Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: eating disorder thoughts, self induced vomiting, self harm, blood
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Harry slept past noon the next day. He was woken from his blissfully nightmare-free slumber by a gentle knock. "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 swung open. A tray, laden with fruit, a bowl of porridge, various potion vials and a large, steaming mug floated through the door. The tray was closely followed by Remus, his wand held out and pointed towards the tray, keeping it hovering above Harry's bed. Slowly, he lowered his wand, and the tray gradually sank down, landing with a slight clatter at the foot of the bed. Lupin smiled 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 more than a little 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, in 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 him. 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 last time he drank one of Remus's hot chocolates. It had warmed him from the inside out, right from his head to his toes. Though his mouth watered slightly, Harry shook his head. No more potions, either; he had no idea what the 'nutritional balancers' 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?"
"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 pleasant surprise came over the man's scarred features. "Of course - I'm sure everyone would be happy to see you. You gave them all quite a fright, you know."
A sharp pang of guilt stabbed at Harry's gut. "Who else- who else knows?"
"Just Molly, and subsequently Arthur, of course. None of the Order know, 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 considered just telling him everything. Being done with the secrets, and the lies, and just… offloading. But then they would make him eat, and then he would gain weight, and then he'd turn into the pathetic, fat blob that he knew he was, 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 lately." 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 to Harry, the remark triggered an immense feeling of achievement - had he really lost that much weight? He knew he wasn't 'skinny' by any means, but if Remus thought he was getting thin, 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 just weak-willed, but maybe… maybe it was clever.
That night, at dinner, Harry arrived downstairs before the food was ready so that he could help Mrs Weasley cook. He still felt bad for scaring her, but judging by the warmth and love 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 even though he was satiated after just a few mouthfuls, he managed to finish his entire plate; though he politely declined seconds. His stomach felt uncomfortably full, and he could already feel a familiar churning sensation. But only when everyone else 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 humanly possible, was Lupin standing up and following him up the stairs.
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"Harry?"
Remus's voice came from behind him, causing Harry to violently choke on the fingers currently residing at the back of his throat, and for another wave of nausea to surge through him. A loud, heavy sigh, then Harry felt a pair of 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 to, 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 spun. 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. He kept staring straight ahead, focusing his gaze on a specific tile to avoid looking up at Lupin, who had crouched down next 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 the assumption. 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 do know that you're not overweight, don't you, Harry? And even if you were, it wouldn't matter - you are nothing like the Dursleys. You are kind, and brave, and one of the strongest people I know; everything that they aren't." Harry finally looked up, meeting Lupin's pained expression.
"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 hot 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 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 that had emanated from the suggestion 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 small smile and leaving him to it.
Harry didn't move from the toilet until Lupin had gone, the charm he discreetly placed on the door lock as he left 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 wasn't exactly a very dignified process. He had to grab the counter, set his feet as far apart as possible, then 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 few long 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 cascading over his aching body, 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 salve 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 blades and illuminating the pink plastic, stark against the pearly-white bathtub… 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 quickly made his decision. Gripping the pink handle firmly, he grasped the head of the razor and pulled 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, spilling over and dripping down his hand. He 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… 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 staunch 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 as 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. He 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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