Hey guys, I know my updates are slow but I haven't given up. We're almost there. I can see the end in sight (and I actually know what's going to happen)
Once I complete this little baby I'll go through and edit all the chapters to clean up typo's and anything I thing could be done better.nce I complete this little baby I'll go through and edit all the chapters to clean up typo's and anything I thing could be done better.
Thank you to everyOnce I complete this little baby I'll go through and edit all the chapters to clean up typo's and anything I thing could be done better.one who had stuck with Perfection so far!!!
Chapter title and lyrics from the song "Tymps(the Sick in the Head Song)" By Fiona Apple
Sick In The Head
I knew that to keep in touch
Would do me deep in dutch
Cuz it isnt the rush of remembering
Its just mush
Hermione could have passed out in shock when she woke up.
Against all odds, all natural laws, in fact denying the very order of the world, Hermione was lying amongst a soft pile of sweetly scented towels, she was naked and she had an arm around her.
An arm belonging to a fast asleep and very naked Draco Malfoy.
Holy mother of everything holy!
In a moment of insanity she put her hands over her eyes, almost certain if she wished hard enough the situation would melt away and she’d find herself lying snugly in her bed.
However, when she opened them again, she wasn’t in bed, she was still just as naked and still just as much lying next to Draco Malfoy
I CAN’T believe this.
I can’t believe I’d do that!
Have done that!
I am completely and officially mad.
I absolutely refuse to believe this, of all the things to go and do.
I shagged Malfoy.
And then I did it again. And then again.
And now...oh my...oh my...
I shagged Malfoy.
And I enjoyed it...
Oh shut up Hermione.
Hermione willed her breathing to become more regular. She felt more physically comfortable than she had in a long time. Malfoy’s arm was comfortable and in a strange way it felt kind of safe. She felt like she could just lie there forever.
But that was impossible.
Draco- No, Malfoy, he’s Malfoy...
Stupid hormonal teen body.
That’s all this was, my hormonal teen body and its hormonal teen body ways...
Animal urges. Nothing else. I can’t help that our pheromones attract each other psychically. It has nothing to do with the person...
He’s still asleep, I can slip away. Oh god...
Gently, Hermione tried to lift Malfoy’s arm. He muttered in his sleep, pulled her tighter and to her horror nuzzled the crevice of her neck.
Hermione swore loudly in her head.
This can’t be happening.
This time she moved slowly, extricating herself gently.
She stood, paused to calm herself and then still swearing loudly in her head, began to search for her clothes. Movement caught the corner of her eye and she flicked her head in the same direction, only to discover the big gold gilt mirror projecting her reflection straight back at her.
Her hair was in complete and utter shambles. It looked like an electric current had decided to take up hairdressing.
She had a hickey trying to rake over half of her neck, there were bruises on her hips and upon twisting her body, and she discovered scratches obviously from Draco – Malfoy’s well manicured claws.
Hermione knew the bruises and bangs looked even worse due to her malnutrition tendency to bruise easily. However she hadn’t realised they’d even been rough during the heat of passion.
NOT PASSION, hormones...
To Hermione’s shock, when she gazed at Draco’s sleeping form, she noticed quite a significant amount of scratches and hickeys on him, however his were a lot less noticeable than her own.
No wonder we’re covered in love bites- no, hormonal induced bites, I guess there was a lot of pent up hate and frustration toward each other after all this time.
I just hadn’t counted on pent up sexual tension.
Hermione dressed, making sure to pull her scarf tight around her neck, so as to hide her love-
If Harry and Ron knew...
As Hermione left Malfoy, without a backward glance, and began walking towards the Gryffindor common rooms, even though only a handful of student s were even awake, she felt very self-conscious, as though everyone knew what she’d done.
Oh god, if people found out... I had sex with Draco –MALFOY! His name is Malfoy.
Hermione’s mind was like a room full of children who’d just finished a litre of red cordial each. Complete and utter chaos. Her thoughts kept racing around her head, beating each other up, calling each other names and generally making a ruckus.
Disbelief was the main theme of these thoughts. How had it happened? It was as though she’d been drugged, the night was a blur. A complete hormonal hijacking.
And yet the thought of kissing any other boys repulses me, the thought of kissing Malfoy, as much as I hate to admit it... sends me weak at the knees...
When Hermione entered the common room, she glanced around guiltily for Harry and Ron. She spotted the messy black hair in an instant.
Oh, oh, oh. I’ve just got to act calm, like nothing happened. I have to act just as though I didn’t just shag Malfoy.
She gulped down her fear but as soon as she sat beside them, they looked at her. Harry seemed to spot her nervous eyes flitting around and her tense posture.
‘What’s up?’ he asked straight out.
Ron laughed. ‘Bad test results of course.’ He grinned and nudged her playfully.
Hermione grasped at the lie. ‘Oh it’s terrible! My results for McGonagall’s essay were really bad.’
This much at least wasn’t far from the truth, although she had gotten used to getting less than perfect grades since her eating demons came to settle.
Ron pointed to her neck. ‘What’s that Hermione?’ Ron looked suspicious, or maybe she was just feeling paranoid.
‘Peeves,’ she lied quickly, ‘thought it would be funny to throw textbooks at me.’
The boys, who’d had enough run-ins with Peeves to see this as very plausible, swallowed her story quickly.
Oh Merlin, I can’t believe it.
Hermione muttered something about a late essay and scrambled to her dormitory.
Nothing could have prepared her for breakfast.
This time her nerves had nothing to with food, oh no, that flittering and shaking in her chest, that bug crawling in her guts, that all had to do with him. Sure she’d escaped easily that morning but eventually she’d have to face him or at least glimpse him somewhere in the castle.
Most shocking of all was the exact moment their eyes met upon her entering the dining hall. He seemed to pierce through her very being, his face as impassive and glorious as the rising sun. He read her face and curiosity flit through his eyes.
She didn’t get a sudden guilty, revolted pang like she’d expected, been positive she’d get, in its place she was filled with a barmy urge to waltz straight up to him and do it all again.
I’m raving mad. I knew it. Stupid, stupid...
Unable to handle it any longer, she lowered her gaze, following her feet to her seat.
‘Morning!’ Ron poured her a big glass of orange juice and immediately began shovelling food onto her plate. Hermione was only dimly aware of the clattering of cutlery before he turned back to his own plate to shovel his own food into his mouth.
As usual she smiled brightly pulled the food, oh the revolting calories, toward her and preceded to convincingly feign eating.
If I thought he’d use my eating problems to blackmail me, oh no, he went and got much better material.
She kept her eyes fixed on her toast; she couldn’t stand looking at Malfoy.
On the other hand her toast was looking back at her.
Hermione jumped in astonishment.
Certain not for the first time that day that she’d lost her marbles, she stared. The brown burnt parts of the bread contrasted against the more lightly toasted bread, to form a perfect outline of Malfoy, right down to his pointy nose.
Great, I’m even seeing Malfoy in my toast...
And then the picture began to change, the colours of the cooked bread forming words.
Hermione leant closer.
Meet me tonight. Trophy room.
A message. He sent me a bloody toast message.
Her bushy head snapped up, she caught his eyes. He smirked his usual smirk but it didn’t have the same intolerable quirk.
Hermione tapped her toast with her wand.
Fuck off. Leave me alone. As if I’d risked that. Get fucked.
She saw Malfoy from across the room elevate his eyebrow.
Get fucked? Nice wording. Granger, I don’t know what’s going on. I need to talk to you.
Hermione pushed her toast onto the ground, glaring at Malfoy determinedly as she did so.
No way. I can’t risk even being near him, let alone trying to hold a civilised conversation.
I refuse to have a repeat.
As usual her response became the same. Starve.
To forget about Malfoy and the whole horrible predicament she focused on her intake.
The next few days were lost in a blur of food oriented thoughts, in fact when she tried to think of anything in the past year, she got nothing but a blurry memory, like a photo that’s just out of focus, you know what the image represent but you can’t seem to look closely.
Malfoy tried multiple times to talk to her, he seemed to realise she wasn’t going to meet him anywhere so he took to cornering her but she’d only nip off in a flash. Any notes he tried to send, were ignored, his forever mocking, angry and insulting words just made her angrier still.
Hermione’s luck seemed to be running low, not only did her blackouts, getting more and more frequent, cause her to run into things and drop whatever was in her hands but Peeves seemed to constantly be in her path, she kept finding her potions ingredients had gone stale or off, paintings fell off the wall when she walked past and the Prefects bathroom always seemed to be occupied whenever she wanted to use it.
Of course Hermione just assumed it was a mixture of her deteriorating physical state making her clumsy, her anorexia induced misery and just general bad luck created just to make her life hell.
Still unable to sleep 4 days after the fiasco with Malfoy, Hermione approached Harry and asked to borrow the Invisibility cloak. Harry smiled at her. ‘Midnight library excursions?’ Hermione grinned straight back. ‘Spot on.’
For the next few nights completely unable to sleep, she did just as Harry suspected she would, she crept into the library well after hours, when everyone was in bed. She spent the late hours of the night catching up on her homework and studying all the things she’d gotten behind on.
Despite the fact that she was losing even more sleep than before she felt like she was accomplishing something or at least trying to get her grades back to their original standard.
If I can’t sleep at night I may as well do something useful other than lay in bed frustrated.
However, since her “run-in” with Malfoy she had hardly eaten, focus on study became harder. Her limbs were weak and her brain was ticking as fast as a broken clock.
Hermione was leaving the library on a Thursday night, hidden safely away underneath the cloak, when she spotted a painting that grabbed her attention. The fine painting depicted a girl sitting by the window in an old Victorian style room.
The girl herself was dressed in a simple blue gown, what captured Hermione’s interest however was how finely her wrists were painted. As the girl in the painting moved about Hermione felt a strange thrill at seeing how thin she was.
Bed forgotten Hermione walked further down the chilly corridor until she chanced upon another painting. This time it was a skeletal young man feeding his horse.
Hermione walked and walked, making a mental catalogue in her head.
The painting in the Charms corridor has the skinniest legs...
Every time she found a new picture portraying a thin figure it pulled at a strange urge inside her, making her want to look ever more like these people depicted in oil on canvas.
Hermione felt tired and yet excitedly awake, filled with a fresh wave of obsession, a foreign and yet familiar feeling, a new branch of what she already knew, like creativity without any ideas, motivation without a goal, love without an object. It was a feeling that oozed from her adrenals, spreading through her limbs.
She knew it was related to her eating problems but something about staying up so late and looking at pictures that directly related to her weight obsession, it made her feel exhilarated, all other worries pushed to the back of her mind.
It was only when the sunlight began to trickle in through the windows that Hermione realised she needed to sleep.
After only 3 hours sleep, she dragged herself from her bed, only to face another meal she wasn’t interested in. Harry sat beside her, his arms crossed.
‘You weren’t in the library last night. I checked the map to make sure you hadn’t got caught. You’ve been wondering the halls aimlessly. Aren’t you tired? You look like you haven’t slept for days.’
Hermione shrugged. ‘I just couldn’t sleep is all.’
And I spent the whole night looking at pictures of skinny people.
It hadn’t occurred until then that there was a whole other way to motivate her to lose weight, pictures of people that made her realise just how fat she was.
Ginny almost looked like she was about to have a heart attack when Hermione approached one of her friends and asked to borrow an old muggle magazine.
‘Vogue? That’s a muggle fashion magazine! Earth to Hermione, don’t you want “Magic Frontiers”?’
Hermione didn’t reply just walked to her dormitory and sat on her bed with the hangings pulled closed and fell into a world of skin and bones.
The words in the magazines meant nothing, nor did the clothes.
Hermione was pouring over the models themselves, she was filled with both disgust and wonder. She’d been aware how thin the muggle fashion world had been heading but it had never interested her.
Now she was alarmed at just how thin the models were allowed to get.
She was so electrified by certain images that she pulled out her wand and cut and paste them into her little black book, next to her food entries.
Oh how I want to look like them... most of them have no breasts and none of their thighs touch.
All thoughts of Malfoy were completely taken over by this new wave of food and weight related obsession.