Author's Notes: Very triggering on the subject of eating disorders. Song lyrics are from Stage's "Live Happy, Live With Anorexia"
Listen to the insects
Prey on the enemy
For when you hunt the loved
You hunt yourself
You're living happy
Live with anorexia
It's not because of a boy you stop eating or anything like that. It's just the stress, really, at least at first. Final exams are coming up and you know you haven't studied enough. And Merlin knows Harry and Ron haven't, and you have to make them, because if you don't, who else will? And food tastes like ashes and your throat closes up when you try, and before you know it, you've lost ten pounds in less than a month.
It feels good, is the thing. You feel lighter. And it isn't like your grades are suffering. You're still doing just as well as ever, although it's hard to convince your brain of that sometimes. You fit into clothes from last year, and your robes are baggier. So it's easy to just...keep going. No one notices anything bad. If anything, they compliment you. Say you look good. You relish the envious stares from your dorm-mates. Catty bitches they always are, but this time, you've got something over them, and it's a bit of a heady feeling. It's not like it's making you starve. But it doesn't hurt, either.
And it's not like you don't eat at all. It's not like common portrayals, where the glossy-finished bones girl smokes a cigarette, drinks a diet Coke, and exercises until her heart gives out. You eat dinner. You eat lunch. Sometimes you even eat breakfast. And sure, the portions are a little small. But it's hard to eat when you're Hermione Granger and the pressure on you feels like you're drowning.
When summer vacation hits, the pressure doesn't let up as you slog your way through goodbyes and pretend that you're going to have a happy break. You know better. Your parents fight, and your mother asks you what's magic going to do for you in the real world, and it's not hard to stop eating there, because your appetite's disappeared, and you're glad when school starts again.
You discover purging and hook your finger down your throat one night after dinner. The first try doesn't work, nor the second, but the third does, and soon the raw slash in the back of your throat matches the one across your knuckles. You look up glamour charms and practice applying them that night, until curfew hits and you nearly run to your dormitory. It's just in case, you promise yourself as you climb into your four-poster, listening to your breath saw in and out of your lungs, and your heart flutter and skip beats.
Just in case is two weeks later when Ginny tells you that you're looking thin, have you been eating enough? And you laugh and assure her that of course you have, it's just that you're so stressed, and she accepts it with one of those looks. You make a big deal out of eating a plate of lasagne at dinner in front of her, and she doesn't know that afterwards, you rush to the loo to throw it all back up. You spit blood on the floor, but you can't make yourself care.
It's not about the weight, not really. It's about the control, but you don't have much of that lately, as you shovel breath mints into your mouth to hide the telltale miasma of vomit, and slick hair potions on your hair in hopes of concealing the thinning. Your glamour charms are frayed at the edges, and you have to keep wearing layers under your robes, both to make yourself look heavier and because you're so damn cold all the time.
You feel stuck, and you can't stop, not even when your grades start slipping, because your concentration's shot and your head's filled with fog. It feels like everyone's eyes are on you, watching you, judging you, and maybe they even are, but it's not like you can stop.
You're not okay, and the worst part is how you can't admit it to anybody else.