Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and will never make any money out of this WHATSOEVER!
A/N: So this is the Sequel to Losing the Fight... if you have not read that I would suggest you read it first as you probably won't understand some references in this one otherwise! :) Rated M for content that if you keep reading you will find out, Slash so if you don't like, don't read! Contains references to Self-Harm and Eating Disorders *could be triggering*. Please keep yourself safe while reading- if you have any questions, don't hesitate to put them in a review or a PM! This chapter may be particularly triggering – please take care of yourself and skip if you need to!
This chapter is Draco's POV.
My stomach clenched as I pulled the covers of the bed further up me; I was feeling a little bit guilty about Harry and sending him away. I'd make it up to him somehow, I'm sure that I would when I moved in with him. Healer Kiely was tending to a new girl that had been admitted today, I was glaring at them; she was probably the reason that I was being released as an inpatient. But he was so occupied by her fighting against him trying to get free that I could get to the bathroom without being spotted. Advantage one of being released, tomorrow I'd get my wand back and I was sure that would come in handy. I checked and double checked that the door was locked so that the healer wouldn't be able to barge in on me. I unbuttoned my shirt because I knew what I was going to do, the voice inside my head was instructing me on what to do.
Kneeling on the cold linoleum floor I felt my heart speed up in my chest, did I use my fingers? What else could I use? There was a few split seconds in which I froze, not sure whether or how to do this. Then I plunged on without thinking any more about it – ramming my index and middle finger as far down my throat as I could make them go. Nothing happened. I took my fingers out of my mouth, why was this not working? It should be working, I knew there was a point at the back of my throat that acted like the manual eject, that's what I wanted to get to. Manual eject. I tried again, fingers further down my throat; my mouth was watering an insane amount. Was I supposed to swallow, or spit it out; or was there something specific I should be doing to make myself throw up? My eyes were burning now, everything felt wrong – why the hell was I doing this? Because I needed to… it was more overdue now that I had all the fat on me, I needed to get rid of it, but I couldn't make it come up – it just wasn't going to happen. I retracted my fingers again, sighing slightly; it wasn't going to come out, it wasn't going to happen. I had failed, even though the voice had been specific about what I was supposed to do.
I was wrong, the minute I had decided to take my fingers out and straighten up, it happened. It all came out at once – disgustingly fast; I could feel the tears that had been burning at the back of my eyes now pouring down my cheeks. I felt myself heaving, hating every second of making myself sick. As much as I was physically hating it, the voice inside my head seemed to be loving it.
'Keep going, that's it! So nearly there Draco, you're doing so well. I told you my plan would work – in a little while you'll feel fantastic, all because you let me in.'
Breath after breath I as dragging in, trying to stop my whole body from shaking so much that my knees wouldn't stay firmly enough on the floor.
There was only a couple of seconds silence before there was a loud knock at the door. The damned healer must have heard me.
"Draco? Draco, I can hear you in there – if you don't open this door now I'm going to force it open." The healer's voice came through the bathroom door, I groaned. "Draco, open the door." I could hear the seriousness in the healer's voice, but I hadn't quite regained the strength I had had before and my legs gave way underneath me.
"I can't quite get up yet." I called weakly, then heard the lock of the door click, he was going to come in regardless. I felt him kneel down beside me and his cold hands touched my arm. "I can't move yet, I've just puked."
"Yes Draco, I know, I could hear you on the ward. I had been keeping an eye on you since Harry left, he had mentioned you weren't feeling too well… so I thought this might happen." The healer explained, putting his hand under my arm and pulling me up – he was a lot stronger than he looked.
"Can you just leave me here?" I pleaded, just wanting him to go so that I could break down completely; it was inevitable after a major episode of the voice that I felt guilty.
"Leave the door open Draco, I need to be able to check on you and make sure you're alright." I didn't want to agree so I said nothing, but the healer seemed to take that as consent. The linoleum wasn't so cool on my cheek now that I had been lying on it for the past few minutes; I should get up and go back to the ward. There wasn't actually anything wrong with me, it had been me making myself sick so the healer didn't need to look after me.
'No, you should be going to the healer – and telling him you're not ready to be released yet! Making yourself sick definitely isn't ready to be released! Go and tell him what you've done! Harry won't mind if you don't get released tomorrow if you aren't ready for it.' Why did the good voice in my head sound so much like Harry?
'Don't be stupid! They're getting rid of you, that's not going to change just cause you've made yourself sick once… and anyway, you know why you're doing this, and you know you still have a long way to go! Remember Draco – thin, perfection, love…'
If the good voice in my head was like Harry, then the other voice had to be myself…
A/N: Please review this – because I'm trying to figure out whether I should keep writing this particular story, or whether I should just give it up…. Tell me what you think; if I don't get any replies back then I think I'll just stop. So please review!
