Icicle Fingers (Drarry)

Chapter 17

A/N

Alright, so. Just a warning, but the slytherin dudes that Draco hangs out with for a while are gonna be pretty misogynistic, homophobic and overall assholes. Also, ⚠️EMETOPHOBIA WARNING FOR SEVERAL PARTS OF THE CHAPTER⚠️

•Draco•

Draco had missed the last lesson of the day as a result of his little "meltdown", something his father would definitely be notified of, and furious about. He now sat alone at dinner.

The Slytherin table, as well as the others, were still mostly empty. It was to be expected, as he was maybe twenty or so minutes early. Blaise and Pansy arrived after maybe five had passed, to his great chagrin.

It was aggravatingly silent, and hearing them whisper a few feet away from him certainly wasn't helping him keep his temper in check.  He hadn't bothered to put any food on his plate to sullenly push around, and instead attempted to ignore them by reading his Arithmancy coursebook. 

Draco didn't care about the glowering looks he could occasionally feel burning into the side of his head.
And he definitely didn't care when he saw Crabbe and Goyle sit on either side of Pansy. Some real friends he had, being a Slytherin was such a joy. Hip. Hip. Hurrah...

Frustration had begun to tar his mind like dark, heavy rainclouds blemish a perfectly blue sky. He was barely registering the words in front of him anymore, and after reading the same paragraph a third time he shoved the book back into his bag. He couldn't leave the Great Hall yet though, that would be the same as admitting defeat. The same as giving in to your strained eyes and blinking during a staring contest, giving in to your mortality.

Maybe that was a bit of an overdramatisation, but either way it was a big deal in the mind of Draco Malfoy.

Just to have something to do with his hands, Draco began piling sausage and shepherd’s pie onto his plate in large heaps. Madame Pomfrey had made sure to force some nutrient replenishing potion down his throat before he had gotten the chance to flee, so in reality he was far from hungry.

(⚠️A/N the following description is sorta gross, mb I've been reading too much horror and also I'm low-key a drama queen.)

He didn’t take his eyes off the mess of meat, mashed potatoes and indiscernable cooked vegetables as he picked up the silver utensils on either side of it. Combined with the sausages that were both cased in and looked like intestines, it looked kind of like someone had thrown up their guts and the contents of them onto his plate. Despite this disgusting image he’d painted for himself, he began to fervently shovel the stuff down his throat.

It felt as if his stomach would soon burst, yet he kept eating. As the last remaining slytherins arrived in bunches, he began to feel sick.

"Oi, Malfoy," Timothy Morcott sat down in front of him, making him look up from his plate. "Is it true you and Parkinson had a row earlier?"

"Erm, yes?" Draco replied, the skin on his neck squirming with discomfort.

"About time someone gave her a talking to!" he chuckled, along with some other slytherin boys Draco did not know the name of. "That girl, hanging out with so many blokes, bit weird isn't it?"

"Well, not really?" Morcott wasn't making any sense, but it felt best to avoid further conflict, at least for the few remaining hours of this particular day. "I mean, it shouldn't matter who she hangs out with. Besides, I don't get how that's relevant. I'd be annoyed at her either way."

The others were silent for a second, appearing puzzled, before bursting into raucous laughter.

"Oh you're damn right Malfoy!" one nameless slytherin said to him, guffawing. "She'd be a bitch either way!"