Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all of these characters belong to JK Rowling! :)

AN: This fic contains self harm and eating disorder content, I will put a warning at the start of each chapter, but if you think you might be triggered by reading, then please please please pick another fic - taking care of yourself is much more important than reading my fic 3 I'm going leave a list of helplines at the end of the chapter, please skip ahead and have a look if you need to :) I hope you enjoy, feel free to leave any constructive criticism/things you would like to see!

Chapter warnings - self harm, blood, eating disorder thoughts, self-induced vomiting

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Dinner's ready!" Mrs Weasley shouted up the stairs. Hermione looked up from her book, neatly folded the corner of the page and placed it on the arm of her chair. She walked over to the bedroom door, stopping in the doorway and turning to face Ron and Harry. They were sitting cross legged on the bed, engaged in a heated match of wizard chess, neither one of them making any move to get up for dinner.

"Are you two coming?" Hermione asked, her arms crossed as she smirked at them.

"We're nearly done," Harry replied, not taking his eyes off of the chess board, which was covered in tiny fragments of his chess pieces - visual evidence of Ron's lead in the game.

"It'll be over a whole lot faster if you keep making dumbass moves like that," Ron chuckled, and moved his knight forward. The chess piece unsheathed its little sword and swung it at Harry's pawn, rendering it little more than a pile of rubble.

"Prick." Harry muttered. Ron just laughed.

"Come on, wizard's chess can wait - mum's making her famous chicken and leek pie tonight!" Ron jumped up and joined Hermione by the door. Harry smiled inwardly. Of course, Ron would choose food over chess any day. "You coming?" He asked, when Harry made no move to follow.

"Go ahead, I'll meet you down there," Harry smiled - a smile that faded as soon as his best friends had left the room, Hermione shooting him a worried glance that he tried his best to ignore. The truth was, he had spent the last hour and a half panicking about dinner - Mrs Weasley was an amazing cook, and Ron was right; her chicken and leek pie was to die for. Harry was terrified that if he went down there, he would be tempted to have some - and helpless to resist. Sighing shakily, he reached under the pillow and felt around until he was met with the familiar sensation of cold metal against his fingers.

Harry didn't know why he had brought the blade down on his wrist that first time - all he knew was that it helped. When the Dursley's were tormenting and abusing him, when the burden of being 'the Chosen One' began to weighed upon him too heavily, when all the awful memories rose up and became too difficult to push down… the pain made everything go away, just for a moment. It always came back eventually, but it was a temporary release, and he needed it.

Almost robotically, he rolled up the sleeve of his baggy shirt to reveal numerous scars all the way up his arm. They ranged from thin, milky-white lines to deep, angry red gashes. He wrinkled his nose slightly, staring at the marred skin with distain - how had his life come to this? Harry couldn't imagine people's reactions if they ever found out that the Golden Boy had resorted to slashing his wrists just to cope with life. Without any further hesitation, he took the blade between his fingers and pressed it against an unmarked area of skin near his elbow. He dragged it along sideways, gritting his teeth against the pain as the cold metal glided effortlessly across fragile skin, stinging sharply. Beads of blood rose up to the surface and slowly trickled down his arm. He quickly grabbed a tissue from the bedside table, applying pressure to the cut before the blood could drip onto the white bedsheets - that would be a difficult one to explain. Something about the crimson liquid seeping through the tissue made him feel… calm. Numb. As he stared blankly at his wrist, Harry felt all the worry and anxiety he had been feeling in the lead up to dinner melt away. He knew it would be back, but this was a temporary fix, and right now it was the only thing he knew that worked. He made a few more cuts up near his shoulder, where they could be more easily hidden, before quickly cleaning up any traces of blood on his hands and stowing his precious blade back underneath the pillow. He rolled down his sleeve, wincing slightly as the fabric caught on the fresh wounds, and headed downstairs.

~~

After the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Dumbledore had decided that Harry would spend the Summer Holidays at Grimmauld Place, instead of with the Dursleys at Privet Drive. This was mainly for Harry's safety, seeing as Voldemort had now, indisputably, returned, and even with the blood-wards protecting Privet Drive, Grimmauld Place was still . However - though for obvious reasons, Dumbledore did not share this reasoning with Harry - it was also so that Harry could be kept an eye on. Everyone knew how difficult the past few months had been for Harry; being entered into the tournament against his will, witnessing Cedric's death, knowing that he, however inadvertently, had helped to bring Voldemort back… it was to be expected that the boy would struggle. Dumbledore had thought that being around a large, happy family like the Weasleys, who were also staying at Grimmauld place due to the string of Order meetings taking place, would help Harry - as well as having Remus and Sirius there to look out for him. That was what Dumbledore had thought, anyway.

~~

"Aren't you hungry? You've barely touched your food," Hermione commented as Harry pushed his dinner around his plate absent-mindedly.

"Hm? Oh, right… yeah. Sorry, I'm just tired," He smiled warily at her. She looked up at him and Harry thought he saw a momentary flicker of worry in her eyes, which he tried his best to brush off as nothing.

"You should try and eat something. You didn't eat anything at lunch either," she said, turning back to her plate. Harry sighed. Even though he tried to avoid eating as much as possible nowadays, he also didn't want anyone getting suspicious; if anyone figured out that he wasn't eating, then he would have to stop, and he couldn't do that.

Putting a small piece of pie on his fork, Harry took a deep breath and, tentatively, put the food in his mouth, chewing slowly. It tasted incredible - Mrs Weasley was an amazing cook, and tonight was no exception. He took another bite, and another, and another… and, before he knew it, he had finished his entire plate.

Despite the look of satisfaction on Hermione's face at the sight of his clean plate, Harry felt panic rising up from the realisation of what he had just done. His head was suddenly filled with numbers, and his breathing shallowed. Trying his best to keep himself together, he put his knife and fork down carefully, fighting to keep his voice even as he spoke: "thanks for dinner, Mrs Weasley - is it okay if I head up now? I want to get an early night."

"Of course dear, but why don't you have some dessert first - I made brownies," she said as she cleared his plate away.

"Umm, I- I think I'll just head up now," Harry said quickly, and before she could reply, he left the room, breaking into a run the moment he was out of sight. He flew up the stairs and into the nearest bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind him. Harry's hands instantly flew to his head, grabbing handfuls of matted hair. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his thoughts were going at a hundred miles an hour. As he tried to do the maths of what that one slip-up at dinner was going to cause him, he felt his throat tighten and his breath started coming in short, sharp gasps. He tore off his shirt and stared at his reflection in the body-length mirror. It was almost as if he could see the food ruining his body - like suddenly his ribs were invisible beneath rolls of fat, his collar bones were no longer protruding and his stomach stuck out more than ever.

Staring at his reflection with abhorrence, Harry felt absolutely disgusting. After a brief moment of consideration, he carefully lowered himself onto the floor in front of the toilet and, trembling slightly, hooked two fingers down his throat. He gagged, but nothing happened. So he tried again, this time pushing them further back. He must have done something right, because the contents of his stomach made a swift reappearance into the porcelain bowl. Even after he had coughed up the last of his dinner, Harry kept sticking his fingers down his burning throat, desperate to get rid of any traces of the food he had just eaten.

When he was finally sure that all the food was gone, Harry flushed the toilet and sat back against the wall, his face wet with tears from the force of his retching and his throat raw and burning. He sighed in relief, closing his eyes as he let his head rest back against the cool ceramic tiles. "It's okay now," He whispered to himself, "it's gone. Everything's fine, it's all gone now." He breathed out shakily, pulling himself up. As he stood, Harry felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, and stumbled back a few paces. Once he had regained his balance, he took some deep breaths and walked over to the other side of the room to get his shirt, making a mental note not to stand up too fast again.

~~

If anyone had any concerns about Harry's strange behaviour at dinner, they didn't voice them. Even Hermione seemed to back off a little, not shooting him worried glances or commenting on his behaviour at meals. After the pie incident, Harry had been much more careful around food. He had a system: push his food around the plate clockwise, spear a piece with his fork, lift it to his mouth, start speaking so he has an excuse to lower his fork again, push the food around anti-clockwise, bite off a small piece of vegetable, chew it twenty-five times, swallow, then push all the food to one side of his plate so it looks like he's eaten most of it, and quickly offer to gather everyone's plates, hiding his under someone else's clean one so no one has a chance to notice the food still there. Harry figured the tiny pieces of vegetable he was consuming during the meals wouldn't do too much damage - but he had to be seen putting something in his mouth, otherwise people would get suspicious. For the most parts, everyone was too engrossed in their own meals and conversations to notice anything. However, it was hard for Harry to ignore Remus's frequent glances at Harry's plate, frowning as he looked back at his own food.

One evening, however, once Harry had finished his usual song and dance and was getting up to clear his still-full plate away, Remus spoke gently; "Harry, you've barely touched your food - could you try and eat a bit more before you go to bed?"

Harry froze in place, half-way up from his chair. He didn't move for a moment, but eventually nodded, sitting back down and setting his plate on the table. Instead of eating, however, he just resumed his earlier routine, pushing the food around his plate and occasionally nibbling one of the carrots. His old professor kept his eyes on him, and although Harry did not look up to meet his gaze, he could feel the disapproving look Lupin was giving him. Sighing inwardly, Harry speared a piece of potato on his fork, and quickly shoved it in his mouth. Remus wasn't going to let him leave the table with an empty stomach. He kept eating, painfully aware of the food hitting his stomach. With each bite, he felt more and more full, to the point of bursting. However, it wasn't until he at last felt Lupin's gaze shift away that he stopped. He had eaten his way through about three-quarters of his plate, and felt as though his stomach was about to explode. He placed a hand on his abdomen, cringing at how distended it felt. He needed to get rid of it. Now.

Harry remained staring straight ahead as Mrs Weasley collected all the dishes, waiting until people started to disperse to the living room before he thanked her for the meal and walked slowly towards the staircase. Once he was out of sight, however, he broke into a sprint, legging it to the bathroom as fast as he could.

He didn't even bothering to lock the door behind him before he threw himself to the floor in front of the toilet, slamming the lid against the wall in his hast to get it open. Harry didn't have to try this time - the moment his head was over the toilet, the contents of his stomach was spilling into the porcelain bowl. Even after his body had stopped rejecting the food, he kept sticking his fingers down his throat, not stopping until all that came up up was bile. Once his heaving had subsided, Harry flushed the toilet, closed the lid and practically dragged himself upright, using the toilet as a crutch. His head was instantly swimming, and he quickly found himself back on the floor, his head having narrowly missed the edge of the sink. He waited until his vision had fully returned before attempting to stand up again, and even then the bathroom spun horribly, leaving Harry gripping the counter white-knuckled in an attempt to remain upright.

It was only after he had finished vomiting that Harry noticed the unlocked door and, even more alarmingly, that it was ever so slightly ajar - only a crack, but even so; anyone could have heard him, or - god forbid - walked in. He internally slapped himself for making such a stupid mistake. He only realised the true extent of his blunder, however, when he walked out into the corridor and came face to face with Remus.

Harry swore he could cut the tension in the air with a knife. He found himself unable to move or speak as he stared, wide eyed, at his old professor. Had Lupin heard him? If he'd been standing there this whole time… It was Remus who broke the uneasy silence. "Are you alright? I thought I could hear vomiting," he asked, peering behind Harry into the bathroom

"Uh- yeah, I um, I guess dinner didn't agree with me," Harry spoke with as much confidence he could muster, forcing a small smile onto his face. Lupin didn't look entirely convinced by this theory, but did not question him. Instead, he just sighed heavily, the concern not quite leaving his eyes.

"Harry, you would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you? Because should you ever need to confide in someone, I'm always here," Remus said gently.

"I'm fine, honestly - I've probably just got a bug or something. I'll be okay by tomorrow." It felt awful to be lying to Remus, especially after what he had just said, but Harry couldn't risk anyone finding out. Couldn't risk anyone seeing how broken he was. So, instead, he mumbled a quick 'goodnight', and left Remus standing in the corridor as he made the short journey from the bathroom to his bedroom, where Ron was already conked out on one of the rickety beds, face down and snoring loudly. Harry, feeling much the same way, slumped down on the other bed, the mattress groaning beneath him. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep.

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