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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Five

There was a heavy, somber silence about the castle the first night Harry lay up in the hospital wing. The school was quieter than usual though there weren’t many occupants in its belly to begin with.

Dumbledore had trudged an unhappy Snape back to his living quarters. The man had not moved from his seat on a windowsill for hours. He was adrift in his thoughts as the sun sank away into the evening; he was hardly aware that the girl had also returned to the quarters, not aware that she observed him for quite some time before leaving the quarters again.

The man’s mind raced through the memories of the day, of Potter’s broken body, Potter’s blood, bruises… But other memories haunted him too, piling in Snape’s brain.

The big, bright green eyes and long, flyaway red hair of the woman he loved kept flashing before him. Sometimes it was her dazzling smile that temporarily stopped his breathing. The memory of her light touch on his shoulder caused Snape to bite back tears. He tried to will Lily Potter from his thoughts but he was gnawed with guilt at the way he had treated her son, the fact that he had always presumed Harry a pompous, spoiled child, the fact that his assumptions were entirely wrong and unfounded, the fact that he was not able to rescue Harry in time—

But the deepest, darkest guilt of all tore at him because he knew that so many years ago, he had vowed to protect Harry to honor Lily’s memory… And that night, he felt deficient.

For the first time in many years, Snape believed himself a failure.

*

Snape did not sleep well that evening; his few hours of uneasy rest were punctuated by strange dreams of disembodied green eyes and distant cries and yelps of pain. When he awoke for what seemed like the tenth time, the man spent quite a while staring at his ceiling before showering and dressing himself.

Without eating any breakfast, he walked from his quiet quarters and let his legs carry him to the hospital wing. He ignored his stomach’s irritating grumbles as he softly opened the doors of the wing. A surprising sight met his bleary eyes—the wing was empty except for two occupants; Harry, who still lay, unconscious and bruised, on his bed, and the girl. She was curled upright on a chair next to the boy’s bedside, her neck drooped downward toward her knees, her eyes closed and mouth open slightly in deep sleep.

“Hello Severus,” whispered a strained voice from the doorway.

Snape spun around only to find Dumbledore peering at him from the hall, his half moon spectacles dangling on the end of his crooked nose. The Headmaster wore dark night robes; he, like Snape, also bore the signs of having slept very little.

“Albus,” Snape whispered back, walking swiftly to join the older man by the doorway.

The two men watched Harry and the girl sleeping. Snape had never seen her more peaceful, despite the uncomfortable position she snoozed in.

“Your daughter seems to have taken to Harry,” Dumbledore said, a trace of a smile in his voice.

“I suppose,” Snape responded curtly.

She did indeed seem to have taken to the boy. Snape mulled over the surprise; how could she have gone from so severely anti-social to suddenly brimming with the need to connect? Or was it that she was merely repulsed by him, her father? Snape sighed. Her hatred of him was, he believed, justified, but it still did not soothe the sting of reality.

“Have you thought about what you will do to Potter’s uncle?” Snape asked after a long silence.

It was Dumbledore’s turn to sigh.

“I have informed the Muggle authorities of what has happened. I will not inform the Wizarding community of this tragedy. Harry has dealt with enough in his short life—he doesn’t need the rest of the world knowing he was abused.”

“No,” Snape said bitterly. “No, he does not.”

The two men remained standing in silence until the sun had risen fully beyond the vast hills and its light came pouring into the hospital wing. By the time the girl stirred awake, rubbing the tired from her eyes, her father and Dumbledore had vanished.

*

Snape returned each morning before dawn to check briefly on Harry. Some days, Madame Promfrey was awake, tending to the boy, opening his mouth and tipping in various potions and pills; other days, Dumbledore could be found leaning on the doorway, watching Harry with concern, but every day, Snape saw the girl by Potter’s bedside. Every day she was asleep when he snuck into the hospital wing, perched in her position by Harry’s bed.

Ten days elapsed since Snape had saved Harry, and it was the morning of the eleventh that a knock startled Snape from his bustling. He was in his small kitchen, brewing himself a lone cup of breakfast tea; he placed the mug down on his marble countertop and walked out of the kitchen and down the main hallway to the entrance door. He opened it.

Dumbledore stood in the doorway, smiling vaguely. He looked in high spirits.

“Good morning Severus,” he said. “May I come in?”

“Certainly, certainly…”

Snape shut the door behind him and followed Dumbledore’s swishing cloak as he turned at the end of the hall and waltzed into the dining area. Snape joined the Headmaster seated at the rough wooden dining table, his hands clasped, long fingers crossed over each other. Snape sat across from the older man.

“I have good news,” Dumbledore said, smiling more broadly now.

“And it is?”

“The Muggle authorities have captured and arrested Harry’s uncle; he is currently in prison awaiting trail. His wife and son remain in their home; neither seemed to know what was happening and both, I assure you, are horrified at what has occurred.”

“I certainly hope so,” Snape whispered, idly running his finger over a dent in the table.

“I trust that the authorities will deal with Harry’s uncle to the fullest extent of their power,” Dumbledore continued.

Snape merely nodded. The Headmaster peered out of the largest window in the dining room, observing the sky outside.

“Is that all?” Snape asked slowly.

Dumbledore sighed.

“No, no. There is one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“Well, Severus. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days. A lot of thinking about Harry.” He paused and then said, “I’ve wondered what we will do when he awakens from the coma.”

“What do you mean?” Snape asked.

“I spoke to Poppy earlier this morning and she informed me Harry is recovering much faster than she expected. At this rate, he can wake up at any moment. I have no doubt Harry will recover physically, especially in Poppy’s hands… But mental recovery? That is a different tale all together.” A sigh. “The boy has been through so much already, far more than most grown wizards have endured. Adding this situation to the mix worries me. There is, I believe, a great potential—a great danger, if you will—that Harry may harm himself in some way, especially if he cannot handle the pain of this situation—”

“What are you getting to?” Snape interrupted, sitting back in his chair and observing the other man coolly.

“The point I’m intending to make,” Dumbledore continued, an apologetic note in his voice, “The question I need answered is—Who will care for Harry’s shattered mental state for the rest of the summer? Perhaps beyond the summer?”

Snape blinked, at a loss for an answer. Figuring out how to handle the situation after Harry awoke had not crossed Snape’s mind once; his major concern lay in ensuring the boy recovered and remained alive…

“Well I suppose he has us,” Snape responded slowly.

Dumbledore smiled.

“That he does, but I wonder… I believe Harry needs someone who can fully empathize with his emotional turmoil, his strain…”

Dumbledore trailed off and his blue eyes studied a shocked Snape.

“You’re implying me, aren’t you?” Snape hissed, affronted. “What are you saying? That I’m some deranged—”

“I am merely stating a fact. Your past has been much more complicated, Severus. You have experienced true agony in a way I believe Harry would understand.”

Without his conscious awareness, Snape’s fingers suddenly found themselves rubbing his left arm, above the Dark Mark, where countless raised, deep scars mapped his pale skin… Snape glared at the Headmaster, whose blue eyes followed Snape’s fingers.

“Why can’t you do this, Albus? Or Poppy—”

The Headmaster’s face fell slightly.

“Given the events a few weeks ago, I doubt very much Harry will put full trust in me. Enough trust to recover—”

“And he will trust me?” Snape barked sarcastically. For the first time in months, he laughed out loud. “Come now, that is absurd. He and I have disliked each other from the moment we met—”

“Yet I daresay there has been a change in you recently, Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Snape did not protest but fell silent.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “Well…I, um… I suppose I could keep him under my care—”

Dumbledore grinned at Snape’s sudden bashfulness. Snape cursed inwardly.

“Well it’s settled then,” the Headmaster said, standing up suddenly. “I know this will be a little bit of an extra burden, caring for two teenagers, but I think you will be up to the task. I think Harry will appreciate your generosity.”

Snape made no answer but watched, as with a final smile, Dumbledore parted from his living quarters. The man did not move from his seat for quite some time.

*

Two more days had passed and Harry still remained in the coma. Again, Snape found himself in the doorway of the hospital wing on a foggy morning, observing Potter and his daughter. He was flanked by Dumbledore and Poppy. The soft sound of snores met their ears.

“I suppose I will return to my office,” Dumbledore announced to the quiet room. “Perhaps I can put an end to the little squabbles Fawkes and Harry’s owl have been having…” The ends of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched. With quiet nods from Snape and Poppy, he left.

The other man turned to the mediwitch but as he did, his daughter gave a sudden jolt in her chair, as if roused by a harsh dream. She did not wake, but unconsciously curled her knees to her chest before falling back into a deeper slumber. Snape stared at her.

“Has she eaten at all?” he asked Poppy.

The mediwitch shook her head.

“Refused everything I’ve given her.”

Snape frowned.

“But don’t worry Severus,” Poppy said reassuringly. “Next time she’s awake, I’ll ensure she eats something substantial.”

“Thank you,” Snape whispered. “But I’ll see to it that she eats. I’ll make her breakfast in my quarters. I should be back soon.”

He turned from the hospital wing, thinking of what food he would prepare. The mediwitch turned to Snape’s daughter in her father’s absence. She observed the girl for quite some time, wondering why the child behaved so oddly; Poppy had never witnessed a stranger teenager—quiet and pale as a ghost, thin and drowning in black clothing, always with a sulky expression on her otherwise pretty face… The mediwitch sighed as the girl jolted again, but this time awoke to find Poppy watching her.

“Good morning,” the mediwitch said quietly.

The girl nodded glumly and yawned.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in my office,” Poppy informed her.

The girl made no response as the mediwitch walked away. Only at the distant sound of a door closing, did she move forward in her chair. She stood up and closed the gap between her and Harry; he had been in her dreams, terrible dreams where she imagined him tortured, crying. Her face was contorted in sadness, big black eyes swimming with tears. She ran a finger down Harry’s cheek, overwhelmed with sadness.

For the first time since Harry was brought to the castle, she spoke.

“No one deserves this,” she whispered, her voice warm but pained. “No one deserves this. Not even the people that did this to you…”

*

He felt something rise in him, as though a light bulb had been turned on in his chest, right where his heart beat, encouraging it to continue beating on. He swore he heard the traces of a voice reverberating in his eardrums; it was calm, rich, caring. A kind voice that meant him no harm but only wished to protect. The voice was beautiful, safe, so unlike anything he had experienced that summer—

He felt too weak to make a sound, felt a sudden rush of stinging pain in his arms, his wrists. Too tired to open his eyes, he lay there and felt, with some surprise, something soft run over his cheek, down past his lips.

Where was he?

Harry wondered if he were dead. He realized, slowly, that the ropes once binding him were gone, and though he still had pain in his hands, he knew he was free. He stirred a little, willing himself to open his eyes and in an instant, felt the heavy softness on his cheek disappear. He heard a harsh gasp.

His unused eyelids began to open, blinking furiously as light flooded his retinas, poured color into his irises. He made out a blurry outline of a person standing above him, a thin figure shrouded in a misty white glow. It was as if that person, that being... were an angel. Happiness suddenly rushed through Harry—if he were dead, it would mean no more suffering, no more pain, he could finally see Sirius again, or his parents… Join them all in the adventures of the afterlife—

He blinked and realized the figure he mistook for an angel was swallowed in black clothes… But angels didn’t wear black, did they? Another blink revealed light coming in through a high window. Harry groaned, confused.

The figure came in to sharper focus. Even without his glasses, he could make out the vague shape of a girl, perhaps his age or a little older, staring down at him with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to morph words but it took many tries before anything came out. When it did, his voice was gruff from lack of use.

“I—Where…where am I?”

The girl sputtered, unable to speak. She backed up slowly, as though frightened and crashed directly into a chair, toppling over it and onto the ground. Harry sat bolt upright. There was the distant sound of a door bursting open… Harry blinked again and to his confusion, saw the school nurse staring at him in shock and disbelief.

“Madame Promfrey?” he asked weakly.

The woman suddenly burst into tears, weeping loudly. She rushed forward and threw her matronly arms around Harry.

“You’re alive! You’re alive!” she cried.

And Harry, unsure what to do, or what to think, let the woman cry on him. Though Promfrey, he thought, wept tears of joy, Harry did not ask her what was going on. Instead, he stared transfixed, at the girl before him. She had regained her footing and no longer looked frightened of Harry, but apprehensive. Her head was held high and her orbs fixed on his.

The two stared into each other’s eyes. Harry, stunned, understood instantly he was looking into depths identical to someone he knew very well, someone he despised. Her eyes, black and vast as dark tunnels. Eyes that threatened to engulf him in their blazing, calculating gaze.

Hers were the eyes of Severus Snape.

TBC
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Endurance