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
- 15
- 16
- 17
                                                                                                                       Chapter 16
                                                                                                                 Rolling In The Deep
"You don't have to stay." Harry murmurs near my ear as Granger turns her back, arranging a stack of books next to a bubbling travel potions kit on my desk.
I glance over at him, his eyes shining with worry, not for the upcoming tests but for me. He's giving me an out, telling me I can flee the room and not subject myself to the swell of magic that's going to take place. But I can't do that, no matter how appealing it sounds, I need to be here. Need to see if she can pull any answers from her analysis. I put him in this mess, I can gather the strength to wade through it with him.
"Lie down on the bed Harry." Granger instructs clinically over her shoulder, handing off a stack of papers to Weasley - who looks utterly confused with what he's supposed to do with them. Then again he's look confused since they showed up.
Harry's green eyes jump to the bed before flickering back to me with a twitching smile that brings a blush unbidden to my cheeks.

As I watch him walk over to it, with a little twinge in his step that I can't help but smile at, I wish we had had more time before being thrown back into this mess of a life. We had lain entwined on the bed sheets, kissing lazily and caressing gently, time drifting on another plain altogether - but it was too short, too quick to come to an end. It came crashing back into reality at the knock on our door, Weasley calling to us as we scrambled for our clothes, Harry casting a quick cleaning charm. When we finally managed to right ourselves and open the door, out of breath and still unpleasantly sticky from our activities, we were meet with a suspicious blue gaze and a smothered smile from his wife to be at his right shoulder.

It was all stunningly familiar.

Like we're destined to always be interrupted by them.
And already the fire is back, roaring beneath the surface, even though by all rights it should be sated, exhausted. But he's swinging his legs onto the bed with a knowing smirk on his lips, like he's reliving it himself and its throwing tinder on the smolders.
There's a part of me that wants to throw decorum to the wind and press him into the mattress, snogging him as if we were still alone. I want to feel him again, want to close any distance between us, knowing there's nothing but us. I want to reassure the thunder of fear and quell it with the touch of his skin, drown out the voices with his moans and screams.
The thing is...despite the desire, I don't quite know how to act around him now, the ground we're on vastly different than any we've trespassed before. I'm not one to shower my affection in public, especially with the very unique complications that any relationship we start is going to be burdened with. I'm not even completely sure where we stand, what with not having a chance to talk about it before or even after falling into bed together. I know what I want, I know what I need, but I also know what's best for him - and their not the same by a long shot.
It's a tangled fucked up mess.

But then again there's not really a choice anymore is there? I knew that before sliding into his body, heard it ring through me as his eyes rolled back in his head, my name a plea that he couldn't help but whimper. I knew it as the sweat cooled, Harry keeping me from moving off him, keeping me inside him until the last possible moment. I saw it in his glowing eyes and grinning lips and delighted light laughter that rumbled through him as he came floating down from his post orgasmic high.

He was utterly breathtaking through it all. Even as he stumbled into his jeans and cursed the mess on his stomach. Even as I pulled the door open while he frantically tried to get his hair to lie flat.
Granger's speaking again and I try to wrangle my composure and pay attention, this is important after all. I hadn't expected her to come up with something so quickly...or at all really. But she had barged into my flat with Weasley trailing after her with a sheepish smile and promptly gave away the fact I had met with her that morning.
As she explained their sudden appearance, I could see Harry teetering on the fence between furious and...grateful. It was strange to watch, his arms folded over his chest with his anger sparking and I'm not daft enough to not know why. He puzzled together I had gone to try and ship him off, he knows I had spilled part of what's been happening, and I'm positive he also figured out that she had told me. That Granger had filled me in on his missing story that he hadn't wanted to share with me.
It felt all of sudden like a stunning betrayal of him, leaving me unable to look him in the eye as they debated back and forth.
But he also seemed grateful as her explanation of the spells she wants to try to determine if the Madame has been up to anything nefarious with his blood came to a close. He had moved over to me as she set to work on preparing, touching my arm lightly, smiling coyly, and looking very much like he was going to kiss me right then and there. But he didn't, just let his touch linger a moment longer than necessary and lent his ear to Weasley going on about the local food - the red head purposely keeping his eyes skirting just shy of landing on me.
"Drink this." Granger hands Harry a small vial of steaming blue liquid as he settles on the bed, flicking open a roll of parchment as he takes it tentatively from her.
"What is it?" He asks skeptically.
"You wouldn't know even if I told you, so just plug your nose and down it." She mutters, dipping her quill in a pot of ink and scratching across the parchment in her hands.
"Gah, that's awful." Harry pulls a face, dropping the vial on the nightstand like it's going to lash out at him if he holds it a moment longer.
"I told you, now lay down and don't move." Granger drops the paper and pulls her wand, my feet wanting to back up automatically at the sight, but I don't give in - keeping my eyes locked on Harry in order to draw in the resolution I need. "Ronald stir that please."
"Er the...potion?" He asks, peaking into the cauldron and winking his nose at whatever is brewing in its depths. It's painfully hard to keep from snickering at the anxiety on his face, I can plainly see he's terrified of touching it.
"Yes, you can't ruin it, five turns counter clockwise to every twelve clockwise." She checks the watch on her wrist and nods to no one in particular, seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one but her is confident in her lovers ability to keep from destroying it.
"Perhaps Malfoy should..."
I suck in a sharp breath as Weasley trails off, his feet shifting back and forth, Granger's eyes snapping to mine with a calculating look that sinks right through my defenses. I can't do it, I'll barely be able to manage staying in the damn room, I can't pour myself into the mixing of a potion and not come undone.
"You'll be fine Ron." She smiles at him, ending the debate with a finality in her voice. He grumbles something under his breath but picks up the wooden spoon and sets to work, the numbers he's ticking off a mumbled buzz around us. "Right now, here we go." She clears her throat and flourishes her wand over Harry's body, her lips moving silently.
I can see him straining to remain still, the worry he's managed to hid up until this moment coming through clearly now as he presses his thumb into the hollow of his elbow - over the exact spot of the now invisible needle pock. I have no idea what these tests will reveal and I can only pray fervently for nothing. That Granger won't be able to determine anything - that it will all turn out to be just some insane quirk of Safiya's. I've heard of things like that before, of people wearing vials of a loved one's blood around their neck...in the Madame's case I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she had some sort of sick collection of them.
God I hope that's all it is.
His fingers curl into a fist in the bedspread, his jaw tightening, eyes slipping shut while Granger's magic rises around us - centering intently on him. I know he doesn't feel it like I can, I know that it's not hurting him, that it's just nerves - that he just hates lying still and waiting around for things to happen. I know the heat I feel and the churn starting in my stomach isn't a mirror image of what's happening to him...logically I know all of this.
But he looks far too vulnerable, far too nervous, far too exposed - the tightness in his face drowning out Weasley's curses every time he accidentally misses a number, drowning out the deep ingrained desire to run far away in me. It's almost startling to feel the bed suddenly under me as I sit next to him, his gaze just as surprised as they fly open when the mattress dips - my hand finding its way automatically over his.
"You don't have to." He curls his fingers through mine as he, predictably, switches gears - well this is one time I'll allow it. Let him worry about me and my potential reaction, as long as it keeps him from sinking into all the ‘what if's’ of his own.
"Shut it Potter." I squeeze his hand, his dark curls against the white pillow such a lovely contrast.
"Thank you." He whispers, reaching over and clasping his free hand over my thigh.
"Stay still Harry." Granger chides, breaking in her spell for a moment to jot down a quick note before moving to the opposite side of the bed and starting again.
"Sorry." He doesn't bother looking at her, his finger twitching against my leg as he locks his eyes on mine. "So...secret meeting huh?" He quips with an arched eyebrow.
I glance at Granger before nodding once. "Well you were being ridiculously difficult."
He rolls his eyes dramatically, like he's trying to make up for not moving a muscle otherwise, all his sarcasm in the one gesture. "Paid off didn't it?" He winks and I think I hear Granger falter in her near silent words for a second.
"Doesn't mean it was smart of you." I point out, my thumb running over the back of his hand.
I can see the muscles in his neck grow taunt as he struggles to keep still, to keep from turning his head towards me. "It absolutely does." He smiles at me and I feel myself returning the gesture with uncharacteristic ease.
We lapse into silence as Granger works over him, Weasley in the corner trying his hardest to be at least marginally capable at something he's always been terrible at. Despite the soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley around us, it's a surprisingly intimate moment. There's something about the magic she's using that's opening him up wider than ever before, like he's glowing around me - and if the room wasn't threatening to spin at the drop of pin I may have given in and lain down next to him - pressing a kiss to his forehead and listening to the beat of his heart.
I feel like I can hear it as it is, so far away, yet loud and steady. I can feel it pulse through his fingers and into mine and I have the feeling that if I allowed myself to touch the pool of magic inside me that I could slip through the last of his barriers - that his thoughts could become one with mine, memories, past and present, mingled time and yearning.
"Draco." Harry croaks and there's a sense of squeezing towards a needle point, his voice pulling me through and under and...there's a brilliant light, a sensation of floating, then a gentle push...
His thoughts coil like braiding twine around mine and I'm overwhelmed with the sudden power of it. It isn't solid, it isn't coherent, it's an intense flash of raw emotion - pain and despair, worry and fear, need and lust, yearning and abandon. It's his voice whispering over my heart, tugging at me with the force of everything he's ever felt towards me, my name a central figure that flows with every little surge of feeling. The images that rush forward steal my breath and I feel myself tumbling backwards into them, desires I never knew dominating the flood and with a gasp I break back through the surface - finding myself suddenly back in my own mind, only seconds later but feeling inescapably...alone.
When my vision clears, it's immersed with his steady gaze, his mouth slightly open with a soft pant on his lips. And I just...I just...I haven't done that since I was sixteen. I didn't even mean to, the spell never even came to mind, he was just there - open beneath me and suddenly I was falling through. I just tripped into his mind and...I never meant to connect with the power inside me, I never meant...I just...holy fuck.
Before I can think better, I lean down to capture his open mouth with my own, his thoughts still pumping through me, driving me into his arms that wrap tightly around me in an instant. But our lips never connect because Harry's eyes are tugging me under again, his fingers moving up - lacing through my hair until the tips of his thumbs are pressing into my temple.
I can see his lips moving, know he's speaking, but I'm slipping through - crashing like ink drops on muddled paper before coming to a screeching halt. With a blink I gather my senses, glancing around me to see that I'm hovering like an unearthly ghost in a pale white room - sickly in its decor, forgotten in the vestige of paint. I get the distinct impression that I've landed in a memory right where Harry wanted me too, like he plucked me up and dropped me here - to witness this moment in his history.
The room is small, nondescript, two stiff tiny beds, two squat nightstands with rounded corners, two miniature wardrobes hooked to the wall, one window with a pulse of protective magic overlooking a sunny landscape that can't possibly be real. There's no personal artifacts to be seen, nothing to hint at who lives here, but I know. I can feel it in Harry's thoughts, the despair that wells inside him, I know what this place is - the visage giving life to the reason he didn't come to see me while I was in the hospital.
The door swishes open on silent hinges, well oiled - quiet for midnight visits - and I turn towards it just as Harry comes shuffling in. I know he can't see me, can't hear me, that it's a memory and restricted to its time and place but I can't help but reach out, distressed at the sight he makes. He's devastatingly thin, even more so than I remember him being the day of the last battle. His hair is cropped short, no doubt like every other patient for convenience, and unwashed. There's a scruffy, straggly bead across his cheeks and chin, like a shadow that's bent on becoming something more.
But most terrifying is his eyes. The spark is gone, confronting me with the precise reality that Granger was talking about. The usually dancing emerald orbs are lifeless, deep with a haunted air that makes you want to look away lest you find yourself in the same wasteland.
He rakes a hand with a fine tremor through his spiky hair and glances around the room, those soulless eyes landing on the wardrobe in the far corner with an exasperated sigh. "You missed group therapy again." He announces to the empty room as he stalks over to the wooden structure, his voice low and raspy, like he doesn't spend a lot of time using it anymore.
He stops and taps his foot against the floor, waiting for...god knows what, before he huffs and yanks the wardrobe open with a sharp tug. "Are you trying to increase your stay?" He asks the darkness inside and I find myself taking careful, quiet steps towards him - moving slowly as if I'll spook him if I move too quickly.
"Ah you know me Harry, can't stand group, all those loons in a bloody circle crying their eyes out." The voice floating out of the blackness inside stops me cold because I know it. I know it more completely than I know most anyone else.
Harry rolls his eyes, reaching inside and pulling back on something. "They’re the loons? You’re the one who spends all his time in a cupboard."
"Wardrobe Harry. It's a wardrobe." Blaise announces as he comes stumbling into the light, Harry's hand latched firmly around his forearm. I can't seem to tear my eyes from him, his dark features drawn and pierced with a perpetual sense of fear. He's wearing the same loose white shirt as Harry but he has the button's done up to the top of his throat, the cuffs tied secure around his wrists, the ends tucked neatly into the gray cotton trousers - the ends of his pant legs shoved into the lace-less boots.
Other than his fingers and face, there isn't a speck of skin showing, a stark contrast to Harry's state - the paler boy's own shirt nearly hanging off his shoulders, his trousers a drooping loop, his feet covered in black socks with a gaping hole in the big toe.
"Oh and that makes it all the better I take it?" Harry mutters, dropping himself onto the end of the bed and grasping his trembling hands over his elbows.
"Than group? Yes it does." Blaise tugs on his sleeve, curling his fingers up into the fabric. "And it's humorous you think they’re going to actually let you out of here if you go."
"They can't keep me here forever." Harry bites back and I wrap my arms about myself as the tremor takes up in his jaw - spreading through his body like a growing disease. I can't stand seeing it.
Blaise barks out a laugh. "Oh yes they can dear hero. You really think the world wants a twitchy, shaking, ranting, Harry Potter? Oh no, you're of much more use to them in here. Here you’re a devastating savior, having given your all to the cause, no one wants to actually see what that means." He flips his hand in the air, flopping down next to him.
"Take your fucking potion Blaise, you're getting bitchy again."
The chocolate boy clicks his tongue, shaking his head unrepentantly. "Bitchy, bitchy, yes, yes but it's true."
"I am getting out." Harry says firmly, staring down at the other boy with that stubborn Gryffindor resolve that cracks through past his brokenness.
"To see your lady love?" Blaise faints a blush, fanning himself dramatically, to which Harry glares vehemently. "Fine fine, boy love. Man love? Probably already bled to death down the hall love?"
Harry shoots to his feet as Blaise's dark eyes round wide, his own feet scrambling to the floor. He holds out his hands in a desperate plea as Harry fumes silently. "Fuck I'm sorry Harry, I didn't mean it. I haven't...I hate those damn potions but I'll take them yeah? I'll do better...I'm sure he's fine you know. He's a stubborn git...he's fine..." Blaise rambles, breathing sharply through his nose, his tall frame hunching in on himself.
There's a long, tense, silent moment where I'm not sure if Harry's going to actually snap and attack the cowering boy or not. The whole scene is unnerving, both of them so set in uncharacteristic roles, like their stuck playing a part they can't break free from because something has shifted deep inside them.
Harry's opening his mouth, his shoulders slumping, but I don't hear what he's saying - the scene suddenly speeding up like I'm watching one his films on fast-forward. Their sliding around the room, the last thing I see is them sitting cross-legged on the bed - facing each other as their lips move unnaturally fast in conversation I want desperately to hear. But it's all slipping away, growing distant and fuzzy before I feel myself tumbling once more out of Harry's mind, letting the memory settle back to where it belongs.
I blink and the Harry from here and now is back before me, his hands still on me, and his eyes shining with what can only be unshed tears. "I...didn't know..." It's the only thing I can think to say, my mind struggling to reconcile the things I just saw to the skewed view of the past I had.
"I didn't want you to." He's quiet but I hear him and somewhere in the back of my mind I'm vaguely aware that Granger is no longer standing by the bed, that I can't hear Weasley any longer.
"Then why?" I ask, trying to shake off the image of his ghostly eyes as I try to understand. If he didn't want me to know than why did he clear the way to that particular memory? Why did he make the slip so easy that it happened with barely any effort on my part?
He pulls me down into a slow kiss that's filled with longing, my body moving to crush him tightly beneath me, needing to feel the pulse of his warmth. "Because you needed it."
Maybe that's true, I don't know, I can't figure it out right now - there's too much spinning around in my mind to settle on any one thing. Because not only did I just get a glimpse into his past, but I just saw Blaise in a completely backwards state, and most importantly I just used magic and I'm...okay. "So Blaise...?"
"Like I said, he was my roommate, we just happened to be in the Psyche Ward during that time. He had a run in with some...nasty curses." Harry runs his hands down my back and shifts into a more comfortable position under me.
"Did he get released?"
Harry nods slowly. "Yeah...but he." He stops and glances around me with a little sigh at a noise sounding from the kitchen. "Let's finish this later."
Despite the need to dissect the situation, to drag out every little detail about the dark Slytherin, I know now isn't the time. That we aren't here to discuss the past but to make sure Harry's alright. With that in mind I move off him, watching as he slips from the bed and walks steadily into the kitchen with one last long look in my direction.
I can hear the murmuring voices as I sit on the edge of the mattress, a heaviness in my soul. I hate everything I just witnessed, I hate that he was held in that little room, forced to therapies that held no meaning to him, that he was in the same damn hospital as me and yet no one let us see each other - no even told me.
I hate that I wasn't there for him.
The three of them reappear a moment later, Granger glancing curiously at me before pulling a knife from her bag and handing it to Harry. He takes it with steady fingers, nicking his palm and holding it over the stewing cauldron.
"Three drops." Granger tells him as the first crimson pebble drips down with a quiet simmer. "Now we wait."

****

The rooms are always the same - old, dingy, caked with years of dirt and grime - and this one is no different. I can hear the crowd, mingling with the pumping music just beyond the door and down the hall. These rooms, these places, hold their own flavor, their own memories - fights and blood, glory and despair. The air is thick with it. I breathe it in, like an old friend coming back to life, it's a pit but it's my pit and I'm aching for the fight that tonight holds. I will win, I will pay off my debt, and I will break the clasp of her lock on me.

I will no longer be her puppet and tonight will be the last time she pulls her strings.

"You're smiling."

Like a hundred times before, a record on perpetual repeat, I blink away from the stucco wall and focus my gaze on Caleb sitting in front of me - his fingers deftly wrapping my hands for the upcoming fight. "Am I?" I ask, even though I can feel the small curve, the muscles in my cheeks unused to the pull and stretch straining them so often.

He nods, staring into his work with a distant gaze. "It's Harry...isn't it?"

"Pardon?" He's not looking at me, intent on his work that he could do blindfolded by now, his voice quiet and tentative. I feel the silence stretch - so different and yet perfectly the same as so many times before - and I don't quite know what to say, oddly...nervous...of this conversation for some reason.

Caleb takes a breath and glances up, a smile playing on the corner of his mouth. "It's funny, I've had a thing for you, you know? Stupid really." He chuckles and shrugs as I shift against the bench. "Never thought anything would come of it, could have sworn you were as straight as they came."

I knew this, I could the feel the truth of it after Harry told me all those nights ago, but it's different - having it blatantly out in the open like this. I can't help but think of the last time we were here, the night Harry returned, with my only real friend aside from Donnie asking shyly about a nightcap after my supposed win. I can remember seeing his smile and thinking that maybe I could move on, maybe I could step out and allow more in than the causal arm’s length I kept everyone at.

It really wasn't that long ago and yet...things couldn't be more different. I no longer have to chase the smile I wanted to forget but never could.

"Caleb, I don't-"

"You don't have to explain." He shifts to my other hand, my eyes noting the bruises blooming on his knuckles - kneeing me sharply with the reality that I've been so wrapped up in my own mess that I have no idea what's been going on with him. "You guys have always looked at each other like you two were the only people on the whole damn planet...even at the beginning when you were always pissed at him."

I look down, watching his nimble fingers looping and looping the black cotton length, with a tugging smile that won't be subdued. "He's always had a way of getting under my skin." I reply as way of explanation, it's really the best I can do, considering the pure insanity our history is.

"God you could say that." He grins at me, the action like a sponge set to work soaking up the damage our friendship has suffered the last few weeks. "I mean I was almost afraid for the poor guy, figured you'd end up beating the lights out of him or fucking him unconscious." I choke on the air abandoning my lungs at his crass assessment and he smirks. "So the latter then?"

I feel my face heat up, my mind flooding with the memory of this morning - a frantic fucking in the shower with his back slipping up and down the slicked wall - watering dripping over his cheeks and into his open mouth as he scratched my back and screamed wantonly. The marks are still there, visible on pale skin for all to see tonight, and for once there ones I'm not ashamed of - a part of my tapestry that brings life to my dreary soul. They’re his marks, lines that speak of the small sliver of possibility that I can be more than I am.

Maybe. Just maybe.

"I suppose you could say that." I drawl, regaining my composure and drawing myself into the lightness he's working on bringing back into our relationship.

"Thought as much, I've never seen you this happy you know." Caleb finishes my second hand and sits back, studying my face and I don't know what to think of that statement. I'm not acting that differently, just a smile on my usually reserved facial features. Am I emitting some sort of joy?

I do feel different though, do feel happy, and I know it all has to do with Harry. But it's strange to think that he makes such a visible difference in my life, makes such a mark in me that others can see it just by looking at me. I suppose it shouldn't be surprising though, like staring at the sun, its light is bound to reflect on your face.

"I am...happy, that is." I mutter, flexing my fingers in their bindings and feeling the thrill of it run up my arms. The crowd will swallow me up soon, I will beat Troy, and Harry...he'll be there...waiting. I've never had anyone to come home to after a fight before.

"Well it's about time." Caleb sighs and ruffles his dusty brown locks. "You've been like a damn fortress since I've known you, glad you've finally let someone through."

I nod, unsure if I agree or not. Yes I'm glad for Harry, yes I'm happier than I've been in years, yes I can't imagine breathing without him, but...I can't be happy I failed and let him through. I can't be proud of my pulling him into my darkness. Can't be proud of my weakness.

"Do you think." I pause, collecting my thoughts and trying to funnel them into a single coherent question as he waits patiently. "We carve our own paths?" It's the best I can do, the question in my soul yearning for answers something I can't formulate out loud to him, to anyone really. This is as close as I can get to it.

To his credit he doesn't immediately respond with a flat 'yes' or a laughing 'no'. He mulls it over in his head, his gaze wavering and I can't help but wish I knew a little more about him right now. I know so little of his past, but there's something there, something in the way he's pausing over his answer that speaks of his own path through this life. "I do." He replies carefully, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a gesture he does so very often I can't help but wonder what it's connected to. "There's too much shit in this life Dray. If we can't walk our own way than what the fuck are we here for?"

"No destinies than?" I probe, his voice a wave that can't decide if it wants to crash over me or not.

He does laugh this time but it isn't mocking or even joyful, it's almost...resigned. "Destinies, per-ordained tendencies, forks that always bend to the right...I don't know man. Seems like bull to me. I can't believe that some people are born to live high while others are forced through the slums because of some damn predetermined circumstances. Shit happens and we're too desperate to not look for some higher meaning in it. I don't know...if it's all pre-written than how do you explain anyone who breaks the mold?"

There was a time I would have laughed if someone had told me they didn't believe in destinies. I would have grabbed Harry and shoved him in their faces, tapping his lightning scar, and daring them to say it again. Or I could have used myself, spun the tale of my upbringing and inevitable fall as a truly terrible Death Eater who hated what he was. I could have even pointed to our surprising relationship, two young boys in the midst of a war with far too much weight on their shoulders. We hated and clawed and bickered for years and years until one day...well all the hate was gone, replaced with friendship and then...more.

But now as I sit and listen to Caleb, with my back smarting from Harry's passion and my heart pounding for him to always be near - god I just want him to be right. I want there to be no such thing as per-ordained lives, I want all the fucked up things we went through to be just that - fucked up circumstances. I want to be clean of them. I want to wash them from my skin. I want to be...whole.

I want to live my life with Harry and not worry and grow sick with each new passing day that the wolf will tear from its sheep's clothing and destroy him. I want to truly say 'fuck off' to Bella's voice in my head, to scream at her that she's wrong, that she's always been wrong about me but...I can't, because I don't believe my own bravado.

I want to believe Caleb that we are all our own person. I want to believe Harry that I am good and worthy of his love.

I do...but I believe Bella instead.

"Maybe some of us just aren't so lucky." I intone lowly, not sure if I'm even making any sense.

Caleb clasps my shoulder, catching my eye and smiling his crooked smile. "Don't let the devil drag you down. You want your own path? Than just take it."

I return his smile with a hard edged one of my own, grateful for him. "What about you? Ever think of leaving?"

"Sometimes. I know I'll never be as good as you but man I love the fight."

"Piece of advice?" I tilt my head, contemplating my wrapped hands, the black cotton spun so tight.

He quirks his eyebrow but nods anyway. "Sure, why not."

"Don't get tangled up with Madame Safiya, she'll make your life nothing but hell." I warn him, feeling oddly protective of him right now, like a younger brother I never had - watching him gazing over a cliff and debating to jump or not.

He laughs with a barking crack. "Yeah, I noticed." The laughter fades in slow waves before he's contemplating me again, worry taking flight in the lines of his carefree face. "Dray?"

"Mhmm?" I stretch my arms above my head, the noise of the crowd outside swelling, reminding me that I need to be prepping.

"I'm glad for you, you know? You deserve this.""

I'm quiet for a long moment, unsure why the small sentiment is so nice to hear. But maybe it shouldn't be so surprising, years of near isolation and on the run, I always thought I was alone but I wasn't, I had him and Donnie - my own little family. "Thank you." I reply and when he pulls me into a hug I don't recoil or tense or feel any sort of pain from the embrace - instead I return it, clapping his back once and firmly before releasing him.

"Ready to kick some ass?" He grins as he pulls back, bouncing to his feet like an eager teenager.

"Always." My own smile is savage, watching him slipping on the focus mitts and calmly rising to my feet. I hate that Donnie's not here, especially for this fight, but Madame Safiya has kept him on a rather tight leash as of late, calling him away before Caleb had even begun preparing my hands.

The thought's driven from my mind a second later as I catch a glimpse of raven hair from the corner of my eye, my vision quickly swinging in its direction with a panic that Bella's rematerialized here and now of all times. But it's not her, my breath returning with a thump of my heart as I spot Potter leaning causally against the door frame, watching me with a quiet smile.

Shockingly his hair is tousled almost stylishly - well as much as I think is possible for him anyway - one of my midnight black Muay Thai tee's fitting tightly across his torso with hip hugging acid washed jeans that cap around the thick black boots adorning his feet. Put simply he is dressed very ordinarily and looks completely stunning. I think I could get used to seeing him in my clothes. His green eyes are sparking with smugness when my gaze makes its way back up to his face, like he knows exactly the picture he makes and what it's doing to me.

"Hey Harry." I hear Caleb call out next to me. "Excited for the fight?"

"Very much." Harry pushes off the jam and walks towards us, a swing in his step, like he's preparing for his own victory. "It's packed out there."

"How did you get back here?" I ask, his head cocking with that look that always spells mischief.

Caleb snorts and palms off the mitts he just finished putting on. "Real nice Dray, accusing your boyfriend is a great way to start things off with a bang."

"His what?" Harry asks, fighting a grin of pure triumph and losing miserably.

"I don't recall saying any such thing." I can feel the flush on my cheeks, my hands tugging my shirt up and over my head in an effort to just do something...anything besides just standing here like a blushing idiot.

"Right." Caleb mutters sarcastically, shaking his head at me. "So you just got an overzealous masseuse than?" He quips, eyeing my back as I turn to toe my shoes off under the bench.

Harry blushes and scratches at his scar. "Heh. Nope that was me." He laughs, with surprising confidence despite his embarrassed twitch.

Caleb whistles low and long, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. "Got a fighter on your hands eh Dray?"

"Oh sod off." I grumble, annoyed with my own embarrassment more than anything else.

"Okay, okay, see you out there." He nods to me once more than with a wink in Harry's direction breezes out the door, his foot catching it and sending it shut with a loud, vibrating thwack.

"You know," Harry starts, stalking towards me and reaching out to run a light caress down the scratches he left behind earlier. "It does look a bit...did I hurt you?"

I straighten up and snatch his hand away from his exploration and growing concern. "Did I look like I wasn't enjoying it?"

"Umm...well..." He ponders, using my hold on him to pull me to him with our hands resting on the small of his back. "I may of have been a bit preoccupied to notice if you weren't..."

"Were you indeed?" I feel my body heat up with his closeness, I don't think I'll ever get used to the flame he ignites within me with so simple a touch.

He throws his free arm around my neck and nods. "Oh yes, I think that may be my new favorite way to shower."

"Certainly takes longer."

"But much more fun." He points out.

"Guess we'll need a larger water heater than." I lean down towards him, hovering my mouth above his with a hairs breath between them.

"Seems so." He closes the distance, sucking my bottom lip between his, his tongue running languidly over it before giving in and pressing up into a hard kiss that steals our breath in a matter of moments.

It's uncanny how quickly I get lost in him, running my hands through his hair and down his body, tugging him against me and grasping his backside with a sudden and unquenchable hunger for him. He makes me want to forget everything outside of us, makes me want to speak the words that will lock the door impenetrably and bend him over the bench. Makes me wish time could stand still, except for us, moving together in our own time and eternity.

"Harry." I gasp for air, pressing my cheek into his and holding him close, suddenly trembling with the need to tell him.
I've never said the words before, not even all those years ago when the opportunity was ripe and waiting. I always kept them close, bound up and out of earshot.

They are sacred to me, always have been.

They weren't spoken in my family. Not between my mother and father, nor between them and me. I believe my mother loved me even if she never said it, I knew my father only tolerated me, sometimes even despised me. There was never a place for them. It was simply not done no matter how much my young heart yearned for them. I've never even been truly tempted to say them before, I've toyed with the idea, know it wouldn't have been a lie if I had whispered them in his ear as he had lain in my arms one evening with the trees towering around us. But...I don't know...there's some power in them that scares me, a power I haven't wanted to mess with.

And yet now with my fight mere minutes away, the outcome tipping heavily with how the rest of my future will pan out, I find myself wanting to. Maybe because I'm terrified it will all go south...again. Maybe I'm terrified that this will be my last moment with him. Maybe I just need to say it, need to release it and let everything fall where it may. Maybe it's all the above.

My thumb runs down his jaw as I tip his face up to mine, sinking in his intense green that is blinding this close. Perhaps it's a selfish desire, perhaps I should lock them back away, never to be spoken. The pad of my thumb brushes across his plump lip, damp with the passion of our embrace.

"You're making me nervous again." He whispers, an echo of the other day, though he's steadier than he was then - no trembling or anxiety in his body this time.

"You'll wait for me...after the match?" I'm a fucking coward.

He grins salaciously, humming in the way he always does when his thoughts are turning to the gutter. "Oh yeah. I have plans for you as soon as you finish."

"And what might they be?" I feel my body respond in full force to the little suggestion, leaving a kiss against the curve of his neck.

"You're a smart bloke, I'm sure you can figure it out." He mutters, fluttering light open mouthed kisses to my lips. "Let's just say I really feel like going for a ride..."

Good lord I'm actually salivating as images of him with his head thrown back, his legs open and draped over me as he bounces up and down, rise to meet me.

"Well darling, isn't this a delectable sight."

A/N: Dun dun dun - yes that’s me faking bad dramatic music, can’t help it ;)
MoonlightVampiress: Thank you so much, I always find myself second guessing my sex scenes (escpecially after such a long build up) so it’s nice to hear it was good! Like I said before, love hearing your theories but of course can’t comment but we’re nearing the end so it will all be coming out soon ;) Surprised that Blaise was in the Psych ward too? Harry will be filling in all the rest about them to Draco soon.
Serilla: Thank you! I’m glad you liked the banter, I had so much fun writing it, and the sex scene ;) They do deserve to be happy but alas you are right…nothing is EVER simple for them.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing