Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: mentions of eating disorders, mild mentions of child abuse
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The floorboards creaked softly as Harry crept down the stairs, one hand trailing the wall to keep steady.
It was nearly five in the morning. The house was silent except for the occasional groan of old pipes or the faint rustle of portrait curtains shifting in the draught. He moved like a ghost, barefoot and quiet, trying not to wake anyone — not that it mattered much. No one would stop him. That was the whole point.
His hands shook slightly as he lit the stove and fished a slice of bread from the tin. He'd woken up dizzy - the room spun even though he was lying down, there was a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. He felt weirdly shaky, a jittery, trembling sensation he'd come to associate with not eating for too long. Still, the idea of food made his skin crawl.
The toast curled at the edges in the pan. He had briefly considered putting butter on it, but had quickly rejected that idea. Baby steps.
Once it had browned, Harry sat down at the kitchen table and stared at it, leg bouncing beneath the chair.
Just eat it.
He picked it up. Put it back down.
His mouth was dry. His hands wouldn't stop trembling. The smell made his stomach twist and growl at the same time.
He was so fucking tired of this.
He wanted to eat. He wanted to feel full. Just for one night. Just to remember what it felt like to be normal. To not feel like a prisoner in his own body. But the longer he stared at the toast, the worse it got. The guilt. The fear. The shame. Like he hadn't earned it. Like he was stealing it.
A soft creak at the door made him flinch.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
Harry looked up to see Remus standing in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, jumper thrown over his pyjamas.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, quickly. "I didn't mean to wake anyone."
"You didn't," Remus said gently, stepping inside. "I heard someone moving and figured it was either Sirius raiding the pantry or you."
Harry didn't reply. His eyes dropped back to the untouched toast in front of him.
Remus crossed the room and filled the kettle, placing it back on the stove with a quiet clink. "Tea?"
Harry nodded once. "Thanks."
There was a long pause as the kettle began to heat.
"You alright?" Remus asked softly.
"I'm fine," Harry said. Automatically. Meaninglessly.
Remus didn't push. Just sat down across from him, waiting.
The toast was still sitting in front of him.
Harry stared at it, then slowly pushed the plate away. His voice came out hoarse. "I can't do it."
"You don't have to," Remus said, voice calm. "But… do you want to?"
Harry hesitated. "Yes. I think. I just… can't."
The silence stretched.
"I didn't use to be like this," Harry muttered. "I mean— I did, kind of. But not like this."
Remus waited.
"At the Dursleys," Harry said quietly, "I wasn't allowed to eat unless I'd earned it. Unless I did all the chores, unless I'd been quiet enough, good enough. And even then… it wasn't much."
Remus's expression didn't change, but his eyes softened.
"I got used to it. To the feeling. Of being empty. And when things got… hard, here, it felt like something I could control." Harry's leg bounced faster. "I don't even know when it got bad. I just know that now, even when I want to eat, it feels like I'm not allowed to. Like I don't deserve it."
"You do," Remus said immediately.
Harry shook his head, eyes fixed on the plate. "I don't know. I just… sometimes I wish I was smaller. Quieter. Like if I took up less space, it would hurt less. Like I could disappear."
The kettle whistled, shrill and sudden. Remus moved to turn it off, letting the silence settle again.
Then he poured the tea. Brought a mug to the table and set it in front of Harry.
"I can't pretend to know exactly how it feels," he said gently, "but I do know that pain doesn't mean you deserve to suffer. That taking up space isn't something you have to earn."
Harry's eyes stung.
Remus offered a faint smile. "And if you want someone to sit with you — while you eat, or while you try — I will. Or Sirius will. We both just want to help you, Harry."
Harry didn't say anything for a long time. He just nodded, took a sip of the tea. Then, slowly, with a trembling hand, picked up the toast again.
And this time, he took a bite.
~~
The knife felt heavier than it had downstairs.
Harry sat on the bathroom floor, knees pulled up to his chest, the blade resting loosely in his hand. It wasn't sharp — not really — but it was enough. Enough to make him feel something other than the numb fog that had wrapped around his brain like cotton wool since he woke up.
He hadn't meant to take it. He didn't even remember deciding to. Just… saw it sitting on the counter, and slipped it into his sleeve before he could think better of it.
Now he was here. Alone. Cold. Staring at the metal like it held all the answers.
But he hadn't moved. Not yet.
Down the hall, the floorboards creaked faintly. A door opened. Closed. Then another creak — closer this time.
"Harry?"
Remus. His voice was quiet, cautious.
Harry didn't answer.
He heard footsteps pause outside the bathroom door. A soft knock.
"Harry? Are you alright?"
Still nothing. His throat felt tight, like if he tried to speak, it would snap something loose.
Another beat. Then: "I'm coming in."
The faint click of a whispered Alohomora, and the door swung open.
Remus stood there, eyes falling instantly to the Harry on the floor. His expression didn't change — no shock, no anger — just quiet concern.
Harry didn't look up. Just kept staring at the blade in his hand.
Remus stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and sat down next to him, legs crossed, hands loose in his lap.
They sat in silence.
The blade trembled slightly in Harry's grip. His fingers twitched. Then stilled.
"I wasn't going to do it," he said hoarsely, voice cracking. "I don't think. I just… I wanted to hold something."
"I understand," Remus said softly. No judgement. No lecture.
Another long pause.
"I hate this," Harry whispered. "I hate that it even helps."
Remus didn't reply right away. Just nodded. "It makes sense. When everything feels out of control… having something you can control — even pain — can feel like a relief."
Harry finally looked at him. Eyes rimmed red. "It's not right, though. It's not normal."
"No," Remus said gently. "But it's human."
The silence settled again. It wasn't heavy this time. Just… still.
And then, without a word, Harry held the knife out.
Remus leaned forward slowly and took it from his hand. He didn't thank him. Just nodded once, like it was a promise.
Then he sat beside Harry, shoulder to shoulder against the porcelain tub. Neither of them said anything. They didn't need to.
They just stayed there, together. Quiet. Breathing.
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