take my hoodie ✓

twenty-two | bulimia

orange juice is perfect for this chapter

i dont usually add songs but listen to this one

btw this entire chapter is about bulimia so if that could trigger you, please don't read it.

~no pov

Malfoy never noticed the guilt that Harry felt, for something that wasn't even his fault. The blame was thrown at him, but it shouldn't've been.

Had he noticed, had he knew, Malfoy would never have opened up.

"Tell me, Potter, is your home the way mine is? Is it different?" Malfoy asked, wanting to hear the truth. "Are you just like my mother?"

"No. My house is fine."

He said house, not home. Malfoy thought.

"Does the mirror lie to you too?"

"What?"

"Does the mirror lie to you too?" Malfoy repeated. "Do you hate your body the way I do, too?"

Harry felt his heart sink to his stomach. Were the two really that similar? He bit his lip, and nodded ever so slightly.

But Malfoy didn't miss it. "Did the attention force you to look at yourself differently as well?"

Harry's lip was screaming at him to stop biting so hard, but he ignored it. And so, he nodded again.

would i finally have someone to relate to? to talk about it with? could this be my godsend?

"Maybe talking about your household is harder for you than it is for me. And that's alright. But I promise you, talking about things feels so good." Malfoy assured. "I've not told anyone about my house, nor have I talked about what I'm about to tell you. If you trust me, tell me your story, as I am to tell you mine now."

And Harry was convinced. He wanted to feel the way Malfoy said he felt. It sounded peaceful, and Lord knows Harry needed some for the anniversary about to come up.

"As you know, I'm quite popular. Now, listen, this isn't a brag, please don't take it the wrong way." He began. "In year eight, I started getting noticed for my.. skill, you could say. Being the Slytherin striker in football got me attention.

I loved it in year seven, but it was different in year eight. I'm not scarce of money, nor food, so I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. It was what my parents provided me with instead of love: food and money. And freedom.

I'd trade it all for love and attention, but that's not the point.

To have energy, I'd always have crisps and chocolate and sweets. Football requires energy, you should know. In year eight, when we won against your team, after you quit, everyone took their shirts off.

I was confident then, I didn't care about my body. So I took off my shirt, and I got cheers. It was great, but the next time we won, the cheers were quieter.

The first time I was seen shirtless, I overheard girls, and some boys, talk about how beautiful my body was. I adored the attention.

So the second time I did it, I walked past girls waiting to overhear the same thing. But I didn't hear everything I wanted to. Some popular girls were in front of me and said how revolting I looked because I gained weight.

And it scared me. I needed to look good, I needed to. I needed the attention, since I got none at home. So, when I did go home, and I looked at myself, I didn't see what I used to.