"Sirius, finish your dinner."
Sirius glanced up, forcing a blank expression as his mother shot him a particularly venomous look. He'd been home from school on Christmas holiday for less than two days, and already longed for the warm comfort of Gryffindor Tower. "I'm not hungry, mum," he mumbled, averting his eyes to the table.
Sirius had always been a slim boy, his lithe frame inherited from his mother, Walburga, who stood willowy and tall, all sharp angles. Still, he had returned home for Christmas, halfway through his fourth year, seemingly thinner than ever. His brother, Regulus, had cracked several jokes about it their first evening home, noting that he, nearly half a foot shorter than Sirius, probably weighed more than him. Sirius had hexed him with a particularly nasty spell following that comment, locking his bedroom door behind him. Sirius did not care for commentary about his weight or appearance; he wasn't stupid, he knew he had lost weight. That had been the point.
Anxiously, he tapped his foot on the floor, silently willing for the meal to be over.
"Sirius," his mother said sharply, commanding his attention.
Sighing, he lifted his head once more, meeting his mother's gaze.
"You will finish your dinner. I don't know what you've been up to at that school, but your insolence will stop, now. I will not have my eldest son embarrass me and besmirch our proud family name by appearing at Christmas dinner looking like a starved child. You will eat and clear your plate, do you understand me?"
Sirius remained silent, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spring forth from his tear ducts at any moment. I can't, I can't, I can't eat this, I won't, I won't...
"Sirius!" Walburga shrieked, hurling a crystal goblet, still half-filled with wine, in Sirius' direction.
Sirius ducked, instinct kicking in. He froze as he heard the sound of crystal shattering against the wall. He briefly glanced over his shoulder, dread filling his stomach as he watched droplets of red wine stain the cream-colored wallpaper. He hated his mother, hated being back under her roof. Walburga was a domineering woman, who mercilessly controlled every aspect of her sons' lives. Sirius hated feeling powerless, hated that despite being age fourteen, she still wielded such power over him, still left him feeling like a weak child.
Lack of control had been what had sprouted his behavior to begin with. Powerless for so long, Sirius had found himself desperate to cling to anything that granted him control over something, anything. It had been at Hogwarts his first year that he had found what he considered to be his salvation. While his mother could still domineer over his entire existence, from what career path he should take to the length of his hair, he did have something that was entirely his: he could control his weight.
"SIRIUS! Do you understand me?" Walburga shrieked, jerking Sirius back to reality.
"Yes, mother," he mumbled, bending his will to hers.
Silently, he shoveled the remainder of his dinner into his mouth, barely taking the time to chew. Rather, he hurriedly washed down mouthfuls of food with gulps of wine, wanting nothing more than to be excused from the table. He dropped his fork onto his plate, a faint clink of metal hitting delicate china. "May I be excused?" he mumbled, eyes staring down at his plate.
"Go. Get out of my sight," Walburga hissed, waving her hand dismissively. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" she sneered, calling out after him as he retreated from the room.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Sirius hurried to the second floor of Grimmauld Place, eager to put as much distance between himself and his mother. He slammed his bedroom door shut, locking the door behind him. Miserably, he sunk to the floor, leaning against the heavy oak door for support. He clutched his stomach, suppressing a groan. He hadn't eaten this much in one sitting in months, and his body was protesting. Sirius swallowed a mouthful of saliva, trying and failing to ignore the lingering feeling of nausea. He wrapped his arms around his middle, squeezing his eyes shut as he willed his stomach to stop roiling so. He felt sick. Sirius opened his eyes, an idea striking. Quietly, he slipped into the adjoined bathroom, taking care to lock the door behind him. He turned on the lights, staring curiously at the toilet. When I'm sick, throwing up usually makes me feel better... Still unsure about what exactly he was doing, Sirius approached the toilet, dropping to his knees before it.
He bit his lip nervously, unsure of what to do next. How do I, what could make me... Carefully, Sirius inserted two fingers into his mouth, slowly moving them further back in his mouth, gingerly pressing down on his tongue as he neared the back of his throat. To his surprise and relief, the action triggered his gag reflex, barely giving Sirius enough time to remove his fingers from his mouth before a slew of vomit rose up his esophagus. Shocked, and with a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he stuck his fingers down his throat once more, continuing until he was certain his stomach was empty. Satisfied, he sat down on the cold tiled floor, hugging his knees to his chest. He trembled slightly, the initial rush leaving him with a sinking suspicion that what he had just done was inherently wrong. Still, it had undone the damage he'd done by eating everything he had at dinner, he considered, shrugging. It can't be that wrong, can it?