Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,845
Summary: The Malfoys have always been very clear as to what they hold in high regard, such as wealth and blood purity, but as Pansy and Blaise found out in July of last year, there are some things that Lucius and Narcissa drilled into Draco's head from the time he was a little boy that left deeper impressions than even a Dark Mark.
Warnings: Eating Disorder
ADDITIONAL NOTE: The title of this fiction is an ambiguous word. No offense is meant by its use.
Thanks to themaohour for beta-ing. :)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Manorexic
Chapter Thirteen
Harry had an enormous pit in his stomach Monday morning. He lay in bed thinking of nothing but his fight last night with Malfoy - of the things he had said and the things Malfoy had said in response - wondering if, perhaps, he was in the wrong. But that was insane! He hadn’t done anything wrong! In fact, he couldn’t even remember why, or, indeed, when, Malfoy had gotten angry in the first place. He’d seemed on edge since Harry had walked into the bathroom. A horrible thought came to him: what if he’d been having issues with eating? And Harry had snapped back, out of force of habit?
He pushed away the guilty feelings by reminding himself that Malfoy had kicked him out of the loo before he could even attempt to understand what was going on. So it was Malfoy’s fault, which made sense because he was a giant git, and Harry could go back to being peacefully apathetic to Malfoy’s existence.
The sunlight hitting the curtains around his bed, giving it a red glow, told him it was probably around nine or ten o’clock. He wondered if Ron was up. Probably not, as classes had been cancelled today due to some staff meeting McGonagall had, according to Hermione, been vague about. Ron had been, to say the very least, ecstatic when Hermione had informed them of this last night.
Harry sighed and pushed the quilt off, deciding it would be prudent to speak with Hermione before consulting Ron and trying to make amends. Harry was determined to stop fighting with him. It was stupid, and Harry wasn’t talking to Malfoy anymore anyway.
Plus, it was Ron’s birthday.
Hermione was sitting in the common room pouring over a textbook when he went down. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps. Aside from Dennis Creevey, the common room was empty. Harry felt a pang of sadness at the sight of the boy, remembering Colin and how he’d looked lying with the rest of the dead in the Great Hall.
He stopped himself from continuing down this path quickly, lest he end up curled in a corner thinking about the rest of the casualties.
“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said, smiling nervously. Harry was vaguely reminded of the way she’d acted around him when his wand had broken on their Horcrux hunt. He sat down next to her in one of the big chairs and smiled.
“Morning, ‘Mione.” She visibly relaxed at his casual, friendly tone and in turn Harry felt his shoulders loosen up a bit. “Listen, d’you think Ron will be willing to just get over this? I don’t wanna fight with him.” At this statement Hermione looked both relieved and uncomfortable simultaneously, which was odd to say the least.
“He’s, er - very upset about Malfoy . . .”
“I know,” Harry sighed. “But I . . . We’re not talking anymore, me and Malfoy.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at his hands, hoping she wouldn’t notice the small blush on his cheeks. “It wasn’t bound to last. I mean, it’s me and Malfoy, right?” When he looked back up he saw that she looked concerned.
“What happened?”
He shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. We started fighting completely out of nowhere and he told me to leave. So I left. Mind you, I tried to ask what was wrong, but he was furious and probably would’ve hexed me if I hadn’t gotten out of there when I had.”
He was surprised to see that Hermione was frowning.
“But why was he mad? Surely it wasn’t out of nowhere if he was so upset.”
“Er . . .” Harry looked around, as though Malfoy might show up and explain the situation to Hermione himself. “I don’t really know. Like I said, he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. He just got upset. I think he was already angry when I got there, though.”
Hermione sighed and looked faintly amused. At the same time, he thought he saw genuine pity in her eyes.
“Why did I become friends with you and Ron again?”
Harry laughed and kicked her shin lightly. “Because we saved you from a troll. You don’t fight a troll together and not become friends, Hermione, that’s one of the seven hundred exceptions to Merlin’s Law of Friends Who Defeat Evil Wizards Together.”
Hermione snorted with laughter and Harry, finding the sound to be very heartening indeed, laughed again as well, until both were fairly howling with it in the their corner of the common room. Dennis Creevey looked over a few times, smiling at them, until they managed to control themselves.
Eventually, she said, “Of course Ron will accept your apology, Harry.”
“I never said I was apologizing. Just that I wanted to stop fighting.” Harry kept a straight face for several seconds, watching as Hermione stared in disbelief, and then winked. “I’m kidding. Actually, well, I wasn’t really planning on apologizing, because technically I didn’t do anything wrong, but I guess it doesn’t matter much now. Besides, if he doesn’t feel like being friends now, he will later on tonight when I hand over his present.”
“I’m not sure he’d turn down Malfoy himself if he presented Ron with that gift, actually.”
“Don’t talk to me about Malfoy anymore,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone light and smiling for the added effect. He stood up and stretched. “Hey, you wanna go get breakfast? I’m starving.”
Hermione looked down at her book for several seconds before marking the page by folding a corner and then placing the book on a table.
“We should wake Ron up. He’ll want to come.”
“Yeah, but I hate going into battle on an empty stomach.”
Hermione snorted again. “Oh, shut up, will you? You know he’ll get over it, especially when you tell him you’ve stopped talking to Malfoy. Come on, let’s go.”
Harry huffed and followed her up the stairs. A thought occurred to him just before she pushed the door open and he said, “Hey, save the snogging till I’m not there, though, yeah?”
She glared at him before quietly walking into the dorm, bidding Harry to follow her, and shutting the door behind them.
Harry watched her cautiously, not sure what to expect, and raised his eyebrows when he saw her take out her wand. She looked at him and pressed a finger to her lips.
“What are you -”
“Shh!” she hissed. And then she crept forward, dragging Harry with her, and pulled Ron’s curtains open. He was snoring heavily. They both sat down at the foot of the bed and Hermione shut the curtains around them and cast Muffliato. Then, with a flick of her wand, there was a loud bang and streamers and ribbons fell onto the bed and around their heads.
“Happy birthday!” she shouted, grinning broadly. Harry laughed. Ron sat up, his chest heaving, looking entirely baffled. Hermione began laughing - she and Harry almost lost it for the second time in an hour. Ron seemed to get a hold of himself quickly and he smiled. Then he looked at Harry, seemed to remember something, and frowned.
“What are you doing here?”
Harry smiled and rolled his eyes.
“Well, it’s your birthday, you see, and -”
“I’m serious, Harry.”
Harry’s smile slipped off his face so quickly that it might never have been there. He saw Hermione look down.
“I stopped talking to Malfoy,” he said quietly, looking at the quilt as well. There was silence for a few moments and when he looked back up Ron appeared to be contemplating something.
“Why?” he said finally. Harry shrugged. He obviously wasn’t going to tell the truth, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to tell Ron he did it for him. Ron wasn’t entirely clueless.
“Just didn’t work out,” he said. “We started fighting.”
Ron snorted. “Yeah, well, I could have told you that would happen. I dunno what you were thinking, trying to be friends with Malfoy, of all people.” Harry put on a smile and nodded as though he agreed.
“Anyway, happy birthday! You wanna go down to breakfast? I’m hungry.”
“Oh, yeah! Let’s go!” And with the speed of someone whose favorite thing in the world was food, Ron jumped out of bed, hurried into his clothes, and dashed out of the dorm ahead of Harry and Hermione. The latter two looked at each other; Hermione patted Harry’s back softly.
“Told you he’d get over it.”
Harry smiled at her and held the door as she exited, trying not to think about Malfoy and how resentful he felt toward Ron right now.
There were a few people in the Great Hall, including Anthony, who came over to their table as soon as he saw them and sat down next to Harry, across from Ron and Hermione.
“Happy birthday, Ron.”
“Thanks,” said Ron, smiling like a lunatic and pulling all food within reach onto his plate. Anthony began buttering a piece of toast, apparently meaning to eat breakfast with them, so Harry slipped a hand around his waist. Anthony smiled and kissed his cheek before going back to his food.
“So, is everything ready for tonight?” he asked. Ron, whose mouth was full to the brim with food, tried to speak, but was unsuccessful. Instead, a piece of egg fell from his mouth and onto the table. Hermione raised an eyebrow at it.
“Yes, everything’s ready,” she said, putting a smile on. “Neville helped us bring the Firewhiskey up from the kitchens on Saturday and Ron’s mum owled the cakes early this morning.”
“She did?” Ron managed. Hermione nodded.
“Yes, Errol brought them to the common room. I’ve been up for a while already. They’re packed away in a cupboard in my dormitory. I put a Cooling Charm on it so they’ll stay fresh.”
Ron had finally swallowed and moved in to kiss Hermione, who turned bright red. Harry and Anthony shared a smirk.
“Sounds like it’s going to be a roaring party then, eh?” He picked up another piece of toast and buttered that one as well. “Long as your brother didn’t send any dangerous sweets along?” He winked and Ron grimaced.
“Better not have. I don’t much feel like being sick all over the common room during my birthday party.”
“Or being constipated,” Harry added. Ron rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, or that.”
At that moment Harry decided to look around at the Slytherin table and his stomach sank. Malfoy wasn’t there, but Parkinson and Zabini were, and surely that meant Malfoy had skipped the meal. He mentally kicked himself, praying to any attendant gods that it wasn’t his fault, that Malfoy wasn’t going back to his eating habits - or rather, lack of them - because of the fight.
“Harry?”
Harry looked at Hermione, startled.
“Sorry, what?”
“Are you all right? You looked sick for a moment.”
Harry forced a smile onto his face and took a bite of Anthony’s abandoned toast for good measure.
“I’m fine. Just spaced out for a second.”
Later that evening, while Hermione was getting dressed in her own dorm, Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Anthony, and Neville sat in the boys’, listening to Seamus recount one of his infamous drunken exploits.
“Don’t suppose any of these might not be true,” Anthony whispered. Harry laughed and pulled him closer by the waist.
“Somehow, I wouldn’t doubt he’s done all these things. I’ve shared a dorm with him for six years - seven including this one - and I’ve never seen someone get as drunk as he does.”
“Charming,” Anthony said, and Harry dug his fingers into his side, tickling him. Problem was, Anthony wasn’t particularly ticklish. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, knowing what he’d been trying to do, and retaliated by ghosting a breath across Harry’s neck. Goosebumps erupted across Harry’s skin and he couldn’t suppress a shiver. That always did it; his neck was so incredibly sensitive, though he hadn’t the slightest idea why. In fact, he hadn’t really discovered this until Ginny, when she’d tried kissing his neck one time and he’d fairly leapt five feet in the air. He’d come to realize it was an extremely sensitive erogenous zone, but if someone touched him there without sexual intention (or at least without the intent to finish what they’d started), he always had a minor fit.
Indeed, he could feel his nipples hardening and his skin crawling just from the small gesture. Anthony seemed to have noticed because he chuckled.
“Oi, stop seducing my Savior in my own bedroom!” Seamus called.
“Your savior?” Dean laughed. “I wasn’t aware you’d purchased him.”
“Well, if you must know,” Seamus sighed. “Harry really did it all for me. See, we’ve had an affair going on all throughout school. Since first year, actually. Just haven’t told anyone.”
He looked over at Harry, who nodded solemnly.
“It’s true,” he said. “I’m madly in love. Wouldn’t have been able to defeat Voldemort if it weren’t for my beloved Irishman.”
“Sorry, Goldstein,” Seamus continued. “I’m afraid your company is no longer required.”
Anthony, who didn’t quite have the sarcastic sense of humor Harry did, merely laughed.
“I wasn’t aware you swung that way, Finnigan,” he said.
“I’m a man of mystery,” said Seamus. Ron, who was pulling socks out of his trunk, snorted.
“You’re laughing now, but when you’re not invited to me and Harry’s wedding you’ll be sorry.”
“Right. Well, if you’ve no more deep, dark secrets to share, my party’s about to begin in the common room. Shall we?”* * *
Harry wasn’t plastered, but if he said he was sober he’d be lying. The room was definitely beginning to swirl. At some point about an hour into the party Hermione came up to him, clearly a bit buzzed if her carefree smile was to be believed, and fairly shouted into his ear.
“Did you get Ron’s present?!”
Harry flinched away and rubbed at his ear, glaring at Hermione.
“It’s not that loud ‘n here,” he said, and Hermione blushed. “But no, I didn’t. Thanks f’reminding me. I’m gonna go geddit.”
Hermione nodded and moseyed away again toward Ron, who was sitting on a couch and positively roaring with laughter at something Seamus had said.
Once Harry had stepped out of the portrait, he blinked a few times to stop the world from spinning and started down the corridor that led to the Room of Requirement. He’d been happy to note that the Fiendfyre had not, after all, destroyed the room entirely, though the only incarnation that would appear was the Room of Hidden Things and it was covered in ash. Still, though, it was a place to keep Ron’s gift.
He hated going inside the room, every mound of ash reminding him of what had happened in here, of Malfoy’s face when Harry had saved him from being burned alive. He didn’t recall actually flying Malfoy to safety very well, but he supposed that was due to the fact that he’d been terrified and driving on instinct at that point.
The broom was not far from the door and Harry retrieved it easily, especially as there were hardly any towers to navigate anymore; only ash.
When he returned to the portrait of the Fat lady his brows threaded in confusion, for there was a small boy standing before her, a yellow Hufflepuff tie hanging from round his neck, and he looked frightened.
“Hey,” said Harry, and the boy fairly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. When he saw Harry, however, he looked a bit relieved.
“M-Mr. Potter,” he stammered, and held out a piece of roughly folded parchment. Harry took it cautiously.
“You can call me Harry,” he told the small boy, smiling down at him. His round cheeks flushed and he nodded. “Who’s this from, anyway?”
“Oh, er, um, D-Draco Malfoy, Mr. - oh, er, Harry . . .”
“Malfoy?” Harry whispered, and at once unfolded the parchment, ignoring the increased speed of his pulse.
There were seven hurriedly scrawled words in the center of the parchment:Come to the prefects bathroom. Now. Please.
Harry’s heart hammered against his chest and he looked up again, but the boy had gone. His alcohol-induced mind was in no state to be thinking about any of this. He was supposed to be at Ron’s birthday party, delivering the newest broom available to his best mate, getting drunk, maybe fucking Anthony later, but this . . . this was an unforeseen fork in the road.
Why would Malfoy have sent this? Weren’t they fighting? Or not talking? Or . . . something?
Harry groaned and put his palm to his forehead, trying to clear his head. It didn’t work and so he shook his head, crumpling the parchment in his hand, and looked from it to the broomstick several times before making up his mind.
Malfoy wouldn’t have sent this - with a first year Hufflepuff no less - unless it was important. He wasn’t the type to forgo arguments, was he? Especially when he’d been the one to send Harry out of the loo!
No, this would be important, and as Harry hurriedly made his way to the fifth floor he began to realize how anxious he was. Would Malfoy be in a bad state? What was Harry supposed to do if he was really upset, or . . . or crying, or something?
He walked into the bathroom to find Malfoy curled up near the edge of the tub, his shoes laying a few feet away, wearing a very familiar jumper. His blond head was buried in his knees.
He’s wearing my jumper, Harry thought with a sudden burst of elation. However, he forced this thought away quickly and went to Malfoy’s side, dropping the broom and parchment and sitting down beside him. Malfoy looked up immediately and Harry saw that he was ashen and sweaty and seemed to be shivering a bit.
“Malfoy,” he said quietly, reaching out instinctively to place a hand on his arm. “What happened?”
“I just . . .” Malfoy’s voice sounded scratchy and a pit formed in Harry’s stomach. Had he just vomited?
“Did you . . . throw up?” he asked. Malfoy shook his head and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, what’s wrong?”
Malfoy took a breath and hugged his knees more tightly to himself. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “when it’s really bad, I have panic attacks.”
Harry remembered him saying something about that. Something about having panic attacks back when Parkinson and Zabini had been trying to make him eat over the summer. Harry felt inexplicably terrible, like it was his fault this was happening, because, after all, he had been the one to insist that Malfoy eat.
That was ridiculous, though. It wasn’t like he was forcing Malfoy to do something bad. This was just like withdrawals or something. It was just his anxiety. Malfoy would have to get over it. He wasn’t healthy!
Harry, however, had never had a panic attack, and didn’t quite know of what they consisted, or how to help.
“Are you, er, still having it right now?” he asked a little awkwardly. Despite the situation, Malfoy let out a small chuckle before shaking his head and grimacing again.
“I was going to my dorm from the library earlier and it just sort of hit me. They’re terrifying.”
“I’ve . . . never had one,” Harry said. Malfoy looked at him and his gray eyes appeared haunted. Harry felt a sudden urge to pull him into a hug, but resisted.
“The whole world goes black and white,” Malfoy whispered. “And silent. And I feel like I can’t breathe. My ears ring. And my heart’s beating so fast . . . I start sweating a lot. I wrote that note and handed it to the first person I could find. Told him to get it to you immediately. And then I came here.” He paused and took another breath, seemingly in an effort to calm down. Harry squeezed his arm a little tighter. “It’s just really hard right now . . .”
“What is?”
Malfoy bit his lip and looked the other way, away from Harry, so he couldn’t see his face when he mumbled, “Keeping it down.”
“The food, you mean? You’ve still been trying t’ eat, then?” Malfoy nodded and Harry smiled in spite of himself. “D’you feel like yer gonna to throw up right now?”
Malfoy shook his head and looked back at Harry, his eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears, Harry knew. It nearly broke his heart. And that, in itself, was a strange thing. Feeling pity for Malfoy so easily.
“It’s hard not to . . . to make myself . . .” This last part was spoken so quietly that Harry might have missed it had he not been listening intently. His stomach churned and he felt a sudden spike of anger at the Malfoys, at Draco’s past sexual encounters, and at Draco himself. This boy was stunning. Who in their right mind would tell him otherwise?
Once again, Harry found his thoughts on Malfoy’s beauty tumbling from his mouth like word vomit - which, he supposed, was ironic. Although, it could have had something to do with his being tipsy.
“Malfoy,” he said, taking his chin and forcing their eyes to connect. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re beautiful?” He flushed, but looked away.
“You can’t mean it,” Malfoy whispered. Harry ground his teeth together and, trying not to think about the technicalities or repercussions of what he was doing (and this was fairly easy with an alcohol-influenced mind), he pulled Malfoy’s hands away from his body and turned him so they faced each other. Then he grasped those sunken cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the high, slightly feminine cheekbones, and leaned forward to kiss him.
Malfoy let out a breathy little whimper at the contact and Harry felt his libido rage. Oftentimes when he was drunk, he became particularly horny. Tonight he hadn’t felt the stirrings of arousal yet, perhaps because he was only buzzed, but the feel of Malfoy’s lips and that little noise he’d made sent lust coursing through Harry’s body alarmingly fast.
Without thinking much about what he was doing, he spread Malfoy’s bent legs enough so that he could crawl between them, giving him better access to Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy made a small sound of surprise - or protest? Harry couldn’t tell - but Harry largely ignored it, preferring to cup Malfoy’s face in his hands again and kiss him more deeply. His hands didn’t stay stationary for long, though, and soon he found them on the floor on either side of Malfoy’s waist, and Malfoy was leaning backwards, and Harry was moving with him until Malfoy was flat on his back, Harry hovering a few inches above him.
“I hate that you think yer ugly,” he slurred a little breathlessly. He went in to kiss Malfoy again but Malfoy planted a hand on his chest, stilling him.
“Are you drunk?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m a little tipsy,” he said with a smirk. “It’s Ron’s birthday. There’s a party in the common room.” And he tried to kiss him again, but again Malfoy stopped him. Harry made a little sound of protest.
“Why are you here, then?”
He couldn’t tell if Malfoy looked annoyed or not.
“You needed me,” he said simply, confused at the question. A light tint appeared on Malfoy’s pale cheeks. It was adorable and Harry just barely resisted the urge to kiss them.
“But . . . aren’t you missing the party . . . ?”
Harry sighed in frustration and sat back on his heels. Malfoy sat up as well, still looking suspicious.
“Yeah, but I got that note ‘n I was worried so I came here. I don’t underst -” But Harry didn’t have time to finish his sentence because Malfoy had grabbed his face and pulled him forward, dragging him to the ground on top of him again at the same time that he forced his tongue between his lips. Harry made a muffled sound of surprise before returning the kiss eagerly.
Harry ran his hands down Malfoy’s sides and then slipped them under the jumper - his jumper - and felt Malfoy tense when he touched bare skin. He broke away from the kiss with a wet sound and looked nervously up at Harry.
“Potter, don’t -”
“You’re not fat, Malfoy,” Harry whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to his ear as he continued to run his hands up Malfoy’s stomach. He passed over his protruding ribs, fascinated by the way he could feel Malfoy breathing beneath his hand, and stopped when he reached his nipples. Malfoy’s heart was beating insistently. He’d begun mouthing at the underside of his jaw when he felt Malfoy buck up against him and the bulges in their trousers pressed together for a fleeting second. Harry groaned and let out a puff of air.
“S-sorry,” Malfoy whispered. Harry chuckled and kissed the corner of his mouth. His hands slipped back out of the jumper and he deftly unzipped Malfoy’s trousers and pulled them open enough so that he could see the head of Malfoy’s cock sticking out of the top of his pants. He swallowed thickly.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. He cupped Malfoy through the material and Malfoy released a quiet moan that made it hard for Harry to breathe. He didn’t fancy taking it very slowly, probably due partly to the alcohol in his system, but also because a small part of his mind was exploding with excitement, as though he’d been waiting to do this forever.
Malfoy bit his lip when Harry pulled the pants down and his cock was freed, a small drop of precome balanced at the tip.
“Nice jumper, by the way,” he said as he wrapped his hand around the base of Malfoy’s length. Malfoy bucked up again and gasped, his eyes going wide as his back arched. He was oddly graceful despite how frail and fragile he looked. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”
It looked like Malfoy tried to glare but it was replaced by agonizing pleasure when Harry moved his hand up and back down, and then up again, swiping his thumb across the head.
“You look amazing like this,” he whispered into Malfoy’s ear and was pleased at the small moan that this evoked. “You’re so beautiful, Malfoy. Goddamn gorgeous.”
Apparently that did it for him. Harry had just barely started to speed up his rhythm, but as soon as he’d whispered those words Malfoy cried out, arching his entire body, and his come coated Harry’s hand and shirt. He watched as Malfoy breathed deeply a few times before opening his eyes and looking up at Harry. For a few moments they stared at each other, but then Malfoy lifted himself up on his hands and Harry assisted him in sitting up entirely. Malfoy tucked himself away and Harry cast a Cleaning Charm on both of them.
He took Harry by surprise when he wrapped his arms around his neck. When the moment of shock subsided, Harry hugged him back tightly, pulling him against his chest.
“Thank you for coming,” Malfoy said. He sounded unsure, and Harry figured this was probably because Malfoy was not used to thanking anyone for anything. He bit his lip as a euphoric smile threatened to dominate his face and he squeezed Malfoy again, reveling in his warmth.
He pulled Malfoy back to the ground and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his chest to Malfoy’s back. His still-hard dick dug into Malfoy’s arse, but he tried to ignore it.
“What are you doing?”
“Staying here with you,” he said as he nuzzled his face into Malfoy’s hair. He felt Malfoy shiver.
“What about you?” Harry knew he was referring to his insistent problem.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Go to sleep or something. I’d say we should go to the Room of Requirement, but, well . . .” Malfoy’s body tensed.
“Yeah. . . .”
A brief silence.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
Malfoy wiggled around a bit, snuggling closer into Harry’s chest and pulling the sleeves of the jumper down over his hands. Harry smiled to himself.
“I’m fine.”
He leaned closer to Malfoy’s ear and breathed, “I never imagined you could be this sweet.”
Malfoy was quiet for a few seconds and Harry feared he’d gone too far. But then:
“I’m usually not.”
Harry was glad Malfoy was turned away from him because an enormous smile lit up his face. He buried his head once more in Malfoy’s hair and kissed his neck softly. He heard Malfoy release a contented sigh.
Harry realized suddenly - with less surprise than he would have hoped - that if he could do it over again a thousand times, he would always choose to be here instead of Ron’s birthday party.
And that thought was frightening indeed.
Chapter Twelve | Page of Contents | Chapter Fourteen
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,845
Summary: The Malfoys have always been very clear as to what they hold in high regard, such as wealth and blood purity, but as Pansy and Blaise found out in July of last year, there are some things that Lucius and Narcissa drilled into Draco's head from the time he was a little boy that left deeper impressions than even a Dark Mark.
Warnings: Eating Disorder
ADDITIONAL NOTE: The title of this fiction is an ambiguous word. No offense is meant by its use.
Thanks to themaohour for beta-ing. :)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Manorexic
Chapter Thirteen
Harry had an enormous pit in his stomach Monday morning. He lay in bed thinking of nothing but his fight last night with Malfoy - of the things he had said and the things Malfoy had said in response - wondering if, perhaps, he was in the wrong. But that was insane! He hadn’t done anything wrong! In fact, he couldn’t even remember why, or, indeed, when, Malfoy had gotten angry in the first place. He’d seemed on edge since Harry had walked into the bathroom. A horrible thought came to him: what if he’d been having issues with eating? And Harry had snapped back, out of force of habit?
He pushed away the guilty feelings by reminding himself that Malfoy had kicked him out of the loo before he could even attempt to understand what was going on. So it was Malfoy’s fault, which made sense because he was a giant git, and Harry could go back to being peacefully apathetic to Malfoy’s existence.
The sunlight hitting the curtains around his bed, giving it a red glow, told him it was probably around nine or ten o’clock. He wondered if Ron was up. Probably not, as classes had been cancelled today due to some staff meeting McGonagall had, according to Hermione, been vague about. Ron had been, to say the very least, ecstatic when Hermione had informed them of this last night.
Harry sighed and pushed the quilt off, deciding it would be prudent to speak with Hermione before consulting Ron and trying to make amends. Harry was determined to stop fighting with him. It was stupid, and Harry wasn’t talking to Malfoy anymore anyway.
Plus, it was Ron’s birthday.
Hermione was sitting in the common room pouring over a textbook when he went down. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps. Aside from Dennis Creevey, the common room was empty. Harry felt a pang of sadness at the sight of the boy, remembering Colin and how he’d looked lying with the rest of the dead in the Great Hall.
He stopped himself from continuing down this path quickly, lest he end up curled in a corner thinking about the rest of the casualties.
“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said, smiling nervously. Harry was vaguely reminded of the way she’d acted around him when his wand had broken on their Horcrux hunt. He sat down next to her in one of the big chairs and smiled.
“Morning, ‘Mione.” She visibly relaxed at his casual, friendly tone and in turn Harry felt his shoulders loosen up a bit. “Listen, d’you think Ron will be willing to just get over this? I don’t wanna fight with him.” At this statement Hermione looked both relieved and uncomfortable simultaneously, which was odd to say the least.
“He’s, er - very upset about Malfoy . . .”
“I know,” Harry sighed. “But I . . . We’re not talking anymore, me and Malfoy.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at his hands, hoping she wouldn’t notice the small blush on his cheeks. “It wasn’t bound to last. I mean, it’s me and Malfoy, right?” When he looked back up he saw that she looked concerned.
“What happened?”
He shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. We started fighting completely out of nowhere and he told me to leave. So I left. Mind you, I tried to ask what was wrong, but he was furious and probably would’ve hexed me if I hadn’t gotten out of there when I had.”
He was surprised to see that Hermione was frowning.
“But why was he mad? Surely it wasn’t out of nowhere if he was so upset.”
“Er . . .” Harry looked around, as though Malfoy might show up and explain the situation to Hermione himself. “I don’t really know. Like I said, he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. He just got upset. I think he was already angry when I got there, though.”
Hermione sighed and looked faintly amused. At the same time, he thought he saw genuine pity in her eyes.
“Why did I become friends with you and Ron again?”
Harry laughed and kicked her shin lightly. “Because we saved you from a troll. You don’t fight a troll together and not become friends, Hermione, that’s one of the seven hundred exceptions to Merlin’s Law of Friends Who Defeat Evil Wizards Together.”
Hermione snorted with laughter and Harry, finding the sound to be very heartening indeed, laughed again as well, until both were fairly howling with it in the their corner of the common room. Dennis Creevey looked over a few times, smiling at them, until they managed to control themselves.
Eventually, she said, “Of course Ron will accept your apology, Harry.”
“I never said I was apologizing. Just that I wanted to stop fighting.” Harry kept a straight face for several seconds, watching as Hermione stared in disbelief, and then winked. “I’m kidding. Actually, well, I wasn’t really planning on apologizing, because technically I didn’t do anything wrong, but I guess it doesn’t matter much now. Besides, if he doesn’t feel like being friends now, he will later on tonight when I hand over his present.”
“I’m not sure he’d turn down Malfoy himself if he presented Ron with that gift, actually.”
“Don’t talk to me about Malfoy anymore,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone light and smiling for the added effect. He stood up and stretched. “Hey, you wanna go get breakfast? I’m starving.”
Hermione looked down at her book for several seconds before marking the page by folding a corner and then placing the book on a table.
“We should wake Ron up. He’ll want to come.”
“Yeah, but I hate going into battle on an empty stomach.”
Hermione snorted again. “Oh, shut up, will you? You know he’ll get over it, especially when you tell him you’ve stopped talking to Malfoy. Come on, let’s go.”
Harry huffed and followed her up the stairs. A thought occurred to him just before she pushed the door open and he said, “Hey, save the snogging till I’m not there, though, yeah?”
She glared at him before quietly walking into the dorm, bidding Harry to follow her, and shutting the door behind them.
Harry watched her cautiously, not sure what to expect, and raised his eyebrows when he saw her take out her wand. She looked at him and pressed a finger to her lips.
“What are you -”
“Shh!” she hissed. And then she crept forward, dragging Harry with her, and pulled Ron’s curtains open. He was snoring heavily. They both sat down at the foot of the bed and Hermione shut the curtains around them and cast Muffliato. Then, with a flick of her wand, there was a loud bang and streamers and ribbons fell onto the bed and around their heads.
“Happy birthday!” she shouted, grinning broadly. Harry laughed. Ron sat up, his chest heaving, looking entirely baffled. Hermione began laughing - she and Harry almost lost it for the second time in an hour. Ron seemed to get a hold of himself quickly and he smiled. Then he looked at Harry, seemed to remember something, and frowned.
“What are you doing here?”
Harry smiled and rolled his eyes.
“Well, it’s your birthday, you see, and -”
“I’m serious, Harry.”
Harry’s smile slipped off his face so quickly that it might never have been there. He saw Hermione look down.
“I stopped talking to Malfoy,” he said quietly, looking at the quilt as well. There was silence for a few moments and when he looked back up Ron appeared to be contemplating something.
“Why?” he said finally. Harry shrugged. He obviously wasn’t going to tell the truth, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to tell Ron he did it for him. Ron wasn’t entirely clueless.
“Just didn’t work out,” he said. “We started fighting.”
Ron snorted. “Yeah, well, I could have told you that would happen. I dunno what you were thinking, trying to be friends with Malfoy, of all people.” Harry put on a smile and nodded as though he agreed.
“Anyway, happy birthday! You wanna go down to breakfast? I’m hungry.”
“Oh, yeah! Let’s go!” And with the speed of someone whose favorite thing in the world was food, Ron jumped out of bed, hurried into his clothes, and dashed out of the dorm ahead of Harry and Hermione. The latter two looked at each other; Hermione patted Harry’s back softly.
“Told you he’d get over it.”
Harry smiled at her and held the door as she exited, trying not to think about Malfoy and how resentful he felt toward Ron right now.
There were a few people in the Great Hall, including Anthony, who came over to their table as soon as he saw them and sat down next to Harry, across from Ron and Hermione.
“Happy birthday, Ron.”
“Thanks,” said Ron, smiling like a lunatic and pulling all food within reach onto his plate. Anthony began buttering a piece of toast, apparently meaning to eat breakfast with them, so Harry slipped a hand around his waist. Anthony smiled and kissed his cheek before going back to his food.
“So, is everything ready for tonight?” he asked. Ron, whose mouth was full to the brim with food, tried to speak, but was unsuccessful. Instead, a piece of egg fell from his mouth and onto the table. Hermione raised an eyebrow at it.
“Yes, everything’s ready,” she said, putting a smile on. “Neville helped us bring the Firewhiskey up from the kitchens on Saturday and Ron’s mum owled the cakes early this morning.”
“She did?” Ron managed. Hermione nodded.
“Yes, Errol brought them to the common room. I’ve been up for a while already. They’re packed away in a cupboard in my dormitory. I put a Cooling Charm on it so they’ll stay fresh.”
Ron had finally swallowed and moved in to kiss Hermione, who turned bright red. Harry and Anthony shared a smirk.
“Sounds like it’s going to be a roaring party then, eh?” He picked up another piece of toast and buttered that one as well. “Long as your brother didn’t send any dangerous sweets along?” He winked and Ron grimaced.
“Better not have. I don’t much feel like being sick all over the common room during my birthday party.”
“Or being constipated,” Harry added. Ron rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, or that.”
At that moment Harry decided to look around at the Slytherin table and his stomach sank. Malfoy wasn’t there, but Parkinson and Zabini were, and surely that meant Malfoy had skipped the meal. He mentally kicked himself, praying to any attendant gods that it wasn’t his fault, that Malfoy wasn’t going back to his eating habits - or rather, lack of them - because of the fight.
“Harry?”
Harry looked at Hermione, startled.
“Sorry, what?”
“Are you all right? You looked sick for a moment.”
Harry forced a smile onto his face and took a bite of Anthony’s abandoned toast for good measure.
“I’m fine. Just spaced out for a second.”
Later that evening, while Hermione was getting dressed in her own dorm, Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Anthony, and Neville sat in the boys’, listening to Seamus recount one of his infamous drunken exploits.
“Don’t suppose any of these might not be true,” Anthony whispered. Harry laughed and pulled him closer by the waist.
“Somehow, I wouldn’t doubt he’s done all these things. I’ve shared a dorm with him for six years - seven including this one - and I’ve never seen someone get as drunk as he does.”
“Charming,” Anthony said, and Harry dug his fingers into his side, tickling him. Problem was, Anthony wasn’t particularly ticklish. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, knowing what he’d been trying to do, and retaliated by ghosting a breath across Harry’s neck. Goosebumps erupted across Harry’s skin and he couldn’t suppress a shiver. That always did it; his neck was so incredibly sensitive, though he hadn’t the slightest idea why. In fact, he hadn’t really discovered this until Ginny, when she’d tried kissing his neck one time and he’d fairly leapt five feet in the air. He’d come to realize it was an extremely sensitive erogenous zone, but if someone touched him there without sexual intention (or at least without the intent to finish what they’d started), he always had a minor fit.
Indeed, he could feel his nipples hardening and his skin crawling just from the small gesture. Anthony seemed to have noticed because he chuckled.
“Oi, stop seducing my Savior in my own bedroom!” Seamus called.
“Your savior?” Dean laughed. “I wasn’t aware you’d purchased him.”
“Well, if you must know,” Seamus sighed. “Harry really did it all for me. See, we’ve had an affair going on all throughout school. Since first year, actually. Just haven’t told anyone.”
He looked over at Harry, who nodded solemnly.
“It’s true,” he said. “I’m madly in love. Wouldn’t have been able to defeat Voldemort if it weren’t for my beloved Irishman.”
“Sorry, Goldstein,” Seamus continued. “I’m afraid your company is no longer required.”
Anthony, who didn’t quite have the sarcastic sense of humor Harry did, merely laughed.
“I wasn’t aware you swung that way, Finnigan,” he said.
“I’m a man of mystery,” said Seamus. Ron, who was pulling socks out of his trunk, snorted.
“You’re laughing now, but when you’re not invited to me and Harry’s wedding you’ll be sorry.”
“Right. Well, if you’ve no more deep, dark secrets to share, my party’s about to begin in the common room. Shall we?”* * *
Harry wasn’t plastered, but if he said he was sober he’d be lying. The room was definitely beginning to swirl. At some point about an hour into the party Hermione came up to him, clearly a bit buzzed if her carefree smile was to be believed, and fairly shouted into his ear.
“Did you get Ron’s present?!”
Harry flinched away and rubbed at his ear, glaring at Hermione.
“It’s not that loud ‘n here,” he said, and Hermione blushed. “But no, I didn’t. Thanks f’reminding me. I’m gonna go geddit.”
Hermione nodded and moseyed away again toward Ron, who was sitting on a couch and positively roaring with laughter at something Seamus had said.
Once Harry had stepped out of the portrait, he blinked a few times to stop the world from spinning and started down the corridor that led to the Room of Requirement. He’d been happy to note that the Fiendfyre had not, after all, destroyed the room entirely, though the only incarnation that would appear was the Room of Hidden Things and it was covered in ash. Still, though, it was a place to keep Ron’s gift.
He hated going inside the room, every mound of ash reminding him of what had happened in here, of Malfoy’s face when Harry had saved him from being burned alive. He didn’t recall actually flying Malfoy to safety very well, but he supposed that was due to the fact that he’d been terrified and driving on instinct at that point.
The broom was not far from the door and Harry retrieved it easily, especially as there were hardly any towers to navigate anymore; only ash.
When he returned to the portrait of the Fat lady his brows threaded in confusion, for there was a small boy standing before her, a yellow Hufflepuff tie hanging from round his neck, and he looked frightened.
“Hey,” said Harry, and the boy fairly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. When he saw Harry, however, he looked a bit relieved.
“M-Mr. Potter,” he stammered, and held out a piece of roughly folded parchment. Harry took it cautiously.
“You can call me Harry,” he told the small boy, smiling down at him. His round cheeks flushed and he nodded. “Who’s this from, anyway?”
“Oh, er, um, D-Draco Malfoy, Mr. - oh, er, Harry . . .”
“Malfoy?” Harry whispered, and at once unfolded the parchment, ignoring the increased speed of his pulse.
There were seven hurriedly scrawled words in the center of the parchment:Come to the prefects bathroom. Now. Please.
Harry’s heart hammered against his chest and he looked up again, but the boy had gone. His alcohol-induced mind was in no state to be thinking about any of this. He was supposed to be at Ron’s birthday party, delivering the newest broom available to his best mate, getting drunk, maybe fucking Anthony later, but this . . . this was an unforeseen fork in the road.
Why would Malfoy have sent this? Weren’t they fighting? Or not talking? Or . . . something?
Harry groaned and put his palm to his forehead, trying to clear his head. It didn’t work and so he shook his head, crumpling the parchment in his hand, and looked from it to the broomstick several times before making up his mind.
Malfoy wouldn’t have sent this - with a first year Hufflepuff no less - unless it was important. He wasn’t the type to forgo arguments, was he? Especially when he’d been the one to send Harry out of the loo!
No, this would be important, and as Harry hurriedly made his way to the fifth floor he began to realize how anxious he was. Would Malfoy be in a bad state? What was Harry supposed to do if he was really upset, or . . . or crying, or something?
He walked into the bathroom to find Malfoy curled up near the edge of the tub, his shoes laying a few feet away, wearing a very familiar jumper. His blond head was buried in his knees.
He’s wearing my jumper, Harry thought with a sudden burst of elation. However, he forced this thought away quickly and went to Malfoy’s side, dropping the broom and parchment and sitting down beside him. Malfoy looked up immediately and Harry saw that he was ashen and sweaty and seemed to be shivering a bit.
“Malfoy,” he said quietly, reaching out instinctively to place a hand on his arm. “What happened?”
“I just . . .” Malfoy’s voice sounded scratchy and a pit formed in Harry’s stomach. Had he just vomited?
“Did you . . . throw up?” he asked. Malfoy shook his head and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, what’s wrong?”
Malfoy took a breath and hugged his knees more tightly to himself. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “when it’s really bad, I have panic attacks.”
Harry remembered him saying something about that. Something about having panic attacks back when Parkinson and Zabini had been trying to make him eat over the summer. Harry felt inexplicably terrible, like it was his fault this was happening, because, after all, he had been the one to insist that Malfoy eat.
That was ridiculous, though. It wasn’t like he was forcing Malfoy to do something bad. This was just like withdrawals or something. It was just his anxiety. Malfoy would have to get over it. He wasn’t healthy!
Harry, however, had never had a panic attack, and didn’t quite know of what they consisted, or how to help.
“Are you, er, still having it right now?” he asked a little awkwardly. Despite the situation, Malfoy let out a small chuckle before shaking his head and grimacing again.
“I was going to my dorm from the library earlier and it just sort of hit me. They’re terrifying.”
“I’ve . . . never had one,” Harry said. Malfoy looked at him and his gray eyes appeared haunted. Harry felt a sudden urge to pull him into a hug, but resisted.
“The whole world goes black and white,” Malfoy whispered. “And silent. And I feel like I can’t breathe. My ears ring. And my heart’s beating so fast . . . I start sweating a lot. I wrote that note and handed it to the first person I could find. Told him to get it to you immediately. And then I came here.” He paused and took another breath, seemingly in an effort to calm down. Harry squeezed his arm a little tighter. “It’s just really hard right now . . .”
“What is?”
Malfoy bit his lip and looked the other way, away from Harry, so he couldn’t see his face when he mumbled, “Keeping it down.”
“The food, you mean? You’ve still been trying t’ eat, then?” Malfoy nodded and Harry smiled in spite of himself. “D’you feel like yer gonna to throw up right now?”
Malfoy shook his head and looked back at Harry, his eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears, Harry knew. It nearly broke his heart. And that, in itself, was a strange thing. Feeling pity for Malfoy so easily.
“It’s hard not to . . . to make myself . . .” This last part was spoken so quietly that Harry might have missed it had he not been listening intently. His stomach churned and he felt a sudden spike of anger at the Malfoys, at Draco’s past sexual encounters, and at Draco himself. This boy was stunning. Who in their right mind would tell him otherwise?
Once again, Harry found his thoughts on Malfoy’s beauty tumbling from his mouth like word vomit - which, he supposed, was ironic. Although, it could have had something to do with his being tipsy.
“Malfoy,” he said, taking his chin and forcing their eyes to connect. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re beautiful?” He flushed, but looked away.
“You can’t mean it,” Malfoy whispered. Harry ground his teeth together and, trying not to think about the technicalities or repercussions of what he was doing (and this was fairly easy with an alcohol-influenced mind), he pulled Malfoy’s hands away from his body and turned him so they faced each other. Then he grasped those sunken cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the high, slightly feminine cheekbones, and leaned forward to kiss him.
Malfoy let out a breathy little whimper at the contact and Harry felt his libido rage. Oftentimes when he was drunk, he became particularly horny. Tonight he hadn’t felt the stirrings of arousal yet, perhaps because he was only buzzed, but the feel of Malfoy’s lips and that little noise he’d made sent lust coursing through Harry’s body alarmingly fast.
Without thinking much about what he was doing, he spread Malfoy’s bent legs enough so that he could crawl between them, giving him better access to Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy made a small sound of surprise - or protest? Harry couldn’t tell - but Harry largely ignored it, preferring to cup Malfoy’s face in his hands again and kiss him more deeply. His hands didn’t stay stationary for long, though, and soon he found them on the floor on either side of Malfoy’s waist, and Malfoy was leaning backwards, and Harry was moving with him until Malfoy was flat on his back, Harry hovering a few inches above him.
“I hate that you think yer ugly,” he slurred a little breathlessly. He went in to kiss Malfoy again but Malfoy planted a hand on his chest, stilling him.
“Are you drunk?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m a little tipsy,” he said with a smirk. “It’s Ron’s birthday. There’s a party in the common room.” And he tried to kiss him again, but again Malfoy stopped him. Harry made a little sound of protest.
“Why are you here, then?”
He couldn’t tell if Malfoy looked annoyed or not.
“You needed me,” he said simply, confused at the question. A light tint appeared on Malfoy’s pale cheeks. It was adorable and Harry just barely resisted the urge to kiss them.
“But . . . aren’t you missing the party . . . ?”
Harry sighed in frustration and sat back on his heels. Malfoy sat up as well, still looking suspicious.
“Yeah, but I got that note ‘n I was worried so I came here. I don’t underst -” But Harry didn’t have time to finish his sentence because Malfoy had grabbed his face and pulled him forward, dragging him to the ground on top of him again at the same time that he forced his tongue between his lips. Harry made a muffled sound of surprise before returning the kiss eagerly.
Harry ran his hands down Malfoy’s sides and then slipped them under the jumper - his jumper - and felt Malfoy tense when he touched bare skin. He broke away from the kiss with a wet sound and looked nervously up at Harry.
“Potter, don’t -”
“You’re not fat, Malfoy,” Harry whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to his ear as he continued to run his hands up Malfoy’s stomach. He passed over his protruding ribs, fascinated by the way he could feel Malfoy breathing beneath his hand, and stopped when he reached his nipples. Malfoy’s heart was beating insistently. He’d begun mouthing at the underside of his jaw when he felt Malfoy buck up against him and the bulges in their trousers pressed together for a fleeting second. Harry groaned and let out a puff of air.
“S-sorry,” Malfoy whispered. Harry chuckled and kissed the corner of his mouth. His hands slipped back out of the jumper and he deftly unzipped Malfoy’s trousers and pulled them open enough so that he could see the head of Malfoy’s cock sticking out of the top of his pants. He swallowed thickly.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. He cupped Malfoy through the material and Malfoy released a quiet moan that made it hard for Harry to breathe. He didn’t fancy taking it very slowly, probably due partly to the alcohol in his system, but also because a small part of his mind was exploding with excitement, as though he’d been waiting to do this forever.
Malfoy bit his lip when Harry pulled the pants down and his cock was freed, a small drop of precome balanced at the tip.
“Nice jumper, by the way,” he said as he wrapped his hand around the base of Malfoy’s length. Malfoy bucked up again and gasped, his eyes going wide as his back arched. He was oddly graceful despite how frail and fragile he looked. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”
It looked like Malfoy tried to glare but it was replaced by agonizing pleasure when Harry moved his hand up and back down, and then up again, swiping his thumb across the head.
“You look amazing like this,” he whispered into Malfoy’s ear and was pleased at the small moan that this evoked. “You’re so beautiful, Malfoy. Goddamn gorgeous.”
Apparently that did it for him. Harry had just barely started to speed up his rhythm, but as soon as he’d whispered those words Malfoy cried out, arching his entire body, and his come coated Harry’s hand and shirt. He watched as Malfoy breathed deeply a few times before opening his eyes and looking up at Harry. For a few moments they stared at each other, but then Malfoy lifted himself up on his hands and Harry assisted him in sitting up entirely. Malfoy tucked himself away and Harry cast a Cleaning Charm on both of them.
He took Harry by surprise when he wrapped his arms around his neck. When the moment of shock subsided, Harry hugged him back tightly, pulling him against his chest.
“Thank you for coming,” Malfoy said. He sounded unsure, and Harry figured this was probably because Malfoy was not used to thanking anyone for anything. He bit his lip as a euphoric smile threatened to dominate his face and he squeezed Malfoy again, reveling in his warmth.
He pulled Malfoy back to the ground and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his chest to Malfoy’s back. His still-hard dick dug into Malfoy’s arse, but he tried to ignore it.
“What are you doing?”
“Staying here with you,” he said as he nuzzled his face into Malfoy’s hair. He felt Malfoy shiver.
“What about you?” Harry knew he was referring to his insistent problem.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Go to sleep or something. I’d say we should go to the Room of Requirement, but, well . . .” Malfoy’s body tensed.
“Yeah. . . .”
A brief silence.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
Malfoy wiggled around a bit, snuggling closer into Harry’s chest and pulling the sleeves of the jumper down over his hands. Harry smiled to himself.
“I’m fine.”
He leaned closer to Malfoy’s ear and breathed, “I never imagined you could be this sweet.”
Malfoy was quiet for a few seconds and Harry feared he’d gone too far. But then:
“I’m usually not.”
Harry was glad Malfoy was turned away from him because an enormous smile lit up his face. He buried his head once more in Malfoy’s hair and kissed his neck softly. He heard Malfoy release a contented sigh.
Harry realized suddenly - with less surprise than he would have hoped - that if he could do it over again a thousand times, he would always choose to be here instead of Ron’s birthday party.
And that thought was frightening indeed.
Chapter Twelve | Page of Contents | Chapter Fourteen