Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,345
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: This would have been up earlier, but LJ hasn't been letting me post! Again, thank you for the wonderful reviews. I'm glad to hear so many of you think the topic is being handled well, and everyone seems to like Draco a lot. Yay!
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 Three
Harry was starving. He hadn’t eaten lunch because he’d been working on his Charms essay that he’d abandoned Tuesday night and hadn’t finished yesterday because he’d been rather busy with Anthony. He was on his way to the Great Hall for dinner when he rounded a corner on the third floor and the sight that greeted him effectively stopped him in his tracks.
A very large boy-Harry squinted and saw a green and silver tie hanging from his neck-had Malfoy pushed up against a wall, one hand beside Malfoy’s head and the other fisted in his robes. He was close to Malfoy’s face, and had Malfoy not been sneering, Harry would have thought he’d walked in on the two mid-snog. But he was sneering, and so Harry stayed where he was, making sure to keep silent.
“You ain’t on top no more, Malfoy,” the boy growled. “If I was you I wouldn't be making them comments, ‘specially lookin’ the way you do. I could snap you in half.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. We speak English here, not caveman.”
The large boy pulled Malfoy away from the wall and slammed him back up against it. Malfoy’s face screwed up in pain and Harry, acting on instinct, drew his wand.
“Put him down,” he said, walking over to the pair. Malfoy’s eyes instantly snapped open and when they landed on Harry his head fell back against the wall behind him at the same time that he swore under his breath. The Slytherin whose name Harry didn’t know eyed him warily.
“Just go, Potter,” Malfoy drawled, as though he wasn’t being held up against a wall by a kid three times his size. “This doesn’t require your heroics, I assure you. I can handle myself.”
The boy turned back to Malfoy and let out a bark of laughter that effectively wiped the haughty expression from Malfoy’s face.
“That right?” he snarled. “And what’s it you plan on doin’?”
In answer Malfoy spat in the boy’s face. Harry’s eyes went wide and his heart rate sped up. Something told him that had been the worst possible move Malfoy could have made. Indeed, once the boy had wiped the spit from his face and flung in on the ground he lifted Malfoy higher up the wall, so that his feet were no longer touching, and shook him.
“PUT HIM DOWN!” Harry yelled, but he was ignored.
“I dunno who the fuck you think you are, Malfoy!” he yelled. Harry, aware that he might have to resort to something other than words because those didn't seem to be working, aimed his wand at the boy’s back. “But you ain’t shit no more, you got that?!” He shook him again, and this time Malfoy’s head hit the wall hard. Without another moment’s hesitation Harry shot a stunning spell at his massive target and the Slytherin crumpled to the ground. Harry pocketed his wand and ran over to Malfoy, who had fallen as well, and was on all fours.
“You all right?” Harry asked, getting down on his knees beside Malfoy. Malfoy sat up on his own knees and swatted Harry’s hand away feebly.
“I’m fine, Potter,” he snapped. “I told you to go away! God, why do you always have to be such a goddamn hero?”
Harry felt oddly hurt.
“Christ, Malfoy, he was trying to shove you through the wall. I was only helping.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need your help, O Savior.” Malfoy weakly got to his feet and brushed his shoulders off. Harry rolled his eyes and stood up as well. Malfoy looked horrible. There was a bruise blooming around his wrist, probably where that kid had been holding him before Harry had arrived, and it looked to be a bit of a struggle when Malfoy picked up his bag. “Now, if it’s all right with you, I need to get to the library.” He started off in the direction from which Harry had come.
Harry, without thinking about it, said, “But it’s dinner!” He bit his lip when he realized what he’d said and watched in nervous anticipation as Malfoy turned slowly around and eyed Harry dangerously, as though Harry had said it on purpose.
“And?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Er-see you later, then, I suppose. . . .”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry before turning and walking away. Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding when Malfoy turned a corner and out of sight.
* * *
Draco wanted to strangle someone. Anyone, really. Potter-or even his obnoxious boyfriend-would be ideal. But if he tried strangling Potter chances were about fifty people would intervene before he could do much damage, and if he tried strangling Goldstein he wouldn’t have a lab partner. Although that option seemed much preferable to the other option, which was working on a Potions lab with Harry Potter’s bloody boyfriend.
He sat at a table in the library with the brunette Ravenclaw, pretending to skim through a book Goldstein had given him to look over. Typical Ravenclaw. Assuming everyone else is completely incompetent. Draco knew how to make a Dreamless Sleep Potion. In fact, he knew how to make it so well he could probably have done it with his eyes closed. The entirety of last year had been spent brewing it. Without it the Dark Lord and all the atrocities he’d forced Draco to watch and to commit would have plagued him every single night.
“Doesn’t look too complicated,” Goldstein said, closing his own book and looking up at Draco. Draco arched a brow.
“That’s because it’s not,” he said.
“You’ve brewed it before . . . ?”
“Literally countless times,” Draco sighed. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, daring Goldstein to make a snide remark. Apparently he wasn’t that type, though, because he merely nodded.
“Well, that makes things easy. Are you any good?”
For some reason this question offended Draco. It was a legitimate question, he knew, but something about having Anthony Goldstein-who just happened to be dating Harry Potter-question his Potion-making ability made him want to strangle the other boy more than ever.
“Considering that I just said I’ve brewed it countless times before I’d think a smart boy like yourself could have come to the conclusion all on his own that I would clearly be more than satisfactory.”
Goldstein raised both his eyebrows at Draco.
“Gosh, and I thought you’d mellowed out this year. Or do I just get special treatment because of my boyfriend?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I couldn’t care less who that pillock dates.”
“What’s changed?”
“Excuse me?”
Goldstein chuckled and Draco considered hexing his bollocks off. Who did this guy think he was?
“It’s not a secret that you made his life hell our first six years here. I mean, come on, Malfoy, I had a class or two with both of you during that time and I could give you at least three examples of you guys going at it in class right now. Maybe you don’t care anymore, but you certainly used to,” said Goldstein. "Why is that?"
“Interestingly enough, however,” Draco drawled, “mine and Potter’s relationship has nothing to do with you. So why don’t you bugger off and keep your large nose where it belongs?”
Goldstein sat up straighter in his chair and cocked his head, looking, for the first time, sincerely curious.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Sorry?”
“Just answer my question,” Goldstein said with a small laugh that Draco definitely didn’t like. “Why don’t you care anymore?”
“I don’t know about you, Goldstein, but most of us have matured a bit since the war ended. Potter can do whatever the hell he wants. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”
“If you’re so matured why are you being so petty and rude?”
Draco stared at him for a moment. “Because you’re a typical stuck-up Ravenclaw.”
Goldstein nodded and the corner of his lip twitched. Draco eyed him carefully.
“Right. Well, aside from the fact that that statement itself was immature, I still don’t believe you.”
“I’m not too bothered by that,” said Draco. Goldstein continued to smile.
“Well good. Then you won’t have any objections to Harry coming along tomorrow when we study.”
“Uh,” Draco laughed mirthlessly, “yeah, actually, I would.” Goldstein raised an amused eyebrow. “The point of meeting up to study is so that we can study. Potter’s ridiculous hair and glasses might blind me and then we’ll be out of luck.”
“Sorry, Malfoy,” said Goldstein. “He needs help with his own project so I invited him along. He’s partnered with Neville and, well-”
“Longbottom is entirely incompetent, yes, I know. Good. Potter deserves it.”
“I thought you didn’t care.” Goldstein was having a hard time containing his smile. Draco thought he could have gouged his eyes out and not felt bad for a moment about it.
“Look,” Draco said, standing up and gathering his books. “I don’t know what ridiculous game you’re playing, but I am no longer taking part. Bring whoever the fuck you wanna bring, Goldstein. See if I care.”
* * *
The second Anthony stepped out of the Ravenclaw common room Harry grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him close, pressing their lips together. He felt Anthony smile into the kiss before responding.
“I missed you too,” he chuckled when Harry pulled away.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen you all day,” said Harry, smiling sheepishly. “How was Malfoy?”
Anthony gave him an odd smile and Harry drew his eyebrows together in confusion.
“He was . . . unpleasant,” Anthony chuckled. Harry smirked and kissed him again.
“Yeah, well, when isn’t he?”
“That’s the thing . . .” Anthony grabbed his hand and began walking. Harry followed, watching his boyfriend curiously. “Everyone says he’s different this year. Not just because of the whole eating disorder thing, but he hasn’t been as openly rude or condescending, either.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Harry, thinking back to his few encounters with the Slytherin this year. He supposed it was true. Of course, that was probably due to the fact that he couldn't fight for shit now that he was skinnier than most of the girls. Although hadn’t Harry caught him being pounded into a wall for having made some snarky remark to a fellow Slytherin just the other day? That was the first time though, and it was already February. So he supposed Anthony was right for the most part.
“Well, he started mouthing off to me,” Anthony said. Harry rolled his eyes.
“Probably because he knows you’re dating me.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You said that to him?” Harry nearly laughed. He wished he could have been there to see Malfoy’s face. Nobody generally had the patience to be snarky and rude back to Malfoy, except perhaps Hermione. It made Harry love Anthony that much more for being able to do that.
“He told me he didn’t care who you were dating. Or what you do, for that matter.” Harry’s stomach dropped for a second before Anthony continued. “I didn’t believe that, of course, so I pushed him. I asked him why he was being rude if it wasn’t because I was dating you, and he told me it was because I’m stuck-up. And then, after he insisted that was the truth, I asked him if he’d mind if you came with tomorrow.”
“What?” Harry gasped, stopping them in their tracks. Anthony chuckled. “Why would you do that? I mean, yeah, you’re probably right, it probably is because of me. I don’t want to know that badly, though!”
“Harry . . .” Anthony said slowly, and Harry narrowed his eyes.
“What . . . ?”
“I think he likes you.”
Harry stared at him for a good few seconds, waiting for him to say “April Fools!” or something of that nature. When he didn’t, Harry raised an eyebrow at him.
“Are you joking?”
“I’m not,” he laughed. “I think Malfoy has a crush on you.”
“Anthony, do you hear yourself? That makes no sense. Malfoy hates me. He’s always hated me. I don’t even think he’s gay.”
“Um, are you joking?” Anthony smiled incredulously. “Malfoy practically screams gay! And anyway, I’ve heard rumors-”
“Well, whatever,” Harry said hurriedly, uncomfortable with allowing his thoughts to travel down that path in case they decided to linger on the glimpse of Malfoy’s V that he’d caught the other night. “Regardless, I’m the last person he’d ever have a crush on.”
“I think you’re wrong, Harry,” Anthony sang mockingly. “I think it makes perfect sense.”
“You’re delusional,” Harry said with a shake of his head, attempting to appear completely unaffected by this information. The truth was that he knew he’d be dwelling on this now for who knew how long. It just didn’t seem possible that Malfoy could have a crush on him. The worst part, though, was that the idea didn’t entirely disgust him. In fact, he found it kind of intriguing. After all, Malfoy was . . . well, he was Malfoy! He was like taboo. He was completely off limits, no matter what.
“You’re not gonna run off with him now, are you?” Anthony teased. Harry looked down at him and rolled his eyes, planting a long kiss on his lips, mostly so that he didn’t have to look into his eyes.
“I adore you,” he whispered. He felt Anthony smile.
“Good. Because I was thinking we could spend the night in the Room of Requirement tonight, you know, since tomorrow’s Saturday . . .”
Harry laughed. “Sounds perfect.”
* * *
While their night together had certainly been pleasant, Harry still found himself complaining when Anthony dragged him to the library at noon. He’d been given time to shower, brush his teeth, and change his clothes, but that was it. Anthony was entirely serious about this project, apparently. Harry thought he may also have been excited to prove his theory. Harry continued to pretend like he thought it was ridiculous-which, really, he did-but he couldn’t honestly say he didn’t want to find out. Anthony didn’t have to know that, though.
They walked into the library to find it mostly deserted. A few Ravenclaws littered the tables and that was it. No Malfoy yet. Harry wondered if he’d even show up. He voiced this possibility to Anthony.
“If he doesn't I won’t be held responsible for his grade,” said Anthony. “And beyond that, he’ll have proven my theory by default.” He grinned mischievously at Harry, who only shook his head with an amused smile, hiding the fact that part of him was wildly excited that it could be true.
They sat down together at a table near some bookshelves and pulled out their books and parchment, preparing to start without Malfoy. They didn't have to work without him for long, however, because they’d only just begun looking over Harry’s (rather abysmal) notes when a bag was dropped unceremoniously onto the table, causing them both to flinch violently.
“Fuck, Malfoy!” Harry whispered, dragging a hand through his hair and letting it fall back down onto the table. “The hell was that for?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, giving Harry and Anthony the most sickeningly sweet smile Harry had seen since Umbridge’s days at Hogwarts. “Did I interrupt?”
“No,” Harry bit out, already becoming annoyed with the git, “you dropped your fucking bag on the table and scared the living crap out of us.”
“You’ll forgive me for not caring in the slightest.” Malfoy sat down across from them and pulled his notes out of his bag. Harry glared at him while Anthony laughed quietly to himself.
“Okay,” said Anthony. “Well, Malfoy, since you said you’ve brewed this potion several times before why don’t you write down some notes about it while I help Harry, and then when you’re done I can go over them so we’re on the same page. I know a little bit about it, but clearly not as much as you do.”
Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. He honestly couldn’t tell if Anthony was being facetious on purpose, but from the looks of it, Malfoy was taking it that way. He looked ready to jump across the table and beat Anthony within an inch of his life. Although, Harry reasoned, even if he did, he wouldn’t do much damage. He looked especially bad this afternoon. He probably hadn’t eaten yet today (or for several days perhaps), but he looked a little ashen and clammy, so he may have done a round of throwing up before he came. The thought made Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably. He didn’t like feeling worried about Malfoy, especially when he was being such a prat.
“Or we could work on it together,” Malfoy drawled. “Writing notes will be a waste of time. I may as well relay the information to you while we write our essay. I am truly sorry that Potter got hitched with a mentally handicapped troll, but, needless to say, my own-”
“Shut your mouth, Malfoy!” Harry yelled, feeling that familiar anger bubbling inside of him that he hadn’t truly felt since fifth year. Before Malfoy started looking like this. When his mission in life was still to crawl under Harry’s skin and make him squirm. It was only made worse when Malfoy smirked. He knew he was getting to Harry, and Harry thought that was probably the point. But that didn’t make it any better. If anything, it made it that much more difficult. He hadn’t been the center of Malfoy’s attention for years now and he’d forgotten how that felt. It was like fire was crawling through his veins, making him hot and angry and excited all at the same time. He wanted to shove Malfoy against a wall and rip off all his clothes and tell him how disgusting he looked. And even more than that, he wanted to see Malfoy get angry. That used to thrill him like nothing else, knowing he was getting to the git. And he hadn’t done that in a long time.
“I’m only speaking the truth, Potter,” he said softly, his eyes glittering. Merlin, he hadn’t seen Malfoy this excited in what felt like forever. Could Anthony have been right? Did Malfoy have a thing for him? Could he be getting off on this as much as Harry was? Harry’s eyes went wide and he looked down at the table, absolutely mortified. He was getting off on this. He was getting hard. Fighting with Malfoy like this . . . it was thrilling.
“Stop,” Anthony said after a few seconds of silence. “We’re here to work. I don’t care what your reasons are for being a prat, Malfoy, I’m asking you to just shut up and write the notes while I help Harry. When I’m done, we’ll go over them and write the essay.”
Malfoy stared at Anthony, not glaring, but sizing him up. Finally he grabbed his quill and dipped it in the ink and began writing without another word. Anthony looked over at Harry, who could only shrug. He could no more understand Malfoy or his actions than he could understand why he’d ever kissed Cho Chang. Unlike the latter problem, however, this one wasn’t so easy to dismiss. He wanted to know what was going on inside Malfoy’s head.
Anthony started talking to him-something about the project-and Harry quickly determined not to let anyone know about this. Not Anthony, not Ron or Hermione. He’d heard enough from his friends about obsessing over Malfoy in sixth year when he’d had a reason. He knew this didn’t qualify as a reason: wanting to know whether Malfoy had a crush on him. Wanting to fight with him because he got off on it. Wanting to understand his eating disorder, because, for whatever reason, Harry was desperately curious.
No, nobody could know. This was something he’d have to look into on his own.
Chapter Two | Page of Contents | Chapter Four
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,345
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: This would have been up earlier, but LJ hasn't been letting me post! Again, thank you for the wonderful reviews. I'm glad to hear so many of you think the topic is being handled well, and everyone seems to like Draco a lot. Yay!
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 Three
Harry was starving. He hadn’t eaten lunch because he’d been working on his Charms essay that he’d abandoned Tuesday night and hadn’t finished yesterday because he’d been rather busy with Anthony. He was on his way to the Great Hall for dinner when he rounded a corner on the third floor and the sight that greeted him effectively stopped him in his tracks.
A very large boy-Harry squinted and saw a green and silver tie hanging from his neck-had Malfoy pushed up against a wall, one hand beside Malfoy’s head and the other fisted in his robes. He was close to Malfoy’s face, and had Malfoy not been sneering, Harry would have thought he’d walked in on the two mid-snog. But he was sneering, and so Harry stayed where he was, making sure to keep silent.
“You ain’t on top no more, Malfoy,” the boy growled. “If I was you I wouldn't be making them comments, ‘specially lookin’ the way you do. I could snap you in half.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. We speak English here, not caveman.”
The large boy pulled Malfoy away from the wall and slammed him back up against it. Malfoy’s face screwed up in pain and Harry, acting on instinct, drew his wand.
“Put him down,” he said, walking over to the pair. Malfoy’s eyes instantly snapped open and when they landed on Harry his head fell back against the wall behind him at the same time that he swore under his breath. The Slytherin whose name Harry didn’t know eyed him warily.
“Just go, Potter,” Malfoy drawled, as though he wasn’t being held up against a wall by a kid three times his size. “This doesn’t require your heroics, I assure you. I can handle myself.”
The boy turned back to Malfoy and let out a bark of laughter that effectively wiped the haughty expression from Malfoy’s face.
“That right?” he snarled. “And what’s it you plan on doin’?”
In answer Malfoy spat in the boy’s face. Harry’s eyes went wide and his heart rate sped up. Something told him that had been the worst possible move Malfoy could have made. Indeed, once the boy had wiped the spit from his face and flung in on the ground he lifted Malfoy higher up the wall, so that his feet were no longer touching, and shook him.
“PUT HIM DOWN!” Harry yelled, but he was ignored.
“I dunno who the fuck you think you are, Malfoy!” he yelled. Harry, aware that he might have to resort to something other than words because those didn't seem to be working, aimed his wand at the boy’s back. “But you ain’t shit no more, you got that?!” He shook him again, and this time Malfoy’s head hit the wall hard. Without another moment’s hesitation Harry shot a stunning spell at his massive target and the Slytherin crumpled to the ground. Harry pocketed his wand and ran over to Malfoy, who had fallen as well, and was on all fours.
“You all right?” Harry asked, getting down on his knees beside Malfoy. Malfoy sat up on his own knees and swatted Harry’s hand away feebly.
“I’m fine, Potter,” he snapped. “I told you to go away! God, why do you always have to be such a goddamn hero?”
Harry felt oddly hurt.
“Christ, Malfoy, he was trying to shove you through the wall. I was only helping.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need your help, O Savior.” Malfoy weakly got to his feet and brushed his shoulders off. Harry rolled his eyes and stood up as well. Malfoy looked horrible. There was a bruise blooming around his wrist, probably where that kid had been holding him before Harry had arrived, and it looked to be a bit of a struggle when Malfoy picked up his bag. “Now, if it’s all right with you, I need to get to the library.” He started off in the direction from which Harry had come.
Harry, without thinking about it, said, “But it’s dinner!” He bit his lip when he realized what he’d said and watched in nervous anticipation as Malfoy turned slowly around and eyed Harry dangerously, as though Harry had said it on purpose.
“And?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Er-see you later, then, I suppose. . . .”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry before turning and walking away. Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding when Malfoy turned a corner and out of sight.
* * *
Draco wanted to strangle someone. Anyone, really. Potter-or even his obnoxious boyfriend-would be ideal. But if he tried strangling Potter chances were about fifty people would intervene before he could do much damage, and if he tried strangling Goldstein he wouldn’t have a lab partner. Although that option seemed much preferable to the other option, which was working on a Potions lab with Harry Potter’s bloody boyfriend.
He sat at a table in the library with the brunette Ravenclaw, pretending to skim through a book Goldstein had given him to look over. Typical Ravenclaw. Assuming everyone else is completely incompetent. Draco knew how to make a Dreamless Sleep Potion. In fact, he knew how to make it so well he could probably have done it with his eyes closed. The entirety of last year had been spent brewing it. Without it the Dark Lord and all the atrocities he’d forced Draco to watch and to commit would have plagued him every single night.
“Doesn’t look too complicated,” Goldstein said, closing his own book and looking up at Draco. Draco arched a brow.
“That’s because it’s not,” he said.
“You’ve brewed it before . . . ?”
“Literally countless times,” Draco sighed. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, daring Goldstein to make a snide remark. Apparently he wasn’t that type, though, because he merely nodded.
“Well, that makes things easy. Are you any good?”
For some reason this question offended Draco. It was a legitimate question, he knew, but something about having Anthony Goldstein-who just happened to be dating Harry Potter-question his Potion-making ability made him want to strangle the other boy more than ever.
“Considering that I just said I’ve brewed it countless times before I’d think a smart boy like yourself could have come to the conclusion all on his own that I would clearly be more than satisfactory.”
Goldstein raised both his eyebrows at Draco.
“Gosh, and I thought you’d mellowed out this year. Or do I just get special treatment because of my boyfriend?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I couldn’t care less who that pillock dates.”
“What’s changed?”
“Excuse me?”
Goldstein chuckled and Draco considered hexing his bollocks off. Who did this guy think he was?
“It’s not a secret that you made his life hell our first six years here. I mean, come on, Malfoy, I had a class or two with both of you during that time and I could give you at least three examples of you guys going at it in class right now. Maybe you don’t care anymore, but you certainly used to,” said Goldstein. "Why is that?"
“Interestingly enough, however,” Draco drawled, “mine and Potter’s relationship has nothing to do with you. So why don’t you bugger off and keep your large nose where it belongs?”
Goldstein sat up straighter in his chair and cocked his head, looking, for the first time, sincerely curious.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Sorry?”
“Just answer my question,” Goldstein said with a small laugh that Draco definitely didn’t like. “Why don’t you care anymore?”
“I don’t know about you, Goldstein, but most of us have matured a bit since the war ended. Potter can do whatever the hell he wants. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”
“If you’re so matured why are you being so petty and rude?”
Draco stared at him for a moment. “Because you’re a typical stuck-up Ravenclaw.”
Goldstein nodded and the corner of his lip twitched. Draco eyed him carefully.
“Right. Well, aside from the fact that that statement itself was immature, I still don’t believe you.”
“I’m not too bothered by that,” said Draco. Goldstein continued to smile.
“Well good. Then you won’t have any objections to Harry coming along tomorrow when we study.”
“Uh,” Draco laughed mirthlessly, “yeah, actually, I would.” Goldstein raised an amused eyebrow. “The point of meeting up to study is so that we can study. Potter’s ridiculous hair and glasses might blind me and then we’ll be out of luck.”
“Sorry, Malfoy,” said Goldstein. “He needs help with his own project so I invited him along. He’s partnered with Neville and, well-”
“Longbottom is entirely incompetent, yes, I know. Good. Potter deserves it.”
“I thought you didn’t care.” Goldstein was having a hard time containing his smile. Draco thought he could have gouged his eyes out and not felt bad for a moment about it.
“Look,” Draco said, standing up and gathering his books. “I don’t know what ridiculous game you’re playing, but I am no longer taking part. Bring whoever the fuck you wanna bring, Goldstein. See if I care.”
* * *
The second Anthony stepped out of the Ravenclaw common room Harry grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him close, pressing their lips together. He felt Anthony smile into the kiss before responding.
“I missed you too,” he chuckled when Harry pulled away.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen you all day,” said Harry, smiling sheepishly. “How was Malfoy?”
Anthony gave him an odd smile and Harry drew his eyebrows together in confusion.
“He was . . . unpleasant,” Anthony chuckled. Harry smirked and kissed him again.
“Yeah, well, when isn’t he?”
“That’s the thing . . .” Anthony grabbed his hand and began walking. Harry followed, watching his boyfriend curiously. “Everyone says he’s different this year. Not just because of the whole eating disorder thing, but he hasn’t been as openly rude or condescending, either.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Harry, thinking back to his few encounters with the Slytherin this year. He supposed it was true. Of course, that was probably due to the fact that he couldn't fight for shit now that he was skinnier than most of the girls. Although hadn’t Harry caught him being pounded into a wall for having made some snarky remark to a fellow Slytherin just the other day? That was the first time though, and it was already February. So he supposed Anthony was right for the most part.
“Well, he started mouthing off to me,” Anthony said. Harry rolled his eyes.
“Probably because he knows you’re dating me.”
“That’s what I said.”
“You said that to him?” Harry nearly laughed. He wished he could have been there to see Malfoy’s face. Nobody generally had the patience to be snarky and rude back to Malfoy, except perhaps Hermione. It made Harry love Anthony that much more for being able to do that.
“He told me he didn’t care who you were dating. Or what you do, for that matter.” Harry’s stomach dropped for a second before Anthony continued. “I didn’t believe that, of course, so I pushed him. I asked him why he was being rude if it wasn’t because I was dating you, and he told me it was because I’m stuck-up. And then, after he insisted that was the truth, I asked him if he’d mind if you came with tomorrow.”
“What?” Harry gasped, stopping them in their tracks. Anthony chuckled. “Why would you do that? I mean, yeah, you’re probably right, it probably is because of me. I don’t want to know that badly, though!”
“Harry . . .” Anthony said slowly, and Harry narrowed his eyes.
“What . . . ?”
“I think he likes you.”
Harry stared at him for a good few seconds, waiting for him to say “April Fools!” or something of that nature. When he didn’t, Harry raised an eyebrow at him.
“Are you joking?”
“I’m not,” he laughed. “I think Malfoy has a crush on you.”
“Anthony, do you hear yourself? That makes no sense. Malfoy hates me. He’s always hated me. I don’t even think he’s gay.”
“Um, are you joking?” Anthony smiled incredulously. “Malfoy practically screams gay! And anyway, I’ve heard rumors-”
“Well, whatever,” Harry said hurriedly, uncomfortable with allowing his thoughts to travel down that path in case they decided to linger on the glimpse of Malfoy’s V that he’d caught the other night. “Regardless, I’m the last person he’d ever have a crush on.”
“I think you’re wrong, Harry,” Anthony sang mockingly. “I think it makes perfect sense.”
“You’re delusional,” Harry said with a shake of his head, attempting to appear completely unaffected by this information. The truth was that he knew he’d be dwelling on this now for who knew how long. It just didn’t seem possible that Malfoy could have a crush on him. The worst part, though, was that the idea didn’t entirely disgust him. In fact, he found it kind of intriguing. After all, Malfoy was . . . well, he was Malfoy! He was like taboo. He was completely off limits, no matter what.
“You’re not gonna run off with him now, are you?” Anthony teased. Harry looked down at him and rolled his eyes, planting a long kiss on his lips, mostly so that he didn’t have to look into his eyes.
“I adore you,” he whispered. He felt Anthony smile.
“Good. Because I was thinking we could spend the night in the Room of Requirement tonight, you know, since tomorrow’s Saturday . . .”
Harry laughed. “Sounds perfect.”
* * *
While their night together had certainly been pleasant, Harry still found himself complaining when Anthony dragged him to the library at noon. He’d been given time to shower, brush his teeth, and change his clothes, but that was it. Anthony was entirely serious about this project, apparently. Harry thought he may also have been excited to prove his theory. Harry continued to pretend like he thought it was ridiculous-which, really, he did-but he couldn’t honestly say he didn’t want to find out. Anthony didn’t have to know that, though.
They walked into the library to find it mostly deserted. A few Ravenclaws littered the tables and that was it. No Malfoy yet. Harry wondered if he’d even show up. He voiced this possibility to Anthony.
“If he doesn't I won’t be held responsible for his grade,” said Anthony. “And beyond that, he’ll have proven my theory by default.” He grinned mischievously at Harry, who only shook his head with an amused smile, hiding the fact that part of him was wildly excited that it could be true.
They sat down together at a table near some bookshelves and pulled out their books and parchment, preparing to start without Malfoy. They didn't have to work without him for long, however, because they’d only just begun looking over Harry’s (rather abysmal) notes when a bag was dropped unceremoniously onto the table, causing them both to flinch violently.
“Fuck, Malfoy!” Harry whispered, dragging a hand through his hair and letting it fall back down onto the table. “The hell was that for?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, giving Harry and Anthony the most sickeningly sweet smile Harry had seen since Umbridge’s days at Hogwarts. “Did I interrupt?”
“No,” Harry bit out, already becoming annoyed with the git, “you dropped your fucking bag on the table and scared the living crap out of us.”
“You’ll forgive me for not caring in the slightest.” Malfoy sat down across from them and pulled his notes out of his bag. Harry glared at him while Anthony laughed quietly to himself.
“Okay,” said Anthony. “Well, Malfoy, since you said you’ve brewed this potion several times before why don’t you write down some notes about it while I help Harry, and then when you’re done I can go over them so we’re on the same page. I know a little bit about it, but clearly not as much as you do.”
Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. He honestly couldn’t tell if Anthony was being facetious on purpose, but from the looks of it, Malfoy was taking it that way. He looked ready to jump across the table and beat Anthony within an inch of his life. Although, Harry reasoned, even if he did, he wouldn’t do much damage. He looked especially bad this afternoon. He probably hadn’t eaten yet today (or for several days perhaps), but he looked a little ashen and clammy, so he may have done a round of throwing up before he came. The thought made Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably. He didn’t like feeling worried about Malfoy, especially when he was being such a prat.
“Or we could work on it together,” Malfoy drawled. “Writing notes will be a waste of time. I may as well relay the information to you while we write our essay. I am truly sorry that Potter got hitched with a mentally handicapped troll, but, needless to say, my own-”
“Shut your mouth, Malfoy!” Harry yelled, feeling that familiar anger bubbling inside of him that he hadn’t truly felt since fifth year. Before Malfoy started looking like this. When his mission in life was still to crawl under Harry’s skin and make him squirm. It was only made worse when Malfoy smirked. He knew he was getting to Harry, and Harry thought that was probably the point. But that didn’t make it any better. If anything, it made it that much more difficult. He hadn’t been the center of Malfoy’s attention for years now and he’d forgotten how that felt. It was like fire was crawling through his veins, making him hot and angry and excited all at the same time. He wanted to shove Malfoy against a wall and rip off all his clothes and tell him how disgusting he looked. And even more than that, he wanted to see Malfoy get angry. That used to thrill him like nothing else, knowing he was getting to the git. And he hadn’t done that in a long time.
“I’m only speaking the truth, Potter,” he said softly, his eyes glittering. Merlin, he hadn’t seen Malfoy this excited in what felt like forever. Could Anthony have been right? Did Malfoy have a thing for him? Could he be getting off on this as much as Harry was? Harry’s eyes went wide and he looked down at the table, absolutely mortified. He was getting off on this. He was getting hard. Fighting with Malfoy like this . . . it was thrilling.
“Stop,” Anthony said after a few seconds of silence. “We’re here to work. I don’t care what your reasons are for being a prat, Malfoy, I’m asking you to just shut up and write the notes while I help Harry. When I’m done, we’ll go over them and write the essay.”
Malfoy stared at Anthony, not glaring, but sizing him up. Finally he grabbed his quill and dipped it in the ink and began writing without another word. Anthony looked over at Harry, who could only shrug. He could no more understand Malfoy or his actions than he could understand why he’d ever kissed Cho Chang. Unlike the latter problem, however, this one wasn’t so easy to dismiss. He wanted to know what was going on inside Malfoy’s head.
Anthony started talking to him-something about the project-and Harry quickly determined not to let anyone know about this. Not Anthony, not Ron or Hermione. He’d heard enough from his friends about obsessing over Malfoy in sixth year when he’d had a reason. He knew this didn’t qualify as a reason: wanting to know whether Malfoy had a crush on him. Wanting to fight with him because he got off on it. Wanting to understand his eating disorder, because, for whatever reason, Harry was desperately curious.
No, nobody could know. This was something he’d have to look into on his own.
Chapter Two | Page of Contents | Chapter Four