12 years. 135 cm. 45 kg.

Hazel and Heather had everything in common. The same likes and dislikes, loves and hates. They shared talents and failures, the same eye twitch and habit of drumming their fingers. One twin's bright giggle would set off the other's. Their noses scrunched the same, they dressed the same.

Hazel and Heather had everything in common. Except they didn't.

Heather was tall and fit, her baby weight already non existent at 12. She had dark green eyes that sparkled and curly red hair, beautifully pale skin dotted with freckles, and the beginnings of an hourglass figure. Perfect cupid's bow lips, the exact shade of pink they should be, and wonderfully perfect teeth.

Hazel thought that maybe she hated Heather. The cold metal of the scale bit into her feet as a nurse scribbled something down. She was shuffled off with her thoughts.

She knew what everyone said. 135 centimeters and 45 kilos. Short and fat. And dark. Thick, black eyebrows and thick, untamable hair. No freckles. The beginnings of acne. Plain, hazel eyes.

The doctor ushered her into the office, and Hazel found herself trudging over reluctantly. She tuned out all of it. She knew what he was saying - that she was too heavy, that she needed more exercise and less food. She knew that. She did.

Dr. Slughorn passed her a journal, forcing her to pay attention again.

"Here, Hazel. I want you to start recording how much you're eating, okay? Write down what you eat and how you're feeling. In a couple weeks we can sit down and see if there's any patterns and do something about it."

Hazel just nodded numbly before excusing herself. She barely remembered to grab the journal.

xxxxx

46.2 kg.

Hazel ate when she was bored. And when she was lonely. And when she was tired. And when she was sad. And angry. And happy.

She liked food. Especially chips and crisps and biscuits.

Was she going to admit this to Dr. Slughorn?

Absolutely not.

xxxxx

47 kg.

Dr. Slughorn put her on a diet. She was given mandatory gym time with Ms. Hooch.

Hazel wasn't sure if she wanted to beat Slughorn with a bat more than she wanted to beat herself.

Her food was monitored, and she was only allowed certain things. She had to jog.

Jogging.

She didn't even own running shoes!

Heather did, but Hazel's fat feet didn't fit in them.

Hazel's fat didn't fit in much, honestly. She'd have to ask Sev to take her shopping again. Which translated to asking Heather to ask Sev. He gave into her so much more. Hazel knew why, and she was sure she hated his refusal to admit to his favoritism more than the favoritism. Or maybe she just hated him, too.

xxxxx

13 years. 140 cm. 43 kg.

Summer was always the worst. The lull in boarders gave her fewer people to talk to, which lead to increasing amounts of boredom. Increasing amounts of boredom lead to her browsing through four months of food diaries.

That was how Heather found her - sitting cross legged on her bed, scribbling notes on correlations between her moods and eating habits, how much she weighed, how much she jogged, and how many calories she'd had.

"Geez, Hay, Slughorn still isn't letting up on your diet?" she asked, flinging herself down on the extra bed space.

Hazel wanted to reply, but she caught a glimpse of bone thin wrists and dainty arms. Heather was just so petite. Petite and pretty.

Hate rose up in her throat like bile, burning its way up so forcefully she almost choked.

"Yeah," she replied quietly. "He's hoping I'll have a growth spurt that'll even it all out. If not, I might have to do more than just jogging."

And Heather just smiled blindingly at her, patting her thigh. "You can do it, Hay, not a doubt! If Sluggyboy griefs you about any of it, you just let me know, yeah? I'll give him a piece of my mind."

Her eyebrows screwed up, but it didn't put a single dent in the positivity that poured off of her. Times like this, it was hard to hate her.

"Thanks," Hazel mumbled, getting right back to it. Heather left, eventually, going back to her own bed.

She was more grateful than she figured she should have been.

xxxxx

41 kg.

They had a new girl this year, finally filling in the empty space in their dorm.

Tyra was assigned to Ravenclaw Circle, though, just like Pansy had been. Heather and Hazel were space fillers, and Tyra didn't really get that.

"Well," Pansy started, "Each of the four circles is different. I mean, they all got the same stuff, and yeah they all house groups of people, but they're for different people. Me and you, see, we're problem kids of a certain sort."

Tyra nodded like she understood.

"I, for one, am an alcoholic in the making. Am I proud of that? Yes. Should I be? No. But that's a separate matter." Pansy waved her hand nonchalantly, like she hadn't just admitted to being a mini alcoholic. "You more than likely have a substance abuse problem, right?"

At least Tyra had the decency to look guilty. Hazel scoffed and looked away.

"And that would be because Ravenclaw houses us substance abusing degenerates. Everything and anything. We have alcoholics and pill poppers, stoners, and god knows what else. You can also find anything here. Uppers, downers, booze of every kind, MJ of any kind. The harder stuff is usually in the upper year houses, but it drifts down here sometimes." Hazel knew Pansy's face had screwed up a little. "Bad stuff, that."

Tyra was silent for a bit, presumably nodding, before asking her own questions. "What about the other three circles?"

The three girls collectively groaned.

"The Hufflepuffs are all emotionally damaged and/or mentally unstable," Pansy told her. "Mostly just crazies in general."

More like they get attention you want, you self-destructive psycho.

Heather's voice drifted over from the room's far side. "The slytherins are good kids, for the most part. That or impossible to place."

"They just haven't been caught, Heather," Hazel piped up. "Basically confirmed fact, that. But better than the Gryffindors. Adrenaline junkies and reckless prats."

A pillow caught her in the side.

"Hey!" Pansy shouted, lobbing a second pillow. "Blaise resembles that fact!"

The three girls dissolved into giggles, leaving a confused Tyra to just stand there.

xxxxx

"You don't look much like Heather. Are you guys really twins?"

Hazel's head snapped around.

Maysie, Tyra's younger sister.

Hazel scoffed. "You don't look much like your sister, either, kid."

The younger girl shrugged. "Yeah, but we're not twins."

The effort it took not to roll her eyes into the back of her head was astounding, truly.

"Not all twins are identical. Simple fact, that."

"Yeah, but there's the Weasley twins. They're identical, right? And Rosalynn and Elaine, they're identical. Someone told me that they switch places sometimes and…"

Hazel tuned her out, more focused on her stomach's forceful pangs. She'd eat later, she told herself.

xxxxx

Hazel was a liar. She didn't deny that. Well, she'd deny it to Slughorn, but that was it. Honest.

Her food diary sat on the desk between her and the doctor, neatly filled out and feasible.

Slughorn nodded, accepting it as the truth it wasn't.

"We'll check your weight next time."

xxxxx

36 kg.

The school year ended the same way it always did - with tests and heat and the torture of shorts.

Hazel almost did a double take in the mirror. Her shorts weren't obnoxiously snug! There was actual wiggle room there!

Her stomach grumbled, but she pushed it aside.

I'm almost pretty!