confused, exhausted form.

Harry was laying on the floor staring at the ceiling, confused, regaining focus of his body of his surroundings, registering the dull ache in his back, wrists and forehead.

“Harry,” Lupin whispered, putting his wand down; he reached out for the trembling boy and helped him sit up.

“Bad dream,” Harry whispered, keeping his eyes wide; he feared if he closed them again he would see Elisha’s, would hear her voice, so he asked, “Where…how did we get back?”

“Apparated,” Lupin said softly, his brown eyes examining Harry’s scar.

“How long have we—?”

“A few hours,” Lupin said, knowing what Harry was going to ask.

And Harry gave him a bracing look; the man understood almost as if reading his mind.

“Elisha…she—we have her body here,” Lupin said, dropping his voice so only Harry could hear. “We’re planning funeral arrangements—”

“And Snape?”

Lupin sighed, looking away from Harry for the first time.

“He’s…he’s not well, he’s with Lucius—”

“I need to see her memories,” Harry said strongly, remembering the little vial in his pant pocket. He felt it press against his leg, poking, prodding, begging to be seen. “I need to see them so I can show them to Snape and Draco. Maybe it’ll give us all some closure.”

Lupin pursed his lips together before nodding glumly. From the bed, Draco and Tonks were staring down at them, watching, listening.

“Severus left the Pensive downstairs—”

“Please bring it here,” Harry whispered.

Lupin nodded, helped Harry stand and left the boy sitting at the edge of the bed with a nervous Tonks and a confused Draco. Draco’s blearly, grey eyes found his and the boys sighed. He felt his lover’s shaking hands reach out to his shoulders and neither boy had to say a thing; they merely understood that the silence was necessary.

Soon, there was a soft knock on the bedroom door. Harry went from the bed and cracked the door open to find Lupin peering at him, holding in his hands the stone, runed basin.

Harry stepped into the hallway and took the Pensive from Lupin.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered.

“You’re going to watch them now?” Lupin asked.

Harry nodded.

“You might want to go to the bedroom at the end of the hall to the left. It’s another small room but it will be private, cut off from noise,” Lupin suggested with a sad tone.

Harry thanked him again. He went back to the bedroom and Tonks followed Lupin out. She did not have any expression on her face as she closed the door behind her. Harry turned to Draco.

“She left you memories,” Draco whispered, staring at the Pensive cradled in between Harry’s palms.

Harry nodded.

“She wanted you to see too,” Harry said softly but Draco shook his head.

“I don’t want to see them now. You go. Do what you must.”

“Draco—”

“Harry, go,” the blonde said, his voice cracking. “I—I’m not angry or anything. I just…I can’t watch them with you.” He studied the worried look on Harry’s face. “I think I need to be alone right now. I need space.”

Harry did not say a word but put the Pensive down on the bed and he walked over to Draco. The blonde’s eyes were bursting with tears and his lips were shaking. Harry pressed their lips together and their eyes shut; he felt Draco’s hands in his hair, pulling their faces closer, and they kissed slowly, tenderly.

Draco allowed Harry to tuck him into the bed when they broke apart, place another kiss on his forehead.

“I love you,” Harry whispered in the blonde’s ear.

“I love you too,” Draco said back, his hand squeezing Harry’s.

And Harry left him, reluctantly, but when he saw Draco’s eyes close in calmness, he knew he made the right decision. He balanced the Pensive in his grip and went to the room Lupin recommended, shutting the door to the tiny chamber behind him with a spell. He did not want to be interrupted.

He had to understand. He needed to know. Now.

There was a small night table in the corner of the dim room and Harry put the Pensive down upon it before uncorking the little flask. He tipped the open glass into the basin, watching as the memories poured from it, swirling, waiting. Without any hesitation, Harry plunged his face full in, felt the familiar, strong tug as his entire body was swept inside, swept into Elisha’s mind.

The memories flooded around him…

His feet slammed onto the floor and he stumbled gracelessly, looking around at the space. Harry fell into a large oak tree and forced himself upright; it was a clear, sunny day, warm, almost humid—summertime. Before him was a field and a hill and not too far away, a long river, water rushing by in the silence. Two figures sat by the river, their little feet and legs dipped in the water. Harry stepped forward, and their backs faced him but even then, he knew who they were.

It was Draco and Elisha. They were small children, he wasn’t sure how old, Draco was perhaps eight and Elisha eleven. They were holding hands, and Harry marveled at how tiny their fingers seemed, how quietly they sat, no words needed to be said between them, even then they were so comfortable with each other—

And the scene changed without warning.

Harry felt himself swirling through color and space, all of it rushing wildly past his bleary eyes. As suddenly as it began, it ended. Harry felt his feet collide with the ground again, but this time he was inside of a house he had never seen before. It was small, cramped with white curtains clothing one giant window—there was an old threadbare sofa and an old rug and sunlight was flushing in through the glass.

It was silent, except for the sound of repressed giggles. A girl’s giggles.

Harry stepped forward toward the sound and found a young Elisha hiding behind the sofa, pressed between it and a wall. She was wearing a witch’s hat, a wand in her little hands, waiting…

And suddenly there was a pop. Harry couldn’t help his gasp. Snape appeared, feet from her, eyes roaming throughout the living rom, looking for his daughter. There was a mischevious smile on his face that made him seem years younger, as though a weight were lifted off his shoulders and for once, he wasn’t wearing black. Instead he donned a plain white shirt and Muggle jeans. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

“Oh, my my,” Snape said with a long sigh, his eyes locked on the exact place where Elisha was crouched, hidden. “Wherever did Elisha go! I can’t seem to find her—”

Elisha’s giggling grew louder and Snape inched toward her; soon he was looking at her from behind the sofa and she laughed shrilly, standing up quickly. She was so little that she barely came up to his waist, a contrast to the taller form Harry knew, but she was just as thin, sickly looking. Yet she seemed happy, un-tormented—

She pointed her wand at Snape and to Harry’s surprise, cast a full spell, causing Snape to buckle over and laugh hard as though he were being tickled by invisible fingers. And Harry watched hungrily as daughter and father laughed together, something exploding in his chest, wishing he could have had this with his parents, just a moment, just a second—

The scene switched again but Harry knew where he was when the new memory materialized—it was years after the previous memory. He recognized it immediately—Snape’s chambers at Hogwarts, dimly lit. It was sometime late at night because the moon’s light was shining in through the windows in Snape’s study. He and Elisha were face to face. Harry examined their clothing, noted the tired look in Snape’s eyes, the hard look in Elisha’s and Harry realized this was the night Elisha had first returned from Voldemort’s side. She seemed stressed, her face lined and tired for such a young woman.

She gave a swift sigh and then crossed her arms over her chest.

“Be honest with me,” she told her father, her voice strong. “Because I’ve known for weeks now.” There was a long pause between the two, the tension extreme, before Elisha asked, “Who is my mother?”

Snape’s eyes closed and he seemed to be steeling himself.

“If you already know—” he whispered, sounding broken, lost, vulnerable.

“I need to hear it from you. The truth,” Elisha insisted.

He opened his eyes again, black meeting black.

“Your mother is Lily Potter. When we were together, I knew her as Lily Evans.”

Harry felt as though he had been punched in the stomach and he clutched his chest in shock, disbelieving what he just heard—

“So that makes Harry and I half siblings,” Elisha stated quietly.

Snape nodded.

And Harry remembered her letter, everything flooding back to him. Her words, her signature, her love and the signing of brother.

Brother. Half-brother. Bound together by Lily. Harry felt as though he couldn’t breathe…

“Why did you keep this from me?” Elisha asked her father sharply.

Snape’s face was expressionless but there were tears building in his eyes. He looked lost, scared.

“I-I don’t….I don’t know,” he whispered lamely.

She said nothing further for a while and they stood together in silence.

“You lied to me,” Elisha muttered. “You lied.”

“I—I had to. You—”

“You had to?” Elisha remarked, her voice steady. She did not seem angry. “Were you trying to protect me?”

Snape did not answer; he seemed incapable of speech as if someone had ripped this voicebox from his throat. But she sighed and brushed off her question. She seemed to be lost in thought, and suddenly her eyes grew wide, glancing up into her father’s as if she had come to a realization.

“So we share her blood,” she said. It was a statement. “Harry and I.”

Snape nodded, looking glum and guilty.

“That’s why we have the connection,” she said matter-of-factly.

“It is a possibility—”

“No. It’s the reason.”

“Elisha—”

She held her hand up.

“Dad, you lied to me. But I think I understand why you did,” she whispered. “I’m not…I’m not angry or resentful. I’m glad I met Harry.”

And without another word she swept forward and hugged her father around the middle. He stood there, thunderstruck.

“I’m glad I have a brother,” she said, and there was a sad smile on her face now and she was crying.

The scene switched again and when Harry’s eyes adjusted to the near blackness of the new space, he cried out in fear, seeing who stood before him. He almost forgot this was a memory, he could not be harmed and yet his heart raced, exploded within him.

Voldemort stood in the corner of the room, alone and practically swarthed in the darkness. Elisha walked toward him, her steps glossy and confident, her head held high with a kind of prescense Harry had only seen when they were dueling to save Draco’s life…

Without any exchange of words, she swooped to her knees before Voldemort and kissed his feet. She then took his hand in hers and kissed it with reverence—with a jolt of disgust, Harry noted—she did it with adoration, love.

“It is an honor to be before you, my Lord. My Lord has finally summoned me,” she whispered, her voice dripping with desire that made Harry’s insides squirm uncomfortably. “I have waited my entire life to be called into your service.”

Voldemort did not release his hand from hers but allowed her to kiss it again.

“You seem more willing than your father led me to believe,” came his hiss.

She gave a harsh laugh that cut through Harry as she glanced up into the face hidden in shadows.

“My father,” she spat, “only looks out for himself. He wants the glory in the Snape family. He is jealous of my powers. He wants them for himself.”

Voldemort did not respond to her, but he seemed to be waiting. She kissed his fingers again.

“My Lord, I am powerful,” she murmured, staring at his hand in reverence. “I need to be used. I want to be used for your cause.”

Voldemort finally took his hand from hers, slowly and then stepped forth from the darkness. His frightening, pale, snake-like face elicted a tremor of horror from Harry and he had to remind himself that these were memories.

Just memories.

“Stand, girl.”

She stood, her back straight and proud. Voldemort examined her face with his slit-like eyes, ran a finger down her cheek and paced around her.

“I have heard of your prowess,” he whispered, close to her ear. “You are a gifted dueler, are you not?”

“I am, my Lord,” she murmured, bowing her head before him.

“I can use you well,” Voldemort said, his lips pressed to her ear and Harry saw a flash of horror in Elisha’s eyes, but she masked it quickly. “But first—before I mark you—I will give you a task. I will leave the decision up to you.”

Voldemort pulled away from her and examined her closely.

“You and Draco Malfoy are close,” Voldemort said. “You must know of his deviancy then.”

“I do, my Lord,” Elisha said, the disgust evident in her voice. Voldemort gave her a lipless smile.

“It is your duty to set him right, to stamp the homosexual impurities from him. Do you understand?”

“My Lord knows I will complete this task,” she whispered, bowing again. “My Lord knows the only choice I want to make is to be under your service.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort hissed. “And when you are finished, bring me the memory.”

“Of course, my Lord. Anything for you.”

And Harry was thrown into another swirl of color and sound, breaking away from the scene with a feeling of deep trepedition and disgust in the pit of his stomach, but what he saw next was worse.

When the new memory materialized, Elisha was bent over a sink, her back arched to the point where Harry thought it would break. She was alone and weeping, crying so hard Harry thought she would damage her lungs. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to help her, but how could he? She was already dead, he thought miserably.

And then her hands were fumbling for something, sifting through the medicine cabinet above her; her hands were then pulling off her shirt and throwing it to the floor so she was left only in a black bra, and Harry saw with nausea deep within him, the Dark Mark branded on her left arm—and Elisha was still searching—

When she found it, she gave a muffled sob and then—

“NO!” Harry screamed. He ran forward, feeling helpless and terrified.

There was a razor in her hands and she was tearing at her skin with reckless abandon, blood spattering in all directions, coating her and the sink and the floor and the ceiling. There was no sound but Harry’s hopeless screams until—

He turned around. The door burst open and in came Snape; he cast a spell that knocked her backward, and her stunned father saw she was drenched in blood, her own blood—

He ran forward and scooped her in his arms, muttering an incantation over her wounds and she sobbed, gripping onto his robes with such force it seemed he was running out of air. In the doorway, stood Lucius Malfoy, waxy faced and frightened, his hands over his mouth in shock.

And Elisha was crying. The sound was terrible, a wild scream.

“Why dad?” she yelled, looking into his eyes. Snape was crying too. “Why? Why? Why?”

The arm branded with the Dark Mark lay limply over Snape and he wept with his daughter, holding her close—

The scene changed again.

Harry was in the Headmaster’s office. He was gasping, his brain reeling. Harry had to steel himself against the wall to master his breathing, to push the last memory from him, to wipe his tears and focus…

The rising sun was coming through the window, washing the room in a deep red glow and Elisha stood, face to face with Dumbledore. Harry seemed to have been thrown in the middle of a conversation because Dumbledore’s face bore the clear signs of shock, as though Elisha had just told him something terrible.

And with a jolt, Harry saw Dumbledore’s wand was pointed directly at her chest, as if aiming to attack. She had not drawn hers but stood, haughty and enraged, her face exhausted, pushed to the edge.

“I can’t let you do this,” Dumbledore said, his voice wavering.

“You don’t have a choice,” Elisha hissed. “I understand how the sacrifice must be made. My father told me the truth. Lily Potter was my mother. She activated the power when she allowed Voldemort to kill her—”

“But her power hasn’t run out yet!” Dumbledore yelled. “Harry is not yet seventeen—”

“When he does turn seventeen, it will dissapate. Unless… it is regenerated.”

The silence was absolute and Harry tried to process what was happening.

“You cannot kill yourself,” Dumbledore said, his voice sharp.

Elisha shook her head.

“I don’t plan on killing myself. I’m not doing this for selfish reasons. You know who has to kill me for this to work,” she whispered.

“No,” Dumbledore said. “No, I won’t—”

“Let me?” Elisha barked, her eyes dangerous now. She pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at the old man; Dumbledore’s hand was trembling and hers was even, ready to fight. “You’ll have no choice. This is my decision. It must happen!”

“No—”

“Shut up!” she screamed and Harry jumped. Sparks flew from the end of her wand. She looked on the verge of violence. “How can you expect me to sit back and do nothing when I have this knowledge? Harry is the only one who can defeat Voldemort, you and I both know that. Harry needs to be the one to do it, and he needs my strength—”

“How many spells are you going to impart on him?” Dumbledore whispered, his face agast.

“Only two,” she whispered back, sighing. “The blood sacrifice that will grant him continued protection because my mother’s blood and my blood run through his veins… and to ensure he is truly successful, I will activate the De Potestate.”

“You plan to transfer your power to him?”

“Precisely. It can only be achieved through self-sacrifice, through death.”

Dumbledore was shaking his head in disbelief, in sadness.

“Why don’t you understand?” she whispered. “He will be invincible!”

“It doesn’t have to happen this way—”

“For Christ’s sake!” Elisha screamed. “It does! There is no other way. You know the Prophecy! You know the connection he and I have—it’s because we’re related! Imagine if I do this, Dumbledore, if I close the connection through my death. He will have everything he needs!”

There was silence again and it seemed that Elisha was lowering her wand, breathing hard as though she had run a race.

“I’m leaving,” she said shortly.

But Dumbledore flicked his wand toward his door and the sound of many locks came into place. Harry felt a thrill of dread. Suddenly it became very clear who had attacked Dumbledore, who had put him in a coma…

“I cannot allow you to leave,” Dumbledore said, his voice somber but powerful. “We can figure out another way for Harry to gain more strength—”

But Elisha snarled, her eyes flashing and she screamed something, pointing her wand straight at Dumbledore. He and Harry gasped in surprise. Dumbledore conjured an invisible shield just in time. Elisha’s stunning spell bounced off and slammed into the ceiling, causing the whole office to rumble, and debris to rain down on them, smothering them in soft dust and the portraits of old Headmasters were screaming now, running out of their frames.

“You won’t let me exact my free will!” she shrieked, brushing the white dirt from her long hair. “If you try to stop me, we duel Dumbledore! I’m not your pawn and I’m not my father! I’m prepared to take extreme measures to ensure that this happens!”

Dumbledore did not respond right away. They eyed each other warily but something seemed to break in Elisha’s hard gaze.

“Please. I have too much respect for you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re going to have to,” Dumbledore responded and with a yell, Harry jumped to the side of the office—Dumbledore cast a violent spell at her, black bonds flying from the end of his wand to her body but with a whip of her wand, the ropes morphed into fiercely taloned dark birds, almost like eagles and turned to attack Dumbledore—

The old man flicked his wand and the eagles disappeared into a puff of smoke but the room was erupting now with spells, bouncing back and forth, destroying possessions and portraits, lighting the desk on fire—and Harry was yelling, ducking from the debris even though he knew deep down that he could not be harmed, but the fear took over. He heard terrible shrieks and cries and he huddled in a corner, shut his eyes, his hands over his ears.

The fighting seemed to go on for too long but it was when Dumbledore gave a shriek of pain that Harry’s eyes snapped open. He saw the old man’s figure lying in the rubble, unconscious and quiet. And Elisha stood over him for a long moment, her face impassive.

But then she broke and fell over Dumbledore’s form, crying and weeping into her hands.

The scene switched again and it took Harry a few moments to understand that he was in a bathroom again. Elisha’s form was facing a mirror, and the sink was running cold water beneath. Elisha was looking into the mirror, alone, her eyes flashing in the harsh light above her.

And then she spoke.

“Harry,” she whispered and Harry jumped, stepping forward tentatively. “Will you forgive me?”

She turned the water off and stared down at her hands, before pulling up the sleeve of her shirt. She examined the Dark Mark and with a gasp, she almost fell over. Harry knew—the mark was burning. She turned from the bathroom and walked into her bedroom, grabbed her hooded robes from her bedside, a mask hidden underneath her pillow, her wand.

Before she could step out, Snape opened her bedroom door. He looked as though he had just woken up.

“Your mark is burning too?” she asked her father but the words died in her throat at the frightened look on his face.

“They have Harry and Draco,” Snape said, his voice listless.

Elisha looked shocked.

“How—”

“There were Death Eaters stationed outside of Grimmauld Place. They’ve been waiting for him to make any sort of appearance. Apparently his invisibility cloak slipped—”

“Voldemort is going to kill them, isn’t he?”

Neither spoke for a while.

“I think tonight is the night I declare my true side,” Snape whispered and Elisha nodded. “I want you to remain in the background, okay? Lucius and I will handle the fighting—”

“Right,” Elisha whispered, but Harry knew by the look on her face that her plan was setting into motion. The plan to fight Voldemort, to protect him, to protect Draco, her plan to die… and Snape had no idea. He glanced at his daughter curiously.

“We should go,” Snape said, turning on his heel.

“I love you dad,” Elisha said, her voice shaking. Harry saw the tears forming in her eyes but she blinked them away. “I love you.”

Snape turned back to her slowly, his face covered in blank shock.

“Elisha—”

He walked forward and stared down at her, confused.

“I really do,” she murmured. “Thank you for everything—”

Snape seemed at a loss for words, overcome with emotion and he put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. They hugged, briefly, but intensely and when he let go of her, Harry saw he was smiling. Even though they would soon be walking in to danger, he seemed strangely at peace, at ease.

He left the room before she did and Elisha sighed and glanced around one more time. The last time. She walked over to her nightstand and opened the first drawer and Harry was watching over her shoulder as she examined a photograph.

Her and Snape, smiling. Elisha was young and the photograph was old, black and white and unmoving. She kissed the photo, her hands trembling before putting it in her pocket. Then Harry saw her grab the letter he had read—the letter she wrote to him—and an empty vial before she placed her wand to her temples, pulling forth a strand of silver, a memory.

And in the distance, Snape called for her.

“Elisha! Come!”

She filled the vial to the brim and corked it with her wand, tight and secure. Elisha glanced at herself once in the large mirror that stood by her bed and she whispered, low and frightened, “God be with me.”

And then it was over. Harry felt himself floating, falling back up to reality, to the existence where Elisha was gone. He felt as his body pulled out of the Pensive and he wanted to scream out for help, to stop her from walking to her death but he couldn’t.

It was over and she was gone.

He remained lying on the Grimmauld Place floor for hours, crying. Sister.

Sister. Why?

TBC

Author’s Note: De Potestate is Latin for “transfer of power.” Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I definitely took a leaf from Deathly Hallows with the Pensive, so thanks J.K.! Sorry for ending on a cliffhanger last time, DwellingOnDreams7! And thanks to unneeded for the review. Thanks to all for continuing to stick with the story. More soon.
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Endurance