Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,835
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: It's my brother's birthday, so I'm putting this up early. :) Just 'cause I'm nice! I'm feeling kinda sick today, which is a bad day for that, but your responses always make me happy. Thank you for those. <3
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 Four
Harry had found himself wanting to break away from Anthony and get to his dorm earlier tonight. They’d been sitting together on the Astronomy Tower looking at the stars, cuddled up and talking periodically. It wasn’t that it hadn’t been nice-it had. He loved talking to Anthony and he loved looking at the stars (the cold wasn’t so nice . . .), but he just couldn’t seem to stop his mind from wandering down paths that it shouldn’t. For instance, he kept picturing Malfoy that night he’d caught him in the loo. Ever since Anthony had stated his theory that Malfoy had a crush on him Harry found himself wondering exactly what Malfoy would look like if he was just a little less skinny. He was definitely smaller than Harry, as Harry had grown into himself in the past year, especially due to the rather intense physical aspects of it. But still, he thought Malfoy would look good, if a little feminine, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. And that V. . .
The worst, though, was that he wanted to get to his dorm so he could pull out the Marauder’s Map and see what Malfoy was up to. Maybe he’d be in the bathroom again. If he was, Harry could go and . . . what?
This was the problem that had him staring at the Map in his bed now, his mind circling and driving him crazy. Malfoy was in a bathroom-the Prefects’ bathroom again-and he was currently in a stall. Harry knew exactly what he was doing. His stomach was churning incessantly, making him feel sick. He couldn’t very well just show up and tell Malfoy to stop just as he couldn’t accuse Malfoy of having a crush on him and demand to know if it was true.
But he could “accidentally” run into him again. After all, they’d run into each other that one time. Certainly Malfoy wouldn’t think anything of it this time . . . ?
Well, he didn’t seem to have a choice now, because his body was literally itching to get up and go. Harry closed his eyes and sighed, wishing not for the first time that he had more self-control. There was no point dwelling, though. He didn’t have self-control and he did want to see Malfoy, however bad the situation could end up turning out.
So he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and the Map and headed out of the Gryffindor common room, quickly but carefully making his way down to the Prefects’ bathroom and checking the Map to make sure Malfoy was still inside before opening the door and going in himself.
He walked in to find Malfoy tugging a shirt on over his head. Harry caught only a short glimpse of his bare chest and swallowed thickly.
The moment the fabric was pulled down below his face Malfoy saw Harry and a fire seemed to light in his eyes.
“What are you doing here, Potter?” he spat. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and took a cautious step closer, feeling for a wild moment like he was approaching a dangerous animal. Malfoy eyed him carefully but didn’t move.
“I came down to take a bath. I do that sometimes when I can’t sleep. . . . And I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“Whatever,” said Malfoy. He quickly snatched a jumper up from the ground-a regular, hooded one, Harry was surprised to see-and pulled that on over his head as well. It hung loosely on his small frame and Harry had the sudden urge to wrap Malfoy in his arms and hug him close. He fought the urge, but his fingers twitched in his pockets. He walked slowly over to the tub and began running the water, though he had no intention of getting in. He heard Malfoy making his way over to the door behind him and, taking a deep breath before doing so, Harry called out to stop him.
“Wait, Malfoy, I-er-wait . . .”
Malfoy turned very deliberately and eyed him. Harry wracked his brain for something to say.
“Sorry about, you know, what happened on Saturday. . . .” he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. Malfoy raised a brow.
“Saturday?”
“Yeah . . . Just . . . I shouldn’t have come with Anthony to your guys’ study thing. . . .”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you care, Potter. What is it you really want?”
“What?” Harry stuffed his hands back into his pockets and shook his head. “No, I don’t . . . I really am sorry.”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat when Malfoy began walking toward him and didn’t stop until their noses were centimeters apart. Harry though that if he leaned forward just a little bit he’d be able to smell Malfoy’s breath. Although, come to think of it, that might not be so desirable, considering he had probably just thrown up. He could, however, smell Malfoy’s shampoo, which was a strange combination of masculine and feminine, and entirely, one hundred percent Malfoy. It smelled aristocratic and expensive. It smelled arousing at the same time that it smelled like something Harry probably shouldn’t find attractive, but did. Harry stared straight back into Malfoy’s cold, gray eyes and tried with every fiber of his being to ignore the fact that his cock seemed to like the smell of Malfoy’s shampoo very, very much.
“I can’t even fathom what ulterior motive you have here,” Malfoy said softly, and it did nothing to quell Harry’s libido. “But you’re going to stop right now. I-” Malfoy stopped in the middle of his sentence and blinked rapidly before stumbling backwards. Harry, on instinct, reached out to grab him. He caught Malfoy by his upper arms and just managed to stop him from falling. When Malfoy found his footing again and recomposed himself he looked livid. He shook Harry off violently and stepped away. “God, just don’t touch me, Potter!” he yelled, backing toward the door. Harry watched, frozen, but readied himself to move should Malfoy nearly pass out again. “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, just leave me alone!”
And with that he was out the door. Harry bit his lip and looked back at the bath, now a quarter of the way filled, before quickly turning it off and running after Malfoy. The blond was already halfway down the hall and Harry hurried to catch up. He’d almost made it there when Malfoy stumbled again. He reached out for the wall and slowly lowered himself to the ground, head bent low. Harry ran over and knelt beside him.
“Shit . . . Malfoy, you need to eat something-”
“No, shut up, Potter!” he gasped, weakly swatting at Harry. Harry grabbed his wrist and, using his other hand, forced Malfoy to look at him.
“Malfoy, your blood pressure’s probably really low. You need to eat something or you’ll pass out. Come on.” He tried to heave Malfoy to his feet but the stubborn boy fought. Harry continued to try, unsuccessfully, until he finally growled low in his throat and Malfoy looked at him almost fearfully. “This isn’t funny!” he yelled. “You need to get help!”
“Fine, just . . .” Malfoy looked down and whispered, “Just don’t take me to the Infirmary.”
“Okay,” Harry breathed, more relieved than he knew he probably should be. He helped Malfoy to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist, entirely aware of the fact that this was similar to what he’d wanted to do earlier in the bathroom. Malfoy only hesitantly wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders in turn.
It took them around fifteen minutes to make it to the kitchens. Harry immediately asked Kreacher and Winky to get him some food and water and then helped Malfoy into a chair at a small table. Malfoy did not look happy about this, but he also looked extremely weak and the better part of his bad attitude was gone. Within seconds Kreacher brought a plate of sandwiches over along with what looked like a plain, baked chicken breast.
“Young Master Malfoy looks weak,” the elf said, eyeing Malfoy worriedly. “He should eat meat. . . .”
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said with a small smile. Kreacher bowed but didn’t go anywhere. Winky had brought some water and Pumpkin Juice. Harry noticed that Malfoy was eyeing the food distastefully, as though it had somehow offended him. “Here. Eat some of a sandwich.” Harry picked one up, ripped it in half, and tried to hand it over.
“I . . .” Malfoy looked down and Harry heard him swallow.
“You need to eat, Malfoy,” Harry said rather urgently, shaking the sandwich in front of his face. “You nearly passed out twice.”
“It’s nothing. . . . I think I’m coming down with something, I-”
“Oh, give it up, will you?” said Harry angrily, and Malfoy finally looked up, eyes wide. “We both know it’s because you haven’t eaten.”
“And how would you know that, Potter?” Malfoy asked coldly. Harry’s anger abated very suddenly and he felt his cheeks flush.
“I . . .” He sighed and looked into Malfoy’s eyes, trying to convey how worried he felt without actually saying it. “Look, we all heard Zabini in the hallway the other day-”
“Believe everything you hear these days?”
Harry took the jab without reacting. After all, he knew Malfoy must be scared right now. Not to mention light-headed and nauseous.
“Malfoy . . . look at you,” he said quietly. Malfoy’s face fell and he looked down again, though not at himself. Harry heard his breathing speed up a bit. “You can see your bones. You’re way too skinny-”
“Oh, really funny, Potter!” Malfoy spat suddenly, taking Harry completely off guard.
“W-what-?”
“What are you getting out of this?” Malfoy stood up and wobbled slightly but managed to find his footing. Harry stayed seated, looking up at him nervously. What in the world was he talking about? “Calling me skinny. Do you think this is a joke? Why did you even help me?”
“M-Malfoy, I-”
“No, just stop, Potter! Just leave me alone!”
“You have to stop what you’re doing,” Harry said desperately, standing up and walking forward so they were only a few feet apart. Malfoy crossed his arms and looked away. Harry thought he could see tears welling in his eyes and felt horrible. “Anthony-he has a sister who had an eating disorder. . . . She never threw up, but he said he could tell you-”
“God, shut up about your fucking boyfriend, would you?” A tear finally fell down Malfoy’s cheek and Harry wanted very badly to wipe it away. He felt just awful. He realized now that he shouldn’t have brought Anthony into it. Not just because Malfoy could have a crush on him, but because . . . Well, because right now he felt like he was cheating on Anthony. He hadn’t done anything, but his feelings alone were inappropriate. He shouldn’t feel this protective over Malfoy. He shouldn’t feel this worried. “He doesn’t know anything. I don’t have an eating disorder, so you can stop being the hero and leave me the hell alone!”
“Then why are you always in the bathroom, Malfoy?” he found himself yelling. The fact that Malfoy wouldn’t admit it-wouldn’t let him help-was driving him crazy. “Why do you look all pale and shaky and sick?”
“I told you, I’m coming down with so-”
“No, it’s because you don’t eat!” Harry shouted. “You don’t eat and when you do you throw it back up!”
“Why the hell do you even care?!” Malfoy was crying freely now. Harry couldn’t find his voice for a moment due to the shock of having heard Malfoy as good as admit to what he was doing. He hadn’t denied it, and that counted for something. “What’s it to you if I do something about the fact that I’m a bloody whale?!”
Harry blinked rapidly for a moment. “A . . . A wh-?”
“Oh, don’t bother!” Malfoy wiped furiously at his eyes and began backing toward the door of the kitchen. “Congratulations, you figured it out! I hope you’re happy, Potter! Go tell all your friends that I puke my guts out every day! I hope you all have a good laugh over it, you fucking prick!”
Harry was too stunned to do anything about it when Malfoy stormed out, letting the portrait slam shut behind him. Harry continued to stare blankly at the spot where Malfoy had been only moments ago for another minute, rooted to the ground in shock. When he finally came back to himself he turned to find Kreacher and Winky staring at him anxiously.
“I’m sorry, you guys,” said Harry softly. He shook his head. “The food looked wonderful, really. . . .”
“Master Harry should not worry,” said Kreacher, who snapped his fingers and made the food vanish. “Master Harry was only trying to help.” Harry nodded absently and looked back at the door.
“Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you two later. Have a good night.”
“Good night, Master Harry,” the two elves said simultaneously.
* * *
Draco hated Potter. He hated him. Where the hell did he get off shoving Draco’s issues in his face? Before he’d thought Potter might have actually cared-he wouldn’t have put it past him, anyway. He did have a hero-complex. But he’d shown his true colors tonight. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to, but Draco wasn’t an idiot. Potter was taking the piss! He was humiliating him! It would have been kinder to just call him fat, but no, Potter had to take it a step further and act like he cared. He had to lure Draco in with those bloody hypnotizing eyes and make him feel like someone might actually get it. And then to call him skinny, of all things! Why not just Crucio him? Why not just kill him and get it over with? And to think he’d felt so safe when Potter had been holding onto him. . . . To think he’d let himself believe for even a second that it could have been real. God, and then he’d brought Goldstein into it. . . .
Draco walked quietly into the Slytherin dorms and his eyes were immediately drawn to the small bit of light coming from one of the couches. He groaned when he saw who it was and considered turning back. Unfortunately, Pansy was at his side in the span of two seconds and had her arms around his neck.
“Oh, Draco, we were so worried!” she sobbed into his shoulder.
Draco sneered and pushed her away. “I’m not bloody suicidal, you great cow.” Pansy glared at him.
“You really need to get over this attitude of yours, Draco Malfoy,” she hissed. “We’re trying to help you! In case you’ve forgotten, you have no one else!” As soon as the words left her mouth she seemed to realize it had been the wrong thing to say. Draco narrowed his eyes at her dangerously.
“You think I could forget that?” Pansy opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off. “You’re such an ignorant twat. Do you ever think before you open your mouth?” Again, she tried to speak, and again he spoke over her. “Do me a favor, Pansy, and leave me the fuck alone right now.”
He pushed past her and went to his dorm, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. No sooner had he reached his bed, however, than the door opened again and Blaise walked in.
“Draco . . .” he said softly. Draco ignored him and climbed into bed, not bothering with pajamas. He heard Blaise sigh. “Pansy’s an idiot. Will you just talk to me for a second?” Draco stayed silent, praying Blaise would just give up and go to bed. His prayers were in vain, though, because Blaise continued into the dark, “I know what you were doing.” Draco’s stomach clenched. “I’m not dealing with it anymore, Draco. We tried to help you and you won’t let us. It’s too much stress on me. Either swallow your goddamn pride and talk to me right now, or . . . or I’m through with you. I don’t need this.”
Draco didn’t have to think about his decision. He didn’t want Blaise’s help. He didn’t need his help. And if Blaise couldn’t see that . . . Well, then he didn’t need him as a friend, either. He closed the curtain around himself and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He heard Blaise sigh again before the other boy went to his own bed and got in.
Draco closed his eyes and felt tears well up there again.
God, how he hated Harry Potter.
Chapter Three | Page of Contents | Chapter Five
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,835
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: It's my brother's birthday, so I'm putting this up early. :) Just 'cause I'm nice! I'm feeling kinda sick today, which is a bad day for that, but your responses always make me happy. Thank you for those. <3
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 Four
Harry had found himself wanting to break away from Anthony and get to his dorm earlier tonight. They’d been sitting together on the Astronomy Tower looking at the stars, cuddled up and talking periodically. It wasn’t that it hadn’t been nice-it had. He loved talking to Anthony and he loved looking at the stars (the cold wasn’t so nice . . .), but he just couldn’t seem to stop his mind from wandering down paths that it shouldn’t. For instance, he kept picturing Malfoy that night he’d caught him in the loo. Ever since Anthony had stated his theory that Malfoy had a crush on him Harry found himself wondering exactly what Malfoy would look like if he was just a little less skinny. He was definitely smaller than Harry, as Harry had grown into himself in the past year, especially due to the rather intense physical aspects of it. But still, he thought Malfoy would look good, if a little feminine, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. And that V. . .
The worst, though, was that he wanted to get to his dorm so he could pull out the Marauder’s Map and see what Malfoy was up to. Maybe he’d be in the bathroom again. If he was, Harry could go and . . . what?
This was the problem that had him staring at the Map in his bed now, his mind circling and driving him crazy. Malfoy was in a bathroom-the Prefects’ bathroom again-and he was currently in a stall. Harry knew exactly what he was doing. His stomach was churning incessantly, making him feel sick. He couldn’t very well just show up and tell Malfoy to stop just as he couldn’t accuse Malfoy of having a crush on him and demand to know if it was true.
But he could “accidentally” run into him again. After all, they’d run into each other that one time. Certainly Malfoy wouldn’t think anything of it this time . . . ?
Well, he didn’t seem to have a choice now, because his body was literally itching to get up and go. Harry closed his eyes and sighed, wishing not for the first time that he had more self-control. There was no point dwelling, though. He didn’t have self-control and he did want to see Malfoy, however bad the situation could end up turning out.
So he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and the Map and headed out of the Gryffindor common room, quickly but carefully making his way down to the Prefects’ bathroom and checking the Map to make sure Malfoy was still inside before opening the door and going in himself.
He walked in to find Malfoy tugging a shirt on over his head. Harry caught only a short glimpse of his bare chest and swallowed thickly.
The moment the fabric was pulled down below his face Malfoy saw Harry and a fire seemed to light in his eyes.
“What are you doing here, Potter?” he spat. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and took a cautious step closer, feeling for a wild moment like he was approaching a dangerous animal. Malfoy eyed him carefully but didn’t move.
“I came down to take a bath. I do that sometimes when I can’t sleep. . . . And I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“Whatever,” said Malfoy. He quickly snatched a jumper up from the ground-a regular, hooded one, Harry was surprised to see-and pulled that on over his head as well. It hung loosely on his small frame and Harry had the sudden urge to wrap Malfoy in his arms and hug him close. He fought the urge, but his fingers twitched in his pockets. He walked slowly over to the tub and began running the water, though he had no intention of getting in. He heard Malfoy making his way over to the door behind him and, taking a deep breath before doing so, Harry called out to stop him.
“Wait, Malfoy, I-er-wait . . .”
Malfoy turned very deliberately and eyed him. Harry wracked his brain for something to say.
“Sorry about, you know, what happened on Saturday. . . .” he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. Malfoy raised a brow.
“Saturday?”
“Yeah . . . Just . . . I shouldn’t have come with Anthony to your guys’ study thing. . . .”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you care, Potter. What is it you really want?”
“What?” Harry stuffed his hands back into his pockets and shook his head. “No, I don’t . . . I really am sorry.”
Harry’s breath caught in his throat when Malfoy began walking toward him and didn’t stop until their noses were centimeters apart. Harry though that if he leaned forward just a little bit he’d be able to smell Malfoy’s breath. Although, come to think of it, that might not be so desirable, considering he had probably just thrown up. He could, however, smell Malfoy’s shampoo, which was a strange combination of masculine and feminine, and entirely, one hundred percent Malfoy. It smelled aristocratic and expensive. It smelled arousing at the same time that it smelled like something Harry probably shouldn’t find attractive, but did. Harry stared straight back into Malfoy’s cold, gray eyes and tried with every fiber of his being to ignore the fact that his cock seemed to like the smell of Malfoy’s shampoo very, very much.
“I can’t even fathom what ulterior motive you have here,” Malfoy said softly, and it did nothing to quell Harry’s libido. “But you’re going to stop right now. I-” Malfoy stopped in the middle of his sentence and blinked rapidly before stumbling backwards. Harry, on instinct, reached out to grab him. He caught Malfoy by his upper arms and just managed to stop him from falling. When Malfoy found his footing again and recomposed himself he looked livid. He shook Harry off violently and stepped away. “God, just don’t touch me, Potter!” he yelled, backing toward the door. Harry watched, frozen, but readied himself to move should Malfoy nearly pass out again. “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, just leave me alone!”
And with that he was out the door. Harry bit his lip and looked back at the bath, now a quarter of the way filled, before quickly turning it off and running after Malfoy. The blond was already halfway down the hall and Harry hurried to catch up. He’d almost made it there when Malfoy stumbled again. He reached out for the wall and slowly lowered himself to the ground, head bent low. Harry ran over and knelt beside him.
“Shit . . . Malfoy, you need to eat something-”
“No, shut up, Potter!” he gasped, weakly swatting at Harry. Harry grabbed his wrist and, using his other hand, forced Malfoy to look at him.
“Malfoy, your blood pressure’s probably really low. You need to eat something or you’ll pass out. Come on.” He tried to heave Malfoy to his feet but the stubborn boy fought. Harry continued to try, unsuccessfully, until he finally growled low in his throat and Malfoy looked at him almost fearfully. “This isn’t funny!” he yelled. “You need to get help!”
“Fine, just . . .” Malfoy looked down and whispered, “Just don’t take me to the Infirmary.”
“Okay,” Harry breathed, more relieved than he knew he probably should be. He helped Malfoy to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist, entirely aware of the fact that this was similar to what he’d wanted to do earlier in the bathroom. Malfoy only hesitantly wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders in turn.
It took them around fifteen minutes to make it to the kitchens. Harry immediately asked Kreacher and Winky to get him some food and water and then helped Malfoy into a chair at a small table. Malfoy did not look happy about this, but he also looked extremely weak and the better part of his bad attitude was gone. Within seconds Kreacher brought a plate of sandwiches over along with what looked like a plain, baked chicken breast.
“Young Master Malfoy looks weak,” the elf said, eyeing Malfoy worriedly. “He should eat meat. . . .”
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said with a small smile. Kreacher bowed but didn’t go anywhere. Winky had brought some water and Pumpkin Juice. Harry noticed that Malfoy was eyeing the food distastefully, as though it had somehow offended him. “Here. Eat some of a sandwich.” Harry picked one up, ripped it in half, and tried to hand it over.
“I . . .” Malfoy looked down and Harry heard him swallow.
“You need to eat, Malfoy,” Harry said rather urgently, shaking the sandwich in front of his face. “You nearly passed out twice.”
“It’s nothing. . . . I think I’m coming down with something, I-”
“Oh, give it up, will you?” said Harry angrily, and Malfoy finally looked up, eyes wide. “We both know it’s because you haven’t eaten.”
“And how would you know that, Potter?” Malfoy asked coldly. Harry’s anger abated very suddenly and he felt his cheeks flush.
“I . . .” He sighed and looked into Malfoy’s eyes, trying to convey how worried he felt without actually saying it. “Look, we all heard Zabini in the hallway the other day-”
“Believe everything you hear these days?”
Harry took the jab without reacting. After all, he knew Malfoy must be scared right now. Not to mention light-headed and nauseous.
“Malfoy . . . look at you,” he said quietly. Malfoy’s face fell and he looked down again, though not at himself. Harry heard his breathing speed up a bit. “You can see your bones. You’re way too skinny-”
“Oh, really funny, Potter!” Malfoy spat suddenly, taking Harry completely off guard.
“W-what-?”
“What are you getting out of this?” Malfoy stood up and wobbled slightly but managed to find his footing. Harry stayed seated, looking up at him nervously. What in the world was he talking about? “Calling me skinny. Do you think this is a joke? Why did you even help me?”
“M-Malfoy, I-”
“No, just stop, Potter! Just leave me alone!”
“You have to stop what you’re doing,” Harry said desperately, standing up and walking forward so they were only a few feet apart. Malfoy crossed his arms and looked away. Harry thought he could see tears welling in his eyes and felt horrible. “Anthony-he has a sister who had an eating disorder. . . . She never threw up, but he said he could tell you-”
“God, shut up about your fucking boyfriend, would you?” A tear finally fell down Malfoy’s cheek and Harry wanted very badly to wipe it away. He felt just awful. He realized now that he shouldn’t have brought Anthony into it. Not just because Malfoy could have a crush on him, but because . . . Well, because right now he felt like he was cheating on Anthony. He hadn’t done anything, but his feelings alone were inappropriate. He shouldn’t feel this protective over Malfoy. He shouldn’t feel this worried. “He doesn’t know anything. I don’t have an eating disorder, so you can stop being the hero and leave me the hell alone!”
“Then why are you always in the bathroom, Malfoy?” he found himself yelling. The fact that Malfoy wouldn’t admit it-wouldn’t let him help-was driving him crazy. “Why do you look all pale and shaky and sick?”
“I told you, I’m coming down with so-”
“No, it’s because you don’t eat!” Harry shouted. “You don’t eat and when you do you throw it back up!”
“Why the hell do you even care?!” Malfoy was crying freely now. Harry couldn’t find his voice for a moment due to the shock of having heard Malfoy as good as admit to what he was doing. He hadn’t denied it, and that counted for something. “What’s it to you if I do something about the fact that I’m a bloody whale?!”
Harry blinked rapidly for a moment. “A . . . A wh-?”
“Oh, don’t bother!” Malfoy wiped furiously at his eyes and began backing toward the door of the kitchen. “Congratulations, you figured it out! I hope you’re happy, Potter! Go tell all your friends that I puke my guts out every day! I hope you all have a good laugh over it, you fucking prick!”
Harry was too stunned to do anything about it when Malfoy stormed out, letting the portrait slam shut behind him. Harry continued to stare blankly at the spot where Malfoy had been only moments ago for another minute, rooted to the ground in shock. When he finally came back to himself he turned to find Kreacher and Winky staring at him anxiously.
“I’m sorry, you guys,” said Harry softly. He shook his head. “The food looked wonderful, really. . . .”
“Master Harry should not worry,” said Kreacher, who snapped his fingers and made the food vanish. “Master Harry was only trying to help.” Harry nodded absently and looked back at the door.
“Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you two later. Have a good night.”
“Good night, Master Harry,” the two elves said simultaneously.
* * *
Draco hated Potter. He hated him. Where the hell did he get off shoving Draco’s issues in his face? Before he’d thought Potter might have actually cared-he wouldn’t have put it past him, anyway. He did have a hero-complex. But he’d shown his true colors tonight. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to, but Draco wasn’t an idiot. Potter was taking the piss! He was humiliating him! It would have been kinder to just call him fat, but no, Potter had to take it a step further and act like he cared. He had to lure Draco in with those bloody hypnotizing eyes and make him feel like someone might actually get it. And then to call him skinny, of all things! Why not just Crucio him? Why not just kill him and get it over with? And to think he’d felt so safe when Potter had been holding onto him. . . . To think he’d let himself believe for even a second that it could have been real. God, and then he’d brought Goldstein into it. . . .
Draco walked quietly into the Slytherin dorms and his eyes were immediately drawn to the small bit of light coming from one of the couches. He groaned when he saw who it was and considered turning back. Unfortunately, Pansy was at his side in the span of two seconds and had her arms around his neck.
“Oh, Draco, we were so worried!” she sobbed into his shoulder.
Draco sneered and pushed her away. “I’m not bloody suicidal, you great cow.” Pansy glared at him.
“You really need to get over this attitude of yours, Draco Malfoy,” she hissed. “We’re trying to help you! In case you’ve forgotten, you have no one else!” As soon as the words left her mouth she seemed to realize it had been the wrong thing to say. Draco narrowed his eyes at her dangerously.
“You think I could forget that?” Pansy opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off. “You’re such an ignorant twat. Do you ever think before you open your mouth?” Again, she tried to speak, and again he spoke over her. “Do me a favor, Pansy, and leave me the fuck alone right now.”
He pushed past her and went to his dorm, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. No sooner had he reached his bed, however, than the door opened again and Blaise walked in.
“Draco . . .” he said softly. Draco ignored him and climbed into bed, not bothering with pajamas. He heard Blaise sigh. “Pansy’s an idiot. Will you just talk to me for a second?” Draco stayed silent, praying Blaise would just give up and go to bed. His prayers were in vain, though, because Blaise continued into the dark, “I know what you were doing.” Draco’s stomach clenched. “I’m not dealing with it anymore, Draco. We tried to help you and you won’t let us. It’s too much stress on me. Either swallow your goddamn pride and talk to me right now, or . . . or I’m through with you. I don’t need this.”
Draco didn’t have to think about his decision. He didn’t want Blaise’s help. He didn’t need his help. And if Blaise couldn’t see that . . . Well, then he didn’t need him as a friend, either. He closed the curtain around himself and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He heard Blaise sigh again before the other boy went to his own bed and got in.
Draco closed his eyes and felt tears well up there again.
God, how he hated Harry Potter.
Chapter Three | Page of Contents | Chapter Five