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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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HP stories following Canon after HBP >> To Achieve Perfection by emmahollowaygrint

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A/N: With all the stuff in the media at the moment about the 'size zero trends' and how it is causing an increase in eating disorders I thought I would explore this in a fan fiction.
Just as a note I would like to point out that I am in no way glorifying having an eating disorder, it is a terrible mental disease that effects more and more everyday, i think something like 1 in every 100 secondary age girls suffer from an eating disorder and although I think it's a horrible thing to be faced with, it needs to be acknowledged that there are those battling it and in my opinion the more it is understood the less likely it is that you are going to get one. Hence the writing of this story.



It was easy to put on a fake façade for people when they are already so caught up in their own lives. It’s even easier to lie to those that have caused you pain and misery. Lying to yourself however, and pretending everything is ok, that’s where it becomes difficult.

For as long as I can remember I have had a need to be perfect, to have control over everything in my life, but not until recently have I discovered how I can reach that level of perfection. Harry made me realise it by making me see my flaws.

It’s a hard task being the girlfriend of ‘The Chosen One’ as so many others would happily give their left leg to have been in my position, and at one point I might of too. Only when my dream was made reality did I realise I did not deserve that position. Harry should be with someone who is flawless. Maybe one day I will be, and he will want me again.

I know why Harry ended it with me. The second he began his monologue of how he didn’t want me to get hurt I saw it for what it was. The fact that he didn’t just come out and say the truth hurt me more than anything. The look in his eyes told it all. With six older brothers I have had a lot of practice in holding in the truth when I needed one of them to get the blame for my own mistakes and I long ago learnt the act of deception, something Harry missed out on.

He thought I was fat. I knew that from the beginning of course but I had been trying to ignore it. When he broke up with me that day it just confirmed my fears, and his as well; I wouldn’t want to date someone who had a belly the size of a quaffle and thighs like tree trunks either. Some part of me is glad that he bought this to my attention.

That day I chose not to eat. The whole train journey home I just said no to food and no one really thought twice about it. Hermione pointed it out but just assumed I was upset about Dumbledore and Harry so let it lie. The moment I got home I weighed myself. I hadn’t stepped on a scale for years. My mum had always said that they were cursed things only there to bring pain and suffering to those who were drawn to them, but that didn’t prevent her from having a set in the bathroom.

Stepping onto them felt like I was performing some sort of sacrificial ceremony. I guess in a way I was. I was giving my body to the part of my brain that saw no sense or reasoning. I became a slave to the scales, just as Mum had said, the moment the dial landed on 112. The number actually meant very little to me at the time, all I knew was that I wanted it to be smaller, much smaller.

I stood naked in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom and hated every inch of the person staring back at me. I got my wand and drew an outline of what I wanted to look like onto the mirror. It glowed red, teasing me. Not until I was that person would I be able to be happy, I made myself promise.

My mum knocked on the door. I quickly closed the wardrobe door and pulled on my dressing gown.

‘Are you alright, Ginny?’ She asked, letting herself in and sitting on my bed, ‘you haven’t said a word since we came to pick you up.’

‘I’m fine,’ I lied, ‘I’m just a bit lonely that’s all. It feels strange not to have anyone else around.’

My mother pursed her lips and frowned slightly. She did not approve of Ron going to stay with Harry at his uncle’s house one bit, and had spent half an hour trying to persuade him to come back home first so they could ‘discuss’ it properly. No one knows better than me that my mum doesn’t discuss things. Her word is final and if anyone undermines her they will be punished. I suppose when Ron does come back that argument will give me something to keep my mind occupied.

‘Would you like some dinner?’ she asked at last, smiling.

‘I’m not hungry. I had a few too many pumpkin pasties on the train.’ I clutched my stomach as if to show how full I was feeling, in reality I was just hoping it wouldn’t rumble and give me away. Thankfully, she accepted my story and went downstairs, wishing me a goodnight. It wasn’t.

I didn’t sleep. I was up until cock’s crow making lists of everything I wanted to change about myself and when that was finished a second list of the foods I would be allowed to eat. To be honest, at that point I knew very little about weight loss and how to do it. I had got most of my limited amount of information from the occasional copy of witch weekly I bought.

What I did know was that it wasn’t wise to tell anyone what I was up to. My Mum for starters would be upset that I wasn’t going to eat her delicious cooking anymore and was always telling me how slim I was anyway. Hermione was one for equality for men and women and would think it was silly to be trying to loose weight for a guy even if he did think I was too fat. Harry and Ron and any other male for that matter probably wouldn’t understand. They are all completely clueless when it comes to this sort of thing.

The next day went well too. I didn’t eat breakfast or Lunch because I ‘ate’ in my room and was able to throw it straight out the window into the compost heap in the garden without anyone else’s knowledge, and for dinner I only ate half the plate of vegetable stew I was given. I don’t know what it was, but the very thought of eating actually made me feel ill and every mouthful was hard to swallow. I felt as though I was being strangled and could barely breath.

To cap this, mum thought I must be ill so won’t try and make me eat for a while now. When I stepped on the scales the next morning and saw the dial land in between 111 and 110 it was like ecstasy was running through my veins. One and half pounds lost already! Did life get better than this?



AN: Review, perhaps?


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