Holly only nodded before disappearing again. He knew she would ensure Theo and Blaise left, and knew that she would lock down the wards before retiring for the night. But he wouldn't, couldn't, retire to his own chambers, not with these volatile thoughts swirling inside. He needed to get this molten, angry, savage feeling out of his body before it consumed him. He made for the gym in one of the basements, pulling off his Oxford as he entered the large space. Leaving the fabric pooled near the door, Draco wandlessly summoned protective gear and, regarding the punching bag hanging in the far corner of the gym, slowly began pulling the fingerless wraps over his shaking hands. He let all the rage, all the heartbreak, all the fucking betrayal, pour out of him as he slammed his fists over and over into the hard hanging bag. He didn't feel the pain as the gloves split around his knuckles, didn't notice the blood well and smear on the bag. The sun came up, shooting soft beams of light into the space through the skylights overhead, and still Draco didn't stop. Couldn't stop. It wasn't until he found himself flat on his back, staring up at those skylights, entirely uncertain how he had gotten there (and rather unwilling to admit that he had blacked out from both exertion and a general lack of sleep) that he recalled something Theo had said.