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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Nine

From below, seated underneath the shade of a giant oak, Snape put his book down. He had been reading for a few minutes, but found himself distracted, glancing back up every couple of seconds to check on Harry. The boy seemed elated, flying through the empty pitch with superb ease, reveling in his happiness as the wind whipped his skin bright red. The boy seemed at peace.

Snape hoped the peace would not be temporary, though he knew Harry had a long way to reach recovery. The man sighed, resigning himself to read again, but as he picked up his book once more, something caught his eye. He had been watching Harry so intently that he did not register the other person flying around the pitch too. Startled, Snape pushed himself up, so his back was as straight as a board. He squinted to try to make out the extra figure. There was only one person it could be though he couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t taken her broom out all summer, preferring to lock herself in the cool indoors of the castle… Why had she decided to fly today?

Harry, separate from Snape’s musings, still had not realized he was not alone. He made a swift left turn, sighing with pleasure as the wind caressed him, blew over him, sharp and refreshing. Harry closed his eyes, allowing the broom to maneuver him wherever it pleased; it seemed to take commands from Harry’s thoughts rather than his hands, and the boy smiled as he felt a slight lurch in his stomach from going down.

But suddenly there was the echo of a yelp from below. Harry’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head back to catch the small speck of Snape, yelling something up at Harry. The boy could not understand him from such a height so he decided to descend again. That’s when he saw her. There was no time to register each other because they were flying too fast. Harry caught a quick glimpse of her big, black eyes widened with surprise. She tried in vain to jerk her broom away from Harry’s oncoming figure but it was no use. Harry tried to spin around in the opposite direction but the two went reeling into each other; she crashed hard into his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. Harry barely heard her scream as she tumbled back to earth.

The boy gripped the handle of his Firebolt tightly; he clamped his eyes shut, his body falling and falling—

He stopped with abrupt, invisible force.

He was halted a few centimeters from the ground before making contact with a soft thud. Harry opened his eyes again, breathing ragged as he sat up. Snape stood before him, his wand extended, his eyes mingled with shock and worry. To Harry’s right, Elisha was lying on the grass. Her eyes were open and staring toward the sky. She did not move.

“Are you two injured? Do you need the hospital wing?” Snape asked quickly, rushing forth toward Harry and Elisha.

“I’m fine,” Harry said in a small voice, wondering if Elisha was okay too.

He looked over at her again and was surprised to find her grinning at him. Harry thought she was eerily beautiful.

“Sorry,” she said only to Harry, finally sitting up. She brushed twigs and dirt out of her long, wavy black hair. “I was caught in my own head.”

“Yeah, me too,” Harry confessed, smiling back at her.

The two seemed to have forgotten Snape was hovering over them because the man was staring at his daughter in confusion. He wasn’t sure he ever remembered her smiling—perhaps when she was a little girl—but that was so many years ago. Her face glowed pink and she looked…content. Not happy, but certainly not her usual miserable self.

Snape cleared his throat. Two pairs of eyes snapped on him. Elisha scowled and looked away, grabbing the handle of her broomstick.

“Well, I’ll go back to reading then,” he said impassively.

He turned on his heel, still wondering why Elisha seemed to like a complete stranger more than her own father. Frustrated, Snape resumed his post underneath the tree, turning a page of his book with so much force it ripped clean off. He cursed under his breath.

The two teenagers were left alone.

Harry, who had been examining Elisha closely, looked away, suddenly shy. When he stole a look back, her eyes clicked with his. The boy wasn’t sure what to say or do around her, especially since they hadn’t conversed before, especially since they had not spoken since he woke from his coma. Elisha, like her father, seemed impassive, her face perfectly arranged in a smooth, emotionless expression.

“So…” Harry started, clearing his throat and glancing over at his Firebolt. “Do you enjoy Quidditch?”

“Very much so,” was her terse answer.

“How long have you been flying?”

“For a few years now,” she said, now looking at Harry with benign interest. She smiled slightly. “A friend from home taught me. What about yourself?”

“Since I came to Hogwarts,” Harry answered, locking his gaze with hers. He examined her curiously and could not help saying, “I haven’t seen you around the school before.”

Her slight smile slipped from her face.

“No, I don’t expect you would have. I’ve never been to a school.”

There was a trace of bitterness in her words. It cut her quiet voice, making it harsher, graver. Harry had the brief impression he was speaking to Snape in one of his angry moods. The boy wondered whether or not he should ask her why it was she was never schooled, but decided that was too personal, too rash. Perhaps there would be a time in the future when she would tell him on her own; instead he moved back to Quidditch.

“Well…” he hesitated, “maybe you and I could play Quidditch sometime. It might be hard with the two of us but we could modify it a little bit… Who taught you to play anyway?”

Her frown vanished and was replaced by her slight smile again.

“That would be nice,” she said softly. “My friend Draco taught me.”

Harry froze, his mouth agape, his mind reeling at the name.

“Malfoy?” he stammered, taken aback.

Elisha looked bewildered.

“Yes. Draco Malfoy. Do you know him?”

Harry wasn’t sure how to answer. Of course he knew Malfoy, the bane of his existence since the moment he stepped in to Hogwarts. Harry surveyed Elisha, wondering what kind of person she could be if she was friends with Malfoy—Malfoy, so cold, cruel, a bully… Elisha did not seem anything like that… Perhaps she and Malfoy were good friends. Why else would he have taught her how to fly?

“Er—we’re classmates,” Harry said awkwardly.

Harry swore he caught a ghost of a smirk cross her face, but she masked it immediately.

“Yes, Draco’s mentioned you,” she said cryptically.

Harry blinked.

“You…you haven’t told him about this summer, have you?” Harry asked, not bothering to bite back the nervous uneasiness in his voice.

“Of course not,” she whispered. “I respect your privacy.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

There was a long pause between the two; Harry felt somewhat deflated, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Elisha looked over at him every few seconds, as though worried she had said something rude.

“Well, shall we fly again?” she finally asked.

“I—um, no. I’m going back to the castle. I have to see Madame Promfrey,” Harry said listlessly, standing up at the same time.

Elisha gave a small, “Oh” as Harry walked away from her. Neither smiled at each other, neither said another word. She remained on the ground for some time after, watching Harry’s form disappear up a hill and toward the entrance hall. As Harry stepped forth into the hall, she was suddenly flooded with an image of Draco, a memory, but it was not hers—she knew it immediately to be Harry’s. The blonde was pointing to a badge on his chest; it was bright green and glowing and read ‘Potter Stinks’. He was laughing, but not the soft, gentle laugh she was used to. This laugh was wild, cruel, meant to cause pain.

The girl snapped her eyes shut and pushed the memory from her mind, forcing herself to close off to Harry, a bit frightened that she was picking up on his emotions and thoughts with such frequency, but even more frightened at seeing that side of Draco.

Harry, meanwhile, trudged slowly back up to the castle, unaware that Elisha had just caught a glimpse of his memory of Malfoy. The castle doors opened automatically for him and he clambered up many flights of stairs, wondering if he should have told Snape he left. Slightly worried, he finally made it to the hospital wing. He opened the doors to find the mediwitch in deep conversation with Dumbledore and on Dumbledore’s shoulder—

“Hedwig!” Harry cried.

He dropped his broom and rushed into the otherwise empty wing. The two adults turned immediately to the doorway. Dumbledore gave Harry his serene smile as did the mediwitch. Harry’s owl, catching sight of her master, bellowed a soft hoot and gracefully flew on to Harry’s extended arm.

The boy pet her snowy white head, and his animal closed her eyes in contentment, reunited at last. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, stunned.

“She came to me a few weeks ago,” Dumbledore said softly, stepping forward and examining Harry with a piercing gaze. “I hope you will find her happy and well cared for.”

“Yes,” Harry whispered. “Yes, she is. Thank you, Professor.”

Dumbledore smiled.

“Well, I will let you get on with your check-up. I daresay Madame Promfrey is rather desperate to make sure you’re recovering properly,” the Headmaster said in his soft tones. He bid farewell to the mediwitch, who stood by her office looking nervous and haughty. Dumbledore turned back to Harry.

“How is everything so far with Professor Snape?” Dumbledore asked.

“Fine,” Harry said as Hedwig moved up to his shoulder now. “He—he’s been treating me well.”

The Headmaster nodded.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. He paused and continued, “Now, when you’re ready Harry, I urge you to come to my office so we can finish our discussion. Take all of the time you need but we have much to discuss. I’ve been much taken to fizzing whizbees, so you know.” He gave Harry a tiny wink.

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said quietly.

Dumbledore beamed at him.

“I hope to see you soon,” the Headmaster said as he walked toward the doorway. “Good day to you.”

And he left. Harry remained where he stood for some time as Promfrey approached him, clicking her tongue impatiently as she inspected him quickly.

“Come now,” she urged, putting him on the nearest bed. “This will be fast, I promise.”

Harry deliberately held his arms close to his lap, clasping his hands together. Promfrey poked and prodded him with her wand, muttering things to herself as she checked him. Harry knew her intentions were good—and he was grateful she was taking care of him—but he did not want her to see the scars on his arms. It was a miracle she hadn’t noticed them before, but his bruises were fading, slowly but surely, and the marks he left on himself were becoming clearer and clearer. Harry sat for a few uncomfortable minutes while she finished up; she brushed over his arms without realizing what was there (Harry let out a sigh of relief) and after half an hour and a few glasses of bitter potion later, he was allowed to leave.

It was when Harry stepped out of the hospital wing and back into the dark, cool corridors of the castle that he realized he had absolutely no idea where Snape lived.

Clutching his broom tightly in his right hand, while petting a snoozing Hedwig with his left, he marched downstairs, glancing around for a familiar portrait or solitary steel knight, but nothing came to him. He passed by the third corridor again and again but he did not stumble upon Snape’s familiar door.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered after what seemed like an hour of pointless searching.

He sat down on the staircase, wondering if he should just go back outside, when quite suddenly, another body sat down next to him. Harry jumped and turned. It was Elisha.

“Er—hello,” Harry said, still surprised.

“Is that your owl?” Elisha asked, pointing to the sleeping animal.

Harry nodded.

“She’s very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

“You don’t like Draco Malfoy,” Elisha suddenly said. It was not a question, but a fact.

Harry gaped at her.

“I—what?”

“You don’t like him.”

“H-how do you know that?” he asked her, stunned.

She shrugged.

“I can tell.” She stood up from the staircase. “But he’s not that bad.”

Harry snorted. She frowned.

“It doesn’t do well to push people away when they want to be your friend,” she said.

Harry blinked.

“Malfoy wants to be my friend?” he asked incredulously.

She looked away before whispering, “Yes.”

“Well maybe he should change his attitude then,” Harry said, suddenly angry as he stood up. “I get the feeling you and I know two very different sides to Malfoy.”

“Perhaps we do,” she said quietly. “But a general lack of kindness is usually a sign of insecurity.”

“How do you know Malfoy’s been unkind to me?”

And there it was, the ghost of a smirk again. The smile left her face as quickly as it had come.

“Like I said before,” she whispered. “Draco’s mentioned you.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown. He didn’t like this conversation at all, so he decided to change it.

“Could you take me back to your fath—I mean, Snape’s quarters please?” he asked.

She looked at him, suddenly worried. She could feel his annoyance ebbing into her brain.

“I-I’ve offended you,” she whispered.

“What? No, not at all,” Harry said, stepping forward to close the space between them.

They were close, so close, he could count her black eyelashes. Her skin, the boy noted, was so porcelain and clear and her cheekbones were strong. She was skinny and slightly shorter than Harry. She looked up at him; her black eyes, from where he stood, gleamed in the dim candlelight. Up close, they were unlike her father’s; Snape’s eyes, it seemed, were always cold, closed off, protecting the man, but Elisha’s…hers were more vulnerable now, shining, open.

“I would like to be your friend,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“You would?” Harry asked.

“Yes.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Harry extended his hand out to her, very much like he had done with Snape. She clasped it with a handshake as strong as her father’s. When Harry’s skin made contact with Elisha’s, however, something different happened—it tingled. He felt a sudden onslaught of radiating power from her, as if it were bursting to be free from her body through her fingertips. He felt suddenly relaxed, at ease, brimming with confidence, just like he had felt not so long ago—

“How—how are you doing that?” Harry whispered, not letting go of her. “You did that to me when I was in the hospital wing… You… you helped me feel better by touching my shoulder—”

“I don’t know how I do it,” she whispered sadly and let go of him abruptly.

“You must be very powerful,” Harry responded in awe.

She looked away from him, staring down the empty corridor, her eyes suddenly blank.

“I am,” she said. “I am.”

*

The two walked back to Snape’s quarters in silence. Elisha left Harry and walked into her bedroom, clicking her door softly behind her. The boy made his way toward his room at the furthest end of the apartment. He found Snape seated at his desk, pouring over piles of papers and books. The man looked up when he heard Harry.

“Everything okay?” Snape asked, peering at Harry from behind a stack of documents.

Harry nodded.

“I’m going to clean myself up,” the boy said.

“I’ll have lunch ready soon, if you’re hungry,” was Snape’s soft reply.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

The boy left the man alone. Snape sighed and did not touch anything on his desk again.

Much later that evening, almost near one in the morning, Harry was having an uneasy sleep.

He dreamt that he was flying around the Quidditch pitch again, except a full game was in session. The stands were crowded with bodies, people screaming, cheering, waving flags and banners. The day was crisp and clear and Harry shielded his eyes from the sun. He turned to the left, swerving expertly, attempting to locate the snitch but something else caught his eye— golden, flaxen hair.

Malfoy.

The other boy turned on his broom to face Harry. The two stared at each other silently, the only sounds behind them being the crowd yelling and the soft whoosh of other players as they passed by. Malfoy’s grey eyes examined Harry; it was the same piercing gaze Elisha had, but there was no anger or vindication behind the look. Harry wanted to say something to Malfoy; he wanted to tell him something personal, something secret but then the dream changed.

Harry was back in his bedroom at Privet Drive. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He knew what was coming. The bedroom door opened and there was Vernon Dursley, cackling wickedly, fat hands bursting with rope—

Harry awoke, screaming. Sweat plastered him to his sheets and the boy struggled to break free of them, yanking his pajamas off in the process. Trembling, he fell from the bed and pulled his glasses from the nightstand on to his face. Harry remained on the floor for some time, trying to master his breathing, trying to calm his body, his pumping blood, his heart, his brain.

It was just a dream, it was just a dream.

He felt his heart rate slow down.

You’re safe now.

He could breathe without tightness in his chest.

You’re safe. You never have to go back.

Harry stood. His knees were trembling.

He felt the urge then as his body became upright. The urge to grab metal and tear at his skin, the urge to feel sharp, piercing pain, the urge to distract himself. He remembered Snape’s words, that he could come to him when needed and Harry hoped it wasn’t too late now, because he needed someone, anyone, who could understand.

He needed Snape.

TBC
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Endurance