Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Art of Shadow Boxing	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11212 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any charactors from the books and I am not making any money off of this

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Italics = flashback to seventh year
Chapter 11
There's a Fire Starting

I can't move, can't even blink properly.

But I know the stairs I was levitated up after they hit me with the body bind. I know the mattress with the soft blue bedspread beneath me, know the curving intricately carved ceiling above me. I know this room like an extension of myself, though I wasn't sure I'd ever lay eyes on it again.

What with turning traitorous and everything.

I know every step, every nook, and every chipped stone. I know it all and with a twisting in my guts I've never wished to be further from it.

Even more than my first summer home from Hogwarts, facing my father's disdain for receiving the second highest marks in my year - second to a mudblood an outrage worthy of punishment.

Even more than the summer after my father was imprisoned.

Even more than the moment I first laid eyes on the Dark Lord in the foray.

Even more than the morning He held my arm down and branded me as his forever in my father's abandoned study.

Even more than the night I was forced to watch my Muggle Studies Professor devoured alive by that wretched snake.

Even more than the nights and days that were filled with Death Eaters moving in and out, tracking their muddied footprints that shone with their kills.

Even more than the night I fled, the night that seems so very long ago already.

Because above all I know Granger's screams that I can hear vibrating up the stairwell and through the echoing hall.

I know the cellar they dragged Potter and Weasley into.

I know the madness this households and I can't fathom a way out. We've been trapped and locked in a maze that is the very heart of the Manor and I can't even spend these last moments with Potter - my mother's orders stripping me of that one small hope.

I'm to be ostracized and dealt with accordingly. Whatever that means. Doubtful it will be anything good.

But really all I desperately desire at the moment is to forsake the false comfort of my old bedroom I've been disposed in and join them, because I need to see them, need to know what's happening, and if their hurting them.

I can hear my own breathing, the only thing a part of me that's still free to move without restraint, and my eyes feel like red stinging nettles. Just think, it was only a few hours ago we were sitting around the fire, discussing our next move. So much has changed since we destroyed the locket last month and at the same time nothing really at all.

Minus the rather miraculous finding of Godric Gryffindor's sword that is, an event that still eludes any real explanation as to how Potter and Weasley actually got a hold of it. Honestly Potter is the worst at explaining anything when he's excited, although it was rather adorable watching him bounce on his feet and grin like a loon as he tried.

We still moved from place to place in an aimless wonder, we still had no clue where to look for the next possible horcrux. We still nearly starved, still huddled against the rain of spring, still bickered, still tolerated Granger's endless flashing camera. And yet...Weasley speaks to me now, not at me, not through me, but to me.

And with civility. Mostly.

Ever since I jumped between Potter and the bit of soul attacking him, he's taken a begrudged liking to me- well as much as a Weasley can like a Malfoy anyway. I haven't been quite sure what to make of it but it seems to be making Potter happy, so I've been going along with it. What are the use of grudges and old rivalries now anyway?

It all seems rather pointless in comparison.

Especially now that we've been captured and Granger's tortured shrieks are boiling my blood. God if only Potter hadn't said his name, the damn Taboo, so simple a thing being our downfall.

If only the Snatchers hadn't recognized Granger and myself.

If only I hadn't let my guard slip.

If only I'd grabbed his hand tighter and ran faster.

If only we were anywhere but here, anywhere but my damn ancestral home that positively reeks with all the evil residing within its walls now.

If only, if only, if only...it's like a damn broken record in my head.

"Draco." My mother's voice drifts over to me from somewhere out of my line of sight. "I'm going to release you but you must stay where you are or I'll be forced to bind you again. Understood?"

I can't answer but I feel my insides tense as the spell comes to an end and turn slowly towards her. She's thinner, almost frail, all the luster and life gone from her striking nearly white hair and the spark has been extinguished from her once radiant blue eyes. She looks ill, near death even, and I wonder if it has anything to do with me leaving. Was that what sent her spiraling down or is it simply playing host to the Dark Lord that's draining the life from her?

"No proper greeting? I taught you better than that." Her tone is hard and cold, her mouth set in a firm and yet somehow dainty frown. She used to be so regal and there's a part of me that feels a little sick at this skeleton before me but it doesn't overshadow the other more prominent reality.

The one where me and my friends are on the verge of being tortured to death in my own home, at her own command, no matter how indirectly it may actually be.

"Good afternoon mother." I reply coolly, my face just as set, just as firm as her's - I learned from the best after all.

"So, you've taken up with Potter?" She takes a step towards me, her robes swishing about her feet in a way that only adds to the allusion of her floating over the ground. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, you've always had an unhealthy obsession with the boy." Her fingers, the long bones encased in pale papery skin, brush her hair from her shoulder. "Although I did think you'd be wiser. Not such a fool at the very least."

"Is there a point to this?" I ask, moving my legs off the edge of the bed and sitting up, my spine a perfect straight line, my shoulders squared and tense.

She smiles faintly. "Good to see your rolling about in the muck hasn't ruined your posture."

"I wish to be moved to the cellars." I state bluntly with the haughty tone that always makes her nose twitch, ignoring her snide remarks.

"To be with your precious companions? I think not Draco dear." She taps her wand against her thigh, her head tilting on her thin neck. "No I think it's better to have a look inside that head of yours, perhaps we'll find something of use to our Lord."

"Your Lord." I correct.

"That will change soon enough." She skirts the bed, staying just out reach. "As much as a disappointment you've turned out to be, you are still my son, our only heir, and a few memory modification charms should do the trick I think."

I let out a single cold laugh that has her pausing mid step. "Memory charms mother? Strip my memories all you like but the Dark Lord will torture and kill me on sight no matter how much you mess with my mind." I tell her with a hard edge to my voice, effectively hiding the fear and anxiety I feel away where she can't see or hear it.

"Perhaps." She says quietly. "But perhaps he'll spare you dear after you strip Potter of his defenses and hand him over to our Lord as an offering." I feel all the blood drain from my face, my heart stopping in my chest in a painful lurch, a thoughtful look flitting across her face. "Oh, strike a nerve did I? It wasn't so long ago that that suggestion would have delighted you to no end."

Swallowing thickly, I try to think quickly, desperate to come up with the right words to dissuade her away from her current line of thought. Because I can't...god I can't torture Potter, the idea of her distorting my mind to the point where all I feel is a boiling hate for the Gryffindor making me feel dizzy and shaky and ill. "He can't be beaten mother. Potter's too strong." I say, trying to reassure myself just as much as trying to change her mind.

"I don't know." She smiles like there's a foul taste in her mouth. "I think having you perform his discipline might lower his guard just enough. He's seems to have grown rather fond of you after all."

"Mother." I struggle for the words, all possible arguments slipping through my fingers as my distress swells inside me. "Please just...don't make me. If this must be the end then let me die with my own mind intact." My voice comes out tinged with sorrow, cracking a little at the end as my eyes slip shut, feeling completely unable to remain behind my icy facade any longer.

Not while all I can think and imagine is a horrible montage of Potter withering on the floor in endless pain beneath my own wand before the Dark Lord ends his life once and for all. And maybe, just maybe my slight break will be enough for her to extend mercy, enough to keep me from that terrible fate.

She takes a step closer, my eyes glued to her satin slipper covered toes peeking out beneath her dress. "Look at me Draco." She commands and summoning my resolve I obey her order, knowing perfectly well that the mask has dissolved to nothing in my gaze - leaving me feeling completely exposed and naked before her. "Potter won't win." She says, her own tone holding another level of emotion that I've rarely ever heard in her.

She sounds tired and sad and almost...scared.

I sit up a little straighter at it, watch as she takes another step in my direction, her body dangerously near now - almost close enough for me to lunge out at her. Everything around me slows as my mother, the woman who gave me life, the woman who has always been there for me, stares back at me. My mother who doted on me in my younger years, spoke frankly with me as I grew, and whom nearly lost it when I was made a Death Eater and given my doomed assignment.

My eyes flicker to the closed bedroom door, knowing there's a guard just outside, and beyond that is the long wide hall, then the curving staircase, then two right turns, down another flight of smaller stairs, and then...I could run it with my eyes closed.

I could make it.

The probability is not great, the chance pretty slim in all reality. But I could and to try would surely be better than to just sit here and let my mind be turned against me. And maybe just maybe I will make it and either escape with our lives or meet the end with Potter by my side. The thought wells in my mind, pumping courage out through my limbs and all I need is for her to take one step closer. Just one.

I stare into her eyes that are strangely clear, beckoning to me. "It doesn't matter." I tell her and hold my breath, waiting for her next move.

Her pale lips twitch as she blinks with a slow intake of air. "My dragon..." There's a spasm in her cheek and letting her eyes slip shut, she takes the smallest step closer. "Se souvenir de moi gentiment." She whispers and before her words have completely fallen from her lips, I leap off the bed and towards her, my hands wrenching the wand from her hands.

The spell knocking her backwards and stealing her consciousness leaves my mouth with a strange sort of detachment that doesn't let the words reach my ears. Nor do I let my eyes linger on her slumped body but instead with a speed spurred on by my desperate urgency and knowledge that I have only precious few seconds, I fling the door open and Stupefy the Death Eater standing guard before he even has a chance to turn around fully.

Hopping over his fallen body, I fly down the hall with my heart pounding in my ears, mixing with Granger's nerve slicing shrieks, as I try to formulate a plan. The main problem being that I have no idea what to expect or what I'll encounter and if I manage to make it down to the cellar how will we get back out? I highly doubt that the wards of the old Manor are still in tuned to my magical signature, so that takes Apparating out of the question. And then, even if I free Potter and Weasley, how will we get to Granger? I can't remember how many there are with her and we will only have one wand.

Absolutely nothing is stacked in our favor.

Death seems to press in from all sides like a mocking punch line that won't change no matter what I do.

I take out another Death Eater at the top of the stairs before recognition even takes form on his face and start down the winding staircase. The sound of two sets of feet thumping up the stairs reaches me seconds before their rounding the corner, my wand held out and a curse ready on my lips before I nearly stumble down the next step at the sight of black hair followed closely by red. "Petrif- Potter!" I hiss, my eyes snapping wide open at seeing him.

Alive. Intact.

"Draco." Potter breathes out, relief washing over his face as he leaps up the next few steps and pulls me into a hug. "God are you okay? Where did they take you? Did they hurt you?" He rambles out in a voice barely above a whisper as one of his hands curves around my neck, his eyes raking over me in an attempt to find any injury on me.

"Yes, yes I'm fine. How'd you get out?" I ask, my own fingers probing along his cheek, like the simple touch will reveal any damage that might have been done to him.

I feel a sense of calm rush through me at the solidness of him beneath my touch and the steadiness of his arm that's still around my back. And I realize as I watch his emerald eyes roam over me that I didn't really believe I was going to see him alive again and the reality is like a flooding overwhelming joy inside me even though we are still very far from being safe.

He shakes his head and smiles a twitching smile like he can't help but be happy even though he knows he shouldn't be. "Long story, look we need to get Hermione. Can you Apparate out?" He asks.

I blink out of my contemplation of him and frown. "I don't think so. I have my mother's wand and I knocked out two Death Eaters on my way down, we should go get them and then free Granger, we need to hurry, Bellatrix will come looking soon." I tell him quickly, suddenly realizing how stupid it was for me not to grab the wands right after they fell. "Unless of course you have one, do you?"

Potter grins and nods. "Yeah." He pauses and eyes something just over my shoulder then glances quickly behind himself and I barely have a chance to make out Weasley's turned back as he scouts around the corner before Potter’s grasping me tightly to him once more. "See you soon." He mutters into my ear, in a tone that sounds too much like a goodbye.

Before I have the chance to open my mouth in question he grabs my face between his hands and presses a hard kiss against my lips as all the air rushes out of his nose in one loud exhale. It's over nearly as fast it begun, the solid heat gone before I can even fully comprehend what just happened and then he's releasing me, pushing me roughly backwards.

My feet catch on the steps, my hands grasping at thin air as I fall, Potter face morphing into a sad little smile before I feel a light touch on my arm seconds before I should be hitting the ground - but instead the world is snapping and morphing and whirling in on itself. With a shout that gets lost in the void I'm being sucked through, I land in a disoriented heap on cold wet sand - the rush of the ocean roaring around me and the biting salty wind stinging my face.

"What..." I glance around, my eyes just landing on the little house elf that looks remarkably familiar before he's disappearing with a small pop. Then it all clicks and I feel an overwhelming rage rise through me. "Damn it Potter!" I scream into the empty air, my hands fisting angrily in the sand.

How dare he do that!

What the hell was he thinking sending me away? Does he not trust me enough in a fight, is that it? Is he worried I wouldn't be able to stand up against my own family? And now, now I just have to sit here and wait, wondering and worrying and having no clue what's happening and if they're all right. Damn it! If he makes it back alive I'm going to kill him.

Or at least shake him vigorously and maybe slap him for good measure. It's been too long since I've done that, bout time I started it up again.

Plus what the hell was that kiss? My lips feel like they've caught fire from the brief but intense contact and there's a flipping in my gut that's turning with way to many emotions for me to even begin being able to sort them out.

So he has to come back, he just has to because he is not ALLOWED to die without getting a sound lashing first.

He just can't...he can't...

"Draco Malfoy?" I turn at the sound of my name breathed out in a wispy dream like voice that sounds vaguely familiar, only to find the most oddly dressed blonde haired girl standing behind me. I know I've seen her before and god I really should be able to place her because honestly how many people have I met in my life that looks anything like her?

She's wearing radish earrings and hot pink crop pants for Merlin's sake!

"Yes?" I grind out, trying not to let myself deteriorate into hyperventilation at my current situation.

"You don't remember me do you? That's okay, you always did have an overabundance of Wrackspurts in your ears." The blonde girl drifts like she's perched on a wave as she speaks, a distant sort of smile on her face. "I'm Luna. Or Loony as you liked to call me if you'd rather."

Oh right. Loony Lovegood. Yes I really shouldn't have forgotten that, Potter took her to Slughorns party last year after all. "Right of course." I grumble, dropping my head into my hands, not really in the mood for a pointless chitchat. Then again..."where are we?"

Luna shrugs lightly. "Not sure really, beautiful though isn't it? Much nicer than the cellar."

"You were being held at the Manor?" I ask, eyeing her a bit more carefully now.

She smiles and nods. "Oh yes, with these nice gentlemen." Luna gestures to her left and with a silent curse I notice the other two occupants of the beach for the first time - Dean Thomas and Ollivander the wand maker, the former staring at me with barely suppressed contempt, his hand clamped into a fist at his side.

Probably lucky he hasn't tried to tackle me yet, what with him being a Gryffindor and everything.

"Keep back from him Luna." Thomas instructs the wavering girl, his gaze full of spite and I can't help but wonder if any of them know about the months I've spent with the Golden Trio, from the looks of it I'd say no.

Before I have the chance to enlighten him however there's another little pop and Potter, Granger, Weasley, a goblin, and the house elf drop in a tangled heap on the sand. And I should stay where I am and let them sort everything out, then proceed to ask nice calm questions about how it went and make sure they're alright.

But who am I kidding? Since when have I even been able to restrain myself around Potter?

With a grunt, I hop to my feet and lunge at him just as he manages to stand, my body colliding sharply with his as I tackle him to the ground. He lets out a shout as the cold foamy waves surge up around us, soaking my knees as I straddle him, his entire body drenched in an instant as I hold him down with a sneer. "Bloody hell Potter! Where do you come off?" I shout at him, my hands holding his wrists down in the sinking coarse sand.

"What?! Get off me Draco!" Potter bites out, spitting out the salty sea water that splashes into his mouth, his hands wrenching from my grasp and moving to try and push me off.

I slap his hands away, growling at the flailing limps that are trying to knock me sideways, my knees no doubt digging painfully into his sides. "You had that elf send me away. You could have fucking died you bastard!" His fingers scrape at my face and I retaliate with my own solid smack against his wet cheek. "I thought you trusted me!" I feel torn apart, the better part of me raging while the other half is filled with a strange sort of repetition of a single though.

He's okay. He's okay. He's okay....

His mouth drops open, his eyes narrowing and I take his moment of hesitation to take control of his arms once more. Pinning his wrists at an awkward distorted angle by his ears, I lean down close to his face. "Is that it? Huh Potter? Has this all been some mental joke?!"

"That's rubbish." Potter hisses.

"Then what? Damn it why did you do that me!?" I twist painfully on his wrists and can't seem to stop the little crack in my voice, as all the intense emotions that today has been wrought with comes crashing heavily into me.

"Because!" He shouts like he's trying to drown the roar of the waves. "I didn't want you to have to fight your family!"

"I attacked my own mother to get to you! And that was not your decision to make Potter." I seethe, my head dropping forward with exhaustion as my limbs start to shake. Today was the first time I had seem my parents in so many months, the first time I had been back to my home, the day Granger was tortured, the day I attacked my own mother, the day it all almost ended, the day I spent worried sick over the possibility that Potter was going to die and I wouldn't even know. "I should have been there...you should have trusted me."

It's the day I realize that I won't be able to breathe again if he's killed. Bloody hell.

"I do! But I didn't...I didn't..." He falters for words, the hands beneath my own no longer struggling, his body going nearly slack like he's too tired to fight me anymore.

"You didn't what?" I press, needing to know.

Potter stares up at me with red rimmed eyes, the water having sopped his curls and lapping at his face with each surge but he doesn't seem to notice any of it any longer. "Draco." He says quietly, breathing heavily, and that's it.

Just my name, like some sort of twisted recount of the first time he found me at the river, and I don't know what to make of that, what it means and oddly enough I feel tears press against my eyes.

"Don't do that again." I mutter, shaking my head, and letting it hang heavy until my forehead presses against his chest. "You can't do that ever again."

****

The large yellow envelope is sitting so very innocently on the mahogany table, its flap bent and creased with care and precision, sealing its contents inside and away from scrutiny. I can feel my finger twitch once as I look down at it, wishing to pull it towards me and pry it open. But I resist, restraining myself from giving Madame Safiya the illusion that having kept this information from me for so long has affected me in any negative way.
I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer.
Taking a sip of the cool sweet tea, I lean back against the chair, its carved backing digging into my shoulder blades. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss?" I ask her evenly as the empty plate before me is whisked away by a mute servant with a bowed head.
Safiya smiles and drops her hands into her lap as her own dishes are cleared. "You're not going to open the packet?"
"I will later." I reply without glancing back down at it. "If there's nothing else than I should be going." This has been a strange and much longer visit than I'm used to anyway, her summons drawing me to her private rooms above her club. I hadn't wanted to come, her messages holding no hint to her reason behind the meeting, and Potter had positively glowered silently at me the entire time I was getting ready to leave.
But of course it wasn't a choice so I came, expecting the worst and instead receiving dinner and pointless chitchat that kept skirting any real issue without delving straight into it - something that has left me both weary and wary. I've lost my taste for word games over the years.
"How is our Mr. Potter?" Safiya plucks the white wine glass from the table in the curve between her thumb and index finger, holding it aloft in the air but not moving it towards her lips. "He's been staying with you, no?"
I curl my hand in on itself and hold her gaze steadily, wondering how exactly she's been having me watched, that's the only way she could have known that. Because Potter has been staying with me this past week, it wasn't anything we discussed or have really openly acknowledged even. I think he was just afraid of leaving after that morning he woke to find me gone and if I'm honest I was rather reluctant to let him go. It seems safer somehow having him stay.
And it's been...nice. I train, he writes, we cook and eat together and go for walks. He doesn't press and I don't demand any answers of my own. We talk about things to don't hold too much depth, staying away from anything that could trigger me. He even brought over a telly that we've been watching old movies on each night.
"He's well." I say as politely as I can manage, feeling the all too familiar cold fingers of dread crawl up me.
"He's an odd man isn't he? There's something about him..." She continues, the wine still untouched, her head cocked and eyes cold even in thought. "Though the odd ones are always the most passionate are they not?"
"I suppose, he's dedicated to his work." Which is a load of shit considering I don't think he's actually written anything for the magazine since coming here, despite all the time he spends writing in his journal.
"Yes I see how he could be very dedicated." Safiya says with a smile and a tone that makes me think she's talking about something completely different than his career. "I'd like to hear what you make of him dear?"
I hold in a sneer and force myself to smile in return as I try to find my way around this new puzzle. How am I supposed to respond to that? I get the feeling that my answer holds some untold power and will reap some sort of action, I just don't know if it will be good or bad or how to make it turn out in our favor.
To call him dispassionate would draw her to be more infatuated with his untold fervor.
To call him a bore would entice her to draw him into action.
To call him disloyal would challenge her to disprove it.
To call him a dedicated friend would make her try to twist and bend it to her will.
To pretend my disinterest in him would make her push more firmly against both of us.
To admit my care for him would be to spell his immediate decent into her unrecoverable desires.
God I miss the times when everything was straight forward, when I only ever saw her on the rare occasion and didn't have to sift through her unspoken layers and weigh my every thought against how she'll see it and use it.
"Potter is predictable." I finally settle on, knowing it's true enough that she won't see it as a lie but not interesting enough to spur into one specific course of action. I hope at least.
She takes a sip of her wine as she contemplates me. "Predictable. How do you mean?"
"Exactly like it sounds Madame."
"Mhmm." She places the glass back down and stands up, walking around to where I'm sitting and leaning back against the edge of the table as she stares down at me. "So darling if I were to keep you here, what would Mr. Potter do?"
I swallow and try not to flinch away from her gaze. "Go to bed I assume." I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster, like the suggestion that he would feel the need to do something about it being absurd.
"And if I kept you overnight?"
"Maybe call Donnie to make sure I wasn't in an accident if I still wasn't back tomorrow night." I shrug casually, thankful she can't hear or see the speed of my pulse. This line of questioning is making me nervous because it speaks too much of Potter's explosive reactionary tendencies. But how could she possibly know that?
"Truly?" She says quietly, quirking a single eyebrow and I can see the shadow of doubt in her eyes. There's a light rap on the door to my right and her eyes flit up for a moment before turning back to me with a small smile. "We'll have to finish this later, my guests are here." She straightens as I push out of my chair, her hand reaching out to clasp mine in a light hand shake. "Perhaps we can test your theory another time."
Fuck.
"Perhaps." I incline my head to her and drop her hand, grabbing the envelope I turn and make my way out the open door, eager to get away from the stifling room.
I pause at the base of the stairs, listening to the music I can hear vibrating from down the hall as I try to regroup my thoughts. Apparently predictable wasn't the right description to use to derail her curiosity but I still for the life of me can't think of a safer answer I could have given that she would have been satisfied with. I know she's taking too much pleasure dangling her interest in him before me, a game of cat and mouse where she's also the keeper of the maze.
At least that Grace woman hasn't made an appearance.
My feet falter in indecision as I stare down at the envelope in my hand. Potter will be waiting for me, waiting for a recount, no doubt with a pot of tea sitting between us. But the only way that will make any of this easier is if he leaves but I know he's not going to, he's made it abundantly clear, and bringing it up again would be counterproductive. I know it because I can still hear his promise even though we haven't spoke of it and neither has he tried to touch or kiss me again since that day in the kitchen.
But it's there. Always there right between us.
With the decision still taking shape in my mind, I find myself turning away from the path to the exit and instead make my way down the narrow hall and descending the hidden staircase. The distinct noise and smell of the basement fills my senses, letting everything else drift to the back corner of my thoughts as I shove the envelope into the surprised hands of one of Madame Safiya's men.
Pushing my way through the thick crowd, I strip the shirt from my body and toss it away as I step into the drawn circle. There's an uproar of shouting and thumping and I only have to wait a moment before there's another man entering the ring from the opposite side, smiling menacingly at me. I grin back at him, watching as he removes his own shirt and steps up into position.
The sound of bets screaming quickly through the mass dims to a non-distinct buzz as I toe the chalk line and send my fist flying.

****

Potter has his head tipped in thought, his tongue between his teeth and poking just barely out from his lips, his eyes narrowed, and brow furrowed. He takes a sip of his tea, licks his lips slowly, and sets the mug down. "Did you have fun?"
"Mhmm?" My legs stop their swinging from where I'm perched atop the counter top, my back leaning back against the cupboards.
"Your knuckles are bleeding." He points out.
Bringing my hands over my lap, I look down at the cracked skin and blooming bruises that always follow bare knuckle boxing. "Indeed they are, spur of the moment competition." I wiggle my fingers, testing for any stiffness.
The tap turns on and I glance over to see Potter wetting a washcloth. The man has surely missed his calling as a nurse given his unstoppable penchant towards wounds of any sort. "Why do you fight?" He asks as he turns the water off and comes to stand in front of me.
I shrug as he grabs one of my hands and presses the wet cloth against the broken skin. "It steadies me." I tell him, giving him the simplest explanation that I can. He nods with his head bowed over his work but I can see the slight frown anyways and it pricks at me for some reason. "Why?"
His frown twitches up for a moment as he angles his eyes up to meet mine. "I suppose I just don't understand it."
I quirk an eyebrow. "You suppose?"
He holds my hand up, inspecting the thoroughness of his work for a moment before grabbing the other one. "I don't understand why you willing hurt yourself all the time."
"That's not the point of it Potter."
He drops the cloth and runs his thumb over my battered hand. "Then what is the point?"
"I already told you." I sigh, watching the movements of his fingers moving over mine.
"Okay so it steadies you...so what happened today that made you jump in the ring?"
Oh how clever of him, finally learned the art of leading a conversation did he? "Madame Safiya gave me the details of the fighter I'm to compete against next week." I tell him, his head finally lifting to look directly at me.
"Are you worried?" He asks, his thumb moving to rub little circles over the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist.
"No." I let my head thunk back against the cupboard, the spike of pain combating the butterflies taking flight in my stomach all of a sudden. "He shouldn't pose a problem."
"Than what was it that unsettled you?"
I look away and pull my hand out of his grasp, curling my fingers around the edge of the counter. "She asked about you again."
"And?" He sounds much too apathetic about it, not even a spark of worry in his tone.
"And I don't like her interest as you very well know. I'm not particularly keen in getting into it again unless you've changed your mind about going home."
He steps back over to the sink, rinsing out the blooded washcloth with a sigh. "Have you changed your mind about coming with me?"
"No." I watch the pink water swirl down the drain with a vague curiosity, there's something strange about watching and letting someone else tend to my injuries.
"There you have it then."
"Sometimes I wonder if you were put on this earth simply to make my life more difficult Potter." I grumble, slipping from the counter and walking over to the table I snatch up the yellow envelope - pulling from its depth a slim disc holding footage of my new opponent’s latest fights.
Potter snorts and dries his hands. "I think you have that backwards."
"Mhmm you would, grab the crisps yeah?" I say flashing the DVD at him. "Time for my research."
I don't wait for him to respond before heading back out of the kitchen, slipping the disc from its sheath and inserting it into the player. It hums as it clicks on, the buzz of electricity and whirling gears something that still catches me by surprise even after all these years. Arranging myself on the bed against the headboard, I let my fingers fidget against my thigh.
All in all that went much better than I could have hoped for and I realize with a faint smile that maybe he's not as predictable as he used to be. In something’s anyway.
Potter bounces down onto the bed beside me, throwing an unopened bag of crisps at me as he grabs the remote from the nightstand. "So this is the guy you'll be fighting?" He asks as he presses play.
I nod. "Yeah Troy Kennedy, he's American I believe." The movie starts jerkily before focusing in on their opening Ram Muay. It's strange seeing it on film, this being only the second time I've watched a future opponent on the telly, and I don't quite know how I feel about it. It makes it all seem so distant and unrelated.
"So I got an owl today." Potter mutters suddenly, his legs shifting a bit nervously.
Reaching over, I pluck the remote from his hands and pause it. Staring at him silently for a moment, I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't, he just keeps looking back at me like he's afraid if he blinks wrong I'm going to pummel him. "A letter I take it?" I ask tightly.
"Um...yeah..." He runs a hand through his hair, his mouth moving around a series of different noiseless sounds. "Yeah see every year around this time, Ron and Hermione take some time off...and you know since I haven't been back in so long...they, um, they've taken to visiting me wherever I am..." He pauses and sends me furtive glances between staring at his hands. "So yeah anyways...it's um time for their trip...so..."
"Potter...do you think that's wise considering everything that's going on?" I let my eyes narrow slightly, the thought of seeing them again causing some sort of emotion that's hanging just out of reach, waiting for me to settle on the idea and grab onto it.
"I think I'd have to be dead for them not to come." He grumbles, plucking at his jeans. "But you know I think it will be alright, I bet they'll be happy to see you."
I suck on my tongue for a moment as I mull over his words. "Do they know I'm here?"
He shakes his head. "No, you asked me not to tell anyone."
"Then I don't see why they need to know when they come." I say with finality, leaning my head back and fiddling with the remote. Damn Granger and Weasley, they always had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times.
"But...they'll be here for a whole week." Potter says softly and I don't respond, what am I supposed to say? That I don't want to go that long without seeing him? Because bloody hell the more I think about it the more that idea sounds terrible. Somehow without me even noticing it I've grown rather used to his presence and the warmth it brings, despite the added turmoil.
I realize that I like waking up and seeing his scruffy face and bedraggled hair and droopy eyes that don't fully open until he's had his morning coffee. I like the amused way he watches me from over his notebook as I go about my morning warm-up. I like how the shower smells like him, how he's crammed a portion of his clothes into the bottom of my wardrobe. I like how he stops by the gym with lunch sometimes, how he's somehow managed to become friendly with all the other patrons in such a short amount of time. I like cooking together than eating our dinner at the once lonely table. I like how he sits right next to me on the bed while we watch those favorite old movies of his, how he can't seem to fall asleep on his little cot without rambling off some random nonsense to me in the pitch black.
I know I shouldn't but god help me I do. And maybe that's exactly why I need to take a break from him.
"I'll tell them not to mention...you know." Potter interjects at my silence, twisting at his waist to face me and I can see his trepidation shinning so clearly on his face. He's worried I'm going to say no, worried I'm going to refuse his presence while they’re here, worried I'll make him leave. He's worried for all the wrong reasons.
"Potter..."
"Just don't say no yet, think about it okay?" He rushes to say before I can finish my thought and with a moment’s hesitation I nod, his breath releasing on a long exhale as he slumps back against the headboard. "Thank you." He says quietly, his head dropping to rest on my shoulder.
I stare down at his messy locks as the movie clicks back on and I start to thread one of the new patterns he's falling into - because he always touching me when he's nervous, when he's afraid I'll pull away and I realize it's just like my fighting. He's grounding himself, reassuring himself. With a resigned sigh I let my cheek fall against his temple and feel the last bit of tension edge out of him. I'm going to regret seeing them, just like everything that seems to be happening lately but I won't refuse them.
Because I can't seem to gather enough energy to push him out any longer.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing