Random Harry Potter One-shots Sickfics

Ron - Bulima 2 I Hermione - Antenatal Depression - 10k words

Trigger warnings for talk of bulimia, su*cdal thoughts and general emetophobia.

Later that night, Ron laid awake in bed, his head thumping after the nights' festivities. All four of his dormmates were asleep, their heavy breathing (and occasional wheeze from Dean) rumbling the walls, making him feel seasick. Rolling around like a pig in mud, he tried to shake the thoughts and restlessness out of his body. Back in the day, he'd just go for a run or swim when he was unable to sleep, but couldn't face dragging his heavy bones into the snow and the lake was covered in several inches of solid ice. Besides, after Daphne and Lavender were found on the grounds that night, they were heavily warded. No one would step outside without waking the whole castle.

He hated himself for it, but he found himself obsessing over everything he'd eaten that day- three whole meals, which was his goal, but they were all enormous and consequently, he'd gone to bed feeling violently ill. His stomach bloated as though it was full of methane and ammonia, a great lumbering corpse. Cold sweat pricking on his forehead, he wiped his brow feverishly and tried to think about anything else.

Harry's chocolates were lying forlorn on the floor, knocked over like toy soldiers in a battle. He was overthinking again. What had Doctor Nelson told him? To challenge his negative thoughts? Slowly getting to his feet, he picked one up off the ground and rolled it between his fingers. If he could eat one now, then he would have challenged his compulsive behaviour. Without giving himself time to think about it, he threw it in his mouth, trying not to savour the taste. There, it was gone. And he hadn't put on ten stone.

He missed the taste of chocolate. He used to love the stuff, filling his mouth with the bitter sweetness until he drooled. It sickened him now. Quickly, he put another in his mouth, then a third, quickly chewing them and swallowing. No, the magic was gone. Maybe another?

Ten minutes later, he'd finished the box, then a second. He wanted to stop, he desperately wanted to stop. But he couldn't. His arm moved of its own accord, scooping handful after handful into his gob until he could feel his stomach expand, spilling over the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. The flavour had all but gone, leaving him eating what felt like cold chunks of butter, the oil lining the walls of his stomach and leaving him feeling unbearably greasy. He choked, gagging, forcing himself to bolt for the toilet and involuntarily vomit all of the sickly mess into the toilet. It was as horrible as he remembered, looking at the contents of his stomach, bobbing up and down like dead bodies in a bog. 

Harrowed, he couldn't look away.

 Pushing a finger down his throat, he pushed the rest out, then his Christmas dinner, then lunch, then breakfast, until he was finally empty. 

Gasping for breath, Ron fell away from the toilet and grabbed the edge of the sink. Observing his face in the mirror, he was horrified. He never allowed himself to do so, as since he was still in recovery from his bulimia, his relationship with his body was still tenuous. Now able to get a proper look, he raised a shaking hand and poked into his cheek, moving the fat around. It was disgusting. He was disgusting.

Hermione had liked him when he was skinny. No wonder she'd gone off him again. Turning to the side, he observed his full body, horrified to see that his stomach jutted out so much. It looked as though someone had pushed a balloon up his t-shirt as a cruel joke. Was this what recovery was meant to feel like? To see how far he could push himself in the wrong direction until he was obese again? Was it better to be fat and healthy or skinny and happy?

He'd promised a lot of people that he wouldn't make himself sick again. But it looked like he'd ran out of people to impress.

(~~~)

Daphne turned up to their dormitory in the morning, after getting permission from McGonagall. Normally, people just barged in as and when they felt like it, but she needed help with the stairs. Labour had been horrific on her body and day two had felt even worse than the day before. Still, Holly was in Snt Mungoes for a review, she'd just been fed and so she had an hour to spare.