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
- 32
- 33
- 34
“So it’s stormy by the lake / in the waves our bodies break / There’s a fire going out / there’s really nothing to the sound.” – Bon Iver, "Calgary"

Thirty-Three

The burn that always lurked in those blue eyes was suddenly extinguished. It seemed that every word that came from Harry’s mouth put more dejection in Draco’s gaze, caused those orbs to steel over, become numb and empty. He could hardly believe what he was saying and his tired mind still tried to process what had happened only minutes ago with Snape.

They had almost kissed. Touched. Pressed together. Rubbed together.

They had wanted each other.

Draco’s eyes lost their luster, stared at Harry blankly and the raven haired boy sobbed in between each word and syllable that left him, felt his heart slamming up into his throat as if trying to jump out from between his teeth. Draco was silent, sitting so still he seemed to be a pale, sad statue, an echo of his former, animated self.

And Harry finished. He waited with such tremendous anxiety he thought he would implode. Draco made no move. He did not shed a tear, seemed to be barely breathing.

The two boys were staring at each other, Harry consumed with guilt, at his betrayal of his lover, the one person who had always been so loyal to him. And the boy felt depression reign over him—what would Ron and Hermione say at this? What would Elisha have said, knowing he and Snape were falling apart without her? That Harry had put this rift between him and Draco?

“Please say something,” Harry whispered in a beg. His hands were folded nervously in his lap, his entire body trembling.

“Get out,” was all Draco said, his voice cold.

Harry felt as though his stomach dropped. He was expecting something else—a violent reaction from his lover, weeps, yells, perhaps even a slap across the face, but not this, not this ice, this venom. Not this contained rage, bottled so deftly within Draco’s smooth mask of a face, the mask he hadn’t worn since being with Harry.

The boy felt his heart plunging within him; Draco was shutting off to him completely and within seconds Harry felt as though he were staring at his former enemy again, staring into the eyes of the boy he once hated.

*

What have I done?

He stumbled from the bedroom, not bothering to bite back a loud sob. Everything around him felt hazy, the world around him hardly visible—Ron and Hermione’s shocked, concerned faces peered at him from the end of the hall, Lupin examined him with his arms crossed, perhaps Snape’s gaze was on him somewhere…somewhere…

Harry pushed someone away from him. He was hardly aware of what he was doing, of where he was going; he felt almost intoxicated, overwhelmed with sensations and grief. How could he have done this? How could he have been so stupid?

He felt a hand on his shoulder but he smacked it away.

“Fuck off,” he managed to snarl as he sprinted away, running down the corridor and up a flight of winding stairs hidden behind a tapestry.

Someone called after him but he ignored the sound; his hands were fumbling from doorknob to doorknob, trying to find a room that would let him in. Harry barely knew where he was in the house, having never been up in the third floor of Grimmauld Place. He tried the door at the end of the hall and to his immense relief it opened for him; he threw himself into the dark room before snapping the door shut. He felt his pants pocket for his wand and muttered a spell to seal the room off from others.

He needed to be alone.

How come it was that sadness did this to him? Made him want to sit in a corner and curl up and cry until he exhausted every last part of himself? Harry barely glanced around the room, hardly took in the dusty bed or the old furniture. He didn’t care. He threw his wand to the floor and it landed with a sharp clatter.

And then he started searching.

Something in him knew what he needed before he acknowledged it within his consciousness. He knew. He knew as he pulled open foreign drawers and yanked forth their contents, throwing them messily about him; he knew as his body ached for the burn, the pain, the sting.

He knew as he found something sharp, an old knife, a Black family heirloom.

Yes.

He knew as he ripped his shirt from him, pulled it over his head and let it fall softly down. He knew as he extended his arm and laid it on a nightstand to balance his weight, as he brough the knife down above the last scar he had made all those months ago, over the last scar Snape saved him from—

Snape.

You bastard.

Harry was slicing himself with reckless abandon, clamping the screams of pain from leaving his mouth. He was hurting himself more violently than he had ever before. His blood splattered everywhere. It burst from within him onto his chest, his cheeks, onto the wall around him. He thought about Snape, and the man’s lips so close to his. How badly he wanted them on his own.

He cut himself deeper.

Harry remembered the dead look in Draco’s eyes and realized he had never deserved someone like that. Not someone that good. Not when I’m this fucked up.

He cut harder.

Harry thought about Elisha and her laugh, her innocent smile; he thought about the disgust she would show him if she knew that he wanted her father.

I don’t deserve to live.

He didn’t deserve any of it; he didn’t deserve Draco’s love, he never deserved Elisha’s sacrifice, her friendship, he never deserved a chance at this life, the responsibility. How could he save the Wizarding world when he could barely save himself?

*

They were huddled outside of the room Harry locked himself in; Dumbledore, Lupin, Snape. Lucius stood at the end of the hallway, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed, but unlike his son, he bore no marks of coldness. He knew of life’s trials and tribulations too well to hate Snape for what had happened between him and Harry.

He knew too much of inner emptiness.

Perhaps all the men did, because they stared at the door with worry and concern, and Snape felt his heart falling from him because he had a strong feeling he knew what Harry was doing in there.

“Just magic the door open,” Lupin was saying to Dumbledore, his tone impatient and aggravated. “We can talk to him—”

“If he’s locked himself in there, he wants privacy,” Dumbledore responded with a sigh.

And Snape did not say a word. He heard somewhere down the hall the sound of new footsteps; the adults turned to look. Ron and Hermione stood, uncertainly near Lucius, both of their faces confused and afraid. Snape felt sudden aggravation grow in him at the sight of Harry’s two friends; the man often forgot they were here too and their presense flared inexplicable anger within him.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked wearily, tired.

“You two should head back downstairs,” Lupin said promptly but he was cut off.

“You should try telling us the truth, Professor,” Hermione said, her voice irritated and cold.

But before the argument could begin, Snape spoke.

“Leave,” Snape told them all, his voice harsh. “Trust me and leave.”

“Severus—” Dumbledore began.

“Go,” was all the man said.

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed dangerously but he complied nonetheless. Lupin opened his mouth in disbelief but Dumbledore put his hand up; this, however, did not stop the endless protests swarming from Ron and Hermione’s mouths.

“Fucking bullshit,” Ron snarled, his face as red as his messy hair.

“We’re both tired of being kept in the dark!” Hermione said indignately, glancing around at the adults with disgust. “Harry is our friend—”

“And if you care about him in the slightest, you’ll do as I said,” Snape snapped, his patience failing him entirely.

Ron swore at him violently but pulled Hermione back down the stairs. Dumbledore and Lupin followed after, but before Lupin could walk away, he turned around to Snape.

“You better not try anything else,” the man said to Snape, his voice brimming with venom.

Snape did not say a word and Lupin turned on his heel, walking hard down the stairs. Lucius’ gaze was locked on where Lupin had been before he snapped it over to Snape. The two men stared at each other but Snape did not say a word. He turned to the door and rested his hand on it now, his palm open and against it. Lucius walked to him, stood next to him, watching his partner closely.

“You know something they don’t,” Lucius said.

But Snape did not respond. Neither man realized they were not entirely alone, that someone else had come up the stairs as the rest were leaving. That the young, frightened blonde stood staring at Lucius' and Snape’s backs.

“What do you think he’s doing in there?” the blonde man asked quietly.

Snape turned to Lucius with a hollow look in his black eyes. He spoke very clearly.

“I think he’s trying to die.”

*

Harry forced himself to fall onto the bed.

He didn’t want to make any noise by collapsing to the ground, but he was close, so so close to keeling over from weakness. How much blood had he lost by now? Harry couldn’t know as he shuffled into the old bed, a musty, old stench around him. He cradled his mutilated arm against his chest, his breathing shallow.

Was this it? Would it be over soon?

Harry sobbed into a nearby pillow, his body whirring with pain, thrumming with too much adrenaline. His instincts told him to find his wand and heal himself quickly before he passed his threshold, but he ignored that voice entirely.

No.

Was there any point to a life without love? Now that he had known it so exquisitely, would it be worth it to exist?

No.

And he certainly could not exist knowing it was he that had caused that love to end, to come crashing down over him. He remembered Draco's lips on his, his mind running wildly with memories of them together; the way Draco snuggled up to him during cold mornings, the way their bodies fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, that stunning look Draco would give him when he would tell Harry he loved him.

Harry remembered Draco's voice, loud and clear, remembered every intonation in his words: "I love you."

The boy wept again into the pillow, the sound muffled and ragged and animalistic.

It will be over soon.

Harry closed his eyes and felt the room spin around him, felt his blood soaking into the sheets beneath him, blooming warmth within them. He was slipping quickly.

I’ll be with Elisha soon. Elisha and Sirius.

He imagined them before him with wide smiles on their faces. Harry imagined their arms open and waiting for him; he imagined Elisha running forth to meet him, embracing him. He imagined her voice in his ear, whispering, “Weclome, welcome…” And Sirius, not far behind, with tears in his eyes…

And Harry fell entirely from lucidity. He was no longer certain where he body began and ended. He did not register the loud bang as the bedroom door flew open, as Snape and Lucius stood stunned in the doorway. Harry did not hear someone else give a yell of shock, did not understand that it was Draco, did not know his lover’s terrified hands grabbed him and rushed over his body trying to staunch his wounds, desperate to bring him back.

TBC
- 32
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- 34
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Endurance