Drarry Oneshots (Angsty)

The Pursuit of Perfection (Part 2)

Warning: Eating Disorders and mention of purging

I want to cry. I crave the tears so, so badly and yet they won't come. Perhaps I have become emotionless—desensitised—but if that were the case, surely I wouldn't be this desperate for a release. My life spiralled out of my control all those months ago and the only way I had to take it back was to regulate my appearance.

Apparently I couldn't even do that right.

"When was the last time you ate?", says Harry gently. He's been sitting on the edge of his bed for a while, just staring at me, even though I put my shirt back on a long time ago.

"I'm not sure," I reply, "three days ago, possibly?"

He looks at me in what I can only describe as pure horror before getting to his feet and extending his hand.

"Come on. You need to have some food."

"And what if I don't want to? Maybe I'm not hungry."

"Draco, protest all you like but I'm not giving you a choice here. You will eat something even if that means I have to force it down your throat."

Cursing his Gryffindor stubbornness, I shakily stand up and grab hold of his still outstretched hand. The sudden movement makes a waterfall of blood rush to my head and I feel as though I could keel over at any second. Noticing this, Harry wraps an arm around my waist to steady me and I flinch. He can probably feel every ounce of fat on me and I'm scared he'll recoil in disgust.

"Merlin, you're a skeleton," he says quietly, mostly to himself, "how are you not dead yet?"

"Please, stop lying to me, Potter."

He doesn't say anything, but I swear I hear him grit his teeth as we leave his room and head towards the kitchens.

The whole way there he doesn't retract his arm. It's comforting in a way, to know that he won't let me fall, even though my legs struggle to keep me upright. He's warm too. Like a hot water bottle on a winter's day. For the first time since the end of the war I don't feel glacial, and I find that his company's rather pleasant, despite the fact that neither of us are saying anything.

However, once I'm seated in the kitchen, and various plates of food are being shoved in front of me by eager house elves, I feel anything but relaxed. In actuality, nauseous would be a far better description. I can practically smell the fat and the sugar and the calories which I am expected to consume. I don't need this. I'm fat enough already. Eating now isn't going to help me lose more weight.

I stare pleadingly at Harry, who sits opposite me with his arms crossed, silently begging him to relent and allow me to go back to the dorms. He doesn't budge.

"We'll leave once you've had at least ten mouthfuls of pasta and a biscuit," he says sternly.

I think about how much extra exercise I'll need to do to burn off this many carbs.

"Come on, Draco. I know you can do it," he says in what I assume is meant to be an encouraging tone.

I look at the bowl of macaroni in front of me and gulp. The steam wafts into my face and my stomach rumbles involuntarily, causing Harry to adopt an expression akin to 'I told you so'. Slowly I dig my fork into the food and raise a small amount to my lips. My hand is shaking nervously and my heart is beating faster than a snitch's wings. Before I can chicken out, I stuff the pasta into my mouth, chew, and swallow, barely even tasting what I just ate.

I feel dirty, but under Harry's watchful gaze I do it again and again, until I've eaten half the required forkfuls.

And then, I stop. I stop because I am suddenly hit with the realisation that I just consumed more carbs than I have in a week. I'm aware of the food being digested in my body and I panic because I need to get it out before it makes me even fatter than I already am.

Harry looks alarmed but I don't have time to explain so I just bolt, staggering as fast as humanly possible in the direction of the exit. He catches up with me quickly though—grabbing my arm and swinging me round to face him—which makes my heart beat faster than it was already.

He starts to say something, but before he can even get three words out I gag, then lean forward, vomiting all over his shoes.

I go to apologise, but the world starts to spin again and I'm overwhelmed once more with the familiar sensation of fainting.

This time I wake up in the hospital wing, not the privacy of the eighth year rooms. It's almost empty and Potter's nowhere in sight. Madame Pomfrey however, begins to head over once she realises I'm conscious. I gulp; Madame Pomfrey can be a formidable woman when she wants to be.

"Mister Malfoy," she says sharply as she reaches my bedside, "it has come to my attention that you have fainted twice within the past twenty four hours."

I wasn't sure if she was asking me a question or not so I just kept quiet and stared at the ceiling.

"It also hardly escapes my notice that you are significantly skinnier than when I last saw you and after running a few checks I have discovered that you are severely dehydrated and that your blood pressure is extremely low—dangerously so, might I add. There are, of course, several illnesses which could be the cause of this, however I was told by Mister Potter that you are deliberately starving yourself and that this has gone on for quite some time now."

She pauses for breath whilst I scream internally. Harry had told her everything I had blindly trusted him with, too caught up in the feeling of being cared for to filter what I said. He had shared my most inner secrets and yet somehow he had twisted it to make me seem like the villain when really all I was doing was trying to lose weight. Madame Pomfrey too must be delusional if not even she can see that I'm still hopelessly pudgy, unworthy of being a Malfoy in this body.

"I've talked to the headmistress and she agrees with me that the only feasible solution is to send you to St. Mungo's where you can get professional help. If this carries on any longer, Mister Malfoy, I am afraid that you may not survive."

My head snaps towards her but she's already heading towards another patient further down the wing. I'm confused. There's nothing wrong with me—other than being overweight—so why are they making me leave Hogwarts? I almost feel like crying again.

She comes back later to tell me that I'm being collected in the morning. I don't have the energy to argue with her.

Sometime in the middle of the night, when the ward is dark and not even the stars can illuminate it, I hear the main door creak and soft footsteps across the stone slabs. I know before he reaches me that it's Harry. Who else would visit at such a time?

"Why?" is the only thing I ask him.

He responds by pressing his lips softly over mine, lingering only for a short second. He withdraws and I can feel his breath gently fanning my face.

"Because I care," he replies. And then he's gone.

He doesn't visit me again, in my bright, sterile home. No one does. I just sit, remembering how our lips fit perfectly together, and try to forget that he obviously doesn't care any more.

A/N: This is for everyone who requested a part two. I'm sorry it wasn't up sooner but I got distracted and then had a bit of a mental breakdown so this was the best I could do. I hope you like it anyway! Rose Xx