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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
- 30
- 31
- 32
“And there was silence in Heaven for half an hour.” –Revelation 8:1

Thirty-One

Invincible.

I am invincible.

Instead of feeling a rush of power, of determination that should accompany this understanding, Harry felt fear. It crept into his veins slowly, masked itself first as some semblance of security, until it attacked in his brain, forced frightening questions to peel through to his consciousness… What if Voldemort knows? What can I do with this power? Am I dangerous now, unstable, wild?

Everyone’s eyes were on Harry, staring, boring, burning; some looks were frightened, others awed, others confused, as if not understanding what Dumbledore had just said. But Harry’s brain was still reeling; he was ignoring their looks, ignoring Dumbledore’s concern, Snape’s horror.

What if I hurt someone by accident?

Harry took in a deep breath.

What if I hurt Draco?

And Harry turned to his scared lover only to realize the heavy feeling of Draco’s hand was on his, not letting go, refusing to release despite the declaration that Harry was now the most powerful wizard in that room, perhaps in the world. Draco’s eyes were wide and watering, disbelieving, but beneath all of that, there was support, love. There was patience. Understanding.

Harry let out a sob. Without warning he yanked his hand from Draco’s, shoving his face in his palms. The tears came, whipping the breath from his lungs, and he cried and cried, wasn’t aware that Draco was over him, cradling him close or that Snape had stood from the table in a flash, had gotten in Dumbledore’s face, that the two men were having a heated argument, close to drawing wands.

The room had erupted in nervousness and fear but Harry remained where he was, only focused on this pain, this feeling of anguish, confusion and loneliness. He suddenly felt the same way he did months ago, when Sirius died. When he was entirely alone, at the mercy of others, of his uncle, at the mercy of his own whirlwind emotions, eating away at his core, at the mercy of sharp metal on his skin, ripping, tearing—

How desperately he wanted to run away from this all. From the responsibility of being the Chosen One, from the obligations that came with it, from the newfound strength that Elisha had imbued onto him—her powers were his and Harry didn’t know what to do with them. With a horrible thought, Harry realized she hadn’t known what to do with them either. Wasn’t she so often out of control, tired, exhausted? Didn’t she have to constantly train with Dumbledore to suppress what she could actually do, the harm she could impart on herself and others?

Hadn’t she been a ticking time bomb?

Yes. Now he was.

And Harry sobbed again, the sound dry and heaving, painful and rattling. The room stopped its commotion. Draco was forcing Harry to stand, his beautiful voice ringing in Harry’s ears. Come babe. It’s okay. Shhhhh. Harry fumbled blindly for Draco and their hands made contact, fingers intertwining. Harry opened his eyes to find he was face to face with his lover, their noses nearly touching. Draco’s eyes were leaking with tears and worry but still, that same love and reverence and commitment and passion that was there before, that was always there.

“It’s okay,” Draco whispered and Harry saw how dry his lover’s lips were. He was seized with an urge to run his tongue over it, to soothe the cracks but he stopped himself. He almost forgot he was in a room full of other people.

“I think we all need to sleep,” came Lupin’s voice from far away and Harry spun around; to his shock, Lupin and Lucius had a strong hold over Snape, each man clamping on to one of Snape’s arms—the man looked murderous, enraged, his black eyes on Dumbledore’s still, blank form. They were only a foot or two apart, clearly in the midst of a potential scuffle.

But Snape released himself from the two others, nearly knocking them backwards.

“He’s right,” Snape said out loud, his voice trembling, his eyes still on Dumbledore. “Rest. We all need it.”

“Severus—” Dumbledore started but Snape cut him off.

“I have no wish to engage in further conversation with you right now!” Snape screamed, his teeth bared like a wolf ready to attack. “We’ll resume this—I don’t even know when!”

“After the funeral,” Lupin whispered and Snape stiffened. Harry felt his heart stop in his chest. Lupin sighed. “After then, we will continue. I think a few days will give us all the chance to process what’s been said. We all need time—”

But Harry didn’t stay to listen to the rest of Lupin’s speech. He turned on his heel, released his grip from Draco and walked straight out of the kitchen, climbing up the stairs quickly, ignoring the shouts of his name, of people imploring him to come back. He was only aware of the second set of steps following closely behind him and he knew it was Draco. He knew, which is why he didn’t turn around and push him away, force him to leave him be.

Because Draco was what he needed right now.

*

No words were necessary between them. They closed the door and locked it with magic. They dropped their wands at the same time and rushed to each other, in an embrace at first, arms wrapped together. And then they were crying on each other, clawing at each other’s clothing, ripping it off with violent ferocity, so much so that they were marking, bruising, ripping skin. Harry’s weeps were smothered in Draco’s mouth and their tongues were battling with each other.

That’s what it was. A desperate fight to release all the tension, the pain, the anguish, the torment. A plead to release it in each other, to share this moment together, to have it fully, to become so lost in each other that one couldn’t tell where the other began.

And Harry found himself on his back, splayed on the bed, Draco’s head between his legs, moving his mouth over Harry’s cock with slow intensity, sucking and tasting and having his lover in his lips. Harry arched his back, cried out when Draco inserted a dry finger into his opening, the burn coursing through him, pain and pleasure mixing. This couldn’t be just about desire—it was also about agony—and Draco’s finger moving in him roughly was that, a living contradiction. Pleasurable agony. Harry’s hands yanked his lover’s head up with no second thought and Draco was groaning as their lips smacked together again, moaning at the feel.

Harry’s hands were exploring his lover’s body but not gently, and Draco was pinning Harry down with force so his shoulders were beginning to grow sore underneath Draco’s harsh touch. Their tongues were frantic now, saliva mingling with tears; each boy was graceless and roaming, wild and uncontrolled. And Harry felt Draco’s fingers in him again, stretching and preparing.

“Please—” Harry whispered gruffly, pulling Draco’s fingers from him.

Tears were running down Draco’s face and he wiped them away. He positioned himself over Harry and entered in one slick, sharp movement, the pain stabbing through Harry like a knife. He hissed and spread himself wide, relaxed so Draco could thrust in deep, so his cock immediately brushed against Harry’s prostate. Harry shivered underneath his lover at the jolt of pleasure but Draco suddenly stopped—

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the blonde said between sobs.

“Hurt me,” was all Harry whimpered, crying too. “Please. We both need it.”

Draco paused for a long moment, his eyes boring into Harry’s, trying to understand his lover’s request, trying to bring himself to fulfill it, to listen to the urge he had to dominate, to lose himself in Harry’s body. After fighting with himself for a few moments, let himself succumb to that urge. He pulled out and slammed back in with brutal force. Harry gave a fierce cry, burying his face in the crook of Draco’s neck and soon the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, the smell of sex, of sweat, of fear and uncertainty mingled around them. Their bodies were clasped tightly together, Harry’s legs locked over Draco’s back, pushing him in more, faster.

“Harder!” Harry groaned in Draco’s ear and Draco complied, pounding into Harry with such ferocity that they would both surely feel pain after this was over. Harry was a babbling wreck underneath Draco’s lithe body, gripping onto his shoulders with his nails, digging in. They were both crying and moaning and gasping into each other, too lost in the moment to have any control over themselves.

“Harry,” Draco growled against his skin, his voice commanding, needy. “Come with me.”

And Harry did, pulling and tugging at his weeping erection with violence. He came wildly, screaming and biting down into Draco’s flesh. Draco shuddered above him and Harry felt himself being filled with blissful heat. Draco collapsed on top of Harry and neither moved.

As their breathing was dying down, Harry realized he was tasting blood—he glanced up to Draco’s shoulder and saw the bite mark there, red and swollen.

“I’m sorry—” Harry whispered but Draco moaned against him.

“It’s fine,” the blonde said, sounding exhausted and worn down. “Are you okay—”

Harry nodded against his body and held the blonde closer, so their chests were pressed together.

“Thank you,” Harry said softly and Draco pulled up from Harry so he was leaning on his elbows, staring down into Harry’s green eyes. “Thank you for…for everything.”

“You never have to thank me,” Draco whispered.

Harry shook his head.

“I do,” he said. “It means a lot to me that you’re—”

“Not running away from you?” Draco asked, his voice sad.

Harry sighed, pushing his nervousness aside.

“After what Dumbledore just said…after everything that’s happened in the past day, I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he whispered.

Draco shook his blonde head, leaned in and kissed Harry on the lips, slow and sensual and when they broke apart, his blue eyes were shining. Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the emotion in Draco’s eyes.

“I’m never going to leave you,” Draco murmured. “Never.”

*

They fell asleep entwined in each other, laced together, Harry’s head resting on Draco’s chest, the lull of his lover’s heartbeat comforting him. The house as quiet for a day, overcome with stillness and exhaustion. Harry and Draco did not leave the room that day, but the morning after they were woken by a soft knock, a gentle intrusion.

Harry was the one who got out of bed, magicked a robe on himself and covered a sleeping Draco in the sheets. The boy went to the door, pushed it ajar. Standing there was a tired Lupin, still dressed in his night things. His gray hair was plastered about his prematurely lined face.

“Harry,” Lupin whispered, beckoning Harry out into the hall. The boy followed, rubbing his eyelids. “Today’s the day.”

And Harry felt instantly awake, his whole body thrumming with a jolt—he knew what Lupin meant.

Today was Elisha’s funeral.

*

They stood, huddled in silence in the neglected back garden of Grimmauld Place; the space was small and unused, trees and vines overgrowing into hedges, taking over the fences. It was secluded, shady and dark, the perfect, safe place to bury the fallen heroine, the best play to lay her to rest. In complete solitude. The quietness was broken by the occasional sniffle or repressed sob. The sky above did not and could never reflect the sadness with its crystal clear sky, with the sound of cheerily chirping birds somewhere in the distance, with the swift cold wind that swept past them, the occasional flake of snow falling forth. None of it could reflect the brokenness plaguing Harry. He stood trembling, next to Draco, both—like everyone else—donned in black, black dress robes, black hats, suits, dresses, coats, gloves and scarves. They held hands, clasped tight as if trying to squeeze the pain away.

Elisha’s dark coffin was magicked by Snape earlier that day and he laid her into the ground without saying a word, his face expressionless, bordering on cold. Harry felt a sob seize him but he did not let it out. He pushed his hand against Draco’s, biting back the tears that threatened to erupt forth. But Draco was crying freely, mourning his lifelong friend, not pressing anything back.

How could they handle this? Harry thought miserably, looking around the tiny garden as dirt was shoveled over the grave. How can Snape manage this, how can he look at her simple headstone with such stoicism? How can Draco manage—and she was his best friend? And how could he, Harry, move on? Would he? He had lost the last connection to his mother, to his past—

What if Elisha hadn’t died? Would they have visited their mother’s grave together instead of Harry watching his sister go down into the ground? Would they have cried together, tried to find memories of their youth together? Grown together, connected?

Harry looked away as Snape fell to his knees in front of Elisha’s headstone, her name marked on it in a delicate font. Alive only eighteen years. Eighteen. The sob broke from Harry and he buried his face in Draco’s neck, hot tears flooding the crook of his lover’s neck. Behind him, Hermione gave Harry a shaky pat on the back, her face red from crying. Ron stood behind her, his arms crossed, blinking his sadness from his eyes. And Lupin stood with Dumbledore, intruders on the grief. They kept their distance from everyone, many feet away, lurking in the corner of the garden.

Lucius Malfoy held Snape’s shoulders tightly, but neither man was crying. Lucius’ majestic hair was blowing in the wind, his expression worried, unhappy. And Snape finally lifted himself from the ground, his robes covered in dirt at the knees, his hands trembling, his eyes wide, unfeeling.

He glanced over at Harry and Harry felt his breath stop. How could he ever forget that Snape and Elisha had the same eyes? The same deep black orbs that seemed to pull him in and not let go? Snape blinked and glanced away and without a word turned from the crowd back into the house—only when he reached the threshold did Harry hear Snape unleash his cries, as if hoping the wind would carry them far away.

And they all went back in after an hour, broken, mourning. When Harry and Draco were alone again in the bedroom, sitting knee to knee, Draco’s arm was draped over Harry’s shoulder. Harry was shuddering from too much crying, his body weak and exhausted and overwhelmed. He felt so alone. Terrified. Confused. Now that Elisha was gone, what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to complete the task thrown on him from infancy? How was he supposed to do it with the powers she had given him?

He felt weak for crying, weak for being unable to train right away, weak for not seeking out Voldemort immediately, weak for not ending this madness they were all in.

“How can I be invincible?” Harry whispered, his thoughts coming out loud. He wiped the tears from his reddened cheeks and Draco gave him a sharp look. “Me? Defeat Voldemort? Look at me—I can barely hold it together—”

“Harry,” Draco whispered back, his voice imploring, his eyes shining. “This has always been the difference between you and Voldemort, hasn’t it?”

And Harry blinked, not understanding. Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, pulling their sad gazes closer together.

“I’ve overheard Dumbledore say this enough to my father and Snape to know it’s true. Harry, the fact is that your greatest strength is that you can feel, that you allow yourself to experience your emotions. That’s what gives you the advantage.” Draco paused and kissed Harry softly, his lips lingering for a moment. “You allow yourself to love.”

Love. Harry’s greatest gift and his greatest curse. Love—it enabled him to feel so much for Draco, for Elisha, for his friends… it would give Harry the drive he needed to destroy Voldemort, the drive to avenge Elisha’s death. Love—that caused her to end her life for his, for so many others. Love that caused their mother to do the same thing. Love, that compelled Harry to care for Draco, to desire to wake up next to him every day, to fall asleep by his side. Love that kept Draco by him despite the daunting task Harry head ahead of him, despite the uncertainty in all of their futures.

Draco was right. It had always been love.

TBC

A/N: To my reviewers—Ataraxia: Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m glad you’re enjoying the story! I appreciate your review.

Angela Diana—I’ve found it’s so difficult to balance school and fan fiction, which is why I’m trying to get this done asap so it won’t be on my mind during the year J Thanks for your well wishes and thanks so much for reading!

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. More soon.
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Endurance