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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author’s Note: I won’t be near a computer for a few days so this will be last chapter I write until next week. Enjoy!

Four

Snape appeared on the Hogsmeade road closest to Hogwarts, materializing from thin air. Balancing Harry’s unconscious body in his arms while waving his wand, he produced a Patronus. The silver doe erupted forth in a flash of dazzling light, pawing calmly around Snape and Harry.

“Go!” he choked at it, barely able to breathe from shock. “Go to the castle! Tell Dumbledore I have found Potter— Tell him Potter is dying!”

The doe cantered away, almost flying towards Hogwarts, lighter than wind. Snape broke into a run after it, sprinting faster than his legs had ever carried him; he ignored the heaviness in his arms, the wan body wasting away before him, the sharp pain in his back from holding the extra weight. He cursed his inability to Apparate onto the grounds, worrying that Potter might expire at any moment in his arms. Don’t die, Snape thought wildly, Don’t die! The scenery blazed past him in a blur of trees, plants – He wound up a rougher path, not stopping to breathe though his lungs began to scream in protest. He passed the Forbidden Forest.

He was close.

The front entrance of the castle was coming up from behind a large hill. Snape bounded toward it, mastering the physical pain of running without stopping, of not having taken a decent breath since leaving the Muggles …

When he approached the entrance, the castle smothered in early morning fog, the heavy wood doors burst open with the sound of an exploding cannon; it was almost as if the castle knew how urgently he needed to be there. Snape shot up flights of stairs, past confused portraits, racing toward the hospital wing. It was on the third floor when he nearly fell over an unexpected person – the girl. Snape almost crashed over her but she threw herself out of the way in time, pressing her back against a wall and watched in silent horror as Snape continued running with a body, continued jumping up stairs, skipping steps at a time.

Finally, he reached the hospital wing. He kicked open the closed doors with his leg.

“Poppy!” he shrieked, running toward an empty bed. “Poppy! Get out here now!”

From the furthest end of the wing, the nurse came bolting in her nightgown. She dropped a mug of tea she was holding and it fell to the floor, breaking into hundreds of pieces. Frightened, she stumbled toward Snape.

“Severus! What—”

But she froze mid-sentence, staring at the body wrapped in soiled linen, white cloth slowly stained with blossoms of fresh blood. She blinked in shock when she registered the unconscious face. Snape saw the color draining from her skin but she recovered herself quickly.

“Put him on a bed!” she screamed and she turned around to fetch her medical equipment.

Snape obliged her, gently placing Potter’s body on the bed nearest him; he held Harry’s head gingerly, his dark eyes scanning the break in his forehead, the thin scar protruding from skin, so deathly white, corpse-like … Snape barely noticed when Poppy returned, her arms brimming with bottles, her wand, strange metal instruments. He was staring at the closed eyes of the boy, hoping against hope that he would survive.

“Sit Severus!” Poppy barked. With a swipe of her arm, she pushed him out of her way, grabbed the privacy curtains around the bed, bringing them between herself and Snape.

Snape stared at the yellow curtain, blinking furiously. He could only hear the quick sounds Poppy was making; uncapping bottles, pouring liquid medicine, muttering incantations, the gentle clink of metal. The man suddenly bent over double, clutching his side as a stitch formed, his body painfully aware that it could breathe again. He wanted to sink into the nearest chair, but as he turned he came crashing into Potter’s trunk and possessions; Snape forgot they were even there.

He cursed as he heard the sound of another pair of feet. Snape threw himself out from behind the floating trunk to see Dumbledore, also in his night-things. The old wizard bounded forward with surprising agility, his wand out and ready, face more lined than ever with worry, fear. Dumbledore’s electric eyes met Snape’s dark ones. Neither man, however, noticed the girl; she stood by the doorway, staring at the privacy curtains blankly, her thin arms wrapped around her chest, as if protecting herself.

“What has happened here Severus?” Dumbledore whispered, moving so that he and Snape were inches apart.

Snape shut his eyes, willing away the fear that threatened to overtake him.

“I found Potter,” Snape began. He wanted to give a full explanation of the scene, what he saw, what the Muggle confessed but he stopped. He could not control his voice from shaking, his teeth from chattering as though he had just been dipped in a tub of ice water. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder; a firm squeeze. He opened his eyes and looked into Dumbledore’s.

“Is he alive?” Dumbledore asked.

But before Snape could answer, Poppy’s voice burst from behind the curtain.

“Yes, he is alive Headmaster!” she yelled shakily and continued to work on the boy.

Dumbledore sighed.

“That is all we can hope for,” he said to the quiet room. His hand still on Snape’s shoulder, he escorted the trembling younger man to a seat. Snape gladly sank down, burying his face in his hands.

“Severus, you did all that you could,” Dumbledore said gently.

Did I? Snape thought. He grimaced, glad no one could see his face. He felt weak, confused; he was always so controlled, always with a smooth mask of emotional indifference. But now, he was broken over a boy he thought he hated. Why did he suddenly care? Did I do everything I could have? Snape thought again, not listening to Dumbledore as he continued speaking. No, a smaller voice said, hiding somewhere in the furthest parts of his head. No you didn’t. You should have killed the Muggle.

“I should have,” Snape said out loud.

Dumbledore surveyed the man carefully, hiding his surprise at Snape’s reaction.

Both men heard the sound of curtains being pulled, opening. Snape’s head shot up and he was met with a brief glimpse of Potter’s body on the bed, now clean and blood-free but still paler than ever. Poppy had mended the open gash on his forehead, but could do nothing for the bruises snaking up Harry’s skinny, wasting arms; luckily for Harry, however, the bruises were so dark and vast that the mediwitch did not notice his self-inflicted wounds. She had pulled his arms down by his side and placed his head on a pile of pillows; a clean sheet covered his naked body, tucked in neatly over his bare, bony chest.

She emerged from behind the curtain, closing it again around the unconscious boy. Poppy was trembling so violently she almost ripped the curtain down.

“He’s been beaten,” Poppy whimpered, her voice anguished. “Headmaster, he’s been assaulted.” She choked. “He’s been raped.”

The words echoed across the hospital wing with terrible finality. Dumbledore’s eyes were suddenly blazing, in rage or disgust, Snape could not tell.

“How recently?” Dumbledore asked.

Poppy did not bite back a sob: “This morning! Today!”

Dumbledore, again with surprising agility, rushed forward and grabbed the horrified mediwitch before she could crumple to the floor. Snape hadn’t even risen from his seat in time. Dumbledore held Poppy’s shoulders firmly, looking into her face.

“But he is alive?” Dumbledore said.

“Y-yes but—”

“Will he recover?” Dumbledore pressed urgently.

Poppy let out a fresh shriek.

“Oh, Albus!” she wailed, shaking so violently Dumbledore shook with her. “He might recover if he ever wakes – He’s in a coma!”

With a thud, Poppy fell to the ground, sobbing. She was not the only one. The girl, who had been standing quietly in the doorway wept softly, wiping streaming tears with the back of her hand; Dumbledore, shocked, stood rigid, as though struggling to accept this news; Snape buried his face in his hands again but continued to hold back the grief that threatened to erupt from him.

*

“I need you to tell me everything Severus.”

Dumbledore’s soft voice met Snape’s ears. The two were removed from the hospital wing, now seated face-to-face in Dumbledore’s office. The morning sun was pouring in through the high window, illuminating Dumbledore’s bright white hair, his crooked nose, his concerned gaze.

Snape looked back at him blankly.

“I know it is difficult, Severus, but you have always been brave.”

Snape made a noise between a cough and sputter, but Dumbledore pressed him.

“I need to know what happened. We need to contact the Muggle authorities soon and we must keep this hidden from the Wizarding press. We need to tell Poppy all the details you know so she may better care for Harry.”

“Yes,” Snape said slowly.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, and waited patiently for Snape to begin. The younger man forced his mind to reel through the images of the morning, as though a movie had begun playing in his head.

“They had him tied to a bed,” Snape started, quietly so his voice was barely audible. “The Muggle—his uncle, I mean to say. I don’t think the wife was aware of what he had been doing. I don’t know how long Potter was tied up. There was rope around both his wrists and ankles...” A pause. “The Muggle told me he raped him. I don’t know if today was a singular instance.”

Dumbledore sighed, the twinkle in his eyes permanently extinguished.

“He was bruised—his body … you saw, Dumbledore, you saw his body.” Dumbledore nodded gravely as Snape broke off. “That—that is all.”

“Was the uncle behaving suspiciously?” Dumbledore asked.

Snape nodded.

“He told me the boy wasn’t home. Ridiculous excuse, really, considering the time. I knew something was wrong before I stepped into the house.”

“What led you to believe that?”

“The car. There was a car in the driveway. Two dents on the hood; one dent was small but the other was in the outline of a figure. Given how I found Potter, I have no doubt that dent was made by his body.”

Another pause.

“I should have killed him,” Snape whispered.

Dumbledore shook his head and opened his mouth to say something, but Snape cut him off, his dark eyes suddenly ablaze.

“But how could you—?” he hissed, leaning forward in his chair, black, unblinking orbs meeting blue. “How could you let the boy live under those people for sixteen years?”

“Severus, I was never aware that Harry was being abused. If I had known—”

“What if this isn’t the first instance?” Snape yelled, becoming more infuriated by the second. “What if he was being raped, tortured for years—?”

“Again Severus, if I had known—”

“If you had known! That’s all you can say?” Snape snarled, leaping up from the chair.

Dumbledore eyed the other man curiously.

“Tell me, have you grown to feel concern for the boy?” Dumbledore asked, a slight twinkle back in his eyes. “Could you finally care—?”

“Of course I care!” Snape cried, grabbing a paperweight in his frustration and launching it toward a wall, so that a glass cabinet shattered behind Dumbledore. Fawkes and Potter’s owl awoke to the sound with loud screeches. Dumbledore did not so much as flinch as glass rained around him. “How could I not care? You didn’t see what I saw!”

Snape was breathing heavily, as though he had run a long distance.

“And you sit there, not having witnessed what I witnessed,” the Potions Master growled, half hysterical, his voice shaking. “You sit there, sheltered by your office and the school and you ask me if I care!”

“You have seen far more atrocious things, Severus,” Dumbledore said calmly, standing up and waving his wand so that his office repaired itself. Fawkes and the owl grew silent. “You have seen deaths of innocent people, of men, women, children… You have committed murders as a double agent for me. You have witnessed rapes. And yet, this is what breaks you.”

“I—you…you—” Snape stammered incoherently.

“You must love Harry very much if you—”

“NO!”

Snape pulled his wand from his jacket pocket and pointed it between Dumbledore’s eyes. Dumbledore eyed the wand warily, but was not afraid.

“I do not love Potter,” Snape uttered in a deadly whisper, walking around the desk so his wand pressed into Dumbledore’s forehead. “I cannot love Potter. You know who I love. W-who I have always loved...” His eyes were blazing, full to the brim with tears.

“Yes, I do know. Put the wand down, Severus,” Dumbledore said softly.

Trembling, Snape lowered the wand. He blinked, as if realizing for the first time where he was and what he had just done.

“M-my God,” he whispered. “Albus, forgive me—”

But the old man said nothing more. He moved forward swiftly, embraced the younger man like a son.

And Snape finally wept.

TBC
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Endurance