like a baby seal, he was all wrapped up.

weighed down by clumps and clumps of gauze and white bandages, his appendages felt so heavy, sluggish. as though the boiling blood coursing through his veins had been sedated by something, and couldn't summon the energy to do anything more than crawl. even before his brain whirred back into focus, awakening from a long, abalone slumber, he knew that he'd been engulfed in medicines, doused with all kinds of ointments, and injected with anesthetic. so much that he felt like a rag doll so full of stuffing that his seams were beginning to come loose. he could recall faint imaginings of his previous awakenings, could vaguely remember the assortment of things they'd shoved down his throat in hopes that the magic would bring a pulse to his motionless heart. he could remember both quiet voices, terrified the air would shatter under the pressure of their words, and screaming ones, driven half mad with white hot panic and roiling in clouds of burning crimson, the same color of blood. he hated those screaming voices more than anything. he didn't often feel things anymore, his entire body half dead and awaiting the day his heart decided to give up. but screaming...that was one thing that would never stop...never stop scaring him. each hurled word scraped at his tender flesh until that too, was raw and spilling beads of aching roses. each shout slammed against his ears with a fervent hatred that stung like a thousand blades, hammers infused in all of his memories desperately beating at him, greedy for his pain, and greedy for the moment he begged them to bash his head in, for he couldn't stand the pain any longer.

maybe that was why he hated the reporters so much. they always shouted at him, and he didn't really know why. they were eager for answers, any snippet of any tale that harry could tell them, and they lived for tragedy. they lived for the numerous cracks in his skin, for the bruises on his hands, the countless scars marring his sickly body, and most of all, they lived for the emptiness in his eyes. they screamed so that he would fall apart, screamed so that they could scour the hidden pieces of his bones that had all but worn away, search the mangled mess of his organs and laugh at his blackened blood. they screamed at him because they wanted his tears. they wanted to catch him vulnerable, suffocating on his sorrow, something so great, and so heavy that no one could stand a chance against it. they wanted to snap pictures of his face twisted in anguish, and pleading, wanted to find him ruined and reaching for a single, gentle touch, for a brush of contact that could make him feel something. they wanted all of that and more. they wanted his weary, grey heart on a stake, and they wanted the world to see it. they wanted to make a spectacle of him, of the tragic golden boy and his broken world.

they wanted him, and they only wanted him damaged.

they screamed until he was forced to swallow a shout, screamed until his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were brimming, screamed until he was pushing them away with burning hands and trembling fingers, begging them to please stop, please stop.

then they twisted his image and slapped him on the cover of a newspaper. and they laughed, watching all the people gasp and awe at his broken form.

after all, he was no boy.

he was the chosen one. and he was made for their entertainment, right?

it occurred to him then, very slowly, that the reporters could be there now. the boy who lived attempting suicide was a juicy story that any magical newspaper company would want to get their hands on. and if they knew, they would be there. banging on his doors, flooding the halls, consuming all the world with their lust for his pain. just the thought of them waiting for him made him sick.

"mm-"

a frantic noise clawed at his mouth. but something was wrong. something was horribly wrong. there was something covering his mouth, something that he couldn't see or feel. he couldn't move his lips, and he could feel his breath splashing vibrant shades of panic back onto his cheeks.

this is all wrong.

without thinking, his muscles jerked. strained and jerked, and he wanted to scream. because moving them burned. why did it burn?

the tension twisted into every crevice of his body kept him knotted and roiling, and his arms were clubs. his shoulders hurt, he couldn't see. he couldn't move, or talk, or even fucking breathe.

everything was white and he was all wrapped up and there were people waiting for him and they wanted to see him cry.

he was burning, and he wanted to die, but he hadn't.

he hadn't.

he was in a hospital again, in another hospital forcing others to care for him, and he felt powerless.

and he felt afraid.

and for a moment, his mind shattered.

his body was uncontainable, writhing and thrashing along with the restless, blood red storm raging inside of him. he burned until his bones turned to ash, until he charred his insides black and his stomach was inside out and his eyes were melting out of his head, but he was thinking of everything and of nothing at all, and he couldn't seem to stop. he set himself on fire, feeling the bandages tear and the iv rip at his skin, but so lost in himself that he couldn't bring himself to care.

everything is WRONG.

his thoughts were chaos. incoherent strings of tangled ideas, all of which managed to scare him, even while fragmented. his body was pleading for his mercy, and the nausea forming in knots of bile were beginning to overcome him. he was weak, only just alive, and he needed all he was wrapped in, all he was attached to in order to keep breathing. he was on the brink of destruction, and he couldn't bring himself to care. he wanted to throw himself of the edge of the cliff, wanted to drown himself in those bottomless, roiling waters. he could hear nothing under the waves, feel nothing except for his aching lungs. and even then, that was nothing, nothing compared to the ache engrained in his very being.

he was rapidly becoming gasping breaths, thrashing limbs, and madness, and he wouldn't know that there was another in the room with him. he had heard her speak in the depths of unconsciousness, and upon rousing, he remembered nothing but vague flashes and panicked noise.

he didn't know that there was a small girl beside his bed, clutching her iv pole so tightly that her knuckles had begun to frost over. her doe eyes were stretched wide, though not in fear. harry's sudden and abrupt movements had certainly startled her for a moment, but when she realized that he was awake, and couldn't seem to breathe, even with his magic oxygen mask, she quickly gathered her composure. she had expected this of him. that was why she had come. and she didn't even wear glasses. harry did, she'd seen him enough times in the papers to know that, and she imagined that waking up in a scary place, not even being able to see properly would be exceedingly frightening.

worry was beginning to flood her tiny chest in bursts of anxiety. harry's iv was beginning to slip out of his vein, and that could only end horribly. they hadn't enchanted it to stay in because they had been afraid that magic may tamper with his condition...the potion harry had used was very deadly, and its lingering effects were obvious. it would be easy to make a wrong move.

so, if harry continued to thrash the way he was, he would lose all his oxygen, and cause damage to a vein.

harry could hardly hear over the sound of his roaring mind, couldn't do much of anything in the midst of it all. but, somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized the feeling of a hand pressing down upon his arm, even if he couldn't feel its touch through the gauze.

"shh, shh..." a soft voice soothed. he felt it more in the tickle of heat upon his ear, but it was shocking enough to momentarily break through his haze. "harry potter! you're gonna hurt yourself silly!"

there was a gentle, high pitched giggle, something entirely misplaced in the storm of his thoughts. he felt another pressure on his twisting legs. someone was pushing them down, restricting his movement. and he was too weak to fight against the resistance, so he let it happen.

"i know you're scared," the voice continued, words brushing against harry's cheeks. "but it's gonna be okay! so don't hurt yourself."

harry knew it had to be a child. a child in his hospital room, trying to offer comfort.

he tried to squint, tried to trick his vision into clearing just a little bit. he could only make out blobs of caramel brown disrupted by flowing white. it was disconcerting, and he felt even more vulnerable without his sight. so, in spite of his heavy exhaustion, he attempted to force his fumbling, cracked lips to form words.

"gla-" his voice was a croak, ripped to shreds of incoherent tone by the shards of porcelain stuck in his throat. it was painful, scraping against the already raw and irritated walls with every forced sound, but he pushed on. he didn't mind a little more pain. "gla-glasses..."

the pressure paused, releasing for a moment. "glasses? you want your glasses?"

harry attempted to nod, very slowly, but it felt like he was shaking water and fire around his head, building unpleasant, stinging pressure in the center of his brain. "ye-yes..."

"don't worry, i got you!" the excited voice chirped with barely contained excitement. there was a clattering of commotion to his right, and he could see the blob of brown flapping around beside him. he almost cringed when his spectacles were finally shoved up the bridge of his nose, dragging trails of cold along with them, and bashed lightly against his fluttering lashes. just like that, the fog was gone, and the world was painfully clear.

he blinked rapidly, startled by the abrupt change in his surroundings.

"better now?"

the question was voiced in bubbly anticipation, ringing from harry's right, just above his aching head.

he twisted his neck in a painful arch, and his body pulsed with burning stings at the abrupt, unwelcome movement.

there was a pair of big, brown eyes staring at him. big and brown and worried, lined by rapidly flapping lashes that seemed almost frantic in their manner.

he was right.

it was a child.

a little girl, caramel skinned, freckled, and curly haired. her locks were probably more untamable than his were, and though she wore the messy look well, harry could safely assume that she had countless tangles knotted in that golden brown mane. she lacked the flush of fresh air, the soft kiss of sunlight, and harry made a wild guess in his befuddled, hazy state, that she was another patient. he probably didn't have anything to fear from her.

probably.

but who knew? enough people hated him or wanted him dead to enlist a child to trick him.

he felt sick, physically sick of thinking that way, of drowning in his paranoia, of freezing his tender flesh to ice hoping that no one could touch him. and it wasn't as though it mattered who she was. if he were to be killed, he would actually be quite happy, so long as it was relatively quick and did not involve collateral damage.

but he also knew that he was feeding his fears again, letting them grow into all consuming storms. so he sucked an assisted breath from the oxygen bubble, and stayed still while the girl moved about.

"i need to tell nurse penny that you're awake...she administrates meds you see...you'll probably have to take some since you're awake now...oh! and the oxygen bubble! they get annoying don't they? don't worry, when she comes in here, she'll take it off of you, and she'll help you sit up too! well, unless you're hurt real bad and she can't move you...you've got all sorts of nasty bruises harry potter, but i think you'll be alright to sit up...say, where'd you get those bruises from? are you getting bullied? you can tell me if you're getting bullied. i may not look very strong, but i know how to throw a punch! tristan taught me! oh, sorry, you don't know tristan. he's all the way on the 5th floor, but he heard that you were here! he wants to meet you! he was so jealous when i told him that we were on the same hall. he comes down here sometimes and he-he reads me stories! next time he comes down, i'll bring him to your room! he can walk around a lot, so he won't have too much trouble getting down the stairs. oh, and he has a huge collection of plushies! do you like plushies?"

harry's brain was whirring. it felt like the reels of his thoughts were all jammed, and he struggled to process and absorb every word the girl rambled through the lingering fog, and the muddled daze turning every coherent imagining to lead and syrup. it was only after several long moments of silence that he was finally able to understand her question, and he'd hardly nodded before she was off again.

"yay! i love plushies too! and so does yuuma! he lives just upstairs! and fae likes to pretend that she doesn't like them, but i know she does! i caught her playing with tristan's sailor moon plushie once when she thought no one was there! and then sam told me that fae won't ever admit when she likes something, so i should watch over her, and give her what she likes. that's why i bring her sweets from hogsmeade whenever they let us go! she says she doesn't like going outside, but i know she misses the snow. and her favorite plushie is squirtle! tristan brings his plushies down to the free time room and he lets us all play with them. you can play with us too, okay?"

harry hadn't the faintest idea what she was on about. the unfamiliarity of all the new names thrown through his ears and jumbled about in his head only served to confuse him further. he blinked until stars burst behind his eyelids just as a distraction from the mounting headache building beneath the cracked edges of his skull. he gave her the tiniest bob of his head, just so she would be happy. and though he was utterly lost, aching, and very much afraid, the sound of her ecstatic giggle made him feel a little better.

"oh!" she seemed to realize something vital, and her mouth puckered into a shocked o shape. she hopped on the balls of her feet. "i almost forgot. my name is-"

"lilith."

it was abrupt in the way a frigid breeze is abrupt on a hot, summer day. it was nothing more than fluttering leaves on the brink of winter, a lullaby weaving through the trees, and the sound of flowers blooming under rain. it was soft, and yet it blew through the room like wind, demanding attention. and while harry was alarmed, his fragile, tormented heart lurching to his torn throat at the possibility of another threat, the girl-lilith?-didn't seem surprised at all. actually, it seemed more like she'd been expecting this.

she turned to the doorway with a wide, toothy grin, and harry tried to prop his pounding head up against the lumps of pillow behind him without hurting himself.

he caught sight of an insubstantial figure standing before him, dulled and thoroughly washed out. a lingering photograph of a young, pretty girl in a flowing hospital gown and wrapped in a knitted pink scarf and old, vintage pull over sweater. a ghost. she was a ghost. and she looked terribly uninterested with her heavily lidded silver eyes, sleepy, rosebud lips, and sniffing, button nose.

"lilith," she sighed, sending another soft gust of breeze throughout the room. she tossed her fluttering strands of strawberry blonde hair to the side despite it not being in her face-although harry wasn't sure if that mattered for ghosts. "what are you doing here? penny told you to stop sneaking off without permission..."

lilith turned back to him, a sheepish smile curling upon the corners of her mouth. "harry potter," she hummed, and gestured to the floating figure. "this is nesrin. she's a ghost here and she takes care of all of us."

"unwillingly, might i add," nesrin murmured, huffing lightly. her gaze was sharp and frosty as it fixed on his pained one, and in his current state, it took everything in him not to tear up under her undivided attention. "you're harry potter. nurse penny is assigned to you."

"he's awake nes!" lilith beamed, all glowing fairy light eyes and heated skin.

"i can see that," nesrin replies half heartedly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. it occurred to harry then that she looked to be very young, perhaps his own age. "and i thought i told you to stop calling me that."

"but angie calls you that!" lilith whined, puckering out her chapped bottom lip. nesrin winced at the sight, and floated the rest of the way into the room. a gentle draft followed here, nipping at harry's exposed skin. but just as quickly as it had come, it melted away.

"but i can actually tolerate angie," she breathed, on the brink of expressing her annoyance. she swiped a hand through lilith's small chest, and the girl yelped, jumping in place. "now do me a favor and shut up while i check potter's vitals. and put on some chapstick. i asked bianca to leave some by your bed for a reason."

lilith's face darkened at her clipped request, and she began to pout, though there was no sincerity behind her sulking. it seemed to harry that the two's interactions often went this way.

"it's lime flavored."

nesrin let out a dragging sigh. "beggars can't be choosers."

"i didn't beg you for anything! you got me chapstick because you wanted to!"

"fine. i'll ask her to get a cherry flavored one next time she goes out. happy?"

lilith nodded triumphantly. "happy."

"good. now leave. you're so annoying."

"and you're mean!" lilith screamed, but both harry and nesrin could hear her uncontrollable giggles as she made her way back down the hallway.

"i hate this fucking place." nesrin huffed out, seemingly not expecting an answer from harry. she busied herself with studying the rate of his heartbeat and the measurement of poison still left in his bloodstream.

she muttered about stupid children and insolent nurses slacking off from their jobs while harry desperately struggled to comprehend what the hell was going on.

and he wondered exactly what kind of fucking place he'd gotten himself trapped in.

a/n: how was this chapter? i had so much fun introducing nesrin and lilith. how do you feel about them? are you becoming invested? is there anything i should change or any improvements that could be made?

did you like it? hate it? somewhere in between? please leave comments telling me your thoughts and feelings and thank you soooooooooooooooo much for reading!

i'm so excited to write this story and i really hope you guys are excited too!

thank you for all your comments on the last chapter, it means the world to me!
i read them all and smiled like an idiot!

also my little sister Min_Yoongles_04 has a drarry fanfic up called flower crowns and it's her first story ever so it would mean the world to me if you checked it out!

i love you so so so so so so so much! i hope you guys ate well today and drank lots of water. i hope you were able to relish, if just for a moment, in the feeling of being full. because your body needs nourishment and there is absolutely no shame in that. you are beautiful. every single inch of you is ethereal. you don't need to change your precious bodies to be gorgeous because you have been blessed with eternal and unlimited beauty. that means no matter what you do, you're always gonna be breathtaking. there is nothing you could do to change that. you don't have the ability of being ugly. you're so beautiful.

don't be afraid to hype yourselves up. you're gorgeous. you're powerful. you are everything and anyone who doesn't see that just doesn't deserve you. you should be treated like an angel, and you should feel loved and safe and healthy. eat. you deserve to. don't be upset if you gain weight. it's not weight that makes you healthy or beautiful. gaining weight isn't bad. and depriving yourselves of food isn't an option. don't hurt yourselves my darling. please don't hurt yourselves. eat food that makes you feel happy and healthy. do things that make you feel happy and healthy. be with people that help you feel happy and healthy.

you are beautiful darling.

i promise you that.

take care of yourselves, be kind to yourselves, and treat yourselves because you're special and you're worth it!

i'm sending you all warm virtual hugs!

eat and stay hydrated!

love youuuuuuuuuuuuu!

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