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
- 34
- 35
- 36
Author’s Note: Hello everyone. I’m sorry that it’s been almost a year since I last updated. Life has gotten in the way but I’m determined to finish this tale. There are a few more chapters left. I posted this chapter earlier, but took it down and reposted with some more additions. I hope you enjoy the remaining ones!

 Thirty-Five

The days after Harry’s suicide attempt passed in dwindling silence.

Though he had been revived from near death, Harry was still weak and tired, suffering under the strain of his responsibilities against Voldemort, suffering even more so under his tremendous, ever growing guilt. It gnawed at his psyche, trickling down to his bones, to his very core. Harry had not left his room, only taking Draco in as a guest, not bothering to see any other person in the house. He couldn’t stand to see them after what he had tried to do to himself. Harry wasn’t sure what was happening with Lupin, Snape or Lucius, Ron or Hermione or Dumbledore, but he was grateful nobody had intent to bother him, that he could suffer in silence.

At night, Harry would listen to his lover’s quiet snores, washing over him with comforting noise. During the day, he remained in his bed, only rising to eat (at Draco’s insistence) or make trips to the bathroom. He kept the curtains drawn and windows barred. Despite the guilt threatening to engulf him, Harry tried to keep his mind clear and free of the recent death and confusion and fear.

He wished he could have stayed in his vacuum forever, isolated and unaware. But Harry’s life had never been that simple, and never would be.

Harry was, in many ways, cushioned through his isolation. He had no idea the severity of what was happening outside. The world beyond Grimmauld Place fell into shambles within days of Elisha’s death. Voldemort had returned fully to the open. The Death Eaters began a terrifying war against magical and Muggle societies alike. During the days that Harry recovered, Dumbledore and his followers threw themselves out in the fray, trying to restore hope, to restore balance, risking life, risking more death. The sky itself reflected the damage inflicted upon the earth. There was blackness and screams, cries of mothers who lost their children, the wails of families torn apart by senseless killing; it seemed as though the air itself had soaked in the fear. The Dark Lord was motivated to stretch destruction and his rage across every single body, every single soul.

He wanted to send a sign to Harry Potter, to the traitors, Snape and the Malfoys, to the Order of the Phoenix, the Light, to the living–

This is what awaits you.

*

Snape woke in the wee hours of early morning.

He went, alone and silent, to the back garden of Grimmauld Place, purposefully ignoring the distant echoes of screams and the palpable fear in the air. Even though Grimmauld Place was expertly hidden by Dumbledore, the sounds and feelings of the outside world remained ever present, drifting through the atmosphere. The winter snow flowed about him in a soft flurry, muffling the carnage so close by. The invisibility of Grimmauld Place gave the illusion of safety but Snape knew that eventually, the bloodshed would find them too.

This had all happened too fast.

The man knew that time was running out; he knew if Potter had succeeded in death there would be no hope at all for the Wizarding world at all, especially since Elisha had chosen her own end… but even more immediate, Snape knew anger and sadness were knocking against him, clouding his thoughts, his logic. He was enraged at himself, for his weakness, for his earlier actions, for his inherently pathetic nature… but he wasn’t angry with Harry. He understood where the boy was coming from, after all.

How could anyone, especially a young boy, be expected to handle the responsibility of saving the world from a madman? How could anyone shoulder the burden of Elisha’s life, her powers and her pain in addition to their own? How could Elisha expect Harry, so broken and unhealed, to take on her prowess?

Stupid girl.

No, his rage was directed elsewhere.

Snape stared down at his daughter’s tombstone, her name etched in soft cursive, the dates of her birth and death underneath. He remembered her as a child, happy and quiet and unaware of her abnormality. He remembered her as a teenager, locked away in his home—for her own safety, for his own safety. He remembered her sullen, sunken face, her glare. He remembered her laugh, the innocence she once held.

Images flooded him, so did tears.

“Are you happy now?” he whispered at the grave, his voice trembling. “Are you?”

*

That same day, Snape decided enough was enough. He stomped up the dusty stairs, walked away from a worried Lucius, passed the shut bedroom doors and knocked loudly on Harry’s door. The sound echoed throughout the eerily silent house.

The two boys inside the room jumped.

“Open up,” came the muffled voice behind the closed door.

Draco glanced at Harry, who was lying down on the musty bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, especially since the day had no sun. The two boys were shrouded in shadow. Snape knocked again, this time with more force, with growing impatience.

“Should I open it?” Draco whispered, his eyes gleaming with concern.

Harry looked away but made no response.

A third knock. Harder, louder, more frustrated.

“Okay, okay,” Harry conceded, sitting up as Draco leapt from the bed. Snape entered the room in one swift motion, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Harry sighed. It seemed as though everything and everyone around him were smothered in misery. The man seemed thinner and more sallow then ever.

“It’s time to talk,” Snape said in a surprisingly commanding tone. He snapped the door shut behind him and leaned against a wall. “I know you’ve needed your space, Harry. I completely understand… but the situation outside of this house is becoming dire.”

“What do you mean?” Harry croaked, rubbing his eyes. He felt dazed and sick from days of doing nothing. His brain was turning quickly, trying to refocus on how to move his mouth, move his thoughts.

Snape blinked, as if confused by Harry’s question.

“You’re not aware of what’s happening?” the man asked. “Dumbledore hasn’t spoken to you lately?”

“No,” Harry said, moving to the edge of the bed where Draco sat. Draco’s pale, thin hands were clasped together tightly. “Everyone has left me alone.”

Snape clenched his teeth.

“Now it’s time for you to become involved with everyone again,” Snape whispered. “I don’t advocate ignoring what has transpired these past few days, but if we don’t collectively take action against the Dark Lord, if we don’t sit down with Dumbledore and other members of the Order and formulate a plan involving you, if you don’t begin to harness your newfound powers, the Dark Lord will emerge victorious.”

Harry stared, unsure what to say. His brain was still whirring.

“What’s happening outside?” Harry murmured softly.

Snape closed his eyes. Where to begin? He himself had gone to fight on the few occasions Dumbledore needed his assistance. Snape tried to push away thoughts of the bodies he had seen, lost and crying children, of blood smearing the streets, of the blackness of the sky, of the Dark Mark hanging over countless homes, of members of the Order injured or maimed—

“Though we aren’t certain,” Snape began, after mastering his emotions, “we believe that the Dark Lord has uncovered, or at least begun to understand, the spells Elisha performed against him. More importantly, we believe that the Dark Lord is discovering why she would do such a thing—”

“How do you know something like that?” Harry interjected. The boy didn’t know how it happened, but he felt suddenly awake, alert; his heart jolted uncomfortably against his ribs. He almost forgot Draco was near him, he was so focused on the news Snape delivered. “You’re no longer a spy, and neither is Lucius Malfoy.”

“Be that as it may,” Snape retorted, “we still have our sources and resources for uncovering information.”

Harry scoffed.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like torture,” Snape said matter-of-factly, almost coldly. The man remembered so recently how he had captured a fellow Death Eater, how he and Dumbledore had tortured the man into near incoherence, demanding to have their questions answered. They hadn’t killed the Death Eater, but left him soaking in a pile of his own blood and vomit, perhaps unconsciously leaving a sign to Voldemort that the Light was willing to fight fire with fire. It was through that Death Eater that they learned so much of the information they had complied, how through that Death Eater, Dumbledore was forming new plans, gathering new followers, and fighting with even more determination.

Harry opened his mouth in shock but Snape held his hand up to stop him from speaking again.

“Once more, if we all sit down and discuss a plan of action with Dumbledore, we can move forward in winning back the sanity of the world outside of this place,” Snape said forcefully. “We don’t have time for you to ask me a million questions, Harry. Perhaps if it were a different day, perhaps if the world wasn’t falling apart at the seams, then I would be willing to answer you.”

There was a long pause in the room, where Harry couldn’t help but glare at Snape, because he knew the man's words were right, that they were true.

“What we need to do now is go downstairs. The Order is going to have a meeting very soon. They are aware of what has happened with Elisha… and of the powers she transferred to you,” Snape continued. “I ask that you muster the courage to come to the meeting, and that you begin to accept your fate.”

My fate, Harry thought. He hung his head in shame.

Elisha didn't sacrifice her life so Harry could hole himself up in a room, so he could refuse reality. Elisha didn't die so that he could try to end his own life, so that he could allow himself to be overcome with misery and pain. She ended her life so that he could live a full one, so that the world could finally live in peace. She had made the ultimate sacrifice... and it was Harry's responsibility to honor her.

Snape’s right. I can’t keep hiding.

Harry glanced up into Snape’s tunnel-like eyes. For a long moment, he felt as if he were looking at Elisha. What would she say in that moment? Harry closed his eyes; he imagined her smile, her determination, and perhaps it was because she had given him her emotions, Harry felt that same determination suddenly flow through him, coursing through his blood, his brain, his body.

Elisha and I will always be together.

"Okay," Harry said, his voice much stronger than before. “Let’s go.”

*

Somewhere, deep beneath the London Underground, the Death Eaters gathered in a circle around their master. Voldemort paced near them, his cold, red eyes burning through each member; his eyes were vicious beams trying to break through their secrets, their hidden thoughts. They were in a cavernous, well-hidden room. Somewhere in the distance, women were screaming, begging to be freed. The horrible sound echoed off the walls.

The Dark Lord paid them no heed.

“There must be a way,” Voldemort whispered as he paced past his followers, “to break the spell on the home where Harry Potter is hiding.”

No one said a word. Voldemort kept pacing, like a caged animal ready to attack.

“Someone here must know who the Secret Keeper is,” Voldemort continued, glancing around at the silent Death Eaters. No one dared to speak. The Dark Lord suddenly stopped, staring straight at the mask of one of his followers. “Nott,” he snarled. “You were good friends with the Malfoys. Is that correct?”

“Yes, my Lord,” came the answer behind the mask.

“Good. Then I expect you to figure out where Lucius Malfoy is hiding. Now that he is in league with Dumbledore, he will have information about Potter’s whereabouts. It will be difficult to get Dumbledore, but we can kidnap Lucius. He should know how to break the spell concealing that boy.”

“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Nott.

Voldemort waved him away with a flick of his frightening, ice white hand.

“Go,” Voldemort snarled. Nott, privately grateful that he was kept alive, turned on his heel and Apparated from the circle. The rest of the Death Eaters waited, with bated breath to see what Voldemort would say next.

“Avery, step forward.”

The masked Death Eater did as he was commanded. There was an obvious limp in his step, as if he had been injured.

“Most of you do not know this,” the Dark Lord murmured, his voice danger, “but Avery was captured by Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore two nights ago. They tortured information out of him. At the very least, we know the traitor and the Muggle lover are alive and well.”

No one said a word. Voldemort pulled his wand from within his robe.

“So for that, I thank you, Avery,” Voldemort snarled. He smiled. “But you have finished your duties with me.”

“My Lord—!” Avery gasped, but Voldemort was too quick. With a flash of green light, the man fell to a heap on the ground. The other Death Eaters shook with fear. Would Voldemort kill them all tonight? Would he show them mercy? Who else had been captured, had given information to the other side?

“There has been too much play and not enough work being done lately,” Voldemort continued, stepping callously over Avery’s body. “Ignore your bloodlust for now, my Death Eaters. There will be much time to rape and pillage later on… We must focus now on one thing.”

There was a long pause, before Voldemort whispered with a smile: “We must find and kill Harry Potter.”

*

Harry felt as though he had the wind knocked out of him. There were so many people, so many sets of eyes glued to him. After weeks of being stuck in Grimmauld Place, after days of seeing no one but Draco, this was too much of a change. Harry had almost forgotten there were other people out in the world.

Snape had led him and Draco to the bottommost floor of the house, to the basement kitchen, only to encounter the room bursting to the brim with scores of people, not just members of the Order. Somewhere in the distance, Harry spotted a cluster of flaming red hair and breathed in a sigh of relief. At least the Weasley’s are okay.

But the room itself was bursting. The long dining table had been pushed to the side of the brightly lit room. Dumbledore was at the furthest end of the room. He seemed heightened by a podium of some sort. He towered above the rest as he made a speech. Each head was facing the old wizard, away from Harry and Draco and Snape, but when they entered the room, all pairs of eyes snapped their way. Dumbledore’s words were lost.

Harry grimaced and felt himself turning red from embarrassment.

After a moment, there was a shout.

“Harry!” came Ron and Hermione’s muffled yelps from a corner of the room. He saw his friends struggling forward to meet him, pushing disgruntled and tired looking witches and wizards out of their way.

Harry closed his eyes as his friends launched themselves to him, Hermione’s hug particularly rib crushing. The boy’s arms found his way to Ron and Hermione and held them close. Perhaps they would have stayed that way if it weren’t for Dumbledore’s interruption.

“I’m glad to see you’ve decided to join the fray, Harry,” Dumbledore said. The boy could hear the smile in the man’s tone.

The silence of the room was broken with soft whispers. People were craning to get a better look at the mysterious Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who was dogged by incredible and never ending rumors. Many people thought he was ill or dying. Others thought he was hiding in cowardice from Voldemort. Some thought he had died. Many did not expect to see him. Others were appalled at his appearance. He used to have such a healthy, ruddy look about him but now, as he stood before them, the changes were incredibly evident. He had grown unnaturally thin and sickly looking, a beard began forming on his face, and he was shrouded in all black, every part of his body covered.

The Wizarding world was used to a different Harry—a much stronger man.

Now, before them, were the remnants of a broken one, battered by his uncle, destroyed by internal trauma, the loss of his sister, the pain of confusion and the depletion of his will to live… but Harry was trying to hold on, to remember why he needed to remain alive, why he needed to honor what Elisha had done.

The boy released Ron and Hermione, and tried to muster as much confidence as possible when he spoke next. He held his head high, and looked past the crowd of staring people, looked straight to the head of the crowd.

“I’m here,” Harry said to Dumbledore. “I want to know what’s going on. I want to help in any way I can.”

And to Harry’s surprise, the room erupted in a booming cheer. Ron and Hermione beamed up at him, and when Harry glanced at Draco, he saw the gleam of pride in his lover’s eyes.

Maybe I can do this after all, Harry thought.

He couldn’t help but smile.

TBC
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Endurance