Hit the Floor

Chapter Twelve - Back to New

--

“What are you doing here?”

The animosity filled voice filtered through the comfortable darkness of unconsciousness. Harry wanted nothing more than to turn the voice off.

“That’s no concern of yours, Weasley.”

That voice, Harry knew all too well. Those two voices together meant very bad things. Harry wished desperately for his brain to go back to sleep, and only wake again after the inevitable confrontation had taken place.

“You don’t belong here! Harry doesn’t need you around when he wakes up, he’ll have his friends here with him!”

Ron was always the hot-headed one, Harry thought wearily. Sleep was looking less and less likely, because neither of the two voices would let the other have the last word.

“You fuckwit, you have no clue what you’re talking about!”

Draco sounded almost distraught. Harry was intrigued, and the darkness lifted a little more. Draco never showed emotion in front of others. Besides, there was nothing for Draco to be emotional about. Voldemort was dead, his father was most likely in captivity, and he certainly wouldn’t be upset about Harry’s condition.

“Just get out, Malfoy!”

Typical Ron, that was. He’d never been quick with the insults. That had been Harry’s job. Ron was the one who resulted to physical measures. The darkness lifted a bit more at that thought. A fight between o ano and Ron would be a Very Bad Thing.

“No! I’ll fucking stay if I want to!”

And that was typical Draco. No one told a Malfoy what to do, and got away with it.

“Ron! Calm down. Malfoy, what are you doing here?”

Hermione, the peacekeeper. Harry doubted it would do much good in this situation, however.

“That’s none of your business, Granger.”

Draco was actually being surprisingly civil to her, given the circumstances, Harry realized. He hadn’t even used his favorite nicknames for Harry’s best friends yet.

“It bloody well is, we’re Harry’s friends! Unlike you.”

“And just what the fuck have I been the past eight months? I’ve shared a room with him since September, eaten every meal with him too. I’ve been there, I’ve known what’s going on, and you two, all you’ve done is cause him grief!”

Harry was sure he was dreaming. That sounded like Draco had just admitted he was Harry’s friend. It also sounded like Draco had just defended Harry.

The thought made laugh, because Draco didn’t defend anyone but himself, least of all Harry Potter. It wasn’t until the arguing voices stopped he realized he’d laughed out loud.

“Harry?” Hermione gasped.

Harry opened his eyes cautiously, thankful to find the lights dimmed. Draco, Ron, and Hermione were all standing at the foot of his Her Hermione was standing between the two boys, a dangerous place to be, in Harry’s opinion.

Draco stalked around the side of the bed, and grabbed him by the front of his hospital gown. “Don’t you ever do something like that to me again, Potter!” he growled. Draco pressed Harry back into the pillows. “I’ve been out of my fucking mind for three days,” he yelled, eyes wide and hands shaking.

“Leave him alone!” Ron shouted, as he rushed forward to grab Draco.

Harry put out a trembling hand to stop him, pressing Draco’s hands to his chest with the other. “It’s okay, Ron. Just…just leave it.” There was a tightness to Draco’s features that wasn’t there before, had never been there before. Harry rubbed Draco’s hands softly. “He can stay. I want him to stay,” he added, as he met Draco’s gaze.

“Harry, you can’t be serious!” Ron yelled, moving forward again, before Hermione stopped him. She fixed that piercing gaze of hers on Harry for a moment, before tugging on Ron’s sleeve.

“What’s going on, Harry?” she asked softly.

He smiled briefly at her, before turning back to Draco. “Hi,” he said, giving Draco a lopsided grin.

Draco’s upper body fell forward, head resting on Harry’s chest. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Potter,” he whispered.

In the eight months Harry had spent with Draco, he had never seen Draco in a moment of weakness. Everything was done with confidence, arrogance, and elegance; to see him reduced to a trembling thing huddled against Harry’s chest was heart wrenching. To see him like that in front of Ron and Hermione was agonizing.

Harry wrapped his arm around Draco, rubbing his back gently. “I’m okay,” he whispered.

Draco finally raised his head, his face ashen and eyes bright.

“Don’t ever make me feel like that again,” he pleaded.

“I won’t,” Harry answered softly. He ignored the hitch in his breath that came with the realization he’d made Draco feel something.

“Good,” Draco said. He tightened his hands briefly, before pushing away from the bed completely. Harry watched, fascinated, as the mask slid back into place, the trembling stopped, and the Slytherin Prince stood before him.

Harry turned his attention back to his friends. Ron was staring at him with something akin to horror on his face, which was probably due more to the fact that it was Draco Malfoy Harry had just had in his arms. Hermione looked resigned.

“Are you…” she began.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t really want to talk about what he and Draco were, because he didn’t exactly know. He couldn’t explain it to Ron and Hermione, because he couldn’t explain it to himself.

Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey chose that moment to check up on her patient. She shooed everyone out of the curtained area, much to Harry’s relief.

--

Shortly after Madame Pomfrey had pronounced him in good health, Draco re-entered the room and sat down in the armchair by the bed.

“Where did Ron and Hermione go?” Harry asked.

Draco’s face tightened, and his already perfect pos bec became even more rigid.

“They left,” he said shortly, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“Why dhey hey leave?” Harry asked, slightly hurt. He knew that he’d pushed them away, but he didn’t think they would go and leave like that, without knowing he was okay.

Harry could see the muscles in Draco’s jaw clench at the question.

“Why do you want to know?”

Draco’s voice was the voice of last year. It was the voice of arguments, insults, and harsh words. It hurt, that he would use that voice now.

Draco and Harry were left staring at each other. He knew Draco wouldn’t start. He was still being distant, more than usual, as if making up for the fact that he’d broken down earlier.

“They’re my friends, Malfoy. I just…I want to know why they left.” Why they left me…

“Why do you care, Potter? I thought you didn’t fit anymore. That’s what you told me, anyway. Were you lying? Have you been lying this whole time? Just biding your time until you can be friends with them again? Until you aren’t a danger to them anymore?” Draco snarled. It would be better if he were shouting, if his face showed anger, sorrow, anything. So Harry could know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, and try to make it better somehow.

“Of course, you wouldn’t worry about being a danger to me, would you, Potter?” Draco said, as he stood. “I notice you didn’t mind me being on the battlefield, unlike your friends. Any reason for that?”

Harry was stunned. He hadn’t known…he’d never thought Draco wanted him to care. Draco shied away from caring, from emotion in general. “What are you talking about? God, Malfoy, I looked for you on that battlefield, looked away from Voldemort, just to if if I could find you! To see if you were okay, if you were still alive!” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “You’re out of your mind, you know? In case you haven’t realized, I couldn’t have done this without you! You’ve always been able to take care of yourself! You were the only one I trusted to still be alive at the end!”

They stared at each other for long moments, neither speaking. Harry’s breath was hard and erratic, and Draco was flushed, his eyes wild. It made sense now. Draco was worried. He didn’t want to be left behind, now that Harry had his old life back. It was easy for Draco to be secure in the knowledge that Harry was with him, when it was just the two of them, when there was no one competing for Harry’s attention. But now, now Draco had to deal with the two people who had been with Harry from the beginning. Who were still there, even after he’d been gone for months, even after he’d pushed them away, even after he’d changed. Harry’s expression softened, and his anger faded.

Harry wanted to tell Draco he’d no intentions of letting him go.

Just as Harry was about to ask Draco to move to the bed with him, the door to the Infirmary opened, and Snape and Dumbledore walked in. The Headmaster had a gentle smile on his face, and looked stronger than he had since Harry’s second year. Even Snape looked less formidable than usual, his glare a little less piercing.

“Harry, my boy, how are you feeling?” Dumbledore asked kindly.

Harry smiled as he answered. “Never better, Sir.”

“There are a few things we need to discuss, Harry,” Dumbledore began. “First, I believe congratulations are in order. Both for you and Mr. Malfoy, you fought very bravely. Second, we must talk about what will happen once you leave the Infirmary, especially once you leave the safety of Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore conjured an armchair for himself, and Harry looked regretfully at Draco. They were going to be there a while, postponing the conversation. Harry was sure Draco wouldn’t want to continue it, once he’d calmed down. Draco stared impassively back at him.

“I’m afraid you won’t experience much peace ahead of you, Harry. The Ministry will want to speak with you about your defeat of Voldemort, as will many reporters.” Dumbledore shifted his robes, folding his hands on his lap. “Now, you do not have to speak to anyone you do not wish to, but speaking to a few may reduce some of the public scrutiny.”

Harry nodded. He’d known, abstractly, that at some point he’d have to take over the role the world had set for him.

“Harry, what did happen between you and Voldemort, at the end?” Dumbledore asked in that kind and inquisitive voice he always used during his end-of-year chats with Harry.

Harry leaned heavily into the pillows behind him. Of course he would have to recount that, for Dumbledore, the Prophet, the Ministry. He began slowly, fighting each word. The final confrontation between he and Voldemort was not something he wanted to relive. He told Dumbledore about the Dementors, the Death Eaters, the loss of Aurors, about finding Wormtail dead, the duel with Bellatrix. His voice cracked as he recounted the insults, the taunts, and the building power and anger with Voldemort.

“I knocked him out, like I did with Snape and Malfoy the first time. He was…he was just lying there rontront of me. And I…” Harry broke off, remembering the conflicting feelings that had rushed through him at that moment. The want for revenge, for retaliation, and the desire for it to be over.

“Then I cast the curse, and I blacked out,” he finished. He fought against the memory of the pain, the memory that seemed to magnify the aches in his body as he lay there. He barely noticed Snape and Dumbledore talking quietly with each other.

“What were you thinking right before you cast the curse?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry took a shuddering breath. “That…I wanted it to hurt,” he finally said. “I wanted it to be so horrible that I’d never be able to bring myself to cast it again. That it would be so bad, I’d die before using it again.”

Snape nodded slightly, a satisfied, almost proud look on his face. Dumbledore looked a little relieved. It hadn’t occurred to Harry that Dumbledore might have been afraid of what Harry would be after he defeated Voldemort. No one could defeat the most powerful dark wizard alive and remain unchanged, untouched. Harry froze. Had he changed? Did Dumbledore have a reason to fear him?

It was there, Harry realized. A tiny seed of an idea, deep inside, that whispered about fame, recognition, and absolute power. It would always be there, he supposed. But he didn’t have to listen to it. He couldn’t just ignore it, for then it might grow, fed by unconscious thoughts and wishes, but he could control it. Because the other part of him, the bigger part, the part that had spurred him on to defeat Voldemort as fast and as humanely as possible would keep him in check.

He met Dumbledore’s gaze, understanding for the first time why he’d been so hesi to to allow him to use the Dark Arts before he battled Voldemort. He’d been afraid Harry would use the Killing Curse more than the one time it was truly necessary. Harry knew from experience that curses got easier each time you used them, the pain became manageable, workable. His mentor had been right, as he so often was.

Dumbledore leaned forward and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m very proud of you, my boy. You’ve taken on this burden that we placed on you so many years ago, and have surpassed even the highest of expectations.”

Harry smiled. Not many people in his life told him they were proud of him. That small word made things seem better, somehow.

“Now, I will go and try to appease some of the reporters for now. You deserve a few days of rest,” Dumbledore said, as he rose from his chair. “I will also meet with the Minister, to see if he will accept a written statement from you in exchange for a public appearance, perhaps?”

Maybe Dumbledore’s ability to manipulate a situation to fit his goal wasn’t so imagined after all, Harry thought with a grin. Snape moved to follow Dumbledore out of the curtained area, before turning back to Harry.

“Perhaps you have paid more attention than I’ve given you credit for, Mr. Potter,” he said, his voice not quite condescending. “I suppose fame isn’t everything. At least not in your case.”

--

Later that night, after Madame Pomfrey had made Draco leave, Ron appeared by Harry’s bedside. He looked pale, angry, and a little bit sad, Harry thought.

“Hello, Ron,” he said softly. Harry didn’t see this conversation going well.

“Harry,” Ron replied shortly.

“You’re angry,” Harry said back. It was something Snape had said to him during his training, and at the beginning, when he had no control, it would trigger an outburst without fail. Harry was hoping it would work with Ron.

It did.

“Of course I’m bloody angry! You exclude us from everything this year, yet you’re attached at the hip to Malfoy, of all people! We hate him, Harry, don’t you remember? Yet you went and let him fight with you, instead of us. You let him stay with you, today, when we were here. It’s like you’re not even the same person anymore!” Ron exploded.

Harry thought it was amusing that Draco and Ron looked on the same situation, had the same opinion of it even, but interpreted it in completely opposite ways.

“Ron,” Harry began, “I’m not the same person anymore. That’s what I’ve been trying to get across to you since I got back. The things I’ve learned, the things I’ve had to do, it changes you, Ron.”

Ron flopped into the chair that Draco had occupied throughout the day. “But why, Harry? Why can’t you just go back to how you were? You don’t have to do that stuff anymore!” he said desperately.

Long moments passed while Harry tried to come up with an answer Ron would understand. The truth of the matter was, there wasn’t one. This was another turning point, Harry decided. Just like the point he had to decide whether or not to go with Snape and Draco to Baltimore. Like when he’d had to decide to ask for help in order to learn control. When he’d decided not to wait for Voldemort to realize it was him that brought his downfall, and his death.

Harry had two choices. He could try to be the old Harry, to keep Ron and Hermione close, the way they used to be. But that would only work for so long. In the end, they’d wind up distant, resentful of each other. Or he could tell the truth. The distance would start now, but it would be better in the long run.

“If you don’t understand, Ron, I don’t think I can explain it to you,” Harry finally said.

Ron clenched the arms of the chair. “But Malfoy understands.”

“Yes, he does.”

They sat there without speaking for a long time. Harry knew Ron was expecting him to say something, to make it better, like he used to. That wasn’t going to happen this time. Because things had changed.

--


A few weeks after the battle, Harry woke up in the middle of the night, a warm hand on his back. He turned his head to see Draco lying next to him, still fast sleep. They were still spending nights in the Room of Requirement, both for Draco’s protection and Harry’s privacy. It was an arrangement that worked for them.

Ron and Hermione accepted the situation with Draco, after Harry made it clear that Draco was staying whether they liked it or not. The relationship between them all was still strained, and probably always would be. Ron still resented the fact that Harry left them behind, before, during, and even after the battle. Hermione understood why, to a point, but was torn between Harry and Ron. Draco…well, Draco hadn’t really changed at all. He was still the same arrogant pureblood he’d always been. Harry wasn’t sure if things would ever be comfortable between the four of them. Only time would tell.

Harry looked at Draco’s sleeping face, marveling at how different it looked. Sometimes Harry thought he was almost more expressive in slumber than he was awake. He reached out and feathered a hand across Draco’s cheek, marveling at the softness that was so incongruous with Draco’s personality.

“Harry?” Draco mumbled, still mostly asleep, grey eyes opening ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered back, chest tightening at the rare use of his given name. “Sorry, go back to sleep.”

Draco blinked a few times before closing his eyes. The hand on Harry’s back tightened, drawing him closer. Draco rested his head on Harry’s, and Harry was reminded forcibly of that moment in Dumbledore’s office, when Harry had wanted to say so many things, to do so many things. This time, instead of pulling away, Draco pulled him closer.

Soft lips met his in the gentlest of touches. Just a quick brush of lips on his so fast that Harry could almost believe he’d imagined it, a brief moment of tenderness between them. Then Draco pulled back and closed his eyes again, moving his hand from Harry’s back to underneath his own pillow.

It wasn’t Draco’s eyes that showed emotion, Harry mused, for eyes never really look different. It was a lack of tension in the soft skin underneath, a softness of his brow, small crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

They’d never be a typical couple, Harry knew that. They wouldn’t talk about things like thoughts and feelings. They wouldn’t hold hands in public and share kisses over ice cream sundaes. Draco was still composed and aloof, and Harry still had his quick temper that wasn’t always under his control. But just because the words weren’t said, didn’t mean they weren’t known.

--

Fin.