Fic: Manorexic, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: Manorexic
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,666
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'm putting this up early for several reasons. One, I'm STILL SICK and have nothing better to do until tonight when my lovely friend is boss enough to hang out with me anyway. Two, you all hate me and I think this chapter will mollify you a bit. Three, I just finished another-long-chapter and I'm feeling excellent about where it's going.
ALSO, a lot of you have been asking if you can friend me, so I just wanted to state right here that no one has to ask! Everyone is more than welcome to friend me. You're all silly! <3
Also also, I'm going to do the hp_darkfest and possibly hd_holidays , and thus will probably need another beta. If anyone wants to volunteer, I would appreciate it very much. Just message me and I'll give you my email. :)
Okay, anyway, onward.
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 Six
Ron usually fell asleep right away. Trust him to choose tonight-the night Harry needed to get to the Owlery to order Ron’s birthday present-to stay up talking.
“Man, how cool would that be, though, eh? To be flying around the stadium with all those fans cheering?” He went into a dream-like state and Harry chuckled.
“Yeah, I suppose that would be nice. At least they’d like you for something other than a scar on your forehead.”
Ron smirked at him. “You’re no fun at all.”
“Hey. I’ve had enough fun for a lifetime.”
“Nooo,” said Ron, finally wriggling under his covers, “you’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime. You haven’t had any fun. Except for, I don’t know, breaking into Gringotts.”
Harry raised a brow at him. “You had fun doing that, did you?”
“Yeah, well, you know, it’s not something everyone can say they’ve done, is it?”
“Uh, no,” said Harry slowly, “but neither can most people say they’ve destroyed a Horcrux. Or gone on a year-long hunt for Horcruxes, for that matter.”
“Point is,” said Ron, “you’ve done a bunch of dangerous stuff and escaped being murdered thousands of times. But you haven’t done anything fun. However, we can rectify that on my birthday, which just happens to be in ten days’ time.”
“Oh, is it?” Harry said sarcastically. Ron scowled at him. “Is your birthday on March first? It must not have registered the past seventeen times you informed me and Herm-” Harry’s sentence was cut short when Ron threw a pillow at his head.
“I hope you get a concussion.”
“I hope you enjoy sleeping without a pillow.”
Harry laughed as Ron sprung out of bed and began pulling on the pillow, which Harry was gripping tightly against his chest.
“Give me the pillow!”
“You shouldn’t have thrown it at me!”
“I’ll tell Anthony you had a crush on Terry!”
Ron flew backwards with his pillow when Harry let go.
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh,” said Ron, fluffing out his pillow and placing it back on his bed with an evil smirk, “I would.”
“You do and I’ll tell Hermione you wanked over Lavender!”
Ron immediately went red. “But I didn’t!”
Harry raised a brow and climbed under his own covers. “But she’ll give you a hard time until she realizes you’re telling the truth.”
“That’s just downright Slytherin,” Ron whispered. Harry chuckled.
“Shut up and go to sleep. Pretty soon Seamus, Dean, and Neville will be back up here and Neville’s snores are worse than yours.”
Ron stuck out his tongue and Harry rolled his eyes at him.
“’Night, Harry,” Ron laughed.
“’Night.”
Harry closed his curtains and lay quietly in his bed, waiting for Ron’s snoring to start up. Their three roommates came up within ten minutes, prolonging the time it took for Ron to drift off, so Harry had to wait a good hour before he could leave. When he was satisfied everyone was sleeping, he grabbed his Cloak and the letter he’d already written to Quality Quidditch Supplies and set out for the Owlery.
Harry was glad he looked up from the letter he was rereading before stepping too far inside. At the far end, sitting on a windowsill, was Draco Malfoy, hunched over, spine sticking out, pale skin glowing softly in the moonlight. He looked ethereal. Like a painting of a skeleton or something. Or maybe a fallen angel, as stupid as that sounded. It looked like wings would sprout from his back at any second. Harry quickly realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it, feeling his cheeks blush.
Then he had the presence of mind to wonder why Malfoy wasn’t wearing a shirt.
A part of him didn’t want to disturb the boy, not just because he knew Malfoy would probably be annoyed, but because he looked so beautiful sitting there. But Harry really did have to send this letter out.
He decided that, since Malfoy would undoubtedly hear him when he called for Hedwig anyway, he would make him aware of his presence first. He walked up behind Malfoy quietly and rested his arms on the sill. Malfoy looked over at him, sighed, and looked away again.
“Where’s your shirt?” Harry asked.
“I got vomit on it,” he said rather bluntly. Harry merely nodded. “What are you doing here?”
“Sending a letter.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes with a slight nod. “I probably could have guessed that.”
Harry smiled to himself and moved away from the windowsill to call Hedwig down, who landed on his shoulder and nipped at his ear affectionately.
“Take this to Quality Quidditch Supplies and come back as quickly as you can. Hermione needs to use you tomorrow.” Hedwig nipped him again and took off out another window. When Harry turned back around he found Malfoy standing a few feet off, arms wrapped around his torso and head bent. His hair covered his eyes. Harry went over, knowing full well that this quiet Malfoy could turn into an angry one within the space of five seconds.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Malfoy didn’t answer. After a few moments he looked up and said quietly, “You really wanna help me?”
Harry couldn’t hold back a small, almost relieved smile. He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“It might not work, you know.”
“It’s worth a try.” Harry slipped out of his jumper, feeling the chilly air hit his bare arms, and handed it to Malfoy. Malfoy stared at it blankly.
“You’ll be freezing.”
“I’ll be fine,” Harry laughed. “I have a shirt and my Cloak. Take it.” He shook it in front of Malfoy’s face and finally, hesitantly, he took it and slipped it over his head. It was huge on him, but Harry found he liked the sight of Malfoy wearing his clothes. His cheeks blushed then and he cleared his throat. “Right, well, I can take you back to your dorm if you want. Since I have the Cloak. . . .”
Malfoy seemed to contemplate this for a moment before shaking his head.
“That’s all right. It’s out of your way.”
Harry briefly marveled at the fact that Malfoy would even care if it was out of his way. To be honest, he wanted to walk Malfoy back, but something told him it was probably a better idea not to, so he didn’t push.
“Okay. I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah. ‘Night.”
“G’night,” Harry whispered, watching as Malfoy left the Owlery and disappeared. He found that, despite the fact that it was winter and he was standing in the middle of the Owlery, he wasn’t all that cold.
* * *
Draco was in heaven as he made his way back to the Slytherin dorms. Potter’s jumper smelled like him. And as it was really quite large on Draco, the scent wafted over him and completely engulfed his senses. It was like he was walking along in a little bubble of Harry Potter. He kept replaying in his head the way Potter had smiled when he’d insisted that he really wanted to help. The way he’d looked anxious when he’d asked Draco if he wasn’t cold. He knew he shouldn’t be dwelling on these things; after all, Potter had a boyfriend. And even if he didn’t, the chances of him falling for Draco were slim to none.
And since when did Draco even want Potter to fall for him?
Since you spotted him snogging Goldstein and wished it was you, a little voice in his head told him. And since he started acting like he really cared. It was strange. Having Potter open up like this . . . it made Draco think. He’d always known that he cared what Potter thought, which was why he’d always been so mean to him, but now that he had Potter’s attention-and now that it was positive attention-there was this part of him that felt somehow satisfied. Like that’s what he’d been waiting for all along.
He tried not to think about that. Regardless of whether or not it was true, it wouldn’t help anything. Because Potter was in a relationship anyway.
That didn’t mean Draco couldn’t enjoy his time with the boy hero, though. Draco never had been all that accommodating to other people, and damn if he was going to start with Anthony Goldstein.
It was about two when he entered the Slytherin common room. He expected it to be mostly empty. It was a week night, after all. Indeed, there didn’t seem to be anyone there at first. But then, as he moved toward the middle of the room, he spotted Pansy sitting on a couch reading. He would have liked to slip past her, but he also felt bad. She may be annoying as all hell, but she was his friend, and she had always been there for him. And he’d been so mean to her lately. . . .
He sighed and went to sit down next to her. The moment she noticed him she bit her lip and slowly put the book down.
“Hey,” she said quietly. Draco smiled softly at her and pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Why are you up?”
“Finishing homework,” she mumbled. Draco pulled her away gently and she straightened herself out. “Where were you?”
“Owlery.” He left out the fact that before that he’d been in the bathroom. Her eyebrows dipped in confusion.
“The Owlery?”
“I was just sitting in there. No one usually goes up there this time of night.” Except Potter, apparently. Not that he was complaining at the moment. Pansy nodded and looked down.
“I’m sorry that recently I’ve been a bit . . . nosy,” she said. Draco sighed, resigning himself to this conversation. She looked up, evidently having heard the noise. “I know you don’t wanna talk about this . . . but I just . . . I feel bad, Draco, but I don’t know what to do. I’m scared that you’re really hurting yourself.” Draco placed a hand on Pansy’s knee.
“I’m not,” he said, looking into her eyes. He found himself able to lie fairly well right now. It helped that Pansy wasn’t the brightest. “I need you to trust me, okay? I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”
Pansy searched his eyes for a moment, clearly on the fence about this statement, but if she had any doubts she didn’t voice them. She merely nodded and placed her hand on top of his.
“You should go to bed.”
Draco squeezed her hand and nodded, kissing her on the cheek before getting up and heading toward the dorms.
“Hey.” Draco turned to look at her. She was eyeing him curiously. “Where’s that jumper from?”
Draco’s heart began pounding anxiously in his chest.
“I’ve had it,” he lied quickly. “It’s just for bed normally, but since it was late . . .”
She nodded. “It’s big on you.”
He shrugged. “I like big pajamas.” Pansy smiled at him grudgingly and bade him goodnight again. Draco really did want to feel bad for lying to her, but he simply couldn’t do it when the object he was lying about smelled so fucking incredible. He crawled into bed and cuddled up in said jumper, allowing himself to drift off pretending Potter was there with him.
* * *
Harry was having a very hard time not looking at Malfoy in Potions the next day. It was Friday, though, so at least he wasn’t the only one being antsy. Not to mention tomorrow was scheduled to be a Hogsmeade trip so everyone was extra excited for the coming weekend.
What was really beginning to annoy him-though he didn’t like to admit it-was the fact that he hadn’t once caught Malfoy looking at him. And he’d been looking at Malfoy quite a bit.
He sighed and rested his chin in his palm, feeling his cheek squish and his glasses dig into his nose. Perhaps he was dwelling a bit too much on the whole Malfoy-maybe-liking-him thing. First of all, it could be entirely false, which, in all honesty, seemed the most likely scenario. And even if it was true, that was no reason for Harry to get off on it, as thrilling as the concept may have been. It was just something about it being Malfoy that made it ridiculous. And exciting. There was no point denying it. Plus, something about his vulnerable state, especially now that he’d entrusted Harry with helping him get better, turned Harry on more than he cared to admit. And the thought that his own jumper was still in Malfoy’s room . . .
But it didn’t matter. He really liked Anthony, and Anthony was cute and sexy and fun and that was what Harry needed, after all. Like Ron had been saying the other night, Harry needed fun, not more trouble. And Malfoy was sure to be nothing but trouble. In a relationship, that is. Because even if it was troublesome to help him through his eating disorder there was no way Harry was backing out. Not just because he felt like he needed to help, but the accomplishment of having Malfoy actually agree to let Harry help him was like . . . like winning the lottery or something. No one would give back their prize. They would have to be insane. And that’s exactly what this felt like. He’d have to be out of his mind to go back on his promise to Malfoy.
However, it still felt like something that should be kept secret, if only because Hermione and Ron-and probably Anthony-would interfere. Especially Ron. He would go ballistic.
Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when the bell signaling the end of class rang and the scrape of chairs filled the dungeon classroom. Harry put his books back into his bag and heaved it onto his shoulder, rubbing his cheek as he followed Ron and Hermione out of the classroom. It was nearly numb from having been resting on it for so long.
As he fell into step with them he saw Malfoy pass by out of the corner of his eye and resisted the urge to say something. It wasn’t hard. Malfoy didn’t even look at him. A part of Harry felt angry about this, though logically he knew it was for the same reasons that he, Harry, didn’t say anything either.
Well, he hoped, at least.
This train of thought was broken when someone slipped their hand into his and laced their fingers. He put a smile on and turned to see Anthony grinning back up at him.
“Boy, this new professor isn’t all that much better than Snape, is he?” said Anthony. Harry felt a small bubble of annoyance swell inside of him and he couldn’t help frowning at his boyfriend who, for the first time since they’d started dating, seemed a bit ignorant. He knew, of course, that nobody else was aware of the fact that Snape had really been a hero, but that didn’t seem to matter.
“Snape was a good man,” said Harry quietly, feeling himself blush because he knew how that sounded. He still wasn’t used to defending the man. At the same time that Anthony balked at him Harry caught Malfoy subtly turn his head and stare. Harry blushed ever more fiercely and looked down. Still, he couldn’t deny that he felt good about Malfoy having heard him say that. Malfoy had been a favorite of Snape’s and had, in turn, seemed to idolize the man.
“Since when do you defend Snape?” said Anthony.
Harry was saved the trouble of figuring out something to say by Hermione.
“He was on our side the whole time, he just didn’t show his true colors until the end of the war,” she explained. He was glad she left out the bit about his mother and Dumbledore and all that, not only because it would have taken a very long time, but because it felt extremely personal. Anthony may have been his boyfriend, but that was just . . . too much too soon. Perhaps one day he’d tell him.
“That’s weird,” said Anthony rather nonchalantly in Harry’s opinion. As though it wasn’t all that big a deal. Again, he felt rather annoyed with his supposedly intelligent boyfriend. “He was such an arse to you, though. I’m surprised you got over those feelings so easily.”
“Yeah, well, after a war like that you realize there are some grudges that aren’t worth sticking to.” The double meaning of this statement was not lost on him and Harry found himself unconsciously looking around again for Malfoy, but he didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. Lunch was next . . . so Malfoy was most likely in his dorm. Or the bathroom. Harry had noticed that he’d not been at breakfast, so he probably wasn’t throwing up, at least. Of course, Harry had no idea how that worked for Malfoy, nor could he pretend to, so he supposed anyone’s guess was as good as his own.
“How noble of you,” Anthony teased, leaning in to kiss Harry’s cheek. Normally Harry would have found this very cute, but he was just a bit too annoyed with him right now. He merely smiled and accepted the kiss without comment.
They parted ways with Anthony in the Great Hall and Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down next to Neville, who was having a seemingly in-depth conversation with Ginny.
Harry hadn’t been particularly fond of Ginny lately. They’d dated briefly after the war until Harry had realized she just wasn’t doing it for him and that this cute Muggle barista at a coffee shop definitely looked like he could. Ginny hadn’t been devastated, but she’d not been happy either. Harry couldn’t tell if she supported his sexuality. She’d never said anything to the contrary, but something about the way she acted around him-and sometimes the things she said-made him think she didn’t like it.
One time while they’d been eating dinner-Harry had stayed with the Weasleys over the summer-Harry had quickly thrown on some clothes to go outside and play Quidditch. Ginny had raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and said, “Shouldn’t you have a better sense of style if you’re going to be gay?”
At the same time that he’d been extremely annoyed by this statement, he’d been very impressed with Ron’s retort: “It doesn’t change who he is, Ginny, and he didn’t choose to be gay,” he’d said fiercely. Hermione, too, had beamed at her boyfriend for it.
She’d continued to make subtle comments like these, though they weren’t as blatantly vicious or ignorant.
“Hey, guys,” Hermione said to the two as they sat down. Neville smiled widely, but Ginny merely leaned forward and began talking at once.
“Don’t you think it was horrible to let any of those Slytherin students back?” she said, gesturing rather obviously over her shoulder toward the Slytherin table. Harry felt himself blush at the same time that his earlier annoyance at Anthony came flooding back.
“No, I think it was an excellent idea,” he said, grabbing a roast beef sandwich and putting it on his plate. “The idea is to promote unity and forgiveness.”
“Yes, I agree,” said Hermione genially. “I think it’s wonderful that McGonagall is willing to forgive and forget. Well, not forget, I suppose, but forgive and learn.”
“That’s what I was saying,” said Neville. Harry couldn’t help smiling fondly at him. He’d changed so much since they’d met him first year. “I mean, sure, they weren’t the most helpful during the war-especially a select few-but they were kids, yeah? I think it’s great that they get a second chance.”
“Exactly,” said Hermione. Ginny was frowning so she added, “I understand why you feel that way, though. Pansy Parkinson certainly was a horrible coward, wasn’t she?”
“Uh, yeah, and how about Malfoy with his Dark Mark and-”
“Just stop, Ginny,” Harry said forcefully. It had sort of slipped out. Everyone looked at him strangely and he blushed. “Look, the point is they’re here and they haven’t done anything wrong, so why don’t we just let it be, okay?”
“That’s pretty interesting coming from someone who spent his days at Hogwarts slicing Malfoy to ribbons -”
“Ginny!” Hermione shouted. Harry was squeezing his sandwich so hard that meat was falling out of the sides, but he didn’t notice.
“Well, he did!”
“Stop,” Ron said softly, though he didn’t look like he necessarily disagreed. An uncomfortable silence surrounded them and no one said a word for a fair few seconds.
Finally, Ginny sighed. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just hard to see them here when they did so much damage. I mean, thanks to Malfoy Bill’s face is . . . the way it is. . . .” Hermione laid a soothing hand on Ginny’s back and Harry tried to look understanding. He felt horrible for Bill, obviously. Bill was like his brother. The part that didn’t feel right was Ginny. This felt more like an act than anything. A way to gain sympathy back after having said something that everyone else had clearly disapproved of. Harry let it go, though. It wasn’t worth causing a scene.
He looked up and found the Slytherin table, noting that Malfoy was not, as he had expected, there. He sighed and looked back down at his food, finding that he was no longer hungry. He just wanted to talk to Malfoy. In the Owlery they hadn’t discussed how Harry was going to help him. Were they going to meet up at regular intervals? Would they talk about it, like people apparently did in rehab?
Harry needed to find a way to privately ask Malfoy when he wanted to discuss everything. Perhaps the Marauder’s Map would prove useful once again tomorrow night after Hogsmeade.
Chapter Five | Page of Contents | Chapter Seven