Harry Potter Oneshots

Fred Weasley - Frail

Summary : you end up in the hospital wing, due to your mental health problems.
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Prompts :  “Well this time you ended up in hospital, love…” , “Stop lying when you tell me you’re okay.”

TW : eating disorders, depression, struggles with body image, mentions of throwing up, body dysmorphia.

Word count : 1428
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You looked down lazily at your half filled plate of food.
Sighing, you poked it around with your fork.

You had barely eaten three bites without stopping.
You tried to eat something, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

You noticed Fred eyeing you suspiciously from across the table, so you plastered a fake smile onto your lips and slowly picked up a piece of food from your plate and put it in your mouth.

As soon as you had swallowed you felt the extreme urge to throw up.

You held back your nausea and set your fork down, crossing your legs and covering your stomach.

You hadn’t had a meal in over a week, but frankly, you didn’t mind.
Your hunger had long since surpassed, and now the mere thought of food drained all your energy.

You had done well, hiding it from Fred, but you were sure George had figured something out.

And anyway, you were losing weight, things could be worse.

Sighing, you leaned your elbows on the table and placed your head in your splayed palms.

You felt a strange dizziness in the back of your head and you quickly gripped the edge of the table, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath inwards.

As you made to stand up, your legs gave out from underneath you and you fell deadweight to the ground.

The entire table erupted into chaos.
Lee and Oliver took a sharp breath inwards.
George scurried across the table to bend down beside you.
Hermione, Ron and Harry exchanged horrified glances and stood up to run towards you.

But worst of all, was Fred.

For a moment, he was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what happened.
It wasn’t that fact that you had just passed out.
That, he could understand.

It was why you passed out.

He didn’t realise until now, that you hadn’t eaten.
That was why you fainted, because you hadn’t eaten.

You hadn’t eaten, and Fred, your boyfriend hadn’t noticed.

Taking control of his thoughts, he rushed to your side and scooped you up into his arms, holding you close to his chest while your head rested on his shoulder.

Even though you weren’t conscious, he whispered to you soothingly, kissing the side of your head as he walked you to the hospital wing.

With slight tears in his eyes, he had only just noticed how small and bony your arms had become, how dark and sunk in the skin under your arms were, and how thin your hair was becoming.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to you, opening the door to the infirmary and laying you on a bed, calling for someone to come check on you.

As he was listening to Madam Pomfrey, his leg bounced up and down anxiously.

She told him that it was clear you hadn’t eaten in a week, that she could give you a potion for the nausea, but recovery was something you’d have to do by yourself.