Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!!!

AN: As promised, another chapter :P Thank you so much for reading, please review! Amy constructive criticism is welcome!!

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Harry awoke to bright light, and hushed voices. He opened his eyes slowly - trying to let them adjust to the light. He tried to sit up, but only managed a few millimetres before his body protested. His head spun horribly, and his stomach lurched. He groaned at the waves of nausea that crashed over him. The voices stopped at the sound, and Harry was vaguely aware of someone coming over and crouching next to him. Next to the bed - he was on a bed. When did he move to a bed? "Hey, kiddo - welcome back." Harry opened his eyes fully, and turned his head to see who was there. He regretted the movement even as it was happening. His stomach flipped, and it was all he could to lean over the side of the bed before he was retching, his stomach contents - which, arguably, wasn't much more than orange juice and bile - spilling onto the cream carpet. He felt a cool hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles, and on his head, holding his sweaty hair back from his forehead and allowing the air to cool him down. He continued retching long after anything and stopped coming up, struggling to breathe between bouts of dry heaving. He could hear someone murmuring to him, telling him to breathe, but his ears were ringing, and everything sounded weirdly muffled - like he was listening underwater.

When the nausea had finally eased, Harry lay back against the pillows, breathing heavily. The smell of the vomit next to him was enough to make him want to throw up again, but he heard a muttered incantation, and the smell disappeared. Harry assumed that meant the vomit had disappeared, too.

His senses were slowly coming back to him. His eyes had adjusted to the light, though everything was slightly blurry, even with his glasses on, and the voices were less muffled.

"Is he okay? He looks really pale, and he's all clammy," someone spoke in a worried, tense voice - it sounded like Sirius. He must be the one crouching next to Harry.

"It's likely just shock, and possibly blood loss as well. We'll give him another blood replenisher when he's properly awake." Lupin - calm and collected, as per usual.

Slowly, carefully, Harry began to sit up - with help from a firm hand on his back, propping him up as he scooted backwards to lean against the headboard. Someone placed what felt like his glasses in his clammy hand, and he quickly shoved them on, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses to try to shift some of the blurriness. When he opened them again, he found himself able to clearly make out the situation.

He was in one of the bedrooms at Grimmauld Place, on a double bed in the middle of the room. He was covered by a thick duvet and soft, woollen throw, and was wearing different clothes - another baggy t-shirt, and some thin pyjama trousers. His arm was tightly bandaged, yet again. The blinding light was coming from the window, just across the room, where the sun had been shining directly into his eyes. Sirius was crouched next to him, worry - and yet also relief - etched onto his handsome features. It seems to be a recurring pattern around the room, with Sirius and Remus both sharing the exact same expression.

Sirius threw his arms around Harry, holding him in a tight embrace. "Thank Merlin you're okay. I thought I'd lost you." Harry could have sworn his godfather's voice broke on those last words. He was still here. He had almost died, but he was still here. And he couldn't decide whether it was good thing or not. When Sirius finally released him from the bone-breaking embrace, Lupin came over and leant against the wall.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly. Harry though for a moment.

"Tired. My brain feels dry." He said hoarsely, earning a chuckle from Remus.

"Yes, well - you lost a lot of blood. You'll need plenty of fluid, and a few more blood replenishers."

At the mention of the replenishers, Remus picked up a couple of vials from the nightstand - Harry's gaze shifted towards the array of potion vials, spread out rather unceremoniously on the side table. "Do you feel dizzy at all, nauseous or feverish?" Remus asked, as he picked up a glass of water from beside the vials and handed it to Harry.

"I'm kind of light headed, but I don't feel sick anymore," Harry replied, his voice still croaky.

He sipped the water carefully, not wanting to drink it too fast and get sick again. The cool drink helped to rid his mouth of the foul, acidic taste, and when he thanked Lupin, his voice sounded much less hoarse.

"A blood replenisher and a couple of nutritional balancers," he clarified, handing Harry the vials.

"Nutritional balancers?" Harry questioned, eyeing the milky-white vials.

"Remus had to cast a diagnostic charm on you to assess the… damage," Sirius began carefully, "and it came back with malnourishment, as well as all the preempted issues." Harry's heart skipped a beat. Did that mean they knew? "It's unsurprising, seeing as - until about a week ago - you were living with the Dursleys, who, as I take it, aren't very… hospitable. I doubt you were getting enough food there - but since you're living here now, it should start to rectify itself. The potions are just to speed it along a bit." He smiled at Harry. From what his godfather said, Harry doubted they knew the real reason why he was 'malnourished'. Though there was some truth in it - the Dursleys certainly weren't all that keen to feed him.

Remus nodded towards one of the vials in Harry's hand. "Drink - it will help with the blood loss."

Harry eyed the blood-red potion dubiously, but complied it nonetheless. He popped out the cork, and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled slightly metallic, but relatively inoffensive. Trying not to think about it too much, he poured the contents of the vial into his mouth, instantly making a face at the tangy, rusty taste, which was, unlike the scent, extremely strong. It was an effort to swallow it without gagging, but somehow he managed, and took a long drink of of water to try and cleanse his palette of the horrible taste.

"One of those every hour, on the hour, until you've got some colour back in your cheeks," Remus instructed, taking the empty vial from Harry, who turned his attention to the milky-white nutritional potion in his hand. He held it at arms length, as if it might grow fangs and bite him. It wasn't so much the smell, which was pretty neutral - more the fear of what it would do to him. Or, more specifically, what it would do to his body.

"I can't drink this," he said, staring at the vial in disgust. "I'll be sick." It wasn't entirely a lie - he was starting to feel nauseous again.

"You can try again later," Sirius said, taking the vial and placing it back on the nightstand table. "Try to get some rest," he said, his knees cracking as he slowly stood up. "I'd like you to be fully rested and feeling better before we talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." Harry instantly felt himself getting defensive. The blood replenisher was working, and he was already feeling stronger.

"You tried to kill yourself, Harry. That's not nothing." Remus spoke quietly, looking at him sadly.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself!" Lie.

"Then what were you trying to do." Sirius retaliated, his tone almost exasperated.

"It was an accident!" Another lie. "I was just-"

"Cutting yourself." A scowl from Harry and a familiar warning look from Remus

"It. Was. An. Accident. I don't want to die!" Huge, massive lie.

"Regardless of the intent, you still have multiple severe lacerations, one of which severed a major artery. That doesn't seem like an accident to me," Remus said, leaning forwards slightly as he spoke.

When Harry didn't respond, Sirius spoke. This time, there was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. "What if Remus hadn't found you, Harry? What if- what if I'd lost you? Do you really think I could ever forgive myself knowing that whilst you were upstairs, bleeding to death, I'd been sat on my arse downstairs doing nothing?!" Sirius slumped down in an armchair across the room, holding his head in his hands. Remus placed a hand on his shoulder.

Harry felt all the anger and and frustration that had been building melt away him at those words. Sirius was right. Harry hadn't even though about how his death would affect the people around him - he'd just assumed they'd be better off with him gone. And maybe that made him a self-absorbed prick, but it wasn't because he didn't care. He did care. A lot. He just hasn't realised how much it would affect them. How much it would affect Sirius. And he felt awful about it.

"I'm sorry." Harry began quietly, fighting to keep his voice even. "I'm sorry that I'm such a selfish prick who can't think past his own stupid feelings, and I'm sorry that I keep letting you down." His voice broke, and - much to his embarrassment - tears began streaming down his pale cheeks."

"Please, just leave me alone." Harry spoke, his voice trembling. His heart was pounding, and his stomach was churning with anxiety. He needed to be alone. He needed…

"We can't do that, Harry." Remus said gently. He didn't feel it was safe to leave Harry alone just yet, especially in his current state.

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry yelled, a sob wrenching from his chest. He jumped up out of bed, ignoring the black spots that momentarily clouded his vision, and threw himself down in front of his trunk, which someone had placed on the floor at the foot of his bed. He yanked open the lid, and began rifling through his things, chucking quills, bits of parchment and various items of clothing over his shoulder. Sirius had given him a penknife for his birth last year - he had kept it hidden in his trunk, in one of the single socks Dobby gave him every holiday, just in case he ever lost his razor - or if anyone found it. Even after is became painfully clear that it was no longer there, Harry kept searching, frantic with desperation.

"It's not in there, Harry," Sirius sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "We searched your trunk before we brought it up here."

It took another thirty seconds of desperately digging through his belongings, and Harry finally admitted defeat. "FUCK!" He yelled, and smacked his head with his fists. Hard. Stars flashed in front of his eyes at the impact, but he didn't care. It hurt - not quite the same feeling as the razor, not quite as good - but still something. Maybe he didn't need a blade to feel the same sense of relief - maybe he could find it in other ways.

He had expected his old professor to reprimand him for his bad language; Lupin was not very tolerating of swearing, often scolding Sirius for his constant stream of profanity - not that it made any difference. Now, though, he seemed at a loss for words.

"Why are you doing this to me!?" Harry sobbed, his arms wrapping around his shaking torso.

"Harry, please- just listen," Remus began, approaching Harry cautiously, as if he were some kind of frightened animal. "We're not doing this to hurt you. The opposite - we just want you to be safe. Please, come back to bed." He extended a hand towards Harry, who did not raise his head from his drawn-up knees.

"Please, just leave me alone." Tears trickled down his cheeks as he spoke, despite his sobs having ceased. Remus sighed, retracting his outstretched arm, and - to Harry's great surprise - left the room, gesturing for Sirius to follow. As he came past, Sirius placed a hand on Harry's head. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it, and followed Remus into the corridor.

Now that he was alone, Harry let loose the emotions that had been bubbling up ever since he had awoken. He stood up from the floor, and collapsed in a heap on the bed, curling up on top of the covers. He lay there, sobbing quietly, for what felt like hours. He just felt so… empty. It felt like he was back on the train, during his third year at Hogwarts, when the dementors had boarded and everything had gone cold. It had felt like all the happiness had gone from the world - like he would never be happy again. A lot like how he felt right now. The only thing keeping him grounded was the dull, throbbing ache in his skull - the pain gave him something to focus on, other than the cavernous void in his chest.

Harry felt his eyes grow heavy, and breathing began to even out, the stream of tears slowing to a slow trickle. With one last, shuddering sigh, Harry's body relaxed into the soft duvet, and he felt his consciousness slip away, before the world faded into black.

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Harry slept until noon the next day. He was woken from his blissfully nightmare-free slumber by a gentle knock on the bedroom door. "Harry?" The voice was soft, muffled slightly by the heavy wooden door. He heard a gentle click, then the groaning of hinges as the door swing open. A tray, laden with fruit, a bowl of porridge, various potion vials and a large, steaming mug, levitated through the door. The tray was closely followed by Remus Lupin, his wand held out and pointing towards the tray, keeping it hovering above Harry's bed with a levitation charm. Slowly, he lowered his wand, and the tray gradually sank down, landing with a slight clatter at the foot of the bed. Lupin smiled warmly, and sat down in the large armchair across the room. "Good morning, Harry. Or rather," he glanced down at his watch," good afternoon." He smiled again, and gestured towards the tray. "Molly made you some breakfast."

Harry sat up, stifling a yawn. "Thank you," he muttered, but made no move to bring the tray closer. He hadn't forgotten about his little outburst the night before, and now felt slightly sheepish about it. He still couldn't believe he had sworn in front of Remus. "I-" Harry began, glancing fleetingly at Lupin before staring back at a spot on the carpet which, is his opinion, had become really quite fascinating in the last few seconds. "I'm sorry. About last night, and- for everything."

"Apology accepted, Harry." Lupin spoke calmly, "though not strictly necessary. You were upset - it's understandable." He nodded towards the tray, in another silent gesture. "Eat. You need to get your strength back."

Harry looked at the tray nervously. How long had it been since he'd last eaten? A day? Two? All that progress… he couldn't just throw it away. "I'm not hungry."

"Harry, please. Just a few spoonfuls of porridge, and maybe some fruit." Remus's voice was pleading, but Harry didn't budge.

"I'm not hungry." He said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to snap at the man. It was bad enough that they had taken away his only source of release; now they were trying to fatten him up as well. As if he needed it.

"Then at least take the potions, and try to drink the hot chocolate. It will make you feel better."

Harry remembered the warmth that had spread through his body lay time he drank one of Remus's hot chocolates. It had warmed him from the inside out, right from his head to his toes. His mouth watering slightly, Harry shook his head. No more potions, either - he had no idea what the nutrition potions really did - what they could do - to his body, and the blood replenishers tasted foul.

Lupin sighed heavily. "Okay. We'll try again at dinner time." He smiled at Harry, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "I assume you won't want to join us downstairs," he asked, more of a question than a statement.

"Would it be okay if I did? I mean… I don't want Ron and Hermione to worry or anything." Harry stared at the duvet sheepishly, fiddling with the sheets as he spoke.

A look of surprised delight came over the man's scarred features. "Of course - I'm sure everyone would love to see you. You gave them quite a fright, you know."

A pang of familiar guilt stabbed at Harry's gut. "Who else- who else knows?"

"Just Molly, and subsequently Arthur. None of the Order knows, though they are all quite worried about you. And as for your friends, Molly told them that you were ill. Which, I suppose, isn't too far from the truth." Another deep sigh. "Harry, you will eat at dinner, won't you? Because if food is something you're struggling with, then of course we can make accommodations, but- do you feel it's an issue? Remus seems to be choosing his words very carefully, seemingly keen to avoid another outburst.

For a split second, a small part of Harry debated just telling him everything. Being done with the secrets, and the lies, and just… unloading. But then they would make him eat, and then he would gain weight, and then he'd turn into the pathetic, fat blob incapable of even the most basic self-control, let alone defeating the dark lord and restoring peace to the wizarding world. So, instead, he plastered a smile on his face and forced his voice to sound somewhat positive as he spoke: "I'm fine, honestly - I guess I just haven't had much of an appetite recently." Remus didn't quite look convinced, but some of the worry in his eyes seemed to ease.

"That's understandable, but you really should try to eat more, Harry - you've gotten very thin lately."

He knew it shouldn't, but the remark caused Harry an intense feeling of achievement - had he really lost that much weight? He knew he wasn't thin, by any means, but if Remus thought he was getting skinny, then…

"I'm fine," Harry said calmly, upbeat, trying to keep the smile off of his face. Maybe throwing up really did work - he had thought it was weak, but maybe… maybe it was clever.

That night, at dinner, Harry arrived downstairs before food was ready so he could help Mrs Weasley. He still felt bad for scaring her, but judging by the warmth and loving in her tone, she was just happy to see him up and about again.

Once the meal was ready (a Spag Bol that could rival even Hogwarts) and everyone was sat at the table - Sirius and, especially, Remus, keeping an annoyingly close eye on him - Harry began to eat. The food was incredible, and though he was satiated after just a few mouthfuls, he managed to finish his entire plate - though politely declined seconds. His shrunk stomach felt uncomfortably full, and he could already feel a familiar churning sensation. But only when everyone had finished, and were either on their second helpings or chatting loudly, did Harry quietly thank Mrs Weasley for dinner, and excuse himself from the table. What he did not realise, though, in his haste to get from the kitchen to the bathroom as fast as humanely possible, was Lupin standing up and following him up the stairs.

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"Harry?"

Remus's voice came from behind him, causing him to choke on the fingers currently residing at the back of his throat and another wave of nausea to surge through him. A loud, heavy sigh, then Harry felt firm hands on his back, rubbing gentle circles. Unable to move until the retching had subsided, Harry cursed himself inwardly. How had he forgotten to lock the door!? For the second time! Though… maybe he had. He hadn't heard the charm being spoken - but, then again, he had been fairly… preoccupied.

As soon as he was able Harry stood up abruptly - and promptly fell over, dizzy from the sudden movement. He stumbled right into Lupin, who - fortunately - managed to catch him, and held him upright as the bathroom was spinning. Harry pushed Remus away, a little rougher than he had intended, and staggered backwards, ignoring the look of hurt that flashed across the man's face. He slumped down onto the closed lid of the toilet, pale, clammy and shaking slightly. He kept staring straight ahead, focusing his gaze on a specific tile to avoid looking at Lupin, who had crouched down nest to Harry and looked alarmingly as though he was about to speak.

"How long?"

Harry vaguely recalled having been asked the exact same question only the other day - for something not all too different, either. This time, though, he gave up trying to rebut it. He had been caught red-handed, and at the scene of the crime; there was no point denying the accusation.

"I- only a few months. Maybe a year." Harry was too tired to fight Remus on this. He knew that the quicker he answered the questions, the quicker he'd be allowed to go - and he wasn't all that keen on staying here any longer than he had to.

"Why?" In all the time he had known him, Harry had never heard his old Professor at such a loss for words.

"Because I didn't want to be like Dudley. I didn't want to be like any of them. And because…" he paused, taking a deep breath, "because it gave me something else to focus on. Something that- that I could control." It felt good, to finally be opening up after so many months in denial.

"You know you're not fat, don't you, Harry? And even if you were, you are nothing like the Dursleys. You're kind, and brave, and one of the strongest people I know - everything they aren't." Harry finally looked up, meeting the pained expression on Remus's face.

"I'm not though - I'm not any of those things." Harry fought to keep his voice even; he would not cry again. Merlin knows he'd done enough of that over the last couple of days.

"Harry, in all the time you've known me, have I ever told you anything but the absolute truth?"

Dignity be damned. Silent tears streamed down Harry's pale cheeks, and he resumed his intent staring at the bathroom tiles as shame prickled at his face. Had he not currently had a complexion to rival one of the Hogwarts ghosts, Harry was sure he would have been blushing. He shook his head, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"There are only two more weeks left of the Summer Holidays, Harry - then it's back to school. Are you sure you're going to be okay at Hogwarts? Because if there is any doubt that you will be safe there, then you won't be able to go back until such a time. Do you understand what I'm saying, Harry?"

Harry nodded again, stiffly. He couldn't help the surge of misplaced anger that he felt towards Remus at that comment. Would he really stop Harry going back to Hogwarts? Could he even do that?!

When it became clear that he had gotten everything out of Harry that he was going to for tonight, Remus sighed, and ran a hand through his greying hair. "Why don't you have a quick shower, and start getting ready for bed - I could bring up some hot chocolate to help you sleep, if you like?"

"It's only nine," Harry protested, "I'm not a baby."

"I'm not suggesting you are, Harry - merely that I know you haven't been sleeping well recently, and an early night could be just what you need." Lupin explained calmly. Even Harry couldn't argue with his sound reasoning, and any defensiveness the suggestion had caused dissolved. Harry just nodded again, fighting the urge to yawn. He was pretty exhausted. Lupin grabbed him a large, fluffy towel from the airing cupboard and hung it over the side of the bath, before offering Harry a tight-lipped smile, and leaving him to it.

Harry didn't move from the toilet until Lupin had left, the charm he discreetly placed on the door lock not going unnoticed. It wasn't exactly unexpected for him not to trust Harry, especially given what had happened the last time he'd been on his own in this bathroom - but it still hurt. He waited until he was alone to attempt standing up - mainly because he didn't want Remus to see how lightheaded and dizzy he still was, but also because it was exactly a very dignified process. He had to grab the counter, set his feet as far apart as possible, and practically haul himself upright, bracing himself by holding onto the sink as he slowly, slowly made his ascent, being careful not to move too quickly or risk losing his balance. Finally, after a long few seconds of intense effort, Harry was back on his feet, and able to walk over to the large bathtub in the corner of the room and turn the knob for the overhead shower. He stripped his clothes off quickly, purposefully avoiding the mirror as he undressed, and carefully peeled off his bandages to avoid them getting wet. They soon lay discarded with his clothes on the floor.

Harry breathed out a long sigh as he stepped into the shower, the hot water running down his aching body and instantly relaxing him. Now that he was in, he braved a look down at his arms. They weren't as bad as he had expected them to be - it had only been a couple of days since it happened, but the two scars had almost completely healed. Someone must have put some sort of healing balm on them whilst Harry was unconscious. The long, vertical lines, which reached from his lower wrist all the way up to his elbow, had gone from deep, jagged cuts, spurting blood and gaping horribly, to no more than thick, pinky-purple scars. Harry was almost disappointed - he had always found the healing process fascinating to watch, especially for deeper wounds.

Harry dragged his attention away from his arms, and focused on washing himself. He smelled like vomit, and he was sticky with sweat. He was just reaching for the shampoo when he saw it - resting on the side of the bath, the light glinting off of the metal and illuminating the pink plastic, stark against the pearly-white bath… Hermione's razor. His hands trembling slightly, Harry picked up the razor, turning it over under the shower. Remus hadn't seen it - that in itself was a miracle. A sign, even… Realising he almost certainly wouldn't get another opportunity like this, Harry made his decision. Gripping the pink handle firmly, he grasped the head of the razor, and pulled it sharply. It detached easily, though Harry winced slightly as the discarded handle fell from his hand, the noise it made on impact seeming to reverberate off of the bathroom walls. It was highly unlikely anyone would hear it over the shower, but still. He had to be careful.

Harry pressed the razor head against his arm, and dragged it sideways. He felt a brief sting, but nothing more. Four thin, red lines appeared across his forearm, tiny bubbles of blood rising to the surface. He tried again, pressing harder, but still only shallow, uniformed scratches. Harry huffed through his nose. He changed tactics, attempting to prise the plastic away from the precious metal - but the water made it difficult, and Harry's finger slipped, the edge of the razor biting into his flesh. He hissed through his teeth and swore, holding up his sore finger. It stung horribly; fat droplets of blood swelled at the tip of his finger, before spilling over and dripping down his hand. Harry stuck his finger in his mouth, the taste of copper and rusted iron coating his tongue, and continued trying to break apart the plastic, one-handed.

After a long struggle, during which he sustained a broken nail, another sliced finger and an intense feeling of frustration, Harry finally managed to free two of the long, metal strips from the casing, and held them up triumphantly. He gave up on the last two, well aware that his time was running out. If he was in there for too long, Remus was bound to come knocking. He pressed the metal to his wrist, and was just about to drag it across when he realised - if he kept his arms hidden, Remus and Sirius were bound to get suspicious. They might even check his arms… So, instead, Harry moved the razor down to his thigh. Much easier to hide, and since he had never done it there before, no one would know to check. It was perfect. Except…

Harry had never used a razor before. He had only ever used the blade from his muggle pencil sharpener, or his potions knife. So he had no idea just how sharp the razor would be. He slashed across his leg, applying no more pressure than normal, but - to his horror, the razor tore his skin open, leaving a large gash in its wake. "Shit." Harry cursed under his breath, quickly clamping a hand over the wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding. It was nowhere near as bad as it had been with his arms, but it was still not looking good. Luckily, the blood seeping through his fingers was already beginning to slow, and when Harry removed his bloodied hand, he saw that it had reduced to a slow trickle - though blood had dripped all the way down his leg, eddying with the water at his feet and tinting it a strange rose-pink.

Upon closer inspection, the cut actually wasn't too bad - it was quite deep, and could probably do with stitching, but it hadn't really bled that much, which led Harry to believe that he hadn't severed any major veins or arteries. This time. He would have to be careful - he hadn't realised just how sharp the thin strips of metal were. Tentatively, he placed the razor on his other leg, making sure to press very lightly as he moved it across the virgin skin. Harry smiled at the pain, at the warm, sticky liquid that coated his fingers. He sighed heavily, savouring the feeling, before pressing his thumb against the cut, and pushing down. The bleeding stopped very quickly under the pressure, and Harry took a minute to rinse himself under the spray of the shower, washing away any traces of blood, before he turned off the water and stepped out onto the bathmat.

He crossed the bathroom, still stark naked and dripping, and grabbed a small hand towel out of the cupboard, which he then used to wrap up the razor handle, the remnants of the mangled head, and any stray fragments of pink plastic. He placed the bundle down carefully, before grabbing his jeans from the floor, digging his wand out of the pocket, and vanishing the evidence with a muttered "evanesco". He'd already duplicated the razor, and set the replacement down where the original had been, on the side of the bath - that way Hermione wouldn't notice it was missing and mention it's unknown whereabouts to anyone. That would be just as damning.

Harry dried himself quickly, avoiding the fresh cuts so he wouldn't get any stains on the towel. Once dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist, and fished another one out of the airing cupboard to drape over his shoulders. He then gathered up his clothes, and made his way to the bedroom, feeling a slight pang of guilt and he passed the room he and Ron had been sharing. He had meant to talk to him and Hermione at dinner, but he'd been so distracted, worrying about the food and how he could hide it from Remus, that he hadn't really spoken to them.

Once he was back in his room, Harry found a pair of neatly folded pyjamas on the bed, and a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the nightstand. Smiling inwardly, Harry quickly got dressed into the grey long-sleeve pyjama shirt and dark, plaid bottoms, both of which hung loosely off of Harry's thin frame. He clambered into bed, taking the mug into his hands and inhaling deeply. The smell alone was enough to make his eyelids droop. And yet… Harry found himself unable to take a sip. His head was filled with numbers, and anxiety began to creep into the back of his mind as he thought of the calories the drink contained. Harry set the mug back down, and flicked the lamplight off, casting the room into darkness. He pulled the duvet up the his shoulders and turned to face the wall, trying to escape the delicious smell emanating from the nightstand. Despite this, it wasn't long before Harry was fast asleep.

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Thanks for reading! Take care of yourself 333