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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Italics = Flashback to Seventh Year

Chapter Five
Woven In

"This is rubbish." I mutter to myself, flipping forward a few pages in the old worn volume and snorting as my eyes scan over the text. "No, no that's wrong. Who the hell wrote this?" Snapping it shut, I turn it over on the long wooden table and read the faded title: Dark Curses and Hexes for Light Witches and Wizards by Mrs. Mary Collbot.

What the hell does that even mean? It can't be Light and Dark magic at the same time the twit. The woman was obviously off her rocker, no wonder the spells are all wonky. Pushing the book away I strain my ears for the umpteenth time, trying without success to hear the conversation going on just outside the tent.

Damn silencing spells.

With a sigh I go back to glaring at the hideous red and gold tie, charmed to chain one of my wrists to the table, as I tug uselessly at it. I could honestly kill Granger and her brilliant idea to use Potter's old school attire to 'make sure I'm not up to anything' while I'm sleeping or their off gallivanting heroically.
Or more accurately, talking heroically since I don't believe they've actually gone anywhere.

For three weeks. They just tie me up, leave me in this god forsaken tent with one of the mudblood's books, and then they glare and spout all the reasons I better not revert back into a ridiculously evil Death Eater, and walk out. Alright so maybe it's just the weasel spewing the threats but still...

Brilliant plan of theirs really. Because I may actually become what they think I'm suppressing just out of sheer boredom.

Because gods am I bored. Three measly weeks with the Golden Trio and I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin with pent up energy and aggression. I've put all of my focus into holding my tongue, which is not an easy task in their company I assure you, and still they mostly just treat me with brooding contempt. And it's not as if I expected them to just embrace me, probably would have hexed them if they had actually - I mean I wouldn't trust me! But the lack of outright assault and being alone so much has left me fantastically bored. There is absolutely nothing to do.

And I cannot tolerate it. My mind is much too sharp an instrument to be left gathering dust.

Whenever they do deem to grace me with their presence they take to very peculiar behavior - Granger chucks books at me whenever I open my mouth, the weasel just glares and stays out of my way, and Potter has gotten suspiciously good at staring at the floor and stilling his crazy Gryffindor rage. I may have to start provoking them again just stave off insanity.

What I wouldn't give at the moment to see Potter's face glaring crimson as he tries to sputter out a witty retort, his fists clenched at his sides. Hell I would even settle for an explosion of Weasley's blind violence.
It wouldn't take much, would be so easy...

And oh would you look at that, fate has smiled upon me finally, in the form one very angry looking Harry Potter. My hand, which had been trying to wiggle its way free from its bind, falls to the wood tabletop as the tent's flaps whip closed behind him, his eyes blazing. He paces two steps towards me, turns to the right, hesitates, turns to the left, shoves a hand through his disastrous hair, bites his lip, huffs out a loud breath, and clenches his fists into his curls all in the span of five seconds.

I know because I counted. That is how bored I am.

Plus I do believe this is the most emotion I've seen him display since he found me. He looks positively mental. And for once he's all alone, lucky me.

Propping my elbow on the table, I lean causally against my open palm, arching my eyebrow at him as he mutters incoherently to himself. "Careful Potter or your head might just implode if you keep insisting on over taxing it." I drawl, letting a smirk play across my lips when his eyes finally snap to mine.

He looks surprised to see me.

Well isn't that just peachy. Here I've been dying for company, hell even willing to settle for Weasley's drab conversation skills, and he's staring at me as if I've just popped up from the bowels of the earth. He blinks at me and shakes his head as if these actions will make me melt away like I'm nothing but a hallucination.

This will not do. I will not be forgotten about so easily.

"Care to remove your offensive binding?" I ask, lifting my wrist as far from the table as the tie will allow.

That seems to snap him out of his stupor. His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms. "Why would I want to do that Malfoy?'

"One because I am not cattle and resent being treated as such. Secondly you look like you want to hit something and I would prefer to be able to fight back." I tell him, feeling my pulse jump at even the possibility of a confrontation.

"I'm not going to attack you." He mumbles, sliding onto the bench opposite me. That's a first, does he realize he's actually sitting with me?

"Are you trying to imply that you’re going to reasonably process and discuss what’s bothering you?" I tilt my head and hold his gaze. "Because I've yet to see proof that you’re capable of that."

He glares as his hand forms a fist on the table and I smile malevolently. "Can't you just shut up?"

"No." I drum my fingers on the wood and hold my look of contemplation. "Now I wonder what's gotten you so worked up this time, are you perhaps finally cracking under the pressure?"

"You wish." He grumbles but he doesn't get up to leave where normally by this time he would have already stormed off. Maybe he IS looking for an excuse to fight with me, Merlin knows he looks tense enough to want to vent it all out. Well I can certainly oblige.
Happily even.

"How very astute of you. Of course I've just been dying for you to lose it so that the Dark Lord can win and slaughter me."

"What's with you, you prick?" There's an edge to his voice now that rings familiar and I let my lips curve up into a deeper smirk. "YOU asked US for help remember?"

"Oh yes and I'm just so eternally grateful." I sneer and tug at my binding dramatically. "This is really all a dream come true. Being tied to one spot and forced to read Granger's pitiful books as my only source of entertainment while you three plot His demise. How's that coming by the way? Because from the look of it you and your little leeches can't agree on anything."

He jerks until he's in a funny half sitting, half standing stance, raging at me with his hands pressed flat between us. "Bloody git you've been eavesdropping!" The force of his magic shocks over me, sending tingles down my spine.

"And how would I manage that exactly?" I ask in a bored tone as I look up at him. "You took my wand remember?"

His face contorts in a mix between confusion and anger and in a huff he drops heavily back onto the bench - his fingers clawing at his neck where there's a thin silver chain resting, the end of it dipping beneath his shirt. Since when has Potter been the jewelry type?

"Sorry." He grumbles, his eyes taking on a sheen of weariness that saps all his energy in an instant.

"I think I must have heard you wrong because that sounded like an apology." I reply with a frown as his head thunks forward to lay face down against the table. Oh my god what is with these switching moods! How am I supposed to argue with him when he keeps shifting all over the place?
Stop changing the footing Potter!

He mutters something unintelligible into the wood and I can't stop myself. It's just too pathetic, too disconcerting. So before I can fully think through my actions I reach across the span between us and smack him upside the head.

"Ow!" He shouts, his hand shooting to the back of his head as he sits up and fixes me with a glare. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

I shrug one lazy shoulder. "Looked like you needed it." I say, flicking a speck of dirt off my sleeve.

His lips turn down into a deep frown as he glowers at me for several long moments, my own gaze perfectly steady and unflinching in his. "Oh fuck this." He suddenly snaps and swings his legs off the bench as he pulls his wand out and points it to where his tie is secured to a hook in the table. With a swish and mutter it springs free and he immediately gathers the end in his free hand.

"What-?" I sputter and stumble as he yanks on it without so much as a warning, pulling me forward and off the bench. I dig my heels in as he drags me through the flaps in the tent and out into the biting winter air. "Potter stop you idiot!" I shout at him, my free hand grasping onto my other wrist where the tie is digging into my flesh. I'm starting to get a bit worried he's going to dislocate something if he doesn't slow the hell down and stop tugging on me. "I am not a dog!"

He tosses me a smirk over his shoulder and doesn't miss a single step in his quick stride. "Then keep up Malfoy."

I catch sight of the weasel and Granger off to the side, his mouth hanging open, her head tilted just so in confusion as they watch their best friend drag me through the woods. "Harry..." Granger says quizzically. "Where are you going?"

"Be back soon." He answers without looking at them.

Anger flares in my chest at being treated in such a manner and in front of the lemmings no less! Picking up my pace, I quickly tangle part of the smooth fabric in my fingers and grasp it with both hands, letting out a furious grunt as I throw all my strength into yanking back on it, planting my feet firmly into the soft ground beneath me.

"I said stop!" I hiss and stumble back as Potter's hold falters, his feet sliding through a patch of frozen mud. The tie slips from his hand for all but a second before he's catching it again.

Damn Seeker reflexes.

His cheeks are turning red from the cold but he just grins as he twines a good portion of it around his own hand. "And I said to keep up." He actually winks, the insane bastard, and pulls hard and I just barely manage to catch hold of a tree trunk to keep myself from falling face first in the process.

These drastic mood swings of his are going to give me whiplash. And quite literally it seems as I try my best to keep up with him. I have no idea where we're going and I have to spend all my concentration on not tripping over any jutting roots or the uneven forest floor. My breath comes out in little puffs of white smoke and I may just actually kill him for this. Then again maybe that's his plan. Take me deep into the woods, murder me, and take my decapitated head back as a present for Weasley.

When he finally stops at the edge of a small clearing, I fix him with an icy glare and take the last remaining step, slapping my hand hard across his cheek before he has a chance to even blink.

"Damn it Malfoy stop doing that!" He howlers, his hand holding his stinging cheek.

"Don't you dare ever do that again." I say in a low voice, my tone smooth and cold as ice, the perfect pitch of an angry Slytherin and I smile inwardly as he takes a step back.
Seriously though were does he get off doing that to me? He could have just bloody asked me to follow him. I would have gone eagerly, anything to break my boredom but this is not okay!

He opens his mouth as if to apologize but a second later his jaw snaps shut without a sound - his nose screwing up as his fingers lift to rub over his lightening scar. "Why did you call Hermione's book pitiful?"

"Come again?" I wasn't expecting that, because that is not an apology nor is it an explanation as to why he dragged me all the way out here. So help me Merlin I'm going to do more than smack him again if he did all that just to talk to me about books. Not even good books, horrifically boring inaccurate books at that!

"The book you were reading, you called it pitiful, but it was about the Dark Arts yeah? Shouldn't that make it right up your alley?" Potter explains, cocking an eyebrow at me and shoving a hand into his jacket's pocket.

I sneer at the implication but I suppose it's not untrue. I do know my way quite well around the darker side of magic. Still he shouldn't automatically assume that that makes me a lover of all things evil and hideous. This man is the king of assumptions. "There were no Dark Arts contained within that book." I inform him and try not to shiver as the cold seeps into my bones, my gaze hardening icily as I eye the thick wool wrapped around him.

Selfish git could have at least let me grab a jacket.

"But the title..."

"Oh yes quite clever really, Dark Arts for Light Witches and Wizards. It's a fools run Potter, a scam if you will. Because there can be no such thing as Light and Dark magic commingling, they would cancel each other out." I tell him and watch the puzzlement pull at his face. He can't be that stupid can he?

Then his expression is morphing, melting into one of pure rage as he lets out a growl and fists his fingers so tightly into his hair I'm surprised he doesn't pull his raven curls out in chunks. "Then how am I supposed to bloody do it?!" He screams and I force myself to stay still, to not back away from him as he fumes at the ground.

"Oh my god Potter you have lost it, seriously lost it." I mutter, feeling perfectly unsafe and wanting nothing more than to turn and run as his magic reaches a crackling pitch in the air. But of course I can't because the prat is still holding his end of the tie like a damn leash.

"What are you on about now?" He bites out, his green eyes churning with a darkness that shouldn't be there.

"Your insane mood swings Potter, it's like being tossed around by a bunch of Hippogriffs." I reach up and rub at the soreness settling into my shoulder from being yanked around as he gapes at me - like he has no idea what I'm talking about.

"I..." He breathes and then plunges his hand into the neck of his shirt and rips the necklace off over his head, his fingers tremble around the pendent for a moment before he tosses it.

Now I assume he meant for it land on the ground but curiosity got the best of me and as it arches in the air my fingers reach out and close around it. I see his eyes light, the darkness and swirling clouds clearing in the same moment it grabs me. Because that is the simplest way to describe it. My feet sink in the ground as dark magic crawls up my arm, lacing through my breath, invading my thoughts, and bringing to the surface unimaginable horror.

I look down at the ornate locket lying in my hand and can practically see the evilness inside, begging for release. So unassuming, so perfectly disguised but it's there and I feel as if I've been dipped in a vat of oily slime. Never to be truly clean again.

"Malfoy?" Potter asks and when I meet his eyes it's to find him watching me curiously, his eyes narrowed in question.

"Where did you get this?" I demand, because I cannot fathom how Harry Potter, the almost sickeningly righteous hero, has come into possession of a clearly exceedingly dark artifact.

And he was bloody wearing it!

His teeth sink into the tip of his tongue as I hold the locket out between us, not daring to bring it any closer to my body. One does not mess with things like this. "What do you know of it?" He asks after a while, the heel of his foot propping itself against the bark of a tree as he leans back against it.

I watch his face, the angry lines no longer marring him, the rage completely vanished from his lips and eyes - replaced with a quiet calm and deep curiosity. Drastic mood swings indeed, serves him right for adorning the damn necklace.
Closing my eyes, I tentatively curl my fingers back around it, gathering all the accessible magic pumping through my veins and sending it outwards - directing it in careful probes against the locket. The darkness inside licks back at me as I skirt around it, seeking a way in, looking for any information I can gather.

Of course if I had my wand this would be much easier.

I pick up little bits here and there, all of them distorted, and skewed no doubt by its maker to hide his trail and its true nature. I don't trust anything I've been able to learn and with a sigh I open my eyes, letting the waves slowly recede and fall back into place. Whoever made this was a bloody evil genius.
Although there's something about it, about the way it touches me that seems a bit familiar.

I shudder involuntary and look back up. "Nasty little locket you have Potter. Isn't willing to give up any of its secrets either."

His green eyes are comically wide and he's staring at me as if I've sprouted another head. "You...you...how do you...?"

"How did I what?" I ask, letting the chain slip through my fingers till the locket is dangling in the air by my feet.

He swallows thickly and glances from my face to the necklace and back. "How did you know it has dark magic?" The words tumble out of lips in a rush and I furrow my brow.

"Wasn't difficult, it's practically reeking of it." Why is he looking at me like that? It's unnerving to say the least and then a thought hits me and I stare intently back at him. "Potter did you not know?" I ask even though it's completely absurd to think he was so utterly clueless about it.

He shakes his head, a sad smile tugging at his mouth that makes me entirely uncomfortable and I have no desire to know the reason behind it. "No I knew, it's just that...do you mean that you can FEEL it?"

"Why is that so shocking? Like I said this thing is as subtle as Hagrid amongst a batch of first years." I pause and take in the tense line of his jaw, the just crinkled nose, the puzzlement fighting for answers in his irises. "Can you not?"

"I..." He stops and looks over my shoulder, back towards the camp and when I follow his gaze it's to find nothing there - just empty trees and white powered ground. When I look back he's staring at me again while taking a step closer and I get the distinct impression that if he could open up a hole in the ground and sink me into it, he would. "Kinda. It speaks to me in a way but...Ron and Hermione can't feel it like that. I mean it affects us after wearing it for a while but that's about it."

"Yes about you that, you really should stop." I inform him, biting my tongue against giving him a sound lashing for doing something so stupid.

His fingers drop to tangle in the chain, curling around my own frozen digits and lifts it along with my hand up to our faces. I can see him debating with himself, a silent war played so clearly across his face. "You're good at this kind of stuff aren't you? I mean you're good with dark artifacts?"

"Yes." I answer slowly, bit of a specialty of mine actually, of course he doesn't need to know that.

His eyes flash with something and he scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip as the wind picks up around us, cutting through me in a matter of seconds. "Can you destroy it then?"

My hair flies into my eyes but I don't push it away, can't seem to move as I stare back at him as my mind processes his words. Now there's a chance I'm mistaken but...did he just ask for my help?

****

The high pitch shrill of the kettle whistling its warning cuts through my dreams and pulls me from the realm of blissful sleep. My arms curl up under my pillow, my legs spread eagle and tangled in the sheets, the soreness reaching through every cell of my body coming back into focus as the last remnants of sleep slip from me. Turning my head stiffly from where it was pressed face first between two pillows, I blink through the morning haze and stifle a groan - bloody hell I haven't even moved and I feel like I've been dropped off a cliff.
The curtain over the window is drawn but through the cracks of the thick fabric is the softest gleam of silvery light, hinting at the fact that it's sometime during the night. Lifting up carefully onto my elbows I sink my fingers into my hair, breathing deeply against the fatigue that doesn't seem to want to leave me. The soft click of dishes setting down against the counter top and the hiss of hot water being poured draws my attention and I close my eyes once more, willing strength back into my limbs so I can be sitting up by the time he comes back in.
There's the quiet pad of bare feet against worn carpet and my head sags heavily into my hands, no such luck. "Hey, you’re up." Potter's voice drifts over me and I nod, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.
"What time is it?" I ask, my voice cracking with disuse. How long have I been asleep?
The scent of rich black tea and vanilla wafts close by and I lift my head a fraction of an inch to see him place a tall mug on the bedside table. "About eight." I hear him walk back towards the kitchen as I stare at the wisps of gray steam rise in steady curls.
Eight in the evening..."I slept the whole day?" He's back and placing a second mug down along with two squat vials, the bed sinking beneath his weight as he perches himself on the edge. I glance up over my shoulder through my silvery fringe and he reaches out and brushes a thick chuck back, clearing my view of him.
"Two days actually. Donnie stopped by, didn't stay long. Just popped in to make sure you were still breathing and then put me under strict orders to have you call him once you woke up." He says, placing a hand slightly behind him and leaning back on it. "Caleb's been here twice already too...does he live here?" Potter asks and I nod, turning carefully to lie on my back, my fingers rubbing in circles over my right temple as I try to drive away the oncoming headache.
"Yeah, he's on the...second floor I think." Potter nods a bit absentmindedly as he reaches for one of the mugs. "Have you been here the whole time?" I ask, cracking my eyes open to take him in. There's a shadow of a beard spreading across his cheeks, darkening his features even more and he's wearing a clean set of clothing - a form fitting green tee-shirt and a pair of worn jeans with the threads in the knees threatening to snap at any moment.
"Most of it." He sips at his tea, the heat of it fogging his glasses. "Left for a bit to get a few things. I also placed an order for some potions for you to heal the internal damage, they came in this morning."
My eyes drift to the vials on the table and I cover my face with my hands. More fucking magic. "Internal damage?" I ask, wondering how he knows for sure. Maybe if it's not too bad I can forgo the potions...
"Don't get mad." He starts and I drag myself up until I'm sitting against the headboard, fixing him with a steady gaze as I wait for him to continue - those words are never good coming out of his mouth. "I performed a few diagnosis spells while you were sleeping." He finishes sheepishly, having the grace to look down into his mug with a touch of shame.
My jaw clenches and I suck in a sharp breath through my nose as two separate but equally important thoughts rage though my mind. The first being that it is not good that he managed to cast a spell over me and I didn't wake up at all, didn't feel anything. The second is a flood of anger at the intrusion of my privacy and my heart hammers at all that he may have uncovered. I choke back the feast of emotions that try to come tumbling out and reach out to run my fingers over the curves of the small table.
"Potter." I say tensely, letting the rest hang unspoken, the question implied.
He glances at me from the corner of his eye and twists a few strands of his hair around two fingers, a nervous tick I recognize. Oh this is not good. "It was interesting...I couldn't...I mean there was some...it didn't make a lot of sense..." He rambles and I feel my guts twist sharply.
"Spit it out." I demand as his lip gets trapped between his teeth.
"Well, er, the internal bleeding and damage to your organs was pretty obvious but there was something else..." He sets his mug down then turns to face me fully, his head tilting, his eyes running over me like he's trying to read another diagnosis. I feel myself flush all over as my breath picks up and I suddenly feel very naked under his gaze - my hand curling in the blanket and holding it against my hip, wishing I had put a shirt on before falling asleep. Even such an insignificant barrier would be helpful at the moment. "I don't know, there was a block of some sort that wouldn't let me through, I could only get little glimpses. Draco -"
I know exactly what he's going to ask and I don't give him the chance, because it is not his business. "Which do I take first?" I cut him off, motioning to the vials, resignation seeping into his sigh as he grasps the larger one and hands it to me. I pull the stopper, a foul stench seeping out as I hesitate before closing my eyes and tipping it back. It burns all the way down and I gasp, flexing the muscles in my jaw as the oily liquid spreads through me, settling into me with a distinct hum of energy.
"I'll go make you something to eat." Potter says and I nod without opening my eyes, the bed shifting again as he gets up.
Dropping the empty vial I grab the second one and with a deep breath press it to my lips and pour it down my throat. The burn the first one caused suddenly ignites as this one joins it and courses like a raging river. My mind tries to snap away from it but it presses forward, forcing its way into my blood, seeking to heal me and I fly off the bed - running to the bathroom faster than I thought possible at the moment. My knees crash and scrape against the tile, my hands grasping the edge of the toilet as I vomit, my body trying to dispel the vile potion. My stomach clenches and convulses, my head splitting open as I retch against the bile, laying a burning cheek against my forearm when it finally stops - breathing deeply through the tremor in my limbs for several minutes.
That better be the last of the magical healing necessities, I don't think I can handle any more.
Determined not to dwell on the feeling the potion has fixed in me, I slowly rise and meticulously go about preparing myself. The toothpaste runs across my toothbrush, the bristles with just a bit too much pressure from my fingers scourge my teeth as I count through each drag. I keep my gaze from connecting with the mirror above the sink, not wanting to confront what I look like just yet as I rinse my mouth. After splashing a few handfuls of cold water over my stinging face, I dry off and comb my fingers through my hair, exciting the bathroom with my head held high.
Looking much more in control than I feel.
Grabbing a black sleeveless shirt from the wardrobe, I quickly pull it on, my hands pausing briefly over my newly acquired scar. Potter's magic still faintly hums over the puckered skin and I pull my fingers back, adjusting the low slug black sleep pants with a quick tug up my hips.
I pick up the mug of still hot tea and pad into the little kitchen where Potter is scrapping a skillet full of scrambled eggs onto a plate. Pulling a chair out from the small square table, I drop my sore and weary body into it, my elbow propping against the ledge as I take a deep drink from the mug.
He smiles at me as he slides the plate before me, the distinct smell of eggs making my stomach churn. I know I need to eat, it's been much too long since my last meal but still, the thought and smell is threatening to make me sick again. As he slips into the other chair I notice his old leather notebook resting beside him, the binding looking as if it's more held together by magic and sheer force of will than anything else as the pages threaten to split and spill out from the amount of papers shoved between them. It's open to a page near the back, a pen lying across the parchment half filled with his messy script, the words nearly unintelligible.

"Don't recall you being the journaling type." I say, taking another drink of the tea, my eyes traveling back up to him.

He's leaning with both elbows on the table, cradling his mug in his hands, the green of his shirt lending an alluring deepness to his eyes as they smile at me from over his drink. "Comes with the job." He says in way of an explanation which really means nothing because I thought he was just traveling...
"Job?" I query, forcing myself to pick up my fork and take a bit of the warm peppered eggs, swallowing the food posing more of an issue than I expected.
He nods and drags his notebook towards himself, pulling a folded glossy paper from under it and placing it against the crease of the open page before carefully shutting it. I think bulging would actually be an understatement to describe the book laying under his hand now. "Yeah I'm a travel writing for the Quibbler. Vacation spots and all that."
Potter a writer? That doesn't fit with my memory of him, of his frustration and groaning at every essay he ever had to compose.
"So that's why you've been traveling?" After another bite I drop the fork and push the plate a little ways away, I don't think I can stomach it right now.
"No, more of an excuse to justify it when people started badgering me. I write something if I come across a particularly nice or interesting place." I can't stop the chuckle that slips out because for some reason it just seems a bit comical to me. "What?" He asks.
"Nothing, just a bit funny really." I smile and stretch my aching legs out. "Harry Potter's Wizarding vacations. Bet they get a load of tourists after your articles come out."
"Doubt it. I write under a pen name." He informs me, pushing my still nearly full plate back towards me. "You need to eat if you want to recover."
That's actually not surprising, he was always a little uncomfortable with his fame. I wonder if it got worse after the war? I pick at my plate, grudgingly knowing that he's right.
"Why doesn't anyone call you Draco?" He asks suddenly and I glance up with my mouth full of eggs at the unexpected question.
Well that was a shift of topic and not smoothly done either, but that was never Potter's forte. No, he always just burst headlong wherever he wanted to go, dragging his companion with him. It takes a few moments before I can force myself to swallow and I lean back in my chair. "Well it's a very unusual name among wizards and almost unheard of in muggle communities."
"So you shortened it to blend in?" He finishes for me and I nod. What I don't tell him was that it was rather an accident. The first muggle to ask my name, I had started answering automatically before realizing how strange it would sound to him and my voice had trailed off. Leaving just Dray, my new name. Potter looks me over, a smile playing in constant motion on his lips like he's trying not to laugh. "So Dray Malfoy huh? Cause it sounds more normal...I think your Father would roll over in his grave if he heard those words coming out of your mouth."
"Not Malfoy." I correct him, the mention of my Father strangely causing not even a stir of emotion in me. Nothing, just...cold.
"Really? His smile slips a little. "What then?"
"Evans." The smile bounces back up into an even wider grin than before and I cannot fathom why that is so funny. It's a good name I should think. "What?" I snap, not liking the way his eyes are nearly sparkling. It reminds me too much of the way he looks before he's about to get into some horrendous mischief.
His elbows are back on the table as he leans forward, propping his chin atop his hands. "Evans huh? How'd you come up with that?"
I open my mouth to reply but nothing comes out because I can't remember. It just sort of slipped out when that muggle merchant asked for my name all those years ago. There's something tapping at the back of my mind, trying to place where I got it from, knowing that it does seem familiar in a distant sort of way. But nothing surfaces and I narrow my eyes.
"I don't know, does it matter?" I ask suspiciously.

"It doesn't sound familiar?" He probes and I press my lips tightly together in a thin pink line. "Just think about it Draco." He laughs and pushes back from the table, carrying his empty mug to the sink.

I stare at his back, the lean muscles moving beneath the fitted shirt as he rinses his dish and places it at the edge of the sink. For later use, like he lives here, the small insignificant action making me shift uneasily in my chair. When he turns back around I quickly school my features into a mask of indifference and get up, trying to ignore the way his eyes slip down my body - his voice from long ago ringing suddenly in my mind about me wearing all black. A flush threatens to rise in my cheeks before I shove it away, relieved when it sinks back without much of a fight.

At least it's getting a little easier, especially since it seems as if Potter has no intention of leaving any time soon.

"You are insufferable Potter." I tell him, dumping the rest of the eggs into the garbage before turning and leaving him standing in the kitchen, his gaze following me all the way out.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing