Chapter 1: Thou Shalt Not Covet

Her book satchel is so full it is nearly bursting at the seams. It is causing her an ache that is shooting through her shoulders and down her arms. She is walking as fast as she can, trying to get to the common room before the bag breaks, as she is sure it is.

In front of the Fat Lady, she pauses, her breathing labored, and pants, "Cornish pixies."

"Yes, yes, so it is," the portrait says airily, swinging open. She collapses through the door, the bag falling off her shoulders and onto the floor, spilling books and papers. She groans slightly, feeling remarkably close to tears.

It takes her nearly five minutes to get her things straightened, and get back to her feet. Then, frustrated and annoyed, she stalks over to the couch and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh.

Ginny Weasley looks up from her homework. "Evening, Mione."

She runs a hand through her hair, making it even messier than it already is.

"Have you been at the library all night?"

"Yup."

Ginny shakes her head in sympathy. "That essay Snape assigned you sounds killer. Dean was complaining to me about it at dinner."

"Oh," Hermione replies with a dry laugh. "But if it were only that, I would be okay. But no. It's also extra work from Charms and from Transfiguration."

"What on earth are you thinking, taking on extra work?"

"It helps my grade, and really helps me prepare for exams. And, I'm working on becoming a registered Animagus, and that takes a lot of work."

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Hermione, you know I love you, but don't you ever take a break?"

Feeling slightly offended, Hermione narrows her eyes. Ginny sighs and closes her book, getting to her feet.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just tired and stressed. Don't mind me."

--

Hermione stumbles into her dormitory an hour later, her hair dripping and shaking with cold.

Parvati and Lavender's whispers stop abruptly.

"Oh, come on," she says, annoyed. "Don't stop on my account."

"Well, sorry," comes Lavender's sarcastic voice. "But we didn't think Perfect Hermione Granger would care to listen to the idle gossip of two NORMAL teenage girls."

"Well, maybe you're right," she snaps, shrugging off her dressing gown and crawling into her four poster bed.

She sighs and lays completely still, trying to clear her mind. But she can't. Numbers and facts are racing through it at top speed.

And then she hears something that catches her attention on a level she doesn't even want to admit.

"Have you seen Pansy Parkinson lately?"

"Oh, I know. She's so obviously – "

"So obviously."

"I mean, does she seriously think no one knows?"

"I know. All you have to do is watch her race for the lavatory after a meal to know."

"Seriously."

"But she's so – "

"I know. I'm definitely jealous."

"Definitely."

"But, it's only so long until we are, too."

"Getting closer every day."

She doesn't want to think about what they are talking about, but it is rather obvious. And she would rather die than admit that she herself has been coveting the slim form that Pansy has aquired this term. The way her collar bones jut out just so, and it is obvious if you were to lift her, she would be almost as light as air.

So she closes her eyes and forces sleep to close in on her.

--

When she wakes up the next morning, it is Saturday, and the room is empty. She has no doubt that Parvati and Lavender have gotten an early start doing whatever it is they do all day. Most lilely boy hunting. I wonder if they've made any progress on Draco Malfoy yet.

She crawls out of bed, and begins to undress.

But, as she pulls off her shirt, she finds herself looking down. Looking down and feeling slightly sick.

Her stomach sticks almost straight out. Like a hill. More like a mountain. And have my thighs always been this big?

She strips down to her underwear and stands in front of the full length mirror Lavender had brought with her to Hogwarts.

She had always known she was a little on the big side. But now, she is absolutely disgusted by what she sees. Fat is everywhere. What her mother called curves were actually no more than useless extra flesh.

Feeling as though she cannot bear to see it any longer, she hurriedly throws on a black tee shirt and black pleated skirt. Black is supposed to be slimming. Too bad the skirt reveals my disgusting legs.

Stop that. You are not fat. Just because you're not a twig. Like anyone would want to look like that anyway.

But the truth is, she would. She really would.

--

Later that night, she is putting the finishing touches on the essay Snape has assigned when Parvati and Lavender come clambering in.

She has never been here when they came in. Not this term, at least.

But she notices that Lavender is carrying what looks like a Muggle scale.

And then they, like she had done that morning, are stripping down to their underwear. Pinching their middles and their thighs and frowning in disappointment. Then, one by one, they step onto the scale.

"One-fifteen," Lavender says, an expression on her face that says she doesn't know whether to feel proud or disgusted.

"That's five less than last week," Parvati says comfortingly, before annnouncing her own weight of one-hundred-ten.

They must catch Hermione looking, because Lavender says kindly,"Would you like to know what you weigh, Hermione?"

She flushes bright red and shakes her head. "Oh, no, I'm not concerned about it."

Parvati rolls her eyes and tosses her braid before unclasping her bra and tossing it to the floor.

"She's obviously scared," she says, her voice disdainful. And Hermione cannot keep her staring in check, because Parvati, to her eyes, is perfect. Her arms are long and graceful, her breasts small and pert and firm, her stomach perfectly flat, her hips widening slightly, and her thighs slender and her legs long.

And the sight must trigger something inside her, because she is standing up, and placing her feet on the scale. Watching the dial move, and come to a halt. Landing on one-thirty-four.

She feels humiliated and ashamed. She feels like she might cry.

"I'm fat," she whispers.

All at once, there are two arms around her shoulders.

"Hermione, we can help you."

"If losing weight is what you want, we know how to do it."

"Just trust us."

But she shrugs out of their grips and crawls back into her bed.

"It's all rubbish anyway," she insists loudly, her voice thick with suppressed tears. "Giving into society's view of beauty. It's disgusting."

But she cannot get the image out of her head of that dial slowing to a stop, or the feeling of shame to fade.