[A/N] (Disclaimers in Chapter 1) "What the Hell?" June 8th, 2016. Hello, darlings! I love all of your commentary. It really helps move the story forward when you ask such wonderful questions.

Playlist: Makedamnsure - Taking Back Sunday | New Divide - Linkin Park | Sabotage - Beastie Boys


-Quae est infernum?-

Muscle and flesh meeting leather and wood over and over again set a driving tempo. A carnal cadence. Dull thuds every time a punch or kick landed reverberated through Draco's head, sending tremors along his scalp. The smell of sweat, blood, and an underlying sharpness he couldn't place permeated the air of the gymnasium he was currently stalking through.

A burst of very warm, steamy air halted him in his tracks. The sauna door creaked as it swung shut, a toweled man meandering away from the cloud that had assaulted Draco's delicate skin, flushing to a pink a few shades shy of red. His eyes stung from the distinct cedarwood burn from the sauna, his nose recognizing the previously undetermined sharpness of the coals and wood within the rooms.

The gym was well lit, the bright lights making each line of muscle dripping with sweat shine and spark. Watching a woman several paces away repeatedly striking a boxing training dummy, taking her wand to it in sporadic movements, transfixed him for an instant even as he stalked towards his target.

Draco didn't pause to take in the lines of the man's exposed back, the burns and scars covering the flesh with muscles moving rapidly beneath it, the flashes of gold on his ears, or the close shaved hair that matched the color of his sister's. In a blur of black leather gloves and the same dark robes he'd worn to Gringotts that morning, Draco descended upon Charlie Weasley.

"Weasley," he hissed coldly, striding up behind the man as he landed punch after punch on a dummy of his own.

"Good morning," grunted Charlie in reply, not pausing his training set. Studded gloves on his hand made indents into the dummy's midsection.

"Hardly." Draco's hands shook, suppressed tremors of anger released beneath the leather gloves. He was acutely aware of the man before him resolutely ignoring him to finish his boxing set. "You do a gentleman a dishonor."

Broad shoulders, set a few inches below Draco's own, rolled into another roundhouse. A sharp tang of fresh sweat, before it was broken down into the stink saturating the air, rolled towards him. The long robes, covering him from Adam's apple to the tops of his oxfords, rustled in the currents created by the redheads' intense training.

Draco took a deep breath in through his nose, slowly, resisting the urge to speak again, something against his etiquette training.

He failed miserably.

"Weasley, this is hardly the forum I'd prefer to speak with you, but you leave me no choice."

A flash of white teeth, huffs of breath increasing in depth and tempo as the set moved towards more complicated twists of his arms and knees, Charlie spoke breathlessly, "You could wait until I'm finished here."

"What did you-"

"Take. A. Seat." Charlie ground out, each syllable accentuated with a punch.

Bright ringing filled his hearing, the thudding of punches replaced by the beat of his blood in his ears. Heedless of the crowd gathering around them, like debris caught in the eddies of a stream, Draco snapped.

It took two steps for him to move between the shorter, brawny man and his wooden target. Sinuous leans and snaps of his wrists landed a handful of blows before Charlie reacted to the new opponent. His reflexes didn't reappear a moment too soon, as Draco moved his hand up to snatch the earring out of his right earlobe, a painful opportunity.

"Fuck," shouted Charlie as Draco took the opportunity to land a jab up into Charlie's ribcage, his fingers curling up to abuse his diaphragm. The force wasn't enough to knock the wind out of him, but it did leave him momentarily helpless. Draco wasted no time in shoving Charlie against the wall behind them, shoving his knee between Charlie's legs in an unsubtle show of dominance.

By this point the gym was silent. Charlie's gasps for breath, a bit desperate beneath the force of Draco's forearm, echoed against the furthest walls. The ringing in Draco's ears died down in the wake of the outburst and he found his breathing matching his pinned opponent's.

Their eyes locked after the flurry of a struggle. In the moment, their eyes trailed their assailant's hands and knees, so neither man caught the other's expression until it was diluted by exertion. Blue, dark as the ocean at night, scanned the pale face of the man restraining him, a man with pupils dilated so far they were only limned with steel. Though he was pinned and breathing in pants, cut into short, choked puffs, Charlie's stance was relaxed against the wall behind him instead of pushing back against Draco.

Draco didn't back down, but the adrenaline fueled panting escalated to a tempo just short of hyperventilation. So many eyes watching him in the silent room. The motions of his protective walls, built meticulously over years in order to recreate the Malfoy image, crumbled. He felt each piece of mortar roll down his spine and through his fingertips, helpless to stop it.

In a motion that brought Draco's attention back to his most immediate situation, Charlie struggled against his arm. The more Draco attempted to subdue him, the more each motion moved the black fabric around his wrist damaged in the tussle. Desperation clouded his vision as he tried to ignore what this looked like: a former Death Eater publicly assaulting an innocent man, related to several war heroes, in unprovoked action.

Two heartbeats passed before Charlie jerked again, this time moving the sleeve aside to crush the forearm against his throat between his chin and clavicle.

His reaction was as instantaneous as the prior outburst.

Draco snapped his arm away and lept several feet away from the shirtless dragon-tamer. A bloom of warmth, warmer than the heat of a bonfire, spread around his forearm and drilled beneath his skin. The heat was a warmth he'd not experienced since Azkaban, even with his bare back on burning sand in Spain.

His stomach clenching horrifically, fear tearing away any scrap of bravado he'd walked in with, Draco ran, knocking over several training dummies in his haste.