Perfection

I'll live through you

I'll make you what I never was

If you're the best then maybe so am I

Compared to him compared to her

I'm doing this for your own damn good

You'll make up for what I blew

What's the problem... why are you crying?

Be a good boy

Push a little farther now

That wasn't fast enough

To make us happy

We will love you just the way you are when you're perfect

~Perfect, Alanis Morissette

Prologue

A girl sits at the kitchen table, morning light streaming in the window. She is asking her mother, who has placed half of a grapefruit in front of her for breakfast why they can't buy flavored cereal instead of cornflakes. She is about five years old, still untouched--innocent.

"Darling, you know that I've told you a million times that sugar is bad for your teeth." She is sounding annoyed--it is the tone of constant repetition. "Besides, some of your friends aren't particularly healthy. You wouldn't want to end up like them, would you?"

She doesn't specify what is wrong with them, but the emphasis is on the right words. She doesn't need to.

The girl shakes her head, brown eyes wide, fear showing in them. She has heard this more than once, often enough that the fear is already implanted in her. Carefully, she raises a slice of the fruit to her lips, eyeing it as if it might hurt her in some way.

Her eyes fade into another pair. It is the same girl, but more than ten years have passed. Judging by her height and the make-up she is wearing, she is about sixteen years old. She is waiting in a car, the remodeled Triumph that her father only takes out during the summer, examining herself in the rearview mirror. Her cheekbones are more than prominent and the hands she touches them with are thin and breakable, ice cold to the touch.

The make-up is a new acquisition. Before this summer, she had rarely worn it. But now, it is her shield. It hides what she truly is, so that even she can forget, if she tries. But underneath it, she knows that her eyes have dark circles under them from staying up late into the night doing homework that doesn't really need to be done, that her hip bones jut out and that her ribs can be counted without running her hands along them. She wants to believe that if she can disappear, everything wrong in her life can be forgotten.

Her eyes follow a large woman who is ambling out of the drugstore across the street, and she shudders slightly. Whatever happens to her, she doesn't want to end up like them, with their existence in such plain view of everyone, the judging eyes that follow them down the street, the knowledge that they are flawed. She couldn't stand it.

Suppressing a second tremble of revulsion and wanting to block out her thoughts, she cranks up the radio full blast, ignoring glares from people passing by, people who only hear the music, not the sixteen-year-old girl in the front seat who, although she doesn't know it yet, is screaming for someone to hear her.

Her mother strides across the street, intimidating in her steely gray suit and pumps, flicking hair the same shade as her daughter's, but much sleeker, over her shoulder and unlocks the car.

Irritated, she sighs, shoving her leather purse into her daughter's lap and snaps, "What have I told you about playing music too loudly?" as she flicks off the radio.

The girl shrugs. She didn't really like the song anyway.

Chapter 1: Meetings

She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, running her hands over her rib cage. She was still in pajamas--over-sized sweats and a tank top--and in the one corner of her room that was visible in the reflection her clothes were folded neatly in a trunk. Beside it sat another, still open, and crammed to the brim with books.

"Hermione!" The shrill voice of her mother echoed up the stairs. "You leave in two hours and I need to stop off at the office, so finish packing!"

She chose to ignore this, knowing that they would get there one way or another, and reluctantly pulled on a pair of jeans that had once fit her but now hung off of her hips, tent-like, thinking vaguely that they must have stretched in the wash.

*

"Ginny!"

The redhead spun around, grinning. "Dean!"

She gave him a quick hug as he brushed his lips against her cheek. "Missed you," he said.

"I could tell," she replied wryly, thinking back to the fat bundle of letters stashed in her sock drawer. She let him take her luggage and climbed onto the train.

"Do you think there's any nice, empty compartments left?" she wondered allowed, winking over her shoulder as he boarded behind her.

He laughed lightheartedly. "If not, there will be soon."

*

"Have a nice term, darling, and work hard. Your marks weren't quite as high this year as they usually are. Try not to eat as many sweets as I know you do--especially not what you get from that store--and don't forget to enjoy yourself."

"Yes, mum."

"And don't wear so much make-up, it isn't good for your skin. You never used to."

Hermione shrugged off the stinging that she felt from the criticisms and glanced at her watch. "I'd better go. Boarding starts in a couple of minutes. Say good-bye to Dad for me."

She couldn't help but feel a pang at the thought of him. This summer he had been absent almost every day, rarely attending meals, and closed off when he did. He said that he was working; made a weak joke about abnormally high cavity rates and a comment about promotions, but she had sensed something else behind the words. How much of a promotion could you get in dentistry, anyway?

Her mother's face tightened at the mention of him as well, but Hermione told herself that she was imagining it, holding her cheek out for the brisk kiss that she knew was coming. Watching the woman click away without looking back, she was left with the impression that the show of affection had been just that--a show. She tried to blot the image from her mind as she turned away, but forgetting the coldness was more difficult done than said.

Once, Hermione remembered a time when everything had been different. Dad had taken them on holidays, a different place each year--her parents had teased each other and laughed on the beach while she built sandcastles with the other kids--fortresses, where nothing could penetrate the walls, they pretended, until the tide came in to wash them away...

So much for that.

With a sigh, she began to slowly wheel toward the gate for the platform, and had almost pushed through the barrier, when she heard her name resounding through the station.

"Hey! Hermione!"

She twisted to see a freckled redhead sprinting towards her, missing her by a fraction of an inch.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were... Hermione?"

She returned his puzzled gaze with an ironic smile and greeted him with, "It's nice to see you too, Ron."

"You've... changed."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied lightly, wondering what was so horribly wrong with her, to bring on this reaction. She laughed as a cover-up, and wished Harry would come. Around Ron, she felt scrutinized and exposed. Harry, though not necessarily the happiest camper, was easier to be around--he was usually too busy with his own problems to notice hers.

"Shall we go, then?" she asked as she aimed her cart at the barrier, cutting off whatever he had been about to say.

*

She let out a giggle as they crashed through the door of the train compartment, turning up her face for another kiss.

"Merlin, Weasley, that's sickening. Do we really have to see it?"

"Shut your eyes if you don't like it, Malfoy," she shot back, brushing Dean aside as she turned to face the blond behind her.

"On second thought, keep going," he sneered. "Free porn is always better than having to pay."

Ginny bristled, flushing a deep red as deep anger flooded her.

"Leave it, Gin," Dean muttered, not making eye contact and looking slightly worried by the electricity that seemed to be flickering in the compartment.

"No," she replied softly, stepping forward and pulling out her wand. "I don't think that I want to."

"Ginny," Dean pleaded. "Not now."

She turned, looking at him with something cold and malicious, before allowing it to fade as her legs gave out and she crumpled to the ground.

*

She was sitting in the middle of all of the noise and reaching hands, none of the high, excited voices reaching her ears fully, answers rising to her mouth automatically.

"Have some turkey!" Ron exclaimed from across the table, wasting no time in stuffing his face.

"Can't. I'm a vegetarian."

"Since when?" Parvati wondered, curiosity glinting in her eyes.

"Since July, when I watched a show on feedlots. Besides, eating other creatures is barbaric."

"Isn't it not healthy to not eat meat?" Lavender asked, joining the conversation.

"I have protein supplements," she muttered, pushing around a piece of broccoli on her plate while watching Neville pour some glistening gravy on his food, and swallowing her disgust. Especially that, in a sick way, it looked almost appetizing. It was almost pathetic how easy it was to lie.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

She shrugged, casually standing from the table and making her way out of the Great Hall, ignoring protests from her friends. Once she was out of site, Hermione, barely made it to the toilets before her stomach rebelled. After emptying it, she leaned against the stall divider for nearly a full ten minutes before straightening and moving towards the sinks, rinsing the taste from her mouth with a barely repressed shudder.

*

"Miss Weasley, I really must insist..."

"I'm fine. It was a dizzy spell. You said there was nothing wrong with me and there isn't. All I want is to go have my supper!"

Madam Pomfrey scrutinized her momentarily, pursing her lips before nodding tersely. "If you must."

Ginny was out of the door before the nurse could finish the sentence, glad that she hadn't been too probing. The redhead herself wasn't even positive what had happened. For a second, she had felt the same as she had when...

She cut that thought off before it had a chance to surface, telling herself to stop being ridiculous.

*

Hermione finished applying the eyeliner, making sure that it wouldn't smudge, then moved on to the eye shadow. She preferred cold colors, normally, but today, she used shimmering gold, using it to make her eyes look slightly slanted upwards. Finishing, she stepped back to examine it, smiling slightly. No one had to tell her that there was too much. She knew, and liked it that way--this way, she could hide and no one would notice or see her as she was.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice echoed throughout Gryffindor tower.

She left the dormitory and glared down at him from the top of the stairs. "What?"

"You missed breakfast."

"I slept in."

That one wasn't a lie--it had begun towards the beginning of August, this exhaustion, giving her the desire to spend entire days without stirring from her room--not that she ever let herself.

"But you never sleep in. And what did you do to your eyes?"

"Nothing. I had problems falling asleep last night."

More truth. She had lain there for hours, unable to stop the summer's memories from crushing her and trying to convince herself that she was making something out of nothing, all the while making sure that she could feel her ribs through the thin t-shirt she was wearing, as if they would suddenly become eaten by flesh if she didn't double check.

Harry shrugged off the incident. "Well, we have transfiguration in about five minutes. And I brought you some toast, in case you were hungry."

"No thanks," she declined, brushing past him without meeting his gaze. "I can stop in at the kitchens between classes."

*

"Detention, Granger, I told you not to help him. And twenty points from Gryffindor."

Guarded eyes met guarded eyes, each pair glaring at the other. Hermione tried to look unaffected, as if she didn't care--no, she reminded herself, she didn't.

She could feel the sympathetic looks she was being sent, along with the sneers from the Slytherins, refusing to look up and acknowledge either. She had the impression that Snape was about to take off more points for insolence, but for some reason he held back. "Come see me after class."

"Yes, sir."

She hadn't helped Neville, not this time. She had just checked over what he had done to see whether or not it was right. And, for once, it was. But this time, she wouldn't argue about the unfairness--the bias Professor Snape showed--no matter how much it made her blood boil. It was something she could live with, something familiar by this point.

There were only about two minutes left in the class, anyway, so she wouldn't have to wait long to find out what her detention was. Not that she really had to--grading potions essays written by the second years, most likely.

An icy smile twitched at her lips as she was reminded of Snape's discovery as to how much she hated repetition last year, when she had been forced to recite the properties of unicorn hair repeatedly as penalty for talking back. It had replaced cauldron scrubbing as his favorite form of punishment--not to mention it was no secret that this group of second years were especially fond of copying each other's work. Of course, it was true what they said about clouds and silver linings--if anything, it gave her an excuse to miss dinner because she still had to go over her charms essay for tomorrow.

*

Hermione was ready to rip her hair out. The sentence didn't feel right, but she didn't know how to fix it. It was horrible, it ruined the rest of the only average essay, the essay that both of her parents had agreed wasn't acceptable from a daughter of theirs, even though neither of them knew a thing about charms--which said something, because her parents didn't agree on much these days. And she had detention in half an hour. Damn Professor Snape--he must have realized what he was doing, must have planned it out... She'd never manage to finish it at this rate.

She closed her eyes, trying to prevent tears of frustration from spilling over. At least there wasn't anyone to witness her breakdown--the only blessing. No one, especially not Snape, would ever get that satisfaction. Gritting her teeth, she began to scribble furiously, fighting back a yawn and the urge to put down her pen and just close her eyes for a moment.

*

Three hours later found her still bent over papers, but now in a different room. From the other side of the office, the dark man watched her out of the corner of his eye, to all appearances immersed in his work. His gaze made her uneasy--she felt as though a hole was being burned straight through her and he was able to see the deepest, darkest parts of her that even she didn't know, but every time she looked up, his eyes were averted, intent on the page of the book in front of him.

It was getting late, but she didn't dare ask to go. She already knew the answer so, without dwelling on it further, she applied her mind to the task before her. It was far too easy to give these students zeroes, just for having the same work as someone else, for plagiarizing from some textbook. She didn't even bother reading through the entire essay--they were all practically the same.

And as much as she had wanted to skip supper that night, she didn't want to stay any longer than necessary. Something about Severus Snape unnerved her--he made the blood pound in her veins, made her feel as if she was on display. It was strange and frightening and she didn't want to know what caused it.

"Would you kindly share what it is, precisely, that you find so fascinating?" His sardonic voice cut through her thoughts like a razor.

Flushing slightly, she looked down. She hadn't realized that she was staring.

"Nothing," she murmured, hiding behind her hair.

*

He kept his gaze on her, knowing the effect that it would have. In a strange way, it gave him pleasure--this power that made someone's hands tremble and their face color just by watching. But as far as he could tell, it was doing nothing. Her tiny frame was hunched over the work as if nothing had happened, jotting notes in the hand he knew to be meticulous. Beginning to grow tired of the game, he was about to glance back down at his book, but she jerked up suddenly, as if something had startled her.

So the girl was only pretending.

He had to give her credit for such a convincing facade. It wasn't everyone that could work steadily with someone breathing down her neck--particularly not when that someone was he. Of course, Hermione Granger wasn't just any student. Irritating as she was at times, her assignments had substance--they weren't just something thrown together at the last second and, bitter though he was, he appreciated it even though he knew that it was not done for his sake.

Their eyes met, and he saw dark circles under hers that he had never before noticed, hollowed out as if something was eating away at her. Of course, he couldn't be sure--it might always be smudged eyeliner--so with a mental shrug, he turned back to his work. It wasn't his concern.

*

When Hermione finally made it to her bed and was closing her eyes, more grateful than she had believed possible, tomorrow's essay came rushing back with terrible clarity. It was done, but she was sure that there was still some room for improvement, some stupid little spelling error...

Stifling a moan, along with a few colourful curses--she didn't want to wake up anyone else--she pulled out her work and slipped down to the common room silently.

Hours later, after reading and writing it over what felt like a million times, she was finally satisfied that there were no mistakes that could be fixed in one night. About to reread it for one last check, she flexed her hand and allowed her eyes a moment's rest--only a moment's. The last coherent thought she had before her head hit the table was that next Hogsmeade visit she would buy one of those quills that Rita Skeeter had been so fond of.

*

She awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window in front of her, wondering where she was. Squinting at the parchment that she had been using as a pillow, she remembered and gave herself a mental kick. All it would have taken was another five minutes...

About to return to the essay, another memory made her freeze. The snacks left out by the house elves that she let herself indulge in the previous night. Her stomach heaved, but she somehow kept it down. She wouldn't let herself retch--it was too late to do anything about it that way--but she had to get rid of it somehow.

A stroke of genius coming to her, she glanced up at the clock. It was still early enough that no one would be awake yet and the sun was shining invitingly. She slipped up to the dormitory to change silently, and paused at what she saw in the mirror. Her make-up had smudged overnight, making the hollows under her eyes even more obvious, and glitter dusted her cheekbones, making her look like some creature of another world.

But that was not what she saw.

She saw someone who had not yet become one of them. And she wanted to stay that way, no matter what it took.

She wanted perfection.