DISCLAIMER: Don't own Harry Potter, any characters/ places/ etc. associated with him or the lyrics to any songs used in this story. (I tried to stop using songs, but I'm so influenced by music that it was useless…) The plot is mine, capiche?

A/N: This is a repost of the story that originally was posted on this siteand was removed without reason. Have gotten over my period of bitterness, so, here's the repost with changes (improvements, I hope!) and a lot of blood, sweat and tears. As always, any feedback is welcome.

Perfection

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 flawedShe 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.