Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: eating disorders, self induced vomiting
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"Come on, Harry - just a few bites. It's not poisoned, so you can stop looking at it like it's going to kill you."
Harry sat at the table, staring - more like glaring - at the plate in front of him. He narrowed his eyes at the ham sandwich, cut into four neat triangles by Mrs Weasley. He couldn't believe they were making him do this. The calories in the ham alone, let alone when smothered in full-fat butter and encased in white bread. He just didn't need it - he was fat enough as it was, the last thing he should be doing was gorging himself on calorific sandwiches, no matter how lovingly prepared they were.
Sirius, who sat opposite him, was growing more and more frustrated by the minute. They had been there for an hour, and thus far Harry had succeeded in nibbling a tiny bit of the crust and not much else. The others were outside, playing Quidditch again - Harry had been informed that he would not be permitted to join them unless he ate at least half of his sandwich, lest he lose consciousness and fall from his broom mid flight. Harry had not taken it well.
"Okay, fine - a quarter, then you can go." Sirius tried to compromise. Sixty bloody minutes.
Harry, however, was having none of it. "I'm. Not. Eating. It." He seethed, more venom in his tone than Sirius had ever heard.
"Fine - half a triangle. That's barely anything! We've been here over hour already - the others have nearly finished!" Sirius said, exasperated.
"Then you shouldn't have kept me here for so long!" Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Harry, the length of time you spend here is entirely within your control." Remus wandered over to the table and stood behind Sirius.
"I can't eat this!" Harry said, exasperated. Why couldn't they understand!?
"Yes you can."
With Remus here, Harry knew his chances of escape were slim to none. So, grudgingly, he lifted a quarter of the sandwich, and took a tiny bite. It was like cement in his mouth, coating his tongue with chewed up bread paste and tiny pieces of ham. He kept it in his mouth for at least a minute, chewing thoroughly, before he forced himself to swallow. The food went down his throat in a lump, and Harry swore he could feel it hitting his empty stomach. He repeated his actions robotically, managing to finish over a quarter of of his sandwich. The food churned in his stomach, threatening to make a reappearance. Harry was so used to purging after meals, his body now seemed to preempt it.
"I can't eat anymore," Harry said, pushing his plate away from him.
"That's okay - you've done well," Remus said, "we'll try again with dinner."
Harry clenched his teeth. Was this what every meal was going to be like from now on? Usually, he had no problem eating at dinner, but if he had to keep it down as well…
"Could you stay down here with us for a while, Harry?" Sirius asked - though it wasn't really a request, and Harry knew that.
"Fine." He said, fighting the rising nausea. His mouth kept filling with saliva, and he found himself swallowing frequently in an effort to keep the sandwich down. He stayed at the table, not trusting his body enough to move. One wrong move, and-
Harry's breathing sped up as he felt bile rising in his throat. "Sirius?"
Sirius was over by the sink, having just washed up Harry's plate. He took one look at Harry, white as a sheet and gripping the table so hard his knuckles were visible through his skin, and came straight over. "What's wrong?"
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Harry muttered, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth.
"Okay, just breathe-" Sirius spoke calmly. "Remus?" He called to his friend, who had left the room a few minutes prior. "Rem? Could you grab that bin, please? Harry feels sick," he said, as Lupin reentered the room. He came over with the bin and crouched next to him, ready to stick it under Harry's chin should it become necessary. Sirius rubbed circles into Harry's back as he breathed deeply, his eyes still shut tightly. With each deep breath, Harry felt the cold nausea slowly recede until it was just a dull ache in his stomach.
"I think I'm good," he said, opening his eyes. "Sorry," he added sheepishly, feeling a blush creep up his neck.
"No worries," Sirius said, letting him on the back and smiling at him.
"If your body is used to your stomach being emptied every time you eat, it's normal for it to start preempting the action," Remus explained, solidifying what Harry already half-suspected.
"If you would like, I could give you a potion to help ease the nausea after meals? Just until your body adjusts," Lupin offered with a small smile. Harry nodded, muttering his thanks. Why did it all have to be so embarrassing?!
For the next hour or so, Harry curled up on the sofa, snuggled under a thick, woollen blanket with his nose in a book. He wasn't allowed on his own yet - not until his food had gone down, Sirius had said - so he spent the time reading one of his favourite muggle books, which he'd brought with him from Privet Drive. The leather-bound cover was tatty from years of use, and some of the pages were slightly torn or had inconspicuous stains on the paper, but Harry didn't mind.
He stayed downstairs well after his hour was up, perfectly content to lose himself in his book. Harry wasn't typically the studious type, but he did enjoy a good fictional story every now and then, especially muggle ones like this. When dinner came around, he helped Mrs Weasley prepare the meal. She looked quite anxious when he picked up a knife to chop the vegetables, shooting him nervous glances every couple of seconds. In the end, she suggested he set the table instead. Harry did so without complaint, but still felt slightly hurt by the fact that Mrs Weasley obviously didn't trust him. Honestly, though, he couldn't really blame her. Sometimes, Harry didn't even trust himself.
The meal went quickly, Harry picking at his food and pushed it around, but still managed to eat a fair amount. After the meal, he helped clear the table, then played a game of exploding snap in the living room with Ron and Hermione. Ron won, with Hermione in close second - Harry lost abysmally, all of his cards spontaneously combusting throughout the game, leaving him with blackened hands and singed jeans. He chalked his loss up to distraction, the food in his stomach uncomfortable and nauseating, despite the potion Remus had slipped him after the meal. He couldn't stop running the numbers in his head, doing the maths of by how much that one meal, as well as the sandwich he had eaten earlier, would derail his progress.
"I'm just going for a walk," he told Sirius. "It's been over an hour," Harry reminded him at the apprehensive look in the man's eyes,
"Okay, just- be sensible, okay? And don't be too long - it'll be getting dark soon," he said, smiling at Harry despite the worry in his eyes.
Harry had only wanted to clear his head. But now that he was outside, on his own, he was struggling to resist the urge - though he didn't exactly put up much of a fight. He walked until he was out of eye-sight from the house, contemplating silently. Could he get away with it? Sirius hadn't seemed too worried about him leaving, and Remus hadn't weighed in - perhaps they thought he would only do something if he was left alone in the house?
If they thought he needed a bathroom to purge, they were wrong. Pausing behind a large tree, the trunk wide enough to shield him from view, just in case, Harry shoved his fingers down his throat without hesitation. The feeling of bile rising in his throat was almost comforting, before his dinner spilled onto the ground, splattering against the base of the tree. It had been difficult with Remus's potion still in his system, but Harry was stubborn, and didn't stop abusing the back of his throat until every trace of food was gone. He relished the feeling of emptiness left in his stomach, in the familiar pain in his knuckles where they had been scraped raw by his teeth. When he was finished, Harry wiped his fingers on his jeans and cast a quick charm to clear up the mess, not wanting anyone to stumble across it. He performed another spell on himself, to remove the smell of vomit and thus avoid detection. He walked a while longer before going back inside, waiting for the shaky, clammy feeling to clear, and for his pasty skin to gain back a hint of colour. When he returned, a smile plastered on his face, Sirius and Remus were none the wiser.
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