Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,548
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 am so sick, you guys, it's awful. Good news is I have strawberry cream cheese.
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 Five
Harry thought Hermione could definitely tell something was wrong, but she didn’t mention it if she did, and he was grateful. He didn’t feel like talking about what had happened last night. If he was going to be perfectly truthful, he was scared. He hadn’t imagined Malfoy was that bad. Yes, he knew he looked horrible, and of course he knew Malfoy was a self-righteous prat, but when Anthony had told him that his sister had thought she was fat, Harry just hadn’t put it together in his head that Malfoy could possibly be the same way. How could he? How could anyone that frightfully thin think they were anything but?
The way Malfoy had flipped his lid on Harry had really shaken him. He’d nearly passed out twice, and then he’d accused Harry of being facetious when he’d called him skinny! How did one deal with that? What was he supposed to say to make Malfoy understand that he was nearly emaciated?
Of course, this was exactly what was bothering him right now. He wasn’t supposed to say anything, because Malfoy probably wanted nothing to do with him. For fuck’s sake he thought Harry was taking the piss! And although that was the farthest possible scenario from the truth, Harry wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to convince Malfoy of that if he couldn’t even convince him that he wasn’t a bloody whale.
He was in History of Magic right now, Hermione to his right and Ron beside her. Malfoy wasn’t in this class-they had it with the Hufflepuffs. Hermione was normally the only one paying attention, but today she seemed to be focused on Harry. She kept looking over and trying to catch his eye, which Harry adamantly ignored. Ron didn’t seem to notice anything unusual going on. Although that could have been due to the fact that he was snoring rather loudly with his cheek pressed against his parchment.
When the bell finally rang to signal the end of class Hermione shook Ron awake before turning on Harry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. Harry sighed, mourning the loss of her reign of tact, and grabbed his bag. “Harry, I know something’s wrong,” she pressed, following him out of the room.
“’Mione, what are you talking about?” said Ron, elbowing Harry in the side and laughing. “He’s fine.”
Harry couldn’t decide who he was more annoyed with. Hermione for pressing her concerns about an issue or Ron for not seeing that there was one. Harry put on a smile for Ron, who grinned and stuck his tongue out childishly at Hermione. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.
“Don’t worry,” Harry assured her. “I’m just a little stressed about N.E.W.T.s is all.” He knew she didn’t buy it entirely, but like before, she let it go. They were walking through an extremely crowded hallway anyway and it was difficult enough to avoid being jostled about too much.
Harry forgot to continue his charade of nonchalance when he spotted a blond head among the masses and quickly found that it was attached to Malfoy. He noticed because Malfoy had stopped walking and he looked entirely unaware of his surroundings. His chest was heaving as well.
“I’ll catch up with you guys. . . .” he said hurriedly to Ron and Hermione, who didn’t seem to have noticed Malfoy. He pushed ahead of them before they could question him further, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak as he went. He caught up to Malfoy just as the boy moved toward the wall and put his hand out to catch himself. Harry flung the Cloak over the both of them and helped lower Malfoy to the ground, who sagged against Harry the moment he’d wrapped his arms around him.
“We’re under the Cloak,” he told him quietly, and Malfoy seemed to sag further. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. Harry leaned against the wall and sighed. “Did you eat breakfast?” Malfoy shook his head slowly. “Did you throw up?” Again, he shook his head. Well, that was good at least, Harry supposed. Although if he hadn’t eaten he guessed he wouldn’t have thrown up anyway. He wasn’t really sure how this whole anorexia-bulimia thing worked. Not only did he have no previous knowledge save for what Anthony had told him, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of sense in his head. Still, he felt the incredible need to help Malfoy. So he didn’t judge, only sat there with the trembling blond until the corridors had cleared and they were well into their next lesson. Transfiguration, in Harry’s case.
“You should eat something,” Harry said eventually. He heard Malfoy laugh humorlessly into his knees.
“You should see someone about your hero-complex.”
“Would you have preferred it if I’d let you pass out in the middle of the hallway?”
Malfoy didn’t respond and Harry allowed a self-satisfied smile to turn his lips upward. A small part of his brain continued to berate him for this, the part that was constantly thinking about Anthony, but another, much larger part felt very comfortable here with Malfoy. And that same part both wanted to learn more about what was going on and to help him through it. He ignored the fact that it felt like a very clichéd head-versus-heart war, and that Anthony seemed to be the one in his head.
And he definitely ignored the fact that he was very much a go-with-your-heart kind of person.
* * *
Draco allowed Potter to lead him to the kitchens once again. He told himself it was only because he really was too weak to argue, but an annoying part of him knew that he just wanted to feel that comfort again that Potter had afforded him last night. Even though it didn’t make any sense, as he’d figured out what Potter was up to. Did the idiot Gryffindor really not get it? Was he really still trying to make Draco miserable?
But he wasn’t that stupid, was he?
A little ball of hope flared inside his chest and Draco clung to it desperately, all the while hating himself for having become dependent on someone else. This whole thing had been about taking control of his life when it had started-how was it that he’d lost control of this, too?
Potter sat him down at the same small table and asked the same two house-elves to make something to eat. Then he sat down across from Draco again and folded his arms on the table, resting his chin on them. His eyes were very green and very absorbing, just like last time, and Draco nearly forgot himself and stared right back. Thankfully, however, the house-elf came back with another plate of sandwiches and snapped him out of his reverie. He sneered at the food, knowing already with certainty that he wouldn’t be eating one.
Almost as though the thought had floated right out of his head and made itself known to the room at large Potter said, “You need to eat one.”
“And I suppose a stupid Gryffindor such as yourself is going to make me?” To his surprise, Potter glared at him. He looked angry. Draco looked down at his hands and began fidgeting.
“Look, despite what you may think, I’m not here to humiliate you, Malfoy.” Draco felt a blush creep up his cheeks but continued to refuse to look at him. “What you’re doing-it’s bad. I don’t see how you can possibly think you’re fat, but-”
“Just stop,” Draco said finally, standing up and wrapping his arms protectively around his torso. “It’s one thing to be . . . worried that someone isn’t eating. Fine. But don’t tell me I don’t have reason!” Potter looked abashed and Draco sneered at him. “Why are you still doing this? God, just tell me I’m fat! Pansy and Blaise, I understand! But you, Potter?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I thought you were just being an arsehole, but . . . I mean, what, are you trying to make me feel better? Because it’s certainly not helping! I can see myself, you know! I KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE!”
By the end of his rant Draco felt his blood boiling in his veins and it took every ounce of strength to stop himself from throttling a house-elf or Potter himself. Potter, sitting there with his stupid glasses and his stupid hair, looking for all the world like he was actually worried about Draco. Like nothing could have possibly bothered him more.
“Stop!” Draco yelled furiously. Potter stood up and walked over, his face neutral. Draco stood his ground and stared right back. A second later, though, he wished he’d moved because, without warning, Potter placed a gentle hand on Draco’s ribcage. Draco stumbled backwards out of instinct.
“I can feel your ribs,” Potter said simply in response to Draco’s horrified expression. “And when I walked in on you in the loo the other night I could see your spine.” Draco was entirely lost for words. “Do you realize that you’re seeing something different than everyone else?”
Draco opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Potter’s face softened and he once again looked anxious.
“I’ll help you.”
“You can’t help me,” Draco said automatically. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re wrong. You’re crazy, Potter. I don’t see anything different. I see the exact same cow that you see.”
“No, Malfoy, I don’t see that. I see someone who looks nearly emaciated. Look at your wrists. Look at your waist. You’re skinnier than any girl at Hogwarts.”
Potter’s words were starting to do something to Draco’s mind. He felt his stomach twisting and turning and tears building up. He wanted to hit Potter. He wanted to yell at him to stop saying these things that only made the hope in his chest swell. Because it couldn’t be true. Potter couldn’t care. That was ridiculous.
And most of all, Potter couldn’t be right. Draco knew what he saw in the mirror every day.
But then . . . why would he continue to lie if Draco had figured him out . . . ?
“Potter,” he said hoarsely, hating himself for giving in even this little bit. “Look me in the eye right now and tell me you think I’m too skinny.”
Potter walked closer until Draco could see little flecks of brown in his eyes and he could smell a hint of soap. He fought to keep his breath under control.
“You’re too skinny,” said Potter simply. “And I want to help you.”
Draco took a deep, shaky breath and looked away. How he wanted to believe what Potter was saying, both about his appearance and wanting to help him. And maybe a part of him did, but a larger part just couldn’t do it. It would be relinquishing the rest of his control. It would be giving in. It would be taking too many risks. And he didn’t have room for taking risks right now.
“No,” said Draco, making himself back away. He heard Potter sigh in frustration and looked up. “You can’t save everyone, Potter. I don’t even need saving! So just . . . just leave me alone. My life doesn’t concern you.”
“Okay, well what if I want it to?” Potter seemed as surprised by his own words as Draco did, but he didn’t take them back. Only looked a bit more nervous.
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Draco shouted. “We hate each other, remember, Potter? I don’t care how high and mighty you feel after defeating the Dark Lord; you’re still a stupid little Gryffindor brat! You’re still a human being! Not everyone wants a piece of you!”
Potter nodded slowly, his face unreadable. Draco swallowed thickly.
“You really know how to push people away, don’t you, Malfoy?” he said softly, a hint of spite laced in his voice. It caused a shiver to travel the length of Draco’s spine. “Fine. Starve yourself to death. Puke your guts up. I don’t fucking care. But I sure hope you don’t mind passing out in the corridors between classes, Malfoy, ‘cause I’m not running to your rescue again.”
“Good,” said Draco immediately, putting as much venom into that one word as he could manage. Potter sneered at him-an expression which looked completely out of place on him-and wrenched the portrait open. Draco distinctly heard him mutter “bitch” under his breath before slamming the door behind him. Draco wanted to chase after him and show him exactly how big of a “bitch” he could be, but instead kicked one of the chairs, causing the house-elves to flinch. He then walked over to one of the walls and sagged against it, letting himself slide to the ground and bury his face in his knees again.
He adamantly told himself he’d done the right thing.
But somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that.
* * *
Harry walked into the Gryffindor common room, still fuming, to find it entirely empty. Everyone was still in class. He walked over to the chairs by the fireplace and flopped down in one, immediately removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was stressed beyond reason over this Malfoy-thing. He knew it was stupid to let it get to him, but he couldn’t very well help it, could he? It wasn’t as though he could control his feelings.
He sighed and let his hand fall into his lap. He could feel a massive headache coming on.
Why did he care so much? Malfoy had always been a huge prick, not to mention a Death Eater, and the prat who’d let all the other Death Eaters into the school sixth year. Fine, he’d technically saved Harry’s life when he, Hermione, and Ron had been captured during the war, but Harry had also saved Malfoy’s life in the Room of Requirement. So it wasn’t like he owed him anything!
But no matter how much Harry tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t care, the fact remained that he did. This Malfoy was different than the Malfoy of years past. He was still a snotty bitch, but he also emanated this oddly helpless feeling that inexplicably drew Harry in and made him want to save the skinny blond. Harry knew he had a bit of a problem with saving people, but it was more than that. He wanted to know exactly what was going on inside Malfoy’s head. And he didn’t just want to save him, he wanted to comfort him. This thought made Harry’s head spin.
The other issue was that of Malfoy’s possible feelings for him. It made sense when taking into account his horrible reaction to Harry bringing up Anthony, but that was about it, and it could easily be attributed to the fact that Malfoy didn’t like anyone. Harry had never been very good at discerning people’s emotions. If there was anything else Malfoy was doing to hint that he liked Harry, Harry hadn’t noticed it. He had, however, noticed himself feeling the tug of attraction lately around Malfoy. But he couldn’t tell if that was because he knew it was possible that Malfoy liked him, or because he genuinely felt something. The latter didn’t make any sense, of course, aside from the physical aspects. He couldn’t deny that Malfoy was physically attractive-sans the emaciated body. If he gained a little weight Harry thought he would be extremely good-looking. Great, even.
Okay. So Malfoy could be incredibly attractive if he wanted to. So what? Harry wasn’t shallow. Looks didn’t mean everything.
“God, I need to stop doing this,” he whispered to himself, pinching his nose again. For the past few days his mind had been going in circles about Malfoy. This had to stop. Malfoy clearly didn’t want Harry’s help, so despite Harry’s irrational yearning to do so-and regardless of any reasons that might be behind this yearning-he was going to stop. He’d tried several times and each one had been shot down. So he was done.
Unfortunately, this resolution didn’t stop his mind from wandering. Granted, he didn’t try very hard.
* * *
When Hermione and Ron had interrogated him later on before dinner about where he’d run off to he’d made up a story about being hit by a sudden wave of nausea and explained that he’d spent the entire afternoon in bed sleeping it off. Ron bought it-Hermione didn’t. She kept casting sidelong glances at him all throughout dinner, as though she might catch him doing something that would help her figure it out.
When they left the Great Hall she bombarded him again. He kept up a steady stream of denials all the way up until the seventh floor, when he was rescued by Anthony.
“Hey, sexy boy,” Anthony said with a smirk before sidling up to Harry and planting a kiss on his lips. Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. His mind kept drifting back to Malfoy and the feeling he’d gotten that he was cheating on Anthony. He pulled away and forced himself to smile at his boyfriend, who seemed to buy it, because he linked his fingers with Harry’s. For a brief moment it annoyed Harry that Anthony couldn’t read him at all. He was grateful right now, of course, but something about that made him feel distant. He hated the fact that he was all too well aware that Malfoy could read him like a book.
Stop comparing them, he told himself harshly.
“You guys wanna come study with me in the library?” said Anthony, looking at them in turn. “Terry skived off our study session in favor of snogging some mystery bird.” Ron groaned at the same time that Hermione nodded enthusiastically.
“We’d love to,” she said, sparing Ron a glare. Harry sighed but agreed. He supposed studying might help to take his mind off of a certain anorexic blond anyway.
The four of them made their way to the library, which was filled with students finishing up their homework after dinner. They sat down at an empty table and Anthony and Hermione quickly pulled out their books and got to work. Ron looked to Harry dully. Harry grinned at him.
“I don’t suppose you plan on doing anything?” Anthony asked.
“Hey, I’m not even the one who agreed to come down here,” he said in his defense. Anthony mock-glared at him and nudged him with his shoulder.
“You’re impossible, do you know that?”
“Yes.” Harry smiled widely at him and Anthony huffed.
The four of them worked for a good half hour before Ron started to complain too much for Hermione’s liking, so she gave in and went back up to Gryffindor Tower with him. Harry decided to stay with Anthony for a bit longer, as the Ravenclaw was determined to finish his part of the essay for his lab with Malfoy, which was due tomorrow. Harry kept himself entertained by doodling on a piece of parchment. Anthony would periodically peek over and snicker at Harry’s drawings and Harry would, in turn, close Anthony’s book, causing him to lose his place. By the time they were heading out of the library Harry was feeling particularly fond of Anthony. Malfoy had taken up residence at the back of his mind for the first time in about a week.
He laced his and Anthony’s fingers and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
“Why’re you so lovey-dovey tonight?” Anthony giggled. Harry thought it was absolutely adorable and couldn’t help it when he backed Anthony up against a wall and drew him into a long kiss. When he pulled away he saw that Anthony’s cheeks were flushed and he looked breathless.
“Why are you so cute tonight?”
Anthony smiled. “Well, to be honest, I was kind of hoping this would happen.”
Harry smirked and leaned in to kiss him again.
* * *
It was almost half past eight and Draco was already exhausted. He’d just been in the Prefects’ bathroom again, puking up his dinner because, once again, he’d eaten to get back at Blaise. Not that they were speaking.
He was walking down a fourth floor corridor toward the stairs when he stopped, spotting two figures in the distance against a wall. Assuming it to be a completely arbitrary couple, Draco continued walking, prepared to simply ignore them. However, as he came within twenty feet or so he stopped. This couldn’t just be a random couple, because they both seemed to be boys. And the only gay couple at Hogwarts of which Draco knew was . . . yep. The longer he stared the easier it was to tell that the shaggy dark mop of hair belonged to Harry Potter, who was currently snogging Anthony Goldstein’s brains out against a wall.
Draco’s stomach twisted and his heart seemed to rise into his throat. He turned on the spot and walked away, prepared to take the long way to the stairs if it meant avoiding having to see that any longer.
He wiped a silent tear away, cursing himself for wishing that was him against the wall.
Chapter Four | Page of Contents | Chapter Six
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,548
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 am so sick, you guys, it's awful. Good news is I have strawberry cream cheese.
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 Five
Harry thought Hermione could definitely tell something was wrong, but she didn’t mention it if she did, and he was grateful. He didn’t feel like talking about what had happened last night. If he was going to be perfectly truthful, he was scared. He hadn’t imagined Malfoy was that bad. Yes, he knew he looked horrible, and of course he knew Malfoy was a self-righteous prat, but when Anthony had told him that his sister had thought she was fat, Harry just hadn’t put it together in his head that Malfoy could possibly be the same way. How could he? How could anyone that frightfully thin think they were anything but?
The way Malfoy had flipped his lid on Harry had really shaken him. He’d nearly passed out twice, and then he’d accused Harry of being facetious when he’d called him skinny! How did one deal with that? What was he supposed to say to make Malfoy understand that he was nearly emaciated?
Of course, this was exactly what was bothering him right now. He wasn’t supposed to say anything, because Malfoy probably wanted nothing to do with him. For fuck’s sake he thought Harry was taking the piss! And although that was the farthest possible scenario from the truth, Harry wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to convince Malfoy of that if he couldn’t even convince him that he wasn’t a bloody whale.
He was in History of Magic right now, Hermione to his right and Ron beside her. Malfoy wasn’t in this class-they had it with the Hufflepuffs. Hermione was normally the only one paying attention, but today she seemed to be focused on Harry. She kept looking over and trying to catch his eye, which Harry adamantly ignored. Ron didn’t seem to notice anything unusual going on. Although that could have been due to the fact that he was snoring rather loudly with his cheek pressed against his parchment.
When the bell finally rang to signal the end of class Hermione shook Ron awake before turning on Harry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. Harry sighed, mourning the loss of her reign of tact, and grabbed his bag. “Harry, I know something’s wrong,” she pressed, following him out of the room.
“’Mione, what are you talking about?” said Ron, elbowing Harry in the side and laughing. “He’s fine.”
Harry couldn’t decide who he was more annoyed with. Hermione for pressing her concerns about an issue or Ron for not seeing that there was one. Harry put on a smile for Ron, who grinned and stuck his tongue out childishly at Hermione. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.
“Don’t worry,” Harry assured her. “I’m just a little stressed about N.E.W.T.s is all.” He knew she didn’t buy it entirely, but like before, she let it go. They were walking through an extremely crowded hallway anyway and it was difficult enough to avoid being jostled about too much.
Harry forgot to continue his charade of nonchalance when he spotted a blond head among the masses and quickly found that it was attached to Malfoy. He noticed because Malfoy had stopped walking and he looked entirely unaware of his surroundings. His chest was heaving as well.
“I’ll catch up with you guys. . . .” he said hurriedly to Ron and Hermione, who didn’t seem to have noticed Malfoy. He pushed ahead of them before they could question him further, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak as he went. He caught up to Malfoy just as the boy moved toward the wall and put his hand out to catch himself. Harry flung the Cloak over the both of them and helped lower Malfoy to the ground, who sagged against Harry the moment he’d wrapped his arms around him.
“We’re under the Cloak,” he told him quietly, and Malfoy seemed to sag further. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. Harry leaned against the wall and sighed. “Did you eat breakfast?” Malfoy shook his head slowly. “Did you throw up?” Again, he shook his head. Well, that was good at least, Harry supposed. Although if he hadn’t eaten he guessed he wouldn’t have thrown up anyway. He wasn’t really sure how this whole anorexia-bulimia thing worked. Not only did he have no previous knowledge save for what Anthony had told him, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of sense in his head. Still, he felt the incredible need to help Malfoy. So he didn’t judge, only sat there with the trembling blond until the corridors had cleared and they were well into their next lesson. Transfiguration, in Harry’s case.
“You should eat something,” Harry said eventually. He heard Malfoy laugh humorlessly into his knees.
“You should see someone about your hero-complex.”
“Would you have preferred it if I’d let you pass out in the middle of the hallway?”
Malfoy didn’t respond and Harry allowed a self-satisfied smile to turn his lips upward. A small part of his brain continued to berate him for this, the part that was constantly thinking about Anthony, but another, much larger part felt very comfortable here with Malfoy. And that same part both wanted to learn more about what was going on and to help him through it. He ignored the fact that it felt like a very clichéd head-versus-heart war, and that Anthony seemed to be the one in his head.
And he definitely ignored the fact that he was very much a go-with-your-heart kind of person.
* * *
Draco allowed Potter to lead him to the kitchens once again. He told himself it was only because he really was too weak to argue, but an annoying part of him knew that he just wanted to feel that comfort again that Potter had afforded him last night. Even though it didn’t make any sense, as he’d figured out what Potter was up to. Did the idiot Gryffindor really not get it? Was he really still trying to make Draco miserable?
But he wasn’t that stupid, was he?
A little ball of hope flared inside his chest and Draco clung to it desperately, all the while hating himself for having become dependent on someone else. This whole thing had been about taking control of his life when it had started-how was it that he’d lost control of this, too?
Potter sat him down at the same small table and asked the same two house-elves to make something to eat. Then he sat down across from Draco again and folded his arms on the table, resting his chin on them. His eyes were very green and very absorbing, just like last time, and Draco nearly forgot himself and stared right back. Thankfully, however, the house-elf came back with another plate of sandwiches and snapped him out of his reverie. He sneered at the food, knowing already with certainty that he wouldn’t be eating one.
Almost as though the thought had floated right out of his head and made itself known to the room at large Potter said, “You need to eat one.”
“And I suppose a stupid Gryffindor such as yourself is going to make me?” To his surprise, Potter glared at him. He looked angry. Draco looked down at his hands and began fidgeting.
“Look, despite what you may think, I’m not here to humiliate you, Malfoy.” Draco felt a blush creep up his cheeks but continued to refuse to look at him. “What you’re doing-it’s bad. I don’t see how you can possibly think you’re fat, but-”
“Just stop,” Draco said finally, standing up and wrapping his arms protectively around his torso. “It’s one thing to be . . . worried that someone isn’t eating. Fine. But don’t tell me I don’t have reason!” Potter looked abashed and Draco sneered at him. “Why are you still doing this? God, just tell me I’m fat! Pansy and Blaise, I understand! But you, Potter?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I thought you were just being an arsehole, but . . . I mean, what, are you trying to make me feel better? Because it’s certainly not helping! I can see myself, you know! I KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE!”
By the end of his rant Draco felt his blood boiling in his veins and it took every ounce of strength to stop himself from throttling a house-elf or Potter himself. Potter, sitting there with his stupid glasses and his stupid hair, looking for all the world like he was actually worried about Draco. Like nothing could have possibly bothered him more.
“Stop!” Draco yelled furiously. Potter stood up and walked over, his face neutral. Draco stood his ground and stared right back. A second later, though, he wished he’d moved because, without warning, Potter placed a gentle hand on Draco’s ribcage. Draco stumbled backwards out of instinct.
“I can feel your ribs,” Potter said simply in response to Draco’s horrified expression. “And when I walked in on you in the loo the other night I could see your spine.” Draco was entirely lost for words. “Do you realize that you’re seeing something different than everyone else?”
Draco opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Potter’s face softened and he once again looked anxious.
“I’ll help you.”
“You can’t help me,” Draco said automatically. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re wrong. You’re crazy, Potter. I don’t see anything different. I see the exact same cow that you see.”
“No, Malfoy, I don’t see that. I see someone who looks nearly emaciated. Look at your wrists. Look at your waist. You’re skinnier than any girl at Hogwarts.”
Potter’s words were starting to do something to Draco’s mind. He felt his stomach twisting and turning and tears building up. He wanted to hit Potter. He wanted to yell at him to stop saying these things that only made the hope in his chest swell. Because it couldn’t be true. Potter couldn’t care. That was ridiculous.
And most of all, Potter couldn’t be right. Draco knew what he saw in the mirror every day.
But then . . . why would he continue to lie if Draco had figured him out . . . ?
“Potter,” he said hoarsely, hating himself for giving in even this little bit. “Look me in the eye right now and tell me you think I’m too skinny.”
Potter walked closer until Draco could see little flecks of brown in his eyes and he could smell a hint of soap. He fought to keep his breath under control.
“You’re too skinny,” said Potter simply. “And I want to help you.”
Draco took a deep, shaky breath and looked away. How he wanted to believe what Potter was saying, both about his appearance and wanting to help him. And maybe a part of him did, but a larger part just couldn’t do it. It would be relinquishing the rest of his control. It would be giving in. It would be taking too many risks. And he didn’t have room for taking risks right now.
“No,” said Draco, making himself back away. He heard Potter sigh in frustration and looked up. “You can’t save everyone, Potter. I don’t even need saving! So just . . . just leave me alone. My life doesn’t concern you.”
“Okay, well what if I want it to?” Potter seemed as surprised by his own words as Draco did, but he didn’t take them back. Only looked a bit more nervous.
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Draco shouted. “We hate each other, remember, Potter? I don’t care how high and mighty you feel after defeating the Dark Lord; you’re still a stupid little Gryffindor brat! You’re still a human being! Not everyone wants a piece of you!”
Potter nodded slowly, his face unreadable. Draco swallowed thickly.
“You really know how to push people away, don’t you, Malfoy?” he said softly, a hint of spite laced in his voice. It caused a shiver to travel the length of Draco’s spine. “Fine. Starve yourself to death. Puke your guts up. I don’t fucking care. But I sure hope you don’t mind passing out in the corridors between classes, Malfoy, ‘cause I’m not running to your rescue again.”
“Good,” said Draco immediately, putting as much venom into that one word as he could manage. Potter sneered at him-an expression which looked completely out of place on him-and wrenched the portrait open. Draco distinctly heard him mutter “bitch” under his breath before slamming the door behind him. Draco wanted to chase after him and show him exactly how big of a “bitch” he could be, but instead kicked one of the chairs, causing the house-elves to flinch. He then walked over to one of the walls and sagged against it, letting himself slide to the ground and bury his face in his knees again.
He adamantly told himself he’d done the right thing.
But somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that.
* * *
Harry walked into the Gryffindor common room, still fuming, to find it entirely empty. Everyone was still in class. He walked over to the chairs by the fireplace and flopped down in one, immediately removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was stressed beyond reason over this Malfoy-thing. He knew it was stupid to let it get to him, but he couldn’t very well help it, could he? It wasn’t as though he could control his feelings.
He sighed and let his hand fall into his lap. He could feel a massive headache coming on.
Why did he care so much? Malfoy had always been a huge prick, not to mention a Death Eater, and the prat who’d let all the other Death Eaters into the school sixth year. Fine, he’d technically saved Harry’s life when he, Hermione, and Ron had been captured during the war, but Harry had also saved Malfoy’s life in the Room of Requirement. So it wasn’t like he owed him anything!
But no matter how much Harry tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t care, the fact remained that he did. This Malfoy was different than the Malfoy of years past. He was still a snotty bitch, but he also emanated this oddly helpless feeling that inexplicably drew Harry in and made him want to save the skinny blond. Harry knew he had a bit of a problem with saving people, but it was more than that. He wanted to know exactly what was going on inside Malfoy’s head. And he didn’t just want to save him, he wanted to comfort him. This thought made Harry’s head spin.
The other issue was that of Malfoy’s possible feelings for him. It made sense when taking into account his horrible reaction to Harry bringing up Anthony, but that was about it, and it could easily be attributed to the fact that Malfoy didn’t like anyone. Harry had never been very good at discerning people’s emotions. If there was anything else Malfoy was doing to hint that he liked Harry, Harry hadn’t noticed it. He had, however, noticed himself feeling the tug of attraction lately around Malfoy. But he couldn’t tell if that was because he knew it was possible that Malfoy liked him, or because he genuinely felt something. The latter didn’t make any sense, of course, aside from the physical aspects. He couldn’t deny that Malfoy was physically attractive-sans the emaciated body. If he gained a little weight Harry thought he would be extremely good-looking. Great, even.
Okay. So Malfoy could be incredibly attractive if he wanted to. So what? Harry wasn’t shallow. Looks didn’t mean everything.
“God, I need to stop doing this,” he whispered to himself, pinching his nose again. For the past few days his mind had been going in circles about Malfoy. This had to stop. Malfoy clearly didn’t want Harry’s help, so despite Harry’s irrational yearning to do so-and regardless of any reasons that might be behind this yearning-he was going to stop. He’d tried several times and each one had been shot down. So he was done.
Unfortunately, this resolution didn’t stop his mind from wandering. Granted, he didn’t try very hard.
* * *
When Hermione and Ron had interrogated him later on before dinner about where he’d run off to he’d made up a story about being hit by a sudden wave of nausea and explained that he’d spent the entire afternoon in bed sleeping it off. Ron bought it-Hermione didn’t. She kept casting sidelong glances at him all throughout dinner, as though she might catch him doing something that would help her figure it out.
When they left the Great Hall she bombarded him again. He kept up a steady stream of denials all the way up until the seventh floor, when he was rescued by Anthony.
“Hey, sexy boy,” Anthony said with a smirk before sidling up to Harry and planting a kiss on his lips. Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. His mind kept drifting back to Malfoy and the feeling he’d gotten that he was cheating on Anthony. He pulled away and forced himself to smile at his boyfriend, who seemed to buy it, because he linked his fingers with Harry’s. For a brief moment it annoyed Harry that Anthony couldn’t read him at all. He was grateful right now, of course, but something about that made him feel distant. He hated the fact that he was all too well aware that Malfoy could read him like a book.
Stop comparing them, he told himself harshly.
“You guys wanna come study with me in the library?” said Anthony, looking at them in turn. “Terry skived off our study session in favor of snogging some mystery bird.” Ron groaned at the same time that Hermione nodded enthusiastically.
“We’d love to,” she said, sparing Ron a glare. Harry sighed but agreed. He supposed studying might help to take his mind off of a certain anorexic blond anyway.
The four of them made their way to the library, which was filled with students finishing up their homework after dinner. They sat down at an empty table and Anthony and Hermione quickly pulled out their books and got to work. Ron looked to Harry dully. Harry grinned at him.
“I don’t suppose you plan on doing anything?” Anthony asked.
“Hey, I’m not even the one who agreed to come down here,” he said in his defense. Anthony mock-glared at him and nudged him with his shoulder.
“You’re impossible, do you know that?”
“Yes.” Harry smiled widely at him and Anthony huffed.
The four of them worked for a good half hour before Ron started to complain too much for Hermione’s liking, so she gave in and went back up to Gryffindor Tower with him. Harry decided to stay with Anthony for a bit longer, as the Ravenclaw was determined to finish his part of the essay for his lab with Malfoy, which was due tomorrow. Harry kept himself entertained by doodling on a piece of parchment. Anthony would periodically peek over and snicker at Harry’s drawings and Harry would, in turn, close Anthony’s book, causing him to lose his place. By the time they were heading out of the library Harry was feeling particularly fond of Anthony. Malfoy had taken up residence at the back of his mind for the first time in about a week.
He laced his and Anthony’s fingers and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
“Why’re you so lovey-dovey tonight?” Anthony giggled. Harry thought it was absolutely adorable and couldn’t help it when he backed Anthony up against a wall and drew him into a long kiss. When he pulled away he saw that Anthony’s cheeks were flushed and he looked breathless.
“Why are you so cute tonight?”
Anthony smiled. “Well, to be honest, I was kind of hoping this would happen.”
Harry smirked and leaned in to kiss him again.
* * *
It was almost half past eight and Draco was already exhausted. He’d just been in the Prefects’ bathroom again, puking up his dinner because, once again, he’d eaten to get back at Blaise. Not that they were speaking.
He was walking down a fourth floor corridor toward the stairs when he stopped, spotting two figures in the distance against a wall. Assuming it to be a completely arbitrary couple, Draco continued walking, prepared to simply ignore them. However, as he came within twenty feet or so he stopped. This couldn’t just be a random couple, because they both seemed to be boys. And the only gay couple at Hogwarts of which Draco knew was . . . yep. The longer he stared the easier it was to tell that the shaggy dark mop of hair belonged to Harry Potter, who was currently snogging Anthony Goldstein’s brains out against a wall.
Draco’s stomach twisted and his heart seemed to rise into his throat. He turned on the spot and walked away, prepared to take the long way to the stairs if it meant avoiding having to see that any longer.
He wiped a silent tear away, cursing himself for wishing that was him against the wall.
Chapter Four | Page of Contents | Chapter Six