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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6

A Blaze and Fall

"Like this?"

I place my hands under the curve of Potter's wrists and direct them up and over a few inches. "Don't lock your elbows." I instruct, glancing briefly at him, then balancing my weight on my back foot and raising my fists. "Ready?" I ask and he nods, his own weight shifting to brace himself against the oncoming blows. My breath comes out in one long even exhale and then I pivot my hip, sending a reserved jab against his bare palm.

The slight shock bouncing up my naked fist brings a smile to my lips, the beautiful sound of it rising around us. God I've missed this. Nearly a whole week of a forced hiatus while my body set itself on the course of healing was starting to drive me insane. I've been itching to get back to the gym, my entire being buzzing with suppressed energy forcing its way through the pain that still grips me now and then.

There was only so many times I could comb my flat to recheck that nothing was missing from the break in, so many stilted conversation I could have with Potter, so many hours I could read and try to stay still.
I do not take well to idling away my time.

A breeze whips my hair into my eyes and I take a moment to brush it back away with a bent knuckle before attacking Potter's reddening hand again.

Except Donnie doesn't think I'm ready to start training again and actually went as far as to kick me out of the gym this morning, stating what I needed was more rest and it wouldn't do me any good to jump back in too early. Which is why I'm currently beating into Potter's hand as gently as I can beside a smooth pond that's shimmering in the mid afternoon sun.
Apart from the gym this is my favorite place to come, the sprawling grounds providing a peaceful departure from the hustle of life.

My mind sharpens, the floating sound of children playing and all the hell that this week has been easing to the back of my mind and everything is good again. The lines in Potter's palms stand out starkly as I hone my vision until it's the only thing I see, my fists hitting in just the right spot, with just enough force with every inhale and exhale.

His right hand suddenly shoots out to his side as he fully extends his arm. My eye follow its journey and with a smirk I punch into it with perfect ease, despite the unexpected shift. I catch his gaze for a moment and he's grinning, his hands moving in a constant unpredictable pattern now, his feet sliding back and sideways on occasion - my body flowing right along with every little move without any conscious thought. Then his fingers are curling, his opposite leg stepping towards me as he sends a jab my way. I knock it sideways with ease as my heartbeat quickens and thumps in my ears.

Who knew Potter would be so good at this.
"Turning the tables?" I quirk an eyebrow and twist away from another attempted blow, sending my own into his side.
He grunts through a flinch. "Scared?" He teases as he completely abandons his practice stance in favor for an offensive attack.
I slip in and bring my elbow dangerously close to his temple, pulling back just in time to prevent any damage. "You don't stand a chance Potter."
He shrugs as we circle each other. "I'm not totally useless at this you know." He tells me even though if this were a real fight he'd already be unconscious on the floor. But it’s not and I feel the last bit of tension drain from my muscles.
This is what I've needed.
"I could take you in a second." I retort and his grin splits his face, his eyes reduced to narrow slits at the force of it.
"All talk so far Malfoy." He taunts and I can't have that.
"Alright then." I say and move in, his fist grazing past me as I bend and twist, sending my shin into his ribs - dropping my foot down his side and leg as he stumbles, the back of my heel curling around his ankle as my palm connects with his chest. He lets out a cry as he falls, crashing onto the dry grass, my knees dropping on either side on him the moment he lands. Grabbing his wrists I pin them to the ground above his head and chuckle at the stunned look on his face.
Don't think he expected to be taken down so fast. "Yield Potter?" I ask, feeling his chest heave with each breath under me.
"I don't think that was a legal move." He narrows his eyes and takes a moment to test my hold on his hands before going still.
I look up and all around us before raising one eyebrow at him. "I don't see a ring anywhere." I drawl, trying not to let out a snicker at the weak attempt to discredit my win, especially because he wouldn't know an illegal Muay Thai move if it bit him. "But you’re right I wouldn't even use that in a fight...it's much too simple a move, a real opponent wouldn't fall for it."
He glares and turns his head a little, his glasses skewed on his nose. "Bloody prat." He grumbles. "See if I help you again." Which is a bit of a ridiculous thing to say considering he's the one who's been following me around.
I press a little harder against his wrists, fixing him with a bored look as he hisses in a breath. "Come on Potter, you've lost, all you've got to do is say it and I'll get off."
His tongue peaks out to lick his bottom lip before he sucks it between his teeth, my eyes involuntarily following the movement as the muscles in his arms relax.
"Oh yeah?" He says quietly and in the next second he's wrapping his legs around my hips, his hands contorting to curve around my own as he twists with all his strength and unbelievable speed.
With a surprised yelp my back smashes into the ground, Potter's grinning face leering above my own as he stretches my arms as far above me as they'll go, causing the joints in my shoulders and wrists to burn with pressure.
My mouth falls open in shock as I blink up at him, how the hell did he manage that? "What the hell Potter?" I grunt, my mind spinning with possible explanations as to why he was able to take me off guard.
"You gunna yield?" He taunts, his emerald eyes shining and I can feel the rapid rhythm of his heart pressed against my own. My eyes narrow and he nods, answering my silent refusal. "Oh yes." My stare turns icy which only seems to increase his mood that's quickly turning giddy. "Come on Draco, just say it." He mimics me, his weight sinking me into the parched ground, forcing me to feel every hard line and curve of his body. Couple that with the closeness of his face, filling my vision completely and it's all starting to cut off my ability to focus, my pulse jumping sporadically.
I have seriously got to steal and destroy his damn shampoo. Or maybe it's his soap, either way it has to go.
"Your heart’s racing." He says suddenly, his red lip back between his teeth, his fingers tightening over mine.
Why does he say things like that? I've never been able to understand his logic behind blurting out whatever he's thinking. What good does it do?
"That's because you’re bloody heavy." I fight a blush and hope to god I win but the heat from the sun and his body is building a furnace within me and I'm sure it seeps though, clear as day as he stares down at me.
And enough of is enough, I need to get out from under him before he opens that mouth of his again.
"Potter." I say slowly, bending my knee up to press along his side and under his arm in warning, drawing a trace of apprehension into his expression. "I don't think you want to push me."
"Oh I think I really do." He answers in an equally low tone and my mind immediately condenses into a flip film of the next three steps it will take to reclaim the victory.
"For fucks sake Dray, I told you to go home and rest."
We both freeze, our eyes snapping in unison over to the intruding voice to find Donnie standing a few feet away with tired eyes and crossed arms. Caleb's at his side with his lips parted and brow furrowed and their both staring at us in such an incredulous way that I feel my face immediately heat up again - suddenly achingly aware of what we must look like.
"How..." I state at a loss for what to say as I squint up at them.
"I've been trying to call you for a few hours now." Donnie sighs, turning his wrist to glance at the face of his watch. "Come on, we need to talk."
Potter releases my wrists and pushes himself up onto his hands, staring down at me with a smile on the corner of his mouth, his head cocked and a curious glint in his eyes. "How was that going to work?" He asks, glancing at my still bent knee. I give him a look that clearly says he's not going to get the method out of me and he laughs. "Fine, I'll just have to find out next time." He shakes his head and sits back on his heels, finally freeing me.
I roll to my feet and dust off my knees. "I do believe you won't get a chance to next time." I inform him.
"Nice to see you’re still as cocky as ever." He retorts as he plucks his glasses off his face and proceeds to clean them with the hem of his shirt.
"Always, Potter, always." Slipping back into my shoes I walk over to Caleb, Donnie having already started to head back to his car. "Everything alright?" I ask him, falling in step beside him as we follow our trainer’s path.
"He won't say, I'm pretty sure it's something to do with Madame Safiya though. He came out of his office in an extremely sour mood, course that could be because someone wasn't answering his phone." He smiles and glances at me from the corner of his eye, his head ducked and hands in his pants pocket. "What were you guys doing anyway?"
"Sparring." I answer, my mind busy contemplating what she could want now. I don't know what I'll do if she's decided to put me in another match and orders me to throw it again.
"Really?" His steps falter as he shoots a look over his shoulder. "And Harry was winning?" His tone is soaked in disbelief and I don't blame him, the chances of Potter actually being able to beat me being miniscule to none.
"Hell no." I grunt, deciding not to dwell on all the 'what if's'. I'll find out soon enough anyway.
"Then why were you..." He scratches behind his ear and trails off, clearly wondering why I was pinned under him then.
"Because he's a sneaky little blighter Caleb." I answer, not entirely comfortable with the question myself, the one glaringly obvious reason for my slip of control something I'm not willing to acknowledge.
Probably should have asked Caleb to train with me instead of him, I don't know what came over me. I'm supposed to be distancing myself from the Golden Boy, not looking for opportunities to see him. I scowl at the ground as I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out when my desperate desire to push him out of my life started to shift a fraction.
Maybe it's just gratitude.
He did heal me and look after me while I was recovering. And he's not nearly as difficult to be around once it started to sink into his thick head that I hate it when he does any sort of magic. Plus he hasn't tried to pry into my 'condition' since I woke up after the beating. Not that that means it's all of a sudden easy to be in his company, the man practically screams everything I want to shun away from - but it's not...terrible...either.
"Sneaky? How was I being sneaky?" Potter's voice startles me out of my thoughts and I glance over just as he's stepping up beside me, sending me a sly little smile. "I just think you're loath to admit that I was winning."
"Winning Potter?" I arch one eyebrow. "I think not."
"It's actually a bit impressive." Caleb speaks up from my other side and we both retch our eyes from each other and over to him.
"What is?" I ask skeptically.
Caleb looks at Potter and for once he's smiling while he does it, his normal barely suppressed expression of distrust nowhere to be found. "Harry managed to get you on your back, I've never even been able to that. Hell before Shen I've never seen you anywhere close to beaten before." He shrugs at my scowl and kicks at the ground.
"Ha! Admit it Draco, just admit it already." Potter laughs and I swear he's trying to get under my skin.
And what's with the friendly behavior between them all of sudden? The last time Caleb had dropped by they had been positively glaring daggers at each other from across the kitchen table. What, is Potter just particularity fond of making enemies and then turning them into friends? Does he get a thrill out of it or something?
Caleb repeats my name in confusion but I ignore him. "Potter, what did I say about pushing me?"
He leans a bit towards me and smirks. "I think I said that's exactly what I wanted to do."
"Watch it Harry." Caleb interrupts but Potter just keeps watching me, taunting me with his gaze. "Or you’re going to make him snap. I've only seen Dray really angry once and it did not go over well for the other guy."
That gets Potter's attention, his eyebrows pulling together in an incredulous look. "I'm sorry did you just say that you've only seen him angry once?" Caleb nods and Potter shakes his head. "But it's so easy..." He continues and that looks back in his eye that never bodes well for me.
I bite my tongue and pin him with a quelling gaze, he better not do anything, we are not seventeen anymore and if he tries...hell anything he used to do he's going to be in a world of pain.
Much to my delight Caleb actually laughs at that and maybe I shouldn't be happy that I've been so completely detached that getting any sort of rise out of me is deemed as near impossible by those who know me now. "Are you sure you're talking about Dray?" He asks, glancing between the two of us. "It's hard enough just getting him to hold a decent conversation unless you’re discussing fight tactics."
Potter stops and I nearly trip over him in the suddenness of it. "Seriously? You couldn't get him to shut up in school."
"You guys went to school together?"
Potter nods and gives me a truly Slytherin worthy expression. Sneaky blighter indeed and I feel my heart slow. "Yeah he was a right bastard for most of it." He eyes me up and down and dear god he needs to stop doing that. "Course he wasn't so bad at the end."
"Potter." I say through clenched teeth, warning him not to go any further. When is he going to figure out that I don't talk about the past?
"You know." He continues, ignoring me completely and speaking directly to Caleb. "There's one sure fire way to get him furious, you-"
That's it, I will not stand here and let them keep discussing me as if I'm not right here, I will not let him stumble onto something that may send me crashing in a panic. So before he can spill his secret I grab his wrist, spinning him while yanking back on his arm until it's bent at a painful angle behind his back, my other arm catching him across his collar. I add just enough pressure to warn but not hurt as I hold him against me.
"Stop talking." I hiss but his muscles that had tensed on instinct during the attack melt like butter as my breath brushes over his ear and he drops his head onto my shoulder, locking his gaze with mine - acting like this a perfectly normal and comfortable position to be in.
"So ignoring you still works huh?"
"What?" I tighten my grip, to hurt him or get him to shut up or to keep myself grounded I'm not sure but he grunts softly and the sound has the opposite effect it should.
"You never could stand being ignored or interrupted." He explains unnecessarily and I find myself dipping my fingers under the collar of his shirt and running them along the hem, pressing against the bump of the stitches as I feel myself slip just slightly.
Damn it, why do I get myself into these situations?
He's too close again and it's my fault and mine alone and I need to release him and push him away but I can't seem to stop pressing against pucker of his shirt and he's looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going on in my mind - his head actually tilting just a fraction to allow my fingers more room to run along the hem.
"Perhaps I did." I say once I feel under control of myself once more. "But neither did you." Letting go of his wrist, I drop my arm and push him softly away, sucking in a deep breath as quietly as I can as soon as he's out of my arms.
"That was…weird." Caleb mutters and when I look over at him, he's got a strange expression on his face. With a little shake of his head he turns and starts heading towards the car.
But Potter's still standing in front of me, blocking my path and I dare not move, uncertain where my legs will take me. "You alright?" He asks as he tugs his crumpled packet of cigarettes out and shakes one loose. "You were doing your...thing." He places it between his lips and lights it with muscles that know exactly how to flick and bend.
My thing. Nice way to put it.
"I told you to stop asking me that." I try to sound stern and withdrawn but instead I find myself pulled into him as the wind picks up around us again, tossing his raven curls about his head - noticing the way his jaw clenches and relaxes around the cigarette, the light stains on the tips of his fingers that speaks of all the time he spends writing in that bursting notebook. The deep red lips he's always biting into, the way his voice picks up with the lift of his shy smile, and how his eyes crinkle and darken and tug at me...
And maybe it's because he spoke of the forbidden and I didn't fall, or the fact that I just held him and didn't feel myself drowning while being ripped apart, or maybe it's just the damn sun with its constant bloody breeze - but my fingers twitch and then move without my consent to catch a stray curl and brush it back.
Then my heart slams forward and plummets, my hand jerking back as if I've just touched a live electric wire, and I feel the stirrings of insanity curling its way towards me. And Potter's watching me with drifting eyes as his throat works visibly around words that aren't coming out and...
Fuck.
"I have to go." I say abruptly, sidestepping him and walking away like a coward. What the hell did I just do? Drumming out a quick rhythm on the back of my fist, I push down and down and down.
Cause I can't let it out.

****

"Put that on your face." Donnie tosses me an ice pack before settling his body that's screaming it's exhaustion into the creaky swivel chair.
"I've been icing." I tell him as I turn the frozen pack over in my hands, the unnatural blue glaring up at me. "It's nearly gone." I mutter, my stomach still unsettled from how I left Potter earlier. I'm not sure how I can face him again, how I can meet his eye and keep from ripping open.
"You doing alright?" He inquires, his cadence lifting and dipping with a tired concern as he watches me from across the desk.
My fingers sink into the icy gel, the plastic bouncing them back as I swallow thickly. God I hate this, it feels like I'm hanging by a thread over a cavern, everything around me - Madame Safiya, my allegiance to Donnie, the confusion that is Potter, and my own heavy mind - adding weight to a swinging knife. One more thing and it will cut and I will fall.
"Yeah, everything's healing perfectly." I try a smile that I know doesn't hold any joy or reassurance but it's all I can manage.
Donnie leans back and presses his fingers into a steeple, his gaze nailing me to the wall. "No, I mean with you. You've seemed...off lately." He pauses and tips his head. "And I don't think it’s just about the Madame."
How very astute.
I thoroughly abhor it when anyone can slip past my walls, or take a peek behind my masks and the fact that he's noticed means I'm not holding up as well as I thought. "It's just stress." I shrug and tongue the inside of my cheek, pushing against the healing tender skin.
Of course that's a lie and in actuality everything is coming apart bit by bit, unraveling beneath my feet and all I want is my life back.
I want the fight and the beat and the rhythm and the beauty and the tradition. I want the sky and the ground to be my only concerns.
I want to be solitary again.
Right?
Because that is me, I am not one for anything else, anything more. It's not in my cards and I am perfectly happy with that.
But then...
There's bloody Potter and its been awhile since I touched him, since my hand slipped over his skin and through his hair but I can still feel his heat - no matter how long or hard I press my fingers into the fake ice, it doesn't leave. And I can still see his expression behind my eyelids, taunting me, nagging me, biting into me. He's invading me, turning me inside out and I can't stand it. He shouldn't still have this power over me, it's been seven damn years!
A frustrated growl escapes my throat as I toss the ice pack onto the desk, my fingers lifting to rub against my forehead and the headache that's forming. I should just force him to leave before it's too late. Before he shatters my walls completely and leaves me broken.
"I know you're a quiet man Dray and I respect that." Donnie says slowly, evenly, weighing each and every word before he speaks it. "I've known you for some years now, think of you as family really." He stops again, keeping his gaze on the desk and I'm not sure if it's for his benefit or mine but either way I'm utterly grateful for it. "Just if you want to talk...I'm here." This is the gentlest I've ever heard him, his voice usually gruff and demanding, but he's left all that behind.
Offering me an olive branch without any force attached.
My face softens as his tone, even more than his words, soak through me, my cheek falling to rest in my palm, my elbow propped on the armrest. Of course I can't confide in him even if I wanted to. Because he has no idea who Harry Potter is, hell he doesn't even know Draco Malfoy, so how in the world would I be able to explain fourteen years of rather complicated history? Even if I censored out all the magical element's it would still be near impossible.
"I'll keep that in mind." I answer and he nods quietly, the little office filled with the muted thuds from the gyms patrons. "So what did you need to talk with me about?"
His chair twists back and forth as he drums his fingers against the desk, his gaze flicking to the telephone sitting innocently on the corner edge for a moment. "Madame Safiya called." He rubs at the stiffness in the base of his neck and I can plainly see that he doesn't want to continue, doesn't want to tell me what she wanted. This can't be good.
"And?"
"She wants you at her club tomorrow night."
My hand closes tightly around the armrest as I wait for him to continue, to shed some light on the unusual request but he doesn't. He just watches me with his intense gaze, feeding me bits of information and gauging my reaction before continuing. But all that does is draw it out and I need to know the entirety of the situation and now.
"For a match?" I ask and while I'm not keen on another fight in that ungodly basement it's by far the best option for her wanting me there - any other reason holds only disaster.
"No." Donnie lets out a loud breath and pulls a bottle of whiskey from his bottom drawer, snagging two glasses from within its depths as well. He fills them half full and pushes one across the table to me before picking up his own and throwing back nearly half of it in one go.
"Donnie," I say slowly, leaving the glass where it sits with its golden liquid sloshing back and forth. "Tell me now. What does she want?"
His wrinkled hand presses the tumbler into his sternum as he meets my eye once more. "To ensure her investment, she said. Apparently there are some people she wants to see you..." See me, not meet me, not witness my fighting skills. See. Like a piece of meat on display for appraisal. "Dray is there a contingent plan, in case you don't fight?"
Contingent plan...oh god.
The memory of her lips on mine, her fingers digging into my jaw, her whispered threat all burst through me but they pale in comparison to the reminder of her first offer to repay my debt. And I know without a flicker of doubt that that is what this is about. She wants me there to show me off, to present me to wealthy clients as a potential purchase, to find out how much she could get for me.
But why? Why would she need to when we have agreed on the match in a few weeks? Unless it's like the fight in the basement, something meant to frighten me, torment me, remind me of her power and what she could very well do to me if I cross her. Maybe she just wants to watch me squirm or hear me beg. Or more chillingly, maybe she wants to do exactly as says, protect her investment, and make sure I'll make her money one way or another. The trouble is what will happen if I can pull in more money with my body than with my fists?
No, that can't happen, I won't believe it, won't let it.
Donnie's talking again, giving me instructions mixed with questions and reassurances, but it all slips through my ears like a thick swirling mass and I find myself shaking my head - my foot tapping rapidly.
I am not a tool.
That thought is the only thing sticking with me even though I know I should be paying attention but to no avail. The room narrows and I feel my chest squeeze tight.
I am not a toy!
Donnie's voice falls quiet and I find myself nodding in agreement, of what, I don't know but he's finished and I can't sit here any longer. The air rushes out of my lungs and I rise to my feet, walking with zombie like movements out of the office door and through the gym with my thoughts whirling as I'm sent with a disorienting tip into the spiral that leads only down.
My feet hit the sidewalk, my arms pumping at my sides as I run with a swiftness that ghosts my shoes over the pavement. I fall into its rhythm and cry out to the burn it creates in my lungs and muscles. I give myself to it, seeking its clarity. And with a pang I know, I know I have to go. I started down this path and despite my desire to be alone in it I know I am not.
There is Donnie and there is Caleb and I must have the victory.
So I will go to her bloody club, let her patrons lay eyes on her prized fighter, because as of now I have no concrete proof to believe she's backed out of our deal. Innocent until proven guilty as they say. But she's mistaken if she thinks I will bend over and allow her to sell me, to try it would be to find a knife slit across her precious throat.

I round a bend and fly down the street, sweating in the late afternoon sun, following its retreat in the skyline. But then there's the issue of actually setting foot in a club...at night...when it's packed full, where hands touch without thought, drinks flow freely, and words slip from tongues dipped in sexual depravity. It's enough to send an entirely new panic through me and I push myself faster, my pounding steps drawing it back out before it can consume me.
I live by a very specific set of rules for a good reason and going would break a number of them. I know the horror that will await me, the panic that will take me, and I will be unable to reel myself back in while amongst the flood of darkness and bodies and sound. I will surely collapse from it and she will see and she will know and she will be pleased. She will smile with her red painted lips, tilt her delicate neck, and twist me further around her finger.
For as much as she loves and respects strength she is also a snake. And snakes cannot resist the lure of a hidden weakness.
I climb the three stairs without thought and before I've even consciously come to the conclusion of what I must do, I find I'm already here. The dingy door with its faded number boring into my sight as I heave, my heart racing and body humming with the high of running for so long at a full sprint. But now that I'm here I can't move, can't raise my fist to knock, and I feel frozen from the inside out.
But just like I needed his magic to heal me, I need him for this, because I can't let Madame Safiya know - can't let her witness me in that sort of state. And just as his healing cost me dearly, so will this, only I don't know what the price will be and I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to pay it.
Pushing through the torrents of thought I raise my hand to knock before I can talk myself out of it and listen to the deep bangs of my knuckles on the old wood. A moment later it's being pulled open, revealing a disheveled Potter - a question on his lips, his brow creased, a black pen shoved behind his ear.
"I need your help."
- 5
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- 7
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The Art of Shadow Boxing