Disclaimer: I honestly swear that I don't own these characters. The wonderful J.K. Rowling does.

Here's another freaking disclaimer:

Anorexia is in the freaking title. Don't read if it you feel that it's going to "trigger" you. I am not taking this down.

Here's a little background: I suffer from anorexia. I know damn well how the debilitating the disease is. This story is a response I wrote in recovery, and I decided to change it to fan fiction to have others read it. Don't like it? Don't read it then.


"Ronald Bilius Weasley, where do you think you're going? Get down here immediately!" Mrs. Weasley screeched while waving a worn ladle threateningly up at her youngest son. Ron—who had frozen, mid-step, on the stairs—cursed and slowly turned around. Peering over a smirking Harry's unruly mass of hair, he stared at his mother, wondering what he could have possibly done to upset her this time. Harry snickered.

Swallowing the sudden lump in this throat, Ron tentatively asked, "What?"

The red-haired woman appeared close to exploding. Drawing herself up to her full height—that, at five feet could still be threatening to five-foot-eleven Ron—Mrs. Weasley pointed wildly at a plate of food that was only half-eaten on the table, "What is this?" Her voice raised an octave and shook slightly.

Ron stared at the plate, confusion evident on his face. In front of him, Harry's snicker turned into a series of giggles and he had to cover his mouth in order to stifle them. Ron glared at him. "It's a plate. With food."

"Exactly! And you, of all people, Ronald, know very well that food does not go to waste in this household!"

Ron quickly realized where the conversation was going. "But, mum! That was my second plate of food, and I'm not even counting dessert!" Mrs. Weasley waved her ladle as if waving away her son's excuse, and Harry fell against the staircase, still attempting to quiet his amusement. "Mum, I'm just not that hungry tonight, is all. Okay?" The teen immediately wished he could take back his words, for the second they left his mouth, his mother's anger quickly dissolved and total concern took its place.

"What in Merlin's name do you mean you're not hungry? Ron, you're always hungry! Are you sick—are you running a fever? Oh, Merlin! Ron, come down here right now so I can take your temperature!" Mrs. Weasley conjured a thermometer whilst she was talking, and had grabbed her son's arm when he ventured close enough. Harry watched from the stairs, smirking. He finally had his laughter under control. "We can't afford for you to get sick right now, Ronald, especially since you're sharing a room with Harry. It would be dreadful if the both of you got sick. You would probably spread it to the whole house, and then none of us would be able to do anything! And you know how busy we all are."

"Mum, I'm not bloody sick!" Ron protested as he continually ducked away from his mother, who was attempting to stick the medical instrument in his mouth.

"Ron, honestly, could you please stay still for one—aha!" She had finally succeeded with getting the thermometer into Ron's mouth when the redhead had backed up into one of the many wooden chairs, forcing him to sit down. His mother pulled out her wand and gently tapped the exposed end of the instrument. Slowly, a thin green puff of smoke coiled out of the thermometer and displayed three small numbers: 98.6.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Well, you certainly aren't sick. Your temperature is as normal as it can get," Ron shot his mother a knowing look and grumpily crossed his arms, "Yet, I don't understand why you didn't eat so much tonight!" The teen rolled his eyes. His mother wasn't ever going to give up this conversation.

"Mum, I already told you that I'm stuffed! I'm full, and that's all that there is to it!" Ron tried to convince his mother, but to no avail. He knew she wasn't listening to him, and he knew she knew this. Ron figured it must be a mother thing, for Mrs. Weasley soon adopted a scandalized expression and gripped her son's arm. She absently threw the thermometer, now long forgotten, to the side.

"Wait, Ron—Ron, don't tell me—don't tell me that you're becoming anorexic!" Her voice raised another octave, and Ron groaned. Harry's peals of laughter returned immediately, and he had to clutch onto the banister to keep him from falling down the stairs. Ron and Mrs. Weasley ignored him.

Anorexia was a common argument held at the Burrow. Every Weasley child has been faced with the unfortunate discussion, and they all had to fight until their voices grew hoarse to prove that they did not have the disorder. It was really quite exhausting to have an over-zealous mother.

"Are you kidding me? I'm not anorexic! How could you think of such a thing? Do I even look starved to you?"

"Oh, Ron, this is just horrible! Your great Uncle Dilbert was anorexic, and he ended up dying from it! Although, you were too young to know him, of course. You weren't even a twinkle in my eye when he died. I don't even think Percy was born then. But, I don't want that to happen to you! Whatever—or whoever—could have caused this? If I ever get my hands on them, I'll teach them a lesson for you, dear, don't you worry! Don't listen to them, Ron! You are an amazing—."

"Mum."

"—charming—."

"Mum…"

"—though, of course, you're not as good in school as you could be, but that doesn't matter! I love you just the way you are, dear. You are a—."

"Mum!"

"Hush dear. Superb individual!" Mrs. Weasley suddenly gasped as a sudden thought came to her. She quickly spun around, wringing her tiny hands in distraught. "Oh, what would Hermione think if she knew you were anorexic? It would probably break the poor dear's heart, and she's such a lovely, talented girl! She's coming next week, you know. The poor girl, having to find out that her boyfriend is anorexic. Why, I don't think she'll ever—."

"I. AM. NOT. ANOREXIC!"

Ron had had enough. He was tired of the pointless conversation that he was having with his mother and that his best friend was too busy laughing to help defend him. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose—something he had seen Percy do constantly, though never thinking that he would do it himself.

"Listen. I am not anorexic," Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by Ron's hand—a dangerous move on his part. However, she huffed and sat down in front of him, staying silent. He continued, concentrating on talking slow to make his point lucid. "I will never become anorexic. I am perfectly happy with the way I look right now, and no one is pressuring me to be bone skinny. Mum, I love eating. You should know that," Harry gave a small snort from the staircase, and Ron turned around. He mouthed 'help me' to him; Harry nodded.

"Mrs. Weasley, Ron is right," Harry walked down the stairs and clapped his best friend on the shoulder, causing Ron to sag visibly in relief. Harry was finally doing what he did best: helping someone in need. "Ron's too much of a food lover to even consider going anorexic. You have nothing to worry about." Mrs. Weasley sighed and looked down at the ladle that she had discarded on the table in her rush to get the thermometer. The two boys glanced at each other with triumphant but wary smiles. Had they won? Had she finally admitted defeat? Were they in the clear?

Apparently not.

Mrs. Weasley suddenly sprang from her chair with a determined gleam in her eye, and grabbed an astonished Harry by the shoulders, pulling him forward. She held him at arm's length, examining the spluttering Boy-Who-Lived, and softly tutted to herself. Pushed Harry into the seat she was previously occupying, she turned to the stove. Flicking her wand twice, the burners instantly ignited and started warming the pots and pans that had floated on top of them.

"Harry, dear, you may be right, but I'm not going to take any chances!" She quickly muttered a spell, and several clean plates floated from the sink onto the table. Harry and Ron questioningly looked at each other, wondering what exactly was happening. Luckily, Mrs. Weasley had noticed and was happy to explain. "Both you and Ron seem to have sky-rocketed in height, and you look too much underweight. If you two aren't anorexic now, then I'll make sure it never happens!" Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and muttered several more spells. All at once, a large array of food appeared on the plates, the stove turned off, and the pots zoomed into the sink.

If it was one thing Mrs. Weasley could do, it was to prepare food for it was outstanding on what was prepared in front of the two boys. There were succulent meats of all kinds, stuffed with everything imaginable. Steaming bowls of soup and candied fruit occupied the smaller areas on the table. Vegetables that look cooked to perfection accompanied the various dishes. The smells of the food blended, and, even if Harry and Ron weren't hungry, it made their mouths water anyway. Ron was impressed that his mother could make that much food in a span of five minutes.

"Now, you two, eat! There's plenty of food for you both to share, and there's even more if you two are still hungry," Mrs. Weasley said, smugly. She pointed to the empty plates in front of them, egging them on, before starting toward the stairs. "I'm going to make sure that any thought about anorexia—no matter how small it is—leaves your minds for good!" Mrs. Weasley then ambled up the stairs, satisfied with supposedly winning the argument.

Ron and Harry waited until they heard the soft click on the parents' door before falling against each other in laughter.

"Well, that was an interesting conversation!" Ron chuckled as he reached for a slice of bread. Arguing with his mother left him ravished, and he was ready to start eating again. Harry followed suit.

"Interesting is one way to put it. I can't believe your mum thought we were anorexic!" Harry poured himself a large helping of soup. Ron, meanwhile, was stuffing his face with anything that touched his plate.

"Yeah, well," He finally concluded, after swallowing a helping of roast beef and taking a swig of his pumpkin juice, "You know how my mum is."

Harry laughed, "Yeah, Molly Weasley: An Anorexic's Worst Nightmare."