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
- 2
- 3
- 4
Author's Note: I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who's read and rated my story! I hope you're enjoying the tale. As always, reviews are extremely helpful, especially since I'm concerned with the quality of my writing. Any comments are very much appreciated.

Three

A half naked body shivered, shuddered. Tied hands tried to free themselves, fingers stretching toward rope hopelessly, uselessly. How long had he been in this position? Days? Weeks? How long had he gone without food? Or barely a drop to drink? A bathroom? A shower? Countless times he wondered how much more he could endure. Each time the sadistic man would enter the room, each time he would close the door softly behind him, each time he would lower himself onto the weakened, open body, Harry wished for death. He prayed for its sweet release as his uncle raped him. He forced his mind to travel elsewhere, away from the tearing in his lower half, from the blood, semen swimming down his thighs. Harry would run away from the sounds the other man would make, the obscene things whispered in his ear afterward.

Harry was violated again the morning Snape was set to arrive, but he could not distract himself any longer; his mind, slowly breaking down from lack of nourishment, lack of love, could not hold walls to protect him from the abuse. For the first time in days, the boy began weeping as his uncle threw himself in and out. Harry could not ignore his uncle’s soft chuckle and sickening warmth that filled him a moment after.

The boy sobbed uncontrollably. Words were spilling from his mouth without his consent; vicious words, tortured words, wishing Vernon horrible things. Harry was delirious with grief.

The man was silent as Harry cursed him, silent, as he stepped to Harry’s desk and ripped the lamp from its socket. He was silent as he sent the lamp crashing down on Harry’s head. Harry did not have time to register the pain as a great split erupted near his temple, dark liquid oozing down his cheek. Vernon looked down at the unconscious body. He smirked, satisfied at finally quieting the boy.

*

Snape forced himself to wake early, earlier than dawn. Grumbling, he extracted himself from his tantalizingly plush, luxurious sheets and pressed his bare feet to the floor. With a flick of his wand, a cup of steaming coffee appeared on his nightstand. He drained the glass in one, deep gulp, threw himself into a cold shower and dressed himself in plain black Muggle attire, a long sleeved sweater and pants. He grabbed a jacket from the coat rack and quietly escorted himself from his living quarters, stepping carefully as to not wake the girl.

Before his hand could reach the doorknob, however, he turned to the girl’s room. As soundlessly as he could muster, he cracked her bedroom door open, peering inside. What he found was an empty, messy bed, clothes strewn everywhere, hundreds of books on the floor, in bookshelves, in odd corners, in various states of dishevelment. Snape sighed; she was probably roaming the castle, even at this ridiculous hour.

He closed her door, rushed out of Hogwarts toward Hogsmeade. His ultimate destination: Number 4, Privet Drive.

On an empty road in the deserted, dewy, sleeping village, Snape raised his arm, clutching his wand in his right hand. With a loud, piercing bang, the Knight Bus appeared inches in front of him. Snape frowned at the flamboyant purple monstrosity, his sour mood increasing. The door opened, revealing a pimply young man wearing a lopsided hat.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus—” he started but with a snarl and an impatient push, Snape stepped in the vehicle.

“Take me to Number 4, Privet Drive,” he said coolly.

The pimply man seemed affronted at Snape’s snarkiness.

“Well sir,” he said, also stepping back in the bus, “there were people ‘ere before you, so we need to tend to them first—”

“Ah,” Snape said.

He reached into the pocket of his pants, bringing forth a small sack of clinking gold. He threw the money at the wide-eyed boy.

“Now, what was that about other people?” Snape asked smoothly.

“I – er, Privet Drive was it?”

Snape nodded.

“You heard what the man said, Ern!” the pimply conductor shouted to the driver. “Take it away!”

In a flash, they were off. Snape clutched one of the poles on the bus, ignoring the beds flopping to and fro from the violent motions. He stared out of the window, unable to make out any of the scenery flying before him. Wanting nothing more than to be left alone, Snape found himself growing venomous as the pimply man hounded him, hopping around as though his pants were on fire.

“Is there anything I can get you sir? A sandwich? A drink? What about a butterbeer? Hot chocolate? Would you like to sleep on one of the beds—?”

“No,” was the only reply the conductor received, but the word was uttered with such irritation that the younger man backed off for the rest of the ride.

Twenty minutes later, the bus came to a screeching halt, causing the beds (and their occupants) to lurch forward. Snape clutched the pole tighter to stop himself from falling flat on his face.

“This is it?” Snape asked.

The conductor nodded, opening his mouth to say something, but Snape didn’t register the words. He pushed himself from the bus, knocking open the door that revealed a quiet, dark street lined with identical houses and front lawns. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and with another loud bang the Knight Bus disappeared.

Walking quickly, his black eyes scanned the house numbers until he stopped at Number 4. The sun was starting to break through the sky now, illuminating the front lawn with an eerie plum glow. Snape peered into the driveway and approached the sole car there. He scanned the vehicle with his eyes, stopping suddenly when he noted two dents on the front hood; one dent was small, round, but the other, Snape realized uncomfortably, was much larger, much like the outline of a body …

*

The doorbell blared, intense and sharp. Vernon, who had just stepped from Harry’s room, still zipping the fly on his dress pants, froze in the hallway. He glanced down at the watch cutting into his chunky wrist. 6:39 AM. In the room next to Harry’s he heard his wife stumbling out of bed. Vernon’s heart began racing; he locked Harry’s door quickly—his wife was entirely unaware of what he had been doing for the past two weeks.

“Vernon?” she said, sleepily entering the hallway. “Vernon, who is that?”

She rubbed her eyes as the doorbell rang again.

“Don’t know, Petunia dear,” he replied, running a finger over his moustache.

Another ring.

Outside, Snape was growing more impatient, cursing Dumbledore for sending him on this assignment. As he considered blasting the door down with a handy spell, it was suddenly wrenched open. Snape stared down at the face of a thin woman, her hair still in rollers, eyes bleary with tiredness.

“Good morning,” Snape said, his lips barely opening, almost as if allergic to his politeness. “I’m looking for Harry Potter. I’m a teacher at his school.”

The woman seemed far more awake at those words. She blinked.

“Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” Snape said. Without her permission, he walked into the foyer. “I need to speak with him.”

“I expect he’s sleeping,” was her terse, surprised response.

Vernon came bustling down the stairs, stopping before the last step.

“Now, who might you be?” he asked Snape, puffing his chest out in what he hoped would be an intimidating way.

Snape closed his eyes, willing his patience to stay with him. It was as difficult as keeping water from spilling from cupped hands.

“I am a teacher at Harry Potter’s school,” he repeated, not bothering to bite back his irritation. “I was sent by the Headmaster to check on him. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

Vernon scoffed.

“Why would you need to check on him?”

“To see if he’s in danger,” was Snape’s soft reply.

“Danger?” Vernon said, attempting to keep his voice relaxed, even mocking but something in his eyes gave away his fear. Snape saw the fat man’s eyes glinting; Snape's mastery of the mind, of feeding off emotions made him aware the other man was trying to hide something from him.

“Where is he?” Snape whispered, looking from the horse-faced woman to her large husband.

“Vernon, just—just knock on his door. Wake him up,” Petunia said slowly, clearly afraid of the wizard. She seemed to want nothing more than to have him out of the house.

Vernon made a choking noise before gulping, “He—he’s not here right now.”

Snape’s eyebrows shot up. He had not expected this much resistance.

“Oh?” he sneered, his lip curling. “Well, where on earth could a sixteen year old boy be before dawn?”

Without warning, Snape pulled forth his wand and produced a skinny, but comfortable wooden chair near the foot of the staircase. The woman let out a shriek of terror and immediately darted down the hallway. Snape ignored her. Vernon recoiled as though he had been burned with a hot poker.

“Luckily for all of us,” Snape continued, sitting down and crossing his legs, “I have ample time.”

But as the last word left him, the fat man snapped. His eyes, so small and watery, now bulged from their sockets. Startled, Snape watched as he wobbled back up the stairs, running toward the first room on the second floor landing. Snape bolted after him, his heart skipping many beats. At the top of the stairs, he saw a glimpse of an obese, blonde boy. The boy squawked like a trodden bird and ran back into his room at the farther end of the hall, but Snape left him. He heaved his thin, strong body against the first door and fell into a room where a terrible sight met his stunned eyes.

The obese man was hovering over a limp, seemingly lifeless body, his porky fingers fumbling to untie rope from a bedpost. It took a moment for Snape to register who the body belonged to.

“No!” Snape cried. Brandishing his wand at Vernon, he shrieked, “Expellarimus!”

With a bang and a yell, Vernon was thrown off his feet into the wall behind him; he was showered with dust as the ceiling shook above. Snape’s entire body was trembling in disbelief.

Harry Potter lay before him, spread viciously, callously on the bed; his wrists seeping with bruises; blood covered the exposed lower body, his legs; his head hung to the side, forehead cracked open, some skull visible beneath pink and red flesh—

“What did you do to him?” Snape hissed, his voice trembling as uncontrollably as his body. He bit back a sob that tried to escape.

Vernon sputtered, unable to speak, frightened and cornered.

“I don’t have time for your Muggle ignorance! Answer me!” Snape roared. The sound of his voice was terrible to behold, as were his eyes, madder than ever—for the first time in many years, murderous.

“I—I did this – I beat him, I raped—”

But he did not finish. At the last word, Snape’s control broke.

“Crucio!”

Vernon was screaming, body flailing on the floor; his arms and legs were twitching savagely, seizure-like. Snape kept the wand pointed at the wildly convulsing man. He wanted nothing more than to watch him suffer, crumble, die – But the boy! Snape could not forget about the boy, whose life seemed to be hanging by a thread. Pulling his wand away from Vernon, he pointed it as the ropes binding Harry. They unbound him in an instant.

Snape quickly wrapped the boy in cloth, ensuring his whole body was covered. With surprising strength, he scooped the boy in his arms. Snape bit back another sob as Harry’s head fell backward, heavy and bleeding, but he supported it back up with his forearm.

“Locomotor trunk,” Snape whispered.

Harry’s possessions organized themselves in mid-air into the trunk, flying from the floor, from shelves, from other parts of the house. The possessions drifted slowly behind Snape.

He turned to Vernon, who was crying and quivering on the floor. With savage pleasure, Snape watched the fat man vomit. With Harry in his arms, Snape made his way for the door, but he turned back for one last message. Both men stared into each other’s eyes; Snape’s, lit with fury, agony; Vernon’s watering with animalistic fear.

“Muggle, know this. I will come back,” Snape warned, his voice unwavering and clear. “You may run, you may hide but I will find you. I will kill you."

And with a crack, he was gone.

TBC
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Endurance