take my hoodie ✓

twenty-nine | christmas

i miss having my own vape i get so bored without one

~no pov

For as long as he could remember, Draco Malfoy never spent Christmas with his family. He'd sit alone on the long dining table eating by himself.

And because he was alone, he'd eat everything. He'd binge on the entire meal for three, or what was left of it. His parents ate first, separately of course.

For Draco, what was left would be an excessive amount of food that shouldn't go to waste, right? So he would do a Good Samaritan act and finish it all.

Every Christmas, he felt disgusting. And what's worse is that he'd spend it with gifts from friends filled with food. Gifts from his obsessed admirers, also filled with food.

The entire day would be Draco binging and binging and binging. And he'd throw it all up at the end of the day, blacking out on the floor of his en-suite.

Even so, he still loved Christmas. He had hope that one day his family would eat together, laugh and give presents.

The only thing he got though, was more and more food. It was an annual thing for Narcissa Malfoy to send massive gift baskets to her son filled with food, as though her son was a fan and she was a celebrity.

His father would give him money, lots of it. As if his son was a charity.

Narcissa felt like gift baskets were enough to make up for the fact that she'd given up with parenting. Lucius thought money was the way to show his son his existence was acknowledged.

And the only thing it did was fuel his eating disorder.

So, Draco Malfoy sat in the middle of the dining table eating a small portion of food with Potter on facetime. Potter hadn't been included in his family dinner, as usual. He was eating salad as well. No turkey.

Draco hung up once the two had finished eating, both telling each other to enjoy the rest of their day. And he stared at the rest of the food.

Dobby couldn't supervise him, he had a family. So he was alone, yet again, like every other year.

And the loneliness was getting to him. He needed to not feel empty, and the solution was screaming at him. They were begging Draco to do a good deed and finish the food.

Imaginary Potter appeared, telling him not to do it. To keep his non-binging streak. But Imaginary Potter didn't say anything about being proud of him, because Draco wasn't proud of himself, and the fake brunet disappeared.

Draco gave into his demons and began piling up food onto his plate. He was eating more messily than Ron, letting go of the posh Malfoy look as he did every time he binged.

He soon gave up, eating straight from the plates of different food. He spent a half hour sitting there, eating everything. All his mind saw was food, until it was all gone.

And Draco felt ashamed. Disgusted.

Sick.

Usually, he'd get through the rest of the day without purging. But not today. Not when he'd relapsed in recovering. He ran to the nearest toilet and threw up until he was dry-heaving.

His father came down to check if there was any food left. He saw the mess Draco left, assuming it was Narcissa, or maybe some starving child, or children.

He didn't think it was humanly possible to eat that much food on your own. So he went with the starving children option, though it was stupid. The house was rather hard to sneak in or out of unless you'd lived there your entire life.

Shaking his head, he went away from the dining table to go back to his room. But he stopped when he heard a sound coming from one of the bathrooms. Could that be the starving children hiding out?

He opened the ajar door to see his own son panting above the toilet, crying. The room reeked of vomit and there was some around his son's mouth.

My son was the one who ate it all? And threw it all up? Is this not an eating disorder of some sort?

Lucius Malfoy may have been a bad father, bad husband and bad person, but he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't completely heartless, at least not when it came to his son.

"Draco?"

Draco looked up, expecting Dobby or someone, anyone else but his father. And when he saw the man, he quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slammed the toilet lid shut.

"Father?"

"Son, are you alright?"

No, father, I'm not. I relapsed in my bulimia recovery and I've never hated myself more. I'm disgusted in myself, so fucking disgusted.

"Fine."

"Did you- did you make that mess?"

"No. I invited in some homeless people, and of course they went a bit crazy about it." Draco quickly lied through his teeth. "Too much food left."

"Do you do this every year?"

Draco nodded. It was the only reasonable explanation for the amount of food leftover but always finished. The only one that didn't point to Draco fucking Malfoy being a bulimic bitch.

"Why are you vomiting?"

I lied. I ate all of that food, and I'm disgusted in myself. I wish I was dead.

"Food poisoning, I think."

"Oh. Should I fire someone?"

Draco shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. It was an accident. I found an old bag of crisps and didn't realise it was out of date."

"You're not supposed to be eating junk food, Draco."

Oh.

"It's unhealthy and not good for your diet. It's fattening." Lucius didn't realise how hard it was for Draco to hear that. "I want all of your junk food binned or I'll get Minika to search your room and confiscate it all."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but didn't. He knew he'd just have to eat it all instead, and so he nodded and left.

The rest of his day was spent eating all of the unhealthy snacks he had until he physically couldn't no more. The last few things were left outside of his window. Despite having a large, tall manor, it was rather easy to sneak out of.

He found a way after years of trying, and ever since that way had done him well.

Before he purged, he snuck out to go leave the food on the street for a real homeless person to consume, and came back.

He was more lightheaded than he'd ever been. He was sick, physically and sick of himself. He wanted to cry, to shout, to scream.

He punched a mirror till it shattered and his knuckles bled, and then he shoved a toothbrush down his throat and purged a total of six times before he blacked out.

Dobby found him the next day with dried blood on his knuckles, dried tears and vomit-breath.

I should've died.