The Art of Shadow Boxing
My Blood Runs Weak
Italics = flashback to seventh year
Chapter 3My Blood Runs Weak
"We can't trust him Harry." Hermione Granger glances at me from over her shoulder, her hands wringing. "Surely you can see that." She hisses and the weasel’s beady little eyes join her quick looks in my direction.
"She's right mate." The red head so very helpfully pipes in and I have to fight back a snort. Twits, their talking as if I'm not standing RIGHT here.
"Well we can't just leave him." That's Potter and my ears pick up. They can't? Who knew, I thought it would be rather easy for them actually to just leave me to die out here. But the mudblood is going off again in that analytical schooling tone that drips with superiority and Potter's arguing back and why is he even bothering?
Oh right, he's the epitome of Gryffindor stupidity...righteousness...I mean Gryffindor righteousness.
"...He's just going to wait for the perfect opportunity to turn you over to his Master!"
I am? Huh, didn't realize that was my plan. Or that I had a Master. Thanks Weasley, good to know. I lean back against the towering tree and fold my arms, biting my tongue against joining in on their little debate. About me. But that's alright I'm good, I don't need to have a say, just go ahead and decide my future for me. It's not like I'm not bloody used to it.
"...I'm going to go talk him." He is? What a novel idea, talking to the person you can't decide about.
"You guys wait inside, it'll just be a minute." Oh look Potter does apparently have some sense. Of course the other two don't seem to see that and off they go again. Maybe they want an excuse to attack me, in fact Weasley looks like he might just explode if he doesn't try to land a punch anytime soon.
Did you know that if they go into the tent, mere feet away, that I'm going to kill Saint Potter without a second thought? No? Me either. After that farfetched statement I quickly lose track of the argument and sink further back into the tree, studying my dirty finger nails.
"Fine!" Granger breathes deeply and closes her eyes like she's being so magnanimous letting him walk maybe fifteen steps to chat with me. "We'll be just inside, shout if you need ANYTHING."
It's a good thing she told him that or Potter might have just let me slowly pinch him to death.
I pull myself up to full height as Potter's two little lemmings disappear inside the tiny tent and I fix my eyes on the black haired boy striding towards me.
Seriously why the glare? I know we've always hated each other but shouldn't I get a little leeway considering the situation? We're in the middle of...actually I'm not quite sure where...with SNOW falling all around, not to mention the little fact that there's a bloody war waging around us.
Or maybe brewing is a better word. Yes, brewing, there's a war brewing all around us.
"Malfoy." Potter states, stopping before me and....that's it. He doesn't continue. Just Malfoy, like I forgot my own name or something.
So I remind him of his as well. "Potter."
And for the love of god his frown deepens. Is hearing his own unfortunate name that hard on him?
"What were you doing at the river?" He asks, and I think he's trying to look menacing. But he can't exactly pull it off, not with his goofy mop of hair in desperate need of a cut and the way his horrific round glasses keep slipping down his nose like they’re trying to run off. And is he skinnier? I didn't think that was possible...
"Running away." I tell him honestly, because as much fun as it would be to mess with his head a bit I have a feeling that if I want any help from him than honesty is going to be my best choice. I don't much like the way it rolls off my tongue though, there's just something about a perfectly executed bend of the truth that is just so utterly poetic.
"Running away from what?" He doesn't sound like he believes me.
"I think you mean from whom." I correct him and he rolls his eyes, clearly growing annoyed with me. Well that's fine I'm a tad annoyed myself. Its bloody freezing out here, I haven't eaten in...oh god I can't even remember, and that horrific scene at the Manor the night I fled has permanently seared itself on my brain - making it near impossible to sleep.
"Just answer it prat."
"Who you do think imbecile?" Oops that wasn't supposed to come out like that. Probably shouldn't be pissing him off. He turns to stalk away and I reach out and grab his arm, suddenly very fearful of what might happen if he leaves. "Look I...need your help." Huh that felt weird, Malfoy's are NOT supposed to ask for help.
Potter smirks, actually smirks! I bristle, that's my smirk, the bastard.
"That looked like it hurt." He snickers and where did the righteous Gryffindor go?
I drop his arm and glare. "Are you going to help me or not?" I demand, suddenly feeling a bit light headed from the lack of food, sleep, and days upon days of stumbling through the dark - not to mention that horrific Apparition they pulled me into when they came across me at the river. Bringing us here...damn it where are we? I hate, HATE not knowing!
Potter stares silently at me and I squirm inwardly under his sharp gaze. Not visibly of course, no I'm much too proper and prideful to show him my apprehension.
"Okay..." He says slowly and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "But I'm taking your wand and you're going to tell me all about how you ran away." He pauses and eyes me up and down and I do NOT want to know what I look like right now. It cannot be good. "But maybe you should get some sleep first."
I nod, utter relief washing over me at the realization that I won't be running blindly all alone anymore. Even if that means I have to stay in the Golden Trio's company for the foreseeable future. Better than being with the crazy Dark Lord and his mental followers.
Potter holds out his hand and I stare at his red palm and long snow licked fingers. The same digits that always managed to wrap around the Snitch a second before my own. Choking back the rising terror, I carefully slip my wand into his grasp, those nimble fingers closing around it with such ease as if I didn't just hand over a VERY important part of myself to him.
He pockets it and waves me after him as he starts towards the tent and after a moments hesitation I follow. Uncertain of what lies ahead and not completely sure I want to find out.
****
I jerk to suddenly, the memory of my first night with Potter and his friends slipping back to where it broke free from. But even as I stuff it away I know with a sinking dread that its done its damage already. My eyes refuse to open as I feel myself float back together, feel the lines of the chair under me, the curve of the floor beneath my feet, my hands twisted in soft fabric, and Potter's arms around my back - my cheek against his shoulder where I suppose I fell into when I...passed out?
Again. Good lord I'm getting tired of this.
I can feel the coiled tension stringing his muscles together, his hands grasping my back much too tightly. "You can let go." My voice is quiet and he doesn't respond for a beat, his throat working around what must be a series of unending questions.
"Tell me what’s going on." He says firmly as I push out of his arms and stare at our hands resting on our respecting knees. He still has the faint scar 'I must not tell lies' and my eyes trace over the ingrained letters in his own script.
"Doesn't matter." I don't look up, don't want to see his emotions splayed across his telling features.
"Doesn't matter? You’re serious? Draco you just went into a total panic and blacked out!" His hand jerks up and through his hair, the one on his knee taking up a fine tremor. Swearing under his breath he grabs his cigarettes and shoves one between his lips, his fingers slipping on the catch several times before the flame bursts to life and he inhales deeply. "I mean does this happen a lot?"
"No it actually doesn't matter at all Potter." I tell him sharply, standing up swiftly and allowing my feet to settle into a steady pace up and down his room. "All that matters at the moment is what the hell I'm going to do about losing my match last night." Hopefully this will draw him at least momentarily away from where he wants me to go and really when it comes down to it, it is the truth. I can't just stay locked up in this room with him forever. I have to eventually stop this strange back and forth and confront the situation head on.
Not to mention I've learned to live with my...problem for years, actually had it perfectly under control until he came waltzing back in.
"That's mental Draco, you can't just ignore whatever is going on." He stands up so fast his chair upturns, his gaze pleading and a tad unhinged. It’s astonishing how quickly he can get worked up. "You looked like bloody death, I couldn't even wake you! And last night...last night after the stitches you, you almost did it then too didn't you? You just-"
"Potter!" I snap, cutting him off. I do not have time for his Saintly streak to make an appearance. "I don't need you to save me!"
He flinches as his eyes flash. "Draco..."
"No Potter listen to me." He looks like I've punched him in the gut and for some reason I have an urge to take it back, to sooth it over somehow. But I push it down because it shouldn't matter if Potter looks hurt, it can't matter. "That fight last night was important. The victory needed to be mine."
"Then why did you let him win?" He asks puzzled, the hurt still shadowing his eyes in a way that's making it hard for me to look at him.
I sigh heavily and sink down onto the bed, dropping my head into my hands. "I didn't...not intentionally anyway."
"But why...?
"It's complicated." I mumble into my hands, can't very well tell him it's his fault can I? "But the fact is I lost and now a very influential woman is out for my blood."
"The people in the alley? They worked for her?" He stands across from me, leaning back against the wardrobe.
I nod. "Yes and now I need to decide what I'm going to do."
"Is there a choice?" He asks. "If she's really out for blood than shouldn't you leave as fast of possible?"
"Probably." I push my hand through my hair and look back up at him. "But there are things to consider."
"Like what?" The cigarette goes back into his mouth and I debate how much to tell him as the smoke obscures his features.
"Can't you put that out?" I scowl and he shakes his head. "Fine, die of lung cancer." I grumble.
"You’re dodging the question."
"I'm not sure I want to start over somewhere else." The words come tumbling out on their own but I figure a little bit of honesty can't hurt can it? Who knows maybe talking it out a bit will even help. God knows I haven't been able to decide on a decision on my own. "And I don't think I could give up fighting." The little fact that I won't be able to do my regular conditioning while the stitches heal is near making me sick as it is. What would I do if I couldn't ever be in the ring again? What could I possibly replace it with that would capture me so fully?
"Is it really important enough to risk your life for?" He asks quietly and my eyes drift to the lightening scar that's barely visible through his fringe.
To give up would surely be to die.
My heart squeezes and I watch his graceful fingers stub the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray next to him. "It is my life."
"Doesn't have to be." He pushes off the edge of the wardrobe and crosses the small distance to sit next to me. Hesitating for a moment while his hand tightens around the edge of the mattress, his left foot swinging up and down. "You could come with me."
"I'm not going back Potter." Even the thought of stepping foot in London sends a spiking dread through me and his green eyes snap to my fingers suddenly running in circles over the blanket. Thankfully he's not bullheaded enough to mention it or try and stop me again.
"That's not what I'm suggesting." I contemplate him as he stares at my fingers, the lingering stench of smoke that should be clinging to him is strangely absent and in its place is a warm scent of sweet coconut - just like always. It washes over me with the force of a tidal wave and I know it's a very, very bad idea to take him up on his offer. "I was thinking maybe America, haven't been there yet." He continues, completely unaware of my inner turmoil.
I bite my lip and force that little nagging part that wants to say the hell with it and follow wherever he leads away. "I think I need to stay and play this out. Whatever it may hold."
"You're going to go see her aren't you?" He sounds resigned as if my decision to stay affects him in some immediate way.
"Yes."
He nods. "When?"
"Today." With the realization that I can't leave, at least not until I've tried my hand at salvaging the situation, the steps I need to take slowly start to fall into place. I just hope I'm not going to walk into something I won't be able to walk out of. That's the risk though isn't it?
"Right." He stretches and propels himself up, bending to grab a pair of socks and trainers from under the bed and tugging them on. "We best get going then yeah?"
"You're not coming." I tell him flatly, not really all together surprised that he wants to accompany me. Heaven forbid he let anyone ever go into a potentially dangerous situation without him. He doesn't glance up from tying his laces, doesn't even look like he's heard me, and I frown. A stubborn Potter is not someone easy to contend with. "I'm serious. I'm going alone."
Straightening, he smiles crookedly at me. "No you’re not." He glances down at my bare feet and grabs a pair of clean socks out of a drawer, tossing them at me. "You can argue with me if you like but I'm coming with you so it would save time if you didn't. What size shoe do you wear?"
He can be so utterly insufferable!
He draws his wand and I have a split second warning before he's transfiguring another pair of socks into a pair of comfy looking gray trainers. "Stop doing that!" I hiss, fighting through the churn in my stomach.
His nose crinkles in puzzlement. "Doing what?"
"Magic." Standing, I snatch the trainers away from him, shove them on and march towards the door. It's time to leave this crazy little world I've stepped into and reclaim my carefully crafted life. All I need is a tantalizing enough proposition to tempt Madame Safiya.
****
My senses are immediately accosted with the thick stench of sweat as the door gives way and the gym, my home, opens up before me. The sounds so unique to the world of training slip over and through me and peace finds its way back into my bones. I can feel dozens of eyes follow me as I wind my way through the occupants and their swinging punching bags, stepping over the few scattered weights until I make it to the back - the door to the little office used by the coaches standing ajar and empty.
"Wait here." I mutter to Potter who's looking around with a fascinated expression, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. I catch his nod just as I see Caleb across the room, his hands falling to his sides, his face full of anxious relief as our gazes lock. I move towards him as he pushes past the punching bag he was beating his strength into moments ago.
"Dray." He pulls me into a surprising but thankfully quick embrace, his eyes searching over my battered face. "God what happened to you last night?"
"I was hoping you could help fill me in on that a bit actually." I tell him, returning his smile and motioning him to follow me back to the office, away from prying eyes and ears.
He nods his head with fast little bobs and joins me in the little room, shooting an unsure look at Potter when he trudges in behind us and pulls the door shut. "Yeah sure, of course...who's this?" His thumb jabbing the air towards the unfamiliar man.