Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
"You're sick."
"I'm not. Why don't you trust me?"
"Granger, you haven't given me a reason to."
"Malfoy, I'm fine."
"You're not. How much do you weigh?"
"Just because we decided to act more civilly towards each other since the war doesn't give you the liberty to ask me how much I weigh."
"Granger, I swear on Merlin's grave, if you don't tell me…"
"Why are you so worried about me? Two months ago, we hated each other, and just so you know, my weight is fine."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Then why won't you tell me?"
"Fine. Ninety-two pounds."
"You're a terrible liar," he spat, "I can see your ribs."
"I can't," she muttered.
"God, Granger, how can you not see it?"
"They aren't there!"
"Granger, enlighten me, you know about eating disorders, I assume?"
"Malfoy, enlighten me," she said, shooting his words back at him. "What happened to being completely anti-Muggle?"
"I talk to you, don't I?" he stopped, shaking his head. "Stop changing the subject. You know about them, right?"
"Yes, but I really don't see the relevance to our previous conversation."
"Oh, don't you?"
"No."
He balled his hands into fists, in an attempt to calm himself, but it was in vain. "Granger, you clearly have a problem."
"If you're talking about yourself, then yes, I completely agree. I do have a problem."
"That's funny, Granger. If I'm a problem, then obviously you have more than one. I'm not an idiot. I know you don't eat."
She froze at his words, but recomposed herself quickly. "Don't eat? I eat plenty."
"Really?" he said again. "What did you have for breakfast?"
"Two pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice."
"And lunch?"
"A turkey sandwich, and a glass of water."
"And, how much do you weigh?"
"Seventy-nine pounds," she told him, before covering her mouth with her bony hand, having realized her mistake.
"Why did you lie to me?"
She looked down, her face turning red, whether from crying or shame, Draco couldn't tell.
"I couldn't let you find out. You're going to tell someone."
"What's wrong with recovery? Don't you want to be happy again? I haven't seen you smile in months."
"Why would you, of all people care if I'm happy?"
"As much as I hate to admit it," he said solemnly, "I've actually grown to care about you, believe it or not. I don't want you to die because you can't see what everyone else can."
"And what, may I ask, what do you see?"
"I see a girl who can't see how beautiful she was when she weighed fifteen-hell, probably twenty pounds more than she does now."
"You think I'm beautiful?"
He sighed, hoping she would hear what he was saying. "Yes, Granger, and, you know what?- I can't stand calling you by your surname. I just can't do it. I'm falling in love with you-the old you, who was healthy, and she smiled all the time. I can't stand watching you kill yourself, Hermione."
"You want me to recover so that you can be happy? Is that what I'm hearing?"
"Hermione," he said, finally having reached his breaking point, "Please, just talk to Madame Pomfrey, at least. That's all I'm asking."
"You're in love with the Hermione you befriended two months ago, right?" He nodded, unsure of where this was going. "If…if I recovered, I think I would be willing to give a relationship with you a chance."
"So you'll talk to her?"
"Come with me?"
"Of course."
. . .
"It's only been a week, Hermione. You've got to keep at it. Recovery isn't going to happen on its own. You have to be willing to learn, and to cooperate." Draco attempted to reason with her, the first time she attempted skipping a meal. "It'll only get easier."
"But Draco," she said, "You don't understand. I hear her all the time, and her voice won't leave my head. She yells at me when I eat, tells me I'm not getting any smaller. She threatens to leave me when I eat, and I want her to leave so badly, but at the same time, I need her. I look in the mirror, and I want to cry because all I see are my thighs, and my stomach, and I know she's just playing tricks on me, but I can't do it. I can't just eat and not feel guilty about it."
"Hermione, you have to do your best to ignore her. She has a name?"
Hermione nodded. "She calls herself Ana, like-"
"Anorexia." He nodded. "She's hurting you. Don't you want her to leave? You've lost the past few months of your life because of her."
"I know, I-damn, I've got to go see Madam Pomfrey. Want to come?"
"Sure," he decided, and, taking her hand, they were off to the Hospital Wing.
. . .
"Ah, Miss Granger, come over here. I've got a hospital gown for you over. You can change over there, if you would."
Hermione let go of Draco's hand, and walked over to the bed where the hospital gown was waiting. While she dressed behind the curtain, Draco paced off to the side. He knew she wouldn't be able to see how much she weighed because she had to be turned around, but Draco would know. He'd been allowed to come for her visits (It's only her third, he reminded himself. She just hasn't allowed recovery to sink in. All of this will somehow get through to her.)
He jumped slightly, when the curtain she had been changing behind opened. She still looked much too thin, but some of the color had already started coming back to her face.
"Where's Madam Pomfrey? I want to get this over with."
"She's not just your nurse. She has other people to take care of," he told her, a smirk on his face.
"Thank you, Draco. I had no idea," she replied sarcastically, taking a seat on the bed. "Oh, good, she's coming."
"Miss Granger, would you come over here? Turned around, if you please."
Hermione rolled her eyes, and stepped on the scale backwards. Draco came over to her other side, allowing him to see the number.
82.7
"What does it say? I've gained more weight, haven't I?"
"You know I can't tell you that," Madam Pomfrey told her.
Hermione sighed, and, hearing the nurse and Draco conversing quietly (about her, she knew), she headed over to change back into her clothes.
When she saw Draco coming over to her, an unreadable expression on his face, she gave him a dirty look, and promptly closed the curtain without speaking to him.
He waited a minute, before speaking.
"Do you want to recover?"
Hermione pulled back the curtain as he finished interrogating her, the look on her face making him uncomfortable. "What?"
He knew she was usually high strung after her three-times-weekly visits to the Hospital Wing, but that didn't mean he was planning on backing down. "You heard me, Hermione. I need an answer."
She watched him intently for a minute, before taking up her hospital gown, walking straight past him to return the worn gown, and walking straight out of the wing without a second glance.
. . .
"I know what I want. I want to be happy, and I want Draco to see me as…perfect. He sees me as way too thin, but he loves me anyway. Did he love me the way I was before all of this happened?" she asked herself as she stared across the Black Lake. "I wish he could see me as perfect," she repeated to herself.
. . .
"I need you to eat this sandwich for me." Draco and Hermione were seated at the Great Hall, nearly two weeks after her recovery began.
"I had turkey yesterday. Can it be something different today? Like just the bread or just the turkey?"
She had been making good progress, and suddenly it had all come to a standstill. "Why does it matter if you eat the whole thing? You won't be able to see how much you weigh anyways. Hermione," he sighed. Poor choice of words, Stupid. "Let's go for a walk."
"Good idea, I can't stand being here anymore."
Draco rolled his eyes at her comment, knowing she had to have the sandwich one way or another. He grabbed the sandwich off of the Gryffindor Table (he had been given permission to sit with her for meal times, to help her with recovery).
He caught up with her quickly, and slipped his fingers through hers. "Hermione, we need to talk. What's wrong? You've been doing so well."
"You don't like me anymore."
"Don't like you anymore? What are you talking about?"
"We used to talk all the time, and now all we do is argue. You hate me again because I'm fat."
"Oh, Merlin. Is that what this is about?"
She nodded slightly, and slipped her hand out of his.
"Hermione, I don't hate you. I'm frustrated that you're not making much progress. You were perfect the way you were before. Madam Pomfrey said that your progress would be slow, but I hadn't imagined it would be this slow. Do you actually realize what anorexia's done to you?"
"Don't say that word," she spat. "It's like talking about cancer casually in front of a cancer patient."
He looked down, realizing how badly he had just hurt her.
"Anorexia is your cancer," he said quietly.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, anger fading suddenly.
"It's killing you just the same as cancer would. It's just as serious. It can end the same way as cancer sometimes does."
"How do you even know what cancer is? It's a Muggle illness."
"I never said Muggles didn't interest me. Especially this one Muggleborn witch who's really caught my attention."
Hermione smiled, and retook his hand in hers, "I don't want to die."
He smiled back, and kissed her lightly on the lips. "You still have to eat the sandwich."
"I don't like turkey much. Can you make it ham?"
He didn't want to burst her perfectly happy little bubble, but he had to tell her. "Ham has more calories than turkey,"
"I know," she said, before kissing him on the cheek. "But it tastes better."
Fin.
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