After getting home from the hospital i slept for a couple of hours only to wake up absolutley roasting in a sheet of sweat. I kicked my bedsheets of and looked at the time. Half past six, i knew i wouldnt get back to sleep so i just lay there thinking about the hospital. Still confused as to why he didnt say 'Youre fine, its just a cold. Heres some pills. Stop wasting my time' Why the tests? Stupid Muggles. Having to give me all these stupid jags to tell me i have a cold. After twenty minutes of lying in bed i decided that i would have some breakfast today. Even if it was just a slice of toast, it was a start. I had noticed that my hipbones were sticking out a little. I didnt like it. I also had stupid potions with the Weasel today. Great. I should have felt guilty for Snape blaming him for my nosebleed but i didnt. I didnt give a fuck. I would just get through the year focusing on the task at hand.

So i got up and got dressed. Checking myself over and over in the mirror. I looked paler. I looked thinner. My whole body ached. I had brusing on my neck, it almost looked like a hickey. My hair was still perfect though. It was heavily gelled back in that Malfoy way. It was my best feature. After reasurring myself i looked acceptable. I headed down to the great hall. I walked in. Saw all that food and though i was going to be sick. No youre going to eat something. I told myself. I slowly walked over to the Slytherin table and sat across from Crabbe and Goyle who were elbow deep in food. I took a slice of toast, buttered it and nibbled on it. The thing was, i felt so full. It felt disgusting to have in my mouth and it took all my strenght to swallow one bite. After doing this three times i gave up and sipped on water to help rid of the taste. I felt so weak. Dont be so fucking pathetic. I got up and went to classes. They all were equally shit. I couldnt concentrate on anything. I constantly felt sick. I looked at my timetable, the last class of the day was Potions with the Weasel. Fuck. I sigh as i walked over with Crabbe and Goyle who were too busy talking about the girls they'd shagged to even notice me. I hoped they wouldnt, i didnt want to talk about the opposite sex. Maybe it was just this illness but id never really been attracted to females. Pansy was just a device that i could control. I refused to sleep with her. I refused to sleep with anyone. I, one of the most fuckable boys in school, was a seventeen year old virgin. I know i should be ashamed at this but im not. I dont care right now.

I get to potions class to see the Weasel already sitting there. He was picking at the ingredients. I walked over and sat down. It was just so akward. When we werent shooting insults at each other. I looked at what he was doing the way he was stirring the potion then looked at the list on the desk.

'Wrong'

'What?' He said

'Youre doing it all wrong!' I said 'Its not supposed to be red, give it here'

It felt good snatching the stirrer from his hand. I was good at potions and in control. Also concentrating on potions took away the focus of the constant aching throughout my body. After 5 minutes the potion was how it should be.

'Done. The correct way'

'No need to be smug Malfoy' He snapped

I grinned

'And by the way, ive got detention everynight for the last week thanks to your stupid stunt'

I laughed 'Poor little Weasel! Next time i will break my leg, maybe then you'll get expelled'

'How did you do it? What spell did you do?'

'What?' I asked 'Dont be so stupid Weasel, i didnt do it on purpose, if i wanted to frame you i'd do it for something good'

'You mean it just happened?'

'No shit sherlock. God your thick' I snapped

He looked me up and down. 'Are you sick or something? You dont look well'

I froze. I didnt think he would ask me that. I could feel cheeks going red.

'Just shut the fuck up Weasel'

He looked angry 'Fine. Fuck you Malfoy'

We didnt speak for the rest of the lesson. My head was spinning. Crabbe and Goyle had barely raised an eyebrow since id got ill. I would frantically check myself in mirrors. I thought yes i was losing weight but overall i still looked good. It felt like it had all been for nothing after hearing that. It bothered me and it shouldnt have. Over the years me and Weasel have called eachother every name under the sun. I never thought past his comments but that 'You dont look well' bothered me.

When we were dismissed i pratcially ran out the room. Not even looking at him. I headed straight for my room and threw myself on my bed.

'Are you sick or something? You dont look well'

How the question spun round my head. It angered me. It infuriated me. Of all people to ask about my wellbeing why did it have to be the Weasel. Of all fucking people. I'd started getting ill during the summer, I sat around the house most days slept in till two. What was there to get up for? The symptoms started around July. I used to eat a shit load, pizza, chips, crisps you name it. I was one of those bastards who could eat whatever they wanted but didnt gain a pound and then i just got up one morning and the meer sight of an apple would have me vomiting. Then the night sweats came, i would wake up one miniute fucking boiling hot and freezing the next. It was exhuasting. But did my mother notice? No. Did she ever say 'Are you sick or something?' No.

Why, of all people, did it have to be the Weasel!?!

Well it didnt matter anyways, just one more night and id be back at that hospital with Dr Calvin moaning about me being a hypocondriact and me being given some symptomatic relief. I smiled at that last though. Everything would be okay.