Good morning starshine! The earth says hello! And so do I. Thank you all so much for the positive reviews. This is a pretty personal subject for me, and I get a warm and fuzzy feeling that it's being so well received.

Anyway, onwards!

(Oh, um, by the way? I don't own Harry Potter. I don't know how often I've been putting this up, but probably not often enough.)

The next morning, he was ushered out of bed by a stern-looking Madam Pomfrey. "Your mother told me what happened last night," she said while watching the bed make itself. Ron didn't reply. "She's really worried about you, you know."

"I know," he said quietly.

Madam Pomfrey turned to face him. "She went home to get changed, and then she's taking you to an interview at a Muggle hospital."

"Muggle hospital? St. Mungo's can't do anything?"

"I'm afraid not. But don't worry; you'll adjust." Madam Pomfrey handed him a pile of clothes. "Put these on and just sit tight. Would you like something to eat?"

"No."

"Right. Okay, I'll see you in a bit." She drew the curtain around him. Ron sighed. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. Everything just… spiraled out of control.

They had to take a Muggle car to the hospital, and Ron loathed every second of the unnatural lurching. The building was a few stories tall, a large gray brick. It looked utterly depressing.

"Do we really have to do this?" he asked as they approached the entrance.

His mom looked at him, her eyes sad. "What other choice do we have?"

And Ron knew that he couldn't retaliate. So they walked into the building silently, were greeted by a perky brunette, and directed to the fourth floor. The door to the unit was locked, from the inside and out, which gave him an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could understand not wanting people wandering in, but why would they have to stay trapped inside?

"You must be Mrs. Weasley," said the woman who let them in. She was petite, with short brown hair held back by a headband. She and his mom shook hands, and then she looked to him. "And you must be Ronald."

"It's Ron," he replied coldly.

"Ron it is, then. How about we all go to my office for a chat?" Mrs. Weasley gave her a gracious smile and followed her through the various hallways. Ron took in his surroundings. Comfortable couches, carpets on practically every surface, and one of those moving picture screens that Muggles seem to like so much. A cluster of girls sat in front of the screen, huddles under various blankets. They stared as Ron passed, and took in their gaunt faces and frail bodies, deciding he was in the wrong place.

The woman introduced herself as Stephanie, and Ron slumped in a chair inside her small office. He tuned out almost as soon as the two women started talking, but was brought back to attention by a question directed at him.

"Huh?"

"Would you feel comfortable talking with me alone?" she asked again.

"Sure." Mrs. Weasley stood, gave him a kiss on his forehead (which Ron tried to squirm out of), and left the room.

Stephanie looked at him. "Do you think you can tell me why you're here today?"

"My mum is worried, I guess."

"And why is that?"

"I puke sometimes?" Ron shrank further in his seat, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

"How often is 'sometimes'?"

Ron floundered. If he didn't lie, she might freak out. If he did lie, she might not believe him. He decided to shrug his shoulders.

"Okay, well how many times did you do that yesterday?"

"I dunno, like, two?"

"Hmm." Stephanie jotted something down on the pad of paper in her lap. She then scrunched her eyebrows together and leaned forward a bit. "Did you binge before purging?"

"Huh?"

"Did you eat a lot of food before making yourself throw up?" she rephrased.

"I guess…"

Another note on the paper. "Can you walk me through what a typical binge looks like?"

"I don't want to talk about this. It's stupid." The truth was, thinking about it made him want to do it, and he couldn't. His heart started pounding a bit faster, but he crossed his arms over his chest and stared icily towards the door. He heard the scratching of pen on paper.

"I know that this is hard for you, but it's very important that you help me understand what's been going on for you this past while." He continued to avoid her eyes. "Okay, can you tell me when you started purging?"

He could remember vividly, yet he shrugged yet again.

"A general time frame?"

"Fourth year," he said softly. "Beginning of fourth year."

"And you were how old?"

"Fourteen."

"And you're fifteen now?"

"Almost sixteen."

"Okay. So do you remember what precipitated purging?"

Ron picked at the loose skin around his fingernail. "I felt full, I guess? I had eaten more than usual. I don't know why, but I couldn't stop. And then I just felt so gross."

"So you decided to make yourself throw up."

Ron felt the anger from before bubbling to the surface. "I didn't know what else to do!"

"I'm not criticizing you. Just trying to get the facts straight."

Ron leaned back into his seat. "Then yeah. You got them straight."

"What happened then?"

"I didn't do it for a bit, but then it started up again."

"How many times would you say you were bingeing and purging a day?"

"At that point, about five or six."

She was writing furiously on her pad. "Can you walk me through an average day?"

"I don't really want to." Talking about it brought back many memories, along with some fresh urges. He was already starving and he wanted to… binge? The word sounded weird.

"Maybe we can talk more some other time." She tapped her pen against her lips, then stood up. "For now, I would like you to come with me."

He silently followed her down a long corridor, at the end of which held two small rooms, both set up like a very condensed doctor's office. There were examination tables, a scale, and something that Ron was not familiar with, along with a desk.

"Can you step backwards onto the scale for me?"

"Why do I have to be backwards?" Ron asked, not moving.

"It's standard procedure. You can talk to your therapist if you'd like to get off blind weights, but for now, this is what we have to do."

"Wait... therapist? I'm staying here?" he asked, a feeling of dread coursing through him.

She gave him a pitying look. "I thought you knew that."

"I… I thought I was coming here just for an interview." He looked around desperately, trying to find a way out. He couldn't stay here. He just couldn't. He would be forced to eat and not allowed to puke, and then he would get fat. "Does my mum know?"

The woman nodded. "I'm sorry you didn't know, sweetie, but I just need you to step on the scale right now."

Ron glared at her, but grudgingly stepped on the scale. He had never really weighed himself before, but suddenly felt the intense desire to know. Surreptitiously, he peeked over his shoulder. 73 flashed out at him. (1)

"Hey, no looking," Stephanie said sharply. But all Ron could think was 73. He didn't know if that was good or bad, but it certainly felt like way too much.

Stephanie took his height, strapped an inflating cuff around his arm, and stuck a thermometer under his tongue. Ron numbly obliged as he was pinched and prodded. He listened as he was told he had a heart arrhythmia, mild anemia, esophagitis, and low potassium and electrolyte levels. (2) He had no idea what most of this meant, but it sounded serious. He might have cared a bit more, if he wasn't so focused on how he would survive for forever long without bingeing and purging.

His mom had packed a bag of his clothes, and it had already been deposited at the nurse's station to be searched. Once he walked out of the office, he was encased in a tight hug.

"I just found out you were being admitted this morning," she said into the embrace. "I thought you wouldn't come if you knew you were staying. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he replied, even though it wasn't. Nothing was alright.

She pulled away and wiped at a tear that had leaked out. "They're going to help you," she said.

He wanted to reply that he didn't need help, he wasn't thin enough for help, but seeing the hopeful expression on his mother's face, Ron decided against it. Instead, he quietly asked, "Am I not allowed to have my wand?"

"Of course not," she replied swiftly. "You're in a Muggle hospital, surrounded by Muggles, you will pretend to be one of them."

He groaned. "This is going to be torture."

"Oh, you'll get used to it."

There were a few more hugs, some awkward jokes made on Ron's part, and then his mother left. He looked around at his surroundings, his home for God knows how long.

Bloody hell, what had he gotten himself into?

(1) - This weight is in kilograms, and it converts to about 163 lbs, or 11 st 7 lb. It always bugs me when I don't know a weight in my units, so I figured you guys might appreciate this.

(2) - A heart arrhythmia is an improper heartbeat, whether it be too fast, too slow, or irregular. I'm saying that Ron has an irregular heartbeat. Anemia is a condition where the body doesn't have enough healthy red blood cells or hemoglobin. People with anemia typically experience fatigue, abnormal heartbeat, dizziness, lack of concentration, and insomnia, among other things. Esophagitis is irritation or inflammation of the esophagus.

And now I am done pretending to be a doctor. Anyway, hope you liked this chapter! And I now have absolutely no idea where to go with this. Any suggestions?