Work Text:
James Potter has an eating disorder
Not at first. Of course not. James has always known a healthy relationship with food. Initially.
Funny side comments from opposing quidditch teams in the locker room. Poking at his sides and chuckling. James potter had always been bone-skinny until he hit his growth spurt in third year, and had recently began to build muscle just in these few months(Year 5) and rather than accepting and acknowledging the idea that his body was changing because it was growing and adapting. Because it was supposed to,
James blamed the food.
His mother had once snorted at dinner to see her sons plate piled high, not in judgement but in an observation. "Growing boy." She'd retort.
Now he hardly ever touches his food at all.
James' heaping meals with little care had turned into disgust and resentment toward the very thing that gave his body nutrients. He didn't like to eat much at all anymore. He only shook his head on his way back to Hogwarts after their holiday break, the lady manning the trolly eyeing him wearily as she had never in all of five years seen James potter refuse to buy a chocolate frog or two for the journey. She shook her head as she passed.
A week back from break and Sirius had nudged James with his elbow, sliding his plate over; an offering. He loved Sirius, but learned to hate how well he knew the other. Sirius had noticed. James prayed to everything holy that he hadn't noticed. He never didn't, though. It was just one of those things. James always knew when Sirius was wrong and Sirius always knew when James wasn't right. A pair of hands they were. Eyes and lungs too. A whole heart between them.
James shook his head with a pleasant and calm smile. He pushed the plate back toward his best friend begging him to take the nod. Sirius sighed and did exactly that, proceeding to devour whatever it is he had presented to his James in the moments before.
"No, Moony. I don't want a bite off of your whizzbees. I've had enough of that stuff today."
Enough meant 4 (four) of bott's everything flavored beans. Yes he counted. Of course he'd counted. But James wasn't sick, normal people did that too, he assured himself. Like a hopeless mantra as he chanted it "Normal. Normal. I'm normal" he assured himself hopelessly, knowing not yet that this wouldn't even be the worst of it.
James potter knew deep down that he was sick. Most people wouldn't take the time to count out less than half a handful of jelly beans, but it made him good. It made him pure, clean.
And there was no more 'pudgy potter' in the locker room. No more giggles and whispers, even if James' body really was just muscly, no one ever bothered to add that logic to their teases. James potter was awful hard to insult. So theyd pick apart everything they could. Pry at his last shreds of pride. Anything to get a reaction. James sometimes felt like he was up on stage in some circus. Like he was a lion paraded around a carnival tent for the booing crowds amusement. He
Even if no one meant anything with it, and even if everyone was victim to the sensless teasing one time or another, James Potter found it best to deal with these comments by keeping empty. He had it in his mind that he was somehow above them in this way. No one cared at all, honestly, but he subconciously hoped this meant he was getting the best of them.
What an awful way to think. To punish your own body at the expense of other people's words.
And James was obsessive about it. Of course he was obsessive. He knew how much everyone ate all of the time. Ask him the date and you'd be met with a tilted head but ask him what Peter had for breakfast and he'd answer so fast it'd make your head spin.
James knew how many calories were in a handful of almonds but couldn't help you with the homework if he tried.
"I feel awful, mate.. Don't know why." Peter groaned, clutching at his stomach. Remus' eyes narrowed. He looked to the other, tone laced lightly with concern.
"Well then, are you sick?" Peter shook his head.
"Nope. This was a totally spontaneous stomach ache." His tone was still light and cheery in spite of the situation. James just barely glanced up from the snitch he was messing with.
"Well then, what have you eaten today? Anything to upset your stomach?"
Peter paused a moment to recount his meals today, his eyes off somewhere distant, Remus joining him in his ponder.
"Some oats and berries for breakfast. A coffee:"
The pair both tore their eyes to the once silent member in the corner, awfully perplexed at his sharp memory. James was one of the most forgetful people they knew, second to Sirius of course.
And little instances like this kept them keen in their concern. Small conformations dropped in casual conversation. James himself became more familiar with the idea as well.
He was sick and he now knew it. He accepted it. Liked it, almost. If it weren't for the fatigue. The brittle hair. The coldness he felt even in burning hot rooms. James often found that he sat too close to the fire place without realizing. No normal person felt this way. No normal body reacted like that.
No one noticed. Course not. James potter was perfect. He was a cocky bastard. So arrogant. He'd never care about those things. He knew he looked good. He knew he was attractive. And he loved all of the attention that he got.
Anyone around him would say. But when James looked into girls eyes after they'd taken a considerable amount of time to glance him over he was just trying to find their thoughts. Just trying to confirm the suspicion that everyone was laughing at him and his body. He searched the gazes of hundred, even when they weren't directed toward him. Once reveling in the attention he got, James now despised it.
Sirius offered nearly every weekend to treat James to dinner. Take him out somewhere special. Remus had even offered to cook. Peter had gotten his mom to send a loaf of that banana bread James used to love. Their gestures remained unseen. Untouched. James hated dismissing the others, honest he did. But he knew it would be worth it. When he was small he wouldn't burden others, even if his disorder already burdened their minds more than he could know.
Nobody said anything. To obstruct James' happiness was to shut light off from the world. He seemed fine. He seemed as energetic and happy and well as ever. Isn't a play best preformed when the actor has no attachment to the character? When James wasn't sure who he was trying to be, thats when he was at his "Best."
James was happy when he felt small.
A high he could chase forever. And the looks of concern and the whispers in horror didn't bother James. He reveled in it. They think he's small. They see his wrists and his thighs and wonder how long it's been since that poor boy had a fucking meal.
But that just isn't a sustainable lifestyle is it?
No one likes skeletons. And you can't be dead before you've died at all.
James had gotten sick. He hurt every time he even had to get out of bed. His energy depleted faster than anyone has seen and before they could register the sun was gone. Asleep, most of the time. Rotting away in his bed during the rest.
James frequented the nurses office. He was constantly injured or tired of something. Hed swing his bony knees against the cot they'd set up, offering her a warm smile and he'd talk with the nurse for hours. And When Sirius looked up from conversing with Remus during a potions project to see James missing it was only disappointment every time. When Peter had no one to ramble senselessly to. Not only had that disorder taken James' energy, it had taken some peoples best friend. Gone before they could say goodbye. And now three boys were mourning someone they still slept next to.
The rest of the year was rough on everyone. James body was collapsing in on itself. The rest of them felt empty. Awkward. Off. James was the glue that held them together. Without him they were a bunch of a miscellaneous pieces that didn't quite fit together. Furniture without a manual or a puppet without strings. James was their cognition.
No one was excited for summer either. Distance didn't make the problems or the worry stop, just meant they had no way to keep an eye on him anymore.
Effie nearly fainted when her son came home stick-thin and sickly, the colour faded from his once golden skin. He hardly even talked like her son anymore. He was happy. James was always happy. But there was something beyond that now. Something more. Something sad and desperate and fucking hungry.
She nodded off their escort and rushed her boys inside. Sirius was of course more than enthusiastic for the taste of effies home cooked meals, something hed missed most about life outside of Hogwarts. He was quick to fill a plate and sit in the same spot he always had.
James was still in the kitchen "deciding" on what to eat. Pasta or water isn't an impossible choice for James potter, just a very difficult one. If you had told the version of himself that stood here last that these would be the thoughts going through his heads, he would have laughed in your face. His mother piled his plate high, her eyes pleading with a quiet 'something. anything..eat, baby. Please eat.' And she never had to say it. He grabbed this plate and headed begrudgingly into the dining room. James sat across from Sirius, as things once had been. And for a moment Sirius smiled. There was a flash of hope in his eyes as he saw the actually human portion of food on his best friends plate. James swore he saw a weight lift off of Sirius' shoulders. He poked at his food, moving it around every so often. Sirius counted. Counted the bites of food James ate. Ridiculous isn't it? When your best friend becomes the skeleton in your closet nothing seems outlandish anymore.
4...
5...
"James! How was this season's quidditch team?'
James dropped his fork with a smile, turning to face his ever-curious father. The conversation went on for minutes. Minutes that seemed like hours. Fuck this. Why isn't he eating? Why aren't you eating, James?
Sirius hadn't meant to mutter that last bit out loud.
He hadn't muttered much at all, actually. It was almost a yell. Closest thing to it without the anger. In its place was hurt. Followed closely with some sort of fear.
James chuckled. Why was he laughing? What was so funny?
"Quidditch gets me excited, pads. It was an insanely close season, too. This discussion was very necessary." Sirius saw it in his eyes as James searched helplessly for an excuse. Anything to keep that food as far away from him as he could possibly manage, It was awful. If you would have asked Sirius to describe it, the way he cried when he spoke next, he would probably get all quiet. All weird. James tried to bring it up again years later, and Sirius' face flashed with the fear only a scared kid would possess. He looked as shameful as a wet dog when he turned him down. He hadn't moved on, even a decade after. Even two.
Sirius spit fire. Venom. His roots went further back than he'd admit. A snake still bites like one even if it sews on it's own limbs and pretends to be something it isn't. Sirius fears his next words are too harsh as they fall.
"Close? Gryffindor lost against Slytherin by a fucking margin. Probably because their star chaser was too busy counting calories to eye the ball!"
James swallowed thickly. Again he chuckled. "Alright, alright I admit. It was an off-season."
Sirius' hand slammed against the table with a harsh cough. He stood."Excuse me."
Sirius left the dining room, then the house entirely. He was pacing the perimeter of the estate, kicking rocks and gravel to his side as he muttered a series of incoherent, painful curses.
James was left in silence with his parents eyes burning holes right through him. He'd never felt less safe in his own home.
"..James."
"Dad?"
"Have you been..have you been getting enough to eat, son?"
"Of course I have." James let out a hearty chuckle as if the question was the most unreasonable thing he had ever heard. His fathers expression twisted into something indiscernible, looking to the hollow shell of a boy his son had once been. " I never stop eating, right? Isn't that what you always say? Mom. Tell him he's being unreasonable tell him-"
His mother only shook her head and sighed. A pit formed in James' stomach. Possibly the most full he'd been in months and it was on sickness itself.
Another hour, a real one this time, of arguing and informing and lecturing from both his parents.
"This isn't sustainable, James." One would say.
"My boy...what happened to my boy?" Would cry the other. James felt sick. Terribly so. He felt bad for them. He felt bad about the pasta in his stomach. All around he felt wrong. It was all wrong.
The heat died down and James managed to let himself breathe just a little. He had nothing left to say. What was there to say? He apologized but was shut down immediately after being assured that was not in fact what his parents wanted to hear.
He refused the idea of treatment, but swore to his mother that he'd really, really try this time. Sirius did come back eventually. Their night was spent with James bawling in his best friends arms. They fell asleep holding each other, bound to happen anyway. Months of pent up frustration accompanied by distance neither wanted nor intended to have caused. It felt good. Amazing, James thinks. To be held again by something other than his self-conscience.
The next week was hell. James had eyes on him every time he entered the kitchen. Every time the clock struck noon, he was rushed to a table forced into a chair and again put on display. Only this circus was meaner. This circus was full of the hands that once fed him. An ironic play on words. If James had ever had less of an appetite he'd have been bewildered. He was nauseous all the time. Even sitting on the sofa felt like he was tearing a void in the space time continuom itself. James was no longer a son or a best friend, he was a patient. He was sick. He looked sick. They treated him like he was sick.
A month, two, passed. James got better. As 'better' as he could be. He was healthier now, and more comfortable to just eat a sandwich. Something he'd never thought would have been as revolutionary as it was.
He could run without wanting to faint and he could laugh without hurting his ribcage. James potter again was whole.
Only a month until 6th year. James truly couldn't wait. He felt better now. He was better. The process was slow and shameful and incredibly painful but he's made it through. Some days were worse than others. Some days he had to drink bone broth, because the thought of chewing and swallowing actual food shook him to his core.
But he was fine for most of it. Living anyway.
He remembers his picnic with the Marauders, sprawled out across a blanket, giggling..Food wasn't his priority. Food wasnt a monster. And neither was he. He could have a strawberry extra if he wanted to. He could indulge in the meal he'd stayed up all night to make and package for his trip. And god damnit James potter could have a slice of Mrs. Pettigrews banana bread. He didn't need to feel guilty. Those things were never the enemy. His own mind was. Something he'd grown to accept and understand. It was weird and foreign and the concepts didn't always fit quite right in his head but he was healing. And he was happy to be.
The first few weeks back were great. Orientation ran by smooth. Dorms, classes, ice breakers. Nothing new. It was a repetitive routine that James found an immense comfort in. He always knew what to expect when he returned. Hogwarts was another home for him. Something he'd grown fond of. And a sense of normalcy isn't a bad thing. Not by any means.
So the world kept spinning and the year went on and James potter never did find time again to pick up old, mean habits.
Until quidditch season.
James, per usual, made the team. Per usual, he claimed the same dingy, dented and fucked up locker he'd received in first year, the lock now broken after years of slamming it closed after tiring practice.
He was predictable, and he preferred it that way. He kept things orderly to cope with the immense spontaneity he was exposed to on a daily basis.
Then everything changed. It was the third week and James was dressing into his uniform, his shirt off. He leaned up to grab something from his obnoxiously high(but familiar) locker, which was when he felt someone pinching at his sides. This followed with snickers. James wasn't stick-think anymore. There was something there to grab. And it was grabbed. Something that wasn't theirs. Some slytherin bloke took it. Now all James could feel was wrong all over. He wasn't sickly. He wasn't ill. They never did anything when he was so small his ribs poked through his skin in an unsettlingly prevalent greeting.
And that was taken advantage of the first moment it could be.
James skipped practice that day. He fell to his knees in the middle of the bathroom and spilled his guts all over sink. James swore he must have vomited so many times he coughed up blood. or his morals. Was there ever any difference?
That night at dinner James replayed the same instance in his mind a thousand times as he leered over his plate of food. He felt that same sickness take over, bile rising in his throat. James pushed his plate away. He'd have an early breakfast. A midnight snack, something. But not now. Not here. Not around these people with their..judgy stares. Oh, merlin, are they looking? Everyone's looking at you, James. They see you and your awful ugly body. They're laughing again aren't they?
He tossed his entire tray into the bin, and ran a lap or two around the courtyard to ease his mind. Oh how he'd missed this. Running in the blistering cold, making himself perfect again.
And the next morning, all he could think about was how good it felt to shiver. To shiver. To hurt somewhere other than in his bones. To have an ache beside the hole in his chest. He skipped breakfast. There's always time to eat later. It'd only be cold out right now.
It isn't that easy to fall back into routine.
James took his morning run. He made it back in time just for herbology. Lunch wasn't important to him. He'd had a big breakfast. Is what he said when Remus asked. James inadvertently cherished it. Having the ability to keep a secret. To hold a little shred of himself back from others. Even if all it was was his appetite, it was exciting. But he wasn't sick. He had gotten better. And you can't be sick once you've gotten better
And thus it became routine. He found comfort in this. He felt so small. He was getting smaller. He grinned in the mirror, not as afraid of his own reflection this time as he was the last. The last? No. These situations don't compare do they? James isn't sick this time. James feels great. Last time was bad..it was awful. James only remembers the hurt. He remembers the exhaustion and the weakness. This time he feels alive. He feels better.
James didn't seem to realize that his younger self too felt that way for the first month. And it wasn't until after that did he notice it the second time.
James was sickly. Not in body mass, not yet, but in mind. He'd grown obsessive over the idea of starving. It was all he thought about. It was all he ever had time to think about. It was a disease that plagued his mind, the thought of not eating. It's like he'd hear the wind and itd remind him of how good he'd been. How he'd narrowly avoided breakfast this morning after Sirius' continuous wagers. He, again, didn't stop to think about how it killed those around him. Seeing him wither away how he was. How sirius had explained through choked sobs that "No, Remus, He was better. I promise he was."
And it wasn't until month three that it had become a real problem. An addiction. James couldn't live without the idea of starving. He couldn't even think about food. Who remembers food? He only ever ate when he was forced to, and even then he was nearly kicking and screaming. This only happened about once a week until he got smart. He'd began to enter the dining hall earlier than any one of his friends. He'd leave before they could get there. No one could prove that he didn't eat if they never saw him at all. Sometimes he'd meet the other three as he was "emptying" his plate, and he'd smile. James would be lying if he said it didn't break his heart a little when he saw Sirius' eyes light up to see him with an empty plate. They harborbed so much feeling toward the other. They cared. He didn't see it, but they cared.
James had no reason to hide it. It was more for others than himself. He didn't want them to worry. They already were. James was small again. Really small. They saw it. They shook their heads and hid their gasps, eyes soft with concern and words sharp with worry. They outright told him that he was ill. More than once. But he would smile and no one can resist James Potters smile. And everyone forgot about it for a little while every time he sweet-talked his way out of an intervention. He was a people pleaser just as much as he was a puppet master. Twisting and contorting his ugly, raw pain into something they could smile about. It was a skill, if he was honest.
And this time hed gotten through unscathed. No one said anything when his jumpers got too big or when his quidditch jersey was basically falling off his shoulders.
Until Remus had had enough of it. He confronted his worries to Sirius. They conspired. James was ill. This much they knew. But they were entirely helpless in this situation. They couldn't get James to eat if they begged. They couldn't even bring up food without his whole demeanor changing.
,\
In a desperate attempt, the pair had reached out to James mother. It would have made the meanest of men ache if they read the words Sirius black etched in the ink of a lousy parchment paper about how he much he missed the man James once was. About how he was scared for his best friends life. James was alive. He couldn't be dead already. He was still moving. Dead things don't move. Dead things can't speak. Though Sirius imagines dead people would find a lot more to say than James had managed recently.
It was a week later before they were written back. This letter was not received until after the first night James didn't show. Sirius was scared. Bloody terrified. That letter couldn't have come sooner when he, the next morning. was informed via effies absolute godsend of a message that James had infact been removed for professional treatment. Sirius felt terrible. He knew those places. He knew they were bleak and lonely and endlessly white. He knew James must have been awful fucking scared in that little prison unrightfully deemed a "recovery" but he knew that if no one else got through to him, isolation would. And it would hit him eventually square across the face all of the terrible things he'd been doing to his body. James wasn't dumb. But he was plagued. Infected. Diseased. Sirius didnt want to admit it to himself, but he now knew that his best friend was sick. That his best friend was stolen away from him by some illness, and that sirius wasnt sure he had ever hurt more than he did now. You wouldn't thinl that, through years of torment and psychological warfare sirius would be most affected by something that hadn't touched him at all, but oh, he was. He couldn't even utter the words without shaking. He was utterly fucked after this all. As he knew was Remus. And Peter
And Sirius couldn't have taken it any much longer. Watching his best friend kill himself right Infront of him. It was slow but sure at the rate he'd been going. Remus had to help Sirius navigate those fears all over again when James left.
James had been in treatment for two weeks now. The nurses enjoyed his conversation. The patients enjoyed his presence. Because of course it would be James potter who lightened the darkest and heaviest places in the whole world just with his smiles.
One nurse had even commented on what a sweet boy he was. How he shouldn't have been in here. Inquiring as to why he had been here while she forced an array of fix-me pills into his palm, like it held no weight at all. Like it was just her job. What a stupid fucking question. Why am I in here? Why are you trying to fix me? James wanted to retort out loud. He didn't. By some grace or another. Still, recovery was slow. It was awkward and James felt as though he couldn't have fit in any place less. He yearned for something that made any sense to him. He sometimes found himself awake in the middle of the night, the buzz of machines he couldn't name and the glow of low, deftly white hospital nights the only thing to keep him and his thoughts company as he dreamed of the world beyond this room.
It was a month of this psychological torture before he'd been released. Just in time for summer. James thanked everything he could think to thank that he hadn't had to finish the last month of coursework. He was good in school. But merlin if he hated it. No such passion in something as miniscule as magic when there was a whole world out there to be seen. James never did like to be confined. Irony would again be the death of him. But he still recounts it to this day, how it felt tohear the nurses voice peer bereft through the crack in his door. How it felt when sirius nearly shoved past her to enter the room, Pulling James up into his arms. He uttered senslessly for a whole minute before James could get him to take a breath and form an actually coherent sentence. All James needed to hear was "Leaving" And he was out of that room. He didn't have anything of his own to gather, so he didn't stop on his way out. An immense weight lifted off his shoulder as he stepped out of that facility. Tears fille his eyes but he wouldn't cry. He couldn't cry.
James was a normal, good and healthy weight before anyone aside from Sirius saw him again. Thankful for it. His poor mother couldn't have taken it a second time around. Her boy, as she knew him, was corrupted. But it was all a lot prettier if it wasnt on the outside. Maybe then she could pretend he was normal.
Nobody said much of anything when dinner rolled around. Rather difficult to make conversation when the only things you have to say are "Hey, how was that hospital we involuntarily stuck you in?" And "Hey, guess what happened for that entire stretch of time where I was out living the life you couldn't?"
So yes, dinner was quiet. James wasn't awkward about anything. He ate. He didn't hesitate. Anything he ate here was far better than anything he ate there. Nothing would ever surmount his mother's cooking, especially not after a half a year without it. He was as kind as ever when he inquired about summer plans, and as quiet as he could be when he listened. Almost as if though he didn't move or think or speak at all everyone would forget anything had ever been wrong in the first place. Everything would go back to normal. To good.
Summer went by quicker than it should have. Movie nights and sleepovers and boardgames were plenty. This also added a sense of normalcy to James seemingly ever-changing life. He felt good. Fine, at the very least. Maybe not quite as happy as he'd once been, but he was able to eat. And that was fine. He made his peace with this. No one urged him to eat. No one had to.
James plate was always arranged a specific way. No on dared to ruin that for him. That's all he had left. All of the control he was allowed to have. He set his vegetables to one side and his proteins to another and no one said absolutely anything at all. who would?
James felt fragile. He hated it. He was a boy in a forever bubble because of one mishap once or twice, and now everyone views him as some..loose canon. Like nudging into him would land both of you in an infirmary. Like James was contagious for some illness he didn't have.
That summer was modest. Little. Sirius and James had accidently created this large divide between one another with no intentions of doing so at all. No one's fault really. When Sirius saw James he couldn't blink back the image of the walking corpse he once was, and when James saw Sirius' he couldn't stomach the thought of that same man being the one who found him dead before he ever died But James also remembered a Sirius who had picked him up from the hospital. A sirius who, he later learned, had saved him from the perpetual hell that was his eating disorder. He remembered a Sirius who loved James so wholly, so honestly that he gave up a half of himself just worrying about James. And Sirius was able to remember the strong, confident person James had once been. He was able to remember how full of love and life and light James was once. And how he mirrored the exact same thing now. And they managed to pick themselves back up. To be Sirius and James again, without the tears or the worry.
There was one afternoon, though.
The four spent their day at one of the many lakes in their area. Things felt young again. James reveled in the blissful ignorance he was granted on this day. His mood still hadnt dampened when the ground was pulled out from under him with a harsh yank into the bellowing body of water below. He only giggled as he pulled Sirius down with him, whines and complains from the older about the importance of his hair and how crudely it had been provoked. Remus sighed in amusement. Peter nearly died in the sea of laughter that hung over their heads.
James felt whole once again. It had never been about food. It had never been about his thoughts or his habits. It was always them.
Always them that he needed. Always them he will need. So when Sirius pulls him up onto a river rock and they sit together, messy and soaked torsos pressed side to side with light chuckles, and when Sirius glances over with a relieved sigh, now fodning a new image to replace the wretched one that had been stuck in his head for what felt like forever, things felt like they were going to be okay. Forever. James hoped. And when Sirius turned to him and told him how much he'd missed him when he was gone, how much he did still, James nearly broke down, barreling into his arms. They heald each other there for a few minutes before Peter made some offhanded comment and they were back in the water, begrudgingly no doubt. James knew these were his people. His forevers. If nothing else was consistent they always were. He knew that for anything, it was them he needed to be around for. It was them he needed to go on for.
Meals sure were a lot less difficult when he realized his life was one worth living. His fork never felt so heavy again. He knew how to talk now. He knew it wasn't his fault for getting bad, but that he did have people there. He took advantage of his opportunities and thanked the universe every chance he got that he'd been given the people he was. He screamed his grattidudes to the stars and whispered praises to the moon. He walked barefoot across grass and he laughed so violently that his shoulders shook. He never again took this life he was given for granted. James potter was proud to be alive. He was in love with the very idea of living. Now he chases the sunset and he swims in oceans. He pressed his shoulders crudely against his best friends and falls asleep in their arms. He never shys away from affection, and never forgets to show every single person how much he cares. He spends his waking moments with the people he loves and the rest of it all dreaming about what he'll do with them tomorrow. James potter has found purpose in living. James potter is now and forever whole.