It wasn't really my plan to sit down and talk to Potter about this right now. I'm not sure why I even shared that little bit of information with him in the first place. Really, what we need to be doing right now is studying.

And yet, I opened my mouth.

And I'm not stupid enough to assume that this conversation is going to end with my ridiculous little reveal.

Right now, I'm staring down at the practice quiz, acutely aware of Potter's smell on my clothes, left there by his hug. I'm frozen. It's been so long since anyone aside from Pansy has hugged me that I don't even know how to react anymore. I don't what to say, or what do, or how I'm even supposed to feel about it. Now that it's over, I feel guilty about having not hugged him back. Am I supposed to cry? Smile? What is he expecting from me?

"Why, Draco?" He asks me. I sigh, and close my eyes. Study. We need to study.

"I can't fail this class." I mumble. "We only have two questions done." Potter frowns.

"Alright," he answers. "We have two choices here. We can talk now, and meet up to finish this quiz later. Or, we can finish now and make time to talk in the future."

"Who says we have to talk?" I ask, quietly. "Maybe that's all I wanted to say."

"You're right." Potter says kindly. "I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry for pushing you." I just nod. "What does the third question say?"

"Name 2 dangerous results that can arise from an improperly executed Undetectable Extension charm." I read off.

'Why,' he says. That should be obvious, shouldn't it? I begin flipping through the textbook, but now that this door has been opened, I can't focus. I glance around the library, feeling hot, anxious, and observed.

Potter slides closer to me and starts helping me look through the pages. He stops me on the appropriate page and reads.

A miscasting of this charm can lead to a few dangerous effects. Too light a casting could lead to the sudden shrinkage of the area, damaging any objects inside or harming any life inhabiting the affected space. An overcasting of the spell can lead to a near infinite, irreversible expansion, creating a space comparable to a vacuum. In such a case, all objects – or people – placed inside the affected area could possibly disappear forever.

Potter's voice is soothing, and I take a deep breath before I scrawl the answer out across the paper.

"Your hand is shaking," Potter observes, softly. I just shrug.

"It happens." I answer, quietly. I'm having a hard time processing the course material. I'm too busy thinking about Potter's question; 'Why'. Because I have to, that's why. Because a Malfoy is supposed to be beautiful, perfect. I am anything but beautiful and this is a good way to keep up with social expectation. Now, if only I could bring myself to say it out loud and actually tell Potter that.

"You alright?" Potter asks me cautiously. I have to think about that for a moment. Am I okay? What does he mean by the question? Does he mean am I okay right now or am I okay in general? Does that change my answer?

"I don't know." I find myself saying out loud.

"Well," he suggests, "why don't we take a break? We can start back up again when you're feeling a little better." He looks at his watch. "It's about dinner time. Are you hungry?" I shoot him a look. He frowns at me.

"You've got to eat something, Malfoy, and actually keep it down." I wrap my arms around myself. This conversation isn't making me feel any better. I don't know how to explain to Potter that the simple motions of dinner time are too exhausting for me to deal with.

"Trust me," I mutter. "Eating is pretty much as far from a 'break' as you can get for me."

"Well what would you like to do?" He asks me. I'm not sure how to answer this one. Honestly, I kind of want to talk about this. I've never had the option before.

"Is there anywhere else we can go?" I find myself asking. "Where there aren't so many people?" I don't know what I'm going to do, but if I do talk about this, or if for some reason I start freaking out again, I don't want all these people around.

Potter smiles at me and I shrink away, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"I have an idea. Come on." Potter stands and reaches his hand out to me. Cautiously, I reach out and grab his hand. Potter pulls me to my feet and I pull my hand away, blushing. I gather up my stuff and try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, and the nagging curiosity about where we're going to go.

I hang my bag across my shoulder, wincing at the usual sting, and as I follow Potter out of the library, I promise to myself that with him, I will be exactly me – take it or leave it. Potter has provided me with the first chance I have ever had to step outside of Malfoy mode, and stop pretending to be okay.

I follow Potter up flight after flight of stairs. Just as I'm wondering whether we will ever reach our destination, he stops in front of stretch of bare wall. As I stand in wonder, Potter walks back and forth across his stretch his wall – eyes closed – murmuring to himself. Suddenly, a door appears out of nowhere.

"Come on," Potter says, again reaching his hand out toward mine. Again, I grab it, and follow him through the door, having no idea what to expect.

As I enter through the room, I am greeted by a small, comfortable looking study. With two squishy armchairs, a sofa, and coffee table set in front of a warm, roaring fireplace. Sitting on the table is a plate sandwiches, cut into little triangles. I really hope he doesn't expect me to eat those.

"Sit down." Potter tells me. I do, but I'm not sure why. I stay quiet for a long time, staring at my feet. "Is this okay?" He asks me. I just nod. He watches me for a moment. "I don't know you, Draco." He tells me gently.

"No one does," I mumble.

"Well in this room, I want you to be honest, okay? No more…"

"Pretending?" I finish.

"Right." He says, nodding, seeming awkward. "Here, I want you to be comfortable as yourself. I know it'll be hard for you trust me, given our past, but I'd like for us to get to know each other." I hate to admit it, but the idea of having a finite space where I am able to just be sounds…. Well, amazing. "We don't even have to talk about your issue. We can come in here just to study. Or chat. So whenever we're together, you don't need to worry about how anyone else thinks of you." I finally take my eyes off the floor.

"And it stays here?" I ask. "Nothing leaves this room?" Potter smiles at me encouragingly.

"Never." He tells me. "Not until you're ready." I stare him down.

"Potter, I'm serious. I don't think you understand my implications."

"Then explain them to me." I take a deep breath. When I speak, my voice shakes, slightly.

"If I trust you, and you betray that trust…" I don't finish. I can't finish. Finishing would mean admitting, out loud, to another human being, that I am truly one push from the edge. I swallow, hard, and break eye contact with Potter.

"What is it, Draco? You can tell me." I look back up at him.

"I wouldn't… be able to… to handle it." I stammer out. "I wouldn't make it." I'm quiet for a moment. Potter says nothing, seeming to sense that I haven't finished. "You'd be killing me." I whisper. Potter watches me seriously.

"Okay." He answers. He looks at me intently. "I understand." He shakes his head. "And I won't let you down. I promise." I watch him for a moment and then nod, slowly.

"Okay." I croak out. I'm not sure whether I believe him, but the truth is irrelevant anyway. He knows now. Any outcome is on his head.

"Are you alright?" He asks me. Honesty, Draco. Honesty here.

"No." I tell him shortly. "I'm not."

"Do you feel like talking about it or would you just like to relax?" This is my chance. I should take it.

"I… I want to talk." I tell him. "If that's okay. I just… I never have." Potter picks up a sandwich and tries to hand it to me. I shy away from it.

"We can talk, Draco." He tell me. "But I need you to eat this." My anxiety surges.

"I can't." I whisper, feeling my eyes well up. I shake my head. "Potter, I can't."

"Yes you can," he says patiently. "And it's Harry. We're friends now." I wipe at my eyes. If I cry now, I will never forgive myself. I keep shaking my head.

"I can't." He doesn't stop trying to hand me the sandwich.

"Why not?" He asks gently.

"You're staring at me…" I whisper. For some reason, Harry smiles, and for a brief moment I think that he's laughing at me. Then, he takes the same sandwich, and takes a bite from it.

"We're just having a snack together, Draco." He tells me. "That's all." I stare. "Please. I hate being the only one eating. It makes me feel strange."

"I – o-okay." I say timidly. I grab a new sandwich from the plate and take the smallest bite that I can manage.

"When you finish that, we can talk." He tells me. He pulls a book from his bag and starts leafing through it as he chews. He's making a noticeable effort not to look at me, and I'm incredibly grateful for this. In fact, I even eat two. "So," he says when I've finished. "What did you want to talk about?"

Now that I've been confronted with the opportunity, I have absolutely no idea whatsoever how to proceed. The honest answer to his question is, well, everything. Of course, that's much too big to start with.

"I-I don't know how to start…" I mumble. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at my knees. I feel my hair fall forward in front of my eyes. I'm embarrassed and ashamed.

"Well," Harry says patiently. "Can I ask you some questions then? Is that alright?" I nod, without saying anything. "Aright." He tells me warmly. "You say it's been a little over a year and a half, right?" I nod again.

"Yes." I answer quietly.

"Do you remember the first time that you did it?" I nod again, and to my humiliation a lump begins to form in my throat. "Can you tell me about it?" I'm quiet for a moment after he asks me this. This isn't a story I've ever told to anyone. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure I've ever even written it down.

"I." I start to speak, but my voice breaks and I stop. I swallow, and try to start up again. "It started with my Quidditch mates," I finally manage to get out. "They were teasing me." This sounds pathetic and I wince.

"Why were they teasing you, Draco?" Harry asks me softly. I shrug and wipe a little bit of moisture from my eyes. "Because I'd never win." I answer. "They decided the reason was that I wasn't built enough like a Seeker. They'd harass me during practice, after matches. Sometimes jokingly, sometimes angrily. For months." I look up at Potter to gauge his reaction and see him looking intently at me with a sympathetic expression on his face. "I-I'm a Malfoy," I stammer. "I have expectations. Part of that is keeping in shape and not losing presentation."

"Draco, you're not fat. At all." I bite down on my lip in fear that it will start to tremble.

"It's more than that though!" I cry out. "I couldn't take it anymore! At first I thought it was just Blaise being an arse, but… but I could never win anything. A-and…" I take a deep breath. "I started to feel like I didn't deserve the food to begin with." I mumble. "I still don't, really."

"What happened that first time, Draco?" I sniff and wipe a tear from my cheek before I answer him.

"I'd just lost a match against you." I tell him, softly. "The entire team joined together and started berating me for letting myself get out shape, telling me that just because I'm a Malfoy doesn't mean I get to call myself an athlete. Blaise shoved me against a locker and called me useless." I stop for a minute and close my eyes. "I never fought him back." I tell him.

"Why?" Harry asks me, gently. I look up at him.

"We're honest here, right?" I ask, hesitantly. Harry smiles warmly at me and nods. Briefly, I feel the sensation of my stomach making a beeline for my feet.

"It was too much, Harry." I whispered. "I couldn't take it. I couldn't fight him. I couldn't even argue with him… I was forcing back tears." I lift my gaze and meet Harry's bright green eyes, which seem to be filled with concern. I'm quiet for a moment, remembering just exactly how broken I felt at that moment. The mantra going through my head.

Stupid, fat, ugly, useless, fat, failure.

"And then what happened," Harry asks me. Despite my best efforts to stop it, the tears break though. For a moment, I try wiping them away. A moment later, I give up, reminding myself that here, I will refuse to keep pretending.

"I ran." I whisper. "As soon as I could get away from them, I ran. Somehow I ended up in the second floor bathroom and… I'm not even sure what I was thinking. I just remember feeling like it was life or death if I didn't get it out of me. I was so… disgusted with myself."

"Why, Draco?" Harry asks calmly. I swallow back sob.

"Because, I am disgusting." I tell him, sincerely. "I didn't deserve it." Disgust and rage are beginning to creep into my voice. "I didn't deserve any of it! How dare I stand there and fucking act like I belong!" I'm crying hard now. I'm surprised. With all the ways I imagined how this conversation might go, I never thought I'd cry. I take a moment to compose myself before I keep going. Harry moves over to sit beside me, and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"So I did it," I continue, shakily. "I locked myself in a stall, and slammed the door as hard as I could. I tried casting a vomiting spell, but I'm so fucking useless with charm work all it did was make me retch. So… I shoved my fingers down my throat." I lean forward on the couch and bury my face in my knees. My entire body is trembling with the admission. Harry rubs my back and I try as hard as I can not to think about that fact that I'm crying – right now – in front of another human being. Especially this human being.

"Draco," I hear Harry tell me softly from beyond the darkness. "None of that is true. You're not fat, you're not worthless, and you're not stupid." All Harry's words succeed in doing is making me cry even harder. My entire life – over the entire history of my existence – not a single person has ever comforted me. Not once. "Shh…" Harry croons, gently. "It's alright. You're going to be okay, Draco." I shake my head into my knees, feeling a little bit like I'm on the verge of a panic attack.

"I don't feel okay." I stammer. "I'm not okay."

I can imagine how pathetic I must seem to Harry right now, stumbling and crying over a stupid little "eating disorder." What he doesn't understand is that there is a hell of a lot more to it than just some teasing by my Quidditch mates. To add to that, he doesn't even know about my other issues.

"I know you're not okay." Harry tells me calmly. "But that doesn't mean you can't be."

"It doesn't feel like it." I whisper. I start to feel nauseous. Harry keeps rubbing my back.

"I'm glad you decided to talk to me, Draco." He tells me softly. "I was really worried about you." I try to swallow back my tears.

"I'm sorry." I mumble.

"Why are you sorry?" I sit up, and using my palms, I try to wipe my face dry.

"For being so pathetic," I mumble thickly. My heart stops when I moment later Harry reaches out his hand and turns my face to look at him.

"Don't." He answers me, firmly. "Just, don't." I stop breathing for a moment. "You have an eating disorder. That is very serious. You are suffering, badly, from depression." I stare. "You are not pathetic. I promise."

"I don't know what to do." I whisper, still feeling hysterical. "Harry, I'm scared." My companion reaches forward and pulls me, tightly, into a hug.

This time, I know what do. I wrap my arms around Harry's – surprisingly strong – body, and hold on to him for dear life.

tic