Falling For

I grew to admire Noël. He was a sharp boy with exquisite tastes, a gentle touch and seemingly quiet eyes. The more time I spent with him, the more I realised that I enjoyed his company, and that one day if I had kept on my track, I probably would have fallen in love with him. But I was still hurting - aching through the large hole in my chest from a feeling unrequited by one certain red-haired boy that I still couldn’t bring myself to think his name.

Sitting at breakfast, I was contemplating eating a piece of French toast. It was an unfortunate vice, but still a fight all the same. With my whole ‘not-eating’ thing, I had been living on small pieces of chocolate and Noël’s attempt at tea – the whole ordeal a big regret because ultimately I had lost my nice figure and my hair had started to thin out quite dramatically. Other than that, I lost those pads of fat on my waist, but it was nothing compared to the significant hair loss.

Still, Noël was there to nurse me back to health with his tiny, soft fingers. Unlike George’s, whose were large and rough and breathtaking, Noël’s hands were careful and quiet. He brushed those thin fingers through my unsuitable hair and let me cry when I looked in the mirror and saw the figure that I had once been long ago.

Forcing the toast into my mouth, I chewed unhappily and swallowed, my stomach clenching around the lump of greasy bread in effort to save itself. Cramming the entire thing into my face, I finally felt out of control like I had always wanted to be. It was soul-inspiring and enlightening, every muscle aching with a release that felt so single-mindedly brilliant.

I had hit the eternal nirvana; a burst of colours and passion all erupting from the one slice of toast that I had stuffed into my face in a fit of rage. It was beautiful.



Weeks later I had found myself curled in a ball in the back of my Muggle Studies class, flipping through the old pages of Transfiguration and Potion books. I was looking for a weight-gaining spell, as none of my clothes fit and my head looked abnormally large when I was scarily thin. I knew I was not at an acceptable level in both classes to be contemplating such spells and elixers, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Finally finding a page, I felt my stomach soar and began to read.

George was sitting with a tiny Gryffindor girl who always laughed at his jokes, making me extremely jealous but melancholy all the same. I sat with a quiet Hufflepuff boy that never said a word but skittered his eyes towards my page all the same. It was a horrible feeling, being so far away from him yet so close.

“Miss Fidere, is there a reason you’re doing homework for your other subjects in my class?” My book snapped shut via magic and Professor Burbage appeared beside me. I looked up at her, scanning over her tight face before shutting my eyes.

“Sorry Professor.” I sighed almost tiredly and she slumped.

“You’re usually so attentive in class, Miss Fidere. You’re really going to have to get back on your broom to get your NEWTS, you know?”

“I know, Professor.”

By now, the class had turned around to look at me. I pursed my lips and curled further into shyness.

“What exactly were you reading?” Her wand was instantly out, conjuring up the page that I had been so fervently skimming over. The book flopped open on the page of a potion that caused weight gain, Professor Burbage leaning in to get a closer look. Looking carefully at me, she leant away and closed the book again; taking very long strides back to the board to return to her teaching. “See me after class, Miss Fidere.” She muttered back at me, failing to turn around to meet my gaze.



After class as the kids filed out, I stood alone by the door. Although shoulder bumped like a rag doll, I still managed to stand tall as everyone passed. With my books in one arm, my other stayed lifeless at my side before someone brushed up against me. Looking up, I met the soft brown eyes of the past and I flinched away. His hand, warm and clammy, squeezed mine and I was pressed with a small square of foreign matter in my little palm.

Taking one last glancing look up at him, he smiled awkwardly down at me and soldiered on out of the door. Shaking off the feeling of dread that had sunk through my chest, I swung my gaze to Professor Burbage, who was staring rather intently at me.

“What exactly is going on with you?” As soon as everyone had left, Professor Burbage leant on her desk with her two flat palms. “That potion you were looking up?”

“I’ve just lost a lot of weight lately and I need to put it back on.” I mumbled back, a little ashamed of getting caught so easily. Her brows rose as the note burnt a hole in my hand, my lips twitching with humiliation while her eyes trailed over my thin body.

“And what if you had brewed it wrong, Mignon?” She tsk’d at me and I pursed my lips, trying not to think about it. “Sick people don’t eat, you know?”

I never really hated Professor Burbage. Sure, she had her moments, but most teachers did. She probably was my favourite teacher at Hogwarts, and she was the one that inspired me to get into Muggle related studies. A beautiful woman of such stature shouldn’t have died the way she did, but all the same, she was still a wonderful soul.

“Not eating is actually a muggle disease, you know?” She quirked at me, a tone of uneasy humour in her voice. “A lot of muggle girls starve themselves to look pretty for the muggle boys.” She paused, thinking over her own words. "I've noticed you don't sit beside Weasley anymore."

“It’s not like that.” I looked at her oddly, bouncing from foot to foot in angst over the note that still sat in my hands. “I've just been feeling a little ill lately. But I’m better now, and I’m trying to put on more weight. It’s not as bad as it looks, really.”

“You know the best way to put on weight is to eat better. Don’t over-do it and don’t start brewing potions you know nothing about, okay?” She blinked at me and my brows rose. “I’m going to keep an eye on you, Miss Fidere. You’re dismissed.”

Fleeing from the classroom, I backed up against the cobblestone wall and breathed deeply, ripping the note from between my sweaty fingers and unfolding it. My eyes widened and my breath caught in my throat and I regretted opening it in the first place. Because opening it certified that I would be going, no matter what, and if I didn’t end up opening that dreaded little note I’d always be wondering what he said.

Closing my eyes, I held it to my chest and gritted my teeth.

Min, it said, meet me in the owlery at 9 tonight.
George.