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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
- 21
- 22
- 23
Chapter 22
Everything Falls

The Cruciatus curse is a very particular kind of horror.

It rips through you in a way that makes you feel as if your very nerves are splitting like fine hairs, separating and melting down, only to be forced back together in order to split again. It's unending, frying your mind until you can't see straight or think right or even hear anything above your blood boiling in your own veins. My jaw and chest aches with trying to keep my screams in, my eyes watering and spilling burning streaks of salty water as I stare at the ceiling above me, my head too heavy for my body to support any longer - having long ago fallen back in a sharp curve that's adding to my inability to draw a breath.

There's a faint trickle of blood where the shackles chaining my arms above my head and to the ceiling meet the sensitive skin of my wrists - the quick flick of Alecto's wand yanking them up so suddenly and quickly I almost dislocated my shoulders in the process as it strung and pulled me up until I was supported solely on my toes.

The chains clank with each violent convulsion of my body.

A bit dramatic in my opinion. But then again it's something to focus on. The sharp crash of steel on steel unnerving in itself and it's barely enough but it's all I have. It's funny, watching my arms shake and strain, held captive by the metal rings. Funny, in a sick sadistic way that eats at my memory, forcing to mind things I'd rather forget.

I think I might have even laughed at loud once before the sound got distorted and all ability to form anything but pained gasps left me.

I don't know how long she's been at it. I've lost track of time, my vision blurring in and out along with my consciousness. Safiya hasn't asked anything, she's just standing near, with her ever sadistic smile, muttering commands that her cousin carries out.

Her cousin. Alecto is Safiya's cousin. I still can't wrap my head around that fact, not that I've been given a moments peace to think on it.

And Harry is on the floor beside me, inside his little circle of dirty oil, pacing like a caged animal but never moving within an inch of the smeared outline. He screamed at them to stop for a while, he pleaded and tried valiantly to save me from this fate. I remember Safiya's joyful expression as he alternated between raging furious and desperate pleas. The angrier he got the more powerful Alecto's curses became, Harry's mouth snapping shut with horror once he realized it.

The last glimpse I had of him - what feels like hours ago but who knows, it could have been a couple of minutes - he was clenching his shaking hands to his elbows, wobbling on his feet, returning and retreating nearly to the edge of the circle, his green eyes wide with terror and dangerous fury. I wish I could manage to look at him now but my entire body is splitting apart and I'm no longer in control of any part of me, my own heartbeat bursting from my suddenly too small rib cage, beating furiously like it's in allegiance with them and is bent on exploding from my chest.

The pain ebbs slowly away and I vaguely hear myself gasp for air but I can't feel it fill my lungs, like it's dissipating the moment it passes through my lips.

The respite is short lived, I can see the inevitable clearly - my head lolling forward and to the side like a force outside myself is pushing it up, making me look at the contrasting black and red haired women before me. I blink and they merge together, blink and they split apart. It makes everything spin or maybe it's been spinning and I just now am aware enough to notice.

"One more time I should think." Safiya twirls her hair, studying me, my jaw set firmly against the shaking that wants to overtake me completely, or maybe already has, I can no longer tell - my body nearly slack in my restrains, my legs almost giving out completely under me, putting nearly breaking pressure on my captive wrists.

Alecto grins and I glare at the pair of them with all the hate I can muster to show, Safiya's coy smile taunting me. I know I could put a momentary stop to this, that she wants me to open my mouth and give in to her yet unnamed demands. But I've been here before, I know what she wants, and I'll die either before or while giving it to her.

Hopefully before.

The long wand in Alecto's stubby grip flourishes, Harry lets out a shout that sounds far and disjointed, and my eyes roll back into my head as pain screams through me - my body convulsing, pulling against the chains in an attempt to curl into myself.

The shackles clank and blackness is welcome.

****

It's like swimming through tar.

It's thick and clinging, sticking to me, slowing my stroking arms and paddling feet, choking down my throat, squeezing through my eyes. There's no montage of my life. No film for me to sit back and watch displayed before me. I don't see all my failures and most humiliating moments, nor do I get to relieve the bliss of the happiest times of my life.

It's just...nothing. Nothing but black and pain and a sense of losing myself to something that's trying to turn me inside out. I imagine it's like dying but without the gratification of moving onto the afterlife or achieving the ultimate blankness.

I wonder if this is what's it liked to be kissed by a Dementor? A slow, conscious kind of death.

Harry once whispered to me, late at night, wrapped in my arms with his head on my chest, that he feared Dementors the most, that he considered being Kissed as the worst possible death. I remember how he had shivered as he spoke of it, retelling the story of his Godfather, the only loving family member that he knew...and lost. I don't know why but this is the only thing I can think of, the only thing that's penetrating the darkness surrounding and manifesting in me.

It's only a small memory. A few lines of conversation but mostly it's the feel of it. The memory of the weight of his body curled around mine, of his fingers playing with my hair, with the way he looked at me - lifting his head to prop his chin on my chest. It was the first time I dared to believe that he loved me, truly and completely loved me. It left me breathless. The touch of his lips had been so soft, promising, chaste.

"Take him down."

That's Harry, I can recognize his voice anywhere and I feel suspended in time and place, unable to tell if I'm alive or dead - perhaps this is limbo, a place of floating just out of reach. But then...shouldn't death be less painful? Shouldn't the ache be gone if I'm crossing over? Or maybe it lingers until the final step, the final moment, our body’s last grasp at humanity. Maybe if I give in it will go away, maybe the darkness will turn to light.

I've stood here before haven't I? It's a crossroads, one I'm uncertain of where to go, up or down, deeper into the darkness and hopeful numbness or up to the light and pain.

"Did you ever wonder Mr. Potter how you came to find him?" Safiya asks and I feel a prickling sensation run over what must be my back. It's hard to tell my hands from my feet at the moment. "How you came to Thailand, how you managed to find the flyer for his fight? How you made it in the door and then ring side? Ever stop to consider that it was all a little too...perfect?"

Harry's reply is sharp and blurry around the edges, adding to the sense that my blood is trying to pump through numb, dead veins. I can't make out the words though, they simply spread through me and fall to the wayside.

Safiya tsks and there's a pulling beneath my navel, drawing me up through the tar, my arms flailing wildly, unable to stop myself from fighting against it - because as the black merges with gray the pain is increasing as is the volume of voices, the stink of putrid air, the humidity of long suffering curses. I don't want it. I want mindlessness. I want the light of nothing.

I want the cold winter nights, want to be back on my little cot with Harry, whispering in the dark and stealing kisses that were never really stolen but freely given.

"...Believe what you will but you're here because I desired you to be here, you were reunited with Mr. Malfoy because that was the course that needed to run. Fate always needs a push, I just lent my hand..."

I feel my heavy cemented eyelids try to flutter open, my sticky pain ridden eyes refusing obedience. I fight against it, hear myself groan painfully and then there's a muttering, a curse, and searing pain retakes me.

****

I used to wish Harry's curse during our sixth year had scared me.

I don't know why. Surely longing to be mutilated isn't something a sane person would wish for and yet I remember staring into my mirror in my bedroom at the Manor thinking just so. Naked to the waist, trying to dispel the stench of the Dark Lord all around me and gazing so intensely at my pale, bare chest that I'm surprised I didn't make the long thin scars appear just out of sheer will. I used to touch the spot where his curse split me open, my blood seeping and spilling to merge with the busted pipes, spewing water all around us. If I concentrated hard enough I could delude myself into believing that I could still feel Potter's touch in place of my own - his hands frantic and shaking with realization of what he'd done.

Perhaps I was desperate for a connection to him during those dark days. Perhaps I needed to be reminded that the world still had a savior, who was powerful, who wouldn't shy away from making the hard decisions, and carry them out. No matter the cost. No matter the bystanders brought down in his wake.

Delusional wishing.

Then came the day it shifted and I was glad he hadn't left scars. Because I don't think he could have taken it. I think the first time he had peeled my shirt off, his hands and eyes straying to my chest, tracing the invisible lines that I myself had traced too many times to count - I think that if he had been met with a different sight that he would have crumbled under the weight. And I didn't want to be the cause of more guilt and depression in his life.

I wanted him to look on me and see someone whole. I needed him to see me as whole and unscathed despite the nasty mark on my forearm. He could make me feel...powerful in his gaze, in his touch, in his kiss. Like he'd broken off a piece of his radiance and fitted it into my own aura.

I've never understood the power he has over me, all my life, he's been there - a force to reckon with.

But a power he is. A power I’ve both loathed and loved.

And he's speaking now, like a damn angle, unseen - because I can't see anything, can't feel anything, can't even really hear anything, his voice sounding in my head like he's projecting it straight through me.

The same voice that laughs at the stupidest of jokes, the voice that spikes with shyness, deepens with urgency, rasps with desire, whispers with the force of a legion. The voice that draws the 'o' out in my name like a prayer.

"Draco, hey it's okay, it's okay...just breathe yeah?"

My vision swims, so unfocused and wobbly it threatens to dispel any and all contents of my stomach, a cold, sticky, hardness pressed against my cheek - the world tilted on its side and zooming in and out of blackness.

"Stay still okay?" Harry's voice is incredibly close and yet far away, awareness of my body suddenly coming sharply into reality and god do I wish it had stayed numb.

The pain is unbearable.

With a blink everything settles and my vision is filled with off centered green and I vaguely notice that I'm lying on my stomach, cheek stuck to the floor with tears and spit. I open my mouth, intending to ask how he is, where we are, where Safiya and Alecto are, but all that comes out is a raspy, aching cough that sends spiking convulsions through me.

He hunches nearer, sitting on his knees, and hovering just out of reach, his hand paused in midair with a look of trepidation and heartache. "What'd I say?" He tries for a smile but it's forced and obviously fake at best. "Just lie still."

"S-fa?" I gasp out, trying to still the coughing fit that wants to rake through me again.

His expression hardens in a flash, eyes narrowed and flickering to the door before focusing back on me. "Their gone for now. Said they had a surprise for us." There's ash on his thigh, little gray flakes that I can't stop staring at, three cigarettes smoked down to the filter littered by his knees. It makes me wonder how long they've been gone and how long I've been passed out for.

"Followed me?" I ask, glad when the words come out whole but grimacing at the feeling of sandpaper running over tender unhealed nerves.

He runs a hand through his hair and shifts until he's sitting cross legged. He looks haggard, exhausted, deep circles under his eyes and lines of worry and rage etched on his face, polluting his green irises - my fingers twitching against the ground at the sight. "Sort of."

"And that means?" I probe, trying and failing to pry myself off the ground, my cheek still stuck in place, even my dry, chapped lips barely moving enough to form words. My eyelids threaten to slide closed again, bringing blissful sleep with it.

"Close your eyes, get some rest." He whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.” His tone is quiet with a hard edge that accompanies the softness, his hand closing roughly over his thigh as I lose the battle, his form blinking from sight.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I drift off with the vague realization that he's wearing two different pairs of shoes on his feet.

****

"Now then, let's get started shall we?"

A spell hits me square in the chest, pulling me from unconsciousness and back into the real world with a thundering pulse and loud gasp. I feel tethered with a pumping energy that isn't mine but that's weaving itself through me with unnatural force. The air I suck rapidly in through my nose stings with each inhale as I slowly form the world back around me.

Madame Safiya is standing in front of me, toying with a long silver chain with a dangling pendant between her fingers, smiling at me with her plump red lips.

Alecto is off to the side, glaring death at Harry, dressed in ill-fitting robes that are different from the last time I looked upon her. I haven't heard her speak, not once. She's just frowned and grinned and flourished her wand but never with a single utterance. It's odd for her, her voice a dull sort of crackle that's a near perfect contrast to Bella's. She used to love to hear herself talk, going on and on about the filth and disease infested rodents muggles were.

Which leaves me to wonder...Safiya must be a witch or at least of a magical background otherwise Alecto wouldn't have anything to do with her - I don't believe she would even if it meant capturing me and the Dark Lords, as well as her brothers, murderer. So the question is...what is she exactly? A squib, the disgraced cousin of the Carrow family? A witch who’s so immersed herself in this empire she's built that she sees little need for magic? That seems unlikely. But then...what?

Then there was the smoke in the room when I came to see her. Obviously drugged, a potent release of some potion that ate away at my mental ability to function as well as severing all ability to even stand correctly. But she was in the room with me, in there longer than me even, and yet she escaped its effects. Perhaps she drunk an antidote, perhaps it was brewed only to affect me, but either way it was brewed. Magically. I'm near certain of that now.

With a little shake of my throbbing head, I tear my gaze away from them. I feel like my brain in running in circles on hyper-speed, the spell she hit me with to rejuvenate me making me feel like I've let a dose of Speed slip down my throat. I need to slow myself, to steady my thoughts.

Harry is still within his circle, standing with his arms firmly flexed by his sides. He looks uninjured, unmoved, his attire rumpled but otherwise the same as when I left him at my flat. With a quick downward glance, I let out a relieved breath as I see my ring still snug upon his finger. When my gaze travels back up it's to find him watching me out of the corner of one eye while he keeps the other fixed on our captures, like the true warrior he is.

"Okay?" He mouths, his lone eye roving in a spectacular imitation of Mad-Eye Moody, the crazy sod.

Okay? I feel like snorting, like screaming, like slapping myself about the head, because everything is so very far from okay - but instead I nod, flashing him a tight smile that's more painful than I thought a smile could be.

I am sitting, tied to a chair once more. But at least the blindfold and shackles are gone. I hurt over every inch of my body but otherwise I feel intact, the darkness inside present but subdued like a raging monster chained back by rusting manacles.

"Welcome back Mr. Malfoy, did you enjoy your reunion with your former teacher?" Safiya takes in the whole of me with her gaze and I feel utterly exposed - my head nearly hanging, strands of hair in my eyes, unable to construct any sort of mask to hide myself behind, my forehead wet with sweat and eyes red with dried salt.

She can see it all. She can see my pain, my fear, my sickness. She can see it and she smiles, my heaving breaths and unguarded eyes giving away what she's apparently known all along. I am her tool just like I refused to believe. But I am, just more than I ever could have imagined.

"Still playing the same tricks I see." I direct at Alecto, embracing the torn, scratchy quality of my voice and flinging it out with venom. "Though I'd love it if you'd enlighten me about something."

"And that is?" Safiya asks as Alecto's face burns red, her hand tightening on her wand.

And that seals it. She hasn't spoken because she can't, I wonder how that happened. That could be useful.

With a bored swing of my head, I look back at the Madame, giving her a toothy smile that's so uncharacteristic on my face - and that must look positively deranged on my tattered being - that she nearly frowns at it, catching herself at just the last second before her lips can do more than twitch downward. The small action enough to justify the immense pain the expression caused.
"Are you just a pathetic squib? Or are you just so ghastly terrible at magic that you've been forced to join the muggle race?"

Harry coughs at my side and I hear Alecto shift her footing but I don't pay them any heed as I watch the minute reactions play across Safiya's face. She takes a single step forward, tilting her head, dropping the necklace to dangle from a single finger, and then...smiles. She looks far too pleased. "So clever Mr. Malfoy, as always. Alas this time you're wrong on both counts."

"Oh?" Sickness speeds through my stomach as the rejuvenation spell starts settling, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy once more - the turnabout so sudden and quick it leaves me light headed for a moment.

"They took your wand." Harry says quietly, in his low deep rumble of strength pulled in and waiting. "Didn't they?"

Safiya eyes him with her piercing gaze, her jaw tightening for a brief moment before the smooth angles appear once more. "Snapped it actually, like it was nothing more than a twig."

"When?" I ask, looking between the two of them, wondering how Harry drew that conclusion so fast but then again maybe if my brain was functioning properly it wouldn't seem so out of the box. It's actually the only real explanation that makes any sense.

She waves a finger at me, timed in its movements to somehow seem condescending. "When is not important, only why dear."

"Then why?" I'm not sure if it's Harry or me that voices the question she lays before us but it's out there and Safiya draws three long, blood red nails up the creamy skin of her left forearm as she steps towards me.

"I'm unmarked, unlike you. I'm not marred by the snake and skull, haven't bowed to a master." She says quietly, firmly, a fire glowing in her blue pools of ice.

"Evil all by yourself?" Harry drags a hand through his mangled locks, eyeing her carefully as she comes ever closer to my bound self.

She grins and chuckles in his direction, no doubt finding great amusement in his obvious anger. "Evils such an ambiguous term."

"Not really, it's pretty straight forward actually."

"Agree to disagree then Mr. Potter?" She inclines her head in a small nod before pressing on. "The details are just that, old details. Unimportant. What matters is that the people in power saw me as a threat but they didn't want to simply eliminate me as swiftly as possible. They didn't ship me off to Azkaban after stealing my wand for themselves to be so cruelly snuffed beneath their heel. They wanted to make an example out of me." She pauses, leaning forward to run a hand through my sweat slicked locks, forcing my head back, and eyes to lock on hers.

For the first time I've looked upon her I can see ghosts in her gaze, an unhinged power tingling in her fingertips. She seems small and larger than life all at once. It's unnerving.

"Experimental, unstable, volatile, dangerous, not recommend for human use. Those are the words that branded the kind of punishment they had in mind. Needless to say when they were done it wouldn't have mattered if they had destroyed my wand or not." Her hand clenches through my hair, painfully yanking on the strands. "They reduced me to nothing more than a squib in essence. Drained my magic until I couldn't even light a damn candle without the use of matches." She lets go of me with a sudden jerk that has my chair rocking dangerously for a moment before it stills again, her glowering form rounding on Harry. "They tried to extinguish me in the filth of muggles. But I've risen above it. I am rich. I am powerful. I am the fucking Queen."

"Right." Harry deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest. "And as Queen you decided you needed to kidnap two wizards to...what exactly? Bow to you? Make you feel like you aren't a piece of worthless shite?"

Her hand shoots out in a blur, straight towards Harry, nearly scratching across his cheek. But in a movement that is hidden in a blink, her wrist is suddenly bending back, caught in his grip, inches from his face, his eyes glowing and hair nearly standing on end with the power rising off him. I draw in a breath at the sight, knowing perfectly well how powerful he is, how quickly he can tap into without even thinking about it.

But knowing it and experiencing it again are two very different things. His magic crackles, sparks, Safiya's eyes widening, wrist bent at a horrible angle, Harry's mouth a hard line. She doesn't move her gaze from his, a silent war waging between them for a beat that sucks all the air out of the room before she smiles slowly, raising a single eyebrow.

"Impressive." She licks her bottom lip and glances with a purposeful slide of her eyes at Alecto, who's hovering nearer now. "Let go now."

"Or I could pull you in." He threatens, cocking his own eyebrow in mimic of hers, his foot tapping just inside the edge of his circle.

"You could." She doesn't look afraid even though Harry's look could probably kill a lesser soul just by gazing at him. "But I don't think you will. Not unless you’re eager to see your lover strung up again."

Harry's jaw tenses, his shoulders snapping back, eyes hard and narrowing in a manner that makes me squirm in my seat. I wouldn't be surprised if she burst into flames any second now. But she doesn't and with a growl he lets go of her wrist, taking a small step back, my stomach sinking as he does so.

That was the closest chance we've had. And if I wasn't sure of it before, I am now - he can't leave his circle, and judging by the unbalanced and unfocused power he was emitting, possibly can't even preform magic inside it. Glancing down, I study the oily outline with its shades of gray and rust and green, the memory of the tangy scent of blood resurfacing.

That's it. That's what she wanted his blood for, for this, his own little prison. She's had this planned out all along. Just like the smoke that was made just for me, that trapped me, the circle was made just for him, nullifying him as a threat during whatever she plans to do.

Safiya holds all the trump cards and we hold none.

"As I thought." She rubs delicately at her wrist, staying where she is, taunting him with her close proximity. "As I was saying. I've become more than they ever dreamed possible but I can't rest, can't fully enjoy it until their groveling at my feet, begging my forgiveness, screaming in agony as I did. And the stars have smiled on me. They brought me my cousin, distraught at her brother’s death...truly grisly Mr. Potter, are you certain you’re a sainted hero?"

"He was a monster." Harry hisses, his hands clenched at his sides once more.

"Of course he was." Safiya shrugs an uncaring shoulder. "But that's not the point. Hero's aren't supposed to break bodies like that. Saviors aren't supposed to slice wide, sputtering smiles across people's throats, and leave them to die a slow, terrible death."

"Be thankful it was so kind." He looks deadly serious, a shiver running down my spine at the truth in his words, the images they conjure so horrific with his face plastered to it that I have to glance away.

Alecto lets out a growl that sounds more like a gurgle as she lunges forward, flicking her wand and dropping Harry where he stands, his knees crashing to the ground as his eyes screw shut, mouth firm against a cry. There's a spasm between his shoulder blades as Alecto stands over him with her wand out, a sweat breaking across my already sticky forehead as I watch him fight against the curse.

I may have shouted, may have cursed, may have pleaded. I don't know because for the brief and yet eternity long moment she holds him under its torturous effects, all I can hear is his labored breathing, all I can see his eyes so deadly dark and blinking. When she finally releases him and he sucks in a sharp, long breath, I nearly collapse in relief, may actually have if I wasn't tied down.

"Best remember whose company your in." Safiya stills Alecto from casting another curse with a hand placed delicately over hers as Harry sits back on his heel, glaring up at them with defiance. "Now would you like to hear the rest of my story or should I skip straight to the punch line? Truth be told I'm perfectly content with both."

I have a feeling the punch line will spell my ending, so with great difficulty, I tear my gaze from Harry's heaving form and latch them onto Safiya. "You knew it was me all along?" I ask, drawing her attention back towards me.

"Indeed I did. Draco Malfoy, Lucius’ disaster of a son. Such a disappointment, never did seem like you'd amount to much. But then, there you were, fighting in those barely legal rings, spitting blood and bruising your once dainty knuckles. Such a change, such...stamina. You had fire and I love fire." She's toying with the long silver chain again, letting it swing like a pendulum.

"Why didn't you say something?" I watch it rise and fall, rise and fall, trying to catch a steady glimpse of the pendent on the end. I don't know why but it seems important, the blurry swing of silver refusing to come into focus.

"Because you weren't burning yet dear and I wanted you burning." She gazes somewhere over my shoulder. "I had such plans but...Alecto told me a very intriguing story one night. She spoke of a boy who could end my pain and pave my way to ultimate fulfillment." She nearly steps on my toes as she leans down over me, hands gripping my own where their tied to the armrests. "And imagine, here he was, already mine, just waiting to catch fire."

"I can give you nothing." I try not to look away, try to keep steady in her gaze that's peeling me apart as I sink further and further away, my breath catching.

"Ah but you can and you know it, don't you?" She runs her hands up my arms and I squirm, wishing to fling myself away from her touch, a touch that suddenly makes so much more sense than it ever has before. "You can be my salvation. You can lift me high, rain down my judgment. You can place me where I rightfully belong and take it back from those who don't deserve it."

"That's not me."

She smiles and curls her hands over my chest, feeling the thump, thump, thump of my heart and humming along with it. "Perhaps not yet but soon."

"No."

She searches my face and shakes her head. "Still in denial or perhaps..." she glances at Harry and smiles. ”Oh yes, that's it, isn't it? You haven't told him."

"Told me what?" Harry bursts out and I know I should look over and reassure him but I can't - can't look away from her.

"You're wrong. It's not true." I whisper, trying to convince myself in the process. Such an old argument and somehow it all ends up back here, no matter how far or fast I run from it.

"Now you don't believe that, I can tell you don't." Her fingers work the buttons on my shirt, slipping them free from their confining holes. "The Dark Lord Mr. Potter, how many times did he split his soul?" She asks softly, never looking away from me, the rush of blood in my ears threatening to drown out Harry's answer.

"Seven." He says after only a moment’s hesitation.

"I see and you killed them all?" Another button pops free and I can feel the hot air brush against my exposed flesh.

"Yes." He answers and her grin grows.

"Are you sure?" Safiya pauses above my navel, pushing the fabric of my shirt wide.

"Of course I'm sure." Harry answers and I slip my eyes shut against my own will but I can't watch, wishing only that the rushing would fill my ears so fully that I couldn't hear them at all, no matter how faintly. "What the hell is this about?"

Safiya pulls a piece of midnight black charcoal from between her breasts, holding it aloft for a moment before pressing the scratchy tip over my chest, drawing her hand down and over in an intricate loop. "Why don’t you tell him Draco, tell him all about who you are?" She's drawing ancient runes, I know she is, even if I can't fully comprehend it.

But it has me nearly hyperventilating in panic, terrified of the certainty in the way her fingers and wrist curves and bends, stroking back and forth. She knows what she's doing. It's been years since I've been in this position and while I've been running, apparently they've been searching, looking for just the right method to bring my doom about.

It was foolish to think they'd stop looking. It was foolish to think that time was enough to prove my safety. Foolish to believe that I could keep it hidden away forever, tempered, and leashed.

"I know who he is." Harry hisses and I can't help but be reminded of our conversation in the kitchen all those days ago, how he swore he knew me, that whatever Amycus and Bella had tried to convince me of was wrong - that his version of my soul was the right one. I stopped fighting him on it, let myself melt into him, but it's time to resurface, time to watch his eyes cloud over with horror, time to lose him forever.

Time to bring back his nightmare.

Because he needs to stop looking at me through rose colored glasses, the tint of which I know I'm partially responsible for. He needs to be prepared. He needs to let loose his fire and prepare for battle. He needs to be a savoir again.

"Tell him." Safiya repeats and I look up and meet her eyes, wondering if she possibly knows what she's toying with.

"Harry." I say, my voice unearthly steady and calm despite the storm inside. "You didn't destroy all the horcruxes."

A/N: Alright lovely readers that was a difficult chapter to write! I know the first half was probably a bit confusing but it was supposed to be, kind of trying to tap into the disoriented feeling that Draco was under. Hopefully it came out well though and you enjoyed it – bit nervous :)
Next chapter is the very last flashback and then there’s just a couple more chapters to go and we’re done!
Delia Cerrano: Haha well Harry DID eat his Wheaties (and there will be some butt kicking, I can assure you!) Yeah the darkness inside Draco is drawn to Safiya in a strange way but he mostly just hates her and has been trying to figure things out –which hasn’t been easy for him since he’s one conflicted, confused dude. It’s not a lack of faith in Harry, it’s a lack of faith in himself but he’s going to have to face it all real soon.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing