When Draco had returned to the dormitories, the air in his room was thick and uncomfortable. He felt eyes on his back as he set his messenger bag down none too gently and began stripping. After a scalding hot shower, where he'd scrubbed his skin raw of the day's events, he lay unmoving in his bed and tried his best to ignore the others. No one said a word to him.

Today he'd been denounced by his father, attacked by a Dementor, lost his virginity to Theo, had a civil conversation with Harry Potter, where he'd found out that Severus had been on the right side of the war, and then promptly had a fight with Theo because of his own insensitivity. His head was going to explode.

He'd talked to Potter, and it had actually felt good to release some of that burden. The burden that would always be too heavy to carry, but that would maybe lighten, little by little.

Not even Pansy knew he'd had to torture his mother.

He thought about what Potter had said, about Severus switching sides for Potter's mother. He wondered how that made Potter feel.

He eventually fell into a fitful sleep, where he dreamt of Potter's hands pulling him to safety and how tightly he'd gripped onto his torso as they'd escaped the fire's clutches by mere inches.

Draco skipped breakfast. Just the thought of being anywhere near Theo right now made him want to empty the contents of his stomach. Which was probably why he got cornered in the common room by Pansy a few hours later after his morning classes.

"Draco Malfoy."

He sighed. He knew he'd have to have this conversation with her eventually; there was no more putting it off.

"Figured you'd come looking for me sooner or later." He'd aimed for arrogance, but he just sounded tired.

"You figured? So you've got two brain cells left to rub together, then. That's good news." She sat down across from him and folded her arms in her lap, tapping her foot expectantly.

Draco didn't speak. He swallowed thickly.

"Well?" Pansy pressed. "I'm not going to be the one to do the talking."

"What do you want me to say, Pansy? It all happened really fast. We started kissing, and next thing you know we were-"

"I wasn't asking you to justify that, Draco." Her lips pulled down in a tight frown.

Oh.

Draco tensed. His knee began to bounce. He put a shaky hand on top of it to still it.

Pansy's face turned cold. "You walked out on him."

Draco gripped his wrist with his nails and dug in.

"You left him there to deal with the aftermath of everyone finding out- alone. Who does that?"

Draco's throat began closing up. In the moment, he'd been so blinded by panic from Potter's sudden presence right after everyone at the table found out that he and Theo had just shagged, that he hadn't even considered how his actions would affect Theo.

"I'd understand if it were just some random bloke, or if we hadn't already known you were bent," she continued, sounding incredulous. "But you just . . . Stomped on his heart. Just like that."

Stomped on his heart? What did she mean?

"You hurt my friend," she said. The words were detached, and Draco felt as though a very large branch were snapped from their friendship.

My friend. Not our friend. My friend.

Draco exhaled shakily. His knee stopped bouncing. He dug deeper into his wrist.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Pansy asked, quieter this time.

"It was all so much," Draco breathed. "There was no time, I couldn't-"

"You don't need time to know whether or not you feel something for someone."

But it had all happened so fast, and how could Draco's trust issues have been expected to fully dissipate in that short of a time? And Potter had been there, and it was all too much-

"You couldn't have acted any more ashamed if you tried. I dunno if you were ashamed of him, or ashamed of yourself, but either way, you fucked up. Majorly."

Draco knew. He knew he'd fucked up, but there was nothing he could do about it now because Theo hated him and was sick by the sight of him-

"If you were ashamed of yourself, that's a long road you've got to travel down by yourself before you're anywhere near ready to start messing with people's heads again," Pansy said icily, glaring daggers into his eyes.

"And if you were ashamed of him, then that's completely on you because that boy has done nothing but pine for you since the moment you left him alone with me in that broom closet."

Draco wasn't stupid. He knew Theo had wanted him for years. He'd watched his tells, the way his gaze would linger on Draco a little longer than was appropriate whenever he bent over to pick something up, or when he began unbuttoning his shirt. But the way Pansy had phrased it, made it sound like it was something more than lust. His heart began beating faster in his ribcage.

"But either way, you're an arse, and you should be ashamed of yourself."

Draco's eyes averted to the floor.

Pansy stood up. "Don't bother joining us for lunch."

Had they all- Draco couldn't even focus on that right now. His mind was too preoccupied with what Pansy had said about Theo pining after him. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

Draco watched her leave, a desperate apology on the tip of his tongue. He knew he wouldn't say it. He didn't have the spine.

Draco went to lunch alone that day. He startled when someone sat next to him.

"Hey."

It was Greg.

Draco smiled wanly at him, before filling his plate with small helpings of food.

"Not freezing me out with the others?" Draco asked him.

Greg shrugged. "Too much drama for me. I prefer to stay out of it. Nott knows I'm closer to you, anyways."

Draco felt undeserving of the kindness.

As they began eating, Draco chanced a glance down the table. He knew it wasn't a good idea, but at this point he'd realized that his mind liked to torture him.

Theo was looking down, and Pansy was rubbing his back in soothing motions. Draco promptly lost his appetite.

Greg didn't speak on Draco's barely touched plate.

Days began to slip by like melted butter through his fingers. He skipped breakfast every morning and spent lunch and dinner with Greg, who was a perfect safety net because he would never comment on Draco's eating habits. When Draco could only choke down a few bites before the bile in his throat threatened to upturn his entire meal, Greg ignored it and asked him about his classes. It was a routine. Draco liked routines.

He saw Potter in the hallways often, always sandwiched between Weasley and Granger with a big, dopey grin on his face. He was glowing he looked so happy, and Draco privately admired the way his green eyes sparkled when he laughed. Draco secretly wished he could be the source of that laughter, though he knew he never would be.

Sometimes he saw Potter walking with his girlfriend the Weaslette, whose name he couldn't recall, and every single time Draco's stomach would coil and fold into knots. He supposed he should be happy for Potter; one of them deserved it, after all, and Potter had certainly taken the biggest hit from the war. But seeing him with Weaslette made his insides crumble to dust.

He spent all his time in the library, buried in his books. If he didn't have any friends besides Greg to talk to, who wasn't particularly notorious for his schoolwork, then he would be damned if he didn't get the best marks that he possibly could. Maybe he would even beat Granger.

Eventually, Draco was no longer able to warm up.

He found himself shivering even in long sleeves and his thickest robes put together. He huddled by the fire at night, feebly attempting to attain some circulation in his joints before he'd bury himself under all his blankets and curl up in a ball. He knew what he was doing wasn't healthy, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about being healthy any longer.

Not when his friends looked happier at the Slytherin table with him gone.

"Stop looking at them," Greg told him. Draco sighed noncommittally and poke at his stew.

"I fucked up."

"You did."

"But strangely enough, I don't feel that sorry. I told him I wasn't ready. It isn't my fault he lied to me."

"Think he's been ready for years, mate."

First Pansy, now this? Where was this coming from? Where was Draco when Theo was pining away for him, supposedly looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered?

"I'm not a mind reader, Greg."

"No, but you're smart. How you didn't figure it out is beyond me."

Draco was unable to respond. His stomach churned, and not from hunger. He pushed his plate away.

Draco eventually stopped looking at himself in the mirror. He still combed his hair every morning, but he couldn't bear to look into the eyes of the monster he'd become. He didn't want to see the physical repercussions of what skipping meals was slowly doing to his body, nor did he want to see his Dark Mark, or his scars, or anything else that was him. He hated it all.

He caught glimpses of Theo here and there. He noticed that Theo had started walking to classes every so often with a tall, attractive bloke with sweeping black hair and ocean blue eyes. Not that Draco noticed the eye colour of Theo's sexy new side piece. Side piece had to be all it was. Theo didn't do main courses. Or at least Draco had thought. But clearly, Draco hadn't meant that much to him if he could move on that quickly, right?

Draco knew the right thing to do would be to apologize. Then, at least, he would have his friends back. Any chance at a relationship with Theo was ruined, but he could still have him as a friend, and surely that was better than nothing?

Yet, something in him prevented him from doing so. It was almost like a part of himself that lay dormant had risen again, taking control and urging him to see how far he could take this.

Draco stopped going to dinner. Greg never brought it up.

He was on his way back to his room to pick up his books when he heard voices inside. He leaned against the ajar door frame to listen.

"-think you should talk to him, he's getting bad. I'm really worried about him." Greg.

Who did Greg think he was, talking about Draco to the others as though he were weak?

"If he wants to talk to us, he'll come do it himself." Blaise. For all Draco knew, they could be the only two in the room.

"Theo needs to know," said Greg. Yup.

"But he won't, will he? Because he doesn't care about anyone but himself," said Blaise.

Draco's gut curled at the harsh words.

"You know that's not true, mate."

Draco didn't need anybody else fighting his battles for him. He was about to march right in and confront Blaise on the spot, when Blaise spoke.

"Is it, though? Because if he's doing this to himself, knowing it will make people worry about him, that's the most selfish thing a person can do. You didn't see how Theo was that first week. He was a wreck."

Draco's mouth dropped open in shock. Theo was a wreck? Over him?

"I know Draco fucked up. But this is serious, this goes past whatever is going on between the two of them. I'm seriously worried about him."

"Oh, what is he doing?" Blaise asked flippantly. "Moping around in the common room, sad he doesn't have any cronies anymore?"

"He isn't eating."

A cold, stifling silence swept over the room. Blaise didn't speak for a long, long moment. Draco was about to spin around and leave, having heard enough, when he heard the other man speak.

"He's going to have to figure that out, then."

Draco walked away from the room, books completely and utterly forgotten.

He continued to skip dinner. Not to worry Greg. But because he had no desire to go. He didn't see the point in sitting and torturing Greg with his company, just to eat a few slices of potatoes. Greg already felt sorry enough for him at one meal to last him for three.

Dizzy spells started shortly afterwards. Draco would stand up and immediately feel a headrush. Everything would go all fuzzy, colors would fade to a muted sepia, and his chest would feel light and airy as he tried to gain balance on his feet. The first time he had one Greg had fortunately been there to steady him. They'd been leaving lunch, and Draco had most furiously pushed off his touch.

"I'm fine," he'd spat indignantly, but the next time it happened Greg fixed him with a stern stare that silently warned him not to say a word.

Draco could deal with not being warm, with getting dizzy, feeling faint. What he couldn't deal with was the increasing looks of concern from Greg. He'd have to do something about that. It wasn't that he didn't want to eat. He couldn't.

One dreary morning, Harry set off to Potions. Today he and Malfoy would be getting their project grade back, and he was nothing if not eager to find out their score. They'd worked rather hard on it, and surprisingly they'd managed to keep civil the entire time. A win in and of itself, he thought.

Malfoy was already sitting at their desk when he arrived. Like usual, he did not acknowledge Harry's presence. But Malfoy knew today they'd be receiving their scores. Harry had thought the other boy might demonstrate a little more enthusiasm.

Slughorn began passing out the scores, and when he handed Harry theirs he took it with antsy hands and peered.

Full credit.

He smirked, passing the parchment to Malfoy. Malfoy took it from him and read, though his facial expression didn't change. It remained the same. Now that Harry was taking a closer look at him, he noticed Malfoy looked a bit pale.

"Well, aren't you excited?" Harry asked him.

Malfoy nodded, looking at him wearing a strange sort of smile. It looked . . . forced. "Yeah," was all he said.

Harry frowned.

"You just don't seem it, is all."

Malfoy's face settled into that scowl Harry knew all too well. "What's it to you, Potter?" he asked, and that was the end of their conversation.

Malfoy held his tongue while they worked on their potion in the second half of class, and Harry noticed that the rings around his eyes had worsened slightly. Malfoy displayed not a single iota of life while brewing this mix, and in spite of himself, it had Harry slightly worried. He wondered if there was something going on.

While it was Harry's turn to add ingredients and stir, Malfoy began blinking his eyes rapidly, as though he were having trouble staying awake.

"Er . . . Malfoy?"

Malfoy stilled his movements, opened his eyes fully and sneered at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind."

Once class ended Harry collected his things to leave. Malfoy was out the door first, directly in front of him and Hermione.

"I'm assuming you got full credit as well," Harry told her.

Hermione smiled at him. "Looks like being partners with Malfoy isn't so bad, then."

Harry forced a smile. "No, I guess not."

He looked from his friend back to the blonde who was walking ahead of them. Suddenly, the blonde staggered on his feet. He looked like he was about to fall over. Harry cursed, and before he even realized what he was doing he ran forward and caught Malfoy just as he began to crash to the ground.

Malfoy was heavier than he'd expected, and his arms strained with the weight of him. Malfoy opened his eyes, and immediately attempted to spring out of Harry's grip. Harry held onto him tighter, out of pure instinct.

"What the hell, Potter. Let me go."

"If it weren't for me, you'd have cracked your head open on the floor." Harry let him go, and immediately Malfoy wobbled on the spot. Sighing, Harry grabbed one of his arms none too gently and wrapped it around his shoulder.

"Harry, he needs to go to Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione, sounding worried.

"No!" Malfoy exclaimed from beside him. "Please, no . . . Not again."

"You fainted, Malfoy, in case you've forgotten," said Hermione sternly.

Malfoy's eyes widened in panic. "I did?" he asked, voice much smaller than before. "S-Shit . . ."

"Harry, I've got to get to class," Hermione said, frowning at the pair of them. "I'll see you later."

With a swish of her robes she was gone in the crowd, leaving Harry to deal with Malfoy completely out of his element.

"You don't remember fainting?" Harry asked him, feeling worried. Though in this position, it was hard to feel anything aside from Malfoy's closeness. His body pressed against his, his breath coming out in puffs on his face.

Malfoy shook his head.

"Well, then I should probably take you." Harry began walking, but Malfoy grabbed onto his collar from across his shoulder and yanked.

"No!" he exclaimed.

"Where should I take you, then? You clearly aren't well enough to walk on your own, you're leaning on me like your life depends on it."

Malfoy sighed. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he began to sink into Harry.

"No, no, no, Malfoy. Stay awake. I need you to stay awake."

"Can you take me to the kitchens?"

"The kitchens? What on earth for?"

Malfoy deadpanned him. "Really, Potter? To eat."

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay . . ." Harry said, unsure to what extent this problem went. He knew this was absolutely point blank none of his business, and if Malfoy in his normal state remembered that Harry had seen him like this he'd probably get Obliviated. But he couldn't help but feel invested, feel worried, like this was somewhat his responsibility now.

"You . . . Need to eat? But we just had breakfast." He couldn't help but want to pry a bit, see how far Malfoy in this state would let him go.

"Skipped it," Malfoy said flatly, standing up a bit taller.

"You did? Why?"

Malfoy sighed, letting go of Potter and standing up on his own. "Because I wasn't hungry." Then he wobbled again.

"Stop doing that-" Harry grabbed him by his waist, pulled him flush against his side, and wrapped Malfoy's arm around his shoulder once again. "Stay like that."

"M'kay. You're bossy, Potter." The two began walking, Malfoy staggering on his feet but walking all the same.

Harry knew better than to push more. Malfoy clearly wasn't himself, and to pry

any further would toe the line into taking advantage. If Malfoy wanted to lie to him and tell him he just wasn't hungry, he would have to accept it. The information wasn't his to challenge.

"Miss my friends," Malfoy mumbled into his shoulder. Harry stopped. He what?

"You miss your friends?" Harry asked him. "Can I ask why?"

"No." Harry expected as much.

Malfoy wasn't giving him much to work with, here. But turns out Harry needn't have asked. For, as they were walking, Malfoy provided somewhat of an answer of his own.

"They hate me. And I understand why."

"Surely they don't hate you."

"Noo, they do."

"Why?"

"It's personal."

They kept walking, getting closer. Malfoy surprised him again.

"You were the first person I ever told. About the Dark Lord making me torture Mother."

Harry stopped. He looked at the boy before him, practically loopy and unsteady on his feet. His face was white as a sheet, and his eyes had lost all life.

His heart clenched from hearing this information, and not only because he knew regular-Malfoy would never tell him.

"Malfoy . . ."

"I should tell you more things. About me. Makes me feel better."

Harry's eyes widened. His heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly.

"That so?"

"Yes."

He waited for Malfoy to respond, but no more was spoken from him as they completed their journey to the kitchens. He pulled open the door, to find Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson digging through drawers on the right hand side.

Parkinson jumped at the sound of someone coming in, and Zabini stood up tall to greet them.

"Potter . . ." His eyes narrowed maliciously when he zeroed in on Malfoy. Harry wondered what that was all about.

"What're you doing with him?" Parkinson asked Harry, voice laced with disgust. Suddenly, Harry knew what Malfoy was talking about when he said he'd missed his friends. Something was wrong.

"Look at him," Harry said, all but thrusting Malfoy's body at Zabini. Startled by the harsh gesture, Zabini caught the boy and struggled to keep him upright as Malfoy staggered in his arms.

"Did you drug him?" Parkinson asked.

"No, why would I- Nevermind, it's not worth it." Harry ran a hand frustratedly through his hair. He wasn't sure why he was getting so worked up about this, when this was really none of his business. But something compelled him to stay, to see this out.

"Then what's going on with him?" Zabini asked, pushing Malfoy to the counter so he could lean against it.

"I dunno, but I brought him here because he said he needed to eat. You're his friends, you should know what's wrong with him."

"It's . . . complicated," said Parkinson. "And frankly, none of your business. All you need to know is, what Draco chooses to do with himself is no longer our concern."

"No longer your concern?" Harry parrotted. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He was brought back to the library, where Malfoy had been so insistent on studying with him that he'd abandoned his friends immediately. How tense the atmosphere had been when he'd walked up. His mind connected the dots. Something was going on.

"It means he's an arrogant prat," said Zabini.

"Well, nobody's arguing that," said Harry. "But I brought Malfoy here to eat, so if neither of you will get something for him, then I will."

He reached behind him where Zabini was holding him with one hand flat against his chest to the counter. He looked ready to pass out again. Harry reached into a basket of fruit and pulled out a banana.

Zabini let go of Malfoy, and Malfoy gripped the countertops tightly. Zabini stepped away. Harry took his place, standing close to the other boy, close enough to hear his uneven breaths.

"Here," he said softly, suddenly feeling as though they were the only two in the room. "Eat this."

Malfoy took the banana from him and began peeling it slowly.

"How long has he been like this?" Zabini asked him.

"Only a few minutes," said Harry. "I caught him outside Potions when he was about to fucking faint. Been a charming time ever since."

He and Parkinson exchanged a glance. Harry could see it in their eyes; they were worried, even if they weren't verbally letting it on.

Malfoy ate his banana in silence.

"He was about to faint?" Parkinson asked, voice coming out in a squeak.

Harry nodded.

"I don't know what the fuck's going on between you guys, but right now you need to set aside your differences and look after him."

"He's perfectly capable of looking after himself," said Zabini.

"Oh, stop it, Blaise," cried Parkinson, sounding distressed. "He is not, and you know it. He's not eating again."

Again?

"What do you mean, again?" Harry couldn't help but ask, so it was really no surprise when Parkinson responded with,

"None of your fucking business, Potter."

"Draco," Parkinson said harshly, marching over to him. Malfoy flinched, grip tightening on his banana.

"Why are you doing this to us? Why aren't you eating?"

Malfoy's eyes were still glazed over, but as Parkinson's words sank in, they began to clear.

Harry began to feel as though he were intruding on a private moment, that this entire conversation wasn't meant for his ears. Malfoy was safe, for now; the situation had been de-escalated. He needed to go.

"Potter, what are you doing here?" Malfoy asked him, ignoring Parkinson. Harry turned his attention to the boy, who had regained some colour in his cheeks.

"I was just leaving."

"Maybe you should stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong in the first place, then you wouldn't have to keep scrambling for ways out." The words were harsh, biting. Malfoy was definitely back to himself.

"Maybe you should be a little more grateful when somebody tries to help you and stop acting like such a stuck up, pompous arse." Harry was appalled. Here he was sticking his neck out for Malfoy again, and this was the treatment he got?

"Maybe it's best if you go, Potter." Malfoy's tone was ice cold. His voice held none of the kindness or vulnerability it'd had on their way over.

"For once, I agree with you," Harry snarled, and swiftly exited the Kitchens, vowing that would be the last time he'd ever help Draco Malfoy.

Draco placed his half-eaten banana on the counter and turned to face Blaise and Pansy, who were both looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"Not that this hasn't been fun, because it has," Draco began, gathering his strength for his walk back to the common room to gather his materials for Transfigurations, "but I'm out."

He began to walk away, but Blaise put a hand up to stop him. Draco yelped, startled by the gesture. He'd fully expected to get out of there without a fight.

"Not so fast." Blaise was frowning at him, though Draco wasn't sure why. Surely Blaise didn't care?

He turned to Pansy, who wore an even deeper frown. Her eyes almost looked like they were glistening, and Draco in his fevered state wasn't sure whether it was a trick of the light.

"You don't get to be the victim here, Draco." She had her full, undivided attention on him.

"It isn't fair to us," Blaise added.

Draco felt his heart thump in his chest.

"You . . . You do this thing where you pretend like you don't care, even though you really do, a lot, and it's unsettling." Pansy fiddled with a piece of her hair.

Draco's heart thumped harder.

"What are the rest of us supposed to do while you mindlessly destroy yourself?" Blaise incredulously. "Like you don't even have a soul?"

That one hurt.

Draco felt frozen, like if he were to move one muscle he would explode into pieces.

"This isn't how you get our attention." Pansy had softened her tone, as though she were speaking to a small child, and no, she had it all wrong-

"You don't get to ask for our help when you . . . Do the things you do. You're so fucking infuriating." Blaise's had only hardened more, and Draco flinched from the force of it.

Pansy took a step closer to him. "I tried last time, Draco. I tried so hard, and you just got thinner and thinner-"

"You broke his heart," said Blaise, voice torn to pieces. "And now you stand here and expect us to save you from yourself?"

He didn't know. He didn't know he didn't know he didn't-

"You look half dead already. And I can't help you this time." Pansy cut herself off with a strangled sob.

"I never asked for your help, Pansy." His words were calm, collected, the polar opposite of his heart pounding away at rabbit speed inside his ribcage.

"I know." A single tear rolled down her cheek. "And that's the problem."

She was standing here crying because of him. He was sorry. He was so sorry.

"I'm sorry, Pansy." The words flowed out as naturally as breathing. He would apologize for the rest of his life just to get his best friend to stop crying over him.

"No." Pansy shook her head. "You aren't, Draco."

Draco swallowed. His grip tightened on the counter.

"You think you can just . . . play these mind games with us, and it's sick," said Blaise. "You're sick. You need help."

Pansy nodded.

Draco felt something inside him shatter.

"It's not a game," he choked out, eyes welling with tears. He would not cry. He would not cry.

Blaise glared daggers at him. "You probably don't even know what you're doing to Greg, you sick son of a bitch."

Draco wanted to retch. His insides churned viciously.

"Leave Greg out of this," he said slowly, dangerously.

"You know that he hasn't the bollocks to call you out on your shit, unless it's got something to do with justice for Muggleborns," said Blaise. "So you've been using him. Don't even deny it. You know it's true."

Draco couldn't deny it. It was true.

"I didn't ask him to be there for me. He just is. Deal with it."

"I'll give you something to deal with," Blaise took a step closer to him. Draco felt smaller under the tall boy's glare.

"Before long, you'll have pushed everyone out, and you'll have no one left to tolerate you but your miserable little self. And when that happens, when you finally implode, no one will be around to pick up the pieces."

Draco watched, gobsmacked, as Blaise and Pansy walked out of the Kitchens, leaving him all alone.

Once he was certain they were out of earshot, he allowed his tears the grace to fall peacefully and without interruption down his face.