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The Prefects’ bathroom was supposed to be private. It was supposed to be safe. He didn’t feel comfortable bathing anywhere else, there were too many people. Too many eyes. Even if no one else was in there, the chance that someone could walk in and see him was one that he wasn’t willing to take.
He tried to avoid looking at himself in the mirror, but his eyes betrayed him, and he found himself completely frozen. Locked into staring. Disgust. Hatred. Anger. Hot, burning rage filled him. He just never looked
right.
There was always something off. Whether it was the mark on his side, from when Dudley had shoved him into the coffee table. Or the burn on his forearm from when some oil had popped onto his skin while he was frying bacon. Or just the way his hips rose, too pronounced, too obvious, against the rest of his body. He couldn’t help but turn to the side, glaring at how his stomach stuck out, just a bit, it wouldn’t be noticeable, probably. But it was all he could see, and it stuck out far too much. He tried to suck it in, but it only made him angrier. There were stretch marks too. Around his hips, thighs and back. Probably because he’d been starved for most of his childhood and then given a never ending supply of wonderful food once he’d arrived here. He’d gorged himself. How could he not?
Food was never guaranteed. He’d be a fool to not eat while he could. Still, he hated himself for it now. Hated how they littered his skin like scars, telling on him for his gluttony. Not wanting to look any longer, he lowered himself into the bath, letting the bubbles cover all of his shame. They changed colors, shifting from orange, to red, to green, to blue and then back to orange again. He ran his fingers through them, watching as they clung to their tips.
There was a sharp click, followed by a heavy scraping sound, as the door was pushed open. Horror filled him, and he tried to sink into the foam around him, wishing he could just disappear. His despair only grew, as he recognized the person standing there. He couldn’t see him. Not like this. Not now.
“Get out!”
His smile fell, confusion and hurt filling his grey eyes. He seemed stuck, as if he couldn’t understand what he was asking of him.
“I said get out, damnit!”
Draco visibly flinched, before he rushed out of the room, the door rattling shut behind him.
He knew he was being unfair. He knew it wasn’t Draco’s fault. That he didn’t know. But how could he begin to tell him? He could barely stand to look at himself. So, how could anyone else?
Of course, he would have to face him later. Draco would want an explanation, and why shouldn’t he? He had merely delayed the inevitable.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
He’d been seven paragraphs into his essay, when Draco’s voice cut through his concentration, stealing his breath away. It was what he’d been waiting for. It was what he’d been dreading. He’d known as soon as Ron had left, that he was doomed.
Swallowing, he dipped the quill back into the ink pot, letting it linger there for far longer than was necessary. A large, black bead rolled down the shaft, dripping onto his parchment. “Not really.”
Draco’s brow was furrowed, as it always was, when he was deep in thought or worried about something. “I really didn’t mean to intrude. I’d just thought that… Well, I don’t know what I’d thought, really…”
“It’s not you.” He pressed the edge of the quill against the paper, letting the ink well up.
“Do you want to tell me what it is?”
When he looked up, he found Draco’s eyes waiting for him, soft yet intense. “Well it’s just… it’s just me.”
“What’s just you?”
“It’s nothing. I’m just… being stupid.”
“You can talk to me, you know. If something is going on… I want to help.”
He looked away, unable to withstand Draco’s gaze any longer. “It’s not… like that. I just…” Cutting off, he shook his head, trying to chase away all of the fear bubbling up inside of him. “You promise you won’t laugh?”
“I wouldn’t laugh at you. Not like that. What is it?”
“I… I just didn’t want you to see me.”
Draco nodded, that thoughtful expression returning. “Alright. Do you want to tell me why?”
He found himself staring at the burn mark on his arm, so he twisted his sleeve down, covering it. “I guess.. I just…” He had no idea how to put how he felt into words. It always came out wrong. “I just feel like I’m… like my body is sort of… gross.”
The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to hide. Why had he even bothered saying anything? No one ever understood what he meant.
“I… I know I probably can’t change the way you feel about yourself in one conversation, but… I want you to know that I love you, regardless of what you look like or how you see yourself.”
“But… you can’t know that.”
“Why?”
“Because you haven’t actually seen me. It’s easy to say that now. But…” He took a deep breath. “If you saw me… You might not feel the same.”
“I understand why you think that, and I’m… not sure I can say anything to convince you otherwise. But I really wouldn’t think any differently of you. I know the only way you’d believe me right now is if I saw you.” Draco offered his hand. “But it’s okay if you can’t yet.”
His skin was soft. It was always, infuriatingly soft. He traced his finger over the back of his hand. “I just… I’ve never let anyone see. I feel sick just thinking about it.”
“You don’t have to.” The ink pot was carefully moved aside, so Draco could inch closer. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
He nodded, leaning against him. “I could… I could show you my arm. It’s just… a small part of it.”
“If you want to.”
His fingers felt stiff, as he reached forwards and pulled his sleeve up, revealing the wrinkled burn. Draco’s hand moved towards it and then stopped. “Can I?”
“Okay.” He watched, as his fingers traced the mark, tickling his skin, light and gentle.
“I love you. All of you.” Draco leaned forwards, pressing his lips against it, careful and hesitant. “It doesn’t change who you are. It’s just a part of you. And I love you just the same.”
He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find anything to say. The burn was still there, it probably always would be, and he still hated it. But Draco didn’t and that had to count for something. “Thank you.”
Their fingers linked together, tight and warm. “It’s just the truth.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“It’s really not.” Draco pecked his cheek, before he leaned away. “Do you want to finish this paper?”
“Yeah, probably should.” He redirected his focus, relieved for the distraction and excuse to end the conversation.
Draco didn’t ask for him to show him anything else. He hardly brought up their conversation, aside from occasionally whispering, “You’re beautiful,” into his ear. It always forced up a confusing whirlwind of emotions, as he knew he wasn’t, but it still made him feel a little bit lighter to hear it.
The first time it happened, he’d subconsciously shaken his head, everything within him viscerally disagreeing with the simple statement. Draco was only trying to make him feel better. It wasn’t true.
The next day, Draco had done it again. His head had still shook, and he’d still felt sour and bitter, but it had quickly faded, being overtaken by embarrassment.
Every day, Draco told him he was beautiful and every day he found himself fighting that statement less and less. He still didn’t believe it, he wasn’t sure he ever would, but he was starting to think that maybe Draco did.
It had taken him nearly two weeks to build up the courage to pull Draco aside. He felt as if his insides were squirming; and he was slightly worried he might be sick. There was a large part of him that still didn’t want to do this, but he knew Draco deserved to see. He thought he was beautiful, but he couldn’t trust that, not until Draco had seen everything.
The Prefects’ bathroom was the only place he felt somewhat safe. It was the only place he could guarantee that everyone wouldn’t barge in on him. So, that’s where he went. He could hear the taps dripping in the background, creating a tempo that mixed with his frightened heart.
Draco was watching him, silent and patient. He knew he would wait for as long as it took. He wouldn’t rush him. Which was good, because it took him almost thirty minutes to start to take his robes off. He stopped halfway through and ripped his glasses off, not wanting to see his own skin. His hands shook, as he tried to pull the final layer away, shame and fear causing him to freeze.
“You don’t have to do this.” His voice was calm and kind. He was giving him an out. He could put all of his clothes back on and run out the door, and he would never mention it again. He could forget all of this and go back to how things had been before.
But he’d already come so far, and Draco had already waited so long. “I… I want to.”
He tugged the rest of the robe over his head, letting it crumple to the floor beside him. His eyes stung, as hot shame flooded over him, along with all of his hateful thoughts.
“Can I touch you?”
He tried to see Draco’s expression but everything was too blurry. Still, he nodded. Cool fingers brushed over his arms, before they curled around his back, and he found himself being pulled into a tight hug. He collapsed against him, burying his face into his shoulder, as he started to cry.
“You’re so beautiful. So, so beautiful.” His hands traced the outline of his spine, rubbing up and down his back and over the stretch marks there.
He bit down on his lip. He wasn’t. He was horrid and disgusting. There was so much wrong with him and his mind happily supplied an extensive list. “You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not.” A soft kiss was placed on top of his head. “I love all of you.”
His stomach felt as if it stuck out terribly, and he sort of wanted to just tear it all away. “How?”
“Because.” Gentle fingers found his side, lingering over the scar there. “They’re stories, aren’t they?”
“Maybe… Maybe the scars are but…” He cut off, shaking his head.
“What is it?”
“I’m… I’m fat.”
“Oh, Darling. You’re really not.” Another kiss was placed on his forehead. “But even if you were, that doesn’t make you any less beautiful.”
He breathed in and reached for his glasses, sliding them back onto his nose. Draco didn’t look disgusted or like he was trying to hide something; he looked completely sincere and like he wanted to kiss all of him. “You really think that?”
“Yes.” Lips tickled the base of his neck. “I think you’re gorgeous.”
He couldn’t help but smile, as Draco continued to kiss him, helping to melt some of his pain away. “I think you should kiss me more.”
Draco’s smile brightened, as he did just that.
There was still a large part of him that thought he was undesirable and that part grew whenever he was alone. But when he was with Draco, he could forget all of that and just enjoy himself. His body was easier to live with and it became a little bit easier every day, as Draco continued to remind him how beautiful he was.