Hit the Floor

Disclaimer: Don’t I wish.


--


Chapter Seven - Pain and Pleasure


--


The hot, searing pain that burned across Harry’s skin lasted for the better part of an hour, finally transforming into a cold fire that whispered through his head. Snape remained in the room with him throughout the entire ordeal, even though his own pain had faded when Voldemort’s summons ceased. When Harry was finally able to see straight, Snape and Draco were both staring at him with that dreaded blankness.


“He knows,” Harry said hoarsely, and closed his eyes. He was in for one hell of a headache.


“Knows what?” Draco asked. Harry could hear the slight wavering in his voice, and realized his roommate was worried.


“That we’re missing,” Harry stated. “That I’m hidden, that you and Snape have defected, and that you are most likely with me. It’s the only thing that could have made him that furious.” He eased himself back onto his bed and rested his cheek on one of his knees. The nausea was setting in, and Harry knew he was in for a miserable night.


“Shit,” Draco hissed.


Harry grinned at him, in spite of his discomfort. “Yeah.”


“My father knows, then.”


“Most likely. I’m guessing that Voldemort has called a meeting, judging from Professor Snape’s reaction.” Harry sighed. He really wanted a pain potion, but Snape had decreed he was to deal with all everyday aches and pains without the aid of magic to get his body used to dealing with pain. To benefit him in his Dark Arts training, of course. Unfortunately, that meant no help with headaches.


“Fuck.”


“Language, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. Harry noted the constant underlying annoyance was absent from his tone.


Draco glared, but closed his mouth.


Snape turned to Harry, and glowered at him. “And the accompanying visions, Mr. Potter?”


“There weren’t any, Sir,” Harry said tiredly. “The visions stopped when I started really focusing on my Occlumency.”


“Imagine that. You actually managed to accomplish something,” Draco snapped. “Too bad that a vision really could have helped this time, Potter. We have no clue what’s going on back home. For all we know, the Dark Lord could be planning our murders as we speak!”


Harry laughed, disregarding the throbbing in his head. “Tell me something I don’t know, Malfoy. Voldemort has been planning my murder since I was a year old.”


Draco paled at that. “Well, not all of us have been so lucky, Potter. While you may be used to such things, the rest of us aren’t.”


“Enough!” Snape shouted. “Your incessant prattle will do us no good at the moment. We’ve more important things to be concerned with.


Harry did not point out that ‘incessant prattle’ was one of the things he was supposed to do in order to control his temper, because Snape was right.


“He’ll be looking for us, won’t he? And he’ll attack anyone close to us, to try and make them talk,” Harry said in a monotonous voice. His housemates would be relatively safe
at Hogwarts, it was those outside the castle walls he was worried about. Remus and the Weasley’s more so than others. Cheek still on his knee, he stared at Snape. This was the point where people lied to him. This was when Dumbledore would tell him everything was fine. When Hermione would tell him that nothing could hurt him, that he was safe. He dared Snape to do the same.


Snape stared right back at him. “Most likely, Mr. Potter. The Dark Lord does not appreciate events taking place without his awareness or approval. The fact that one of his servants, and the son of another, have obviously switched sides will cause a retaliation like none we have seen in this war.”


Draco looked like he was about to faint. Had the situation not been so serious, Harry would have laughed. “Are we sure he knows we’re together?” Draco asked.


“Pretty sure, Malfoy. We’re all missing from Hogwarts. Even I’m not naïve enough to believe that Voldemort doesn’t have spies there. There isn’t an excuse in the world that will have him believe we’re anything but together. He knows,” Harry said. Harry noticed that the pain he was in gave him an unprecedented measure of detachment to the situation. He wasn’t angry in the slightest, while normally he’d be furious. He looked to
Snape again.


“Correct again, Mr. Potter,” Snape almost sighed. “He most assuredly knows that wherever we are, it is together. As for what he will do, I’m not positive.” Harry noticed that Snape did not look comfortable when he admitted his ignorance. “Due to those in Hogwarts that are…sympathetic to him, I cannot say that the students are safe. After all, the Dark Lord has managed to get to you five out of your six years there.”


While Harry appreciated Snape’s frankness, on some level he resented it. Well, if he were completely honest with himself, he resented the situation.


“It’s going to drive me crazy, not knowing,” Harry mumbled. He thought the nausea was getting better, but he supposed it could just be that he was used to it.


“As long as you do not foolishly run off, that is not a problem. In fact, it will help you learn control more effectively,” Snape said. He was back to his normal closed-off expression. Whatever weariness had been present throughout their conversation had disappeared. Harry closed his eyes and turned so his forehead rested on his knee. He wanted to sleep. The fire that burned through his head probed deeper, and showed no signs of disappearing. As long as Voldemort remained enraged, Harry would feel it.


--


Harry was sick and tired of soul-searching. Yet he found himself sitting alone in the training room doing just that.


It was two am, and he couldn’t sleep. As the fire in his head had faded to a dull ache, the thoughts he’d avoided rushed back in. This time, they would not be ignored.


Draco’s words from earlier would not leave him. He’d rejected what Draco had said to him not because it wasn’t true, but because it wasn’t normal. Harry had been abnormal all of his life, and tried to avoid it at all costs. This, however, was too big to ignore. Draco had been right about that, it wasn’t going to go away.


Harry thought back to the fight between the two of them that afternoon. The moment right after Draco had hit him. The feeling it had produced…was wrong. At least it was considered wrong by most of society, both muggle and wizard. The question was, did he believe it was wrong?


It wasn’t as if he was the only one who felt this way. Draco obviously had the same reaction, and if what he’d said was true, Snape could be included in their problem. They probably weren’t the only three people in the world with a skewed perception of pain. After all, Harry had books on how to use the Dark Arts without becoming lost. There were others.


He supposed it wasn’t all bad. So what if he enjoyed pain, when others didn’t? There was an entire muggle subculture of people the same as him. Society condemned them only because most people feared what they didn’t understand. Draco had been right. Denying it would not make it go away, he’d be better off if he embraced it.


Now that he’d figured that out, it was time to move on to his second problem. His anger. At the beginning of the school year, he’d promised himself that he would stop the childish antics, the self-wallowing pity, and the blind hatred. Yet he’d snapped at both Snape and Draco, and had gone as far as to physically attack the latter. The thought embarrassed him terribly. He, the brave Gryffindor, had been all talk.


Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. He worried entirely too much about what other people thought of him, and about how other people would react to his actions and choices. It was time for him to focus his worries on himself. His anger was only hurting one person. His lack of concentration was only hurting one person. His judgmental attitude was only hurting one person. The one person he couldn’t afford to hurt.


At three a.m. on September thirteenth, Harry Potter decided it was time to fight for himself.


--


“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry said angrily.


“That can be arranged,” Draco bit back.


They were arguing again. Draco had cornered him in their bedroom after dinner. Harry had kept quiet the entire day, all throughout lessons with both Draco and Snape. He’d kept a hold on his anger, and instead of lashing out at those around him, he’d kept up a running commentary in his head about things that bothered him. He’d made snide insults and cutting remarks, and found that it didn’t matter if they were heard or not. That he thought them helped for the most part, until his Dark Arts training.


After his duel with Draco, Harry found himself frustrated. Using the Dark Arts left him wired, high strung. It seemed he wasn’t alone in the feeling.


Now, his control was beyond thin, and apparently his roommate was tired of being ignored. Draco had tried numerous times to bring up the one topic Harry wasn’t ready to discuss. Yes, he’d figured everything out in his head, but knowing and acting were two very different things.


“Can’t you just leave it be, Malfoy?” Harry asked, his voice strained. He really didn’t want to get into this at the moment.


Draco sneered at him. “I already told you, Potter, you can’t just leave it. It’s not going to go away. Besides, you’ve taken away my favorite form of releasing the tension. You owe me.”


Harry was stunned. “What?”


Draco stepped up, so close that there was barely an inch of space between their chests. “You took away one method, you’ll give me another.”


“What are you on about?” Harry asked heatedly.


“Don’t tell me you’re that dense, Potter,” Draco snorted, and moved closer, forcing Harry to take a step backwards. The look in Draco’s eyes was similar to ones he’d seen before. He wasn’t dense, and he was far from innocent. He knew desire when he saw it. He just hadn’t expected to see it in those grey eyes.


“Don’t look so shocked, Potter. I enjoyed what happened yesterday, just as much as you did,” Draco whispered as he leaned in closer.


Harry closed his eyes as he let out the breath he’d held.


“It’s just a release, Potter. You need it, just as much as I do,” Draco whispered. Then he lunged at Harry, knocked him to the ground, and pinned one of his arms beneath him. Harry pushed forward and smacked his head into Draco’s in an attempt to escape his hold. Draco snarled at him, but refused to back off. They struggled, and Harry tried to do something, anything to move him, to push him away, to bring him closer.


Somewhere along the way, the rage and anger shifted. Draco had been right, his brain processed pain differently. It started to feel good.


Harry leaned forward and shoved his mouth against Draco’s. Draco froze, until Harry bit down harshly on his bottom lip.


When Draco raked his nails down Harry’s chest, he could no longer hold in the moan that had been threatening to break free.


Draco’s grin was feral. “I told you so, Potter,” he hissed in Harry’s ear before he bit down hard enough to pierce the skin.


“Fuck,” Harry whispered, and arched up into Draco’s body. He felt out of control and wild. Untamed. Draco attacked his neck with teeth and tongue. Each touch mixed pleasure and pain to the point where it transcended both, and became pure sensation. Neither and both existed at the same time within his body, the feelings concentrated wherever Draco’s skin touched his, and radiated from those points to encompass him entirely. In all of his previous encounters, none had produced this intensity. This hunger.


“How does it feel, Potter?” Draco hissed at him. He grabbed Harry’s wrist and wrenched his free arm above his head. Harry gasped at the sensation that caused. His shoulders ached and his wrist burned where Draco gripped it.


“Like…everything,” Harry moaned, as he arched up into the body above him, and was rewarded with a searing kiss. He felt, rather than heard Draco groan, and the vibrations seemed to run through his entire body.


Draco whispered a spell against Harry’s lips, and suddenly there was skin against his own.


“Handy little spell, that,” Harry said, as Draco pulled him to his feet.


He found himself slammed against the wall. The force of it knocked the breath out of him, and the whole back of his body throbbed with feeling. Draco paused in front of him.


“Scared, Potter?” he asked, his gaze so intense it rooted Harry to the spot.


“You wish,” Harry whispered.


Draco flipped him around and pinned him against the wall. He was rock hard, and could feel Draco was as well. Another whispered spell and Harry felt a slick finger slide against him before it drove into him. The pain spread outwards, down his legs, up his back, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. A second finger was added, and Harry tensed. He felt Draco’s hot breath on his neck just a moment before he felt the teeth that ripped and tortured his agonizingly sensitized skin.


The feelings produced by the mouth on his neck distracted him from the other things Draco was doing to his body, and thus he didn’t notice when the searching fingers left him. He was caught by surprise when Draco slammed into him. God, it hurt, but it was the best thing he’d ever experienced. He snaked an arm behind him, wrapping a hand in Draco’s hair. He pulled, hard, causing Draco to hiss in response.


There was no gentleness to their actions. It was hard, fast, and violent. Pure fucking is what it was, and it was exactly how Harry wanted it. He was lost in the feelings that ran through him, rendered incomprehensible by the torturous combination of pain and pleasure. It was exquisite, and when Draco scraped his nails down his back hard enough to draw blood as he came, it was just what Harry needed to push him over the edge.


They stayed there against the wall afterwards, and attempted to catch their breath. Harry was covered in a mixture of bodily fluids, and he felt as if he’d just been through a one on one battle with a Blast-ended Skrewt, and lost. Draco dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder.


“This doesn’t change anything, Potter. It’s just release, a physical need,” he panted.


“I wouldn’t expect flowers and candy hearts from you, Malfoy,” Harry replied.


Draco laughed and pulled away. “Good.” Harry turned and watched him walk over to his dresser. “You can use the bathroom first.”


“How generous of you,” Harry said tiredly. His chest and back were on fire, and his shoulder ached, along with most of his body. It was funny that it hurt so much more afterwards, than when the marks were inflicted. He noted with no small amount of amusement that he was more relaxed than he’d been since they’d arrived.


When he exited the bathroom, Draco was already asleep. Harry climbed into bed carefully, in an attempt not to reopen the wounds he’d shoddily healed moments ago.


He would have to remember to ask Draco to teach him a healing spell during their next lesson.


--