Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Art of Shadow Boxing	By : Tommy-Lane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11214 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8
Dominate the Things I see

I look the same.

My face has nearly healed completely - only a slight brushing on my cheek bone marring my features, my platinum hair styled in messy tousled waves that brush just over my eyes before being flicked away. I'm still tall and slim with defined muscles over every inch of my body, my hands are still slight but with long bending digits, my feet still planted on solid ground and currently covered in fine black boots. My eyes are still gray with the same guarded mist hovering over them and my mouth is still dark pink and set in a hard line.
Nothing's changed. Nothing I can see anyway.
But something's different, I know that with every fiber of my being. Something broke yesterday while Potter held me and focused his magic on shattering through me. I had felt it erupt and spread until I couldn't stand on my own and he had to sink to the ground with me in his arms as wave upon wave rose to a maddening high then fell right out of me. But there isn't a word for it, not even a coherent thought, I just...know.
Logically I assume it must be the block Potter kept talking about but if it's gone then why don't I feel drastically different? And if it's been broken than why am I still sane? Why did the voices recede back into their box as Potter's spell came to a close? Why did my panic drift away with just the sound of his voice and press of his fingers along my spine? Shouldn't that have had the opposite effect?
Nearly a full day later and I'm only more confused, the mystery only expanding and deepening as I'd walked back home and tried to fall asleep. Instead I had lain awake, staring at the ceiling and feeling...nothing. There was no fear picking at me, no need to count or reach out and run my fingers over whatever they came in contact with. My mind was strangely quiet.
It still is.
And I don't know what to do with it, my thoughts feeling oddly light and thin and I keep expecting to fall into madness or for the heaviness to reenter my being - but it doesn't. So what the bloody hell happened?
There's three quick knocks sounding from my door and with a sigh and one last glance at myself in the bathroom mirror - I push away my contemplation and make my way to the door. There's no more time to stare silently at my reflection because tonight I must attend Madame Safiya's club and I know that will be the true test of the shift inside me.
I pull the door open to reveal a smiling Potter, dressed in a plainly expensive dark green button up shirt and black slacks, his entire appearance perfectly tailed except for his hair - the raven curls refusing to be tamed in any sort of way.
"Hey." I greet him simply.
"Wow." He says as he eyes me and I glance down at myself in mimic of his own gaze.
It would not do to show up at her club under dressed so I had pulled out my one rarely used nice outfit - a white button up, the sleeves rolled up to my elbows with a black vest thrown and buttoned up over it, and a simple but elegant pair of black trousers. It is neat and handsome and plays perfectly against my own features - and if I had needed any reassurance in my choice, Potter's expression is very clearly giving it.
"Hair wouldn't cooperate?" I drawl, leaning against the door frame and smirking at him when his eyes travel back up to mine.
He tosses me a lopsided grin and paws at his head self-consciously. "Does it ever?"
"Apparently not. Are you ready?" I ask and he nods as I step out into hallway with him, pulling the door closed behind me.
He fidgets beside me as I pull my key from my pocket and proceeds to mess up his hair even more with a distracted hand. "So how are-"
"Potter." I glance at him from the corner of my eye as I click the lock into place. "Don't even think about finishing sentence."
"Oh come on." He grumbles. "You could barely walk straight when you left last night, you can't fault me for being concerned and curious."
"Well I can walk just fine now." Turning down the hall, I do my best to ignore his imploring gaze, his bright eyes trying to draw the answers from me. Well he can try all he likes but I can't tell him because I don't bloody know myself yet what happened exactly. What was he expecting, a detailed analyses of my body’s genetic make-up and how it’s shifted from whatever the hell he did?
"I can see that." He appears at my side and slips in front of me, his back to the building's exit, stopping me in my tracks with no forward escape. "Just give me something please?"
"Alright." I mutter and lean forward, placing my palm against the door he's leaning on near his ear. "I'm tired." And with that I give the slightest push and suppress a snicker as the door swings open and he nearly falls to the ground. He catches himself against the frame and instead of the indigent frustration at my lack of any real answer and basically pushing him over, when he looks back up at me it's with a giddy grin. I will never understand his moods and what brings them on. "What are you grinning at?"
"Nothing." He spins on his heel and starts down the street, leaving me to stare after him for a moment before pulling myself out of my thoughts and trailing after him with unhurried steps, my hands that feel too steady shoved in my trousers pockets.
It's a strange sensation, the skin covering my fingers and palms feeling oddly tight and practically humming with some unknown force. I had never really noticed how wound and severed my nerves always felt before now or maybe I had just gotten so used to it that I simply no longer noticed - believing it to be normal, how it should be. This calm feels so unnatural that it's making me itch and pulls at my mind with such an unending string of questions that I nearly walk straight into Potter - his hands suddenly appearing on my chest and keeping me from bowling him over.
"Lost in thought?" He asks and when I glance up from my shoes it's to see an amused expression pulling at his face.
"Mhmm?" I take half a step back, his hands falling from me and to his sides.
"You almost knocked over that little girl." He informs me and grabbing my hands tugs me next to a building as a group of loudly speaking young men breeze past us. "You had your thinking face on."
I furrow my brow and press closer to the building, sinking away from the rambunctious huddle. "My what?"
"You know your, I'm contemplating something very serious and difficult so don't you dare interrupt me Harry or I'm going to slap you, look."
Shaking my head, I push away from the wall now that the sidewalk is once more clear and scowl at him. "I do not have one of those."
"Oh yes you do, I should know." Potter insists and falls right into step beside me with a chuckle.
We round the corner and squeeze our way onto a crowded bus, effectively cutting off any further conversation as we're bumped and jostled down the street - the stench of unwashed bodies and dirt clinging in the muggy air. Holding onto the railing above my head I concentrate on not pitching over with each turn and holding my breath as best I can for the several long minutes it takes before we reach our stop.
We tumble back onto the sidewalk in a wave of people and two blocks later the club is suddenly looming ahead of us, filling my vision and making me stop in my tracks. The music is pumping out onto the street, the dim interior filled to a swelling boil of people and in a matter of seconds I have to pick up my feet and walk inside, have to let her clients 'see' me, have to stand amongst the thunder and not collapse. I gulp and feel Potter nudge my shoulder with his own, drawing my gaze and attention over to him.
"Nervous?"
I nod before I can think better of it, realizing with a growing anxiety that we never figured out a way for him to help me last night. And it may be that I won't need it, that whatever broke took my attacks with it and left me with this eerie numbness, but I can't know for sure - walking inside is a gamble now.
"I thought of something this morning." He says and I blink to clear away the tremulous thoughts. "Here," he takes one of my hands and presses my fingers over the inside of his wrist where his pulse is light but steady, giving me a moment to let it sink in before grabbing my other hand and placing it under his jaw where the thump is slightly more pronounced and warm. "It's more discreet right. Do think it would work?"
I watch my fingers, pale against his darker skin, how they could easily be mistaken for a light caress or a cupping of his cheek to any on looker - my hand on his wrist bent in a way that could be used to pull him closer. It's intimate but not glaringly strange, nothing about it calling adverse attention, except perhaps to those who really know me.
"Draco...? Is this, will it work maybe?"
I snap back to myself and fight a flush as I realize I've been staring at him for quite some time with my thumb brushing down his jaw line. Pulling my hands back and shoving them in my pockets as my mind works around the fact that my heart in pounding but not in painful way, my hands are still with no urge to tap, and there are no number's flying through my thoughts.
I feel steady.
"It might." I finally reply, my response coming much too late and making his nose and brow crinkle in curiosity. "And remember not to call me Draco okay."
"Alright." He smiles and starts walking backwards. "Ready then?"
Following behind him, we make our way through the darkened doorway, our ears immediately accosted with a thick and sultry dance beat as we slip through the dense crowd. I keep my eyes glued to the back of Potter's head and push outwardly with all my mental power against the unknown bodies, as I try to remember where I need to go. Am I supposed to find Madame Safiya or will she call me if she deems fit? I really should have paid more attention to Donnie's instructions.
"Is that Caleb?" Potter stops and points over to the bar, my eyes following its direction.
"Yes." I say as I spot him perched on a bar stool, his sultry smile lighting his face as he bends and speaks to a woman with deep purple hair. He's dressed in a simple red tee-shirt that fits nearly like a second skin and a pair of loose jeans that dip on his hips, making an appealing contrast. He's drastically under dressed and yet somehow doesn't seem out of place, adorning the outfit with such a natural ease that no one would give it a second thought or sneer.
I glance around hoping to catch a glimpse of Donnie but he's nowhere to be seen. Taking the lead, I cut a path straight for Caleb, and tip my chin up in a slight nod to him when he glances up and meets my eye. He leans towards the woman, his fingers brushing lightly down her arm before he pulls away and comes to meet us.
"Now this is a sight I'd thought I'd never see." He smiles and I find myself being appraised quite blatantly for the second time tonight and I have to fight my legs from shifting uneasily under it. "How come I've never seen this look before?"
"Not much need of it." I say with an unconcerned air, my gaze in constant motion as I try to spot my trainer. "Donnie here?"
"Always right to business." He grumbles and nods his head towards the booths in the far corner. "Come on let’s get a seat. She sent for him soon after we arrived, they’re in the balcony, said he'd come find us when they’re done."
I angle my eyes up as discreetly as I can as we follow Caleb to a table, the balcony overlooking the main floor lit in such a way that all you can see is a deep darkness when looking up at it. There's no making out anyone in those shadows, the notion sitting heavily inside me as I slip into the booth on the opposite side of Caleb - Potter sliding in beside me, making what might as well be a wall between me and the mass of people, allowing my nervousness to ease a little.
A girl in a scandalously short skirt leans into our table and I'm vaguely aware of drinks being ordered and Caleb's deep timber rising above the storm of sounds and Potter's knee brushing mine but my eyes are seared to the impenetrable black of the balcony, my foot tapping without conscious thought. I don't know what tonight will hold, can't even fathom a guess, and the not knowing is eating at me.
"I guess I could, it's been awhile though. So why do you call him Draco?"
My given name spilling from Caleb's lips draws me back to the present and everything seems to speed up for a split second as I realize I'm holding a glass of dark beer I don't remember ordering or even grasping, and there's an empty glass to my left that must be mine. With a beat of disquiet, I glance discreetly at the watch on my wrist and have to bite my tongue against a curse as I realize we've been here an hour already.
"What?" I ask, lifting the glass to my lips and taking a drink of the thick bitter liquid. I catch Potter eyeing me carefully and I wonder if he's noticed my lapse and strangely the realization that he's still sitting there and has been the entire hour I don't recall passing is like tossing a sopping blanket over a kindling fire.
"I was talking to Harry." Caleb stretches his arm out across the back of the booth and settles against the seat like he's made to be here, perfectly at home. "He called you Draco yesterday. That means Dragon right? Was it your former fighter name?"
"No." I mutter, not at all liking the way my name sounds coming from him for some reason. Maybe I'm just so detached from it now, it would make sense, seeing how it was even strange hearing Potter say it the first couple times.
Potter casts me sideways glance and after noting that I have no intention of delving further into the topic, sets his own glass down and sends Caleb a smile. "It was a nickname when he was kid." He lies smoothly and my foot stops its motion and presses flat, curious to hear his made up explanation. "He wasn't exactly the nicest of blokes when he was younger, liked to sneer down his nose at you and all."
I snort and rest against the seat. "Oh like you were any better, I still the have the scars to prove otherwise."
"Scars?" Caleb glances between us and Potter just shrugs casually. "You sure you guys were friends?"
"Yes Potter." I say turning to face him and watching the dim lights play through his green eyes. "You sure about that?"
A slow sly smile curves his lips and I suddenly wish I hadn't taunted him, even if it was barely noticeable, I have no idea what came over me. "I could prove it if you'd like." He threatens and I have to swallow around a sudden lump in my throat.
"How would you do that?" Caleb asks and I can feel him watching me as I glare silently at the man next to me.
"He's not going to." I interject, knowing that anything he could reveal as proof wouldn't be something I'm willing to become public knowledge.
"Now see this is what I'm talking about." Caleb explains with an air of wonder. "Either he has a shit tone of dirt on you or you can't stand his guts. And what’s with calling him Potter? He doesn't call you Evans."
Potter snickers at my last name and I bite the tip of my tongue, not at all liking the direction this conversation is heading. Why is Caleb so interested in our history all of a sudden?
"Now that's a good question." Potter draws his finger around the edge of his glass and lifts an eyebrow in my direction. I simply stare back at him, refusing to answer, to let this course of topic continue in this way. "You're so stubborn you know that right?"
"He's got a point Dray." Caleb laughs then slaps his hands down on the table. "That's it we're doing shots, gotta loosen you up, and when I get back Harry’s going to tell me all about you as a bastard teenager." And with that he slips from the booth and pushes his way through the stream of people towards the bar.
"Welcome back, where'd you go?" Potter asks as soon as Caleb's out of earshot.
So apparently he did notice. "Just thinking." I mutter and drum my fingers across the table. "What were you two talking about?"
"Him a little bit, me a little bit, but mostly about you. You've got quite a fan in him." Potter tilts his head and stares right back at me. "By the way, what's going on between you two?"
"What?" I start in confusion.
"Oh come on Draco I know you're not that dense." He glances down at my fingers, the corner of his mouth turning down into a small frown. "You doing alright?"
Annoyed but not altogether sure of the reason, I abruptly stop my drumming and wave my hand dismissively in the air. "Yes I'm fine, now what are you on about?" He lets out a breath of relief, the lines of his shoulders softening and I realize how nervous he had been.
Do my attacks really affect him that much?
"What's between you and Caleb?" He asks again and I don't even know how to answer that. What is he implying? "Were...are you guys...?" He lets the rest hang like a heavy taut rope between us and I can't stop my eyes from narrowing in puzzlement as my tongue runs over my top teeth.
Where in the world did he get that idea? "Don't be idiotic Potter."
"I'm not." He huffs and takes a drink from his glass. "He obviously likes you."
"That's absurd, we are partners in training and that's it." I say flatly. "Besides he's straight." I point out, remembering all the women I've seen him with.
"Bi maybe." Potter counters. "You know, swings both ways."
"I know what it means." I hiss and why is this upsetting me so much? Why does it matter that Potter thought there was something going on between us? Why does it sit so uneasily at the idea that Caleb may have more on his mind than I ever thought he was capable of? And why is Potter looking at me like that? And above all why in the name of god did he think now was a good time to bring it up? "And you have no idea what you’re talking about."
He shrugs and I glance towards the bar where Caleb is leaning against the long high counter. "If you wanted him, you could have him." He mutters and pauses as I watch the back of one of the only men I've let get even marginally close to me in the past seven years. "Do you?"
"No." I reply automatically, a romantic entanglement the furthest thing from my mind the entire time I've known him. Except is that completely true? He is indeed handsome and there was his smile, the one that always hurt to look at too closely because...I shift my gaze back to Potter, his mouth red and worried from his teeth and…shit.
Just...shit.
He catches my eye and smiles, the damn smile that's been plaguing me for all these years, and I find myself almost wishing for an attack. Because while horrible, they have been a substantial part of me and I know them, know how to navigate through them and come out tall.
Numbers that I've clung to for so long rise in my mind, my fingers trailing over the back of the seat, all in an attempt to sever myself from the emotions trying to draw me in. But it's not working and I only find my heart beating faster and why aren't I falling?
What the fuck is happening to me?
Why do I want to spin? God what is wrong with me?
Then Potter's muttering my name with concern and dear god he thinks I'm going under but I can't open my mouth to tell him that that isn't it. I just keep counting and feeling the rubbery fabric and before I know it he's scooting closer and drawing my hand up to his face. I don't know why but I find myself pressing my index finger against his pulse point, the rest splaying across his cheek, and what am I doing? Why do I keep wanting to touch him, it's like out on the sidewalk all over again. This feels wrong, I know it is but I can't stop, my other hand rising to mimic my hold on the other side of his face. His lips part just barely and they attract my gaze like magnets and I feel my stomach churn in a nearly forgotten way.
And I need to pull back, need to let go, need to stop fucking staring at his mouth because I am not his and he is not mine.
With movements that are far to jerky to be natural, I rip my hands away and immediately turn to grab my drink, gulping down the acidic beer in long swallows. I can feel him watching me and know I must look like a lunatic, my hands wanting to shake as I try to draw out Potter's heat from my fingers and into the frosted cup.
Maybe I got my wish after all, just with a different kind of attack than I'm used to.
Potter opens his mouth and I want nothing more than to sink into the seat cushion and disappear. Then Caleb's sliding back into the booth with three shot glasses clasped in each hand and I'm saved for the time being. He doesn't notice the flush on my cheeks in the dim lighting or the awkward energy flowing between us as he deals out two shots to each of us.
He claps one in his hand and holds it up and I find myself lifting my own as I try not to appear like I'm raging inside, the clink of our three shots ringing softly as we touch them together than tip them back. The tequila burns a liquid fire and I gasp softly, unused to throwing back spirits in such a manner.
"Alright!" Caleb nearly shouts, flipping his empty shot upside down on the table. "Story time." He grins and I hear Potter shift and chuckle beside me.
"What do you want to know?" Potter asks, pushing his own dry shot away till it slides harmlessly into the center of the table before pulling out his smokes.
Caleb looks at me with an expression of exaggerated contemplation and I notice the spark in his gaze and could Potter be right? Is he interested in me? "I don't know...whatever comes to mind first." He finally says.
A flame bursts in the corner of my eye and tries to draw my gaze back to where there's a bright red cherry burning. "First one huh..." Potter repeats and turns to me with a soft curl of smoke. "Well he used to be rather vain, always very well put together and all that, he practically bit a girls head off one time for messing his hair up in class."
"That was Pansy." I pipe in, bristling slightly. "And she deserved it, the delusional tart wouldn't stop fawning all over me during po-cooking class." I mutter, my muscles tightening at the near slip. That never happens to me, the art of keeping the magical bits of my past concealed normally coming with a flowing grace.
Potter nods with a funny little laugh. "Gods yes, she couldn't keep her hands off you." He mutters and I'm rather surprised he noticed that. "Anyway one of my best friends became obsessed with taking photographs. She would seriously take them constantly for a spell, it was actually rather annoying." He pauses and lets his gaze sink into his own memory, tugging me along with it. "We were on an, er, camping trip that had ended up lasting much longer than we had expected. So one morning Dray woke up with his hair sticking all over the place, wearing clothes nearly two sizes too big for him, dirt all over him from sleeping on the ground and that's when she decided to take his picture. He went into a right fit." His nose crinkles as he looks back at me and I clench my jaw from pointing out a few finer details of the story that he's glazing over, like who was on the ground with me in the photo for one. "He nearly broke her camera and didn't Ron end up in the pond at some point too?"
This is the first story that comes to his mind? Is he trying to push me to the edge? "Yes." I say curtly, remembering all too clearly the incident he's speaking of. "But it was you who pushed him in if I recall."
"You sure?" He asks and the images rise unbidden in my mine like a silent movie.
I nod and shift in my seat, wishing for a moment that he was sitting on the opposite side of the table. "And I didn't nearly break her camera because I'm vain Potter."
"Then why?" He flicks ash from the tip and bites the tip of his tongue and is that why he decided to tell this story out of the hundreds he could have told that would have had better entertainment value?
Sneaky indeed.
I let my gaze slide lazily to him for a moment before smirking and shrugging one shoulder. "Besides it was your entire fault really."
"How was it Harry's fault?" Caleb queries.
"Oh because they didn't really like him." Potter explains not very helpfully, Caleb's confusion only growing. "And that is a long story." He says with a laugh at the puzzlement on the other man’s face.
"I don't know." Caleb leans forward and sends the last two shot glasses towards us as he takes up his own. "You sure you're getting your stories straight? I can't even begin to picture Dray like that, next thing you'll be telling me is how good a dancer he is." He chuckles at his own joke.
"He is." Potter states the second after Caleb and I flood our mouths with the alcohol and then proceeds to smile at my glare and tips his own back as Caleb nearly chokes on his.
"You’re joking." Caleb sputters and I hear myself hiss through my teeth.
Potter eyes me for a second and I can see the idea take shape in his mind seconds before he's speaking it. "See for yourself." He says sweetly with a nod towards the throng of dancers, like it's a completely normal request, even though just the thought of it is enough to make me sick.
"When hell freezes over Potter." I glower and drain the rest of my beer, the mixture of hops and spirits settling in the pit of my belly with a smooth fire that's licking its way up my body. I don't typically drink and I can't even remember the last time I had had this much, not even completely sure why I've been indulging.
It's like a bloody reflex, Potter says or does something that smacks at me and up comes the drink.
"I have to see this, come on Dray, one dance?" Caleb is nearly bouncing in his seat with energy, his somewhat calm demeanor that usually accompanies him to the gym seemingly having melted away for the evening.
"It will have to wait." Donnie appears beside him with a drawn expression and a deep breath, his eyes immediately fixing on me. "She's ready for you."
I never thought I'd be relieved to be summoned by her but at the moment her cool sadistic streak sounds much easier to contend with then with the two men at my table. I nod and after a seconds hesitation Potter scoots out so I can exit the booth after him. "Any advice?" I ask just as I would before any match where the opponent may pose a challenge.
"Not this time." Donnie mutters. "We'll be waiting for you when you're finished."
I turn with a nod, fixing my face with a muted reserve that leaves nothing to be read, no way for anyone to slip behind my mask and into my thoughts. Straightening my vest and thumbing the collar of my shirt before carding a hand through my hair, I ascend the steps leading to the balcony. The top is flanked with two guards on either side of the gauzy curtain and they nod me through without so much as a word. Sucking in a deep breath and commanding my nerves to stay put, I step through the fluttering material.
"Ah Mr. Evans so good of you to join us." Madame Safiya's voice floats through the mildly filled room and I purposely allow my gaze to land on her and her alone. She's sitting on the edge of a straight backed wooden chair, her ankles crossed delicately, her hands free of drink, her blue eyes as sharp as ever.
"Good evening Madame." I reply cordially and stand with my feet braced apart, hands behind my back where I can feel my finger nails digging into the sensitive skin of my wrist.
"Care to take a seat?" She smiles and gestures to an empty chair situated between a squat woman with wine stained lips and a tall man whose arm is draped possessively over the back of the seat intended for me.
I succeed in not showing my disgust and even manage a polite smile in return. "I prefer to stand thank you."
"Suit yourself." Safiya shifts on her chair and glances to the edge of the balcony, my gaze following unbidden and with a sinking unease I realize she has a perfect view of the booths. I can even make out the three men I had just left and I can't help but wonder if Caleb had been instructed to sit there. "Have you been enjoying yourself?" Should have known that she'd be watching from the moment I set foot in her club.
I nod without any further detail and try not to cringe under the eyes I can feel sliding over me from every direction.
"I'm curious." She rises and walks to the edge, her pale hand resting lightly on the railing as she stares down at our booth. "Who is that man you were with?"
I feel my chest tighten and tell myself to remain calm. "Caleb White? You've met him before I believe."
She angles her eyes to mine for a brief moment with a sly little curve to her mouth. "No darling, the other one."
Looking back out over the main floor, I find our booth once more and just barely make out the dark haired wizard staring up at us. Even though I know he can't see us, can't see her, I can't help but wish he'd get the hint and look away - that he shouldn't tempt a snake with too much time and money on her hands. "Harry Potter." I say and silently berate myself when the words come out with a tinge of tension.
"Intriguing." She trails her fingers over the steel and turns to lean her hip against it. "Fighter is he?"
"Writer actually." I correct and feel the liquor in my body fuel an indigent anger as she presses for information about him. He has nothing to do with this, nothing to do with her. "He's here on holiday." The tension in my muscles coil painfully as a woman with a long flowing blue dress and wickedly curved finger nails joins Safiya at the railing, her hungry eyes searching out Potter.
"A writer you say? What sort? Novels?" The new woman asks and the fact that she so blatantly just interrupted the Madame without permission speaks of her high position. Someone Safiya would want to keep happy.
"No." I manage through a clenched jaw. "Travel articles."
"Hmm pity, how I love a novelist." She mutters as she turns those seeking eyes back to me.
"All details can be persuaded Grace dear." Safiya says in a voice like silk and my hands clench themselves into fists. What the hell does that mean and why is she so interested in Potter? I don't like it, all these unknown people whose gazes feel like their trying to pry my clothes off coupled with the unexpected attention to the man I had asked to join me tonight saturating my mind in an unsafe way.
I don't feel close to panic like I thought I would, no, I feel close to killing them with my bare fists. And if that man in the corner comes any closer or that woman, Grace, keeps staring down at Potter, I just might snap.
"How interesting." Madame Safiya's voice is soft but pierces straight through me, and I blink out of the rage building in me to find her staring at me - her eyes taking in every little taunt muscle and my narrowed gaze. She sways over to me, her middle finger reaching out to trace down over the buttons of my vest. "You should dress like this more often darling." She coos and if my hands weren't clasped together I would have broken the long digit with a swift crack.
"Is there anything else?" I ask as politely as I can, knowing I need to leave before I can't contain myself anymore.
She watches my face and I have no doubt that she can see the force growing in me. "No you may go now." She smiles and just to prove a point offers me her cheek and with reluctance I plant a light kiss on each one. "Thank you for coming by." She says then presses her own lips to my cheeks before allowing me to turn and leave.
I take the stairs with a swift stride and push my way through the crowd, a dangerous and long forgotten feeling of uncontrollable power welling up in me and burning just beneath the surface. I catch bright emerald eyes as I near my table, I watch those irises contract and lids narrow in question and everything sharpens around me. I come to a stop and can feel the eyes in the balcony searing into me, one pair of unending blue watching with rapt attention and I know she's waiting with anticipation to see what I do now.
"How'd it go?" Donnie asks, looking surprised to see me so soon, his gaze searching behind me like he can't quite believe that she's finished with me already.
"Fine." My voice is deep and unflinching and even though I should sit down, should order a drink, should quietly talk with everyone, and therefore show her that her interest hasn't affected me in the slightest.
I should but I don't.
And maybe Potter shouldn't have shattered that block because I feel unstable but in entirely new way and before I can think better of it I reach out and grasp Potter's hand - pulling him from the booth. "Come on, we're going." I tell him and entwining my fingers with his, turn and pull him through the mass of people.
There is no way I'm letting him stay, not with that Grace woman leering at him like a favorite dessert to be consumed from the balcony.
"Draco? What happened? Is everything okay?" He isn't resisting as we wind our way through the club but I can practically feel his anxiety and confusion, emitting like waves from his body and lapping at me.
"Don't let her near you, you bloody run if you catch even a whiff of her." I'm seething, can actually hear myself fume into the night air as we emerge onto the sidewalk.
"What?" Potter pauses for all but a second and I tug him forward, eager to get as far away as possible. "Who? What's going on?"
"That damn woman." I spit out and stare down at my hand as it starts shaking. I flex my fingers but it doesn't help, the tremor an explosion of the energy coursing through me. "You leave and never look back."
He picks up his pace and comes up next to me, shooting me a wide eyed look. "You're not making any sense." He hesitates and squints in my direction. "Are you drunk?"
"No...maybe. I don't know." I mutter and maybe I am, everything does seem to have a strange sort of glow to it.
"Tell me what happened." Potter says as we round a corner and I look down the street trying to remember which way to go.
"Sick fucking people with too much money." I grumble and rake my fingers so roughly through my hair that my nails scratch with a burning sting against my scalp. "Damn it, which way is your hotel?"
Potter glances around for a moment, clearly trying to get his bearings before pointing to the left. "That way I think." He grunts as I yank him forward again, turning sharply down the street he indicated. "Did she threaten you?" He asks and you'd think given my ramblings he would be more concerned with his own well-being than mine.
But he's not, he never is.
I don't answer, just continue walking as quickly as I can down the sidewalk, Potter attempting a few more times to get me to explain before giving up and letting me just lead him forward. His palm burns against mine but I don't let go, don't even look back at him, the only sound I hear being my own heartbeat in my ears. Deep down I know I've just screwed up, know I just gave her more ammunition to strike me with and I can feel it bury like a knife to the hilt in my guts.
I will pay for this I'm sure.
But at the moment there's a fuzziness in my brain and a rage in my blood that is making me blind to it, smothering over the impending wound. All I can see, all I can think, all I care about at the moment is getting Harry Potter away from her.
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The Art of Shadow Boxing