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
- 20
- 21
- 22
Warning: I feel like I should warn for angry sex (its in the flashback), considering that’s not everyone’s cup of tea :)
Chapter 21

Unraveling

"Hey."

The snow is piled thick. Flakes building one atop the other, a growing, evolving landscape - white and green as far as the eye can see. It's a wasteland that burns with a touch, a tip of a finger pressed hard and deep - it billows down and scorches its mark, only to recover and be filled once more with enough time. Snow - a force that alludes to a cleansing fire but only buries the filth deep away until the time comes for it be uncovered.

And uncovered it will be.

"Draco, come on, talk to me." I feel the presence of Harry's body slip down next to me, can hear the tentative sadness and flick of annoyance in his voice. "You know if you don't open that mouth of yours soon I'm going to start to think that something’s really wrong." He tries for a laugh but there's a pained, worry edge to his tone as his shoulder jostles into mine.

Just like every other time we've spoken since we destroyed the diadem yesterday. We should have left already, should have abandoned this forest as fast as we could afterwards but we didn't. And it's my fault.

"I'll be in soon." I reply without looking at him. Because I can't. I can't lift my head and glance over, I can't gaze into his wide green eyes, I can't lift my hand and touch his cheek, or brush the wild unmanageable air from his face. I don't even know why, I just...can't. Just like I couldn't let him sleep with me last night.

"That's what you said two hours ago." He grumbles. "You've been out here all day."

"Enjoying the view." I reply sarcastically, the stretch of white upon white upon white making my eyesight go cross and dizzy after so much time staring at it.

He snorts, laying his head on my shoulder. His ears are freezing, I can feel it even through my thick jacket. "Sure you are." He counters, reaching over and prying my frozen fingers apart, lacing his own warm ones through them, my gaze shifting down for the first time in I don't even know how long to stare at our entwined hands.

I shouldn't be touching him. Right? I...shouldn't.

"Alright there? We have held hands before...it's not THAT strange." He chuckles.

"Harry." I sigh tiredly, trying to pull away only to find myself trapped, his hands clamped over mine in an unbreakable lock. "Let go." I panic, suddenly uncontrollably afraid. His touch is too hot, too real, and too close. It's stealing my air and compressing my burning lungs.

He stares at me and shakes his head. "No." He says firmly, standing with me as I jump up, never losing hold of my hand. "Tell me what's going on."

"Just let go." I repeat, feeling the evil swamp of blackness inside me gurgle and laugh. I shake my head quickly, blinking rapidly against the feeling.

It's not real. It can't be real. The diadem is destroyed. Harry killed the bit of soul. But I can't shake the feeling that it's touched me, that it's tainted me, that it's...waiting. But I can't tell him, I can't look into his wide heroic eyes and inform him that I'm ruined. I can't tell him that he didn't kill it in time. He can't know, he'll just try to save me all over again but I don' think there's anyway to be saved from something I can't see...something I can only feel encroaching on the edges, something that only screams to vivid reality in my dreams. Something that only sours my thoughts just enough for me to think I'm going mad before it's gone again.

I don't even know how to explain it. I'll sound fucking mental.

"Draco, please just tell me. Are you still sick? Let's go inside, I'll make you some tea yeah?"

"I'm fine." I snap, the thick tar curling and reaching and I jerk my fingers, trying to keep it from touching him.

"No you're not." He grumbles, tugging on my hand when I try to turn away, pulling sharply until I stumble against him. "I can tell when you're lying you know. I know something's bothering you. Did I do something? Are you mad at me?"

Snowflakes fill his hair, falling on his nose and melting in sliding smudges on his glasses. I watch them fall and disappear on his heated, red cheeks. I swallow around a lump that seems to grow with each flake that hits his skin, turning his lips redder and redder, growing progressively wetter with each passing moment. Snow doesn't hide his filth, because he has none, he's the world’s pure hero.

And I'm filled with residual darkness from the man who’s taken everything from him.

Which means…I need to end it. I need to make sure he never touches me again.

"The wars almost over." I say quietly, watching his mouth as his lips turn down into a contemplative frown, a snowflake landing between his slightly parted lips.

"Are you...worried?" He doesn't voice the last part of his thought, the part where he's wondering if I'm afraid that he'll fail, but I can see the thought clearly on his face anyway.

Oh how wrong he is.

"No, you'll beat him." I reply, the snow melting only to be replaced by a new flake, like the storm is bent on making his mouth as red as a damn cherry.

"Then what...?" He wraps his free arm around my waist and I fight the instinct to shove him away, worried that if he gets too close that the darkness will somehow infect him. But I don't. One last time is all I can think as I bend and press a deep kiss to his snow chilled lips, my ears filling with the surprised yet pleased little sounds spilling from his throat.

I'll miss these sounds the most I think. Like even after all this time he's pleasantly surprised that I'm kissing him, meeting me with a still shy eagerness.

Pulling pack, I rest my forehead against his, his mouth stretching into a smile as I hold his face in my frozen hands. "What was that for?" He asks, sounding somewhat dazed and breathless. And I can't really blame him. I haven't touched him nor let him really touch me since I finally regained my composure after he kissed me senseless after the soul tried to overtake me.

Because that's what it was doing. I'm positive of that now. It wasn't trying to kill me. It was trying to turn me into its new home. Maybe it did, I don't know. Just add that to the growing list of why I need to keep him from me.

"Harry." I say softly then pause, closing my eyes so I don't have to look at him as I force the words that need to be said out. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

His entire body tenses in a flash, his voice quiet and hoarse when he finally speaks. "What?"

"It's inevitable really. It's best to make a clean break." I say, trying to believe my own reasons.

"You're...you're joking." His arms tighten around me as I attempt to pull back, my hands falling from his face. "That makes no sense!"

"Be reasonable." I mutter, his sleep deprived, purple rimmed eyes darkening with anger and a panic that tugs at my heart. But anger's good, I need to fuel that anger.

"Reasonable." He snaps. "You can't be serious."

"Actually Potter, I'm quite serious. It's time to end this...thing." I meet his gaze dead on, letting the last word hang off my tongue like it's something disgusting.

"What the fuck Draco?! Was this just some sort of… GAME to you?" He looks wild with his snow filled hair and red face, his grip painfully tight around my waist, eyes sparking with desperation.

"Course not." I bite out, even though I should probably convince him that it was. That he was just a diversion, a toy to play with, it would make him let go. It would make him hate me and never look back. But even though I should - that it was my original intent even - I can't, I can't bare to have him think that all this time has meant nothing to me when that's the furthest thing from the truth. Not unless I have to. "But honestly what did you think? That we'd live happily ever after? That all your little fans would let you be with a branded Death Eater? We had our fun but it's time to return to the real world."

"You're not a Death Eater." He says lowly and I growl with frustration. Of course that's the one thing he picks up on.

Pushing out of his arms, I take a step back. "I have a Mark that says differently." I reply calmly, even though I feel anything but.

"I don't care what anyone thinks." He moves towards me with a small, unsure smile, my own steps flowing backwards with each one he takes.

"You will in time."

"So what, we can't be together because it might piss some people off and I might hypothetically one day agree? That's bullshit. What’s the real reason? Huh? You better tell me if you expect to get rid of me." He's glowing in anger, seething in his tone, but his eyes are shining, wet and welling but refusing to spill over.

I look down. "You're right. I don't want you anymore, it's as simple as that." There's a hot prong searing my heart as my words float in the chilly air between us, the only sound his harsh breathing and the inaudible sound of my heart breaking. But it's for the best right? I can't have him anymore, I can't touch him, I can't be the darkness in his life that he'll spend forever trying to rescue.

It will drive us both mad.

"I don't believe you. Something's wrong, just tell me, we can fix it!" And there it is. Fix it. He'll never stop trying if I tell him.

I stare at his boots, covered with snow, the black toe peeking out in defiance. "Why bother?" I shrug lazily, still tracing the curve of his boot. "I'm tired of you, of us."

"Look at me and say it again you coward." His tone is deadly calm, so unlike him that it has my head snapping up on its own. A single tear has fallen, streaking with the snow on his cheek.

Abandonment. Rejection and loss of love. Those are his biggest fears, I know this. It's so easy to exploit someone's weaknesses when you know them inside and out.

"I don't want you Potter." I repeat, using his surname like a knife, spitting it out on the tip of my tongue with as much venom as I can muster.

His jaw clenches, his fist curling at his side. "Liar."

"Afraid not. Believe it or not, you're not everyone's dream come true. You grow stale rather quickly in all reality." I hate myself the moment they leave my mouth but I don't have long to regret and reflect on my lie because the next moment there's a pain exploding across my jaw, spreading up my cheek and forcing me back several steps as I stumble to keep my balance.

"You fucking liar!" He swings at me again, my hand just barely managing to catch his fist in time, the shock of the diverted blow tingling up my arm. "Why are you doing this?!" He breaks free and knocks a jab into my stomach, sending all the air rushing out of my lungs in one painful push.

He's angry but it's not enough, he's still fighting for us. "Makes a good story, doesn't it? Harry Potter bending over for a Death Eater, should make all the front pages. Notoriety has its uses."

His face contorts with fury and heart shattering hurt and with a loud cry he tackles me to the ground, my body sinking into the snow as he lands atop me with a fury twisting his body and directing his movements. Pain erupts through my back, down my arms, around my chest, and along my face as we struggle against each other, Harry landing blows every now and then but mostly it's a strange push and pull - like he can't decide if he wants to be beat me unconscious or try and kiss me until I forget I ever tried to break up with him.

I hope he manages it. The snow is swirling in a dizzy cloud above me, flashing in and out of his black mop of a head, and I can't fight. I just let him hit me, taking it, hoping that maybe he'll drive out this filth I feel overtaking me. Or maybe he'll kill me and I won't have to live with myself any longer.

"Fight me!" He shouts, looking deranged, screaming out as my arms stay limp. "Goddamn it Draco." He nearly sobs, curling his fights into my shirt and dragging me up against his chest as he straddles me and leans down.

When he kisses me, my jaw aching and head spinning, I nearly melt against his lips and quiet sobs. He's all power and fury and command and such urgent need that I can't pry myself free. I don't want to even try despite the fear that I'll ruin him with my touch. There's the taste of blood on his tongue and I have no idea if it's his or mine, but it's sharp and tangy, mixing with the snow and salty tears that I fear might be mine as I open my mouth fully to his invasion.

"You're such a damn liar." He repeats against my lips, whether to convince himself or further argue with me I'm not sure but he's pushing me back into the snow, fumbling with the buttons on my jacket with hands that are no doubt bruised. And I need to stop him, need to tear my mouth away and insult him some more, and turn my expression into stone - but instead I hear myself moaning as he rubs his crotch against mine, his hand fighting its way under my shirt to the equally cold and hot skin beneath. "You want me. I know you do, I can fucking feel it." His lips find my neck and SUCKS, marking me in an instant with purple bruises that will stay around for days.

It makes the green and white canopy merge in a canvas of mixed paint. It makes the noise in my head quiet, till all I can hear is him.
I feel like I'm in the middle of a battle, the bit of evil soul on one side and Harry on the other, both shouting at me to succumb to them. But I can't move towards either, my back boneless against the freezing ground.

Then he's mumbling again and there's a darkness creeping in the sides of my vision and I shake my head, dispelling it but not before it drags me back to reality.

"It's just sex." I gasp, trying my best to sound convincing but I highly doubt it is. Not with my hips rocking into his and my hands threading harshly through his hair. But most importantly not with my pulse jumping erratically with the beat of my heart and his name falling in a groan unbidden from my throat.

He jerks back and slaps me. Hard. Enough to make my eyes water but it doesn't kill the arousal pumping through me like it should as I stare up at his livid gaze. I don't know what's wrong with me, why the power and anger emitting off him is making me harder, faster than I thought possible, why I'm barely fighting, why I'm giving in when I need to be pushing him away.

Then his wand is in his hand so quickly I have no idea how it got there and with a flick and mumble the snow suddenly isn't cold, instead it feels like a warm blanket under me, my clothes inexplicably gone, leaving me completely naked and exposed. "Just sex?" He hisses, my cock heavy and twitching against my stomach. "Is that all you want from me? Want me to be your little whore?"

I shudder as he trails his wand down my chest and stomach, wanting to open my mouth and tell him no. That I want all of him, for all time. But I clamp my lips tightly shut around the words, his cheek twitching and gaze clouding at the obvious refusal to answer.

"What, can't say it? Too hard for you to admit? I'm surprised, isn't that what Slytherin's are best at? Taking what you want and bragging about it? So if it's just fucking then take me damn it. Get one last STORY!" His hands are on his jeans, undoing the fly with graceful movements he normally can't manage while we're in the heat of it, jerking it down so quickly and hard I'm bit surprised the fabric doesn't rip.

"Stop." I croak out, intending to reach out to still his movements with my hands but he flicks his wand again, my arms flying above my head and stuck down like a weight is pinning them in place.

"Getting a conscious are you?" His jeans and boxers are thrown to the side within a blink, his naked thighs straddling me once more with his dark red shirt trying and failing to cover his jutting erection. He twirls his wand in his hand, glaring down at me while he pants roughly - and I can't fucking breathe, he looks perfect. Angry and hurt and yet at the same time utterly aroused.

"I don't want to fuck you anymore." I narrow my eyes, pulling against the invisible weights keeping me pinned.

"Your cock says differently." He points out, reaching down and wrapping his hand around it, my eyes fluttering against my will as he strokes it roughly with nearly painful jerks. "So make up your mind, is it just sex or not?"

"Harry..." I groan, unsure of what I meant to follow it up with but it doesn't matter because nothing else makes it out as I gasp and jerk up into his touch. "Get the hell off." I finally spit out after drawing in a shuttering breath. There’s more words spilling out my lips – angry, biting, hurtful words that I can’t seem to stop but at the same time have to fight with each one to get out.

He smacks me again, his teeth ripping into his bottom lip as he does so. "Back to Harry now? God you're hard." With a quick tap of his wand his hand is suddenly slick, sliding up and down with expert ease, twisting and pulling at just the right times in just the right places. "Sadistic bastard."

And god is he right, my back arching as he twitches his wrist, my stinging cheek adding a strange sort of vibrant edge to everything. It's the first time that the darkness doesn't seem vast and all consuming, it's the first time that it's been driven so far down that I have to force myself to remember it's there.

"Admit you were using me if that's the truth. Fucking say it, call me your whore."

He looks mental, green blazing with a fire that's frightening and breathtaking all at once. "You’re my whore." I breathe out, unable to look away from him, unable to give him the truth, I can only sink myself further into the lie - watching as he battles not to believe it.

He sets his jaw, dropping his wand and grabbing my cock so roughly I cry out, the sound quickly turning strangled as he lifts up and promptly sinks down on it with a long, pained hiss.

"Oh FUCK." I gasp, my eyes rolling back in my head as he envelopes me in his heat that's so tight, too tight - to the point of it almost being too much. It takes several long moments of him sitting silently and motionless atop me before I can focus again, before my breath calms down enough that I can pry my eyes open to look up at him.

His back is perfectly straight, shoulders strung taunt, head bowed with snow flecked hair hanging in his face, his brow unmistakably sweaty as he struggles to breathe evenly. His abused mouth is hanging open, chest heaving, and I want nothing more than to pull him to me, to run my hands up and down his back, to sooth his tight muscles. Or maybe I want to insult him some more so he'll hit me again and send my mind reeling so I can't think and only FEEL. Instead I jerk my hips, a choked gasp escaping his lips as his spine curves, his head falling back and exposing his long neck.

"Shit." He groans, clamping his thighs against my hips to keep me still. With an experimental roll of his hips he moans loudly, cursing my name as he reaches behind himself to grasp above my knees, his hands shaking. "Don't shut up now! Need me to write the story for you?" He snaps, lifting up on his knees and slamming back down with a shout, his eyes screwing shut as he works himself up and down, harshly impaling himself on my cock over and over again.

I don't know what to say, don't know what he wants as I struggle to keep any wits about me, the pleasure building quickly inside me threatening to send my vision white each time he smacks down and draws up. "Fuck yourself harder Potter." I growl.

"You...god damn it...yessss." Harry thighs are trembling, his cock bouncing as he rides me, sweat catching the shirt on his chest and glistening on his legs - urging me to call him all the horrible things I can think of.

And Merlin help me, I do. I call him a dirty slut, a cock-whore, a used up piece of arse, I spit his name and try not to see stars. Which each degrading word that slips from me he gasps and groans and shakes, demanding more, struggling to keep up his pace, trying to drag in air that's leaving his lungs faster than he can stand.

"Let my hands go." I demand, snapping my hips up to meet him as he descends from each bounce.

"No." He doesn't miss a beat, doesn't stop in his bouncing as he finally locks eyes with me, and I wish he hadn't. "It's my turn to take."

"Potter." His name is harsh to my own ears, his voice going silent with a pronounced gasp as I plant my feet and push up quickly, driving myself so deeply inside him that he nearly topples over, his mouth hanging open as he tries and fails to draw a breath. He blinks and then my hands are free, the feeling of a snake slithering from around my wrists and off covering my skin in goosebumps for only a moment before I reach out and wrap my fingers around his straining prick.

He stills, staring down at my hand around him, his eyes still blinking rapidly. "Draco..."

"Move." I order and he does, lifting up and sitting down, alternately thrusting into my hand and filling himself full with me. It doesn't take long, he's shuddering and losing his rhythm, his eyes wide and rounded fixed on mine, a question that he can no longer ask and I cannot answer stretching between us.

And then he's seizing up, his mouth open around a cry, and before I can stop myself, I'm grasping his thighs - yanking him up my body till his knees are just over my shoulders, his upper body falling forward until his hands catch himself over my head on the ground, my neck craning to envelope his throbbing cock in my mouth. He babbles nonsense as I suck, once, twice, then my tongues flooding with his release. I suck and swallow until there's nothing left, an odd sort of joyful depression filling me as I do so, my head falling back with my eyes shut tight when he's given all he has.

He shakes as he straights up but stays where he is, sitting on my chest and cutting off my air supply, yet I don't ask him to move. Don't want him to.
"I..." He clears his throat and my eyes pop open without my permission. He's staring down at me with his glasses askew and his green gaze filled with questions and tangible longing - all his anger from moments ago lost in the haze cooling around him.

I'm sure that last act just gave me away completely, severed any hope that he actually believed my indifference towards him. Why I am so hopeless around him?

Pushing on his hips till he slides back enough for me to sit up, my hands propped behind me, I find myself staring back at him - fully intending to send him off, to thank him for the fuck and ask him to leave, but of course the words aren’t coming, they’ve gotten lodged painfully in my chest.
He searches me silently then snaps his own mouth shut, grabbing my hair and yanking me into a kiss before I can get the words out, wiggling just a little until he manages to slide back onto my still hard prick.

"Potter." I moan, trying somewhat successfully to dodge his kisses, my own lips betraying me and moving against his each time he captures them.

"Please...no more lies." He twists, legs wrapped around my waist, dragging me with him until he's on his back under me. "Is this all you want?" He rolls his hips, pushing them up and down slowly, dragging my cock inside his abused passage.

"I want -" I shut myself up, kissing him again, knowing deep down that I can't say no to him - that he knows me too well to believe it anyway, that I've already fucked it up. "You." It's simple but it's the truth, just like he asked for. And who knows maybe I won't ruin him, maybe he can save me.

Or more likely, I'm just being purely selfish.

"Best not forget it." He smiles, relief flooding his face and maybe he wasn't as confident that I was lying as I thought he was. Maybe he was unsure. "So no more break up talk."

I nod, dropping my head against his shoulder and thrusting shallowly, not wanting to end our physical connection. "Harry, I have something to tell you." I whisper, taking strength in the way his legs are wrapped so snugly around me, how his hand is combing through my hair, in the smile I can feel stretched on his lips and the little sigh he makes with ever inward thrust.

"Mhmmm?"

"I think that maybe I -" There's a flash in the distance, my words dying on my tongue as I glance up - just in time to see a tree shatter to pieces just down the hill, a scream joining the bursting debris.

****

Consciousness comes back to me like a slap. Hard and fast with lightning pain that explodes on contact.

I feel the air, clean and sharp, fill my lungs, hear the intake rush in my ears as my head snaps up with the pounding in my skull multiplying tenfold. There's a half formed cry on my lips, scratching through my throat, my arms trying to surge out but I can't move - a coarse twine binding my wrists together behind me - the chair beneath me bucking and creaking with my jerks.

I pant and suck in air till I think my chest might burst, trying desperately to slow the pulse regulating my body, but above all I blink. I blink and blink and blink, over and over again but it doesn't change. There's a stretch of black as far as I can see, no fleck of light, no shimmering dot in the distance. It's wholly night before me and it's making my breath and heart thunder.

It is shadow. All around me. Shadow upon shadow upon shadow with no light to grant me escape.

I hate darkness, every little piece of it terrifies me down deep in the marrow of my bones.

Don't panic. Don't fucking panic.

"Can you feel it Draco? Can you feel it coming?"

Safiya's voice swims in my head, remembering in vivid detail how my name - my real, given name - had slipped off her tongue with her twisted sweet smile. She knew it. She knows it...she knows me. Not Dray Evans, she knows Draco Malfoy.

"All of it."

All of it, she said. All my fucking money, every last knut in the Malfoy vaults wouldn't be enough to buy her off. Vaults she apparently knows about. Oh god. I can still smell the laced smoke clinging to my skin like I've been bathed in it - rose and liquorish, intoxicating and overwhelming in the small room, now just a queasy reminder in my pores. I knew there was something off about the air, I knew it the moment I stepped foot in the hall.

Yet I didn't run. Why didn't I run?

It's the scab all over again, picking at it, staring at the renewed gaping skin, blowing smoke so it won't ever heal. Is that what kept me in place? A deep ingrained belief that I deserve to be punished, torn apart, and made useless. Is that what turned off any sense of self-preservation? Then again this was before I knew, before I had any clue that she knew so much about me. Moments ago she was just a mad woman, bent on money and power and keeping me around her finger.

Now she's terrifying and it feels like her eyes on still on me, as if I'm her prized sheep – used and ready for the ax. In this darkness, bound and helpless, I feel as if it's happening all over again. That my vision will be returned and I'll be in that muddy pit in the mountains once more, starving and freezing, thankful for the day the ladder drops only to wish to god I had never climbed to the rim and met with the horrible man and vile woman who awaited me with their sick ideas and methods to bring it about.

It just doesn't make any sense, how could she know...how could she bloody know who I am?! And how long has she known? Did she recognize me on our first meeting? Did she take one glance at my platinum locks and surmise I was the missing Malfoy heir? Or did it take longer? Was it a gradual realization or did someone tell her? But then that brings up the question of who...who would know me in this muggle world and inform her?

Then there's the vastly alarming notion that she's more then she seems. That she know about me, about my vaults, because she knows that world - and maybe she was once a part of it herself.

I can't...I can't...I can't think. My head is throbbing fiercely, my skin crawling, my binds digging into my wrists - the sting of flaying flesh biting across me and drawing little droplets of blood as I pull against them. I know I need to stop, that wiggling about will do absolutely nothing, especially in the pitch black I've been shrouded in, but I can't seem to.

I feel frantic, edgy, terrified, and confused beyond reason. Because nothing is adding up, I don't understand...

But then all I can think is she was right. Bella was right. It's time, it's here, the line's snipping and I'm falling and I can't fucking see.

And really it's all adding up perfectly if I turn just a fraction and look at it at just the right angle. There's Safiya, with her wicked ropes around my everyday life, and there's Bella with the threat of collapsing me completely and dragging me under again, and there's me...swinging and swinging and swinging. I've been swinging too long. How these two awful woman come together is beyond me but its happening. It's the push my Aunts been trying for all this time. It's the last straw she tried to break all those years ago with all her torture and mind games.

I wasn't broken then, not completely, I was damaged beyond repair but not broken. But like they said, it's time, it’s coming and somehow...they both know it.

And I'm starting the process myself, unraveling in this unknown. Maybe that's why she left me here, blinded, maybe she knew that this is what shadows would do to me.

With a frantic, desperate urge to slow the madness creeping through me, I try to focus all myself on the pocket holding Harry's coin. Seeking the burn and weight of it against my thigh - needing that connection with him now more than ever before. If only he'd told me exactly how it would help me if I needed it. But with a sharp hiss, I realize that it's not there, that the pressure is gone, that I can't feel his magic tingling against my skin.

Safiya must have taken it, stripping that last little bit of him away, removing my last hope. How in the world did she know of its presence, let alone its significance? With a sickening lurch, I feel myself spinning, trying with all my might to grab onto my whirling thoughts and slow them to a reasonable pace. Because this isn't making sense, no matter how many times I spin around it, no matter how matter a fact it feels. There has to be an explanation...there has to be something. This can't be it. I refuse for this to be it.

I just got him back.

There's a strangled sound that teeters between a sob and a laugh forcing its way past my lips. I knew that it wouldn't last though didn't I? I knew I couldn't stay sane for long. I knew I would fall in the end.

I just thank Merlin he's not here to be dragged under with me.

But then...I can still see him, even in this dark, his eyes so so green, his stormy hair, his loving touch, his mischievous smile. There's an ache growing in my heart that's starting to rival the pounding in my head and...fuck. I want to feel him one last time, I shouldn't have left in such a hurry. I should have let him drag me back to bed. I should have given into his heated kisses and the promise of a new life he holds in his gaze, should have let him take us away.

I should have...

I need to stop. I need to focus, damn it. I'm not even making sense to myself. One thing at a time then. What do I know?

Madame Safiya knows me and has no intention of letting me go. I don't know what she wants. She has Harry's coin. She may or may not be a witch. I don't know where I am. It doesn't smell like a basement or (thankfully) a pit, it smells fresh and open, like a top floor with a cracked window...

Bella is supposedly dead but I know she's near, even now. I can feel her. I don't know how their possibly connected.

Harry doesn't know where I am but he'll figure it out soon and come looking, probably blowing doors off their hinges and charging forward like a fucking white knight. Granger won't stay quiet for long, she'll spill my plan if nothing else.

I'm tied to a chair. I can't see but there's the softest touch of fabric on my cheeks - a blindfold, which means light will return in due time, thank fucking Merlin. I think I'm alone.

I should have brought my wand and just cursed her, damn the consequences. Or let Harry do it, I know he's been itching to for weeks now.

There's a slide of movement to my left and I still, straining against my binds with muscles pulled taunt. Closing my eyes, willing myself to except the darkness - something that goes against every little part of me - I cock my head, listening intently.

"Settled on a decision dear?" Safiya's voice is pronounced and loud, ringing through my ears ever though I know she spoke in her usual low cultured curl.

It sets a fire in the pit of my stomach, burning like embers, threatening to sputter to life. "Options seem rather limited." I drawl in carefully clipped tones, picking up the softest sounds of her feet clicking faintly across the floor. One step, two, three, and a pause...

"Does it now?" There's a smile in her tone that comes across clearly and I force myself to relax back against the chair as much as I dare, letting my fingers stayed curled into fists but no longer pulling against the binds. I listen attentively in her pause, hoping to draw out any other sounds, any other person in the room but it's futile. There's nothing, nothing but the soft click of her heels and a gentle, nearly unnoticeable breeze. "I'll help you out then shall I?"

"To the point would be brilliant." I monotone, listen to two more steps, a light inhale of breath, and a feather soft touch running under the band of the blindfold over my cheekbone, her touch cool and steady, sending shivers of nervous apprehension down my spine - my stomach churning as I fight against cringing away.

"Content in the dark?" She's so near, the outline of her form nearly tangible around me and if it wasn't for the binds on my hands and feet I could lash out and bring her down - even with my lack of sight.

"Rather comfy." I lie, hoping the turmoil I feel in the black doesn't come through.

She withdrawals her sliding finger with a soft laugh. "Such defiance. Family trait it seems, though not so much in the end was it?" I clench my jaw on impulse, fighting away thoughts of my mother and father, knowing deep down that she's trying to disorient me further - bringing up just enough hints of how much she knows about me without delving further. "Ah there it is, that strong jaw line, never could miss a Malfoy...forget the hair, though shocking it is, it's all about the eyes and the defiant jawline."

"Are you expecting a thank you?" I ask after she pauses for effect.

"Course not dear nor do I expect you to beg...yet."

"I thought we were getting to the point."

"Tetchy." She tisks and I hear two clicks as she rounds me. "I feel as if introduction are in order."

"Grand." I grind out.

There's a sudden hand on my left forearm, pressing down and caressing over the skin that once held the Dark Mark, massaging along the thick jagged scar in its place. "Come now, I want to hear you say it, like your mother taught you. Your name dear?"

Her fingers dig deep even through the fabric of my long sleeved shirt, a nauseating pull concentrating in the heart of the scar and spreading outward. It's all a game and I know every little move matters, if only I could see the board, if only I could calculate the players and their stances. But I don't have that luxury and like she said, defiance is most definitely a family trait. "Dray Evans." I reply and her fingers twist with painfully sharp finger nails.

"Evans." She sighs, long-suffering. "Such a mundane, homely name. It's rather appalling compared to the legacy you're shunning."

"And how would you know that exactly Madame?"

"Indirectly of course." She says sweetly in answer, eluding the real question.

"Of course." I incline my head in graceful acquisition like we are having a polite conversation while I'm not tied down and can’t fucking see. "But you can't really expect me to shed my mask while you stay behind yours." My heart slows to a dull thud as I await her reply, her breath coming in soft puffs along my neck as her hand curls around my forearm.

"Ah yes, masks indeed. Though ours are vastly different darling."

"How so?"

Safiya edges her fingers under the cuff of my shirt, pulling up inch by slow inch. "You are running. Hiding. Ashamed, yes? I am not. I am Madame Safiya through and through, it's pointless to back pedal to who I once was because I am stronger now. I am powerful and satisfied and shortly I shall have the last thing that's holding me back."

"Oh? And what's that?" I ask, dread lacing through me, running down to meet the deepest parts of me that I keep so well hidden. Her words mirror Bella's ranting’s so similarly that it's nearly debilitating hearing them again.

Yanking my sleeve up the rest of the way, she places her hand almost relevantly over my cursed skin while at the same time wrapping her other arm around me to place a hand sharply over my heart. Her voice is directly in my ear when she finally speaks with a hum of satisfaction, like she's holding a prized jewel she's been searching for, for years. "You of course. Or more precisely what you're hiding inside this frail heart."

"You're delusional." I breathe, knowing she can feel my heartbeat thundering in my chest as she presses harshly over it, but I can't slow it, can't catch my breath entirely. Because it's happening all over again.

"Am I?" She chuckles. "I don't think so and really neither do you. You know I'm right, I can feel your acceptance and fear running through you. So very beautiful."

"Fear isn't beauty." I feel inclined to point out, even if only so I have something to say, something that may distract her for a moment longer.

"I'm afraid I must disagree yet again. It's the purest form of beauty there is and you dear will be so very lovely through it all." She places a kiss against my neck, running her fingers over my scar in long circles. "Who knows, perhaps I'll keep you for myself once it's all done."

"You mean once I'm dead?" I question, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to ignore the feeling of her lips on me, a touch that should be reserved for Harry and Harry alone.

"I rather hope it doesn't come to that. Your cooperation might just prove the difference though." She lets go of my arm and straightens behind me, hand still lingering on my chest.

Cooperation. Right.

Like fucking hell I'll cooperate.

"Sorry to disappoint." I all but spit out, my composure slowly unraveling around me with every touch and second that passes. I don't want this. I can't do this. Not again. I can't live through this again.

"She said you'd say that." Safiya sighs, not without anger.

I feel my veins turn to ice, blood frozen in mid-flow, cutting off oxygen to my brain, my heart, my limbs, everything going instantly cold and numb. "She?" I don't know how I manage to get it out and even though I'm nearly positive I know who she's speaking of, it's like I can't believe it. Can't accept it, even as it stares at me full on.

"Intriguing isn't it? She'll be here soon enough but first I'd like to show you something." Safiya's hand moves over my chest, up the curve of my neck to linger on the edge of my blindfold - pausing just long enough for me to almost bite out at her to get it on with it and be done with the damn theatrics. "We have a bit of a walk to take but just so you know, there's a gun trained on you, if you try anything you'll find yourself bleeding all over the floor."

I swallow and nod as her fingers leave the edge of the blindfold, leaving it in place as she moves to undo my binds - the cool touch of steel at my ankles as she slashes the twine binding my legs to the chair. Standing is awkward as she grasps my arm and pulls me up without freeing my hands, my balance nearly giving out completely amongst the jerking movement and my lack of sight through it all. I have a brief but strong urge to lash out at her and try to take her down as she shoves me forward and marches me down a thickly carpeted hall - a different hall then I one I walked down to meet her, which means we are either on another floor or in another building entirely.

I convulsively swallow my panic and place one foot in front of the other, clenching my hands together behind me, the skin of my wrists chaffed, burning and stringing with each little twitch. The number of steps multiply in my head, growing unnervingly high as I stumble down a flight of stairs, am yanked around corners, pushed down another steeper staircase and through rooms that either buzz with lowly murmured voices or dead silence. The moment the air changes, growing dense and thick and strong, my feet catch in mid-step, the probing of rounded steel at my back the only thing that moves me forward with a sharp inhale.

It doesn't hold the sickly sweet scent of rose and liquorish, it's much worse. It smells of old, dirty oil and the faint but distinct tang of blood. It wraps up my nostrils and threatens to send my stomach churning as a curl of smoke and a splash of impenetrably high heat rush out to meet me with the loud creak of a door swinging open on its neglected hinges. It reminds me of the Dark Lord and my days in the Manor living under his thumb, it brings to the forefront of my memory the terror of kneeling before him while he laughingly dealt out his torture.

With a tug on my bound hands, I'm forced to a stop, my eyes watering beneath the blindfold. I get the feeling I'm standing in a threshold, unbearable heat before me and cooler but still warm air behind me. Then I find myself holding my breath as she draws the wide black cloth up, my eyes blinking in the sudden dim light as it passes over my lashes and comes to rest on my forehead, her hands retreating and leaving it there - threatening and waiting.

Once the bright dots clear from my vision, everything comes slowly swimming into focus, the first thing I see being a bright shock of red hair pulled tightly back in a strict bun. Suddenly unable to swallow, my gaze travels down, over the high forehead, the narrowed deep brown eyes, passing over the thin pressed light pink lips to the stocky, slumping shoulders, and all the way down to the stubby little fingers wrapped snuggling around a long wand.

"Let me introduce my dear cousin, Alecto Carrow, though I believe that you're already acquainted quite intimately." Safiya leans into my back and whispers into my ear, her voice so low that if every nerve in my body wasn't strung so taunt I fear I may not have heard her at all.

My heart stops in my chest as I stare at the sister of my torturer, so many horrid memories associated with the very woman herself. She's standing across the room, off to the side, a maniacal glint in her eyes. But she's not looking at us, she's staring at something on the ground, her fingers twitching against the length of her wand. There's a scrapping noise piercing the dank room and my gaze darts toward it without question, my eyes rounding wide and my stomach sinking into the ground beneath my feet, all air abandoning me and threatening never to return.

Because there sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor, in the center of a ring drawn with what looks like dark oils and a lightly fuming paste, is Harry. He hasn't noticed me, he's staring at Alecto with a silent glare, a cigarette between his lips and his fingers dragging a match across the concrete beside him, producing a sound like nails on a chalk board. The match springs to life and with an unconcerned tilt of his head he lights the end aflame, breathing deeply and then exhaling with a smile that matches the madness in Carrow's eyes.

Fuck.
A/N: Woosh, lots of emotions. So I debated with the flashback for awhile but decided it was needed to show you the drastic change that took place in Draco as soon as he came into contact with the Dark Lords soul. Hopefully it sheds a little more light on him – it also served to show the heightened state of emotions Harry was in as well during the last moments they were together.
Also, yeah, I know ANOTHER cliff hanger, but alas this scene is like MASSIVE, it has to get cut into parts. Any guesses how Harry got there? ;)
MoonlightVampiress: So, so sorry being so mean with the cliffy, hopefully the sex made up for it? I just have to say that your Ginny/Mrs. Weasley theory had me all but spinning with wild thoughts of how fun it would have been if it WAS Ginny, crazy, desperate, deranged Ginny trying to get her man back! Gah that would have been awesome, but alas as you now see it was Alecto – so really part of your theory was correct anyway ;) Also apparently our Harry wasn’t sitting around all passive like Draco thought, considering he was being held in the basement, hehe.
Delia Cerrano: Hopefully not too confusing, though parts of it were supposed to be :) And yes the smoke was drugged, evil, evil Safiya and as you can see Harry was tracking him in some way – he’s not going to let his man go!
To the “Guest” who loathes cliffhangers, just have to say I politely disagree, I think there a wonderful literary tool if done correctly. Hope you enjoy it others wise though.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing