Treading Water: Chapter 2
Draco ran as soon as he was out of his aunt's line of sight.
He ran the entire way back up to his room, up three sweeping flights of marble stairs, speeding down five hallways, flying around seven corners, finally arriving, sweaty and out of breath. He threw open the door and flung it shut behind him, finally slowing to a walk as he collapsed on his bed. He lay on his back, heart pounding so hard Draco thought it might kill him with the force of its contractions. He closed his eyes, attempted to calm his breaths… but they would not slow. Why am I scared? Draco wondered, shaking. A strange heavy feeling seemed to crush his chest with every breath. He gasped for breath, sudden tears somehow spilling down his cheeks. He laughed derisively. What a pansy, crying in my room alone like a girl. Father would have a conniption if he saw me like this.
He calmed down, eventually. In the time it took for his breathing to return to normal, a house elf appreared with a tray of tea and honey and left; Draco did not bother to hide his still obviously tear-streaked face from the servant - Draco knew it wouldn't say anything.
He wiped his eyes viciously and stood up, trying to forget his aunt's words.
You'll get quite fat, dear Draco, and where would be the fun in torturing you then?
"Why did that bother me so much?" Draco wondered aloud. "I'm not... fat." But even he could hear the doubt in his own voice.
Slowly, almost painfully so, Draco walked up to the floor-to-ceiling mirror that dominated the wall space across from his bed. He stared at his reflection, at the pale skin and the pointed features and the white-blonde hair that needed to be cut. He looked at his body, but his clothes were too loose to see clearly. With trembling fingers he undid the tie and shirt buttons that he had done up so deftly half an hour earlier. Draco slid his shirt off and looked at his chest, at the pale expanse of skin. How... how did I not see this earlier? I'm...
... I'm disgusting.
Somehow, his stomach protruded much more than he had thought it did. What he had thought were nicely toned arms now look unforgivably flabby. How did this happen? Draco thought, appalled, trailing his hands incredulously across his chest, arms, stomach, feeling the fat that sat, unmoving, just under his skin. He quickly shed his trousers and socks and analyzed the horrendous masses of flesh that were his thighs. Merlin, he thought, feeling his eyes start to pick again. But this time, he forcefully suppressed the tears. There was no need to cry. I just have to get thinner, that's all. I'll just eat less. Draco thought briefly of the mound of food he had left at dinner, and was immensely thankful that his aunt had scared him from eating it.
Now that he had a plan, a way to make things better, Draco felt relieved, and more relaxed than he had been in over a month. He had found a way to make a part of his situation better, and now he knew what he had to do. "It's simple, really" he said, reassuring himself. I'll look better in no time.
And with that comforting thought, he returned to his bed and fell asleep.