Fic Teaser, Harry/Draco
I'm going to be a terrible person (or a wonderful person, depending on how you look at it) and put up a teaser for the new story i'm still working on. It currently has 13 chapters. I'm in the middle of 14. Almost done with it. But I expect it'll double if not more. I just want to do this because I want to see how people will react to the initial plotline. It's very different. And I've never seen it before.
I'm not giving away the title yet, or even a summary. The only thing I will say is that it will be NC-17.
So, here it goes, then! This is an approximately 996-word excerpt from chapter one:
Lately, Harry had been waking up around one in the morning and was never able to fall back asleep. He’d taken to wandering the halls of Hogwarts for a while to tire out his body, and sometimes that worked, but most of the time it only wasted an hour.
Tonight was no different. He’d woken up at a quarter past one, but it was only at two that he finally gave in, hastily grabbed his Cloak, and headed down to the common room. By the time he made it to the portrait he’d already decided on his destination; perhaps a dip in the Prefects’ tub would help to calm him enough so that he could sleep.
He didn’t run into Filch or Mrs. Norris on his way down, and by the time he was pushing the door open and walking inside he really hadn’t a thought in the world except the hot bath he was about to take and which bubble solution he’d use.
He’d just put his wand down and was beginning to toe off his trainers when he heard a door creak. He didn’t even have to time to snatch his wand before none other than Draco Malfoy walked out into the open, clad only in his boxers. Harry felt his mouth open in surprise but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. What he was seeing-it looked like something out of a horror film. Malfoy’s spine was clearly visible along the length of his back and Harry could see the vertebrae shifting beneath the skin when he moved. His ribs were visible, as well, and his hip bones. It wasn’t in an entirely attractive way, either, although Harry had to admit he could tell that, were Malfoy in better shape, he would have a mouth-watering V. The V had been one of those things that had convinced Harry, back when he’d been struggling with his sexuality, that he really was gay. Blokes’ hip bones just sent him wild-he hadn’t the slightest clue why.
This, though, was unhealthy. He wondered vaguely why he’d never noticed before. Seeing it now, it looked as though one would be able to tell even when Malfoy had clothes on. But apparently not, because had Harry not been seeing this right now, he wouldn’t have believed it was this bad.
It was as Malfoy grabbed his shirt and stood up that he noticed another presence, and he quickly used the shirt to cover himself.
“Potter!” he yelled, and Harry was almost startled to hear that normal, snarky voice come out. Harry shook his head, coming to himself and finding that his mouth had gone dry.
“I-sorry, I just . . . I-”
“What!” Malfoy spat, quickly tugging his shirt on and then his denims, a patch of color rising on his cheeks. The horribly skinny body was effectively covered up, but Harry felt like that image was burned into his retinas forever. And worse than that was the dawning realization that was slowly creeping into Harry’s consciousness.
Harry tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat but it wouldn’t seem to go away. He watched silently as Malfoy walked up to him and stopped. Harry knew he was staring, knew how obvious it was that he suspected what Malfoy had just done-but he couldn’t seem to stop.
Earlier in the day it hadn’t really registered. When Zabini had said those things about Malfoy-about him deliberately throwing up his food and refusing to eat-it hadn’t really occurred to Harry that it was actually happening. Now, though. . . . Now he was faced with the aftermath of such an incident only minutes after the fact. He felt his stomach lurch as he realized Malfoy had literally just been kneeling over a toilet bowl with his fingers down his throat, puking up whatever food was left in his stomach from the day.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” Malfoy growled. Harry could only manage a feeble shake of his head.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Malfoy sneered at him before apparently deciding to let it go, bumping harshly into Harry’s shoulder as he passed him. Harry felt how bony it was and flinched.
Even when the door shut loudly behind him Harry could only continue to stare blankly ahead, still stunned by what he’d seen. Malfoy was hurting himself. Fuck, he was killing himself. He nearly looked like a corpse already. Harry found himself wondering how much longer the boy could possibly survive.
He turned the water and bubbles on mindlessly, his thoughts centered entirely on what he’d just seen. He couldn’t even bring himself to relax completely when he slipped into the aromatic water.
It was his goddamn hero complex and he knew it. He couldn’t see something like that-someone literally aiding in their own deterioration-without feeling like he needed to personally get involved. Especially when he’d just had such a close encounter with the problem itself. He began to wonder if he should have said something . . . done something, even. But a small voice, one that rather sounded like Hermione, told him that would have been a terrible idea, and he clung to that, because even though this was someone who was really and truly fucked in the head, it was still Draco Malfoy, the boy who had once been the bane of his existence.
But then he began to wonder why Malfoy was doing this. Earlier he’d pinned it on the war, but . . . this just seemed so much deeper than Harry had previously thought. It felt less like a temper tantrum and more like an issue that had roots in several places. He just didn’t know what they were. And that part of him that hadn’t reared its ugly head since sixth year-the part of him that was, for whatever reason, obsessed with Malfoy-desperately wanted to find out.
I'm not giving away the title yet, or even a summary. The only thing I will say is that it will be NC-17.
So, here it goes, then! This is an approximately 996-word excerpt from chapter one:
Lately, Harry had been waking up around one in the morning and was never able to fall back asleep. He’d taken to wandering the halls of Hogwarts for a while to tire out his body, and sometimes that worked, but most of the time it only wasted an hour.
Tonight was no different. He’d woken up at a quarter past one, but it was only at two that he finally gave in, hastily grabbed his Cloak, and headed down to the common room. By the time he made it to the portrait he’d already decided on his destination; perhaps a dip in the Prefects’ tub would help to calm him enough so that he could sleep.
He didn’t run into Filch or Mrs. Norris on his way down, and by the time he was pushing the door open and walking inside he really hadn’t a thought in the world except the hot bath he was about to take and which bubble solution he’d use.
He’d just put his wand down and was beginning to toe off his trainers when he heard a door creak. He didn’t even have to time to snatch his wand before none other than Draco Malfoy walked out into the open, clad only in his boxers. Harry felt his mouth open in surprise but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it. What he was seeing-it looked like something out of a horror film. Malfoy’s spine was clearly visible along the length of his back and Harry could see the vertebrae shifting beneath the skin when he moved. His ribs were visible, as well, and his hip bones. It wasn’t in an entirely attractive way, either, although Harry had to admit he could tell that, were Malfoy in better shape, he would have a mouth-watering V. The V had been one of those things that had convinced Harry, back when he’d been struggling with his sexuality, that he really was gay. Blokes’ hip bones just sent him wild-he hadn’t the slightest clue why.
This, though, was unhealthy. He wondered vaguely why he’d never noticed before. Seeing it now, it looked as though one would be able to tell even when Malfoy had clothes on. But apparently not, because had Harry not been seeing this right now, he wouldn’t have believed it was this bad.
It was as Malfoy grabbed his shirt and stood up that he noticed another presence, and he quickly used the shirt to cover himself.
“Potter!” he yelled, and Harry was almost startled to hear that normal, snarky voice come out. Harry shook his head, coming to himself and finding that his mouth had gone dry.
“I-sorry, I just . . . I-”
“What!” Malfoy spat, quickly tugging his shirt on and then his denims, a patch of color rising on his cheeks. The horribly skinny body was effectively covered up, but Harry felt like that image was burned into his retinas forever. And worse than that was the dawning realization that was slowly creeping into Harry’s consciousness.
Harry tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat but it wouldn’t seem to go away. He watched silently as Malfoy walked up to him and stopped. Harry knew he was staring, knew how obvious it was that he suspected what Malfoy had just done-but he couldn’t seem to stop.
Earlier in the day it hadn’t really registered. When Zabini had said those things about Malfoy-about him deliberately throwing up his food and refusing to eat-it hadn’t really occurred to Harry that it was actually happening. Now, though. . . . Now he was faced with the aftermath of such an incident only minutes after the fact. He felt his stomach lurch as he realized Malfoy had literally just been kneeling over a toilet bowl with his fingers down his throat, puking up whatever food was left in his stomach from the day.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” Malfoy growled. Harry could only manage a feeble shake of his head.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Malfoy sneered at him before apparently deciding to let it go, bumping harshly into Harry’s shoulder as he passed him. Harry felt how bony it was and flinched.
Even when the door shut loudly behind him Harry could only continue to stare blankly ahead, still stunned by what he’d seen. Malfoy was hurting himself. Fuck, he was killing himself. He nearly looked like a corpse already. Harry found himself wondering how much longer the boy could possibly survive.
He turned the water and bubbles on mindlessly, his thoughts centered entirely on what he’d just seen. He couldn’t even bring himself to relax completely when he slipped into the aromatic water.
It was his goddamn hero complex and he knew it. He couldn’t see something like that-someone literally aiding in their own deterioration-without feeling like he needed to personally get involved. Especially when he’d just had such a close encounter with the problem itself. He began to wonder if he should have said something . . . done something, even. But a small voice, one that rather sounded like Hermione, told him that would have been a terrible idea, and he clung to that, because even though this was someone who was really and truly fucked in the head, it was still Draco Malfoy, the boy who had once been the bane of his existence.
But then he began to wonder why Malfoy was doing this. Earlier he’d pinned it on the war, but . . . this just seemed so much deeper than Harry had previously thought. It felt less like a temper tantrum and more like an issue that had roots in several places. He just didn’t know what they were. And that part of him that hadn’t reared its ugly head since sixth year-the part of him that was, for whatever reason, obsessed with Malfoy-desperately wanted to find out.