Broken. A Harry Potter AU standalone.

A shard of broken glass. Like a shard of broken glass. Delicate, painful, and so sharp. That he was. Sharp. Angular. Yet so very curved and smooth. Beautiful. Like tainted glass.

Taller than average with skin smooth and taken care of. Skinny but deliciously so. Lanky but it was the wrong word. Curvaceous would be too feminine but that was what he was. Feminine. Spectacularly woman. A lady’s hips. Small waist but he covers it up pretty well. With slightly overlarge uniforms that’s fitting at the sleeves and leggings. His body, so sweet and girly like his face.

High cheekbones. Angular but very delicate. Just like everything about him. Nose, small and turned up slightly but beautifully. Eyes prominent on his face. Grey, almost an icy blue people would say. Just like the seasons. But only winter. And he would have somewhat thin lips that would look ugly on anyone else but him. Not extremely thin per se, the top lip somewhat thinner than the plump bottom lip. His hair would be fine and longish. But not so. A boy's regular, flopping over his forehead randomly but still kept in check.

Pretty. Spunky. Cowardly. He was everything. He was nothing. Draco Malfoy the androgynous. Draco Malfoy, the Queen of all Kings. No one could have guessed. No one would even realise. No one but himself. And father and mother but they still would love him. Can he love himself? Can he love his woman body? Can he accept the fact that he’s a man who had woman features? He’s the boy that looked like a girl.

He can’t. He hates himself. Constantly. He covers it up protectively. What would people say? What would people think? They would stare and gossip. They would taunt with the smirk that was his. They would kid with his smugness. And then what would he have? What would belong to him? Not his lips, not his legs, not his body. He hated himself. He hated his curves, his blue-grey eyes with so much emotion. His smooth skin stretched along model cheekbones. He hated everything. He wished he were Goyle. Maybe even Hannah Abbot. Plain old Hannah. Nobody notices her. Pity. But heaven sent. He would love to be her for one day. No one to impress, no one to hide from. But he’s Draco Malfoy, the boy-girl so shut up.

Walk around school, dread spooking him at every turn and corner. Behind every door, he opens with anticipation. Half expecting a loud bang and a large sign saying “WE KNOW YOU PONCE!” and the school population laughing at him with wonky hats and even wonkier make up. It sounds unrealistic, illogical but it’s his irrational fear and no one can tell him other wise because he’s too consumed. Too overwhelmed. Too damn afraid.

It’s not funny, he thinks as he feels this urge to laugh at the image of Dumbledore in blue makeup. Its god awful scary. But he still giggles anyway. Giggles not chuckles because he’s a girl, he remembers. Suddenly, his face became stone. How quick. Scary. He pressed his eyes shut. I am not a girl. Keep telling yourself that darling. I am not a girl. You are a true blue woman Malfoy.

“SHUT UP!” He’s slumped on the bathroom floor now. Naked. He hated himself. He hated his body. The hot jet of water showers him. He doesn’t dare get up. Tears mingled with the rivulets down his cheek from his almost white, wet hair. I hate you. You hate yourself. Knees pulled up, he leans his head against them. Seated there for hours maybe, he cried and hated himself even more.

Can he hate himself less for feeling dirty even after two hours in the shower? Not happening. He crawls into the bed, underneath his green satin duvet, cheeks red. Eyes bloodshot. The blanket is up to his neck. He’s dressed in full body pyjamas with only his neck and face to be seen. And maybe his feet but even he thinks that’s too much skin. The rest of his mates walk in, talking loudly. They pretend to not see him. They knew. But they said nothing. For him, they agreed. He watches as Blaise strips to his boxers. Taut muscles pulling and relaxing. Tears prickled in the corner of his eyes. Damn it. Turning to his side, he falls asleep. But fitfully, because boys like him can never sleep in peace. Not when he learned hatred so harsh at such young age.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its characters do not belong to me. They are property of Joanne Kathleen Rowling, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended and this will not be mass produced.