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After Snape's meeting with Dumbledore, Hermione's life changed dramatically. The room she shared with Ginny was now connected to Gryffindor tower, but it still had its own entrance, and they were allowed the keep the extravagant private bath. She wasn't allowed to return to classes yet, but Ron and Harry were bringing her homework so she could stay caught up. She was being given Star Flower tea once a week now, and if anyone knew she was sharing it with Ginny, they must have chosen to look the other way.

She was never told why she had suddenly been given so much freedom, but she was certainly not dense enough to miss the connection between her teacher's confession to her and his sudden absence from her life. She was still only allowed to use her wand in the presence of others, but Harry, Ron, and Ginny were now considered adequate supervision.

She had not written in her journal since that morning, though guilt kept her from removing it from her desk where it sat, almost accusingly. She knew it was petty of her to do this, that the book was intended for her benefit and not for his, but tracing her fingertips over the soft cover made her heart ache with longing for the man who had given it to her.

She wasn't ready to face eating in the Great Hall yet; she had been warned that her food intake, wherever she chose to eat, would be monitored carefully. Her meals were chosen in advance by Madam Pomfrey and appeared in her room, enchanted to remain there until a sufficient amount had been consumed. It hadn't escaped her notice that the portion sizes were slowly but steadily increasing, and she rarely allowed anyone but Ginny to sit with her while she ate.

The first few days after Ginny's confession had been rather uncomfortable, but they had been able to settle back into a fairly comfortable routine after that: they ate breakfast together in the morning, and then Ginny would get ready for class. Most days, she didn't return until after dinner. Hermione spent her time alone studying and took many long, warm baths. She spent very little time in the common room; Ron and Harry were both happy to visit in the room she shared with Ginny, and the whispers that traveled even between members of her own house were more than she could bear to face just yet.

Still, it was impossible to shake her persistent sense of betrayal. She had opened up to him, had thought he cared about her. He had even claimed to feel some of the same things she did, had kissed her back on that last morning… But how much could he possibly care if he was rid of her so easily? He could have told her, sent her a note, anything to let her know that she meant something to him.

And she wondered how much of the same pain Ginny felt because of her. She had been acting relatively normal, but on the other hand, Hermione wasn't even sure how long the younger girl had carried unspoken affection for her before all of this happened.

In short, life was hard. Hermione rolled over in bed, trying to ignore the smell of the food sitting impatiently on the table beside her, trying not to wonder where Ginny had gone this early on a Saturday morning. It took a lot of effort, sometimes, just to remember that Ginny had to have a life outside of the room they shared, that moving out of the dormitory was more than Hermione could have ever asked of her.

Hermione glanced over at the food. No one was here to watch her eat. She wanted to get better, but those pants from summer could almost stay up without a belt again. She knew she had to be gaining a lot of weight, and maybe just one meal…

There was only one way to find out. She struggled to ignore the waves of guilt and apprehension washing over her. I'll eat some of it, she told herself, I'll only get rid of a little bit, just to see if I can.

She was nervous, but she couldn't resist trying. She sat up and turned to face the food, slowly taking a forkful of it and hiding it in her napkin. She was slightly worried that Madam Pomfrey had some way of tracking when and how much she ate, so she decided it was safer if the food vanished slowly. This would be so much easier if she had her wand.

First she carved the yolks out of the fried eggs, letting their innards drip through the tines of the fork. Disgusting. It would be nice if she could get away without those. Then the bacon, bit by bit, and her toast in the same manner. All that remained on her plate were the egg whites and some melon. That looked a lot more manageable. She carried the food to the bathroom quickly, and even though she knew it was wrong, watching the uneaten food disappear down the toilet made her feel stronger.

When she returned to her room, she was shocked to find that her plate had vanished. Thinking back, she realized that the food she had thrown away would have been considered a sufficient breakfast. Since she couldn't go to the kitchen to get more food, she decided missing breakfast just once probably wouldn't hurt anything. It was certainly a more appealing option than admitting what she had done.

It was hard not to feel restless. She had finished her homework after a couple of hours, and paced anxiously, knowing Ginny wouldn't be back until much later. She could go down to the common room, she supposed, but even the thought of it made her cringe.

The journal caught her eye again. He would never know whether she had written in it, and it felt good to get her thoughts out. Maybe she was punishing herself more than she was punishing him by refusing to write about what was going on. She sat in the bed with the book cradled in her lap, and began to write…

Today, I was bad.

I'm afraid to write down what I've done, even though this is supposed to be for my eyes only. The thing is, if anyone found out…

Would he even care if he knew? Was everything that happened between us set into motion by my overactive imagination? He wouldn't let me go back, even if I needed him. I wasn't willing to settle for what he was willing to offer, and now I have nothing.

Am I in love with him? I hate sleeping now because he keeps invading my dreams. I wake up feeling so empty…

He told me he felt it too. Why did he have to push me away? Why can't I stop obsessing over this? I wish I could cut myself without someone knowing. It's messed up, but it feels like when I bleed, a lot of bad feelings seep out of the cut. And then when it's over, I feel bad about it, but all of my other feelings have drained out and at least the pain is simple then. At least it's a problem I can understand.

I'm an idiot for trusting anything he gave me. He doesn't fucking care. How do I know he was telling the truth about anything?

Hermione flung the journal across the room, feeling a tiny pang of guilt as it hit the wall and fell, pages fluttering.