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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Italics = flashback to Seventh year.

Chapter 7
Break My Walls

"Do you mind?"

"Mind what?" Potter furrows his brow and straightens his back, his hand stuck a fraction of an inch above the page of the book in my lap.

I sigh and brush his hand away. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's rude to read over other people's shoulders?"

"Yeah." He shoves his glasses up his nose from where there perpetually falling down and leans back over, jostling into my shoulder and causing me to scowl indignantly. "What’s this bit mean?" His index finger taps a paragraph towards the bottom that's situated next to a rather gruesome diagram.

I shove him back with my elbow and snap the book shut. "Potter why don't you go back up to camp and do something productive or take a nap or talk to your boring little pals or whatever the hell you want but for the love of god STOP reading over my shoulder!"

He shifts around on the log we're perched on, his toes scattering little rocks in all directions and proceeds to ignore my demands. "Because it doesn't make any sense." His nose crinkles as he scratches at his scar. "I mean why would you want to melt all the bones from only the left side of someone's body only to reform them on the outside?" He asks, so clearly confused and slightly disgusted that I can't help but smile.

I mean smirk. Yes smirk, I do not smile at Potter.

"A number of reasons." I inform him, resigning myself to yet another afternoon of trying to explain the finer points of the Dark Arts to Saint Potter. I don't know why he keeps badgering me about it, he gets positively green after most of our discussions. Then again I am supposed to be helping him figure out a way to destroy the damn necklace, or horcrux as Potter finally explained after nearly four weeks of futile attempts and searching.

I nearly punched him when he told me and I would have hexed him if he still didn't have my wand. A whole month wasted because he didn't deem it necessary to tell me something so completely important. Of course now that I know exactly what it is I'm supposed to be killing - because that's really what it is, not destroying but killing a piece of the Dark Lord - I'm nowhere near being any closer to an answer than I was a week ago.

Much to Potter's, Granger's, and my own vexation.

Weasley on the other hand is still mad at Potter for even letting me off his leash and telling me anything, let alone seeking my help. It's wonderfully funny and satisfying getting to see his face match his hair anytime Potter asks me a question or sits next to me. The man nearly combusted when he found me with his precious leader with our heads bowed over the same book and talking quietly before Potter burst out laughing.

Then again I almost did too.
I know I can have quite the witty sense of humor but I'd never heard him laugh at something I'd said before, you know what with all the scowling and hateful glares that he had always been to preoccupied with. After the initial shock I found I rather liked it.

You know in a, it-was-a-bit-loud-and-like-sandpaper-but-sent-strange-little-shivers-down-my-spine sort of way. Or maybe that last bit was just getting to see that lovely red shade yet again on the weasel's face or the damn cold, I seriously hate winter. Yes I'm sure it actually had nothing to do with the way it light up Potter's face.
No it definitely did not.

"Like what? Is it like some sort of torture?" He asks, the tips of his feet in constant motion, sending a clanking slide of rocks down the ledge of the ravine now.

"I suppose so, I mean it wouldn't be an unlikely scenario but I believe that mostly it would be used for potion ingredients." I tell him, flipping the book back open and showing him a crude drawing of one of the many potion's that calls for such a thing. "Like this one."

He peaks over and grimaces. "That's disgusting Draco."

And that's another thing. He's taken to calling me Draco lately, not Malfoy, not Ferret Face, Draco. It went very suddenly from "see you Malfoy" when I went off to bed one night to "good morning Draco, could you pass me an apple please?" when I saw him the next morning - like he had a brain aneurism while he was sleeping and forgot that we DON'T call each other by our given names.
And I'm ashamed to say I had stared at him in a very un-Malfoy like manner for quite some time before snapping out of it and tossing him one of the apples, which he caught, promptly bit into, grinned, and turned and left.

Weasley had actually choked when it happened, causing him to spill the weak tea he had spent the better part of the morning trying to brew all over himself. And that was why I found myself smiling over my morning mush and not for any other reason.

"That's why it's called Dark magic Potter, it isn't supposed to be all fluffy and gooey." I snicker and almost fall right off the log when his shoulder smacks back into mine, an all too mischievous look in his eyes. "Stop it you maniac, you're going to give me bruises." I snap, glaring at him as I shove him back.

He laughs, catching himself with one hand against the old decapitated tree. "Oh can't have that can we, what in the world would people think!"
I've decided I do not like this side of Potter.

It's almost...playful and that just will not do. I don't do playful, it's unbecoming. Besides when in the world did we become friends? And how did I miss it exactly? He's too sneaky, like a damn lion, one minute you think he's going to eat you alive, the next he's playing a good natured jostling war and calling you by your first name!

His elbow slips into my side and I let out a short but loud laugh before clamping my mouth shut and turning to glare daggers at him.
He's staring back at me with wide incredibly evil eyes, a smirk twitching on his lips. He draws his elbow back and curls his fingers and I just know what he's going to try and do the bastard. "Don't you dare." I hiss.

He grins and leans closer. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." His hand inches forward and I smack it away.

"If you tickle me I WILL bite you Potter!"

"You'll bite me, what like we're three?"

I scoot a little further away from him as inconspicuously as I can, I do not like the expression over taking his features.
Seriously was Gryffindor Tower filled with pillow fights and tickle wars because that most certainly was not what was going on in the Slytherin Dungeons! Plus we are NOT thirteen year old girls, the thick headed moron. "Yes bite but if you'd be so kind as to give me my wand back than I could do some serious damage if you come anywhere near me!"

"Well that doesn't give me a lot of incentive to return it now does it?" Potter asks but he's not backing down, instead he's positively leering now.

"That's it, you are not allowed to drink anymore of Granger's Pepper Up potion it has obvious gotten to your head."

He laughs that stupid laugh of his and the wind must have picked back up because I have to resist a shiver suddenly. "Oh my god Draco are you scared? Have you never been tickled before?"

"Of course not!" I reply indignantly. "Such frivolities are beneath me."

"Frivolities? Not even when you were a kid? That's just sad." He asks and I narrow my eyes, daring him to further question me but instead he reaches out, grabs my arm, yanks me against him, and proceeds to tickle my opposite side.

I let out a shriek and gasp for air between the hysterical laughs that are forcing their way out as I try to jerk myself free. Except his grip is like bloody iron and all the damn laughing is making me just wiggle around uselessly and double over and I will get him for this!
"S-s-stooopp!!" I shout and with one final jerk mange to somehow knock us both backwards off the log, landing in a tangled heap with our legs bent and caught over where we had previously been sitting.

"Get off me!" I snarl but I don't think it quite has its desired effect and maybe it has to do with the no doubt red flush on my cheeks that is glaringly obvious against my pale complexion.
Red does not flatter me.

A quick merciful killing would be too kind for him now. No, something extremely slow and tortuous is what he has coming.

"You have to let go first." He says through his own laugh and why is being tossed off a log and being forced onto the cold dirty ground funny?

It's not.

I glance down and realize that my hands are indeed twisted in his thick jumper, which only makes me madder at him. Unfurling my fingers, I press my palms flat against his chest and push him off. But with the odd angle of our legs he only manages to fall to the ground next to me, seemingly unaware or uninterested in the fact that he has dirt smudged all over him now as he winds his hands behind his head and stares up at the sky.

He is planning on just lying here for the rest of the afternoon or something?

"You’re staring." He says suddenly, turning his head to look back at me.

"No I'm trying to light you on fire with the sheer force of my will." I push myself up onto my elbows to give him my best Snape impersonation, a perfect down the nose sneer. "You look ridiculous all covered in dirt."

He shrugs and before I even see it coming he's slapping his muddied hand against my face, running his slimy fingers down my cheek and over my jaw with a truly wicked grin.

"I will kill you." I growl through the disgusting feeling of the mud sinking into my skin.

"You threaten that a lot you know."

"And I mean it, just you wait."

"Aright, best extract my revenge while I still can then shouldn't I?" And I see it a split second too late, his horrendous fingers sliding through my hair, slicking it back with the foul mud.

Mud in my HAIR!

Alright so I'm used to not being as clean as usual since coming on this little camping excursion but this is stepping over the line. Is he trying to make me snap? Does he have a bet with the weasel on how fast he can make me lose my sanity by humiliating me to no end, why else would someone tickle his sort of friend, sort of war partner, sort of prisoner?

I feel anger coil through me and fight the urge to immediately run back to camp and dunk my head in a bucket of water. "Potter I'm-"

"Going to bite me?" He cuts in while lifting his eyebrows, like he's challenging me to actually do it. "I'll just tickle you again if you try it."

I hate him, seriously, utterly hate him right now. "Like hell you will, I'll bloody hold you down first!"

His nose crinkles, again - seriously he smiles way to much these days, why can't he go back to only ever frowning at me? - as he grins, the very corner of his bottom lip pinned between his teeth. "Really now? Bit kinky don't you think?" Did he just make a sex joke?

Did the bloody Golden Boy, the Saint of all things good and righteous make a sex joke directed at ME no less?!

I'm pretty sure my mouth falls open as my own words hit me like a Bludger, my mind suddenly flooding with images of pinning his arms to the ground as I sink my teeth into his tanned neck. I'd look like a damn vampire against that stupid golden flesh of his. My stomach does a funny little flipping thing that must be connected to the fact that it's well past lunch time. Because it can't possibly be due to the mental images and stray thoughts of what he might taste like or the way his eyes are sparkling up at me.

Coming back to myself I quickly snap my mouth shut and no doubt would have pounced him - to hit him, yes hit him, not bite - if not for the cracking of a twig and scuffle of rocks.

"Oh." Granger's soft exclamation pierces my ears and Potter's nasty hand falls from my hair, where he had still had it tangled in my ruined locks, how did I miss that? Was he trying to rub it in that he managed to smear me with the slimy stuff? "What happened?"

Potter tips his chin and smiles at his friend as I plot ways to destroy him in my head and NOT thinking of anything else.
"Draco's ticklish." He says as way of an explanation and how dare he tell her! It's bad enough he had the audacity to do it himself but to go around and spread the news is even worse. If the bushy haired bookworm so much as reaches for me I will hurdle them both off the ravine.

"Good to know." She says in a passive sort of way, almost sounding as if she can't quite figure out why Potter would care or want to tickle me in the first place.

Well that makes two of us.

Scrambling to my feet, I glower down at the blacked hair boy, the mud on his cheek somehow fitting on him whereas I no doubt look like a disastrous painting gone terribly awry. "Clean this off this instant you miscreant." I demand while gesturing to my face.

"Oh but I think it looks quite fetching."
I nearly stomp my foot in aggravation, seriously what has gotten into him? I think I prefer him when he's wearing the bloody necklace with his violent moods than this, because this makes no sense!

I nearly jump when I feel the sudden tingling of a cleaning spell run over my body, effectively dissolving the mud from every inch of me and when I look up it's to see Granger lowering her wand - her lips pressed tight like she's trying not to smile.
"Making any progress Malfoy?" She asks, very diplomatically.

Unlike the weasel she isn't completely against the idea of me helping and even grudgingly accepted that I have knowledge she herself does not. Now that was music to my ears to hear the little know-it-all finally admit it. She still mostly leaves me alone though, except for the occasional academic discussion and that is just fine by me.

"No." I say, running my fingers through my hair to make sure no stray bit of mud was missed. "Someone kept interrupting me." I look pointedly at Potter as he rises to his feet, wiping at the smudge on his face only to further smear it. "Oh for heaven’s sake." I mutter as he continues to only make himself more disheveled in his attempt to clean up and I snatch his wand from his pocket, casting the spell quickly before the slacked jawed stunned look even has time to cross his face.

And of course that is the moment Weasley appears, topping the crest to find me pointing Potter's own wand at him.
He goes beat red with rage and the next moment I'm back on the ground with the air knocking from my lungs and the tip of his wand pressing into my throat. "You BASTARD!" He seethes, spittle splattering my face and can today get any more humiliating?

"Ron no, calm down! It wasn't like that!" Granger shouts as Potter's head briefly appears over his shoulder before he's dragging his best friend off me with great difficulty.

"Then what the hell was he doing?!" He growls pushing back away from Potter but not making any further move towards me as I gingerly get back to my feet.

"They were muddy." Granger explains in a not so very helpful way and I send her an annoyed look.
Really that was the best she could come up with?
"And he was casting a cleaning charm." She tacks on lamely, her's and Potter's face both taking on a faint pink hue and what do they have to be embarrassed about?

They weren't the ones tickled ruthlessly, smeared in mud, and then tackled by a raging red headed Gryffindor.

"Why were they muddy?" Weasley screws his nose up making him look like a squished radish and not at all cute like when Potter does it...not that Potter's cute, not at all, he's just not as ugly you know as the weasel, and oh hell.

Who am I arguing with anyway? Myself? Oh that's just great.

"Er..." Potter stammers and is very pointedly not looking at anyone, I swear he has multiple personalities - one for Granger, one for Weasley, like fifteen for me, one for the wizarding world at large, and one for battle.

"You know what, never mind I don't want to know." Weasley spits and Potter grimaces a little, not so much that I don't think even Granger picks it up, but it's there and it tugs a bit at me. "Order wants to meet with us Harry, so tie him up and let’s go." He continues, pulling the tie that I haven't been forced to use for quite some time now out of his pocket and tossing it at Potter with a glare.
He proceeds to march angrily back towards the camp, Granger at his heels, her squeaky high pitched voice trying to reason with him.

When I look back at Potter he's staring at the tie in his hands like he can't decide what to do. Maybe I should tell him and put him out of his misery because everyone knows I'm going to end up tied to the bloody table again for who knows how long.
Or I can be pissed and yes I think that sounds much better. Without a word I turn on my heel and start down the hill, not stopping or turning or acknowledging the boy following behind me until we're marching past his lemmings and into the tent.

"Draco -" Potter starts towards me as I stop at the head of the table, the terrible red and gold tie wrapped around his hand like he couldn't stop twisting it on our journey.

"No." I say, crossing my arms over my chest and pinning him with a withering stare. He looks down and chews on his bottom lip, looking completely guilty.
Good, he should. I have been nothing but cooperative lately thus I shouldn't be subjected to being chained again.

"Look it's just for a while and it'll make Ro-everyone feel better." He tries to sooth it all over, catching himself a little too late in trying not to blame his friend. He takes another step towards me, unwinding the worn fabric from his fingers.

"You are not tying me up with that again." I state, narrowing my eyes further with each step he takes. "It's utterly tasteless." I'm not sure why I added that, buying time maybe? But it's not untrue, it's incredibly ugly.

He pauses and a sly smile curves over his lips causing my stomach to sink. "Tasteless?"

"Yes tasteless." I repeat, my feet sliding back until I bump into the table, my hands latching onto the ledge as I work on NOT letting my heart hammer in my chest.
What the hell is he thinking? He looks...I don't even know. I just know I don't like it.
"All red and gold and good lord it's like looking at vomit." I say trying to regain the upper hand that I somehow lost. The question is how did that happen exactly?

"So your objection isn't so much about being tied up but about the color?" He cocks his head and stops right in front of me. "Does that mean you'd be totally fine with it if it was, say, a Slytherin tie?" He grabs my hand and before I can stop him he's winding the end around my wrist.

"It would be a tad better at least." I snap. "Not quite as humiliating as being bound in Gryffindor colors. Why got a green and silver one on you?"

He laughs, his fingers securing a knot over the inside of my wrist. "No, but maybe I'll break into Malfoy Manor just to retrieve your uniform and keep you from further humiliation. We can deck you out from head to toe in your house colors and parade you in front of Ron." He motions for me to scoot onto the bench and I reluctantly comply as I try not to snort at the absurdity of his statement.

"I do not parade about Potter." I watch as he taps the table with his wand and the hook reappears.

He's quiet as he ties the end of material onto the hook and then casts the spell that will allow him and only him to remove it from either end. As his magic works itself into the fabric, a slight but pleasant jolt tingling up my arm, something abruptly clicks and my head spins as I try to grab at the thoughts surging forward. He says something but I don't hear it, barely register his sigh as he leaves because I've finally figured it.

I know how to kill the bit of soul in the locket!

****

"So this lady, the one who's been making your life hell, wants you to go to her club tomorrow. And you don't really know why but you’re pretty sure it isn't for a fight, right?" Potter recaps what I've told him while sitting across his little table from me - looking even more confused now than when he first opened the door to find me panting and sweating and blurting out how I needed his help.
I nod and he leans further back, his fingers toying with his pen. "Okay so what do you want me to do?"
"I need you to come with me." I say, watching the pen flip between his fingers, noticing the exact moment before it stills.
"Why?" He asks no doubt thoroughly confused due to the fact that I'm usually telling him that he can't come.
This is the hard part and one I really don't want to do.
Threading my fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath and push myself headlong into the conversation. "Because there’s the possibility that I may not be able to control my panic attacks by myself while I'm there." I say, hoping he'll catch on and I won't have to spell it out.

He rubs a hand over his chin and it's no use, I'm going to have to go into detail, I can tell already just by the expression on his face. "And you think I can help with them somehow?"
"You've done it before." I point out and catch the memory flick across his eyes. "Look I can normally handle them fine, it’s just..." I shut my eyes and try to piece my thoughts together into a coherent string but it's coming together with great difficulty as I've never had to explain my internal process before. "Sometimes if I have a really bad one then I lose track and I can't concentrate on my counting or keep any rhythm and that's when I need something external, something that's beyond my control but that's...."
Dear lord this is hard to put into words and it makes me sound completely insane. Who knows maybe I am.
"Like your heartbeat. It had a beat, it had rhythm, it was consistent, but I didn't have to rely on myself to keep it. Does that make sense?"

"Kinda." He says and when I open my eyes, he's blowing out a stream of smoke and watching me carefully. "So you want me to go and intervene in case you can't control it?" I nod again. "Okay but how? You want me to do the whole heartbeat thing again?"

"No, that's too obvious." I mutter, knowing that Madame Safiya would pick up on that blatantly strange behavior. "It needs to be more subtle, I can't have anyone knowing."

"What if I counted for you?"

I almost laugh at that, because it just all sounds so outlandish. "That won't work." I'm not sure how I know that for sure, I just do, but god do I wish it was as simple as Potter doing some addition in my ear.
"Then how?" He sounds a bit frustrated and the problem is that I don't know. It's not like I've done this before.
I take a deep breath and go back to staring at the pen in his hand, to the way his fingers know how to flip it without him even having to think about it, just like casting a spell or catching a snitch or throwing a punch.
It's all practice.
"We'll just have to try a few ways out." I say evenly, almost tonelessly, keeping myself as detached from my own words as I can for the moment. This is one thing I never thought I'd have to practice. One thing I never wanted to.
"You mean you want to give yourself an attack just so I can try and figure out how to calm you down?" He asks in a disbelieving cadence. "I don't know about this Draco." He stabs his cigarette out and leans against his arms on the table, studying my face and trying to read behind the obvious.
"I don't have much of a choice." I force myself to keep his gaze, to not look away or back down, to gather all my strength and let it well up in this exact moment. It flows through me and it set its own pace and I reveal in it just like it's any other exercise, any other preparation for a fight.
I let him see it, opening myself up as much as I dare, urging him to connect with it and understand - I appeal to his desire for heroism because all these years later and he's still the same noble Gryffindor.
He breathes deeply and blinks his green eyes, chewing on his lip. "What if I can't do it?" He shakes his head and looks away. "I don't want to see you like that again. I can't take it."
"Potter, I..." My voice drops off as I feel myself fill with doubt, with an urging to just leave, a corner of my mind yelling at me for even thinking of seeking help. I've been alone and managed this long but now...now I don't know.
Ever since I saw his bright gaze watching me in the ring everything has flipped upside down and I have a feeling I won't survive without more than I can give myself.
I need him and it's scary as fucking hell. Depending on others never ends well.
"How do we do this then?" His voice is sudden and quiet and determined, saving me from having to say it out loud, from having to beg.
Because that is who he is, Harry Potter, a savior - whether you want him or not.
I let out a nervous little chuckle and glance around the room, suddenly finding it hard to look at him now that he's agreed to my plan. That's a good question, how do we go about sending me into an uncontrollable fit, into such a state that I can't real myself back in?
There are three things that rise quickly to mind that I know will plummet through me with enough force and one of them I'm not willing to go near, leaving just two. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I count through the initial waves of trepidation at the thought of enduring them, of asking for them.
"Magic." I start quietly before clearing my voice and gathering up my resolve, reminding myself that a few moments of pain may prove lifesaving in the long run.
"Okay, like what?"
"I don't know, lock and unlock the bathroom door for all I care." My tone is a bit too hard, a bit too defensive but I can't stop it, can't help it, my tension releasing in my words.
I can actually feel him hesitate, nearly hear his churning thoughts. "And that's it?"
I swallow thickly and try to think of another option, of another way to slice into me but nothing comes and I feel my heart slow and stop for a long unearthly moment. "Touch me."
"What?" His gaze feels like fire as his head snaps up, his hands going still on the tabletop.
"A combination of magic and touch Potter should do the trick." I reply as evenly as I can and raise my weary eyes to his and that was a mistake.
He looks heartbroken and nearly close to a panic himself, a silent desperation on his face.

"Draco...why would me touching you give you a panic attack?"

"Just trust me." I bite my tongue and try to ignore the emotions rolling off him in a quiet storm.

"I want to know why." He insists. "I touched you earlier today and you were fine." He points out and I push out of my chair, knowing he'll just keep pressing and pressing until he's wiggled his way inside my locked box and I can't have that.

"That was different." I tell him, grabbing his hand that's unnaturally hot and slightly sweaty and tug him out of the chair. "We were sparing." I guide him towards me, my breath getting trapped in my chest as I turn my back to him, knowing that having to face him during this process will only make it so much harder.

His fingers trail gingerly, uncertainly down my arms, with a gentle pressure that somehow seems so much worse than any rough touch could be.
"What happened Draco?" He asks softly and I shake my head, breathing in his scent and feeling the first strands of nerves curl up me. His arms wind around me and I'm suddenly and completely trapped. "What did they do to you?"

"Stop it Potter." I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my nails into his forearms, feeling a sinking pit open up beneath me and he hasn't even started casting yet.
But he doesn't have to, no the git is switching tactics unknowingly, pulling out the trump card that I didn't want to touch.

"No, you're going to tell me." He speaks directly into my ear and my knees buckle and tremble. "Because I don't want to do this, I don't want to be the reason you fall apart." His voice cracks, his arms tightening, his body a mass of taunt muscles against me.

"I can't." The words come out in a rush of air as my thumb runs up and down his skin, in a rhythm of soft and hard, press and bite, even though I know I shouldn't be trying to control it myself.
That the whole reason we're doing this is for him to figure out a way to help me - but I can't stop, my body refusing to break without trying my hand at it first.

But he doesn't listen, doesn't heed my warning and continues to speak with each sound brushing across my skin and sending shivers spiked with pain down my body. "You were gone for three months and then when we finally found you, you disappeared all over again and now...now you can barely look at me." He turns me in his arms, one of his hands brushing against my cheek. "You don't smile, not really, you’re too quiet, hell you even walk different."

"It doesn't matter." I croak, my throat suddenly hoarse as all the memories he's trying to drudge up come flooding against their lock, pressing violently against it in a desperate attempt to break free.

He makes a noise of frustration that vibrates in his chest and through me. "Yes it does, because you're not you anymore and the block I came across, did they have something to do with that?" He pleads, trying to meet my resistant gaze. "Draco will you let me..." He trails off and I don't fully know what he's asking but I find myself nodding despite my better judgment.

Maybe it's to convince myself that he knows nothing, that it's still my secret and mine alone.

He grabs my hand, turning it over in his until it’s lying face up. I dare not move, the fear that's teetering me on the edge of ruin keeping me still as he runs three fingers from the veins on my wrist up to the tip of my fingers.
My heart slams into my rib cage and I jerk forward like a marionette on strings, drawn to the power he's drawing out and up. He reaches out and braces me with his other hand as his voice starts low and deep, his words a smooth slippery surface that I get lost in as I feel a burning heat spark at the tip of my fingers where his are still pressing. Then he traces his middle finger back to the center of my palm and I see a faint blue glow gather under the single digit, terror seizing me.

"Harry." I rasp, his name slipping past my lips with urgency as my fingers dig into his hair, gripping the coarse curls hard and feeling my jaw tremble. He looks up and his eyes meet mine, the blue light rising between us.

His forehead presses to mine as I sink further, his magic trying to pry its way through me. "Stop fighting Draco." He whispers. "Just let go."

I close my eyes against his intense green and shake my head. "No." I gasp, because he's asking me to open up and fall.
But what he doesn't know is that to fall would be to lose my grip on everything and despite his best efforts he wouldn't be able to catch me, it would only open a spiraling abyss in which I would tumble forever.

"Look at me." He says and I pull on his hair, using it as lifeline to keep a semblance of balance as he continues to wind and spread and seek through me, in an effort to unravel the puzzle, the steadiness of his tone commanding my eyes back open. "It will be okay."

"You don't know that." My voice shakes and then I'm crying out, falling against him as my mind feels like its ripping open.
Rounded walls of soft earth, a plunging pit with specks of light, smooth sounding tones crackling with madness...

"I've seen your soul Draco, I've seen what's lain within it, and it shall rise again even if I have to rip you apart and build you back up piece by piece..."

Then in an instant that seems to stretch through all eternity I feel something shatter within me with the force of a volcano erupting.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing