Chapter 1 : "Doll"
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And the Secrets That Lies Below the Porcelain Surface
Blaise Zabini let his delicate fingers run carefully through his dark fringe, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. The skin was pale, his cheekbones prominent, and his large eyes darker than ever. He wet his rosy lips, and slowly pulled up the sleeves of his crisp shirt. The boy let his fingers once again caress him, this time the wrists. He could feel the bones beneath his fingertips, and if someone had been standing behind him in that moment and glanced at his mirror reflection, they would have spotted a satisfied smirk spread over the skinny boy’s soft features.
The Slytherin took a deep breath and stepped onto the scale. The glass underneath his feet was cold, and as he saw the digits, the feeling of cold numbness spread throughout his body, through his legs, his ribcage, before it finally clenched like a merciless hand of iron around his heart. In a frustrated snarl which sounded very much like an angry sob, Blaise placed his hands to the sink and glared at the boy in the mirror.
His eyes glinted viciously behind the black fringe; tears were threatening to escape his hazel orbs, his hands were shaking.
“You pathetic failure,” he sneered disdainfully at his reflection. “You have gained.”
He was suddenly startled by a loud knock on the door, followed by an inpatient voice. “Zabini, what the hell are you doing in there?”
“M’sorry…” Blaise mumbled at the sound of Draco Malfoy’s voice. “I'll be out in a minute.”
With a final sigh, the dark haired boy rolled down the sleeves of his oversized shirt and opened the door. He couldn’t help a slight gasp escape his lips at the sight of Draco where he stood outside the Slytherin Boys’ bathroom beside Theodore Nott; his blonde hair bathing in the sunshine that streamed in through the enchanted windows of the common room, his skin as flawless and fair like always.
Draco had Blaise pinned against the wall next to the portrait leading out from the Slytherin Dungeons, the blonde Slytherin’s breath hot against his ear. “Not a word to anyone about this, Zabini,” he hissed, before he cupped Blaise’s chin in his hand, capturing his lips in another rough kiss.
Blaise wanted to pull away and ask why, why no one could know, but he couldn’t, not when Draco did THAT to him, and oh God, nothing mattered anymore when Blaise let his trembling fingers tangle themselves in Draco’s silky hair and he was kissed ohgodjustlikethat.
“Please,” he whimpered, pulling Draco closer, not feeling him enough, not tasting him enough.
Draco chuckled softly, dragging the nail of his index finger agonizingly slowly along Blaise’s pale neck, leaving a red mark. “That’s it, Zabini. Beg.”
Blaise averted his gaze as Draco's steely eyes met his, and pulled the shirt closer to his tiny frame. The sight of Draco like this; just awake, his hair slightly tousled and his white shirt not fully buttoned… He blushed and looked away. But Draco had caught him looking; Blaise had seen the suggestive smirk that appeared for only a second, impossible for Theodore to see from where he stood. But then, the trademark sneer was back in place, as though it had never left Draco’s face.
“Really Zabini, were you wanking off or something? I was beginning to think you had drowned in the sink,” Draco muttered as he shoved the shorter boy out of the way and entered the bathroom in a few long strides.
“I was just-“ began Blaise, his eyes shining, but lost his train of thought as he discovered that he had forgotten to hide the scale. Draco followed his gaze, and upon noticing the scale, he arched an amused eyebrow.
“Now, where is your tape measure, doll?” he taunted as Theodore sniggered behind them, “I believe it must be somewhere here, eh?”
Blaise ran away.
He ran often.
I believe in bathroom scales as an indicator of my daily successes and failures.
Blaise pulled the large robe closer to his frozen body. He was always cold these days, his fingers seemed bloodless and his skin was constantly covered with goose bumps and bruises.
He bruised easily.
He hurried through the corridors of Hogwarts towards the Great Hall, his heart pounding in the same rhythm as his footsteps echoed along the marble walls. Upon entering the dining hall, he sank down by the end of the Slytherin table, intensely wishing for no one to take any notice of him.
But he wasn’t very lucky.
Theodor Nott eyed him up contemptuously; his small greyish eyes inspecting every little thing in Blaise’s appearance; his well groomed hair, the delicate hands, and finally, smirking nastily upon discovering the black eyeliner which emphasised Blaise’s thick, long eyelashes. Blaise stared down his plate, and so did Nott.
“Are you really going to eat all that?” the other Slytherin jeered sarcastically, gesturing towards the slices of apple and the cup of black coffee Blaise had in front of him. “We wouldn’t want you to go and spoil that gorgeous figure of yours, now would we, doll?”
They always called him that.
He was a bit doll-like he supposed; full rosy lips, big brown eyes that never seemed to express any other emotions than uneasiness and pain. This was one of the many reasons why Blaise almost never visited the Great Hall. The others observed him, mocked him, stared at him. They stared, because Blaise was different. He knew this, he knew he was odd and strange and imperfect.
He didn’t need Theodore Nott’s constant remarks to remind him of this.
But if he could be beautiful, if he could be perfect, light and empty, then he wouldn’t have minded being strange so much. It was who he was, who he had always been. Not quite like the rest, not quite like how he was supposed to be. His bangs, dark and long, was as provoking as his eyes which were painted black, and oh, how he wished he could be perfect.
Blaise glanced at the blonde boy across the table who was laughing along with Nott, watching his every movement which he already knew so well; how his hands held the napkin, how his lips curled when he smirked that trademark Malfoy smirk of his.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Blaise whispered into the thin air of the Astronomy Tower. Draco was standing behind him, placing featherlike kisses upon the skin of his neck, his hand reaching over his shoulder to stroke Blaise’s prominent collarbone.
“Because I want to,” Draco replied softly. “Because you want to.”
Blaise found himself being spun around and caught by his wrist. He gazed up at the other boy, and wondered how it was possible to feel so much for someone who felt so little for him. He felt tears form in his eyes, they burned behind his eyelids like poison, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He knew he had to say this, but he dreaded the answer more than he dreaded anything in the whole world.
Then again, Blaise had never done what was good for him.
“I don’t want you like this.”
Blaise knew that his gentle whisper had been registered by Draco, for the other’s grip tightened around his wrist, doubtlessly bruising the fragile skin. Blaise let his eyes draw open.
Draco’s eyes were almost black. “What do you mean?” It was a demand, spoken with such authority that it left Blaise shivering.
“I… I can’t be yours this way, Draco. You’ll never be mine, because you don’t want to be.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t really care,” he finished, a tear finally escaping his closed eyes.
His eyes remained closed as he felt the faint brush of Draco’s lips on his own as he whispered: “Always mine,” before sneaking one arm around Blaise’s waist, pulling him into a lingering kiss.
Blaise’s final thought before he surrendered completely, fully, and utterly to Draco was that he wished the moment would never end.
Later that night, Blaise cried himself to sleep.
He didn’t bother to put up a silencing charm to block out the sound of Greengrass’ girly giggles and Draco’s seductive purring.
Blaise met Draco's gaze, but he looked away instantly - he couldn’t bare the perfection, he thought he might taint the sheer beauty of the other boy with his own shadowlike appearance; he thought he might be contagious.
Draco Malfoy was beauty in its purest form.
Beauty was such a complex thing for Blaise. Beauty was destroying him, and yet he couldn’t live without it. His struggle for beauty was hurting him so badly, it broke him down silently, and yet, beauty was the only thing in the entire world that could make him feel any joy.
He stared down his plate. The apples grew in his mouth, he couldn’t swallow and he reached in panic for the mug of coffee, took a large sip, but he didn’t expect the heat and he ended up spluttering apple and black coffee all over his plate.
“That’s it, dollface,” Draco Malfoy said in a bored voice as the rest sniggered disdainfully. “Get rid of it. I agree with Theodore, we wouldn’t want you to spoil that body of yours, huh?”
Blaise looked straight into the other Slytherin´s beautiful, silvery eyes, pleading silently for Draco to let him be. Draco looked away, turning his attention back to the Greengrass sisters and their friends. Blaise swallowed hard before he got up and left the table, stumbling out of the Great Hall, forcing back the tears that burned behind his eyelids.
Yes, beauty broke him down.
Draco Malfoy broke him down.
I believe in Control, the only force mighty enough to bring order to the chaos that is my world.
I am no doll.
That was the only thing in Blaise´s mind where he ran his laps around the Quidditch pitch, chanting this over and over again.
I am no doll.
Did dolls have thighs like his? Did dolls have nasty fat covering their beautiful bones? Did dolls know imperfection?
No. No, dolls were nothing like Blaise, because dolls were thin and pretty, not ugly like he was. No wonder Draco wouldn’t touch him when people saw, go near him with others watching, speak to him in public, or look at him when the Greengrass girl was around. Blaise didn’t deserve the attention of something so beautiful like Draco Malfoy.
Run. Run. Run faster.
And Blaise did. His lungs ached and his heart leapt; but he would not quit. He had been good today; nothing but black coffee, not even those slices of apple he had planned to have for breakfast. He would not spoil this like the failure he was by quitting now.
Run more. Run until you drop.
And Blaise did. The world spun as his chest throbbed. The purple skies turned blurry before his eyes, and then his knees buckled beneath him and he felt the moist grass hit his cheek before his world faded into darkness.
I believe in salvation through trying just a bit harder than I did yesterday.
“Blaise…? Can you hear me?”
Blaise slowly drew his eyes open at the sound of the soft voice, his body ached painfully, his eyelids were heavier than he could remember them ever being, and his heart was pounding irregularly in his chest. He glanced around the Hospital wing, his weak heart almost stopping as he discovered the blonde boy next to his bed.
“Draco…” he rasped, and than he coughed, grimacing from the pain.
Draco sat down on the edge of his bed, placing a cold hand on his forehead. “Schh,” he mumbled. “Be quiet, doll.”
Blaise shook his head, his face still screwed up in pain. “No,” he said feebly, “no, listen! Draco, I-“ his heart gave a painful throb, and he gasped in pain as his hand flew up to his chest.
“No, you listen, Blaise.” Draco put his hand gently over Blaise’s. “You have to stop doing this to yourself.”
Blaise shoved his hand away unceremoniously. “You don’t care.”
Blaise’s voice held an alien bitterness, and Draco flinched. He stared down at the floor.
“You know I care,” he whispered. “You know I do, Blaise.”
“But not enough to let people know that you care about that weird, poncy Zabini, is that it?” Blaise hissed. He was trembling.
“It’s not like that! You don’t understand… It’s complicated.”
“You don’t care for me when you snog Greengrass,” Blaise whispered as though he hadn’t heard Draco. He had turned his face away from the other Slytherin, his gaze drifting off into the distance. “You don’t care for me when you and your friends taunt me.“ He swallowed, and turned his gaze back to Draco. The look in his silver eyes was terrified. “You don’t care for me even when I give you everything I have,” Blaise whispered feebly.
“Shut up,” Draco said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to hear it, Blaise!“
“This is all I have to offer you, Draco.” Blaise’s voice was quiet when he interrupted. “I’m sorry if that’s not good enough.”
Draco looked up at him from underneath his blonde bangs, and Blaise swallowed, feeling how his heart skipped yet another beat. How could something so beautiful cause him so much pain?
Draco stood then, gazing down at the boy in the hospital bed. “You know we can never happen, Blaise. If my father found out… I can’t risk everything.” He looked down, meeting Blaise’s gaze. “Not even for you,” he added, reaching down to brush the dark haired boys’ cheek with the tip of his fingers.
Blaise leaned into the touch, and when Draco withdrew, he whimpered at the loss of contact. “Please…” he mumbled. “Don’t leave.”
Draco bent down and placed a brief kiss to Blaise’s lips; tasting his tears and his desperation. “You know I must.”
Blaise watched through the blur of tears how Draco turned around then, not glancing back as he strode out of the room, leaving Blaise alone in the Hospital Wing. As he glanced out through the windows at the graceful birds flying across the velvet skies, he promised himself that he one day would become perfect.
Perhaps then he’d become the doll Draco Malfoy wouldn’t just play with and toss away.
I believe in perfection and I strive to attain it.
AN: Very depressing, but I felt the need to write it. This is an issue that is close to me personally, and I just love this paring and... Yes, well, this is what came out of it. I hope it wasn't too dark, and please, leave me a comment. (This is not beta-ed yet, all mistakes are mine!)