Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling.
The first time he did it, he was quite surprised. Not because of what he had done, but rather because of how good it felt. All of the sadness washed away, and a euphoric happiness came over him. For the first time since he was a small child, he felt happy.
Not even receiving his Hogwarts letter had made him feel this way, nor had the births of his godfather's children, or riding his first broomstick. The sadness had crept in when he was young; it was hard for him to remember the last time he had felt happy. His grandmother and godfather noticed almost immediately that something was wrong, and by the age of ten, he had seen multiple therapists.
Yet, nothing worked.
His grandmother had given up. Harry, however, persisted. But Teddy had been unable to talk; he couldn't bear to burden his godfather, even if Harry was his best friend and confidant.
At the age of eleven, he began turning to food for comfort. The taste, smell, and even sight of food made him forget all of his problems and made him feel good. Teddy vowed that he wouldn't let it get out of control. Little by little, though, the amount of food he ate increased.
And one day, something had snapped.
He had gotten into an argument with Harry, who had asked, yet again, if he was okay and needed to talk. Rationally, Teddy knew that Harry had every right to be worried, but he was unable to force himself to think that way. Getting uncharacteristically defensive, Teddy had yelled at him, telling him that it was none of his business and to stay out of it.
He angrily Flooed home and immediately walked to the kitchen. His grandmother wasn't home; she wouldn't be back for hours. He had plenty of time.
Remembering his first binge -well, every binge- made him feel deeply ashamed. He felt guilty for screaming at his godfather in such a way, yet anger was boiling his blood. And so he began to eat. Two bags of chips, a tub of ice cream, two donuts, six Chocolate Frogs, a Sugar Quill, a banana, a pumpkin pasty and some milk...
He had been so consumed in eating that he didn't even notice the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He knew that he had eaten too much, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he knew was that he needed to get rid of this uncomforable feeling.
Books had been his source of comfort before he had lost interest and turned to food. Little had he known that a book would give him his best (at the time) idea yet.
The first time had been difficult. The girl in the book had made it seem so easy, so painless. Finally, he succeeded.
The rush followed straight after. He felt as though he were on top of the world, and nothing could ever bring him down. The sadness washed away, and a euphoric happiness replaced it. All was finally right in the world.
Too soon, he came crashing down and feelings of shame and guilt overcame him. What had he done? He promised himself then and there that it would never happen again.
That was six years ago, and it had happened again. And again, and again. He couldn't stop, even if he wanted to.
But if Teddy was honest with himself, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to stop anyway.