Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,428
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: I've decided to put up chapter two a day early because, well, it's only chapter two. The first one was more of a setup. Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews. :)
ADDITIONAL NOTE: The title of this fiction is an ambiguous word. No offense is meant by its use.
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 Two
The next day found Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Anthony Goldstein-Harry’s boyfriend of two months-sitting in the library doing homework. Well, Hermione and Anthony, at least.
“Wasn’t there a rebellion before that? Because of that one Veela? Aglaia?”
“Oh, you’re right!” Hermione whispered excitedly, flipping to another page of her notes. “I forgot about that one. It started in 1805, didn’t it?”
Harry and Ron looked at each other and broke into mutual grins.
“How did we both manage to find the two craziest people in the school?”
“We’re masochistic, clearly,” Harry sighed, though he smiled fondly at Anthony as he said it. “At least she has someone to bug besides you and me now, though.”
“Amen.”
“Oh, you two are really funny,” said Anthony, going to touch Harry’s neck because he knew how sensitive it was. Harry cringed away, laughing, and swatted at Anthony’s hand. “If you’re not careful you won’t have notes for the next exam.”
“Now that’s just cruel,” Ron lamented.
“Then you’d better stop mourning the fact that you’re both dating people who care about school and start using it to your advantage,” said Hermione.
“At least Harry knew what he was getting into!” Ron argued. “I mean, you don’t date a Ravenclaw and expect anything less.”
“First of all,” said Hermione sharply, “how long have we known each other? And secondly, it’s not as though every Ravenclaw is committed to school. Just because someone is smart doesn’t mean they’re dedicated.”
“It’s true,” Anthony sighed. “Terry’s brilliant, but he just doesn’t care enough.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion on the other side of the library. All four heads turned simultaneously, and when Harry saw that Malfoy was involved he became particularly interested, turning a bit in his seat so he could see better.
“God, Pansy, will you just leave it alone?” Malfoy said loudly. He stood up from his chair and grabbed a book off the table.
“Quiet!” Madam Pince shouted and Malfoy glared at her before looking back to Pansy and haphazardly shoving the book into his bag. Pansy said something too quietly for Harry to hear and he saw Malfoy roll his eyes.
“He can shove his concerns up his arse. As can you. Leave it alone.” And with that he stormed out of the library, leaving a miserable-looking Pansy in his wake.
Harry and the others turned back to each other and Ron let out a low whistle.
“Did you guys hear what happened yesterday outside the Charms classroom?” Anthony asked.
“We were there,” Ron told him. “Zabini really lost it on him.”
“I just can’t believe it’s taken his friends this long to figure it out. I mean, he’s a huge git, of course, but that shit’s pretty serious.”
“You mean you knew?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too interested. Anthony’s eyebrows rose into his hairline.
“You didn’t? He looks terrible. My sister had an eating disorder for a while, though,” he explained. “So I suppose I just know what it looks like. But they’re around him all the time. You’d think they would have noticed.”
“You have a sister?” Ron asked, looking around the library as though she’d appear suddenly.
“She’s a Muggle,” Anthony said with a laugh. “She goes to a Muggle high school. And she had to go to a Muggle rehab, as well.”
“Wait.” That part of Harry that had been mulling over Malfoy’s situation last night was bouncing in its seat at the prospect of talking to someone who had first-hand knowledge about this. “She had to go to rehab? Why?”
“Harry, eating disorders are really serious,” said Hermione. He wanted to tell her that yes, he knew that, especially after having seen Malfoy last night, but somehow he didn’t want to mention that. Not yet. And he still didn’t understand what rehab had to do with it. Apparently neither did Ron.
“How would rehab help?” he laughed.
“They monitor them.” Anthony sighed and closed his book, probably assuming they were done with studying for the day. “They monitor what they eat, put them through therapy, talk to them about it. Try to figure out why they’re doing it. Anorexia is a lot like a drug, actually. It’s pretty scary to see someone who’s dealing with it. My sister was afraid to eat by the time my parents finally forced her to go to rehab.”
“She was afraid to eat?” Ron looked absolutely appalled by this information. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Well, to her it did,” Anthony chuckled. “She’s better now. That was a few years ago. We still have to look out for her, though.”
Harry bit his lip and thought back to Malfoy. He wondered if Malfoy was afraid to eat. Probably not, he reasoned, as Harry did see him at meals sometimes. His problem was most likely the throwing up bit.
“But what about puking?” he asked Anthony. “Did your sister do that?”
“No, she wasn’t bulimic. The doctors did tell us to watch for that, though. That’s the only reason I know about it. Is Malfoy doing that?” He looked at Hermione when he asked this. Hermione shrugged.
“I’m not sure. Zabini seemed to think so. He accused him of it, but it could have just been facetious.”
“That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard,” Ron said flatly. “Not eating and making yourself throw up? It doesn’t make sense!”
Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes at Ron.
“Once again, Ron, you are the most empathetic and thoughtful person I know.”
“It’s hard to understand,” Anthony said with a smile. Harry thought briefly that he’d never met someone so amiable, especially whilst speaking about a sibling’s issues. “I still can’t comprehend the fact that Jenna thought she was fat. But I guess that’s why they call it a disease.” He shrugged. “I just can’t believe Malfoy’s a manorexic.”
Harry looked back around to where Malfoy and Pansy had been sitting to find that Pansy was no longer there. He sighed and faced his friends once more, wondering why the hell Malfoy had to go and do something like this that Harry couldn’t ignore.
When he turned back around he saw Hermione frowning, but waited to ask until the three of them were alone again, walking to Gryffindor Tower.
“You looked upset in the library,” he said. Hermione pursed her lips.
“Someone as smart as Anthony shouldn’t be using the word ‘manorexic’.”
“What does that even mean?” Ron asked.
“It’s a portmanteau. It comb-”
“A what?”
“It combines,” Hermione continued, “the word ‘man’ and ‘anorexic’. It’s a horrible term. Ignorant people use it to imply that anorexia in men is a joke. Especially the way he used it, calling him ‘a manorexic’, as though it’s a type of person. It’s the same as if I’d called his sister ‘an anorexic,’ and I bet he wouldn’t have liked that. Anthony obviously doesn’t realize what it means, or else he’s being sexist against his own gender.”
“Er-I think he probably just doesn’t know that,” Harry said, feeling himself blush.
“Yeah, and if he does, who cares? It’s Malfoy.”
Hermione glared at Ron and stormed off ahead of them. Harry looked to him and simultaneously they shrugged.
* * *
Draco was furious. He was furious with himself for having let his guard down and he was furious with Potter for being so goddamn sneaky. Why did he always manage to catch Draco at the worst times?
Potter hadn’t said more than two words. He’d just stared, like he’d never seen something like it in his life.
Draco slowly crept his hands down his stomach and lifted the hem of his shirt up, exposing his bare chest. He was glad the hangings around his bed were closed and, furthermore, that no one was in the dorm presently.
He pinched his skin and closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears he felt coming. This is what Potter had seen: he’d seen how fat and hideous Draco was. He’d been repulsed by it. Draco tried to tell himself it was only Potter, and who really cared what Potter thought? But he couldn’t fool himself. He did care what Potter thought. He always had. And now the stupid Gryffindor had seen his body and he probably thought even less of Draco than he had before. After all, Potter had-Draco grudgingly admitted-a beautiful body. And he hadn’t even seen beneath Potter’s clothes. One could just tell he was built. He wasn’t that scrawny little boy who’d shown up in his broken glasses and too-big clothes first year. He was a Quidditch-playing, world-saving celebrity. And he had the body to show for it. Draco didn’t delude himself into thinking he’d ever get to touch that (not that he’d necessarily want to, because Potter’s horrible personality nearly canceled out his physical attractiveness), but when Potter had come out in the beginning of the year, and then when he’d started dating Anthony Goldstein, Draco had begun to let his mind wander a bit sometimes, especially those times when Potter wouldn’t be wearing his school robes and Draco had a perfect view of his biceps.
Draco moved his hands to touch his own arms and sighed when he felt the lack of definition. God, he was so ugly.
He heard the door open and quickly pulled his shirt back down and put his arms behind his head, attempting a casual pose. His heart was beating furiously. He’d missed dinner again. He just prayed it was Goyle so that he wouldn’t have to make up some dumb excuse.
“Draco.”
Draco wanted to kick something. It was Blaise. And although he and Blaise hadn’t been on speaking-terms since yesterday, he knew he was about to be interrogated.
“Yes?” he drawled, hoping he sounded less nervous than he felt. He used to be so good at this, at lying and deceiving, but it had gotten harder lately.
The hangings were ripped open and Blaise stared down at him, a mixture of worry and anger playing on his face.
“Why the hell weren’t you at dinner?”
“Because I wasn’t hungry. I had a big lunch,” he lied. “I went down to the kitchen.”
Blaise didn’t believe it for a second, but he had no proof, and he seemed to know that, because he shook his head at Draco before turning and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, imagining that he was sinking into his bed, into a black hole, and that he wouldn’t ever have to come back up and deal with this again.
He wished so desperately that he had that Invisibility Cloak of Potter’s right now. How he would have loved to go wander around outside by himself.
He sat up in bed and scrunched his eyebrows.
“Why the hell can’t I?” he said to himself. And then he hastily tugged on his regular cloak and a hat and left the dorm. Pansy and Blaise were sitting in the common room talking to Theodore, who paid Draco very little attention when he saw him. Pansy, on the other hand, swooped on him like a vulture.
“You missed dinner!” she shouted, attracting the stares of most of the common room. Draco glared at her.
“You are such a stupid bitch,” he hissed, and used her stunned silence to push past her out of the room. He was glad when he didn’t hear footsteps following him and picked up his pace, managing to get to the oak front doors of the castle in the space of five minutes.
A few people were still exiting the Great Hall but they didn’t pay Draco any mind. He pushed the doors open and shivered when the cold air hit his face. He hated it. He hated the cold. It was biting and felt angry, but he needed it to clear his head. Admittedly, he probably should have worn a heavier cloak, as well as a scarf and gloves, but he’d wanted to get out of there so badly that he hadn’t thought about it. Draco sighed as he started off toward the lake, which he liked to look at when it was frozen. It was so very eerie-looking. Even when he was younger he’d loved doing this. The only difference was that now he didn’t have a curfew, but even if he had, he supposed, it wouldn’t really matter, because he wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore. He didn’t need to follow the rules and become a Prefect or Head Boy.
There was a little decaying bench near the edge of the lake and that’s where Draco sat down.
He hadn’t been there for five minutes when he heard someone shouting, and he identified the voice immediately, groaning when he did so. Did Potter really have to ruin everything for him? And what in the world was he saying, anyway?
“Anthony!” he shouted again. Draco rolled his eyes and stood up to face Potter, who, after seeing Draco’s face, recoiled in surprise.
“Potter,” he drawled. He saw the heat crawl up Potter’s face.
“Oh, er-sorry. I thought you were-”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was well aware that he was shivering from the cold and he was determined not to let Potter see. It was a futile effort, though, because he was shaking rather fiercely now and Potter’s eyes had already slid down over his body and back up. “Tell me, Potter. How is it that you always manage to turn up and ruin my day? I mean, really. You’re the last person I ever want to see, and yet it’s always you that shows up.”
“You’re such a prat, Malfoy,” Potter grumbled. Draco noticed, however, that some of the usual spite was missing from his tone.
“S-sweet of you,” Draco said, inwardly flinching at the tremor in his voice. Potter sighed.
“Malfoy, why the hell aren’t you wearing a proper cloak? You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine, Potter,” he spat. “Now run along and find your boyfriend before he starts to miss you too much.”
Potter rolled his eyes and Draco wanted to punch him in the face.
“Are you staying out here?”
“What the hell do you care?”
Potter huffed and looked around, seemingly uncomfortable.
“You should take my scarf or something, at least,” he said quietly, eyes downcast. An instant blush rose on Draco’s cheeks.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Potter looked up, eyebrows drawn together in irritation.
“No, I wasn’t,” he said. “But since you’re gonna be a prat about it.”
“Not only,” Draco began slowly, “would I never wear an article of clothing s-sporting Gryffindor colors, but the very prospect of wearing something that b-belongs to you is vomit-inducing.”
The second he said it he wished he hadn’t. Potter blushed furiously and looked down, his angry tirade cut off before it had even started. Draco was mortified. He knew exactly what the stupid Gryffindor was thinking. But the worst part was that he knew that Draco knew, and the very last thing Draco wanted from Harry bloody Potter was pity.
“Whatever, Malfoy,” he said quietly with a shake of his head. “Have fun freezing to death.”
“Thanks, I will!” Draco called at Potter’s retreating back. He watched as the other boy walked slowly toward the castle. He stopped about halfway there, however, and after a moment Draco saw Anthony Goldstein, all wrapped up in winter clothes and Ravenclaw colors, go up to Potter and wrap his arms around his neck. Potter had his hands on Goldstein’s waist and pulled him close. Draco sneered at the display and turned back toward the lake, hoping they’d go away soon so he could go inside. His teeth were beginning to chatter horribly and the thought of Potter’s dumb scarf, probably warm from having been wrapped around his neck, gave Draco an annoying pit in his stomach.
* * *
Harry smiled into the kiss Anthony planted directly on his lips and pulled away.
“I don’t understand how you can like the cold,” Harry said, grabbing Anthony’s hand as they headed off in the opposite direction from which he’d come. “It hurts.”
Anthony laughed and squeezed his hand.
“I love it. It’s perfect for cuddling.” He leaned over and placed a kiss on Harry’s cheek, earning himself a snort from the other boy.
“You know what else is perfect for cuddling?” Harry stopped them and turned toward Anthony, burying his face in the juncture of Anthony’s neck and shoulder. Anthony sucked in a breath and Harry saw goose bumps rise where his breath touched the skin of Anthony’s neck. “A warm bed in a warm dormitory.”
“I suppose that’s nice,” Anthony breathed. “But I still like the cold.”
Harry huffed and pulled away, smiling at him in mock-irritation. They rejoined their hands and continued walking, as Anthony had suggested they do tonight, but Harry’s mind was neither entirely on his boyfriend, nor the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts which were currently covered in a thick, fresh layer of snow. In fact, his thoughts were all the way back at the lake with a certain blond Slytherin who was probably dying of Hypothermia by now.
Merlin had he looked bad tonight. Especially with the way he’d been shivering beneath that flimsy coat and hat. He hadn’t even been wearing gloves, for crying out loud!
Harry’s cheeks took on a pinker tint than what the cold had already done when he thought about how he’d offered his scarf to Malfoy. What in the world had he been thinking? Why had he even thought the offer would have been accepted? This was Malfoy, not a normal human being! Like Malfoy had said, and which, now that he was thinking clearly, Harry knew he should have guessed, that boy would rather die (probably literally) than wear anything Gryffindor, let alone something that belonged to Harry.
Harry wondered if Malfoy was still dwelling on his reference to vomiting. That had been supremely awkward. Harry just knew Malfoy had been waiting for him to make some kind of nasty remark about it (which of course he hadn’t-he wasn’t a Slytherin, after all), but, thinking back on it, Harry felt like it may have just been better to have done it. This-this pity, or whatever it was-was strange. It made Harry uncomfortable, mostly because he still didn’t know what to do about the situation, but also because a part of him was sure Malfoy would rather Harry treat him like shit than show any kind of worry toward him. But he couldn’t just make himself not care! Not after having seen his body in the bathroom, or seeing Malfoy’s face when he mentioned vomiting, or the way he’d been literally trembling with cold. The only thing that had kept Harry from taking off his own coat and shoving it over Malfoy’s shoulders had been the fact that it was Malfoy. And the negative feelings that went with both the name and the person attached to it were enough to cancel out those gut instincts. Which, Harry thought, was saying something, because he really didn’t like seeing people in pain.
Well, people who didn’t deserve it, at least. And apparently a large enough part of him thought Malfoy did deserve it.
But then why had he offered the scarf?!
“Harry?”
Harry shook his head to clear away the thoughts and turned to look at Anthony, who was staring at him with an eyebrow raised. The thought that Malfoy did that better than Anthony flitted briefly across his mind before Harry shook his head again as though his thoughts about Malfoy were an irksome fly.
“Sorry, what?”
Anthony smiled at him softly and stopped them again. He moved in front of Harry and placed a gloved hand on his cheek.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Harry said, trying to smile reassuringly. Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Really, I am! Anthony, stop worrying,” Harry laughed, cupping the other boy’s face with his own hands and pecking him on the lips.
“Let’s just go inside. You’re right, it’s pretty cold,” said Anthony. Harry smiled gratefully, knowing full well that staying outside was a bad idea, and not only because his ears were beginning to freeze. He’d just keep thinking about Malfoy. This way he and Anthony could go back to one of their dorms and Harry could effectively stop all of his thoughts by fucking his boyfriend through the mattress. Yes, that sounded lovely.
Chapter One | Page of Contents | Chapter Three