Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,405
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
Author's Note: you can thank katelinmr for the early update. she bribed me.
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 Fourteen
His watch told him it was just past four in the morning when Harry woke up. He’d fallen asleep next to Malfoy on the floor of the Prefects’ bathroom. Malfoy, beside him, was still breathing slowly and steadily and Harry’s chest was incredibly warm. He smiled to himself and unconsciously ran a hand along Malfoy’s side. One of his arms - the one whose shoulder was squished against the ground - was lying out at a perpendicular angle to his body, and the other was tucked against his chest.
Harry hated to wake him, but he also wasn’t going to leave him here. Gently, he shook him awake, and he loved the way Malfoy’s eyelashes fluttered when he woke up.
“What?” he asked groggily, looking around in confusion. His eyebrows threaded when he caught side of Harry. He seemed to remember what had happened after a moment and he laid his head back down, a small smile creeping onto his face. Harry bit his lip. It was so cute he thought he’d explode.
“Malfoy, it’s four in the morning. I have to get back to Gryffindor and you need to get to Slytherin. We have classes tomorrow. Come on.”
He helped Malfoy get up and noticed he was shivering.
“Are you cold?” Malfoy nodded. “I’d give you my jumper, but . . .”
Malfoy’s face went instantly red. Harry laughed and kissed him, and then proceeded to wrap him in a bear hug.
“I’ll take you to your dorm,” he said into his ear. Malfoy shivered again, whether from Harry’s breath or the cold, Harry didn’t know, and seemed to press closer.
“You’re like a bloody tangible Heating Charm, Potter.”
Harry smiled. “You’ve got this,” he said, tugging on the sleeve of the jumper. “You can keep it.”
“It smells like you. . . .”
Harry froze. This statement alone caused a pit to form in his stomach that had everything to do with Anthony. He supposed it was because the thought of Malfoy wearing his jumper and inhaling his scent was about a thousand times more intimate than giving him a hand job, somehow. It spoke volumes about Malfoy’s feelings towards him. Harry, however, decided not to point this out, but put on a smirk instead.
“Like the way I smell?” he teased. Malfoy blushed again but turned around and began heading toward the door. Harry was filled with the urge to grab him from behind and pull him close again - so he did. He wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s stomach and pulled him against his chest. It was, like Malfoy’s admission, an intimate gesture, but he pushed the thought aside because he enjoyed this too much.
He realized he could have happily stayed this way for hours, whispering into Malfoy’s ear and making him blush and squirm like a little girl, but he had woken Malfoy up in order to get back to the common room. So he planted a quick kiss on the back of Malfoy’s neck and released him. He gathered up Ron’s broom and held the door open.
“Where’s your Cloak?” Malfoy asked, as they began their descent toward the dungeon.
Harry shrugged. “I didn’t have it with me when that kid gave me the note.”
“So then why are you walking me down?”
Harry smiled and took Malfoy’s hand. “I want to.”
When they reached the common room Malfoy turned to him, presumably to say goodnight, but Harry pulled him into a rather long kiss instead. When he pulled away, Malfoy’s breathing was unsteady.
“Goodnight, Potter.”
“’Night, Malfoy,” he said with a smile. And then Malfoy disappeared into the common room and it was once again a blank wall. Harry stared at it for a moment, reliving the past few hours, before turning and making to head to the stairs. He was stopped, however, when he heard the sound of the stone wall-door sliding open. He spun around and whipped his wand out without thought, suddenly face-to-face with Pansy Parkinson, pajama-clad and ruffled.
“Potter, wait!” she said, holding up her unarmed hands. Harry drew his eyebrows together and lowered his wand a fraction.
“What do you want?”
“Potter, listen . . . I . . .” She bit her lip and looked at the entrance to Slytherin, which had closed again, and back to him.
“You what?”
“I know about . . . about you and Draco . . .”
Harry’s mouth fell open but he did not lower his wand any more. Indeed, he raised it to full height again.
“How do you know?”
“Oh, he told me, didn’t he?” She sounded nervous and she was glancing at the entrance so much someone who didn’t know there was a door there might think she had a twitch.
“He . . . told you?”
“Will you please put your wand down? You’re making me anxious!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
“I’m not going to attack you! I just wanna talk.”
Harry scoffed. “What could you possibly have to say to me? If you’re planning on telling me off, you may as well save your breath, because I don’t wanna hear it.”
“I’m not going to tell you off!” she said, louder than before. Harry’s eyes went wide and he lowered his wand a bit again. “Now, will you please just put that away and listen to me?”
For some strange reason, it didn’t occur to Harry to disobey. Something in the hysteric way Parkinson was talking told him she really didn’t mean any harm.
When she saw him stuff his wand into his pocket, she sighed in relief.
“What did you want to say?”
“Look . . . Draco would kill me if he knew . . . please don’t tell him -”
“He told you not to tell me?”
“Of course he did!” she shouted, and then looked around nervously. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again. “He thinks you’d be furious if you knew he’d told me. But you shouldn’t be! I think it’s . . . it’s great - wonderful - if you’re helping him with his eating disorder.”
This last caused Harry to relax his posture the rest of the way. So that’s what she wanted. To ask about Malfoy’s eating disorder. Had she noticed the improvement? Was she going to thank him? Ask him how she could help? Harry felt as though any of these would put him into shock.
When he stayed silent she continued: “I, er, don’t want to interfere if it’s already going well, but I . . . I care about him and. . . . I was just hoping there was something I could do to help . . . Or maybe if you could, every once in a while, tell me what’s going on. . . .”
Harry saw, with shock, that there were tears building in Parkinson’s eyes.
“I really care about him, you know?” she whispered. Harry could only nod. “It kills me to see him hurting himself. And ever since he’s started hanging around you more he’s been eating a little bit and he’s seemed a little happier. He told me last night that you two had gotten into a fight, but I guess that’s . . . well, you must be talking again . . . ?”
“We are,” Harry said quietly. “I . . . I was with him in the Prefects’ bathroom most of the night.”
“Your friends are . . . okay with it . . . ?”
“That’s not really your business, is it?” Harry said sourly.
“Right, sorry, I just . . .” She took a deep breath and seemed to collect her thoughts. “I care about him,” she repeated, “and I just want to do whatever I can to help, to be there for him. I think he thinks I’m disappointed, and that’s why he won’t tell me, but I’m just scared for him and . . .” She trailed off, and Harry saw a few tears stream down her cheeks. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a female, and somehow females were just easier to approach, but Harry found himself walking closer.
“It’s not your fault,” Harry said. “He thinks he’s fat.”
Parkinson nodded. “That’s what Blaise told me. I get it, I do, I’m a woman, you know? I know how it feels to be insecure about your body. But I think . . . well, I know with him it’s different. And we were brought up in families that not only didn’t talk about feelings, but forbade it. It was the height of weakness to show emotion. And I just don’t know what to do or how to get through to him. I’m no good at talking either.”
Harry gave her a small smile and it seemed to soothe her a bit. “You obviously care about him.” She nodded fervently. “That’s all you need to do. Be his friend. Support him like you have been, I guess. I’m not an expert. I don’t know why he listens to me.”
Because he likes me, a voice in his head told him. He shook it off.
“Are you going to tell him we -”
“Oh no,” Parkinson said quickly. “He’d have a fit. Don’t tell him I talked to you. Even though we’re in . . . sort of in agreement, he wouldn’t like it. I know Draco. He doesn’t like people discussing him. He’d feel like we’re trying to control him or something. No, just keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll do the same.” She paused, then: “And, um, also . . .” She was facing the floor as she said this, her cheeks a bit red in the dull glow of the torches that lined the dungeon walls. “I don’t know about your friends -”
“No, you don’t,” he practically growled. She nodded and stared at the floor ever more intently.
“Right. I was just . . . If they won’t talk to you about him, just for whatever reason, you can - er - find me.”
Despite the fact that Harry knew she was doing this for herself, because she wanted to talk to him about Malfoy, he appreciated the cunningness of it. She was acting as though she’d be there for him if he needed to talk, but really she’d be getting something out of it for herself. He supposed he should be offended that she didn’t think him smart enough to understand this, but he didn’t say anything.
And he couldn’t fault her for it, either, because she cared about the same person he did right now.
Must still be alcohol in me, he thought suddenly. I haven’t thought about Anthony once.
He shook that thought off and nodded to her.
“I’ll remember that,” he said. Parkinson gave him a thankful smile and turned back to head into her dorm. Harry had only taken a few steps in the opposite direction when she called his name again. He turned and found her running toward him.
“I forgot to say before,” she said, panting a bit from the quick sprint. Her cheeks were pinker than they should be, though, and Harry realized she was blushing. “I’m sorry, um, about . . .” She cleared her throat and seemingly forced herself to make eye contact with him. “I called you out in the Great Hall,” she said softly. And Harry knew precisely what she was talking about. When Voldemort’s voice had flooded the Great Hall and told the students to hand Harry over, and Pansy Parkinson had pointed him out, shouted, “He’s there! Someone grab him!” And the rest of the school had surrounded him within seconds.
“Yeah, you did,” he said. A few more tears dripped along her cheeks and she appeared unable to meet his eye anymore. “But it was brave of you to apologize. So I accept it.”
Parkinson stared up at him as though she’d never seen something quite like him before.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her eyes wide in astonishment. Harry nodded a little awkwardly.
“Yeah. Well, I’ll, er - see you later, then, I suppose.”
She gave him a brief, albeit strained, smile, and headed back into the Slytherin common room. As Harry walked back to his own dorm he felt like his head was spinning, and it wasn’t only due to the last of the alcohol wearing off. Talking to Parkinson just now had made this whole thing feel a little more real. Like he was actually involved in Malfoy’s life, because one of his friends was now asking Harry for updates. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t really been planning to help before - he had. The proof was in the fact that Malfoy had started eating. But somehow he’d disconnected his real life from the situation. It didn’t feel that way now, especially after some of the things that had been said and done tonight.
He was still deep in thought when he entered the Gryffindor common room and was therefore startled when Ron shouted his name.
“You’re a right prat, do you know that?”
Harry stared at him in shock, having been stunned into silence. But then his mind began to catch up with him and his stomach sank. Oh, God. Ron was pissed.
“Ron, I -”
“You were with Malfoy, weren’t you?”
“Ron -”
“Weren’t you?!” Ron’s face was bright red and Harry imagined him foaming from the mouth. Instead of being an amusing thought, it was terrifying.
“Yes,” he said quietly. Ron laughed mirthlessly, cruelly, and turned on the spot, heading up to the dorms without another word. A horrible pit had formed in Harry’s stomach. He wanted to strangle himself. God, what had he done?
He looked to Hermione, who was staring at him with a mixture of sadness and disappointment.
“Hermione -” he tried weakly, but she cut him off with a raised hand.
“That was too far, Harry,” she said. “It wasn’t bringing Firewhiskey up from the dungeons; it was his birthday party.”
“But Malfoy was -”
“It doesn’t matter.” She sighed. “I’m not going to defend you this time. What you did was wrong and inconsiderate.”
“Hermione, I didn’t mean . . .” But she’d already turned around as well and begun ascending the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. Harry tried to swallow but his mouth felt too dry, his tongue too big for his mouth, and his throat seemed to have closed up. He dropped onto a sofa and stared down at his hands.
What a mess.
And the very worst part, the thing that made him feel like a truly terrible human being, was the fact that he wished Malfoy were here to help himself forget what had just happened.* * *
After classes the next day, Draco brought Pansy outside so they could talk. It was still bitterly cold, but like the last time he’d gone outside to think, he hoped the cold would clear his head. (Also, he knew the Gryffindor team was having Quidditch practice in the evening today: Harry had told him this between classes when he’d pulled him aside to ask how he was doing. Draco’s heart had swelled like some first year Hufflepuff.) He wanted to tell Pansy about what had happened last night - not the details, of course. But he had to admit that he’d called for Harry instead of letting Harry come to him like she’d told him to do.
“I don’t understand why we have to be outside,” Pansy huffed, rubbing her arms for warmth. They’d stopped on top of a small hill a short way from the castle. Every so often, Draco could see Harry fly above the stands.
“The cold helps me think,” he said. Pansy looked at him dully. “If you don’t want to hear about what happened last night we can go in -”
“Oh, just tell me!” she said, trying to sound angry and failing. Draco smirked.
“Well -” he began, but cut off and blushed when he remembered he’d have to tell her why he’d called Harry in the first place. “Er - well, I wasn’t feeling good. I . . . my stomach hurt.” He glanced at her face to see if she was buying it. He didn’t think she was, but thankfully she had enough tact not to call him out. “I know you said to wait for him to come to me . . . but I wrote a note telling him to meet me somewhere and gave it to another student - a Hufflepuff, I think - and he came a few minutes later.”
“Potter did?”
“Yeah.”
Pansy’s expression became unreadable. While she seemed to be thinking, Draco glanced over at the pitch again. Harry appeared to be talking to someone else on a broom floating beside him.
“Is that why you made me come outside?”
Draco whipped his head around to look at Pansy, having nearly forgotten she was there.
“W-what?”
She gestured her head in the direction of the pitch. “You knew they were having practice today.” It wasn’t a question. Draco looked down and hoped Pansy would mistake his blush for color from the cold. “So what happened last night?”
Draco let out a relieved sigh at the change of subject. Well, sort of.
“He came in and asked me what was wrong. And I told him I wasn’t feeling well. Everything happened kind of fast after that. He kissed me, and then before I knew it he had me on my back and he was giving me a hand job.” He consciously neglected to mention that they’d slept together for several hours on the floor of the loo.
“Shit,” Pansy whispered, looking impressed. Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m gonna be honest, I would never have pegged Potter as a cheater. He must really like you, Draco.”
He felt his face flame further. “I don’t think so,” he said quietly, wishing he could be lying.
“Draco, people like Potter don’t go around pulling other blokes’ dicks out of their trousers when they have a boyfr -”
“I know that, I’m not saying . . .” he stopped and closed his eyes, trying to put together in his mind what, exactly, he was thinking. “What I mean is, he feels like he has to save everyone.”
Pansy still looked confused. Draco barely resisted rolling his eyes. “Harry needs to be the hero -”
“Harry?”
If she hadn’t noticed before, Draco was sure she’d be able to see his blush now. He was positively on fire. All day he’d been thinking of Potter by his given name, and now he’d accidentally said it out loud - and in front of Pansy, no less!
“Pansy -”
“I don’t think less of you, Draco,” she sighed. “If anything, I’d be more upset if you continued to call him Potter when you clearly don’t hate him anymore.”
He looked over at the pitch again, but Harry wasn’t in sight. He swallowed.
“Right. Anyway, he heard what Zabini said in the corridor that day outside of Charms, and he . . . he thinks there’s something wrong with me, too. . . .”
“You mean he knows you’re not eating and that you throw up your food.”
Draco swallowed again and refused to look at her.
“He can’t help but get involved when he thinks he can be the hero. Do you see what I mean?”
He saw Pansy’s eyes flicker over to the pitch as well and then back to him.
“You’re saying you don’t think he really likes you, but is just interested in the prospect of saving someone. You, in this case.” Draco nodded. She pursed her lips. “Well, I think you’re wrong, but I haven’t been there. Are you going to stop seeing him?”
“No!” he shouted before he could contain himself. Pansy smirked.
“Good. You seemed a little brighter today, did you know that?” When he only looked at the ground again, she chuckled. “Come on, let’s go in. It’s really effing cold, Draco.”
Pansy began walking ahead of him, but before Draco followed he looked at the pitch again. He could see Harry, and Draco could just tell that he was looking this way. He didn’t know if Harry could see him looking as well, but as he turned and hurried to catch up with Pansy, it seemed a little less chilly outside.
Chapter Thirteen | Page of Contents | Chapter Fifteen
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,405
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
Author's Note: you can thank katelinmr for the early update. she bribed me.
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 Fourteen
His watch told him it was just past four in the morning when Harry woke up. He’d fallen asleep next to Malfoy on the floor of the Prefects’ bathroom. Malfoy, beside him, was still breathing slowly and steadily and Harry’s chest was incredibly warm. He smiled to himself and unconsciously ran a hand along Malfoy’s side. One of his arms - the one whose shoulder was squished against the ground - was lying out at a perpendicular angle to his body, and the other was tucked against his chest.
Harry hated to wake him, but he also wasn’t going to leave him here. Gently, he shook him awake, and he loved the way Malfoy’s eyelashes fluttered when he woke up.
“What?” he asked groggily, looking around in confusion. His eyebrows threaded when he caught side of Harry. He seemed to remember what had happened after a moment and he laid his head back down, a small smile creeping onto his face. Harry bit his lip. It was so cute he thought he’d explode.
“Malfoy, it’s four in the morning. I have to get back to Gryffindor and you need to get to Slytherin. We have classes tomorrow. Come on.”
He helped Malfoy get up and noticed he was shivering.
“Are you cold?” Malfoy nodded. “I’d give you my jumper, but . . .”
Malfoy’s face went instantly red. Harry laughed and kissed him, and then proceeded to wrap him in a bear hug.
“I’ll take you to your dorm,” he said into his ear. Malfoy shivered again, whether from Harry’s breath or the cold, Harry didn’t know, and seemed to press closer.
“You’re like a bloody tangible Heating Charm, Potter.”
Harry smiled. “You’ve got this,” he said, tugging on the sleeve of the jumper. “You can keep it.”
“It smells like you. . . .”
Harry froze. This statement alone caused a pit to form in his stomach that had everything to do with Anthony. He supposed it was because the thought of Malfoy wearing his jumper and inhaling his scent was about a thousand times more intimate than giving him a hand job, somehow. It spoke volumes about Malfoy’s feelings towards him. Harry, however, decided not to point this out, but put on a smirk instead.
“Like the way I smell?” he teased. Malfoy blushed again but turned around and began heading toward the door. Harry was filled with the urge to grab him from behind and pull him close again - so he did. He wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s stomach and pulled him against his chest. It was, like Malfoy’s admission, an intimate gesture, but he pushed the thought aside because he enjoyed this too much.
He realized he could have happily stayed this way for hours, whispering into Malfoy’s ear and making him blush and squirm like a little girl, but he had woken Malfoy up in order to get back to the common room. So he planted a quick kiss on the back of Malfoy’s neck and released him. He gathered up Ron’s broom and held the door open.
“Where’s your Cloak?” Malfoy asked, as they began their descent toward the dungeon.
Harry shrugged. “I didn’t have it with me when that kid gave me the note.”
“So then why are you walking me down?”
Harry smiled and took Malfoy’s hand. “I want to.”
When they reached the common room Malfoy turned to him, presumably to say goodnight, but Harry pulled him into a rather long kiss instead. When he pulled away, Malfoy’s breathing was unsteady.
“Goodnight, Potter.”
“’Night, Malfoy,” he said with a smile. And then Malfoy disappeared into the common room and it was once again a blank wall. Harry stared at it for a moment, reliving the past few hours, before turning and making to head to the stairs. He was stopped, however, when he heard the sound of the stone wall-door sliding open. He spun around and whipped his wand out without thought, suddenly face-to-face with Pansy Parkinson, pajama-clad and ruffled.
“Potter, wait!” she said, holding up her unarmed hands. Harry drew his eyebrows together and lowered his wand a fraction.
“What do you want?”
“Potter, listen . . . I . . .” She bit her lip and looked at the entrance to Slytherin, which had closed again, and back to him.
“You what?”
“I know about . . . about you and Draco . . .”
Harry’s mouth fell open but he did not lower his wand any more. Indeed, he raised it to full height again.
“How do you know?”
“Oh, he told me, didn’t he?” She sounded nervous and she was glancing at the entrance so much someone who didn’t know there was a door there might think she had a twitch.
“He . . . told you?”
“Will you please put your wand down? You’re making me anxious!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”
“I’m not going to attack you! I just wanna talk.”
Harry scoffed. “What could you possibly have to say to me? If you’re planning on telling me off, you may as well save your breath, because I don’t wanna hear it.”
“I’m not going to tell you off!” she said, louder than before. Harry’s eyes went wide and he lowered his wand a bit again. “Now, will you please just put that away and listen to me?”
For some strange reason, it didn’t occur to Harry to disobey. Something in the hysteric way Parkinson was talking told him she really didn’t mean any harm.
When she saw him stuff his wand into his pocket, she sighed in relief.
“What did you want to say?”
“Look . . . Draco would kill me if he knew . . . please don’t tell him -”
“He told you not to tell me?”
“Of course he did!” she shouted, and then looked around nervously. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again. “He thinks you’d be furious if you knew he’d told me. But you shouldn’t be! I think it’s . . . it’s great - wonderful - if you’re helping him with his eating disorder.”
This last caused Harry to relax his posture the rest of the way. So that’s what she wanted. To ask about Malfoy’s eating disorder. Had she noticed the improvement? Was she going to thank him? Ask him how she could help? Harry felt as though any of these would put him into shock.
When he stayed silent she continued: “I, er, don’t want to interfere if it’s already going well, but I . . . I care about him and. . . . I was just hoping there was something I could do to help . . . Or maybe if you could, every once in a while, tell me what’s going on. . . .”
Harry saw, with shock, that there were tears building in Parkinson’s eyes.
“I really care about him, you know?” she whispered. Harry could only nod. “It kills me to see him hurting himself. And ever since he’s started hanging around you more he’s been eating a little bit and he’s seemed a little happier. He told me last night that you two had gotten into a fight, but I guess that’s . . . well, you must be talking again . . . ?”
“We are,” Harry said quietly. “I . . . I was with him in the Prefects’ bathroom most of the night.”
“Your friends are . . . okay with it . . . ?”
“That’s not really your business, is it?” Harry said sourly.
“Right, sorry, I just . . .” She took a deep breath and seemed to collect her thoughts. “I care about him,” she repeated, “and I just want to do whatever I can to help, to be there for him. I think he thinks I’m disappointed, and that’s why he won’t tell me, but I’m just scared for him and . . .” She trailed off, and Harry saw a few tears stream down her cheeks. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a female, and somehow females were just easier to approach, but Harry found himself walking closer.
“It’s not your fault,” Harry said. “He thinks he’s fat.”
Parkinson nodded. “That’s what Blaise told me. I get it, I do, I’m a woman, you know? I know how it feels to be insecure about your body. But I think . . . well, I know with him it’s different. And we were brought up in families that not only didn’t talk about feelings, but forbade it. It was the height of weakness to show emotion. And I just don’t know what to do or how to get through to him. I’m no good at talking either.”
Harry gave her a small smile and it seemed to soothe her a bit. “You obviously care about him.” She nodded fervently. “That’s all you need to do. Be his friend. Support him like you have been, I guess. I’m not an expert. I don’t know why he listens to me.”
Because he likes me, a voice in his head told him. He shook it off.
“Are you going to tell him we -”
“Oh no,” Parkinson said quickly. “He’d have a fit. Don’t tell him I talked to you. Even though we’re in . . . sort of in agreement, he wouldn’t like it. I know Draco. He doesn’t like people discussing him. He’d feel like we’re trying to control him or something. No, just keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll do the same.” She paused, then: “And, um, also . . .” She was facing the floor as she said this, her cheeks a bit red in the dull glow of the torches that lined the dungeon walls. “I don’t know about your friends -”
“No, you don’t,” he practically growled. She nodded and stared at the floor ever more intently.
“Right. I was just . . . If they won’t talk to you about him, just for whatever reason, you can - er - find me.”
Despite the fact that Harry knew she was doing this for herself, because she wanted to talk to him about Malfoy, he appreciated the cunningness of it. She was acting as though she’d be there for him if he needed to talk, but really she’d be getting something out of it for herself. He supposed he should be offended that she didn’t think him smart enough to understand this, but he didn’t say anything.
And he couldn’t fault her for it, either, because she cared about the same person he did right now.
Must still be alcohol in me, he thought suddenly. I haven’t thought about Anthony once.
He shook that thought off and nodded to her.
“I’ll remember that,” he said. Parkinson gave him a thankful smile and turned back to head into her dorm. Harry had only taken a few steps in the opposite direction when she called his name again. He turned and found her running toward him.
“I forgot to say before,” she said, panting a bit from the quick sprint. Her cheeks were pinker than they should be, though, and Harry realized she was blushing. “I’m sorry, um, about . . .” She cleared her throat and seemingly forced herself to make eye contact with him. “I called you out in the Great Hall,” she said softly. And Harry knew precisely what she was talking about. When Voldemort’s voice had flooded the Great Hall and told the students to hand Harry over, and Pansy Parkinson had pointed him out, shouted, “He’s there! Someone grab him!” And the rest of the school had surrounded him within seconds.
“Yeah, you did,” he said. A few more tears dripped along her cheeks and she appeared unable to meet his eye anymore. “But it was brave of you to apologize. So I accept it.”
Parkinson stared up at him as though she’d never seen something quite like him before.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her eyes wide in astonishment. Harry nodded a little awkwardly.
“Yeah. Well, I’ll, er - see you later, then, I suppose.”
She gave him a brief, albeit strained, smile, and headed back into the Slytherin common room. As Harry walked back to his own dorm he felt like his head was spinning, and it wasn’t only due to the last of the alcohol wearing off. Talking to Parkinson just now had made this whole thing feel a little more real. Like he was actually involved in Malfoy’s life, because one of his friends was now asking Harry for updates. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t really been planning to help before - he had. The proof was in the fact that Malfoy had started eating. But somehow he’d disconnected his real life from the situation. It didn’t feel that way now, especially after some of the things that had been said and done tonight.
He was still deep in thought when he entered the Gryffindor common room and was therefore startled when Ron shouted his name.
“You’re a right prat, do you know that?”
Harry stared at him in shock, having been stunned into silence. But then his mind began to catch up with him and his stomach sank. Oh, God. Ron was pissed.
“Ron, I -”
“You were with Malfoy, weren’t you?”
“Ron -”
“Weren’t you?!” Ron’s face was bright red and Harry imagined him foaming from the mouth. Instead of being an amusing thought, it was terrifying.
“Yes,” he said quietly. Ron laughed mirthlessly, cruelly, and turned on the spot, heading up to the dorms without another word. A horrible pit had formed in Harry’s stomach. He wanted to strangle himself. God, what had he done?
He looked to Hermione, who was staring at him with a mixture of sadness and disappointment.
“Hermione -” he tried weakly, but she cut him off with a raised hand.
“That was too far, Harry,” she said. “It wasn’t bringing Firewhiskey up from the dungeons; it was his birthday party.”
“But Malfoy was -”
“It doesn’t matter.” She sighed. “I’m not going to defend you this time. What you did was wrong and inconsiderate.”
“Hermione, I didn’t mean . . .” But she’d already turned around as well and begun ascending the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. Harry tried to swallow but his mouth felt too dry, his tongue too big for his mouth, and his throat seemed to have closed up. He dropped onto a sofa and stared down at his hands.
What a mess.
And the very worst part, the thing that made him feel like a truly terrible human being, was the fact that he wished Malfoy were here to help himself forget what had just happened.* * *
After classes the next day, Draco brought Pansy outside so they could talk. It was still bitterly cold, but like the last time he’d gone outside to think, he hoped the cold would clear his head. (Also, he knew the Gryffindor team was having Quidditch practice in the evening today: Harry had told him this between classes when he’d pulled him aside to ask how he was doing. Draco’s heart had swelled like some first year Hufflepuff.) He wanted to tell Pansy about what had happened last night - not the details, of course. But he had to admit that he’d called for Harry instead of letting Harry come to him like she’d told him to do.
“I don’t understand why we have to be outside,” Pansy huffed, rubbing her arms for warmth. They’d stopped on top of a small hill a short way from the castle. Every so often, Draco could see Harry fly above the stands.
“The cold helps me think,” he said. Pansy looked at him dully. “If you don’t want to hear about what happened last night we can go in -”
“Oh, just tell me!” she said, trying to sound angry and failing. Draco smirked.
“Well -” he began, but cut off and blushed when he remembered he’d have to tell her why he’d called Harry in the first place. “Er - well, I wasn’t feeling good. I . . . my stomach hurt.” He glanced at her face to see if she was buying it. He didn’t think she was, but thankfully she had enough tact not to call him out. “I know you said to wait for him to come to me . . . but I wrote a note telling him to meet me somewhere and gave it to another student - a Hufflepuff, I think - and he came a few minutes later.”
“Potter did?”
“Yeah.”
Pansy’s expression became unreadable. While she seemed to be thinking, Draco glanced over at the pitch again. Harry appeared to be talking to someone else on a broom floating beside him.
“Is that why you made me come outside?”
Draco whipped his head around to look at Pansy, having nearly forgotten she was there.
“W-what?”
She gestured her head in the direction of the pitch. “You knew they were having practice today.” It wasn’t a question. Draco looked down and hoped Pansy would mistake his blush for color from the cold. “So what happened last night?”
Draco let out a relieved sigh at the change of subject. Well, sort of.
“He came in and asked me what was wrong. And I told him I wasn’t feeling well. Everything happened kind of fast after that. He kissed me, and then before I knew it he had me on my back and he was giving me a hand job.” He consciously neglected to mention that they’d slept together for several hours on the floor of the loo.
“Shit,” Pansy whispered, looking impressed. Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m gonna be honest, I would never have pegged Potter as a cheater. He must really like you, Draco.”
He felt his face flame further. “I don’t think so,” he said quietly, wishing he could be lying.
“Draco, people like Potter don’t go around pulling other blokes’ dicks out of their trousers when they have a boyfr -”
“I know that, I’m not saying . . .” he stopped and closed his eyes, trying to put together in his mind what, exactly, he was thinking. “What I mean is, he feels like he has to save everyone.”
Pansy still looked confused. Draco barely resisted rolling his eyes. “Harry needs to be the hero -”
“Harry?”
If she hadn’t noticed before, Draco was sure she’d be able to see his blush now. He was positively on fire. All day he’d been thinking of Potter by his given name, and now he’d accidentally said it out loud - and in front of Pansy, no less!
“Pansy -”
“I don’t think less of you, Draco,” she sighed. “If anything, I’d be more upset if you continued to call him Potter when you clearly don’t hate him anymore.”
He looked over at the pitch again, but Harry wasn’t in sight. He swallowed.
“Right. Anyway, he heard what Zabini said in the corridor that day outside of Charms, and he . . . he thinks there’s something wrong with me, too. . . .”
“You mean he knows you’re not eating and that you throw up your food.”
Draco swallowed again and refused to look at her.
“He can’t help but get involved when he thinks he can be the hero. Do you see what I mean?”
He saw Pansy’s eyes flicker over to the pitch as well and then back to him.
“You’re saying you don’t think he really likes you, but is just interested in the prospect of saving someone. You, in this case.” Draco nodded. She pursed her lips. “Well, I think you’re wrong, but I haven’t been there. Are you going to stop seeing him?”
“No!” he shouted before he could contain himself. Pansy smirked.
“Good. You seemed a little brighter today, did you know that?” When he only looked at the ground again, she chuckled. “Come on, let’s go in. It’s really effing cold, Draco.”
Pansy began walking ahead of him, but before Draco followed he looked at the pitch again. He could see Harry, and Draco could just tell that he was looking this way. He didn’t know if Harry could see him looking as well, but as he turned and hurried to catch up with Pansy, it seemed a little less chilly outside.
Chapter Thirteen | Page of Contents | Chapter Fifteen