Chapter Text
October 10th, 6th year
—
The morning school bell wrung out just as the golden sun peaked over the mountainside. It was misting outside, preparing for the October rain that would soon bombard the castle and plink against every surface.
The mist had begun to tumble down over the hillside and cover every crevice it could get its greedy hands on, over Hagrid's hut and soon the castle. Only light could shroud its gentle touch of gray. It was peaceful, but dreadfully lackluster.
Gregory was seated beside his dearest friend: Vincent. They were both clad in their uniform, the latter's tie not even done. They were still roughed up from last night’s Quidditch game. They were both Beaters, lousy beaters at that. Most of the bludgers were deflected by their own skin, their bats all but forgotten. That much was evident from the yellow and purple bruises lining the two older boys’ bodies, albeit most of them were covered by the deep Slytherin green jumpers.
Vincent had busied himself with rattling off people he resented, damn near spited. 'Hermione, she was a bothersome nerd who couldn't shut her gob... Harry, what's so good about that show-off? First years— they cry only after one punch!'
Gregory listened despite his aching exhaust, even if he's heard this same complaint from Crabbe several times before. All he gave was a small curt nod or a grumble every once in a while he rested his head in the palm of his hand.
The two were always like this, one talked incessantly while the other blindly agreed without any sort of definite opinion on the matter. They weren’t stupid per se, just in the background.
A constant that was there to fill your mildest of entertainment. Dull, boring, broad. Maybe just a bit stupid. If it wasn’t for the fact they had a body, they would’ve been classified as a wall. They were straight lines among flourishing, twisting, and bending ones.
“Greg?” The surprisingly light voice seemed to have woken up Gregory from his haze at last.
He responded with a simple grumble to let him know he still had a pulse.
“Are you even listening to me?” Gregory finally seemed to show a semblance of a human soul and lifted his head up to turn half his body towards his friend. His eyes softened once his met the other's, as much as his little, soulless frog-esque eyes could.
Vincent leaned back, pleased enough with the non-verbal word of agreement. “Alright.” His tight lipped response was a stark contrast to his currently complacent attitude.
Goyle raised his eyebrows a tad, a silent urge for Vincent to continue speaking his mind. His voice calmed him, it was a constant that never went away. Even if his voice was still somehow prepubescent, it was better to get used to his grating voice than be bothered by it.
Crabbe continued, “After school’s over you wanna go off into the forest?”
The other boy shook his head curtly. He wanted to go back to their dorm room, Crabbe knew that. “We can catch the train to a nearby town? We could stay there for the weekend.”
He shook his head again. But Vincent said no more, he didn’t entertain the silent idea shared between them. It irked Goyle to his soul, but he said nothing. “Fine, town it is…”
Gregory grumbled again, this time with an annoyed pitch to it; but he knew Crabbe was just pulling his tail like always—he’d always fall for the bait.
Their professor started his daily lecture before the two could get anything else in, so they turned away from each other and both pretended to listen. It didn’t take long for Vincent to continue though, “Come on, we’ve been doing the same thing for years, why can’t we go somewhere else for once?” His voice was hushed now, a discreet whisper that plead for something deeper.
They were both eerily similar in the way they interacted with the world, the disappointing grades they got, the friends they had, even the way they looked at a basic level. At least to the outside world.
But to the pair, the differences were obvious.
Goyle especially knew that, he had studied Vincent's face more than enough times to see the slight rosy plume of Crabbe's cheeks that could only redden further, the more sadistic look in his eyes, the devilish smirk always on his lips. He reminded him of an evil dumpling, or perhaps he was just hungry. And vice versa, Vincent knows just how to stoke Goyle’s annoyance and confidence. To his odd tight lips, to his arcing hairline, to his tough looking appearance.
Vincent was out cold by the time class had ended, a fresh pink mark rising on the back of his head from their professor’s futile attempt at waking him via book. Professor Snape had given up quickly, what use was it trying to teach someone so utterly useless? Foolish, only Goyle knew how to wake him up, he was very proud of that fact.
With a few shakes to the larger boy’s shoulder he was bumbling back into consciousness. Gregory still kept his hand on his shoulder as he roused to awareness before Crabbe shrugged it off. A slight pang of loss in Gregory's head alarmed him until he managed to choke it back down.
“What time is it?” The tougher boy shifted his gaze down to his lap as he wracked his brain to remember the schedule before holding up nine fingers. Vincent ran a hand through his hair, a look of dismay crossing his soft features.
“Only nine?” He scoffed. “I wish I could sleep through the whole day…”
“Perhaps you could hibernate. With how much extra bulk you have that wouldn't be hard. Or something,” Gregory jested back awkwardly.
A moment of silence strung out for a few seconds too long. His lips tightened further, regretting the tease already. He stood up, quickly shoving his quill, ink, and new DADA assignment back into his hands. Vincent soon followed suit.
“First time you talk in hours and it’s to insult me!” Vincent exclaimed jocularly. Gregory let out a sigh of utter relief. The shared amusement buzzed between them, they were always in tune with one another even if they couldn’t see it. Quickly and quietly, they filed out of the classroom with the rest of the students like sheep. The taller one of the pair glanced over at his friend to give him a smile, but the sentiment went unnoticed.
—
October 11th, 6th year
—
Later in the night, a few hours before curfew, Crabbe and Goyle found solace in their dorm room. This was the golden hour for people like them; nobody else bothered to go back to their rooms at this hour, they were still mingling above the Slytherin Dungeon. The Dungeons brought a unique quality that no other house had, mysticism and etiquette. The rooms were designed delicately so, with just enough fanciful details to hide the fact it was still a dungeon that would leak water every other day. Hilariously so too. One time a swollen droplet of gray water had dropped right onto Draco’s perfectly coiffed hair.
And within the walls, behind closed doors were all the rooms for the students, each one given a personal spark from every previous and present student. They were woven together so simply that one could get lost on the way in search for their dormitory. One room, along many others and lacking much originality; held the two young men.
The homey decor of their dorm room made Vincent feel safe, especially when he had a blanket wrapped around himself. He couldn’t explain the feeling in words, not in a way that made sense to anybody else.
It felt nice to be cramped, to be in a room obviously meant for one person, in a room you know you’re safe in.
It was comforting to him to have something wrapped around you to trap you in place when all you wanted to do is run away—it felt grounding.
The best part of the evening wasn’t bunking with Gregory, it was the few hours he got to cover the mistakes of his body and pretend he was normal. They both knew that, that’s why the only mirror in the room was flipped so nothing could reflect.
Just the thought of any reflective surface made Vincent want to dry heave. His throat tightened up painfully so, it felt like his chest caved in as a sudden stroke of nausea and self-loathing settled in deep into his mind. It rooted there, made a home and remained no matter what.
He felt ashamed to even feel bad about himself or wish to feel better. It made him feel greedy, but that feeling of hatred only made himself spiral further. He shut his eyes as he did his best not to regurgitate that same scenario again and again in his head. Although, every attempt he ever made seemed to fail.
—
Goyle was sitting down on his bed, he promised to leave him be as he did his weekly ritual. Vincent tugged and prodded at every extra plushness that shouldn’t be on his body, staring at his mirror with a longing look until he couldn’t handle his own gaze anymore. He measured his waist, his hips, his legs, wondered why he was cursed to be this way. He traced the few faint raised white lines that covered his lower stomach. Gregory called them pretty, called them human, said they looked like cool lighting bolts. What did that oaf know?
He would’ve traced each one with such tender care, not the sloppy distraught he did now. He hated every inch of his body, all he could ever be summed up to was the fat friend. But Gregory made him feel different, he made him feel special.
The gentle cascade of fiery orange the candles mounted on the wall casted on him only seemed to make him look worse, everything fit him so ill. He tugged at his pants in a weak attempt to make him not look so alien. They were too baggy in some places and too tight in others. It was so hard to feel human when you looked like a pig.
He looked back up at the mirror, but not at himself. He looked past that shameful gaze and at the blurry reflection of Gregory still looking away just as promised. His head was tucked into the pillows, his back was rippling with overworked muscles. He could tell the pain Goyle still carried with him, the horror of being fat again. It was a horror to him, wasn’t it? It made him feel bad, but jealousy bubbled up. A little part of him wished he’d look up and comfort him. But wouldn’t that make him untrustworthy? In reality, Gregory would never do that. He just does as told and keeps his schedule intact. I'm just being greedy' Vincent scolded himself. He didn’t even deserve him, he was a nasty slob in comparison. He was being disgustingly greedy.
Crabbe forced himself to look away from Gregory and back at himself. A soft sigh pierced through the heavy air, he flipped full-body mirror back around. Slowly he pulled his sweater back over his body, a futile attempt at covering himself. Despite the clothing he still felt so naked, like an open nerve vulnerable to the world.
—
Unshed tears prickled painfully at the back of Crabbe’s eyes. It felt like sand rubbing at the back of his sockets. He pushed his palms against his eyes for some sort of relief. But his growing headache didn’t lessen.
Suddenly Crabbe felt his own stubby hands claw at his arms, trying to restraint himself. But the same thought played in his mind, trumping his dysmorphia for at least a second. Shame and heat pooled in his stomach as more thoughts of his friend came to the forefront of his mind
He felt bad liking Gregory when he was so under his league. He felt especially bad liking a man, he’d only tarnish both of their reputations if he were to even let this out. Merlin, how he wished for Gregory to be a girl. He wished for many things before, but this one seemed more needy than all the others. Like the want was crushing his soul.
As the shameful sickness spread through his body, toiling low in his stomach, he only felt the need to cover himself intensify. He shifted in bed so he’d be lying down and pulled his blanket tighter over his body. Darkness quickly flooded his vision, a comforting but isolating darkness that would surely stay.
He imagine hands on his pale skin—brushing over his hair, a hand rubbing his shoulder. He longed for the large hands that scarcely touched him anymore, another wish came to mind.
He wished he never pushed Greg away, he should’ve welcomed the hand holding and explorative ministrations he allowed so many months ago. The once comforting cramped feeling he cherished soon soured too. It wasn’t the same without him.
Several times over, Vincent had promised himself he'd never put himself in this position again. But he could never seem to escape the maze that he created, no matter how many kind words Gregory mumbled to him. It almost felt like betrayal every time he'd cry himself asleep, he knew he was only hurting himself in the process. Dark circles grew bigger everyday, Gregory would’ve called them panda eyes.
He knew what would happen the next morning, he'd be forced to look at his body as he put on clothing and then make the mistake of relapsing and binging again. Only afterwards would he awake from the self inflicted haze and feel dirty from his own wrongdoings, then the cycle would continue like a snake eating itself.