Hermione Granger lay motionless in the bed staring at the stark white ceiling above her, it's familiar whorl pattern broken only by the rectangle of a harsh florescent light. The ceiling was in contrast to the rest of the room which was nothing more than a square shaped space with a door, a chair, a small wardrobe, it's mirror removed and an iron hospital bed with a rather thin mattress. The lavender paint on the walls and the lack of fairy trim (or trim of any sort) was supposed to be soothing and peaceful. It was. So much so in fact that when Hermione wanted to think she would have to stare at the stark ceiling to keep herself from drifting off into a drug induced slumber.
She sighed, breaking the oppressive silence of the room for a moment. Her mediwitch informed her today, that she had been in this place for three weeks now. Had the days been so few? She thought it had been longer than that, it felt as if it had been. Then again, her watch along with the rest of her jewelry had been taken from her and she had not been allowed into the courtyard as of yet. Somehow the rising and setting of the Sun had escaped her notice, as had the frequency of her meals, which she had merely eaten to please her keepers. Her mother had, after all, made her promise to be good and do what she was told.
Her mother. With her tear stained cheeks, eyes wide with fear had then kissed her daughter on the cheek and fled the room leaving her with her father. He said nothing. Instead he had pulled her into a tight, comforting hug and stroked her back with trembling hands. Then he was gone too.
She was sorry she had scared them so. Maybe that was why she hadn't seen them since? Perhaps they were too frightened of the sight of her like everyone else was?
They had removed the mirror from the wardrobe the first night she had slept here. She had awoken, screaming from a nightmare and had seen a skeleton screaming back at her. They told her that the skeleton had really been her reflection, that she was so thin she was in danger of dying. They had made her look at her reflection in another mirror that morning, but all she saw was a fat, unhappy woman with ugly red gashes at her wrists. They had told her that she had nearly bled to death.
'Well that was the whole point wasn't it?' she had thought, running her fingers lightly over the scars. Scars they had left on her, they had said, to make her think about her life. Or lack thereof.
The gashes had faded to a light shade of pink now, and she had gotten fatter. Or so she thought when she had gazed at her reflection earlier today. Not that they were satisfied, oh no. One hundred pounds on a five foot six body was still too thin, they said. No no, she still had to gain another thirty pounds and continue to attend her daily sessions with the rest of the crazies. Hermione nearly fainted when they told her this information.
Gods, wasn't she fat enough already? Hadn't she talked and talked till she was blue in the face? Hadn't she listened to everyone else's sob story about how hard their childhood's had been? Or how horrible their lives were now. Hadn't she sat there and taken their criticism of her? Poor Hermione Granger they had said, poor little witch. Too smart, too pretty, best friends with and one of the saviors of their world. What the fuck did she have to complain about, they had asked. A muggle born with everything handed to her on a plate. What the hell did they know anyway?
They didn't know her! They hadn't a clue about her life and what she had seen. What she had done. Sure, she had helped Wonder Boy and his sidekick defeat Voldimort. Sure she had received an Order of Merlin, first class for her efforts. But at what cost to her? They had no clue. She had ostensibly saved their lives and they had the teremity to sit there and criticize her?
"Well fuck them!" she muttered to the ceiling. With another sigh, she rolled onto her side and shut her eyes. Why, she wondered again tonight, as she had wondered everynight since she had been put here, why hadn't they just let her die?