Hit the Floor

Chapter Eight - Practice Makes Perfect


--


The next day, Draco went on as if nothing had happened. Harry was mostly relieved at this; he had too much to deal with already. While by no means inexperienced with either sex, he'd never been much of the relationship type. Since Cedric's death in fourth year, and Cho's rejection in fifth year, he'd avoided emotional attachments. He had too much on his plate without worrying about the emotional well being of someone else.


The next few months passed in a cycle of training, learning, and dueling. Harry and Draco never spoke of the strange relationship between them, and if Snape knew, he kept quiet about it, which was fine by Harry.


There had been no word from Hogwarts, and while that was endlessly frustrating for Harry, he knew that it meant Voldemort had not made a serious move. The knowledge that his friends were safe, for the time being, was a relief.


In the weeks following his first 'encounter' with Draco, Harry's emotional control had improved in leaps and bounds. While Harry tried not to think about why too much, he knew in the back of his mind, that having someone to take his aggression out on was the biggest contributing factor to that.


Christmas had passed like any other day. There was no celebration, no exchange of gifts, all on Harry's insistence. He had taken a bigger role in his lessons, and had begun pushing both Snape and Draco to continue their instruction hours after they should have quit.


All of Harry's sacrifice and hard work had paid off. He was now the proud owner of one patented Slytherin Detached Facial Expression, and could employ its use whenever necessary. He had also, much to Draco's dismay, surpassed his instructor in wandless magic, and was able to perform any spell, Dark or Light, without his wand, and with more power than most wizards could ever hope for.


Dart Arts spells became easier to cast, and the pain no longer overwhelmed him. Although Harry enjoyed a certain extent of pain in the bedroom, even needed it, the pain caused by casting Dark spells never became enjoyable. Just like the pain from the cruciatus curse would never be enjoyable. His perception of pain changed, just enough for him to be able to function through the spells. It made sense, he supposed. If the pain from the spells became enjoyable, it would cause the caster to seek more, and fall to the darkness.


At the moment, Harry was preparing for his duel with Snape and Draco. It was the last item on both his wandless and Dark Arts curriculum. He was to duel them together, and hopefully win.


Harry walked to the center of the training room to face his two instructors. They stood in front of him with stony expressions on their faces. It was a formidable sight. Harry took a deep breath and waited for his instructions. Before duels, Snape set ground rules. There were limits to what spells Harry could use, and what spells were to be used against him. It wouldn't do to have him injured before he could face Voldemort.


Wut sut so much as a warning, Draco sent a wandless Crucio at him. Harry barely ducked out of the way. He stood up, eyes wide in surprise. It was an entirely new game this time.


--


Sweat poured from his brow. The effort to keep his shield intact was draining him horribly. Harry closed his eyes and focused his mind. He could feel curses from Draco and Snape bounce off his shield, and each one weakened it. The rage that he'd controlled so well for the past months bubbled up within his chest. They should have known this was too much to ask of him. He was only seventeen years old, and this was too hard. He needed more time to learn this; he wasn't ready. With a yell of rage he threw out his hands, the only thought in his mind to make them stop.


Silence reigned in the training room. Harry's hard breathing was the only sound that reached his ears. Cautiously, he opened his eyes.


Snape and Draco were both slumped against the far wall.


--


After a few tense moments where Harry was terrified he'd killed both Draco and Snape, he managed to rouse them with an Ennerverate spell. The two of them then proceeded to interrogate him vigorously about what he'd done.


Harry had somehow managed to release a wave of pure magic to knock them out cold. The rest of the day was spent trying to recreate the action. Harry discovered the key to the release of power was his anger. The very thing that he'd tried to suppress could be one of his greatest tools in the upcoming war. While it would most likely not have much effect on Voldemort, he could take out a wave of Death Eaters with his new-found power, allowing him to focus on the Dark Lord. By dinnertime, Harry was able to call up his anger and perform the wordless and wandless spell at will.


--


"Is that an owl?" Harry asked incredulously. He rubbed his eyes and looked again at the bird that had materialized in the middle of the steak and kidney pie they were eating for dinner.


"I know it's been awhile, Potter, but surely you remember what an owl looks like," Draco said, but the befuddled expression on his face took the sting out of his words.


Snape glowered at the two of them, set down his fork, and moved to take the letter from the tawny bird that sat on the small table.


The writing on the envelope was identifiable as the Headmaster's, even from where Harry sat. "If Dumbledore can banish a letter to the dinner table, why bother with the ruddy owl?" he wondered aloud.


Draco gasped in mock-surprise. "What's this? The Golden Boy is questioning his infallible leader? The world is ending!" He clasped his hands to his chest and fluttered his eyelashes.


Harry rolled his eyes at him and tried to hold back a grin. Draco was actually a fun person to be around, once you got to know him.


He turned to Snape, about to make a particularly witty remark, when he noticed the usually stone-faced potion's master was wide-eyed and the hand that held the letter trembled. Harry stood, and moved behind him in order to read it.


Severus,

The portkey will be activated at seven o'clock tomorrow morning for your return trip. It can be delayed no longer.

A.D.


He looked up and locked eyes with Draco.


"Shit."


--


Harry had packed most of his things and was now sitting on his bed. He was leaving in less than twelve hours to fight the darkest wizard ever known, and all he could think about was the fact that he didn't know what to do about Draco once they returned. Harry had spent the past few months decidedly not thinking about Draco, and now that he was faced with their separation, he wished he'd at least figured out what they were, and what exactly it was he felt for Draco.


"Moping again, Potter?"


Harry didn't know if he was glad to see Draco or not. The emotionless, cold, focused part of him wanted to leave things just as they were. It was great, the arrangement they had. He had a way to balance the effects of using the Dark Arts in Draco, not to mention the bonus of regular sex. There was no need to rock the boat, especially now that the water was about to get very rough. The other part of him, that he'd secretly named his Gryffindork side, although he'd never tell Snape that, wanted to talk things through. That part, small as it was, would not keep quiet. It made him want to know what Draco was thinking, and what he was feeling. Harry thought that part sounded too much like a girl for his liking.


"Would you care if I was?" Harry mumbled, the words pouring out against his will. He rubbed his face with his hands.


"You already know the answer to that," Draco snapped. "Get up, Potter, we need to finish packing, and get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day, especially for you. I can't wait for the Order meeting," Draco sneered.


Harry wondered if he really knew the answer. On a few rare occasions, he could almost believe that Draco cared about him in some way. An errant soft press of lips, or a gentle caress of fingers mixed in with painful grips and rough handling stuck out in his mind, even more vivid than the mind-blowing pleasure.


Harry closed his eyes in an attempt to ward off the memories. He was going back to Hogwarts, presumably to face Voldemort in a matter of days. It was not the time for sentimental wonderings. He took a few deep breaths and composed himself, locking down all the emotions that ran through him.


"I suppose I'll have to face my wonderful friends," Harry deadpanned, as he stood.


Draco laughed. "Yes, and I'm sure they'll be just thrilled with your progress. Don't you think? Not to mention your new companions."


Harry rolled his eyes, but was inwardly thankful for the familiar conversation. He and Draco had talked numerous times about what the reactions of his friends would be once they returned to Britain. Draco had taken great pleasure in telling Harry that his friends would likely hate him for his new 'Slytherin-ish' disposition, thus making Harry completely dependent on Draco for companionship. Assuming Draco felt inclined to tolerate him, that is.


"How do you know they won't be so impressed, they beg me to take them under my wing and teach them everything I know? Who knows Malfoy, you could have unwittingly made me even more popular than I already was," Harry replied cheekily.


"Oh, you poor delusional boy. You know as well as I do that your little Gryffinfreaks are going to be horribly uncomfortable with who you've become," Draco said. Harry thought the smirk on his face was entirely too self-satisfied.


"That's the understatement of the century," Harry grumbled as he waved his hand at the dresser. All of his remaining robes and clothes folded themselves mid-air and landed lightly in his trunk. "God, I love this wandless stuff."


"You're welcome, Potter," Draco drawled as he did the same.


There really wasn't much else to pack up. They'd only been to the surface once, and after an encounter with a muggle who'd mauled Draco in hopes to obtain pocket change, they'd returned to their sanctuary, thus foiling Draco's intended shopping spree.


"You know," Harry began quietly, "I think you're right about their reactions." He'd spent a lot of time thinking about his friends. The Gryffindors were very loyal, but even more than that, they were a pretty closed-minded bunch. They didn't like anything out of the ordinary. Nobody ever described Harry as ordinary.


Draco turned around with something close to glee on his face, before schooling his features into his normal expression. "Do my ears deceive me? Did you just agree with something I said? About time you recognized my mental superiority, Potter."


Harry laughed. "Don't get used to it, Malfoy. And superiority my arse, I just whipped you and Snape good a few hours ago. I think we all know who's superior here."


"You wish, Potter. Keep dreaming." With that, Draco waltzed into the bathroom to pack his things there, and Harry was again left with his thoughts. He was amazed at how less stressed he felt after the brief banter with Draco.


He found himself comparing Draco to Ron and Hermione. Where Ron and Hermione tended to hound Harry about his plans, to the point where he was a frantic mess, Draco took his mind off things. He had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly when Harry ne to to be distracted. While Harry wanted to believe it was because on some level, Draco at least liked him, it was probably just Draco being Draco. He was always sarcastic; it was his default personality. Harry sighed and lay down on his bed. He focused his mind, performing his Occlumency exercises before drifting off to a fitful sleep.


--


"We really must stop meeting like this, Potter," Snape's voice sounded from the darkened corner of the common room.


Harry started. He thought that Snape would have been in his room. It was two in the morning, after all, and they all had a long day ahead. "Couldn't sleep, sir. Too much going on in my head."


"Somehow I doubt that," Snape sneered.


Harry sat at the table across from his potions professor. He wondered at the fact that Snape seemed to sit up late at night. It made no sense. Why wouldn't he sit up in his room?


"Is there something you wished to say, Mr. Potter?"pe ape asked.


Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I was just thinking about the inevitable battle, Sir. About whether or not I'm ready for this."


"Mr. Potter, if I didn't think you could defeat the Dark Lord, I assure you I would be at his side right now instead of yours. I am a Slytherin, and we value self-preservation above all else," Snape said. He sipped slowly at the teacup in his hand before continuing. "Much as I am loathe to admit it, you have become almost adequate in your abilities these past months."


Harry smiled. That was as close to a compliment he'd ever received from Severus Snape, and that knowledge filled him with warmth. "Thank you, Sir," he said softly.


"Was there anything else, Mr. Potter?"


"No, Sir," Harry said, the smile still on his face.


"Then perhaps you should return to bed," Snape said as he rose. As Harry watched him close the door to his room, realization struck. If Snape's room was anything liks ans and Draco's, he had a very comfortable chair and desk to sit at. There was no reason for Snape to use the common room. Yet whenever Harry happened to wander out in the middle of the night, desperate for someone to talk to, Snape was there waiting for him. Snape sat up at night on purpose, for Harry. With that startling, yet comforting thought, Harry returned to bed.


--