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Her hands wandered over her stomach and she grimaced. She could feel how the food she’d had for dinner settled deep in her intestines.
disgusting. she thought to herself. how could anyone be this fat?
Hermione’s parents were what you’d call “nutritionists” or “almond parents”. She’d always been taught how to eat healthy and clean, she’d never been allowed sugar or sweets especially because they were dentists. So when she got to Hogwarts and there weren’t any restrictions, she’d relished in the freedom and ate what she wanted.
Standing in front of the mirror three months later, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She’d always been a skinny girl, and moderately pretty although most people overlooked that because of her personality. Now she could see her stomach poking out from beneath her shirt, and she felt awful.
How could I let this happen? I used to be skinny. I used to be pretty. What’s wrong with me?
That night, as she laid in bed, her mother’s words echoed in her head while she tried to sleep.
If you hadn’t eaten all that sugar, this wouldn’t have happened.
I know best, remember?
Are you sure you want all that?
You’ll regret that later, I hope you enjoy the taste while it lasts.
You’ve got to eat healthier. You’ll grow up to be fat, and no one likes a fat girl with a personality like yours.
The next morning she weighed herself. 65 kg. It nearly made her heart stop. She’d never weighed more than 48 kg before. Right then and there, she felt such disgust with herself that she vowed to fix it.
She started to reduce her meals, she stopped taking an extra dessert, and stopped drinking sugary drinks. She even skipped a few meals when she was feeling too disgusted with herself.
It worked for a bit. She started to lose weight, little by little until the progress stopped. She was stuck at 62 kg.
What is wrong with me? Why can’t I lose anything else? I must be doing something wrong.
So… she adjusted.
Harry and Ron didn’t notice the first few days she skipped, assuming she was off studying. It was only after she stopped coming to breakfast altogether that they asked her about it.
Harry was concerned, Ron was confused. She denied everything. Brushed them off, told them she was helping McGonnagall with her class. Harry didn’t believe it, but he trusted her, so he dropped it. Hermione didn’t stop.
I need to lose more. I need to be pretty again. I hate food. I hate my body. Why can’t they see I’m fixing myself? I can’t let them know. They’ll sabotage me and all my progress.
She stopped coming to any meal but dinner. She’d lost a significant amount of weight, about 15 kg, but it wasn’t enough. She hadn’t even made it back to her original weight, never mind that she’d grown a few inches, it didn’t matter. She needed it.
She made sure to walk the staircases at least three times a day, and made a habit of walking around the castle several times before doing her homework. She’d get breathless after one flight, but she was getting skinnier so it didn’t matter.
The first time she fainted, she was in the shower. The heat of the water got to her and she collapsed. She’d never been prouder when she woke up and weighed herself, seeing her new lowest weight set at 48 kg.
I finally did it. I’m making progress. This is it.
She rewarded herself with half a cucumber cut into slices.
Her grades started to slip. Her head started to fog. She was always freezing and shaky. She always had a headache. She felt weak, almost passing out every time she did the stairs. Her hair thinned and became stringy, losing its shine. None of it mattered. She could feel her hip bones, could see her collarbones protruding from her neck. She could wrap her fingers around her wrist, and when she lifted her shirt, she could see a small outline of her ribs.
I can do better. I will do better. I just have to keep trying. I’m finally again. Just keep counting. Keep walking. Don’t let them stop you. I’ve made so much progress.
Harry and Ron noticed her rapid decline. They saw how frail she looked, they noticed her change in attitude. It was like she was a ghost wandering their common room most of the time. They tried to help, but she just screamed at them, told them they were selfish, and didn’t want her to be pretty. She knew she was acting irrationally, but she couldn’t lose all her progress.
Harry and Ron were so shocked at her unusually aggressive behavior that they left her alone for a few days. That is, until they saw her faint in the hallway after curfew.
Hermione had been fasting for days at this point. She was shaking and exhausted, jittery from all the caffeine she’d had to keep her awake. She’d snuck out to get more steps in for the day and stretched in the hallway, which caused her vision to black out. Not long after, she’d crumpled to the ground.
Harry and Ron had run out and Ron picked her up quickly, his facing paling at how light she felt. He could feel her bones through her robes as he rushed to the infirmary.
Madam Pompfrey took action immediately and rushed them out. Hermione woke up several minutes later and to her delight, when Pompfrey weighed her, she’d gotten down to 41 kg.
Finally. I’ve made it this low. I can go farther. I have to. Imagine how pretty I’ll be.
Pompfrey saw the smile on Hermione’s face, and her lips turned down. She spent an hour lecturing the young girl on proper nutrition and the effects of what she was doing to herself. Hermione stayed silent.
In the end, she was dismissed. Five weeks later, her body stopped accepting food entirely. She’d throw up at the slightest bit of food in her stomach, and she lost weight even faster. She refused all help and she was smart enough to get out of anything they’d make her do.
Her heart gave out after a month, and Ron found her in the common room, curled around a book she’d been wanting to read. Her body was too still, too cold. Nothing left but skin and bones.