A/N: This chapter comes with a trigger warning re: Rose's history. If you feel that you might be triggered, please read only the non-italicized portions of the chapter.

Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt, we were never here
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer.
-Skinny Love, Bon Iver

"I didn't know you played Quidditch."

Scorpius can tell that she's trying to divert attention away from herself, but he feels like he's stumbling blindly through this conversation, so he takes the bait. "Not really. Just playing around with my Dad sometimes."

"You should try out for Slytherin," she says. Her voice shakes a little, but she clears her throat and continues, "What position do you play?"

He is silent for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully, but Rose is looking at him imploringly and he finds himself blurting abashedly, "Seeker."

"Oh." The word falls heavily.

Oh, because Albus Potter plays Seeker. Oh, because Scorpius has never played on the team, never even tried out.

Oh, because if not for his surname, he might have.

"It's just for fun," Scorpius continues, but the words come out awkwardly, so he finds himself rambling on, "I mean, I don't need to play for the Cup or anything—"

"Are you any good at Beater?" Rose interrupts suddenly.

"Pardon?"

Rose's eyes are downcast as she says nonchalantly, "Al needs someone to play Beater for Slytherin, Silas Cornfoot is a prat, but he's the only one who tried out, so… I mean…" her voice trails off.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," he says.

"Why not? You obviously like the sport."

He doesn't say anything.

Rose raises her eyes to meet his. "You're worried about what people with think with Al as captain."

"I just don't think anyone would want me on the team any more than they'd want Silas Cornfoot."

"Or you're just worried that if you tried out people might realize you're better than Al."

"What?"

Rose lets out a breath. "You just made a dive from thirty meters up to ground level in about two seconds, and pulled out of it without smashing head-first into the ground. That's Wronski Feint level impressive," she pauses, "And Al can't do a Wronski Feint."

He doesn't say anything, so they sit in silence for a minute. When he sneaks a glance at her, Rose is staring at her hands.

"I think I can walk now," she says after a moment, pushing herself slowly to a stand.

Rose still has to lean against Scorpius to walk back to the castle, and she'd be lying if she said that her ankle didn't still hurt like a bitch, but she isn't about to let Scorpius know. Hell, he'd probably pick her up again and carry her to Gryffindor Tower himself.

She still doesn't quite understand why he's being so nice to her. Sure, he knows what it's like to feel isolated, but she's pretty sure she'd said her fair share of disparaging comments about him in the past, and he has to remember it.

"I think I can make it from—"

A snicker in the background cuts her off. "What the hell is Rose Weasley doing with him?"

Shit. She turns to apologize to Scorpius, to let him know that she's sorry he has to put up with this all the time—after all, he's been nothing but nice to her—

"Maybe he has a weird fetish for girls who can touch their tonsils."

I'm sorry. The words die in Rose's throat, because they know. Whoever these random girls are, they know, just like everyone else, because of that damn Prophet article. She registers that Scorpius is still standing beside her, and his lips are forming words, but she can't register them, can't hear anything except a faint ringing in her ears…

The scale in the Sixth Year Gryffindor girls' bathroom informs her that she hasn't lost any weight since starting her diet two weeks ago. And she has to fit into her bridesmaid dress for Victoire's and Teddy's wedding over the Christmas holidays, so she can't possibly weigh as much as the scale is telling her.

It's her thighs. They look monstrous under her uniform skirt, two sagging, cellulite-ridden masses. Maia Rinaldi's legs don't look like this; she's so tiny, her legs probably don't even brush against each other as she walks. Rose pushes the thought from her mind.

She's stopped eating breakfast. She can function just fine without it, and some days she can even manage with just an apple or granola bar at lunch. And she's lost two pounds already. It's not huge, but it's a start.

Witch Weekly spreads the rumor that she is secretly pregnant. Rose skips lunch to hide in the library. She'd rather deal with her hunger than listen to everyone gossip about her.

On a Wednesday in October, she passes out in the hallway. Dehydration, Madam Pomfrey tells her in the hospital wing. Her blood sugar was rather low; she should probably eat something.

Her mother writes to inform her that the family will be attending some Ministry Function over Halloween so please do something about your hair, Rose.

The months pass, and she's lost the five kilos she'd intended to. But looking at food makes her feel equal parts nauseous and proud. Yes, she's hungry – starving, really – but it doesn't matter. She has the self-control to change the parts of herself she doesn't like. Some of them, anyway.

And besides, there's no reason to stop now. Her waist protrudes outwards and her face has always looked a bit fat and she practically has a double chin and Merlin she just needs to keep going.

She struggles to stay awake in Transfiguration. She doesn't know why she's been so tired recently. She went to bed early last night, too.

Focus, Rose. You need an O on this exam or Mum will kill you.

The Potions classroom is freezing. Rose shivers; Maia shoots her a cautious look. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Rose whispers, shaking again involuntarily.

Rose looks at the magically altered image of herself on the cover of Witch Weekly. She has Barbie Doll proportions that don't reflect her body in real life – she's lost weight, sure, but not in her thighs, which is why she needs to keep going with her diet. In the mirror, her thighs are enormous. On this magazine, they're perfectly toned.

That's it. She's not going to be as thin as the not-real image of herself.

She's going to be thinner.

She manages to skip breakfast, lunch, and dinner one day in November. She rewards herself with dinner in her room. Her food for the day – a few sticks of celery – tastes incredible, and she relishes the taste on her tongue. It's over before she's ready for it to be, but this is all she has allowed herself for today. Besides, it's a sign of her dedication that she can stop now without reaching for more food.

The logical part of her brain tells her this isn't healthy, but her more pressing concern is keeping the weight off, or Witch Weekly will be reporting on her sudden weight gain. And she doesn't want everyone to think she's fat.

"Oh, come on," Al says. "It's Hogsmeade! It'll be fun!"

But Rose pictures Al passing her a pint of Butterbeer and her stomach turns. "No, thanks," she says. "I have homework."

She spends a quarter of an hour running up and down the stairs, until she's dizzy with exhaustion and has to sit down for a few minutes before she can walk back to Gryffindor Tower.

She eats salt and ice cubes for lunch. When Al and the rest return, she lies that she had a sandwich. Nobody questions it.

Her hair is falling out. It collects in clumps between the bristles of her hairbrush. She has to sit down in the shower one day – the hot water makes her dizzy now – and catches herself crying over the strands that collect around her fingers as she runs them through her hair.

She spends Christmas wearing her bulkiest sweaters, because her Mum might catch on to what she's been doing and Grandma Weasley is always complaining about her being too thin.

At Hogwarts, skipping meals is as easy as pretending to have homework and hiding out in the library. She usually naps, anyway; she's chronically exhausted and the castle has been absolutely frigid recently.

But at the Burrow, with everyone staring at her – everyone, since it's Victoire and Teddy's wedding and there are two whole families there – she can't escape. She can't even control her portion size because Grandma Weasley is always piling on seconds and thirds and the amount of food that is amassed on her plate is enormous.

She wishes she were seventeen already so she could magic the food off her plate before anyone notices, but she won't be until spring and the anxiety building up in her over this fucking meatloaf makes her heart race and she feels lightheaded and and and…

And everyone is fucking staring at her, so she forces a few bites into her mouth and chews and swallows and she still feels lightheaded and that's more food than she's eaten in a single meal in months and she can practically feel it in her thighs and stomach and cheeks already oh fuck oh fuck what has she done…

The answer occurs to her as if she's known it all along. So she asks to be excused, climbs the stairs to the furthest bathroom from the kitchen table, and kneels in front of the toilet.

She's not sure how to do this. She doesn't even want to do this – this isn't just a diet, this isn't just trying to lose weight, this is what those skinny bitches in Muggle movies do, and she isn't shallow like that, she isn't obsessed with herself, except she is, she is – and then somehow she manages to dig a finger into her throat.

She misses the first two times and gags and nearly retches but not quite. Then on the third try (third time's the charm, eh Rose?) she manages it and empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Victoire and Teddy say their vows while she brushes her teeth.

She loses it completely on the last night before returning to school after the New Year.

She doesn't quite know how it happens, but somehow she's made her way to the pantry and then she's having a snack – one cracker is fine. One cracker won't kill you, Rose – and then it's like she's lost control, like her actions are automatic, and she's just eating, eating to replace all those meals she's skipped, eating to undo all her work, eating…

She has easily just consumed over six-hundred calories in just a few minutes. The thought terrifies her, and she feels nauseous just thinking about it. She was in control just a few weeks ago, but this fucking Christmas and her fucking family have ruined it – no, she's ruined it. This is her fault. She worked so hard at something and now it's gone in an instant because she couldn't fucking stay in control of her body.

Merlin, she's pathetic.

She needs to do something. Something, so that a few minutes' lapse in judgment doesn't destroy her life forever, doesn't tear down all the hard work she's put into keeping the numbers on the scale slowly decreasing…

And so she shoves a toothbrush down her throat and expels six-hundred calories from her body.

By February, she's been bingeing and purging nearly every day. She hates herself for it, but forcing herself to vomit allows her to hate herself just a little bit less.

Her cheeks are getting puffy, and she's not sure why, but it makes her feel fat so she tries to skip meals, but then sometimes she just loses it and eats and eats.

And the only way to calm the raging anxiety she feels after she eats is to eliminate the calories. The skin across her knuckles is getting raw from reaching into her throat so often, but she's not always near her toothbrush.

And then one day in the Prefects' Bathroom something goes wrong; she pushes to hard, or she doesn't have enough substance in her stomach, or or or…

She'll never really know what did it, but somehow she collapses and the only thing she remembers between falling and waking up in the hospital wing is the feeling of lying with her head against the cold marble floor, the stench of her own vomit and sweat rising into the air as she wonders what's happened to her to bring her to this point.

"Shhh, shhhh. It's okay. I'm right here. You're okay. It's okay." Scorpius doesn't know what he's saying, but some part of him must hope that if he repeats the words over and over again enough, they'll be true.

Rose is sobbing quietly, head buried in her knees, and he finds himself rubbing circles into her back.

"It's okay."

"No," Rose whispers, so quietly he might have missed it if he wasn't sitting so close to her. "It's not."

"It's just a rumor."

She lifts her head slightly. "No, it's not," she says again.

She pauses and he feels something shift in the air around them. He can tell that Rose is about to share something important.

Something personal.

"It's not just a rumor," Rose says carefully. "Because it's true."

Because what's true? Scorpius wants to ask, but he doesn't.

"And now it's all over the Prophet," her voice breaks and she chokes back a sob.

"Shhh," Scorpius says again, because he doesn't know what else to say. "It's going to be okay."

"No!" she yells. "It's not okay!"

Pause. Swallow.

"I'm recovering from an eating disorder," Rose whispers. "And now everyone knows."

A/N: This was the hardest chapter so far for me to write, but in a way it was also the most important. If you need help, reach out to the appropriate resources: a trusted adult, a guidance counselor or psychologist, a help line. You're not alone.

To avoid any potential confusion: Rose's disorder begins as anorexia nervosa (categorized as significant weight loss due to over-control and restriction of food intake, sometimes, but not always, accompanied by purging behaviors – vomiting, abuse of laxatives, excessive exercise). She shifts into bulimia nervosa (categorized as a loss of control, with binge – overeating – and purge cycles). It is not uncommon for individuals to shift between eating disorders. (Rose is also incorrect; purging does not eliminate all the calories consumed. For this reason, coupled with the huge amount of calories consumed during binges, many individuals with bulimia are not underweight).

For more information, check the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) website.

All the symptoms Rose experiences – exhaustion, shivering, hair loss, "puffy cheeks" (due to salivary glands swelling after repeated vomiting), dizziness, fainting spells, anxiety – are real. More severe symptoms of anorexia and bulimia include tooth decay (again, from repeated vomiting), heart abnormalities, organ failure, and death.

Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illnesses.