He Thinks A Little Too Much
Draco slowly walked towards the shower stalls. He has already acciod his shampoo and conditioner, along with his body wash as he forgot to grab them in his haste to take a shower.
He never knew why, but whenever he's upset or anxious, it always helps him to take a shower or wash his hands. It wasn't just his skin that felt dirty, no, it was him. It was like a bone deep filth that he needed to scrub off.
He felt dirty for not fighting harder against his father, for not being around his siblings more. He felt dirty because he knew he was using Fred, and because he was scared of the man. It made him feel horrible.
Sure, he found Fred attractive, who wouldn't, but he had admitted it before, he's never been in a real relationship. He dated girls, but they were never people he had feelings for. They were always girls picked out by his father to 'fix the blood line'. He was miserable the entire time when he dated women, especially that Greengrass girl.
She was in need of constant attention that Draco litterly couldn't give her. Even when he said as much, she would guilt trip him into it with words of 'Don't you want me anymore?' and 'Maybe I should tell your father you never act like my boyfriend, and then he can fix you. Your such a dog, Draco. You'd do anything if your owner told you to, you'd kill yourself if your Father asked!'
He shuddered at the memories. Than he thought of when they went to the Yule Ball together, how she forced him into an empty carriage with threats of telling his father he was a poof if he didn't. He couldn't sleep after that night, he felt too dirty. Too used. Disgusted with himself.
He was back into the present when he felt his shampoo sting his eyes. His glamours where off and he felt completely exposed. He was in his Veelan form, similar to the kids flying around in the town. Broad wings were connected to his pale upper back, while a long black tail, similar to one you would see on a devil, was connected to his lower back, right above his ass. At the end of said tail was a point similar to a spade, like the one you would see while playing cards in a muggle casino.
He openly hissed at the sting, similar to a cat when they get pissed off. He firmly planted the palms of his hands into his eyes, left hand going to the ivory blue eye, while the right went into the warm chocolate brown eye.
He stood there for a moment, letting the water run down his tense body. After a while, he reached up to rinse the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, easily avoiding his long, elf like ears and the black ram's horns that protruded from his head with practiced ease. He hated his horns. There were so many scratches and nicks in them. Not to mention, everybody else's horns were straight, similar to a gazelles.
It brought him slight amusement thinking about the fact that his horns aren't the only thing about him that's bent.
He huffed a laugh aloud while he put his conditioner into his wet curly hair.
He thought about the fact that he was the opposite of his Mother in almost every way. While she wasn't with her kids as much as she could be, he was. While she had black hair with white streaks and fair, tanned skin, he had white hair with black patches, like a cow, and white skin that could rival the snow. While her lips were dark like the color of grape wine, his were lighter in colouration, like the inside of a red pitaya.
They were similar in the way that they carried themselves, thanks to Draco's feminines features. They had the same lips, same almond eye shape that all of her kids inherited, and even the same eye color, though just the one brown eye.
But again, that's where the similarities end, especially in Veelan form. Draco's feathered wings were abnormally large in size and were the same colour as his hair, white with black splotches, except they had a few specks of gold towards the bottom. His Mother's were the opposite, small in size, and the same colour as her hair. She had no specks of dark gold, and she didn't have ram's horns, her's were that of an Addax's, straighter than a rams yet more curly than a gazelles.
She wasn't the best Mum, but atleast she faked it for the sake of her three youngest children.
Draco would never fake it with his siblings. He would never be like his Mother. He didn't want to be like his Mother.
He didn't want Fred to treat him like his Father treated his Mother. That's why he was most scared of the red headed lad. He was scared because he had been in enough abusive relationships, platonic or otherwise, and be didn't need to spend the rest of his life like that.
He agreed to date the Weasley to make him happy. And maybe Fred's speech was compelling and one of the sweetest things Draco had ever heard, but it didn't change the fact that he was still scared of him. He knew it was wrong, and the thought of it all made his stomach clench in a way he has never felt before. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but be petrified that Fred would do whatever he wanted to him like Astoria did, or that Fred would hurt him like his Father did.
It made him feel dirty. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times in his life. Fred had never done anything wrong to him, even when he definitely deserved it, and all Draco can thing about is how he will defend himself when the time comes that Fred gets tired of him to.
Draco sighed and moved on to washing his body after he rinsed out the conditioner. He was thinking too much, and the lights kept getting brighter. His stomach grumbled when he started scrubbing his feet. Then the hunger hit him like a bus and left him on the floor in the fetal position. He's only had a couple drops of blood since the war, which was ended seven months ago. The last time he drank blood was when he was fighting some asshole who called Aki the n-word, and a couple drops of the man's filthy blood entered his mouth.
He was beat. Damn tired. Exhausted. Whatever you want to call it, but either way, he was worn out. He quickly finished up in the shower, further ignoring his overwhelming hunger, and dried off and got dressed in the changing room.
Draco hurriedly put his glamours back on, he needed the extra amount of control right now. He eased his legs through a pair of tight boxer briefs, and then he put on some orange plaid pajama pants, quickly followed by his traditional sandles. He threw on an old and worn out AC/DC 'Back In Black' long sleeve T-shirt, the one his Mum kept complaining was a little too tight on him, just to piss her off.
He hastily grabbed everything and made a quick escape for the hotel. He made it through the main lobby doors without tripping over any luggage, and took a right down the hall and onto the rap around porch that led to their rooms. His was on the far corner at the right end of the walkway, away from everyone else's rooms. He quickly slid open the fusuma and rushed in, carefully closing it behind him as to not wake anybody else up.
He threw his clothes on the floor and quickly collapsed on his bed. He started to drift off with only one thing, or rather person, in his mind.
And, of course, it was Fredrick fucking Weasley.
This was thankfully interrupted by a quiet knock on his fusuma frame. It got him from his thoughts enough that he was eager to answer it.