Hit the Floor

Disclaimer: Hi! I'm Lils, and I'm a JKR impersonator! No really, I know it's not mine, I'm just borrowing.
Chapter Five – ledgledge and Need

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A little over a week had passed since Harry’s midnight conversation with Snape. That three-minute talk had blown holes in Harry’s carefully constructed self-image, and he was none too happy about it. He’d been dealing with his anger so well, or so he’d thought. At first, he had raged inside, upset that Snape couldn’t see how much Harry had changed. Then he realized that his changes so far didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough.

Snape showed anger, and so did Draco. However, Harry had noticed that they only showed anger at insignificant things, such as the color of the walls, or Harry’s interruptions during class. Harry’s problem was that he could not control what made him angry. He had to learn to do as they did. To allow him self to be angry at the small things, and remain in complete control of his emotions when it was important.

The N.E.W.T. ses ses with Snape had also begun, and Harry was forced to grudgingly admit that Snape knew what he was talking about. That didn’t mean Harry enjoyed himself. Snape made him spend three hours everyday going through his old potions texts to arn arn everything he’d missed. The only subject Harry excelled in was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and that was a moot point. He already knew enough to pass his N.E.W.T. in that subject. In fact, he knew as much as most Aurors did. The only work Snape had them do on that subject was a quick review. Draco excelled in everything, it seemed. He was brilliant in potions, knew as much as Hermione when it came to Care of Magical Creatures, and could recite every species of fern in his sleep.

Between the excessive study of potions and his specialized training program, Harry went to bed thoroughly exhausted every night. He had no free time. Work, dueling, and practice took up every waking moment. For the most part, Harry was okay with that. He knew that he had to put his all into this. It was time for him to start acting like the grown-up he pretended to be.

--

Snape and Draco were staring. At him.

They’d been staring for the past five minutes. Harry had timed them. It was a test of some sort. It had to be, so Harry had stayed as immobile as possible. They were just trying to unnerve him, he supposed.

“Alright, Potter. Into the training room.”

Snape’s voice was emotionless. It gave nothing away, no clue as to what was going on. Harry stood and followed his two instructors into the training room, and tried to calm the pixies that had taken up residence in his stomach.

“Draco, stand facing him.”

As Harry looked at the two of them, he realized that the expressions on their faces were new to him. It was as if their faces had morphed into plastic. They were completely emotionless; they gave away nothing. That was what he needed to strive for, that cold and calculating countenance that wasn’t just something he tried to portray, but something that he was.

‘The Dark Arts. I’m going to learn,’ Harry thought suddenly. That’s why they were like this. Because this was serious, more serious than anything they’d done so far. Something must have shown in his face.

“Very good, Mr. Potter. It seems your perceptiveness has increased, even if your control has not,” Snape said, voice completely flat. “You will be practicing on Draco until it becomes too dangerous for him to do so. You must perform these spells on a human being to get the full effect of what it will feel like for you. While using animals or targets would be more humane, it would leave you open to attack in a battle the first time you felt the true pain of what you are about to do.”

Harry had not expected that. It would be hard to cast these spells on Draco. Not as hard as it would be to cast them on, say Ron and Hermione, but it would be hard. Snape was right, he needed to know the full amount of pain the spells would cause, but he also needed to know the amount of mental pain it would cause him. He would know that to cast these spells on Draco was to harm him. On purpose. Draco, who was here to help him, who was here to teach him.

“Use the Premo spell first.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered. He was so nervous, and unsure as to whether or not he would be able to succeed on the first try. The Premo spell was designed to squeeze the air out of your opponent. If he was able to perform the spell to his full power, Draco would pass out. That was his goal.

Draco stood about five yards away from him. Harry wished it were further, as if lengthening the distance would decrease Draco’s pain. This was so much harder than he thought it would be. Harry focused os brs breathing, a trick he’d learned through Occlumency to help him concentrate. It emptied his mind of the thoughts that raced through it. It was just a spell. A spell that would help him later on. He imagined Draco from fifth year. The memory of the insults that had flown tha that mouth kindled a bright flame of anger in him. He imagined the insults slowing as Draco gasped for breath, and finally stopping as his lungs cease to draw in air.

“Premo!” He shouted as he slashed his wand through the air.

Pain washed over him, fire ran across his skin freezing him in place. It was like thousands of pins sliding through his body. It did not quite bring him to his knees, and for that he was grateful. Once the pain subsided, he looked to Draco.

He’d collapsed on the floor.

--

For the next hour and a half Harry had thrown spells at Draco. Every single one had worked on the first try. Snape had stopped him after the third spell, to talk about the pain. Harry had to look forward to the pain before he performed a spell; he had to want it. If he stopped wanting the pain, the fall into darkness would begin.

It was definitely a distraction, though, and he needed to get over that. Snape told him he would practice for as long as Draco could stand it everyday, until the need to pause after a spell disappeared.

Harry snapped out of his reverie when he heard a mumble from Draco’s bed. His dueling partner had needed a rest after Harry’s lesson, and with good reason. Draco had been subjected to spells that caused him to lose consciousness, develop painful boils, and bleed from various gashes and wounds all over his body. Snape had instructed Harry to keep an eye on him in case he needed another healing potion.

“Planning to stare at me all night, Potter?” Draco asked.

“Sorry. Do you need another potion?” Harry could hear the pain in Draco’s voice. He grabbed a vial of the blue healing potion and moved to sit on the edge of Draco’s bed. The blonde looked even paler than normal.

“If there’s one lying around, I suppose,” he replied. Harry snorted. Draco’s attempt at nonchalance was horribly apparent.

“Here,” he said as he handed over the potion. Draco swallowed it and grimaced at the taste. Harry laughed. “Nice to know that I’m not the only one who thinks they taste horrid.”

Draco glared at him and handed back the vial.

“You never finished telling me about what happened when you met Voldemort,” Harry said as he moved back to his own bed. He faced Draco, but could not bring himself to look at him. Their unfinished conversation had weighed on his mind the whole week. Harry was well aware what Voldemort was capable of.

“And you never gave me something in return for my story,” Draco replied.

Harry sighed. “You asked for something I can’t give.” He was on shaky enough ground with Snape already, and wasn’t about to make the situation worse.

“Fine, I’ll ask something else. Why don’t you miss your friends?”

Harry was shocked. “What?” he asked, and finally looked up.

“You heard me, Potter. Why don’t you miss your friends? The missing two thirds of your Golden Trio. We’ve been here for over a week. You haven’t mentioned them once. You haven’t asked about them. You are here with two Slytherins, who for all you know still hate you. And yet, you don’t seem to care.” Draco’s expression was contemplative as he settled back against the pillows on his bed.

“They’re...they don’t fit anymore,” Harry finally said. “They still live in the normal world, where there are families and birthdays and...I can’t live in that world anymore.” He tried to gather his thoughts into something that made sense. “I guess it’s me who doesn’t fit.”

Draco stared at him for awhile. “What do you mean, you don’t fit?”

“I...I don’t have all that stuff. Family, birthdays, picnics. I’ve seen stuff, done stuff, that...changed me, I guess. I’m...different from them now.” Harry felt like he was wading through quicksand. To put his thoughts into words proved harder than he’d expected. “The difference didn’t used to be that big, you know. When we were younger, that is. Sure, I felt out of place every once in awhile, but not like I do now. I can’t even talk to them anymore it seems. They don’t understand that there’s a difference between our worlds now,” he paused. “Why the hell am I telling you all this?” Harry mumbled as he covered his face with his hands.

Draco didn’t respond for a long time. “He wanted to talk to me this summer, to size me up I suppose. Made me sit at his feet while he did it. He told me what big plans he had for me, how I would take my father’s place at his side. Strange that he didn’t say what would happen to my father once that came to pass. He wanted me to start recruiting at Hogwarts this year. He treated me like a dog, Potter, like a pet who wasn’t intelligent enough to see through his lies. It was surreal at first...I couldn’t believe I was groveling on the floor in front of this hideously weak looking being. Why would anyone be afraid of him?” Draco paused. When he spoke next his voice was cold and emotionless. “Then he had Marcus Flint brought in. Apparently he’d been the last to arrive at the meeting the day before. Voldemort got this look in his eye, then he stood and raised his wand. He cast Crucio on him and held it for at least five minutes. I knew Flint, was friends with him while he went to school here, and Voldemort was laughing, and the two death eaters that brought Flint in were laughing with him. He’s crazy. He’s powerful, scary, and absolutely insane. That’s what happened this summer.”

“Can I ask you something? About the lesson today,” Harry said quietly. He knew from experience that Draco most likely did not want him to comment on what he had just revealed.

Draco’s trademark smirk made a brief appearance. “You can ask, I might not answer.”

“Will the pain always feel exactly the same? Same intensity, all that.”

Draco sighed. “Yes. If it doesn’t, you’re in trouble.”

“How do you function with it? How will I be able to concentrate during a duel with it?” Harry understood how things were supposed to work, but couldn’t apply that to what he’d experienced.

“Your mind is what will change, Potter. Your brain will start processing pain differently.” Draco’s expression darkened. “Pain starts to feel different.”

“How do I tell if it’s that or if the pain isn’t as bad?”

“You’ll know. Trust me on that, you’ll know.” With that, Draco closed his eyes and rolled over.

Harry sighed and got up to leave. Snape was probably waiting for him in the common room. Harry still had to go over potions before he could sleep.

“Potter.”

Harry paused. “Yeah?”

“Just because we had a civil conversation doesn’t mean I all of a sudden like you.”

“I know,” Harry answered with a grim smile.

--

Snape was indeed waiting for Harry when he left the bedroom. He was not, however, waiting with the expected potions texts.

“Sit.”

Harry sat. He got the distinct impression that he was in trouble.

“How is Mr. Malfoy?”

“He’s sleeping sir. He took another pain potion.”

Snape nodded. “Mr. Potter, how do you think your performance went today?”

“I...it was okay, sir. I couldn’t get over the pain quickly enough, but I was able to perform the spells without much effort.” Harry had no idea where this conversation was headed. It was not like Snape to ask him what he thought about anything, let alone his progress. He was much more of the ‘I speak, you listen’ school of teaching.

Snape stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”

Harry swallowed, hard. He didn’t know what was going on. “Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Potter. You, on your very first attempt, managed to perform the Premo spell to its fullest capacity. You who have never in your life tried to do a dark spell.”

Harry was certain that he was completely misreading the situation. There was no way Snape had just complimented him. Snape criticized and ridiculed. If he couldn’t do that, he remained silent.

“Potter, while that is a very good thing so far, it makes what we are doing all the more dangerous. The ease with which you are able to cast these spells is disturbing. The amount that you are affected by the pain also worries me. I remember what it felt like to cast my first dark curse, and I’ve watched countless others do the same. Even Draco cried out in pain on his first try. Yet you did not.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. There were only two explanations for that, and he did not want to face either of them.

“So, either you are already on your way to becoming a dark wizard, or you have had experience with pain. Care to enlighten me?”

Harry felt as if Snape could see right through him. He put as much focus into his Occlumency shields as he possibly could. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir.”

Snape stood and made his way to stand directly in front of Harry. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down. “Mr. Potter, taking into consideration your past history, I’m willing to stake my position at Hogwarts that you are not succumbing to the Dark Arts. That leaves only one option. Why are you so resistant to pain?”

“You’ve been inside my head, you tell me,” Harry shot back.

Snape sneered at him. “You see? You still are unable to control your anger. This is a serious matter, Potter, I want an explanation!”

Harry stood up and nearly knocked Snape back into his chair. “Fine! You want an explanation? You’ve got one. I’ve faced Voldemort five times. Each time he has inflicted some horrible torture on me. Each time he is angry, I feel pain. Each time he is happy, I feel pain. Each time he decides to torture some hapless minion, I feel pain. I may not be getting visions, or having nightmares, sir, but the pain still manages to find a way through. You cannot prevent the pain through your mark using Occlumency, so why on earth would you expect me to be able to block it through my scar!” Harry seethed. His fists were clenched tight enough to draw blood, and it took all of his control not to push Snape away from him. “I’m resistant to pain for the same reason you are.”

Harry sat back down and pressed his fingers to his temples. He really hadn’t meant to gett ant angry. The potions master was right, he really needed to get a handle on his anger. He was too easy to manipulate.

“You got me angry to make me talk, didn’t you,” Harry said hoarsely, eyes still closed.

“Yes.”

Harry looked up to find Snape’s eyes fixed on him, his expression once again the plastic-like mask from earlier that day. “Teach me how to do that,” he pleaded, and for the first time he opened himself completely to his professor.

Snape searched his eyes for a long moment, and then nodded. “We’ll start tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

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