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Old 09-01-2014, 06:17 AM   #26
Fat Molly
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He stuffed his cock inside her, and she felt her body move underneath her belly - or was it her belly that moved above her body? Either way, something moved, and her belly sloshed vigorously up and down as he thrust into her, over and over.

She felt the feeling of his nice fat package, and relished it, as well as the feeling of his nice fat pubic area hitting up against her clit. Oh, it was a magical feeling. It was better than she imagined, and she felt fuller than she ever could have anticipated.

"You're so juicy," she purred as he moved, his efforts slow and accompanied by his heavy breathing.

"I'm unexercised, is what I am," he said, panting. "And too stuffed to do a properly good job."

"Shut up," she whimpered, "you're blowing my mind."

"Oof," he responded, and readjusted his belly so that it was resting on top of hers instead of jamming against the underside of hers. "That's a bit better."

She squirmed with delight as his landings got better and better contact. "You're so nice and plump," she whimpered, "I love it. I really don't think I could go back to a thin man. Not possible."

Snape's face - she was watching it, despite the fact that she was closing her eyes with almost every delicious thrust he made into her - was impassive.

"Okay," he said, as she started to feel his sweat drip onto her body, "you, turn over. On your knees." He withdrew from her, and kept stroking. His cock was hard and soaking wet, from the curls at the base of the pillar to the tip of his phallus, which was throbbing visibly.

Hermione wasted no time getting into position, and she felt like an enormous fat cow, on her hands and knees, her belly hanging down. At least it was unrestrictive, and she was able to take deeper breaths than she was able to in the other position.

"I'm going to enter you from behind," he said, and she felt the bed jostle under them as he moved himself into a different position. She felt his cock slip into position, and his belly rest heavily on top of her growing fat arse, and she felt full and wet.

"I like this," she said with a whimper, as he thrust into her, or at least tried to. Unfortunately, the position did not work altogether well for him, and he wasn't able to really stuff himself inside her.

"All right, I give up," he said with a huff, "I'm too fat to fuck you from behind."

"Really?" she asked, and then added, "That's pretty hot."

"I'll show you pretty hot," he said with a growl, and he wrestled her down onto the bed, and sat his wide arse on her pubic area, stroking himself and looking off into the distance.

The applied pressure was actually incredibly sexy, and Hermione nearly screamed with the feelings that populated her cervix.

"Okay," he said, moving too soon, "let's try something else. Tell me if you don't like something and we'll stop."

"Understood," she said with a whimper.

With that, he waved his hand, and Hermione found herself floating above the bed.

Snape got off the bed and stood next to it, and adjusted Hermione in the air until she was exactly perpendicular to his cock. Then he flipped her over in the air so her tummy was hanging down.

"There we go," he murmured as he slid inside her again from behind, this time unobstructed. "Just needed a different position."

"You're too fat to fuck me from behind without using magic," Hermione whimpered, "that's incredibly hot."

"Just a position thing," he said testily, and his hips started moving in a way that made her almost forget how to say words.

"Oh fuck," she breathed, grabbing onto the nearest pillow until her knuckles were white. "I can't even. This is so great."

He was on a fast-track to finishing up, so she wasn't surprised when he came inside her and pulled out, panting and dripping wet.

"That was amazing," she breathed as he gently let her down from the position.

He nodded, and wiped his face, then lay his body over hers, his cock nesting near the top of her arsecrack, his chubby breasts creating warm wet spots on her back, and his belly squeezing against her with the heaviness of a boulder but the softness of a blanket.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her neck, and nestled his face in her hair.

"Thanks," she whispered, "but on my too-full tummy, I can't be in this position."

"Oh," he whispered back, and rolled off swiftly. "Sorry about that. I like laying on my full belly sometimes."

"I just don't have enough of a belly to do that very comfortably yet," she replied, and she turned over so that her distended stomach faced the ceiling again. "But gods. You fill me up so well."

"So well that you won't fuck a thin man again?" he replied with a smirk.

Hermione blushed deep red. "Well, don't hold me to my words, particularly with recent developments moving along, but I want you to know that, without a doubt, you're the most satisfying fuck I've ever had."

"So glad to hear it," he said, sounding somewhat amused, and he moved his entire body close to her and laid a hand on her belly. "It was a mistake to have that potion, you know," he said, rubbing along the stretch marks on her belly. "You will scarcely be able to keep up with your hunger now."

She laughed. "You seem to have been able to."

"Yes," he said, rubbing his own belly with his other hand, "but I'm a full-time researcher. I never have to perform for students - I can eat whenever I want, provided it's not interrupting some crucial part of the brewing process. And as you know," he said with a smirk, "a good part of brewing is waiting. I admit I rarely let a potion simmer without stuffing something in my fat face, these days."

Hermione nodded. "I'll take that under consideration," she said. "What do you recommend I do to help with the situation?"

"Keep a stock in your drawer," he said, "you'll feel famished, but at least you can withdraw to get something in your tum when you can't bear it anymore."

He added, "At least that's what I'd do. Slughorn, as you know, rarely deigned to be so professional. Particularly in my days as a student, he would sit there eating an entire bulk-sized bag of chocolate frogs during class, and then get up just as excited as the rest of class about lunchtime."

Hermione laughed. "Speaking of food, where did those crisps go? I thought you brought in a bag."

"So I did," he replied amicably. He sat up, and grabbed them from where they were on the nightstand. "I find them somewhat laborious to eat, and they’re potatoes (which I despise), but I suppose you like them if you keep them in your kitchen."

"That I do," she said with a smile.

She opened them, and Snape passed a hand over the bag after she'd taken a handful - and suddenly they were gone.

"Where'd they go?" she asked, and she saw that he was laying a hand on his belly, rubbing it where it was slightly more distended.

"In my belly," he said with a smirk. "Simple thing to put them there. Basic transport spell. And moreover, the bigger your stomach, the easier it is to target it."

"Let me try," she said, and he raised a hand to stop her.

"Feel around for the boundaries of your organs, first," he said. "I'm well-practiced in it, but you don't want to accidentally put a bunch of crisps in your liver."

"All right," she conceded, and she let her fingers feel around her abdomen. She wasn't able to make much sense of it, but Snape grabbed her fingers and soon they were tracing the borders of her stomach, as well as she could feel it through the nice layer of fat that she'd been accumulating.

"Now," he said, "there it is. You want to try and feel it regularly, just in case it moves. Now, go ahead and try."

Hermione waved her wand over the chips, and suddenly felt the little bit of room in her tummy get immediately full.

"They just go in there whole," he said with a smirk, "so you want to wait a bit before your next attempt, so as to let them dissolve into mush."

"I prefer eating them directly, I think," she said with a grimace. "I don't like to have to wait."

He grinned. "Suit yourself, you fatty."

She grinned in response, and she stuffed her face with a full handful of crisps. "They're so good," she whimpered. "Feed me?"

"With pleasure," he responded. "I actually can't stand them, but I'll happily feed them to you."

"More for me," she murmured, leaning back.

He grabbed another handful and stuffed it in her mouth, but then his mouth wandered down to lick and suck at her clit as she chewed.

"Actually," she said, as he began to move his head, "I'll feed my own fucking face. You keep on doing what you're doing."

"Yes, my dear," he said with a crooked smile, and he continued to nip, lick, suck, taste, and otherwise enthrall her lower regions.

"Only thing is," he said after she felt her body come at least three times, "I wish eating you out had a caloric component to it. It certainly tastes sweet enough that it should. I'm afraid I expend more than I gain, however."

"Easily remedied," Hermione said after swallowing. "Did you eat all of the ice cream?"

She was interrupted by the sound of something in the closet that sounded like something falling. She looked at Snape, and he looked just as puzzled as she did.

"Yes," he said, "at least I believe so." He got up and opened the closet door.

Gingerly, he pushed back Hermione's clothes in either direction, but didn't reveal anything other than several items of clothing that had fallen on the floor from their hangars.

"Is this normal?" he asked, a sharpness in his eyes as he scanned the rest of the room.

"Oh, yeah," Hermione admitted. "I'm not the best steward of my clothing."

"That's fine," Snape said, then shook his head, picked up his wand, and cast a few new wards. "I'll see if there's anything else like ice cream in your ice box," he said, and went to the other room.

He came back with a raised eyebrow and a whole second bowl of ice cream.

"You have a magic icebox?" he asked, "because this wasn't there before."

Hermione sat up and shook her head. "Not that I know."

"Hmm," Snape said, and looked around the room again.

They sat in silence for several minutes, but finally it was clear that nothing was going to come of it, so Snape shrugged.

"Tell me what you intend to do with this," he said with a salacious smile.

"I'll show you," she said, and she felt the area around her cervix, and then passed her hand over the bowl of ice cream. Some of it disappeared.

"Oh shit," he said, and Hermione spread her legs.

His entire face was alight. "That's brilliant."

"Eat up, Severus," she said, "it's dripping already."

He didn't need to be told twice, and he dropped himself to lick and suck with the frenzy of a shark eating a fat, fat seal.

The cold ice cream was strangely delicious to feel in her vagina, and she'd never felt so perfectly full there.

"I'm going to have to make this a regular thing," she said with a whimper. "Serving ice cream out of my vag."

"No complaints here," he murmured, looking up at her, licking his lips. His entire face was slick with ice cream and vaginal juices. He looked utterly blissful. "This is really fucking great."

"Flavored by your own cum, I suppose," Hermione mused.

This was not something he'd considered, and he paused a moment, until saying, "Whatever. As close to autofellatio as I'll get these days."

They both found themselves laughing at that, until he noticed a bit of melting ice cream getting away, and he went back to his ardent licking.

........
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Old 09-02-2014, 08:43 PM   #27
Fat Molly
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After they grew tired of their sexual play, they fell into a dreamy napping state, where Hermione flitted in and out of sleep, and Snape lay there reading a book he had accio'ed from his chambers, one hand propping up his chin, the other resting against Hermione's tummy and holding his book. He was wearing thick-framed reading glasses, which made him look incredibly sharp, even nude as he was.

"I didn't know you wore glasses," she whispered groggily. "You should wear those more often."

He smiled disbelievingly and pecked her lingeringly on the lips. "What, is this something else you're secretly attracted to?"

"Not necessarily," she purred as his finger lingered under her chin. "Just looks good on you, that's all."

He grunted in reply, not otherwise responding, and turned from laying on his side to laying facing the ceiling, but scooted his voluptuous butt closer to her to make up the difference in distance.

It was a warm and comfortable place to be. Rain started to fall against the glass panes of the windows, accompanied by thunder and lightning.

Hermione shivered, as it got somewhat colder in the castle, and the castle was making its usual cracking noises as it adjusted to the change of air pressure that accompanied the storm. In response, Snape pulled the covers closer over her and moved closer to her, warming her with his nice fat body. The softness of his belly, heavy arms, and torso was inviting, and Hermione squeezed against him pleasurably.

She knew he would want to eventually leave, and though he was engrossed in his book, eventually Hermione's belly growled.

"You hungry?" he asked, and she nodded. "Gods." He sat up and drew the covers back from his legs, and as Hermione's stomach gurgled again, she saw his cock twitch despite itself.

He eased himself up and went into the other room, then came back with a loaf of bread, yogurt, hazelnut spread, and jam. He was grinning wolfishly, and his cock was nearly erect.

“Seeing you so full and fat turns me on so much,” he said. He crawled onto the bed, and Hermione, with her legs under the covers, spread her legs so he could get as close to her as possible to feed her. He clambered close to her and let his enormous arse seat itself right there. “Open wide, my sweetheart,” he said with delight, and spooned a nice heaping spoonful of yogurt and jam into her mouth. She swallowed and opened her mouth for more, to which he eagerly responded by giving her another spoonful, and another.

“Let me know when you’re no longer hungry,” he said with a glint in his eye, and Hermione knew he was challenging her.

She finished off the yogurt with no sign of stopping, and Snape grabbed the loaf of bread and slathered jam and nutella spread on it.

"Here you are, my sweet," he said, easing a slice into her waiting mouth. "That's a good girl."

She chewed and swallowed, then gestured for more.

Several slices slipped down her throat, and finally she was replete, and she sat back on the bed.

"So," she said, letting her tongue wander around her lips, tidying up, "I'm going to have to kick you out. I've got some work to do."

"Understood," he said, and he leaned in and kissed her fiercely. He withdrew from her at the precise second she was about to renege on her request and demand he stay and kiss her more. He could tell he had just perfectly underplayed his hand, and he gave her a solemn second kiss for good measure.

"I'll be busy for the next few hours, I think," he said, casting a wandless wave at his clothes, which of their own accord flew onto him. "But if you'd like company later this evening, I might be of a mood."

Hermione smiled and sat back, watching him dress. He still had that grace of a martial artist, even as fat as he'd gotten, and the way he moved his hands even in these simple acts of dressing just delighted her.

"Later," she murmured, as he went over to the window to look out of it.

"Later," he said, and opened the window.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he got on the stool next to the window. He shrugged, and stepped out the window into the wet day.

She gasped, and leaped out of bed, not knowing what to expect, but he suddenly reappeared, thoroughly soaked from head to toe, with a rose in his hand.

It was a very pretty rose, but it didn't quite make up for the moment of panic that preceded it.

"You rascal," she said, and swatted at him. "How'd you do that?"

He didn't say anything, and stepped back into the room. "Sometime I'll teach you," he said as his only response, drying himself off with a spell from his wand.

Then, as she looked at him aghast, he scooped her back into his arms and kissed her fiercely one last time, then strode out of the room, shaking his long wet hair.

Hermione ran to the window, looked down, and saw that there was no possible way he could have done that if he hadn't...

"You can *fly!*" she cried, and raced after him. "You know how to fly?"

"Maybe," he said, teasing, "well, it's more like controlled falling for me, these days. But," he went on, with a sniff of contempt, "you said yourself, you have work to do."

"Oh, fine," she said, with an immense pout. "I'll stay up late and time-turn until I get everything done."

"Why do that," he mused, "when you can just time-turn now, and get your work done in half the time with this incentive?"

"Fine!" she responded, throwing her hands in the air and rushing to her desk. "You could have chosen a better day for it, is all."

"I like this weather," he said, standing at the window. "It's dreary, but calming. So English."

He turned around and saw, to his evident surprise, that she was holding a stack of completely graded papers.

"I demand a lesson," she said with a fierce tone. "Now."

"That was quick, Granger," Snape said with a look of approval. "Now, come here."

She grabbed an umbrella from where it lay discarded under the coat-rack, and only once she was thus armed did she allow him to grab her in a tight embrace.

He picked her up slightly, testing her weight, and then he nodded with satisfaction.

"Hold onto me," he whispered into her ear, and he escorted them both onto the stool at the window, then he stepped onto the sill.

The gardens of Hogwarts lay below them. Hermione was glad she'd never had much in the way of vertigo, since this was incredibly high up off of the ground.

Her view was a truly spectacular one, especially when she was reminded of its beauty with the windows being open.

"Going now," he said with a rumbling voice, and he stepped off the ledge, holding her close against his soft belly.

The rain wasn't too heavy right then, just a fine mist of wetness, and they sank slowly, like a balloon losing air.

"This is beautiful," she said, "How did you learn to do this? This is... quite the Mary-Poppins feat."

"Never heard of her," he said with a shrug, "it's a trick that's not widely known, I'll grant you."

They landed on a stray rooftop to let their ears adjust to the change in air pressure.

"It's like swimming," Hermione observed, "except everything is water."

"I've heard it described that way before," Snape mused in response, though there was an edge of steel in his voice. Regrets were there, it sounded like.

Before she could ask what memories lay underneath that emotion, Snape's lips were on hers, and she was happy to feel them. The cold was numbing and was beginning to chill her fingers and nose, but Snape's warm folds had room for all of these pieces of her anatomy, somewhere. She let her fingers wend their way into his shirt, and they settled on his nice broad tummy, which seemed to radiate heat.

"Mmm," he said, shivering, but drawing her closer. "I like the fact that I can keep you warm."

Hermione kissed him in response, letting her nose warm itself in his soft neck fat.

As they stood there, admiring the view, she realized that she felt incredibly self-possessed in her relationship with him. There was nothing immature about their relationship. There were no guessing games. There were no petty squabbles. They had their imperfections, and they made them known to each other in good faith, sensitivity, and compassion. Well, mostly, at least.

"You know what," she said, holding him closer, "this is really good."

"Yes," he said, staring over her at the gloomy horizon, "I like to come up here sometimes. It's someplace that, despite the thousands of souls that Hogwarts has housed over the years, is relatively untouched by others. Very few people have shared this view with me."

Hermione nodded, taking in what he said.

"Who else?" she asked, since it seemed to be an invitation to ask.

He looked steadily elsewhere than her rosy face. "Dumbledore. Lucius. Lily."

Her hand wandered up and pointed his chin towards her, so she was looking into his eyes. "A short list," she said with a smile, and kissed him tenderly. "Thanks for showing me."

"It's less significant than you might think," he said with a slight scowl. "These are merely the few people I've spent an extended amount of time getting to know, with the exception of the Dark Lord."

"I see," Hermione said, and kissed him on the cheek anyway. She could read into it even if he disavowed the importance of the gesture. "So where'd you learn this trick, anyway? Some old book?"

He shook his head. "This isn't something you can learn from a book," he said, his breathing slowing. He eased himself down on the slick wood shingles of the roof and settled into a comfortable, relatively safe position. "It's a fundamentally practical skill."

Hermione was holding onto whatever she could for dear life, and was clearly not very comfortable, so he stood again, and grabbed her around the waist, and then they stepped off the rooftop, floating down to the ground.

They landed behind some ancient shrubbery, and Hermione saw that hiding behind it was a very old Muggle backyard playset. Some of the superficial accents were rusted, but the integrity of the structure was intact.

"What's this?" she asked, approaching it and touching it. "I think my parents got one of these for me when I was a little one."

Snape appeared a different kind of pleased than was usual for him. There was a kind of plain satisfaction, hidden behind a veil of stoicism.

"It's a bit older than that," he said, "I'm glad the anti-tarnishing spells have held up so long." He began to cast a few spells, and the swingset started to stand up a little straighter and cleaner.

He took a rueful look at the seat of the swing, but settled for leaning against one of the poles. "So, Hermione," he said, and gestured towards the swing.

Hermione laughed, looked at the tiny sliver of cracking plastic, and looked back at him.

"It'll hold you," he said, "but not me."

She nodded, and sat herself gingerly on the seat of the swing.

It was surprisingly resilient and strong, and her arse, while slightly too big for the child's toy, did manage to land in a comfortable way. Hermione then backed up and stood, contemplating letting go.

"Yes," he said, nodding, "do it."

"Is this supposed to teach me how to fly?" she asked, frowning.

He surprised her by nodding, a brooding entering his eyes.

She shrugged, and settled her arse more firmly into the seat, and lifted her legs.

It wasn't precisely like flying, but it was pretty close to it. And Hermione had just had a recent experience flying, so it wasn't just a paltry metaphor. There was the rushing of wind, the rush of lateral movement, and the feeling of near-weightlessness.

She relished it, and she began to swing higher.

"More," Snape said, though she could hardly hear him over the rush of wind in her ears. "Higher."

She nodded slightly, but felt her entire body wiggle. All of her motions were magnified. It took her a moment to rebalance.

"Now," he called, as she swung higher than before, "let go."

"Are you shitting me?" she called back, and refused to let go of the sturdy chains of the swing.

"Just do it," he replied as she approached the ground again, "Go."

She swung back and forth another time, but finally got the gumption to do it. "All right," she said with a whimper, even though he couldn't hear her, and she let go of the chains. She was propelled forward, and fell, fell, fell.

And she landed softly at Snape's feet.

She wondered initially if she'd been successful, since she hadn't broken her back, but he shook his head.

"Again," he said, and pointed to the swing.

"Seriously?" she said, "what am I supposed to do?"

"Just believe," he said simply.

"Believe what?" she demanded, cross. The rain was starting to come back, and she was feeling damp and icky.

"That you can," was all he said, and he stood back to watch her silently, his arms folded over his chest.

Of course this wasn’t helpful, so Hermione frowned, but tried again anyway.

And again, she flew off, and again, and again. But she didn’t manage to actually *fly.*

Snape shook his head disapprovingly. “This will not do,” he said finally, casting a wordless drying spell on her, and he looked at her with some amount of disappointment in his eyes.

He seemed to finally make a decision, and he gestured for her to get off.

She was entirely disappointed in herself as well. Why wasn’t she getting it? She got up and, sulkingly, stood to the side, waiting to be admonished.

But Snape didn’t admonish her - instead he surprised her by squeezing himself into the tiny seat and, with a deep breath, he managed to sit on it, though he seemed afraid to put his whole weight on it.

He cast a couple of strengthening and supportive spells on the seat now that he was on it, and then he closed his eyes and said, sternly, “It looks like I’m going to have to *show* you. But know that I’m only doing this *once,* Granger, so watch closely.”

He then stood back, and lifted his legs, and with a few effortful pumps, he was high in the air, and he said loudly, “Watch now,” and he let himself fly off the swing.

It was like watching a mermaid catapult from the bottom of the ocean higher into the clear blue water. Hermione had never watched anything like it. Snape’s legs wiggled a bit as he started off, but ultimately once he got in the swing of it, he glided through the air with relative effortlessness.

Then, with a dive, he landed back at her feet, though with a somewhat shaky landing.

“Now you,” he said, and pushed her towards the swing.

“But what did you *do?*” she exclaimed.

“You said it yourself,” he responded crisply, “it’s like swimming. Do the breast-stroke or something if that makes it any easier, once you’ve got momentum.”

“Thanks, that helps a lot,” she responded sarcastically, as she pumped her legs and elevated her height.

Once she was high enough, she closed her eyes and let go, and, for lack of anything else, started doing the breast-stroke.

“Granger!” she heard Snape’s voice far away. “Granger!”

She opened her eyes and discovered, to her great perplexity, that Snape was far below on the ground, and was running after her, his face red with the exertion, and his belly bouncing and rippling like a great deflated rubber ball with every step.

Soon enough he had enough momentum to follow her, and he leaped up, and was in the air with her.

Good timing, too, since Hermione was beginning to falter.

“Erm, how did I do this?” she whinged, and felt herself plummeting as doubt began to affect her.

“You can do it,” he called to her, and grabbed her hand, stopping her from falling as fast. “You’re doing very well. Just don’t let yourself convince yourself it’s not possible.”

“I can,” she replied with a huffing breath, “I can.” She breathed deeply, and felt herself rise again. “It’s so weird.”

“Congratulations, Miss Granger,” he said, wrapping her into his arms as he saw she was beginning to slip again, “you are officially more accomplished than nearly every other wizard on the face of the earth.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, “it was… really so simple.”

“Deceptively so,” he said, and kissed her tenderly. “Oh yes,” he said, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, “I knew you could do it.”

“It’s easier than apparating,” she said, “and even less unsettling.”

She broke away from his arms, and he grinned at her as she began to get more of a foothold of her new skill, testing her strength and agility with different strokes and methods.

“It really is like swimming,” she murmured, “you sink if you don’t tread.”

“That’s correct,” he said, “but unlike water, you have a very swift maneuverability.”

“It’s great,” Hermione said, and flipped herself in a loop, though regretted it as she felt her stomach lurch.

“Careful,” he said, and floated closer to her, and extended his hand. “Don’t want to be sick on some unsuspecting first-year.”

She looked down and realized that they had somehow gotten over near a more populated area of the garden. It being such a dreary day, almost no one was out, but a few students were sitting around on the grounds; one group had a small bonfire keeping them warm.

“Can’t they see us?” she asked, and looked at him inquiringly.

He shook his head. “Chameleon spell. They’ll think we’re bits of clouds, if they see us at all.”

“Another ingenious discovery of yours?” Hermione asked, since she decided it was clear that Snape must have uncovered this practical skill of flying on his own.

He shook his head. “That one’s my own creation,” he said. “Flying, however,” he went on, “is much, much older, and no, I did not rediscover it.”

Hermione knew there was much more of a story there, but Snape didn’t appear to be in the mood for questions. He seemed thoroughly tired, even if he probably wouldn’t admit it to her, so Hermione decided she would begin to float back in the direction of her bedroom.

“Come on,” she said, as he looked after her, “I’m quite knackered.”

“All right,” he said, and followed her wearily.

Something about their time out there had made him quiet, subdued, and Hermione didn’t know what it was. Once they were back in her room - made chilly by the windows being left open, but that was soon remedied by closing them and stoking the fire - she wrapped him in warm blankets and thrust a warm cuppa in his hands, along with biscuits when he looked at her with the hungry disbelief of a cat given only a saucer of milk, with no fish. (She knew that look well on Crookshanks.)

“I haven’t flown that long in a while,” he confessed once he had a bit in his stomach. “I forgot how ...sad… it makes me.”

Hermione curled around him. “It’s all right,” she said, “do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his wet hair. “Not particularly.”

“That’s fine,” she said, and kissed him gently on the lips. His lips weren’t precisely responsive, but he reciprocated just enough to show he was grateful, but not enough to demonstrate an interest in snogging.

“So,” she asked, as she snuggled into his warm torso, “can I ask where that swing came from?”

“You can ask,” he said, slowly, “but I think for the moment, I’m going to keep the details confidential. I’m… I’m not sure that I’m ready to reveal this story to you.”

“I see,” she said, and fondly stroked his cheek. “I can respect that.”

“You’d better,” he said grouchily, “and not ask me every day for the next month until I give in.”

She laughed and pulled herself under the covers. “I’m ready for sleep,” she began to say, but her stomach rumbled. “Dammit.”

She sat up in bed, and accio’ed food from the kitchen. She was surprised to see a nice large bowl of ice cream come from the freezer.

“It looks like someone’s taking care of you,” said Snape as he looked with the same surprise she had. “That definitely was not in the ice box before.”

“No,” Hermione agreed, “it was not.” She didn’t tell him that, indeed, she’d already finished an additional bowl of ice cream that day when she was working on grading papers.

But she wasn’t about to look a gift-horse in the mouth, so she set about eating every bite of that delicious bowl, with only a few bites finding their way into Snape’s mouth.

He was, it seemed, properly knackered, and was snoring before she’d even finished her dessert.

Her stomach stopped its rumbling, fortunately, once she had swallowed every last bite of the ice cream, but Hermione realized that this insatiable hunger was not going to go away anytime soon.

So she cuddled up against Snape, feeling the warmth of her great expanded belly nestle into the pit of his broad dimpled back, and she fell asleep, her arm draped over him fondly.
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Old 09-17-2014, 10:19 AM   #28
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I hope you'll keep going with this! It's been so fun so far. =)
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Old 10-03-2014, 05:42 AM   #29
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Chapter 21

Chapter Text

He stuffed his cock inside her, and she felt her body move underneath her belly - or was it her belly that moved above her body? Either way, something moved, and her belly sloshed vigorously up and down as he thrust into her, over and over.



She felt the feeling of his nice fat package, and relished it, as well as the feeling of his nice fat pubic area hitting up against her clit. Oh, it was a magical feeling. It was better than she imagined, and she felt fuller than she ever could have anticipated.



"You're so juicy," she purred as he moved, his efforts slow and accompanied by his heavy breathing.



"I'm unexercised, is what I am," he said, panting. "And too stuffed to do a properly good job."



"Shut up," she whimpered, "you're blowing my mind."



"Oof," he responded, and readjusted his belly so that it was resting on top of hers instead of jamming against the underside of hers. "That's a bit better."



She squirmed with delight as his landings got better and better contact. "You're so nice and plump," she whimpered, "I love it. I really don't think I could go back to a thin man. Not possible."



Snape's face - she was watching it, despite the fact that she was closing her eyes with almost every delicious thrust he made into her - was impassive.



"Okay," he said, as she started to feel his sweat drip onto her body, "you, turn over. On your knees." He withdrew from her, and kept stroking. His cock was hard and soaking wet, from the curls at the base of the pillar to the tip of his phallus, which was throbbing visibly.



Hermione wasted no time getting into position, and she felt like an enormous fat cow, on her hands and knees, her belly hanging down. At least it was unrestrictive, and she was able to take deeper breaths than she was able to in the other position.



"I'm going to enter you from behind," he said, and she felt the bed jostle under them as he moved himself into a different position. She felt his cock slip into position, and his belly rest heavily on top of her growing fat arse, and she felt full and wet.



"I like this," she said with a whimper, as he thrust into her, or at least tried to. Unfortunately, the position did not work altogether well for him, and he wasn't able to really stuff himself inside her.



"All right, I give up," he said with a huff, "I'm too fat to fuck you from behind."



"Really?" she asked, and then added, "That's pretty hot."



"I'll show you pretty hot," he said with a growl, and he wrestled her down onto the bed, and sat his wide arse on her pubic area, stroking himself and looking off into the distance.



The applied pressure was actually incredibly sexy, and Hermione nearly screamed with the feelings that populated her cervix.



"Okay," he said, moving too soon, "let's try something else. Tell me if you don't like something and we'll stop."



"Understood," she said with a whimper.



With that, he waved his hand, and Hermione found herself floating above the bed.



Snape got off the bed and stood next to it, and adjusted Hermione in the air until she was exactly perpendicular to his cock. Then he flipped her over in the air so her tummy was hanging down.



"There we go," he murmured as he slid inside her again from behind, this time unobstructed. "Just needed a different position."



"You're too fat to fuck me from behind without using magic," Hermione whimpered, "that's incredibly hot."



"Just a position thing," he said testily, and his hips started moving in a way that made her almost forget how to say words.



"Oh fuck," she breathed, grabbing onto the nearest pillow until her knuckles were white. "I can't even. This is so great."



He was on a fast-track to finishing up, so she wasn't surprised when he came inside her and pulled out, panting and dripping wet.



"That was amazing," she breathed as he gently let her down from the position.



He nodded, and wiped his face, then lay his body over hers, his cock nesting near the top of her arsecrack, his chubby breasts creating warm wet spots on her back, and his belly squeezing against her with the heaviness of a boulder but the softness of a blanket.



"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her neck, and nestled his face in her hair.



"Thanks," she whispered, "but on my too-full tummy, I can't be in this position."



"Oh," he whispered back, and rolled off swiftly. "Sorry about that. I like laying on my full belly sometimes."



"I just don't have enough of a belly to do that very comfortably yet," she replied, and she turned over so that her distended stomach faced the ceiling again. "But gods. You fill me up so well."



"So well that you won't fuck a thin man again?" he replied with a smirk.



Hermione blushed deep red. "Well, don't hold me to my words, particularly with recent developments moving along, but I want you to know that, without a doubt, you're the most satisfying fuck I've ever had."



"So glad to hear it," he said, sounding somewhat amused, and he moved his entire body close to her and laid a hand on her belly. "It was a mistake to have that potion, you know," he said, rubbing along the stretch marks on her belly. "You will scarcely be able to keep up with your hunger now."



She laughed. "You seem to have been able to."



"Yes," he said, rubbing his own belly with his other hand, "but I'm a full-time researcher. I never have to perform for students - I can eat whenever I want, provided it's not interrupting some crucial part of the brewing process. And as you know," he said with a smirk, "a good part of brewing is waiting. I admit I rarely let a potion simmer without stuffing something in my fat face, these days."



Hermione nodded. "I'll take that under consideration," she said. "What do you recommend I do to help with the situation?"



"Keep a stock in your drawer," he said, "you'll feel famished, but at least you can withdraw to get something in your tum when you can't bear it anymore."



He added, "At least that's what I'd do. Slughorn, as you know, rarely deigned to be so professional. Particularly in my days as a student, he would sit there eating an entire bulk-sized bag of chocolate frogs during class, and then get up just as excited as the rest of class about lunchtime."



Hermione laughed. "Speaking of food, where did those crisps go? I thought you brought in a bag."



"So I did," he replied amicably. He sat up, and grabbed them from where they were on the nightstand. "I find them somewhat laborious to eat, and they’re potatoes (which I despise), but I suppose you like them if you keep them in your kitchen."



"That I do," she said with a smile.



She opened them, and Snape passed a hand over the bag after she'd taken a handful - and suddenly they were gone.



"Where'd they go?" she asked, and she saw that he was laying a hand on his belly, rubbing it where it was slightly more distended.



"In my belly," he said with a smirk. "Simple thing to put them there. Basic transport spell. And moreover, the bigger your stomach, the easier it is to target it."



"Let me try," she said, and he raised a hand to stop her.



"Feel around for the boundaries of your organs, first," he said. "I'm well-practiced in it, but you don't want to accidentally put a bunch of crisps in your liver."



"All right," she conceded, and she let her fingers feel around her abdomen. She wasn't able to make much sense of it, but Snape grabbed her fingers and soon they were tracing the borders of her stomach, as well as she could feel it through the nice layer of fat that she'd been accumulating.



"Now," he said, "there it is. You want to try and feel it regularly, just in case it moves. Now, go ahead and try."



Hermione waved her wand over the chips, and suddenly felt the little bit of room in her tummy get immediately full.



"They just go in there whole," he said with a smirk, "so you want to wait a bit before your next attempt, so as to let them dissolve into mush."



"I prefer eating them directly, I think," she said with a grimace. "I don't like to have to wait."



He grinned. "Suit yourself, you fatty."



She grinned in response, and she stuffed her face with a full handful of crisps. "They're so good," she whimpered. "Feed me?"



"With pleasure," he responded. "I actually can't stand them, but I'll happily feed them to you."



"More for me," she murmured, leaning back.



He grabbed another handful and stuffed it in her mouth, but then his mouth wandered down to lick and suck at her clit as she chewed.



"Actually," she said, as he began to move his head, "I'll feed my own fucking face. You keep on doing what you're doing."



"Yes, my dear," he said with a crooked smile, and he continued to nip, lick, suck, taste, and otherwise enthrall her lower regions.



"Only thing is," he said after she felt her body come at least three times, "I wish eating you out had a caloric component to it. It certainly tastes sweet enough that it should. I'm afraid I expend more than I gain, however."



"Easily remedied," Hermione said after swallowing. "Did you eat all of the ice cream?"



She was interrupted by the sound of something in the closet that sounded like something falling. She looked at Snape, and he looked just as puzzled as she did.



"Yes," he said, "at least I believe so." He got up and opened the closet door.



Gingerly, he pushed back Hermione's clothes in either direction, but didn't reveal anything other than several items of clothing that had fallen on the floor from their hangars.



"Is this normal?" he asked, a sharpness in his eyes as he scanned the rest of the room.



"Oh, yeah," Hermione admitted. "I'm not the best steward of my clothing."



"That's fine," Snape said, then shook his head, picked up his wand, and cast a few new wards. "I'll see if there's anything else like ice cream in your ice box," he said, and went to the other room.



He came back with a raised eyebrow and a whole second bowl of ice cream.



"You have a magic icebox?" he asked, "because this wasn't there before."



Hermione sat up and shook her head. "Not that I know."



"Hmm," Snape said, and looked around the room again.



They sat in silence for several minutes, but finally it was clear that nothing was going to come of it, so Snape shrugged.



"Tell me what you intend to do with this," he said with a salacious smile.



"I'll show you," she said, and she felt the area around her cervix, and then passed her hand over the bowl of ice cream. Some of it disappeared.



"Oh shit," he said, and Hermione spread her legs.



His entire face was alight. "That's brilliant."



"Eat up, Severus," she said, "it's dripping already."



He didn't need to be told twice, and he dropped himself to lick and suck with the frenzy of a shark eating a fat, fat seal.



The cold ice cream was strangely delicious to feel in her vagina, and she'd never felt so perfectly full there.



"I'm going to have to make this a regular thing," she said with a whimper. "Serving ice cream out of my vag."



"No complaints here," he murmured, looking up at her, licking his lips. His entire face was slick with ice cream and vaginal juices. He looked utterly blissful. "This is really fucking great."



"Flavored by your own cum, I suppose," Hermione mused.



This was not something he'd considered, and he paused a moment, until saying, "Whatever. As close to autofellatio as I'll get these days."



They both found themselves laughing at that, until he noticed a bit of melting ice cream getting away, and he went back to his ardent licking.
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Old 10-03-2014, 05:42 AM   #30
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Chapter 22

After they grew tired of their sexual play, they fell into a dreamy napping state, where Hermione flitted in and out of sleep, and Snape lay there reading a book he had accio'ed from his chambers, one hand propping up his chin, the other resting against Hermione's tummy and holding his book. He was wearing thick-framed reading glasses, which made him look incredibly sharp, even nude as he was.



"I didn't know you wore glasses," she whispered groggily. "You should wear those more often."



He smiled disbelievingly and pecked her lingeringly on the lips. "What, is this something else you're secretly attracted to?"



"Not necessarily," she purred as his finger lingered under her chin. "Just looks good on you, that's all."



He grunted in reply, not otherwise responding, and turned from laying on his side to laying facing the ceiling, but scooted his voluptuous butt closer to her to make up the difference in distance.



It was a warm and comfortable place to be. Rain started to fall against the glass panes of the windows, accompanied by thunder and lightning.



Hermione shivered, as it got somewhat colder in the castle, and the castle was making its usual cracking noises as it adjusted to the change of air pressure that accompanied the storm. In response, Snape pulled the covers closer over her and moved closer to her, warming her with his nice fat body. The softness of his belly, heavy arms, and torso was inviting, and Hermione squeezed against him pleasurably.



She knew he would want to eventually leave, and though he was engrossed in his book, eventually Hermione's belly growled.



"You hungry?" he asked, and she nodded. "Gods." He sat up and drew the covers back from his legs, and as Hermione's stomach gurgled again, she saw his cock twitch despite itself.



He eased himself up and went into the other room, then came back with a loaf of bread, yogurt, hazelnut spread, and jam. He was grinning wolfishly, and his cock was nearly erect.



“Seeing you so full and fat turns me on so much,” he said. He crawled onto the bed, and Hermione, with her legs under the covers, spread her legs so he could get as close to her as possible to feed her. He clambered close to her and let his enormous arse seat itself right there. “Open wide, my sweetheart,” he said with delight, and spooned a nice heaping spoonful of yogurt and jam into her mouth. She swallowed and opened her mouth for more, to which he eagerly responded by giving her another spoonful, and another.



“Let me know when you’re no longer hungry,” he said with a glint in his eye, and Hermione knew he was challenging her.



She finished off the yogurt with no sign of stopping, and Snape grabbed the loaf of bread and slathered jam and nutella spread on it.



"Here you are, my sweet," he said, easing a slice into her waiting mouth. "That's a good girl."



She chewed and swallowed, then gestured for more.



Several slices slipped down her throat, and finally she was replete, and she sat back on the bed.



"So," she said, letting her tongue wander around her lips, tidying up, "I'm going to have to kick you out. I've got some work to do."



"Understood," he said, and he leaned in and kissed her fiercely. He withdrew from her at the precise second she was about to renege on her request and demand he stay and kiss her more. He could tell he had just perfectly underplayed his hand, and he gave her a solemn second kiss for good measure.



"I'll be busy for the next few hours, I think," he said, casting a wandless wave at his clothes, which of their own accord flew onto him. "But if you'd like company later this evening, I might be of a mood."



Hermione smiled and sat back, watching him dress. He still had that grace of a martial artist, even as fat as he'd gotten, and the way he moved his hands even in these simple acts of dressing just delighted her.



"Later," she murmured, as he went over to the window to look out of it.



"Later," he said, and opened the window.



"What are you doing?" she asked as he got on the stool next to the window. He shrugged, and stepped out the window into the wet day.



She gasped, and leaped out of bed, not knowing what to expect, but he suddenly reappeared, thoroughly soaked from head to toe, with a rose in his hand.



It was a very pretty rose, but it didn't quite make up for the moment of panic that preceded it.



"You rascal," she said, and swatted at him. "How'd you do that?"



He didn't say anything, and stepped back into the room. "Sometime I'll teach you," he said as his only response, drying himself off with a spell from his wand.



Then, as she looked at him aghast, he scooped her back into his arms and kissed her fiercely one last time, then strode out of the room, shaking his long wet hair.



Hermione ran to the window, looked down, and saw that there was no possible way he could have done that if he hadn't...



"You can *fly!*" she cried, and raced after him. "You know how to fly?"



"Maybe," he said, teasing, "well, it's more like controlled falling for me, these days. But," he went on, with a sniff of contempt, "you said yourself, you have work to do."



"Oh, fine," she said, with an immense pout. "I'll stay up late and time-turn until I get everything done."



"Why do that," he mused, "when you can just time-turn now, and get your work done in half the time with this incentive?"



"Fine!" she responded, throwing her hands in the air and rushing to her desk. "You could have chosen a better day for it, is all."



"I like this weather," he said, standing at the window. "It's dreary, but calming. So English."



He turned around and saw, to his evident surprise, that she was holding a stack of completely graded papers.



"I demand a lesson," she said with a fierce tone. "Now."



"That was quick, Granger," Snape said with a look of approval. "Now, come here."



She grabbed an umbrella from where it lay discarded under the coat-rack, and only once she was thus armed did she allow him to grab her in a tight embrace.



He picked her up slightly, testing her weight, and then he nodded with satisfaction.



"Hold onto me," he whispered into her ear, and he escorted them both onto the stool at the window, then he stepped onto the sill.



The gardens of Hogwarts lay below them. Hermione was glad she'd never had much in the way of vertigo, since this was incredibly high up off of the ground.



Her view was a truly spectacular one, especially when she was reminded of its beauty with the windows being open.



"Going now," he said with a rumbling voice, and he stepped off the ledge, holding her close against his soft belly.



The rain wasn't too heavy right then, just a fine mist of wetness, and they sank slowly, like a balloon losing air.



"This is beautiful," she said, "How did you learn to do this? This is... quite the Mary-Poppins feat."



"Never heard of her," he said with a shrug, "it's a trick that's not widely known, I'll grant you."



They landed on a stray rooftop to let their ears adjust to the change in air pressure.



"It's like swimming," Hermione observed, "except everything is water."



"I've heard it described that way before," Snape mused in response, though there was an edge of steel in his voice. Regrets were there, it sounded like.



Before she could ask what memories lay underneath that emotion, Snape's lips were on hers, and she was happy to feel them. The cold was numbing and was beginning to chill her fingers and nose, but Snape's warm folds had room for all of these pieces of her anatomy, somewhere. She let her fingers wend their way into his shirt, and they settled on his nice broad tummy, which seemed to radiate heat.



"Mmm," he said, shivering, but drawing her closer. "I like the fact that I can keep you warm."



Hermione kissed him in response, letting her nose warm itself in his soft neck fat.



As they stood there, admiring the view, she realized that she felt incredibly self-possessed in her relationship with him. There was nothing immature about their relationship. There were no guessing games. There were no petty squabbles. They had their imperfections, and they made them known to each other in good faith, sensitivity, and compassion. Well, mostly, at least.



"You know what," she said, holding him closer, "this is really good."



"Yes," he said, staring over her at the gloomy horizon, "I like to come up here sometimes. It's someplace that, despite the thousands of souls that Hogwarts has housed over the years, is relatively untouched by others. Very few people have shared this view with me."



Hermione nodded, taking in what he said.



"Who else?" she asked, since it seemed to be an invitation to ask.



He looked steadily elsewhere than her rosy face. "Dumbledore. Lucius. Lily."



Her hand wandered up and pointed his chin towards her, so she was looking into his eyes. "A short list," she said with a smile, and kissed him tenderly. "Thanks for showing me."



"It's less significant than you might think," he said with a slight scowl. "These are merely the few people I've spent an extended amount of time getting to know, with the exception of the Dark Lord."



"I see," Hermione said, and kissed him on the cheek anyway. She could read into it even if he disavowed the importance of the gesture. "So where'd you learn this trick, anyway? Some old book?"



He shook his head. "This isn't something you can learn from a book," he said, his breathing slowing. He eased himself down on the slick wood shingles of the roof and settled into a comfortable, relatively safe position. "It's a fundamentally practical skill."



Hermione was holding onto whatever she could for dear life, and was clearly not very comfortable, so he stood again, and grabbed her around the waist, and then they stepped off the rooftop, floating down to the ground.



They landed behind some ancient shrubbery, and Hermione saw that hiding behind it was a very old Muggle backyard playset. Some of the superficial accents were rusted, but the integrity of the structure was intact.



"What's this?" she asked, approaching it and touching it. "I think my parents got one of these for me when I was a little one."



Snape appeared a different kind of pleased than was usual for him. There was a kind of plain satisfaction, hidden behind a veil of stoicism.



"It's a bit older than that," he said, "I'm glad the anti-tarnishing spells have held up so long." He began to cast a few spells, and the swingset started to stand up a little straighter and cleaner.



He took a rueful look at the seat of the swing, but settled for leaning against one of the poles. "So, Hermione," he said, and gestured towards the swing.



Hermione laughed, looked at the tiny sliver of cracking plastic, and looked back at him.



"It'll hold you," he said, "but not me."



She nodded, and sat herself gingerly on the seat of the swing.



It was surprisingly resilient and strong, and her arse, while slightly too big for the child's toy, did manage to land in a comfortable way. Hermione then backed up and stood, contemplating letting go.



"Yes," he said, nodding, "do it."



"Is this supposed to teach me how to fly?" she asked, frowning.



He surprised her by nodding, a brooding entering his eyes.



She shrugged, and settled her arse more firmly into the seat, and lifted her legs.



It wasn't precisely like flying, but it was pretty close to it. And Hermione had just had a recent experience flying, so it wasn't just a paltry metaphor. There was the rushing of wind, the rush of lateral movement, and the feeling of near-weightlessness.



She relished it, and she began to swing higher.



"More," Snape said, though she could hardly hear him over the rush of wind in her ears. "Higher."



She nodded slightly, but felt her entire body wiggle. All of her motions were magnified. It took her a moment to rebalance.



"Now," he called, as she swung higher than before, "let go."



"Are you shitting me?" she called back, and refused to let go of the sturdy chains of the swing.



"Just do it," he replied as she approached the ground again, "Go."



She swung back and forth another time, but finally got the gumption to do it. "All right," she said with a whimper, even though he couldn't hear her, and she let go of the chains. She was propelled forward, and fell, fell, fell.



And she landed softly at Snape's feet.



She wondered initially if she'd been successful, since she hadn't broken her back, but he shook his head.



"Again," he said, and pointed to the swing.



"Seriously?" she said, "what am I supposed to do?"



"Just believe," he said simply.



"Believe what?" she demanded, cross. The rain was starting to come back, and she was feeling damp and icky.



"That you can," was all he said, and he stood back to watch her silently, his arms folded over his chest.



Of course this wasn’t helpful, so Hermione frowned, but tried again anyway.



And again, she flew off, and again, and again. But she didn’t manage to actually *fly.*



Snape shook his head disapprovingly. “This will not do,” he said finally, casting a wordless drying spell on her, and he looked at her with some amount of disappointment in his eyes.



He seemed to finally make a decision, and he gestured for her to get off.



She was entirely disappointed in herself as well. Why wasn’t she getting it? She got up and, sulkingly, stood to the side, waiting to be admonished.



But Snape didn’t admonish her - instead he surprised her by squeezing himself into the tiny seat and, with a deep breath, he managed to sit on it, though he seemed afraid to put his whole weight on it.



He cast a couple of strengthening and supportive spells on the seat now that he was on it, and then he closed his eyes and said, sternly, “It looks like I’m going to have to *show* you. But know that I’m only doing this *once,* Granger, so watch closely.”



He then stood back, and lifted his legs, and with a few effortful pumps, he was high in the air, and he said loudly, “Watch now,” and he let himself fly off the swing.



It was like watching a mermaid catapult from the bottom of the ocean higher into the clear blue water. Hermione had never watched anything like it. Snape’s legs wiggled a bit as he started off, but ultimately once he got in the swing of it, he glided through the air with relative effortlessness.



Then, with a dive, he landed back at her feet, though with a somewhat shaky landing.



“Now you,” he said, and pushed her towards the swing.



“But what did you *do?*” she exclaimed.



“You said it yourself,” he responded crisply, “it’s like swimming. Do the breast-stroke or something if that makes it any easier, once you’ve got momentum.”



“Thanks, that helps a lot,” she responded sarcastically, as she pumped her legs and elevated her height.



Once she was high enough, she closed her eyes and let go, and, for lack of anything else, started doing the breast-stroke.



“Granger!” she heard Snape’s voice far away. “Granger!”



She opened her eyes and discovered, to her great perplexity, that Snape was far below on the ground, and was running after her, his face red with the exertion, and his belly bouncing and rippling like a great deflated rubber ball with every step.



Soon enough he had enough momentum to follow her, and he leaped up, and was in the air with her.



Good timing, too, since Hermione was beginning to falter.



“Erm, how did I do this?” she whinged, and felt herself plummeting as doubt began to affect her.



“You can do it,” he called to her, and grabbed her hand, stopping her from falling as fast. “You’re doing very well. Just don’t let yourself convince yourself it’s not possible.”



“I can,” she replied with a huffing breath, “I can.” She breathed deeply, and felt herself rise again. “It’s so weird.”



“Congratulations, Miss Granger,” he said, wrapping her into his arms as he saw she was beginning to slip again, “you are officially more accomplished than nearly every other wizard on the face of the earth.”



“I don’t understand,” she said, “it was… really so simple.”



“Deceptively so,” he said, and kissed her tenderly. “Oh yes,” he said, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, “I knew you could do it.”



“It’s easier than apparating,” she said, “and even less unsettling.”



She broke away from his arms, and he grinned at her as she began to get more of a foothold of her new skill, testing her strength and agility with different strokes and methods.



“It really is like swimming,” she murmured, “you sink if you don’t tread.”



“That’s correct,” he said, “but unlike water, you have a very swift maneuverability.”



“It’s great,” Hermione said, and flipped herself in a loop, though regretted it as she felt her stomach lurch.



“Careful,” he said, and floated closer to her, and extended his hand. “Don’t want to be sick on some unsuspecting first-year.”



She looked down and realized that they had somehow gotten over near a more populated area of the garden. It being such a dreary day, almost no one was out, but a few students were sitting around on the grounds; one group had a small bonfire keeping them warm.



“Can’t they see us?” she asked, and looked at him inquiringly.



He shook his head. “Chameleon spell. They’ll think we’re bits of clouds, if they see us at all.”



“Another ingenious discovery of yours?” Hermione asked, since she decided it was clear that Snape must have uncovered this practical skill of flying on his own.



He shook his head. “That one’s my own creation,” he said. “Flying, however,” he went on, “is much, much older, and no, I did not rediscover it.”



Hermione knew there was much more of a story there, but Snape didn’t appear to be in the mood for questions. He seemed thoroughly tired, even if he probably wouldn’t admit it to her, so Hermione decided she would begin to float back in the direction of her bedroom.



“Come on,” she said, as he looked after her, “I’m quite knackered.”



“All right,” he said, and followed her wearily.



Something about their time out there had made him quiet, subdued, and Hermione didn’t know what it was. Once they were back in her room - made chilly by the windows being left open, but that was soon remedied by closing them and stoking the fire - she wrapped him in warm blankets and thrust a warm cuppa in his hands, along with biscuits when he looked at her with the hungry disbelief of a cat given only a saucer of milk, with no fish. (She knew that look well on Crookshanks.)



“I haven’t flown that long in a while,” he confessed once he had a bit in his stomach. “I forgot how ...sad… it makes me.”



Hermione curled around him. “It’s all right,” she said, “do you want to talk about it?”



He shook his wet hair. “Not particularly.”



“That’s fine,” she said, and kissed him gently on the lips. His lips weren’t precisely responsive, but he reciprocated just enough to show he was grateful, but not enough to demonstrate an interest in snogging.



“So,” she asked, as she snuggled into his warm torso, “can I ask where that swing came from?”



“You can ask,” he said, slowly, “but I think for the moment, I’m going to keep the details confidential. I’m… I’m not sure that I’m ready to reveal this story to you.”



“I see,” she said, and fondly stroked his cheek. “I can respect that.”



“You’d better,” he said grouchily, “and not ask me every day for the next month until I give in.”



She laughed and pulled herself under the covers. “I’m ready for sleep,” she began to say, but her stomach rumbled. “Dammit.”



She sat up in bed, and accio’ed food from the kitchen. She was surprised to see a nice large bowl of ice cream come from the freezer.



“It looks like someone’s taking care of you,” said Snape as he looked with the same surprise she had. “That definitely was not in the ice box before.”



“No,” Hermione agreed, “it was not.” She didn’t tell him that, indeed, she’d already finished an additional bowl of ice cream that day when she was working on grading papers.



But she wasn’t about to look a gift-horse in the mouth, so she set about eating every bite of that delicious bowl, with only a few bites finding their way into Snape’s mouth.



He was, it seemed, properly knackered, and was snoring before she’d even finished her dessert.



Her stomach stopped its rumbling, fortunately, once she had swallowed every last bite of the ice cream, but Hermione realized that this insatiable hunger was not going to go away anytime soon.


So she cuddled up against Snape, feeling the warmth of her great expanded belly nestle into the pit of his broad dimpled back, and she fell asleep, her arm draped over him fondly.
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Old 10-03-2014, 05:46 AM   #31
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Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Monday came, it did, and Hermione was invigorated for the week. She and Snape had breakfast together, accompanied with some kisses and nuzzling, and indeed they did give each other the pleasure of wanking in the shower, but soon enough she was off doing other things, and so was he.

Moreover, she'd spent enough time with Snape over the weekend that she felt like she'd been paid-attention-to, and she'd spent enough time doing carnal things that she was ready for some time being productive and introverted.

This she accomplished with aplomb, but I fear it's not much good for a story to write about the mundane features of her life. Suffice it to say, she was productive, did a lot of teaching, ate a great deal of food, and had a great deal of very heady sex with Snape in the evenings, when they both were free to spend time together.

What is notable is that she thought about Neville, but did not reach out to him most of the week, until finally her conscience couldn't bear it, and she knew she had to approach him.

He, unlike Certain Other professors she knew, was there in the Great Hall daily for every meal - it seems he never broke out of the habit cultivated from being a student, when eating was inherently more interesting than studying for everyone except Hermione and a couple of Ravenclaws.

So it was relatively simple for her to coordinate an encounter with him. After a particularly light period, where fortunately her students' practical efforts had been unusually rewarding, she was in a great mood, and she had the desire to gush. So she went to the Great Hall for her semi-dinner, and she saw Neville there, nervously trying to eat a sandwich that seemed as desperate to get out of his hands as he was to drop it.

"Not hungry?" she asked, as he half-heartedly scrambled after the slick ham and basil that fell into his plate.

He shrugged and threw down the remaining bread from his hand. "About the sum of it." He didn't look in her eyes.

"So," she asked, leaning towards him, though she was impressed by the fact that her tummy was big enough that it made leaning forward somewhat cumbersome. It squished into rolls. She was definitely entering the realm of being fat. "How are you?"

He seemed bewildered by her. "What are you doing?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you *think* I'm doing? I'm trying to flirt with you."

"It's working," he said narrowly, turning his eyes back to his sandwich. Then, with a deep breath, he added, "But it's not going to happen, 'Mione. Forget what I said that night."

"I can't," she said, turning her chair to face him better. "Now, what is it that made you change your mind?"

He shook his head, and finally, after a few moments of silence, managed to say, "You're dating *Snape.* There's not a wizard on earth that would touch you, not when you're under his *protection.*"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, taken aback, "Has he said anything to you?"

"He doesn't have to," Neville responded, coldly. He stared at her, daring her to ask why.

"What," Hermione asked, moving in to a drilled-down glare. "Is it just that he's so intimidating you don't dare share the same piece of meat he fucks?"

Neville opened his mouth to reply the affirmative, but clearly thought better of it and closed his mouth again.

Hermione shook her head. "Seriously?" She sighed. "If you can get over the idea of me being Snape's property, then, Neville, maybe we can do something. As it is, though," she went on, standing up, "I'm perfectly content dropping the matter. I just hate to think that you'd stoop so low as to deny yourself the companionship you're desperate for just because of antiquated values pertaining to women and their bodies."

She looked to see if he had a response, and he didn't seem to, so she got up. "Whatever," she mumbled under her breath, "you boys are all wankers, every single one of you."



She was more disappointed than she allowed herself to feel, at least initially. But Severus was waiting for her that evening in his irresistable brocade waistcoat, which had clearly been a chore to put on, and she melted at the sight of him.

"Oh, gods," she breathed with a sigh as she saw him, "you look ravishing, but give me a moment."

He gingerly got up and followed her to the bedroom, where she collapsed in bed, facefirst. He joined her there, laying down next to her, facing the ceiling.

"What's wrong?" he asked, after moments of silence. His words were labored, but just slightly - as if he were trying to keep himself from sounding eager to help.

"Neville," she groaned. "I finally had a moment to connect with him today, and he won't even consider touching me. Thinks of me as *your* property."

"I can't say I'm not pleased, to an extent," Snape breathed, touching her shoulder and rubbing it. "But I'm sorry you had that disappointment."

"I mean," Hermione went on, "I wasn't particularly anxious about it, which makes it worse, I suppose - I felt like I had the upper hand of this relationship, like I was the one being sought-after, and I didn't think I'd have to work to get it started. I thought it'd ignite quickly when I chose to start it, like kindling, you know?"

"I hear you," he responded sullenly, "though that's never, ever, been my own experience. Particularly the way I look now."

"Shush," Hermione said, rolling over and looking at him with mocking disapproval. "I'll not have you say unkind things about my new favorite person."

Snape's cell-phone buzzed at that moment, in his trouser-pocket, and he opened it quickly to see what the message was, then quickly closed it again.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Severus shook his head. "Nothing important."

Hermione squinted at him and said, "Come now. Tell me. Anything to distract me from these feelings of having been let down."

"All right," Snape said with a half-grin, "here."

He showed Hermione a very blurry photo of a broad-shouldered trans woman and a plump, soft black girl. The girl was wearing a skintight bodysuit, bearing a whip, and the trans woman was bound in a thousand knots to a chair, backwards. The trans woman had a look in her eyes of pleading, begging, while the dominating girl grinned provocatively. The photo was clearly of a boudoir nature.

"That's Erika," he said, and Hermione looked at him.

"I presume the… younger one?" she asked, not sure how to proceed in this kind of situation.

He nearly giggled, since he'd clearly been conscious of the awkwardness of it.

"She's the black one," he said, with a bit of a snigger, "the other is Marielle, one of her other major partners. Granted, Marielle did just move to DC, so there's that difficulty."

Hermione was someone who did have a minor interest in the occasional woman, though honestly she'd always tended to date men, but she looked at Erika and admired her delightful, full lips, her full and sensuous curves (accentuated in her present attire) and sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

Her attention was more drawn to Marielle, however, despite herself - she really wanted to read Marielle as a woman, entirely, but Marielle had many features of manliness that shone through, like her torso's build and heavy jaw.

Of the two of them, Hermione noted, Marielle was also much fatter, with a sumptuous belly forming around her middle, a bona-fide spare-tire.

"I like them both," Hermione said, "though I admit I'm a little more partial to Marielle."

"Hm," Snape said, looking at the photograph again. "Really?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, one hand wandering down his torso, "really."

"Noted," he said, and kissed her gently, a prelude to ones of more intensity later. "So," he added, "Why?"

"Do I need a good reason?" she asked, patting his enormous belly thoughtfully. It gurgled involuntarily as she touched it.

"My dear," he confessed, "Can't we continue this over dinner?"

"Of course," she responded happily, and rose from the bed and followed him to the dining room.

….

*Hi readers~! Sorry this chapter is so short. Next one will be sexii?

So there's a not-very-major inconsistency that's been bothering me… I'll eventually go back and fix it but not today… in the 2nd or 3rd chapter, Snape says something like 'yo that's why we gotta get an honors program' and then in the mid teens I have a major conversation where Hermione's like 'yo so honors programs this is what they are.'

I guess it's not the biggest inconsistency but it's something that bothers me every time I re-read, so I wanted to apologize profusely for this error. Since obviously the point of this fic is the *plot,* lol. I think it's clear I care a lot about HOGWARTS HAVING AN HONORS PROGRAM so much that I forgot which character cared about this idea too.

Okay thanks bunches carry on Also please review because it makes rainbows fly out of the seat of my pants. And gets me more excited about writing the next chapter.

ALSO OMG OMG OMG OMG SOMEONE ('Fattington' on DeviantArt) MADE ME FANART.


http://fattington.deviantart.com/art...nart-480280625
http://fattington.deviantart.com/art...SION-481797807
http://fattington.deviantart.com/art...oast-485310802

and then you will see the hills are alive with the sight of fat snape holy cow I'm so happy you have no idea.
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Old 10-03-2014, 05:48 AM   #32
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Chapter 24

Chapter Text



Hermione and Severus were soon sitting at a table laden with a sumptuous dinner that threatened to engulf the table.



Snape wasted no time in serving Hermione a heaping bowl of pasta, laced with fine cheese, bits of lobster, pepper, and paprika, and she delighted in slurping up noodle after noodle. They were starchy and thick linguini, and they stuck on her fork as lovingly as they’d stick on her middle once digested.



He gave a small smirk of satisfaction as her tongue made love to her fork. It was only after deciding that she indeed liked her food that he began to look over the offerings, and selected a large veal, ham, and egg pie.



“Oh yes,” Hermione observed with a rush of lust as he tucked into it, and a smile came to his face as he stuffed a forkful into his mouth and swallowed it in just a few hasty chews. “You’re quite hungry, aren’t you.”


“Yes,” he admitted, and stuffed another bite in his mouth without further deliberation.



She put another bite of chewy pasta in her mouth, and he nodded approvingly, watching as he chewed.



They ate in contented silence until the edge of hunger no longer plagued them, and Snape had eaten nearly half the pie, and Hermione had sucked down the entire bowl of noodles.



“You’re so nice and full-looking,” Snape said shyly, taking a sip of his wine. “It suits you very well.”



“Same to you,” Hermione said with a smile, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You just can’t keep your appetite in check, can you?”



“No,” he returned, with a rueful smile. Then he commenced to start on a full plate of fish and chips, with tartar sauce and vinegar, and boiled peas on the side. “Can you blame me, though?”



“Not at all,” Hermione responded, and was already halfway through a slice of a large pizza. She swallowed a bit with onion, olive, and basil, and pushed it in Snape’s direction. “You might not give this back to me, but you should try this.”



“Mmm,” he responded, a wicked smile blooming on his face, but he didn’t stop chewing his food. With his free hand, he took two slices and gave back the rest.



“So, how was your day?” Hermione went on.

He shook his head, swallowed, and poised his fork to take another stab at the pie. “No news fit to print,” he said, “I admit I’m getting fatigued with trying to keep up with all the requirements necessary to continue my work. But at least I’ve made some major strides.” He took a bite, and went on, “Today I finished the grant request to the Veritas Foundation, which, I’m sure you know I’ve been losing a bit of sleep over. It’s not every day that one sends a proposal to the pre-eminent provider of non-governmental subsidies in Europe. So I’m glad to be done with that. Grant-writing is tedious,” he grumbled, and stuffed his mouth again.



“I hear you,” she responded, and relaxed a little bit more into her chair, adjusting the band of her skirt, which was beginning to dig into her belly. She then began to feel curious about the status of their potions conference plans, which they’d expounded upon some time ago, and Snape said he would begin to make the preparations. “What about the application to Potions-Masters Invested in Thought?” she asked. “I don’t mean to pressure you, if you’re too busy, but have you started on that?”



“I did,” he said with a smirk, “Last week, right after we talked about it. And I finished it yesterday. I thought I told you?”



“Oh, I’m silly,” she replied, “You did tell me. I just lost it in the mess of my brain. I know we’ve been talking it to death, but can I read it?”



He nodded, and accio’ed his laptop from the table. “I haven’t sent it, of course,” he said with a smile, “Given it’s more of a… collaborative effort.”



She playfully patted his tummy - “Not our only ‘collaborative effort’,” she said teasingly - and slid the laptop towards her. With a few clicks, she was down the page, processing the information at top speed. Though when she tried to make an edit, a large pastry crumb was stuck in between the S key and the face of the keyboard. She flicked at it, and it flew across the room.



“You duck,” she said with a giggle, “you tend to snack when you’re working on something, don’t you?”



“Guilty,” he murmured, and he moved his chair so he could see where she was in the document. He leaned forward and, hesitantly, wrapped an arm around her and put his head on her shoulder. “Many of my current pounds are a result of it.”



“I like it that way,” Hermione murmured with half of her attention, placing a hand on his vast belly as it pressed against her, and continuing to read.



She made a few changes. “So wait, so what’s this you’re saying here? Are you saying that this entire potential section would be interdisciplinary? Or that just this particular subsection would be interdisciplinary?”



“The entire section, of course,” he replied with the mildest of annoyance. “That’s why I wrote ‘The three components of this would be…’”



“It’s just the referent isn’t that clear,” Hermione said, “so I’ll just restate ‘the section.’”



“Fine,” he responded, and she continued to read. He sat up again, grabbed the pie plate and his fork, and ate while holding it, his eyes never leaving the screen.



“Change that word,” he said as she was reading, “from singular to plural.”



“All right,” she said, and changed it.



They fell into a comfortable editing posture, Snape re-reading for surely the umpteenth time, and Hermione reading with fresh eyes. She realized how lovely this experience was as she listened to his breathing, and felt it against her neck, and she felt in that moment how happy she was to not be with Ron anymore.



Ron would never sit there with her, reviewing alongside her - he never put much pride in his written work, whereas Snape clearly did, even if he denied it. Ron would never help her put together a conference to advance wizarding knowledge. Ron’s work had never been interesting enough to talk about with her regularly. Ron would never enjoy being comfortable and fat with her, basking in the warm feeling of being nice and full, and occupied by a mental project.



Snape gave her a sip of wine once in a while, sharing from his glass. The sweet dark merlot was warming and luscious, and it tasted exactly like she felt when Snape wrapped his arm around her and stroked her loose hair tenderly with his fingers.



Soon Hermione finished, and after a few other changes, she breathed, “You know, I think this is quite good. Now,” she added, “is this the first time you’re applying for funding from P-MIT, or its parent organization, AcademiVest?”



“Yes,” Snape said, his voice low and comfortable, “Have you done it before?”



“I submitted a proposal a few years ago,” Hermione said, “for the public advocate’s office, they were trying to conduct a study on quality of life, and we had to submit a proposal to AcidemiVest for funding to pay for the survey team. I think the witch in charge there then is still here; her name is Malaenie Creight. She and I corresponded quite a bit. I know she’s a real stickler about formatting. I’m guessing you didn’t look at the guidelines too closely.”



“I assumed it wasn’t that important,” Snape said with a grimace, withdrawing his arm from around her shoulders and sitting back in his chair, cracking his neck. “Apparently, I was wrong.”



“Yes, with Malaenie, she has been reviewing these applications for nearly fifty years, and she’s a bit trigger-happy with her rejections. If you don’t mind, I know exactly what to fix.”



“Be my guest,” Snape said, picking up and munching on the final bit of pie. “I’m not displeased to let you finish this.”



“You did most of the grunt work, though,” Hermione said, and kissed his cheek. “It’s really flawless, aside from this.”



“...thank you,” he said, though the words seemed to be hard for him to say. His mouth curled into a half-smile, and he kissed her on the cheek as well.



“When you’re done,” he said, “I expect to entertain you in a different fashion.”



“Please do,” she said, “but let me finish.”



He put down his empty plate and drew his arm around her again, this time settling around her middle and grabbing at her nice fleshy love-handle.



His fingers worked their way a little further down, down, and down again until she firmly grabbed his hand and set it back where it had started. He obeyed her implicit command until she finished, and then he grabbed her again with a growl of hunger and lust, and he put his hand under her rump and moved her onto his lap.



“Mm,” he said as she settled there, and she started unbuttoning her bodice, “you’re getting a bit big, my dear. Soon I won’t be able to keep you here, your delightful arse will simply be…”



He cupped it, and petted it, “...too large.”



“Won’t be *entirely* my fault,” Hermione said with a snicker, “your lap is getting smaller every day.”



“True,” he responded, and sighed as Hermione put both her hands on top of his belly, nearly purring as she rubbed it.



Then, without further ado, she slipped off his lap - despite being so fat, his knees were quite knobby - and sliced up a cake that sat, freshly iced upon the table.



“Sit back,” she instructed, and he obeyed, stretching his spine by inching his arse forward in the chair and readjusting the lumbar pillow. “Now eat,” she commanded, an enormous spoonful of cake in front of his face.



He did not delay, and his wide mouth embraced the cake, which was a nice heavy carrot cake with generous icing. “Oh,” he murmured, as Hermione’s hand massaged his gut. “It’s glorious. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish it. I ate a little too much today already.”



“A little too much?” Hermione purred, rubbing his belly all over, landing finally at the base of his gut, where the waistcoat threatened to break at any moment. “I don’t think you got as big as you are today by eating ‘a little too much,’ Severus.”



“What do you mean?” he asked, playing.



Hermione responded initially by stuffing his mouth again, and as she withdrew the spoon, she smirked. “I think you simply can’t endure a single moment where you aren’t stuffed to the brim,” she said, rubbing his upper gut again as he chewed and groaned quietly. “Isn’t that right? You’re addicted to food, and you can’t keep yourself from eating something nearly every moment. That feeling of being stuffed… that’s what keeps you feeling *alive.*”



“Yes,” he murmured, and he barely had time to get the word out before Hermione forced another bite into his mouth.



“You admit it, then,” she whispered, and leaned in to lick some frosting off of his lips as he chewed. “You’re unable to help yourself. You can’t stop eating.”



He nodded in response, his eyes wide and pleading.



“Well, with me around,” Hermione went on, feeling very Slytherin indeed, “you won’t have to stop. I’ll keep feeding you every moment of every day, so you never have to mourn the lack of food in your mouth. In fact,” she went on, going darker, “you’ll have no choice in the matter. Once you’ve started, there’s no turning back. You won’t be able to have a second of waking time without another bite of food in your mouth. Your stomach will rebel,” she went on, “but it will stretch to accommodate that massive amount of food.”



She was rubbing him fiercely, and then she realized that what she *really* wanted to be rubbing was her clit, so she raised her skirt, propped up her leg on her chair, and did just that - rubbing her clit and rubbing his belly with the same frenzied movements.



Snape swallowed just then, and opened his mouth again, so Hermione had to set up a magic spell to transport the spoon to Snape’s mouth. She just didn’t have enough hands!



“And oh,” she went on, feeling an orgasm washing over her, “oh, how fat you will get. Your podgy belly will seem so tiny in comparison to what you will achieve. Your cheeks will fill out more and more,” she breathed, and sucked in a little scream of pleasure that came involuntarily from her lungs, “and your belly will be so large and distended, it will droop to the floor. Your arse will be so vast and wide,” she went on, “that it will be nearly as big as a table. And your thighs will be so thick and juicy, you will scarcely be able to walk. Your breasts will be heavy and thick, and delicious to suck on. You will be so big,” she continued, “your cock will be lost in it, and only the most dedicated adventurer can help you get an orgasm, since you’ll be too fat to reach your poor little cock yourself.”



Snape raised his hand to stop being fed, and Hermione paused the spell with a wave, and he urgently stood up and pulled his trousers down. Hermione grabbed his cock and began pulsing it.



“Yes,” she breathed, “let’s practice, shall we? You’re too fat to give yourelf an orgasm, Severus,” she breathed, and she leaned forward and sucked on his cock for a few long moments, as Snape shuddered with pleasure.



“You’re entirely reliant on me,” she went on, licking her lips and resurfacing, “to bring you pleasure. Oh yes,” she breathed, and went back down on his cock, as she continued to awkwardly rub her own clit. “Only I can make you feel good.”



He moaned, and his cock pulsed, and unloaded itself in her hand, and partially on the floor, and he came in several painfully-pleasurable squirts, then lay back in the chair, panting, with one hand on his massive belly.



She wasn’t done yet, though, so she magically cleared some room on the table with a sweep of her hand, and she lay down upon it, and it groaned a bit under her.



“Someone could drown in the thick rolls of your fat, Severus,” she continued, rubbing herself furiously. He took a few more deep breaths, then sat up and leaned forward to suck her. “But it would be the most pleasurable kind of death,” she added, orgasming the moment his lips made contact with her clit. Her juices were dripping down her plumpening thighs. “Because your body would be the softest, fattest, most decadent thing to ever grace the face of this good earth. As swollen as an apple left on the ground, expanding with endless, endless… bigness. The fattest man alive,” she breathed, “and you’re all mine.”



Her body twisted with another orgasm, and another, and another, until finally she lay there, panting, feeling tremendously good.



“I don’t know… how you do it,” Snape said, taking deep breaths and sitting back in his chair, clearly as stuffed as he could be. “Change of plans. No more work for me tonight.”



“You look quite done in,” Hermione responded with a grin, and she eased herself off of the table. “Let’s get ourselves to bed, shall we?”



“Quite,” he responded, and with her help, he eased himself up out of his chair, leaving a beautiful arse-sized imprint in the cushion.



“Come,” Hermione said, offering her arm, and they strolled to the bedroom.



When Snape sat down to take off his shoes, the waistcoat decided enough was enough, and it lost several buttons, in one frantic attempt to launch them to the moon.



“Well then,” Hermione said, with a giddy giggle, “that’s almost enough to make me come again.”



“I’m getting fat,” Snape said, a dopamine-influenced, bubbly smile coming to his face. It was a rare sight for him to be so unequivocally delighted. “Look at that.”



She bent down laboriously to collect the buttons, and put them in a box near her bed. “That waistcoat seems to have lost its waist,” she said, and broke down into giggles herself.



Snape chuckled and undid the upper few buttons that still strained against his massive belly. “Oh, much better,” he breathed, and he lay back, whereupon he began to undo his straining shirt-buttons as well.



“You can still talk,” Hermione said with a wink, “so now we’re in bed, let’s see if we can top off your tank with just a little bit more.”



“All right,” he mumbled, and pulled off his shirt wearily. “It won’t be much.”



Hermione accio’ed something sweet from the kitchen, and found to her delight that the magic bowl of ice cream was filled and waiting.



“Here we go,” she said, and she fed him bite by bite as he leaned against the headboard, his chin raised and both hands rubbing his distended, overfull tummy.



“Heavenly,” he murmured, swallowing. “So. Yes.”



Of course, he himself underestimated how much he could pack in his belly, and they managed to get nearly the entire bowl inside him before he put a hand over his mouth and shook his head woozily.



“All right,” Hermione said, and finished off the rest, which was enough to make her feel nearly as stuffed as him.



“I wonder how that bowl came to be,” she murmured, and he gingerly shrugged, and swallowed to keep his food down. “It’s a mystery, really.”



He nodded incrementally, and she kissed him on the cheek. “Let me help you readjust and lay down.”



He accepted her help, and soon he was on his side, in such a position where she lay beside him, wrapped her arm around him, and massaged his upper belly.



“You did a very good job,” she whispered in his ear, “you ate almost everything. You’re going to keep growing, and growing fast.”



He just sighed in reply and she looked to see that he had closed his eyes, and was probably drifting off.



“Good night,” she murmured, and snuffed out the lights with a wave of her hand.



As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard a tiny sigh of anguish come from the clothes-closet, but she might have just dreamed it.





……………...



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Old 10-03-2014, 05:48 AM   #33
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Chapter 25

Chapter Text

She woke up to the sound of him belaboredly putting on his clothes, grunting in dismay as he struggled to get his trousers buttoned.

“Hey,” said in a soft whisper, and reached out to grasp his hand. He sighed deeply and extended it to her, half-heartedly.

She took it warmly, sat up, and wrapped herself around him. He smelled deliciously unshowered, and her lips found their way to the sensitive place under his earlobe and kissed him sweetly.

“Morning,” she said, turning his head to look at her, and she pressed her lips into his.

He reciprocated, but only minimally, and then he began to try at his trousers again.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, moving back slightly and putting her hand on his shoulder. “Can I be helpful?”

“Not really,” he said, his voice low and dark. “It’s just the usual sort of thing.” He shook his head and, with a grimace, accio’ed a bottle of pills. Not looking at her, he opened the bottle and put two pills in his mouth, and swallowed them dry.

Hermione saw his tense shoulders immediately relax, though the gloom did not move from him.

“I’m going to feel like crap all day,” he said, standing up and struggling with his shirt, having given up on his trousers.

“You forgot your medicine last night?” Hermione said, letting her hand settle on his ample waist. “I didn’t know you take it at night. I’ve never seen you take it at all, actually.”

He turned his head and glared at the closet. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“So you hide it?” Hermione asked, letting her hand fall into her lap.

He didn’t answer, but hurriedly put the bottle in his pocket.

“It’s okay,” she said with a gentle murmur, “I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but don’t be. Please.”

He tugged at his shirt one final time and turned around. His face was sullen. “I’m afraid of your pity,” he said after a moment of careful, calculated hesitation. “If we’re going to do this, Granger, you’ve got to respect me, and never pity me. I’m not a creature that you need to protect from himself.”

She listened, and realized he was right to be afraid. She *did* have somewhat protective feelings for him, and she realized that they really came from a very convoluted place. Was there pity in there? She supposed so. But it was more than that.

“I don’t think that’s my problem, exactly,” she said thoughtfully, “though I can understand why you wouldn’t want that.”

He did not respond, instead gazing at her suspiciously, so she went on, “I do respect you, I truly do. It does make me sad when I see you so adamant about your pride that you can’t be vulnerable.”

“I don’t think that’s accurate,” he said with a grimace, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. “I’m plenty vulnerable with you. More than I should be.”

She reached out for his hand, and he turned his head away, but took her hand in his.

“Maybe,” she said, “I suppose if you feel that way, then that’s how you feel. But here’s what I’m seeing.” She took a breath - this was getting into risky territory, but she felt like they had enough of a relationship between them now that he could handle it.

“I’m seeing that you go back and forth with me,” she said, and he remained stony-faced, staring at the wall to his left. “One moment you’re very vulnerable with me, and so… so open. Then you seem to regret it, and close up again. I don’t blame you,” she went on, “but that’s what I’m seeing.”

He stirred, and took a deep breath, but did not respond for a long time. “That coincides with my experience,” he said at last.

She smiled at him, even though he wasn’t making eye contact with her. “Well, it’s not a bad thing,” she said, “though it is a bit confusing at times. I struggle because I feel like those times that you’re more closed are my fault, somehow.”

“Sometimes they are,” he responded coldly. He continued to stare in the opposite direction.

“And how is that?” Hermione said, feeling her throat get tighter.

He shook his head, struggling to answer, until he finally said, “You listen to me. And you ask me damned difficult questions. And you make me…” He swallowed harshly. “...sometimes you make me forget the things that have happened to me. At least for a while. I forget how fucked up I am, and how I fucked up *everything.* And I enjoy my life, and my obscene sexual interests, and the fact that I’m not worthy of anyone fucking at all. Much less anything else.”

“Anything else, meaning what?” Hermione asked, though she could tell where he was going with this, and it made her insides crawl with anticipation.

He turned his head and searched her face. His eyes were fierce and bright and shiny, and his upper lip twitched.

“What do you think I mean?” he responded lowly, his face hard and impassive.

“I’m not quite sure I know,” Hermione replied, and tried not to let him know she was playing with him.

He could tell though, and rolled his eyes. “Do I *have* to spell it out for you?”

“I’m afraid so,” she replied, feeling thrilled at the high level of emotion in this conversation. He was having such trouble. It was such a glorious feeling, watching him try to do something so profoundly difficult for him. He was getting there, if slowly.

He opened his mouth as if to curse at her, but decided better and reformed his lips into a pressed line.

Then he tried again. “I’m not worthy of anyone fucking. Much less,” he said, and stared penetratingly at her, as if she were a dungbomb about to explode, “loving.”

“So wait,” Hermione said, leaning forward and putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off with a jittering shake. “What are you saying exactly?”

He looked as if he wished something would interrupt them. Anything.

And as it happened, something did. There was a clatter as the antique bedside table’s legs broke, and all of Hermione’s papers and such fell on the floor in an avalanche of parchment, along with dishes from last night’s binge.

“Shit,” Hermione said, and reflexively grabbed her wand and caught the clattering mess in the nick of time. With an effortless spell, she sent the mess to the bureau, where it settled with a gentle rustle. “Was that you?” she asked.

“...Yes, sorry,” he said carelessly, appearing distracted. He got up and, tiptoeing in his stocking-feet, he moved towards the closet.

“What are you-” Hermione began, but Snape put a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. He was remarkably silent on his feet, despite his enormous size.

Then, with a flash, he threw a spell, and the closet door banged open. Hermione saw the sight of Lowly looking terrified for just a moment before the elf blinked out of sight. In her haste, she had forgotten someone.

Hermione had never seen a fat house-elf, and at the sight of one, she had no idea how to react. The elf that sat in her closet was truly enormous. She could not tell if it was male or female, but the creature smiled brightly up at Snape, though looked somewhat dismayed by Snape’s curdling expression.

“Hi,” squeaked the elf, “Master Severus?”

“What are you doing in here?” asked Snape, and Hermione could actually hear Snape’s voice had a trace of fear in it.

The elf smiled broadly. “Watching you!”

Hermione bounced over to the closet and got on her knees. Snape seemed content to stand and glare at the creature.

“Well, hello there,” Hermione said kindly, extending her hand.

She noticed that the elf was wearing a hat - a sloppy, handmade, wool hat. It sat awkwardly, too large on the elf’s head.

“Miss ‘Mione!” chirped the elf sadly. It pushed the brim of the hat up its forehead, only for it to come slipping back down into its eyes again. The elf tried to smile as it pushed the hat up again. “You, who made me a free elf!”

“I beg your pardon,” Hermione said, though as she squinted, she could recognize the hat that the elf wore. It was - uncannily enough - her own knitting work. She remembered working on this particular item - she’d been experimenting with her stitches.

“You freed me,” said the elf, no less sad. “My name is Fancy, if you please?”

“Hello, Fancy,” Hermione said, and waves of sadness began to overcome her as she remembered making hats and mittens and such for the elves - and none had been taken.

Apparently she had miscounted, because here was one that had somehow gotten to a new owner, as intended.

“Are you glad to be free?” Hermione asked, and Snape rolled his eyes and went to lay down on the bed. She heard him grab some papers, and she glanced over to see he was re-reading some grant materials that he had printed. So stubborn, he was.

“Of… of course?” answered the elf, though it sounded uncertain. “I am pleased with my lot in life.”

“I’m glad,” Hermione said, but was interrupted by the elf, who went on (in as deferential way as possible).

“I was a little *more* pleased with my life before I was free, though.”

“I see,” Hermione said, and felt a confused pang of regret. She wasn’t sure if she should have done more to free the elves or listened to those around her who told her she was wrong to care. “And you have been free for many years now?”

“Many!” exclaimed the elf a little more brightly. “But I’m so sorry,” the elf said, “to disturb you during your talk. Fancy thought she was quiet. Please carry on as you were, Lowly will be back to get me, soon.”

“What,” Snape asked dryly from the bed, apparently not able to tune out the conversation as well as he’d hoped, “you can’t leave on your own?”

“No,” answered the elf, and began to sniffle. “Fancy cannot.”

“Why is that?” Hermione asked, kindly as she could manage. She was afraid of the answer.

“They changed the wards once Dobby was gone, Miss Hermione,” said Fancy. “Free elves no longer can go around the castle on their own. They only let Dobby do it for Master Potter, because he is a Very Important Person.”

“Are there many free elves?” Hermione asked, gently extending her hand to offer it to Fancy.

Fancy responded warmly, by grabbing Hermione’s hand. “Not so many,” she said, “just Fancy, I think. Though I do not know.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said, realizing that Fancy seemed to be lonely. “You don’t know of anyone else?”

“No,” Fancy said, and sighed. “She doesn’t either. It’s all right, though,” she - at least Hermione thought Fancy might be a she - went on, smiling bravely. “Fancy is well cared for, as you see.” She patted her enormous stomach, which hung low out of her tunic. Then she grasped onto Hermione’s hand and, with a great effort, stood onto her own two feet, where she wobbled unsteadily. “Lowly is my new Master,” she went on softly, “since Hogwarts no longer is. And Lowly is a very kind Master.” She gave a little hiccup, and uneasily sat down again.

“I see,” Hermione said, and did some mental calculus. “How long have you and Lowly been watching us?”

“A short while,” Fancy responded with delight. “We’ve been doing what you and Master Severus do! And I have gotten very fat,” she said with a purr of pride.

“Oh gods,” Snape said from across the room, hurriedly, as if he had been expecting this revelation somehow, and he clapped his hands. “Lowly?”

The other elf popped into the room, clearly white with mortification.

“Master Severus?” Lowly responded, not daring to look up at either Snape or Hermione.

Snape sat up wearily and shook his head. “You and Fancy need to stop this. Stop it now.”

“We see,” Lowly said, trembling and shaking. “We shall stop, Master Severus. We shall stop watching you.”

“No,” Snape said, his voice as hard as steel. “Not just that. You need to stop the feeding, too.”

“We see,” Lowly said.

“Get her back to normal,” Snape said with a frown. “You’ve abused your power. You are no longer Fancy’s master, Lowly. I have no idea how this started, but it ends now.”

“But… but Fancy chose to be her servant,” Fancy exclaimed from the closet, “Fancy is *hers!*”

“Not anymore,” Snape said coldly. “You are relieved of your service to Lowly, Fancy. Lowly,” Snape added, and the elf looked up with a strained smile, “you will care for Fancy as one of your own brethren. Fancy is *not* allowed to become a servant to any other elf. And Fancy must be permitted to work again as a servant of Hogwarts, if she chooses. She *must* be given the ability to travel through the wards again. Am I understood?”

“...yes, Master Severus,” Lowly said, still white and shaking. Lowly then hurried to the closet, put her hand on Fancy’s shoulder, and blinked out of the space.

“Gods,” Snape said, laying down again. “I can’t believe this. I truly can’t.”

“I don’t know what to think either,” Hermione said, also unnerved.

“That settles it,” Snape said with a frown, staring at the ceiling, his fingers steepled on his chest. “We’ve got to stop this.”

She didn’t need to ask *what* they needed to stop. But the disappointment was immense. “What about… what about everything we’ve talked about?” Hermione asked, dismay filling her. She sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. “I thought we were… well…”

He turned his head and glared at her. “It’s clear that this is no longer about two consenting adults doing something… unusual… in privacy,” he said, resolution in his voice. “This goes beyond us.

“The world already sees us, as unusual, Hermione,” he went on, glum but resolved, “in the sense that we’re both intelligent beyond the comprehension of most of the feeble-minded dunderheads in the world. Why alienate ourselves even further by committing the sin of gluttony? Aren’t we both isolated enough without trying to make us even more distant and unreachable? Being intelligent already has enough dangers as it is. Being fat - well, there’s no surer path to being hated.”

Hermione squinted at him. “That’s very Catholic-sounding.”

“My father,” he said with a twinge.

He sighed. “And what of the other impressionable fools who see us,” he went on, closing his eyes and touching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “Gods! Influencing a houseelf. That’s… like convincing a kitten to kill itself. Poor creature. That’s a sight I *never* want to see again.”

“Neither do I,” Hermione admitted. The whole situation had left her feeling uneasy, and Snape’s melodrama wasn’t helping.

“Fortunately,” Snape said, “this was an early reminder.” He stood up with a sigh, and started pacing. “Even when we think we are alone,” he murmured, bitterly, “our actions have consequences. This will only become worse the farther along we go. So, stopping seems to be the most logical course of action to protect those around us.”

“Why?” Hermione asked. “What will become worse?”

Snape rolled his eyes and kept pacing, his hands folded behind his back, his gait vigorous and betraying his distress. “People have not begun to notice you getting bigger, yet,” he said, “at least, not *really.* But it won’t be long before people do start noticing you. And then, they will be horrible to you.”

He threw himself in a chair and glared at the coat-rack. Hermione did not answer him, so he went on, “Why would I want to curse you to a life of looking like me? People hate fat people. I confess it’s hard for *me* not to hate *me* for being so fat. So I refuse.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Refuse what?”

He shook his head, his hair covering his face moodily. “I refuse to begin walking you down a path towards universal loathing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh come now.”

“No,” he said, finally able to meet her eyes. “No. We can’t do this any longer.”

There was fear in his voice and eyes, she could tell, and it wasn’t getting better the more he spoke.

She got up and moved towards him. He was sweating profusely, and his forehead was cold to the touch.

“Are you all right?” she asked, and wiped his brow with the back of her hand.

“Perfectly,” he lied, but he maintained eye contact with her, testing her, daring her to call him on it.

She threw up her hands. “Fine,” she said, “so you just get to make decisions for the both of us, is that right?”

He seemed to retract his dominance visibly, becoming more withdrawn and observational, and he scrutinized her face carefully, not responding.

“Great,” she said crossly, “Glad to know I’ve got someone else looking out for what’s best for me who doesn’t even bother to solicit my opinion in the matter.”

She flounced away from him and went to manhandle the stray papers on the bureau.

“I...you…” Snape tried to form a coherent thought, but her back was turned to him, and he hesitated.

Finally, after some reflection, he proposed, “We could keep feeding me up, though. Perhaps just not as often.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Hermione said with sullen sarcasticness, not bothering to look back at him. “My body also appreciates being told what to do. It’s so refreshing. I’ve never had to contend with other people commenting on what I should do about my body before.”

“You must understand,” Snape said, though he sounded defeated already. “I’m just thinking of what’s truly best for you.”

“You certainly know better than I do,” Hermione quipped in response.

“You know,” he went on, though his heart was not in the argument anymore. “I am older than you. In theory, I *should* know better.”

“I’m so glad you do,” Hermione said, “I’m sure I’d have been dead long ago without you by my side.”

She was definitely not pleased with this course of events, and she mostly just wanted him to leave.

What on earth was his problem? They’d been *just* at the point where they’d really gotten to know and appreciate each others’ bodies, and were on the beginning of a beautiful sexual and romantic journey. Why the hell did he have to fuck it up?

*Oh.* Her mind went of its own accord to their prior conversation, about him being afraid of fucking things up, and self-destructing things that were going well.

“Okay,” she said, with a deep breath, and she took another for good measure. “Okay.”

She then turned around and faced him, though with a stern look on her face. “Okay.”

And then she marched over to where he sat, shoulders slumped and belly hanging between his wide-spread legs, and she slapped him across the face before he could blink at her.

He was startled, and glared at her. “Hey,” he began, but she slapped him again across his fat delicious face.

He was thoroughly perplexed, and remained silent thereafter.

“What do you think was the reason I did that?” Hermione asked.

He took a breath, and put a hand to his cheek. “Erm,” he began, and decided, “Because you are asserting your right to autonomy, which I was trespassing upon.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, “but go on.”

“Because you don’t want me to change the way we have negotiated our relationship without consulting you in making changes?”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, “but there’s more.”

He curled his lip under and appeared thoughtful. “You don’t accept that our actions have broader effects on the people outside of our personal relationship.”

“Yes, but not what I’m going for,” Hermione said, “What was it that you were talking about very recently about… losing people?”

Snape opened his mouth to respond, but saw there seemed to be no use for it, and he closed his mouth again and bowed his head.

“I won’t say that it’s entirely relevant here,” he responded finally, not able to look at her. “But I think you are right to remind me of the phenomenon.”

“Right,” Hermione said grimly. “Now you’re going to take a moment and think about what you said, and come up with an alternative.”

His face was very expressive as it twisted for a few moments, revealing his frustration and anger, but it was amazing how he managed to suddenly bottle those emotions. His face became visibly blank, and he appeared thoughtful but phlegmatic.

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, he said, “Hermione, I’m going to respectfully ask that we talk about what our relationship should look like going forward. I’m of the opinion that it’s possibly dangerous for you to gain weight at a rapid pace, for not only biological reasons but because of the social implications.”

Hermione smiled, and lay down on the bed, stomach-first, to look at Snape carefully.

“Thanks for your concern,” she said brightly, “but I’m happy with the way things are, thanks very much.”

He took a deep heaving breath. “I see,” he said with a groan of despair. “Then what do you propose to do with my conscience, which is already showing signs of poisoning the small seedling of integrity that I’ve been trying to grow?”

“Integrity?” Hermione asked with a laugh. “What, you mean your response to the Fancy and Lowly situation is one based on *integrity?*”

“Scoff if you like, Granger,” he said moodily, kicking at the floor with the toe of his stockinged foot. “It’s… it’s important that my own self-destruction not have an impact on others.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, and wrapped herself around his plump body. “I do.” She let her fingers sink into the crevice between his belly and his thigh, and it was so hot and warm there. She loved feeling his stomach expand and contract with every breath. It was like her fingers were in an ocean of warmth with the rising and ebbing tide around them.

“Then what say you?” he asked, and she realized his breaths were getting shallower as he tried unsuccessfully to suck in his massive gut.

She removed her hand, and he began to breathe normally again. It was clear that fat play was not something he was particularly interested in right now.

“Do whatever you like,” Hermione said, smiling but firm. “I will support you in whatever you want to do - whether that’s getting thinner, getting fatter, staying the same, or just letting nature take its course. But,” she went on, “I ask you to extend me the same courtesy. Don’t tell me to stop enjoying my food, or modify my eating habits in any way.”

“Fine,” he agreed, “is that all?”

“Well,” she said with a small smile, looking up at him, “I’d like if you still let me enjoy your fat.”

He looked at her incredulously. “And what if, by some unusual chance, I become a thin man again?”

“Everyone has fat,” Hermione said. “Even thin people. It’s a matter of quantity.”

He grimaced. “I suppose. So,” Snape said, a bit more hopefully, “is it possible that the actual intent to gain weight is something that we can leave aside?”

“That’s what I said,” Hermione said, standing up and going to look at her figure in the mirror. It was fascinating to see how much more of it she filled up than she used to. Her tummy had emerged into its own, developing from a modest pot-belly to a full round mass of blubber, creamy and growing steadily heavier with every pound. She prodded her nice fat sides and made them wiggle.

Snape shifted his legs uncomfortably, and his breathing quickened immediately.

“Don’t you like this?” she asked, settling herself on the edge of the bed. “I certainly do.” She cupped her belly in her hand and cradled it. “Look at this nice pillow of soft jelly. It’s so warm to the touch and feels so comforting.”

“Wait until you’re laughed at,” he murmured raspily, as if trying to convince himself. “Wait until you are the object of scorn for everyone in the castle.”

“Look at my breasts,” she begged him, “aren’t they divine? Please tell me if they aren’t the most beautiful pair you’ve ever seen.”

“My opinion’s worth nothing,” he replied, as if not quite hearing her, “what will beautiful breasts do when you’re alone and no one will help you?”
“I have no intention of being alone,” Hermione said, cozying up to him more, and wrapping her arm around him, “not when I have you.”

His face was dark with unexpressed emotion. “But I won’t be around forever.”

“And when you’re gone,” Hermione replied, “I still won’t give a fig about what other people think.”

“Oh,” he murmured as she kissed him, and he leaned back on the bed as she voraciously kissed him. “Oh.”

Several minutes later, he murmured, “Granger, you *must* have been a Slytherin in some past existence. I don’t know what you do to me, but-”

“-Shh,” she whispered back. “It’s all right. Let’s just be quiet here together for a while.”

Soon the sound of their gentle snores filled the room.
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Old 10-05-2014, 06:40 PM   #34
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"everyone has fat. Even thin people. It’s a matter of quantity.”

Touche! Love, i think im going to file that away for a future come back...

Love the new chapters!
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Old 12-08-2014, 08:35 PM   #35
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Chapter 26

Chapter Text

She awoke later in the morning to the feeling of his urgent kisses gently running up and down her neck.

“Mmm,” she said, and swatted at him gently. “I won’t be getting up unless there’s coffee.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he heaved himself out of bed and padded to the kitchenette, where she heard him fill the coffee-pot with water and set it to boil.

She drifted back into luxurious unconsciousness, where she found herself dreaming. She was at least a hundred pounds fatter herself, and she was thoroughly engaged in the task of taking all his clothes off and fucking all five-hundred pounds of him in the Great Hall on the staff table, in front of everyone. Their reasons for choosing that table were apparently that it was the only table in the castle that could support him. She thrilled at the sight of all the gaping mouths of students and staff, and proceeded to exhibit very seductively what kinds of pleasurable things she liked to do to him.

His dick was almost in her mouth when the scent of strong coffee awoke her, and the flesh-and-blood three-hundred-twenty-four-plus-pound Snape was standing in front of her, sipping his own brew with one hand and hovering another cup under her nose.

“Damn,” she said with a frustrated grin, “I was in a great dream.”

“Mm,” was all he said in response, and seated himself gingerly in her desk chair, which looked a bit frail underneath him. He looked at her with the kind of look of a person who is in pain, but trying to ignore it.

“I suppose I’ll be wanting a new chair soon,” said Hermione, sitting up and drawing the bedclothes closer around her, picking up the cup. “It’s better suited to the frame of someone like McGonagall than you or I.”

He shrugged, and the chair squeaked its protest at having someone so heavy upon it.

“Also,” Hermione went on, “you look like hell. Are you feeling at all better?”

He tried to smile and looked out the window at the rain. “Slightly. Probably will be back to normal by evening.”

“Did you sleep more?” she asked, and he shook his head negative. “You must have, just a little bit,” she said with a smile, “I heard you snoring.”

“Oh.” He didn’t seem particularly invested in the conversation. “Perhaps. For a few moments.”

He stood up and went to stand at the window, where he took a few deep breaths.
“What does it feel like?” she asked, easing herself out of bed, the blankets around her, her coffee in her hand.

“What does *what* feel like?” he responded testily, clearly trying to dodge the question.

She joined him at the window. The rain was heavy this morning, the clouds dark overhead and thunder echoing in the distance. The trees waved, their browning leaves falling with every gust of wind.

“Your pain?” she asked after a solemn sip of her coffee.

He shook his head, as if not believing that she wanted to know. “To some extent, it’s like over-acute consciousness.”

“What does that mean?” she asked thoughtfully.

He made a noise of disappointment. “Have you not read, *Notes from Underground*?”

She thought about it. “Who’s that written by?”

He smiled thinly. “Dostoyevsky.”

She shook her head. “No, he’s a Muggle. I’ve never prioritized reading Muggle literary fiction. If I read Muggle books, they’re generally nonfiction. There’s too much knowledge out there for me to spend much time reading for fun.”
“Alas,” Snape said, and suddenly said, in a low, poetic sort of voice, “Well: It’s a ‘sort of secret abnormal, despicable enjoyment, acutely conscious that that day I had committed a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be undone, and secretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful accursed sweetness, and at last—into positive real enjoyment!’” He sighed. “Russians. They have such insight into my condition.”

She put down her coffee and draped her arms around him, wrapping him in the blanket as well. His muscles were stiff to the touch, but halfheartedly returned the embrace.

“It’s somewhat ironic,” he went on miserably. “My mind gnaws on itself. I gnaw on anything I can get in my mouth. Possibly there’s a correlation, on a metaphysical level.”

She didn’t have much of a response. “I mean, if you want to think of it that way, you can,” she said, “but… I mean… I gnaw on everything I can, and I don’t have the same issue.”

This was a lie, though Hermione herself was loathe to admit it. The sensation of her mind gnawing on itself was something she was acutely familiar with, particularly from her school days, but also as recently as her time in the Ministry. She wondered if it had really gone away, or if it was just hidden out of sight lately because of spending so much time caring about Snape and his mental health.

“Really,” he said acerbically, challenging her. He seemed to call her bluff, and he stared into her eyes for a few moments, then turned to look out the window again and sipped his coffee again with a facial expression of resignation.

“I… I mean,” Hermione said, reluctantly, “I’m anxious sometimes…”

He snorted, and finished the last of his coffee. “Sometimes?”

“...I thought I was doing better,” she said grumpily. “And you definitely haven’t seen me at my worst.”

“Maybe because I’m actually competent at doing what you want me to do, compared to Potter and Weasley,” Snape said with a grimace.

“Now, that’s not fair,” Hermione said, putting the blanket on his shoulders and untangling herself from it. She went to the closet, arms crossed to keep warm, and put on the dressing-gown he’d given her. His eyes followed her nude body as she did so, clearly admiring her figure.

“I think I’m right,” he said with a self-satisfied grumble, watching as she belted the gown. “You trust me to execute projects without constant oversight. I don’t think you’ve ever been able to do that with them.”

“Maybe not,” she conceded, picking up her coffee and sitting on the window-seat. “But I don’t like where this conversation is headed, Severus.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and shook his head. “You’re right. I… apologize.”

“It’s all right,” she said with a sigh. She went back to the desk and picked up some papers. “So, are we going to talk more about what happened earlier this morning?”

“I don’t see a need to,” he said crisply, staring into sky.

“All right,” she returned, and felt her stomach rumble. “Breakfast?”

“More like elevenses,” he said, finally retreating from the window, looking as refreshed as was possible for him. He came over to where she sat at her desk, leaned over, and draped his arms around her as she opened a week’s worth of neglected correspondence, kissing her earlobe and holding her close to his chest.

“Then let’s,” said Hermione, turning to kiss him on the lips and standing.

He cuddled her in his arms for a few moments.

“Let’s be moderate,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t need to be stuffed this morning.”

She pressed her cheek against his soft chest flab and rubbed his delicious round belly. “I understand,” she said, snuggling him close, and he kissed the top of her head.

Then she led him into the kitchenette, where she began to scavenge for something that was remotely edible. Both of them were moderately spooked, it seemed, from the incident with Lowly, and wanted to avoid interaction with the elves for the time being.

Hermione did find some bread mix, and she made impromptu hot cakes. In accordance with his stated desires, she did not cook an exorbitant number - three for herself, five for Severus. There was peach-orange preserves and broken chocolate bits for flavor.

There was something different about cooking for him, compared to just eating what the elves brought them. The smells filled the kitchen, making both of them hungry many minutes before the food was close to ready.

Severus set the table with the cheap second-hand flatware from the cabinets - left over from whoever had lived in the flat last. Then he made himself incredibly unuseful in the kitchen, wrapping himself around her as she stood at the stove, kissing her and fondling her soft bits.

“Please,” she said with a smirk as he licked the sensitive place under her ear, “don’t you have something better to do?”

“You tell me,” he replied salaciously, rubbing her belly with one hand and snaking his other hand under the satin robe to her left breast.

She firmly removed his hand from her breast and settled it on her waist so that she could flip the cakes in the pan with the spatula. “You’re in the way,” she said with some element of teasing.

In response, he sank onto the floor, his hands gliding down her hips, thighs, and legs as he went, and then he stopped touching her and seemed to contort himself into an awkward position on the floor. She twisted her head around her and saw that he was folded in half - he’d propped up his legs on the opposite counter, and was otherwise laying flat on the floor, looking up her skirt between her legs, his head between her feet.

She stepped carefully aside to see his expression; he was smirking, and his eyes were dancing.

“Was that still ‘in the way’?” he asked with a coquettish pout, and she gently kicked his shoulder with her stockinged foot.

“I think you know the answer to that question,” she said, “now how on earth did you get into that position?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he responded, “but I am sure I won’t be able to get out of it without your gracious assistance.”

“Not while I’m cooking,” she said firmly, and responded by putting down the spatula and grabbing his hands, and (with great effort) dragging his fat arse out of the kitchenette to the living room, where there was a bit more space, and she laughed as he protested feebly.

“Now, stay,” she commanded, and went back to the kitchen, but she took her robe off and left it on a chair in the living room.

“I think you forgot something,” he said, not getting up from where he lay lazily on the floor.

“For your own safety,” she responded with a laugh. “You can gawk at my lady bits all you like without risking a pan falling on your face.”

He snorted. “I was *not* gawking.”

“Well, what were you doing, then?”

“Simply *appreciating.*”

“Appreciate this,” she responded, and grabbed a spoonful of marmalade and took it to where he lay. She spread her legs and crouched over him, giving him a full view while offering the marmalade to his lips. He licked it up greedily from the spoon, then arched his neck and started licking her pussy with the hunger of a starving man.

“Mm,” he murmured, readjusting himself to get a better angle, “You’re so wet.”

“It’s just thinking about how nice and large you are,” she whispered with a gasp as she felt her body preparing to orgasm. “And how much you’re going to enjoy the food I’m making for you.”

“Well then,” he said, a kind of thrilling satisfaction in his eyes. His hand absently wandered to rest on his large belly. “I suppose you really do like this, don’t you.” He seemed as if he could barely believe it.

She began to feel a cramp in her upper thigh, so she stood straight again. “Yes,” she said simply, “I do enjoy it.”

Then she went back to the stove, and barely caught the hotcake in time before it began to burn.

Soon enough breakfast was on the table, and Snape was upright again and in a chair, and Hermione had served them both, and they were eating hungrily.

“This is perfect,” Hermione complimented herself as Snape ploughed through his food. He nodded amiably in response, swallowed, and reached for the orange preserves to lather on the next layer of cake.

“Mmm, more like Exceeds Expectations,” he responded with a humorous glint in his eye.

“What,” Hermione said in mock dismay, “so you don’t want the rest, I take it?”

She reached for his plate and he moved it protectively towards him. “That is *not* what I said,” he said with a mischievous grin. “It merely could be improved.”

“How,” Hermione asked, “could it possibly be improved?”

“In the states,” he responded, filling his mouth with blatant pleasure, “they use warm maple syrup. And butter.”

“I see,” Hermione said, “so I fall short of American standards. That’s a low bar to miss, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “So you would imagine. But haven’t you seen how fat Americans are? They must have something going well for them or they’d look quite different.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “So now America is the height of culinary offerings. It’s clear you enjoyed yourself there,” she murmured, grabbing a hold of his fat roll and jiggling it in her hands.

He nodded, his face growing red. He took another bite of his food, and a smudge of marmalade stuck to his chin. He reached out his tongue to lick it up, and then wiped his face with the back of his hand as he took another huge bite.

The way his face curled into a state of pure satisfaction at that moment was so intriguing and delightful. She massaged the hill of his upper gut, which was pooching out of the thick rolls of fat around his middle, and he moaned in response, his eyes closed.

Then Hermione moved back to take another bite from her own plate, and as she did so, her hands brushed against her plumpening thighs, sending them into jiggling waves. “Oh, god,” she murmured, and spread her legs urgently, and began to stimulate herself right there on her chair. She was so turned on, she could not wait for Snape to finish his food.

He seemed torn for just the slightest of moments between eating food and eating something else, but swiftly he was on the floor, grasping on the legs of the chair and tonguing her in the most convincing way possible.

She moaned and swore as he used his well-trained tongue on her.

Oh gods, he was ravishing her. There was quite a bit of benefit to his mouth being the most exercised area of his body - there seemed to be no end to his licking and sucking. As she bucked her hips, he put two chubby fingers in her vagina and rubbed with them fiercely, and she couldn’t open her eyes because of the amount of pleasure she was feeling.

He kept at it until she patted him on the head and collapsed against the back of the chair, at which point he was panting for breath and clearly exhausted. He sat back on his wide arse and breathed deeply.

Hermione slipped off the chair to join him on the floor, where she nestled herself in his lap and reached up to massage the corners of his jaw.

“That’s… so nice,” he murmured once he had regained his breath.

“Hope you’re ready to finish your food,” Hermione said firmly, accio’ing the plate and fork from the table. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

“Mm,” he said, opening his mouth.

Hermione put the hot cakes in his mouth, letting him slowly chew between bites. The sheer euphoria he was experiencing was tangible in every smacking noise of his lips, every gurgle of his stomach, and every little moan he had with every bite.

Alas, too soon it was all gone. It was clear to her that he was still hungry to a degree, but he patted his tummy and rubbed it.

“Are you still hungry?” she asked, “you can finish mine, if you want.”

“No,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “I’m quite satisfied. You need to finish your own food. I have no desire to see you become a formless waif before my eyes, if I have anything to do with it.”

“I see,” she said with a laugh, and took her plate from the table, and a pillow from the main sofa, and sat with him on the floor. She leaned back and accepted as he served her bite after bite of the rich cakes.

As it happened, she was quite glad that he hadn’t accepted her offer of her leftovers, because she ate every bite and still was painfully hungry afterwards.

“Is there more in the kitchen?” he asked as he eased himself up off the floor. She shook her head.

“No, and there’s barely anything else either.”

Snape didn’t believe her, and went to look for himself. Hermione cradled her stomach, which was begging for more food, and she took a look at herself. Her tummy was distinctly convex, finally claiming a victory in how it began to spill out from under her breasts, and was finally beginning to look substantial. As she curled up, her belly squished into adorable rolls of fat, perfect for grabbing onto. Her breasts rested on them, heavy and squishy. But her belly was what was blocking up her line of vision when she looked down - a refreshing change from her breasts occupying that position of prestige.

Snape came back into the room empty-handed.

“You’re right,” he said with tangible disappointment in his voice. He extended his hands to her, and helped her up. She mopingly went to the sofa and sat upon it.

“Oh,” he breathed as he looked at her, his mouth clearly watering, and she looked down at herself. Her belly spread across her thighs and made for an inviting plump lump of fat. He sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her, nestling his plump fingers in the crevice formed between her tummy and her thigh.

“You’re so delicious,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. “So, it appears you are still hungry?”

“Quite,” she said, grumpy. “Let’s go to town, shall we?”

He took a deep breath and did not respond for a few moments. He seemed entirely too preoccupied by touching her soft, supple skin. The way he gazed at her belly was far too telling. His fingers ran over the stretch marks there and massaged them gently.

“Snape?” she said, and he jerked slightly, startled.

“Erm. Yes. Madam Puddifoot’s?” he asked, and it seemed that there was an element of fear in his voice.

“Not really,” she said with a smirk, “that seems cruel and unusual torture. What about the pub in town? The one that isn’t Aberforth’s.”

He did not answer her right away, so she intuited that he wasn’t in favor of this plan.

“Erm,” she asked, “is there somewhere else you’re thinking of?”

He waited several long moments, his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her, continuing to finger her soft flesh. Finally, with some amount of embarrassment, he confessed, “Well… erm… I really would prefer the former.”

Hermione was so surprised she laughed. “Are you *really* saying you’d prefer to go to Madam Puddifoot’s over a quiet anonymous pub?”

He looked uncomfortable, and quickly retracted, “It’s fine. The pub is fine.”

Hermione just laughed. “No, I’m entirely ambivalent. I mean, if it were a Hogsmeade weekend, I wouldn’t be keen on going to Madam Puddifoot’s, but if you have a preference…”

“It *is* a Hogsmeade weekend,” Snape said, standing up and going to mess with some papers on the coffee table as an excuse to not look at her. “And I would like to go there, even so.”

Hermione grinned broadly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he said testily, as if insulted, not looking at her. “I have it on good authority that it’s a pre-requisite to becoming someone’s someone, when you’re at Hogwarts.”

She felt like she couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t believe it,” she said with as gentle a taunt as she could muster. “Severus Snape, you’re asking me to Madam Puddifoot’s. On a public date.”

He still wasn’t looking at her. “They have good coffee.”

“I… I suppose,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know that anyone’s asked me to go there before.”

“Then let me be the first,” he said solemnly, turning to stare at her.

Their eyes met, and there was such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly frightened her. There were so many emotions that he seemed to be permitting to the surface of his eyes - trust, possessiveness, desire, pride, and fear.

Fear of what, she had to wonder. But fundamentally pride seemed to be the most overwhelming emotion she could read, and she stood up and let her lips melt into his.

After a few moments of snogging, she let go and patted his fine round rump.

“Give me a moment to dress,” she said, practically bouncing into the next room.

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Chapter 27

Chapter Text

They arrived at Madam Puddifoot’s at just the perfect time. Most of the folks in there were older students, the more mature ones who were less interested in getting a sugar rush from Honeyduke’s. So the tea shop was bustling, but still managed to be intimate. A disgusting amount of chintz and lace comprised the decor, though in a perverse way it was charming.

“Cloying atmosphere,” Snape said, as if this expedition hadn’t been his idea in the first place, and he stuck his nose in the menu almost as soon as they were seated at a table. Hermione laughed a little to herself and did the same. She was quick to decide on what she wanted, so there was time for her to look around her and see if there were any students she recognized.

Of course there were. Sixth-years Josephine Lestrange and Geoffrey Norell were hotly engaged in a jealous staring contest between themselves (apparently over the bashful and intimidated Michaela Secundis) and were too occupied to notice Hermione and Severus. But seventh-year Frank Graysteel was a little more alert - he seemed to be waiting for someone, and was trying (but failing) to be nonchalant, with a novel in his hand. He covertly peeked over the edge of the book every time the door jangled and glanced first at the person who came in, and then, given boredom, at Hermione and Severus.

Hermione took Severus’ hand and ran her thumb over his fingers. Without looking up at her, he surreptitiously squeezed back. His stomach audibly rumbled, but he ignored it and sipped at the mug of tea, which a server had plunked upon their table when they arrived.

Seeing this gesture of affection, Frank Graysteel’s eyebrows shot up, and he tried unsuccessfully to hide his stare. He dropped his book, and took his time bending down to retrieve it again, curiosity emanating from behind his glasses.

Hermione knew her classes would be a little more awkward from this point forward, as everyone speculated about her and the former potions master. She wondered how people would react. She fully expected people to be confounded. But, she thought, as she looked at her lover settle deeper into the most comfortable chair in the room with a big enough seat to accommodate him, who else would the public actually approve of her dating, other than Ron?

Better Snape, who was respected for his intelligence, feared for his temper, and romanticized for his long-suffering admiration of Lily Potter, than some weedy Newt Scamander-type like Graysteel, who couldn’t keep up with her own intelligence, temper, and passion.

But as she was to discover, the public also seemed uncharitably favored towards her being Snape’s partner, just as much (if not more than) the public seemed uncharitably favored towards him being her partner.

Example A: Madam Puddifoot herself was there to greet them the moment Severus lowered the menu, her plump face dimpled and her mood effusive.

“My dear Professor Snape,” she gushed, “It’s been so long. And who is this with you… Miss Granger? Oh!” She fanned herself with her hand quite prettily, her other hand on her apron. “You look so much younger than I thought,” Madam added to Hermione.

That was the last amount of attention she paid to Hermione. Madam Puddifoot turned her entire body very deliberately towards the former potions master. The tea-shop owner was very stout and had a shiny black bun, which was just a notch less tight than McGonagall’s. As her gaze moved back to Severus, her hand drifted up to twist her jangly earring,. Her eyes fluttered at him. “I’m so glad to see you here. I do hope you’ll become a regular.”

Snape had no response for this, so Madam Puddifoot tried another tactic. “Do you have… any *questions* about the menu?”

Snape blinked once or twice at her, and shook his head, looking for all the world like a cat that had been given an unwilling bath. “None,” he said firmly, snapping the menu shut and thrusting it at her. “I’ll have the full monty, but no bubble and squeak.”

“Full English,” repeated Madam Puddifoot, looking as delighted as a cat offered cream, “no bubble and squeak.”

“Right,” he said with a roll of his eyes, letting them rest where they met Hermione’s. “Darling?”

Hermione smiled faintly, not particularly pleased at seeing the way Madam Puddifoot’s finger curled the loose hair that drifted down her cheek - in a way that showed she was interested in Severus.

He seemed to not notice, however, as he fiddled with the corner of the doily that served as a placemat, worrying a loose string.

“Here, let me get that,” Madam Puddifoot said with a genteel - but no less suggestive - note in her voice. She drew a tiny pair of scissors from a clasp at her belt, and she grasped her hand on Snape’s shoulder (in what was clearly a staged accident) to catch her balance and leaned her heavy large breasts practically in his face as she leaned forward. She inserted her hand between Severus’ and the doily deftly, and snipped the little bit of string.

“Erm,” Severus said, but it was too late - the string was snipped, and swept off the table by Madam Puddifoot’s plump hands. She put the tiny bit of thread in her pocket, and patted it warmly.

“There,” she said, and as if she noticed a speck of dust on his shoulder, she brushed him off with her hand. Then, smiling innocently, she turned to Hermione. “So sorry about that. And what will you be having, dear?”

Hermione’s smile was barely civil at this point. “What he’s having,” she said, fierce with solidarity for Snape’s awkwardness, and also because Madam Puddifoot’s intentions were so patently clear.

Madam Puddifoot took a gander at Hermione, looking the girl up and down, and very slightly shook her head, tsking. “Coming right out,” she said with a low, disapproving mutter, and Madam Puddifoot left their table.

“Sheesh,” Hermione said once the woman was out of earshot. “What a performance!”

“What performance?” Snape asked, yawning and stretching his legs out under the table, clearly enjoying the comfortable chair. He looked relaxed, and hungry.

Hermione’s eyes blazed. “Are you really going to pretend that didn’t happen?” she demanded, leaning towards him. “That her double standards weren’t so painfully obvious?”

“I don’t understand,” Snape said, clearly confused. He moved to sit up slightly. Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“I… I can’t,” she said.

He looked no less confused, but the toe of his shoe gently nudged at one of her calves. His face was somehow both sharp, but also thoughtful, and Hermione decided to give up for the moment.

“Oblivious much,” she muttered, and shaking her head, she cast a customized flatten-surface charm. The teacups and flowers and doilies flattened on the table, and a semi-transparent chessboard, complete with pieces, appeared in an overlay.

Snape had the good taste to look impressed. “Clever,” he intoned, and pressed his finger to the checkered board. It went straight through. Then he moved his knight from behind the battle lines to the board. It operated same as any other chess piece composed of regular matter, and stayed where he put it. “Is it an illusion?”

“Partly,” Hermione said, with a grin. “Something I worked up in the forest of Dean during the last year of the war. We didn’t have much, and we had to make do with what we had. Do you play much?”

“No,” he answered carefully, “though I did really get into board games in America.”

The idea of Snape playing Snakes and Ladders popped into Hermione’s head, and she burst out laughing.

He looked annoyed. “Oh, come on,” he said, and moved a piece from her side of the board.

“Hey,” she said and tried to take it back, and barely got to it in time before he placed it down. “Not fair.”

“Then stop laughing and play,” he said testily, but she could tell there was good humor behind it.

So she focused, and they played. Now, Hermione thought she was really good after years of playing against Ron. But Snape was soundly trouncing her by the time they were five moves in, and Hermione’s king was starting a futile attempt to escape a circle by the time their food arrived.

Madam Puddifoot was clearly not in the habit of serving most of her customers, as was easily observed by anyone who noticed her clean-aproned young busgirls. But she brought their plates out herself. “There we go,” she said comfortingly, as though they were impatient children, laying down the hot sizzling dishes, “we’re all taken care of, love.” She seemed to be speaking to Snape specifically, and this time he picked up on what was happening, casting a questioning glance at Hermione. Madam Puddifoot, for her part, grabbed Snape’s napkin. “I asked the cook to put on a few extra sausage for you, dearie,” she said, making a move to put Snape’s napkin on his lap.

He intercepted her hands deftly, grasping them tightly at the wrists. Madam Puddifoot was caught slightly off balance, and she leaned forward with a gasp, her face approaching Snape’s to the point where they could have been touching noses.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and his eyes firmly staring into the hapless tea shop owner’s. Finally, with disgust, he stated, “Thank you, Madam Puddifoot, you have certainly been *more* than helpful.” Only then did he drop her wrists and turn to make contact with Hermione’s eyes. He seemed to be searching for a sign of her approval.

For her part, Madam Puddifoot looked embarrassed. “I… I’ll be telling the girls to refresh your tea,” she said, and scurried off to the safety behind her main counter.

Hermione smirked as she took a forkful of grilled mushroom. “That was something,” she said, moving the chess board a little bit higher, so they could see their food better.

Snape shook his head, burying himself in his food, not meeting her eyes. “Tell me next time, please.”

“Tell you… what? Why?” Hermione asked, “don’t you notice it when these things happen?”

He closed his eyes as he shoveled an entire slice of black pudding in his mouth. “No,” he said, after swallowing contentedly, “I don’t.” He grimaced, still not looking up.

Hermione gazed at him. “Really?”

He didn’t meet her eyes or answer, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the set of events. “Gods,” he said, and that was all.

He proceeded to stab his eggs savagely, straight in the centers, letting the gooey yolks smear all over his plate.

“Hey,” Hermione’s hand sneaked across the table. “Hey.” She felt his fingers relax into her hand, and he took a deep breath, then looked up at her.

There was that same sense of despair in his face that she’d witnessed the night before. And as she looked into his trying-to-be-blank eyes, she was overwhelmed by a sense of her own helplessness in helping him. There wasn’t anything she could do to make him feel better, not really. She could say things, but they might not seep in.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. He gave her a look that clearly read, ‘It isn’t,’ but he took a piece of toast, erased the remaining yolk from his plate with the bread, and put it in his mouth, not breaking his gaze with her for a moment.

She squeezed his hand, and put down her fork.

“Do you want to go?” she asked.

He shook his head in the negative, and silently went on to chew a sausage.

Hermione didn’t know what to do, so she cleared away the game from the air. He looked at her askingly.

“You were about to win,” she answered, waving her hand where the board had been.

He nodded, not arguing, and they finished their meal in relative silence.

He seemed better after having paid the bill and gone outside. The weather was chilly, and he took deep breaths of air as they stepped out into the blowing autumn leaves.

“It’s getting colder,” he observed as they walked down the cobblestones of Hogsmeade.

Hermione nodded, pressing herself closely to him, and he tightened his grip on her arm. It was remarkable how he made her feel so safe with just that simple touch, and she felt herself thrill.

They sat down on a bench facing Montgroot’s Roots, a magical plant nursery with a greenhouse that rivalled Hogwarts’ for variety.

“I’m enjoying today, Madam Busybody notwithstanding,” Hermione said as they placed themselves there. Severus couldn’t respond at first; they’d been walking briskly uphill, and he was a bit out of breath. His cheeks flushed as red as dirigibles, and the rest of his face was almost porcelain white. As he breathed deeply, he tucked her into his arms, and gently hid his nose against the softness of her neck, inhaling her scent.

“I am too,” he said, finally regulating his breath at a normal speed. His lips pressed against her skin, and he held her tighter. “I’m sorry about my fucked up emotions.” There was a choking feeling behind his words.

She wriggled her arms out of the cozy place between their bodies and patted his back warmly. “You’re getting through some stuff,” she said, “and you hold it against yourself more than I hold it against you. Thank you for letting me witness it.”

“Yeah,” he replied, which seemed to be all he could say. Then, with a deep breath, he leaned back a bit and studied her. “Why do you want to be with an old, broken fool as me?” he asked rhetorically, “You’re so pretty and smart.”

He sounded like a child, and it broke her heart to hear him like this. But she smiled steadily at him in response, which made him grab her roughly and bring her lips to his.

His kisses were stern, at first, but they became secretly grateful, as if he didn’t want to admit that he needed them as much as he did.

“Ew!” cried a cadre of first-years walking by.

Hermione and Snape ignored them, instead kissing each other all the more urgently.

They broke away at long last, both of their moods improved.

“All right,” Hermione said, “we had better get back to the castle.”

“What for?” he asked, standing with some exertion. “Let’s go into the woods. It’s clear I need some exercise.”

“Aw,” Hermione said “why do you say that?”

He snorted. “If I’m having this much trouble walking up a hill, that doesn’t bode well.”

“Okay,” Hermione affirmed, “as long as it’s not for reasons having to do with aesthetics. Because, just in case you don’t know, I find you *very* aesthetically pleasing.”

He stole another kiss from her, his only response to that, and they heaved themselves up and walked down the hill to where a forest path began, along the rim of the Forbidden Forest (the part that wasn’t forbidden).

“It’s a good day for a walk,” Hermione said, though she wished she had worn thicker socks. She was wearing a heavy velvet cloak that, granted, was not all that good for forest expeditions, but was incredibly picturesque.

Snape nodded. He wasn’t really as out of shape as he thought he was, Hermione decided, watching him. He didn’t waddle, though his succulent arse was truly as beautiful and round as a ripe cantaloupe. His thighs were thick and scraped together with every step, jiggling with the aftershock of his movements.

His belly was the part that gave him the most trouble, though, as he had to maneuver the monstrosity through space with every step, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Especially as they started to climb a stone staircase that wound its way through the goldening trees, he would awkwardly twist and turn in uncomfortable-looking ways that revealed that he had only recently acquired such a massive tummy. It got in the way, and fundamentally he was not used to it. He was used to being an incredibly fit and thin person, and he’d never tried to be a fit and fat person.

Hermione, being a lifelong nerd who was more comfortable on the couch than off it, had never bothered to develop fitness, but she knew enough about it from books. She wondered what it must be like, to be carrying that enormous protuberance in front of her. She couldn’t feel confident that her own experience with her little mushy belly was enough data to really know what it was like.

She herself was panting just as much, if not more, than Severus by the time they stopped mid-staircase, and she had to bend over and catch her breath while he leaned against a wooden rail that was there, also breathing heavily.

But watching him struggle was simultaneously a turn-on for her, though also she felt incredibly bad for being turned on by his straining. They started walking again, and she deliberately held back behind him because she loved watching the way his fat moved on his body, enjoyed hearing him huff and puff as he struggled in front of her, and sensing his overall frustration with his body.

They finally got to the top of the hill, and Snape immediately seated himself on a long sun-warmed stone, panting. Hermione also clambered onto it and lay down, curling herself around him slightly.

“Let’s rest a bit,” Hermione said, pulling at the hood of his cloak, and he nodded and lay back with her, his chest rising and falling steadily as he recuperated.

Eventually, he recovered enough to pay a little more attention to her, and he smirked as he patted her belly. It jiggled, and made noise as her second breakfast sloshed inside her. His fingers hooked themselves in the fatty place at the top of her belly, and his wrist started to move in a skilled vibrato. This motion set her entire belly pulsing with waves of flesh, and Hermione felt her breath catch again, her cervix tighten, her butt fat jiggle as she tightened her glutes, and an overwhelming hunger to be penetrated.

“Come here,” she begged, and pulled at Snape’s belt. “Please. Fuck me. I’m dying here.”

He laughed in a rumbling way. “In the middle of the forest?”

“Yes!” She moaned. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“How enticing you make it sound,” he quipped, but he was already getting up and yanking down his trousers and pants. He wasn’t very hard, but one hand worked at himself while his other one scrambled to make contact with her own underparts. She moaned as soon as his fingers dove under her panties, and just the slightest brush of his finger against her peachy pubic fat made her shiver and moan.

Hermione, at this, began rubbing her belly, slapping it, making it into the greatest visual spectacle it could be without taking her clothes off. And then she realized, this was silly - she didn’t need to take off all her clothes to bare her tummy! So she pushed her cardigan up, and her collared shirt, and revealed her rounding belly in all its splendor, shaking joyously as she stimulated it.

The very sight made Severus moan too, and he forcefully yanked down her underwear. It was progressively too small, and got stuck at her mid-thigh area, and he chortled with glee.

“Getting too big for your pants, eh,” he murmured, stroking himself furiously. “I need to get a better look of what you like with your delicious rump pouring out of them. But not right now - now you need my cock inside you. You’re not able to wait for me to fully savor the sight of your growing body, not right now. You need to be fucked. By me. Now. For whatever reason. Right where anyone coming up the path could see.”

Hermione groaned, and spread her legs as far as they could with the constraint of her panties, which were like handcuffs, and in fact the elastic was cutting into her skin. Snape saw this and, with his bare hands, grabbed the panties and ripped them down the crotch. Or at least tried to - the result was that said panties had a reinforced crotch (very sensible panties they were), and he had to actually use his teeth in order to get the fabric ripping.

Not that Hermione was complaining. The undies were quite wet with her sweat and desire, and it was incredibly sexy to see this enormous man with her undies in his teeth.

So without further ado, he cast the necessary spells and rammed himself into her. The stone on which she lay was the perfect position for him to slam himself into her, and his bit of exercise seemed to have invigorated his efforts. So the net effect was better than Hermione could remember, even with him.

The stone was starting to feel cold, so she had to stop and place her cloak underneath her exposed buttocks.

The feeling of sexual fireworks was utterly complete at that point. Severus’ member was going in and out at such a rapid pace, Hermione felt like it couldn’t actually be attached to a human being, much less one as large and chubby as Snape. He himself growled as he took her, gnashing his teeth and completely losing himself in the act.

But all good things must end, so with a final shudder, Severus spent himself inside her, and groaning and gasping, he crawled onto the stone next to her, pulling his pants halfway up.

“That was amazing,” Hermione whispered, feeling like people said marijuana made people feel like - she was gazing up at the clouds above them, and feeling every bit as high as they were.

“Feeling is mutual,” gasped Severus, who was sweating with the exertion.

They lay there with closed eyes for a while, breathing in the scent of the woods around them, and the sounds of the occasional bird tweeting.

But hurriedly, a whispering - “Quick, let’s go,” - and Hermione sat up as if electrocuted. She was just in time to see the retreating form of Frank Graysteel, holding the hand of another student Hermione didn’t recognize, and they were running at top speed down the stairs.

Snape groaned. “Well,” he said, “fuck.”

Hermione began to giggle. “Oh gods,” she murmured, “poor kids.”

“Serve them right for sneaking off against supervision,” Snape said a little more sternly. He turned his head and looked into her eyes, his face stoic.

Hermione shook her head and began full-out laughing.

Snape seemed inclined to remain properly embarrassed by the incident, but Hermione couldn’t stop laughing.

So he smirked. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, kissing her, “you really don’t care?”

“No,” Hermione said grandly, feeling benevolent and giddy, “I’m in love with Severus Snape. I don’t give a shit who knows that.”

This utterance seemed to freeze Severus - his body grew still, and he seemed to stop breathing as he processed this information.

“Erm,” he said, and Hermione realized that she’d possibly gone into dangerous territory. She apologetically sat up to look him in the eye.

He sat up too, more cautious than she.

“So,” he said, and his tongue passed over his lips thoughtfully. “They say it’s easier for a woman to fall in love with a man, and that it’s also easier for a woman to fall out of love with a man. And that when a man falls in love, it is more difficult for him to get in and out.”

Hermione snorted. “We don’t live in the 1950s anymore, Severus.”

“Hold on” he amended, “I don’t mean to say that’s true… after all, where does a gender-nonconforming person fit into that schema? ...what I mean to say is… Hermione…” He reached up and touched her hair, which was nearly golden in the autumn sun, “I’m not ready to say that I’m in love with you. At least not yet.”

Hermione felt a lump in her throat - oh, she was so stupid! - but she nodded. “Of course,” she said, “I was speaking without thinking.”

“It’s all right,” he said, and stroked her, and pulled her gently into an embrace. “I also don’t want to make it seem as if… that isn’t something that I want with you. In fact, all evidence points towards me experiencing loving feelings towards you this very moment, for example - my sense of completeness when I’m with you, the.... the bewildering drive to want to see you all the time… my heartbeat when I join with you… my desire to have sex with you constantly… I mean,” he went on, stumblingly, “It’s just… I don’t have a lot of experience with love, so please forgive me if I am cautious to say that I love a person. Is that fair?”

“Certainly,” Hermione said, though she felt wounded. She knew intellectually that he wasn’t denying the feelings they’d been sharing together, but he just wanted to be slower and confirm that it was something he could safely invest in before he committed.

Emotionally, she felt like he felt she wasn’t worth committing to. She felt like if there really was love here, he’d have to break his rules in order to engage in it fully. And he wasn’t willing to set aside his conventions and needs in order to just enjoy being with her.

And that truly stung.

“So,” she confirmed, trying to dispel the lump that grew in her throat, “you just need more time before you feel you can safely be in love with me.”

He breathed out, apparently feeling understood. “Yes,” he murmured.

“So,” Hermione said, “despite your actual admitted feelings, you don’t want to say you’re in love with me, even though you feel like you’re in love with me.”

Severus seemed to be realizing that he had said the wrong thing, and a cautious, ‘Yes?’ peeled out of his voice, inviting her to say more.

Hermione turned away from him and said, fiercely, “I’m not sure if you understand me. I don’t think it’s fair for you to hold out on me in the saying of something as essential and affirming as ‘I love you,’ especially when your only good reason is convention or something.”

Severus was puzzled and perplexed, and there was an anger behind those feelings.

“So, what are you saying?” he asked, clearly bracing himself for an answer he didn’t like.

Hermione felt like screaming at him, but she kept her voice calm as she answered him. It was a heroic effort. “If you feel a feeling,” she said, “say you feel it. Don’t hide it. Love is not forever, Severus, even if you are desperate for it to be. You don’t have to love me tomorrow just because you love me today. Love isn’t a commitment. It’s a feeling.”

“And that’s where we differ,” Severus said, his voice firm as steel. “As it happens, I *do* love forever, Granger. Every single person I have ever loved is part of me for the rest of my life. When you fuck me, you also fuck Lily Potter and Erika Holmes.”

“Now that’s just creepy,” Hermione said, despite herself.

Severus looked fierce, but ignored the comment. “For me, Granger, love is a commitment. It’s more than that. It’s an alliance. It’s me saying, I will forever let myself be changed by you. When I love someone, I look at the world with them through their eyes, and I will possess and be possessed by them. For me to love someone, Granger, is to take a part of their soul, and make it part of my own. So forgive me,” he said, with a huff, “if I’m not prepared to make that kind of promise after a few weeks of a relationship.”

Hermione found herself close to tears, but she at least could understand where he was coming from.

“I see,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I hear you. I think you’re wrong, but I do hear you.”

Snape shrugged. “Maybe it means I’m not very good at polyamory,” he mused, and it sounded like he’d never thought of this before. “But I can’t change this basic principle of my being.”

Hermione nodded, and took a deep breath.

As she became calmer, he began to stroke her hair, and cuddle her softly.

“For what it’s worth,” he said again, but there was little hope in his voice as he said it, “I’m certainly in a place where it’s possible to love you in the near future, given time.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, and sighed.

They sat there for several minutes, and Hermione began to pull on her clothes, minus her lost underpants.

“What are you doing?” asked Severus, curious but not pressing her.

“I’m headed back to the castle,” she said, and added as an afterthought, “are you coming with?”

He looked at her for a few minutes, sadly, and said, “Erm. No. I want to sit here for a while yet.”

Hermione shook her head and walked away. “See you later?” he called, feebly, not believing in it.

Hermione didn’t look back. “I’ll slip you a note when I’m ready,” she responded, and she headed down the hill.

As she was nearly out of earshot, she heard him cursing at the heavens.
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Old 12-08-2014, 08:36 PM   #37
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Chapter 28

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Hermione wasn't sure how she felt once she returned to her room. As she curled up in her messy bed, she felt the echoes of Snape's presence there. A few long hairs were left on the pillow, and her mattress retained his imprint despite him having vacated the spot so much earlier. The house-elves had done the dishes in the sink, at least.

She felt like she had lost him, though she realized she was being melodramatic. She hadn't lost him. She needed space to think.

There was no question in her mind whether or not this relationship was worth it. Being with Severus made her feel... incredible. Some people might have found his negativity too toxic, his depression too heavy, his sexual inclinations perverse. But she didn't feel that about any of those things.

No, she didn't doubt that Severus was a good match for her, and moreover, she didn't doubt that he loved her at least as much as she loved him.

But could she accept that he wasn't able to give himself over to it completely?

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting her head rest on the clean white pillows. Yes, she could accept it. It was hard, bur she had to accept where he was at, right now. She couldn't convince him to be different than he was. That wasn't what a relationship was about. You either like the person and what they bring to the table, or get out of the relationship. You can grow together, and alongside each other, but there's no changing a person when you're in a partnership with them.

Change, after all, comes from within. And Hermione knew that. But damn if it wasn't inconvenient and uncomfortable for her.

So as she lay there, she thought about her poor lover feeling angry and scared in the forest. She knew he'd headed back soon after her - she was certain the only reason he held back was to give her space.

She rose up and grabbed her wand. It took her a few moments to get over her anger and think of something happy - the way he'd nuzzled her and kissed her so warmly, the feeling of the cold stone on her skin as he'd ravished her, and the way the sunlight glinted through the translucent leaves of the forest... and then the otter emerged from her wand.

"Hi sweetheart," she whispered to the otter, who she privately called Kyle. She brushed the creature's glowing fur and Kyle danced around her, reproachfully. He knew he was an apology. "Go to Severus and tell him I'm sorry..."

The otter seemed to set his mouth grimly, and he batted at the oyster that he carried in his hand, not opening it for her message.

"Okay," Hermione replied, "Tell him, that I'm very sorry I acted so immature. And that now that I've had a moment to myself, I'm not mad, and that I want to see him tonight. Or, if not, tomorrow is also fine."

She sent the otter away with a whisk of her hand, and Kyle disappeared out her window.

Hermione took a moment to relax there in the cool bed, and picked Severus' hairs off the pillow and put them on her side-table, not quite willing to part with them. They were a tangible reminder that he existed, and that they had something together.

She then proceeded to get out her students' papers and work idly on grading. It was tedious work, but a necessary part of the job, of course.

It was no surprise that she received a knock on the door as the afternoon went on, and Hermione quickly pulled her hair into something presentable and answered it.

It was a surprise that McGonagall was the one standing there, a curious light in her eyes.

"Hermione," she said gracefully, and at Hermione's gesture she walked into the room. "I'm glad I caught you. How are you this fine Saturday?"

"Fine," Hermione answered, a little embarrassed to be found grading in bed, instead of a more respectable place like the desk or table. As it happened, she was embarrassed at the mess of her living room - while there was space for two pudgy people on the couch, none of the other chairs were clear, all was covered in books. Snape's laptop was in there still, now that Hermione realized it, and she tried to ignore it.

"I'm glad," Minerva said, and seated herself in the space on the couch, primly, trying not to disrupt a leaning tower of reading materials on the opposite end. "So, I just wanted to see how you are doing, regarding that paperwork you were going to fill out."

Hermione tried desperately not to blush. "Hm. About that. I'm not actually going to be filling it out, after all."

"Ah," Minerva said, her lips firm. "Well then. I suppose that's all I wanted to ask about, really."

"Erm," Hermione said, "that's it?"

McGonagall nodded, but there seemed to be some secret amusement in her eyes.

Hermione took a deep breath. "No, that's not it. What can I help you with?"

McGonagall smiled. "Well. Heavens. I mean, I don't want to be prying into your personal business."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really? You don't want to pry?"

"But I must be curious, just from a professional standpoint," returned McGonagall with a hint of humor. "I heard a rumor today that was... very interesting."

"Rumor away," Hermione responded, clearing off one of the armchairs so that she had a place for herself to sit.

McGonagall looked humored. "I'm hearing that have had the good fortune to find yourself a beaux."

While this was certainly true, Hermione flushed red. "You might say that."

The smile in McGonagall's eyes was not wavering. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, and she sighed. "To be truthful, I'm glad to hear it is Severus. I've always worried about the poor boy, and he's certainly not an easy person to tolerate."

"He's changed," Hermione responded, thoughtfully. "He's not like he used to be. He's..." She paused. "He's different now."

McGonagall gently clucked her tongue. "That's certainly evident, dear."

But it was clear that Minerva really didn't understand, not like Hermione did. "In other ways, too," Hermione added, "He's not as bitter as he used to be."

The headmistress seemed to hear her. "Hermione," McGonagall said, "I'm sure that he has. Time has healing properties for all of us. But that being said," she continued, "We cannot forget how he used to be. He is famous for having always loved a woman who wasn't his own. I just don't want to see you be hurt by him."

Hermione was shocked by this pronouncement, and stood up. "What are you saying?" she asked, her tone dangerous.

The old woman who sat there was thoughtful, and meek. "I don't know," she said, clearly regretting having said anything. "Just... remember that sometimes we can be blind to the failings of people we want to see the best of."

The blood in Hermione's veins boiled, and especially given that this conversation was coming on the heels of her previous anxiety regarding Snape's affections. "You sound like Dumbledore," she said coldly, and Minerva's face changed, became darker.

"Don't ever say that to me," McGonagall said, her voice tight with anger. "I am not, and never will be, like Albus."

"Prove it," Hermione said, "because today you haven't convinced me. You're meddling," she said, and as she spoke she was almost surprised at what she was saying. "That's what Dumbledore always did. He always acted mysterious and meddled in everyone's affairs."

Then, in an instant, something else clicked into place. "And what's more," Hermione added, her frustration growing, "did you think you were being clever by putting up a blank wall when I complained about Severus' legilemency incident? Because I don't appreciate not being taken seriously when I confide in someone I trust about something that bothered me."

McGonagall had the good sense to look abashed at this accusation.

"Well," Hermione demanded. "Did you, or did you not, purposefully stonewall me?"

"I can't excuse myself," Minerva said, "I truly can't, Hermione. All I can say is, I thought I was acting for the best."

"How reassuring," Hermione said sarcastically, "thanks for your concern."

"I really didn't want to see him develop a divide from the other staff so early in the school year," McGonagall said weakly. "I knew that if the system moved forward too swiftly to condemn him before he'd had a chance to prove he was different... that no one would see how he had changed." She sighed. "He didn't have to change an awful lot. It only benefited Albus for people to think Severus was evil, chaotic, and malicious. But I knew him better, and I saw him as simply broken. And broken people don't get second chances, not in this cruel world. Not unless we make an effort to give it to them."

Hermione shook her head. "Headmistress, I think you made the wrong decision for the right reasons."

McGonagall raised her hands, subdued. "Perhaps. Only time will tell."

"Time has told," Hermione said, reluctantly, "that he did apologize for his actions relatively swiftly."

McGonagall looked as though she wanted to be triumphant, her faith in Severus being proven right. But Hermione wouldn't stand for that. "However," Hermione said, "that does not change the fact that you yourself did the wrong thing by not prosecuting him. Even he saw that," Hermione went on, "and he scrubbed cauldrons as penance."

The headmistress looked shocked, until Hermione added, "At his own insistence."

A silence settled over them, and the mantel clock ticked loudly.

"I think," Hermione said, breaking the cold quiet, "that you protest too quickly on Severus' behalf. That's clear from this incident. But does this really come from a place of protectiveness for an underdog in whom you have absolute faith," she said, her voice growing frigid, "or is it actually a lack of faith in his own social abilities?"

McGonagall said, tremblingly, "How *dare* you. Of course it comes from a place of faith."

"Really," Hermione said, and she realized she was going too far, but she couldn't stop herself. "Because in this situation, I'm reminded of when my housemate, Gloria, had an owl that had to be put down because it was too savage, too wild. She insisted it was other people that had provoked it. But anyone could see that it was not the case."

McGonagall stood. "No," she said vehemently, "You don't know what the *hell* you are talking about. You think because you've been dating him for a few weeks that all of a sudden, you know him better than I do? Well, my dear, you *don't.* You never saw how they ganged up on him, in the Order. They made him stand outside in the rain sometimes, and wouldn't let him in. They bullied him day in and day out. And no one did a thing about it. They never tried to protect him or give him advice or support him. They saw him as strategically important, but they wouldn't have invited him to their childrens' weddings when peacetime came.

"AND YET," she said, in a clear, crisp voice, "He stayed true. Of course after Albus' death, we doubted him - everyone did - but I, I should have known better. Because, Hermione, dear,” McGonagall went on, “I saw him faced with choices that no person should have to live with - choices that would break normal people. Choices that I couldn’t make once, let alone day after day, part of my routine.

“But Severus - he persevered through it, somehow, and me, I saw him do it. I saw him struggle with the daily effort that he expended just to go on living another day. I prayed to all the gods that he would find a way to stay the course and never break from it. And without a doubt, if I had been him, I would have abandoned hope and drive after years. I was blessed to be a mere supporter in the great drama of this war,” she concluded, “But Severus - he was one of the indispensible players.”

Hermione felt a rush of passion, and realized that she had, in fact, underestimated McGonagall’s desire to do right by Severus.

“I’m sorry I said those things,” Hermione said gratefully. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know, child,” McGonagall said, and extended her hand. Hermione took it, feeling a rise of emotions. “I came to tell you.”

“Why?” Hermione asked. “Why do you want me to know this?”

“Because,” the headmistress said with a sigh, sitting again, “he deserves to have everything we can give him, and more. His mind has long been lost to illness the likes of which neither you nor I can imagine. And I firmly believe that this illness, it is the cost that he had to pay to keep us safe.” McGonagall looked defeated. “I only wish the treatment for this illness wasn’t so… dramatic. He’s had a weight on his shoulders all his life metaphorically, it’s dreadful he has to bear it physically in his middle age as well.”

Hermione felt a pang of concern, and bit her tongue. She didn’t have to ask if McGonagall thought Severus would have, if he could, become the thin and well-exercised man he’d once been. Hermione did wonder if Severus would, in fact, take that choice if it were presented to him.

“So you want me to be with him,” Hermione said, realizing that this wasn’t McGonagall’s way of trying to convince her that Snape was too dangerous or something for a sweet young thing like her. It was a refreshing realization.

“Yes,” McGonagall said sadly. “I think it will be good for him. And good for you, too,” she added sympathetically, “but forgive me if I can’t help but think of what might be best for him right now. He’s been sacrificing himself since before you were born.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said.

“Moreover,” McGonagall went on, “I came here,” she said, “not to warn you against him, as you seemed to expect when we began this conversation - but to warn you what you're up against. In him, you will see horrors the likes of which you will never see again. He has indeed changed, much more than you can imagine, but also not as much as you think he has. Mostly,” she said, thoughtful, “it’s the circumstances of his world that have changed. And what you see in him is what he could have been, all along.”

She sighed. “Hermione,” she said, very serious, “There’s not many people that I would entrust with the mission of guarding our poor boy’s heart against the horrors of life. But you are, in fact, up to the task, if you are willing to accept it. You have time to back out, now,” she added, “if that’s what you prefer. I won’t pretend that loving Severus will be anything other than difficult. But it seems like you’ve chosen to do it, and I support you in your choice no matter what. I think it’s only fair to warn you that you should make this decision with the prudence and good sense that you’ve heretofore exhibited with aplomb.”

Hermione smiled, the flattery getting to her a little bit, but she felt a little offended that Minerva had thought she needed warning. “I will do that.”

Minerva smiled, a look of confoundment mixed with pleasure on her face. “I’m glad you seem to enjoy each other,” she said, simply. “Before I knew, I thought it would be difficult to convince you to join forces romantically with him, given his physical state. I’m sure if you nudge him, he’ll get himself back in at least some semblance of shape in due time.”

Hermione’s smile was plaster-thin. “I’m sure he would,” she replied.

At least the headmistress was shrewd enough to pick up on the falseness in Hermione’s voice. “Unless, of course, you prefer him this way?”

Hermione coughed. “I think I’d like to get some more grading done before the hour’s out, headmistress, if you don’t mind.”

McGonagall didn’t need more than one hint. “Of course,” she murmured, and she glanced around the room, as if searching for some clue about Hermione’s predilections. She added, reassuringly, “My uncle was a large man also, and his wife always insisted that he was eating them out of house and home - though it was obvious she enjoyed how he cleaned his plate of her cooking. It’s rare north of Edinburgh, but not as rare as it is in the south. The cold weather is the cause, I expect.”

“I’m sure,” Hermione said firmly, not willing to engage in this conversation. “Is that all?”

“Almost,” McGonagall said, standing again, and her bones seemed to creak as she eased her bony frame up. “Albus and I always believed that it was our mission to ensure that Severus found someone to love, after the war was over. My reasons were simply that he’d given up his soul to a fantasy, and that he deserved to experience a real kind of happiness for everything he’s done for us. But Albus’ reasons were more sinister, as usual.” She rolled her eyes. “He believed that Severus, if left unattended, could have become the next great dark wizard.” She shook her head. “So if Albus were here, he’d say that this matter was one of national security. Though you and I know, that’s not true.” Minerva shook her head, every year of her life etched in her face grimly. “Albus broke him too well for him to take that kind of initiative.”

“So lead him, Hermione,” she said, as she went towards the door, “lead him towards happiness. He’s not a leader, he’s a follower, even if he is the noblest of them all. If you tire on the journey ahead of you, you should find a way to replace yourself in his life. But for the moment, while you have the energy, take him and lead him towards something that’s worth having. And let’s pray he never needs to enter battle again.”

“He won’t,” Hermione said kindly, “He’s said over and over again, he’d never do it again.”

Minerva laughed softly, and this laughter was more meaningful than any response she could have said.

And then she was gone, leaving Hermione wallowing in her thoughts.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard a response to her patronus yet.

*Shit. I hope he’s all right.*

She prepared another one and sent it, feeling a sense of dread boiling in her stomach.
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Old 12-08-2014, 08:37 PM   #38
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Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Hermione felt the worry knot in her stomach, but at that moment the floo began to glow, and with a rush, she hurried over to the fireplace.

It was hard not to appear crestfallen when Ron's face appeared in the ashes.

"Expecting someone else?" he asked with a bitter laugh.

"Sorry," Hermione said, "Not that I'm happy to see you! But yes. Rather."

"I'll be quick then," Ron said with a cocky grin, but there was an undertone of painful jealousy that assured Hermione that he hadn't been making his therapy appointments lately. "I know you're busyyyyyy."

He dragged out the last word with a mixture of taunting and bitterness.

"No, no rush," Hermione said, taking a deep breath and smiling, trying to focus entirely on her ex-lover's face. "I'm not actually busy right now. How is Rodney?"

"Fine," Ron said, "I mean, I guess. He's busy too."

Hermione picked up immediately on the rash of anger that Ron was hiding. "Come on" she said, "what do you think is really happening here?"

Ron huffed. "I don't think *anything* is *happening,*" he said, clearly frustrated, "but I do find it strange that, all of a sudden, he's got so much to do with practice that we haven't seen each other in almost a week."

"Almost a week?" Hermione asked.

Ron nodded, glum and downtrodden.

"Did anything happen that makes you think..." Hermione tried, but Ron cut her off.

"Well, obviously something *happened,*" Ron said with a sneer. "The question is, *what?*"

Hermione grimaced. "Well," she said simply, "what evidence do you see that indicates that he's... avoiding you, or whatever."

Ron looked like he was on the verge of exploding. "What evidence," he said with a tight laugh, "well he's not coming to see me."

"Have you spoken with him recently?" Hermione asked.

Ron nodded, "Yes, just now. He said he was out grabbing a bite, and he'd be ready to come over later."

"Then what's the problem?" Hermione asked cautiously. "It sounds like you'll be seeing him tonight."

"Yes," Ron said, and his voice began to falter. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. "Yes, I suppose so."

"So what are you worked up about?" Hermione said, finding herself chuckling. "You're being incredibly silly, Ron."

This was not always the correct thing to tell Ron, but when it came to romantic sorts of things, she knew she had enough credibility in his mind to criticize him gently like this.

"I guess so," he responded, and sighed. "I just... I just hate when I feel like he's slipping away, 'Mione." His face was taut and nervous. "I don't want him to leave me because of my family."

"Well," Hermione said with a smile, "I think you'd probably know it if that's what was happening. Don't you think he would talk with you about it? After all, when you started your relationship, I thought he talked up and down about how many times he'd been screwed over in disingenuous relationships where his boyfriends didn't talk to him about problems. And I thought you felt like you guys were both on the same page about that."

"You're right," Ron said, and he looked sufficiently chastened.

"You should talk to him about these feelings," Hermione said, "even if this seems like it's a bit obvious for me to say this."

"Bugger," Ron said, looking quite downcast and grounded again. "You're right. I should have done that right off, shouldn't I have?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. "But better now than later, I imagine."

"I guess so," Ron said, and took a deep breath. "I'll talk to him when I see him later."

"Right," Hermione said, "You do that. So how are your parents?"

"They're all right," Ron said, sounding nervous again. "I... I told da' I want to talk to him about something, and he's been putting me off. Says he's too worked up about things at the ministry to put some time aside. I told him it's important, and he said he'll let me know when he has a moment. But I don't like waiting." Ron squirmed. "It-"

Ron was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Hermione's heart fluttered from her chest into her face, and it certainly did not go unremarked by Ron.

"You've been waiting for that," Ron said, as Hermione pushed her hair back and pulled at a stray curl. "Well, go on then."

"Don't go," Hermione said, and Ron groaned. She wasn't sure why she said that; ironically, while she was talking to Ron about conveying his feelings to Rodney, she didn't quite feel ready to talk with Severus about what happened. If it was indeed him at the door.

So she got up and went to answer it, her stomach knotting even though she knew, rationally, she had nothing really to worry about.

To her immense relief, Snape was standing at the door, two patronuses at his heel.

"These..." he said softly, and stopped. Then started again. "They found me," he said with a curious smile. "I was coming anyway."

"Good," Hermione said, and put out her hand. "I'm glad."

He took it, a blank expression on his face, but there was a hint of awe in it. "You're wondrous," he said, in a very low whisper, barely audible to her ears, "And I'm sorry I'm such a stubborn old fool."

"Don't worry," Hermione said, "I needed to get my head in line. You haven't done anything wrong, not at all. I should have been more empathetic."

"Then... then we're all right?" he asked in a whisper, and his eyes tracked to the side, noticing Ron Weasley's head in the fire. Since the fire was the only light in the dim room, they were both draped in shadows as they stood at the doorway. He brought his eyes back to focus on hers again quickly, and their gaze was steady.

"Of course," Hermione said with a quiet voice, and clasped his hands warmly. "You're wonderful. And if we're ever *not* all right, it will certainly be far less ambiguous."

Severus processed this. "If you say so," he murmured, and proceeded to grab her with one hand at her waist, making her gasp involuntarily, and he brought her close to him, where he smothered her mouth in a fierce, decadent kiss.

"Erm, 'Mione?" called Ron from the floo. "You all right? Where'd you go?"

"I'm sorry, hon," Hermione called, and then, privately to Severus, she said, "And I'm sorry to you - I'll be done with Ron soon enough."

"When you are," Severus rumbled, not bothering to keep his voice low, "please, come to my chambers." Their eyes locked, and he added, less loudly, "We'll have dinner."

Hermione broke away from him slowly, her hand trailing down his buttons until she got to a nice juicy love-handle, and she squeezed him there. "I'll be there as soon as I finish my grading. I want all of Sunday free."

"Fine," Severus said, and returning the touch, he squeezed both of her arse-cheeks, which made her nearly squeal with desire. "Eight?"

"Eight's fine," Hermione said.

He pulled her close again for a seductive, lingering kiss, and then he patted her rear and added, "Also, I came for my computer."

"Oh," Hermione said with a laugh. "Well, it's there on the table. Help yourself."

"I shall," he said, and he entered the dark room. Hermione went back to the floo.

"Sorry, Ron," she said again, "so your father's avoiding you, and you were about to say something about that."

"Erm," Ron said, clearly holding back a thousand questions, "yeah. Of course mum is bothering me a great deal too, it seems like whatever da' thinks is happening, she didn't get the memo, because she's constantly trying to set me up with girls. I've been telling her... erm..."

Ron ran completely out of bluffing juice as Severus approached Hermione as she sat there on the hearth's carpet, carrying his laptop under his arm, kissed her sweetly on the cheek, and left without a word, his tread remarkably light on the wooden floor; no boards squeaked at all. The door closed audibly behind him, and Hermione blushed red. She'd been *very* effectively marked, even if Ron had missed all the happenings they'd had in the dark entry of the flat.

"What was that?" Ron asked, his face completely aghast. "I mean... 'Mione! I... I..."

Hermione burst out with giddy giggling. "I'm sorry, Ron," she gasped, "your face."

For indeed, his face was comically overcome with bewilderment, his mouth moving in expressive variations of amazement, bewilderment, and horror.

"I... I don't even know, 'Mione," Ron said, and took a deep stabilizing breath. "Have you completely gone bonkers?"

"A bit," Hermione admitted, feeling awash with relief that Severus wasn't ignoring her. "I mean. Not in a bad way, I think."

"Bad?" Ron echoed, and nearly yelled, "Bad? No, 'Mione, I don't think you know what that word means. Bad is falling for a slimy git like Severus Snape. What's happening here is goddamn *awful.* It's *horrific!* What the *hell* kind of potion did he slip you?"

"Why," Hermione asked, perversely enjoying Ron's blockheaded subbornness right now. "Why do you think he's slipping me a potion?"

"Because he's a potions master," declared Ron, "and a slimy git, and HERMIONE I AM LEGITIMATELY CONCERNED THAT YOU HAVE GONE BLIND! At least I could *understand* your attraction before, since he was tall, dark, and in a gothic way sort-of handsome (albeit disgusting), but now? God, 'Mione, this is sick!"

Hermione was well prepared for this kind of backlash from the highly fat-phobic Ron. She also didn't quite know what to do with it. But she was looking forward to being challenged by this particular variety of blockheadedness. "You really don't remember, Ron, those times I tried to put you off dieting after you put on a little holiday pudge?"

"I..." Ron took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "I remember, of course; we talked it to death. And you said you were fine watching me grow a little tum during the off-season. That's... that's different though. I had no idea it was... like this!" Ron's eyes blazed with realization. "Is that what you would have wanted for *me,* 'Mione? Just to get... so fat and blubbery I can't even fly?"

"For the record, he *can* fly," Hermione said, "and what's more, he's no bigger than some of your Beater teammates. Honestly, you should watch your exaggeration, Ron."

"No exaggeration's needed in this case!" Ron exclaimed, slamming his hand in the ash. "He's no athlete! Do you even *look* at him, 'Mione? He's *enormous!* And no muscle to speak of, he carries at least half his weight in that massive gut! Why, he's nearly as big as *Slughorn!* Would you go out with *Slughorn,* 'Mione?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, if he weren't such an attention-seeking sycophantic arse, and three or four times my age."

"HOW IS THAT ANY DIFFERENT THAN SNAPE?" Ron roared. "Really, 'Mione! I'm genuinely concerned that you have been jinxed or hexed or something."

"Well," Hermione said with a smirk, "Don't be. I'm enjoying my time with Severus, Ron."

"YOU CALL HIM SEVERUS?" shrieked Ron. "I can't believe this, 'Mione! Have you told Harry about this yet?"

Hermione shook her head, feeling a little deflated at the mention of Harry. "No, I haven't spoken with him for months now."

Ron raised his fists in the air. "With my luck, Harry'll just be all affirming, 'Oh, I'm so glad you can make him happy, 'Mione,' you know that's what he'd say."

"I know it," Hermione responded, "So Ron, what would it cost you to be just a little bit more kind to me than Harry would be about this?"

"Kind?" Ron demanded, "I'm being kind! I really am! I'm actually concerned about your bloody welfare is what I'm being kind about!"

"Well," Hermione said, "I know your heart is in the right place, darling, but you see, you just don't get to tell me who is allowed in my life. We've talked about this."

"I know I don't," Ron said, sighing and winding down his anger. "But... but 'Mione, he's fucking *enormous.*"

"I like that," Hermione said with a grin. "More to love."

"Seriously?" Ron demanded with a huff. "Really?"

"You know, Ron," Hermione said, "you've got to accept this eventually."

"Accept it?" Ron replied, "You're telling me that this is just the way it is? That I shouldn't be concerned that you've been drugged?"

"No one's being drugged, Ron," Hermione said, grinning ear to ear. There was something comforting about his outrage, something that felt... hmmm... it felt like he was manufacturing it out of a desire to express affection for her, and care. Maybe it was her imagining things, but she could already feel the wind come out of Ron's sails.

"Well, I know *I'm* not," Ron replied, "Not so sure about you." But he seemed to be settling down into a comfortable grumpiness about the matter already. "Would you *really* have been more into me, 'Mione, if I got as big as he is?"

"Perhaps?" Hermione said with a snicker. "Not that it would have helped us all that much, Ron. I mean, given I'm the wrong gender for you and all."

"Well," Ron said, considering, "It wouldn't be so bad a life, I guess. Just feed me up all day and all night. I'd be content with that. Just getting fatter every day. Sounds nice, actually."

He began to grin, as a fantasy started to emerge in his mind. "My mum would certainly approve, provided it's your cooking that's doing the fattening. Nothing better than for a husband to get fat on his doting wife's affection. She might even forget to ask us about grandbabies, if I look like I'm about to be popping them out any minute."

He paused. "Would you consider it, if I retired from playing? Rodney could be our 'roommate,' and you and I could 'get back together,' and you could fuck Snape on weekends?"

Hermione laughed outright. She was surprised how easily he came around to supporting her. "There, you see?" she exclaimed, "you understand it. You do. So I won't hear another word about it from you, you silly."

"Fine," Ron said, pouting beautifully. "But know, 'Mione, if he so much as breathes on you the wrong way, well, he's a dead man."

Hermione smiled gratefully. This conversation had gone *much* better than she could have ever hoped for. "Thank you, Ron," she said, taking a nice deep breath, "You're wonderful."

"And oh," Ron said, smirking a little bit on his part. "Is *this* why you've been going and pudging up yourself? Does he have a thing for you being 'a little more to love'?"

"A little bit," Hermione said with a small self-conscious smile. "I'm just naturally getting bigger, my life being as sedentary as it is... but he has been helping a bit."

"Cripes," Ron said, shaking his head. "If you aren't as big as he is come Christmas, I'll eat a bludger."

"I don't think it'll be *that* bad, Ron," Hermione said with a laugh, even though her face was getting hot as she thought about it. Could she *really* weigh almost twice her current weight in the next two months? No, she thought to herself, that would be impossible.

But... Severus did have those potions... and they hadn't even tried them all...

Her cunt was definitely tight with desire, and her breathing became more shallow. If she weighed 324 pounds come December 25th... oh hell... oh my...

Ron waved at her, and brought her out of her brief moment of daydreaming. "Earth to 'Mione," he said, using one of her favorite Muggle expressions, "You aren't getting all hot and bothered at the very idea, are you?"

She shook her head no, but her blush said very clearly, *yes.*

"Hell," Ron said, "I didn't mean to give you a new sex fantasy. Dammit." He shook his head. "All right, 'Mione," he said with an eyeroll and a stupefying grin, "I'm going to be seeing Rodney soon. You go run off to his *chambers,* and have yourself some delicious sex, why don't you."

He rang off, and the fire went back to its usual state.

Hermione, for her own part, ran to the bathroom as soon as his face disappeared from the flames, and she decided to cast the weight charm on herself.

But before she did, she thought a few moments about how she might change it.

Her spellwork was beautiful, as it almost always was, and instead of the bone-thin witch staring incredulously at her when she cast it, a delightful and plump Helga-Hufflepuff-type beamed back at her to read her total.

"A hundred and seventy three," proclaimed the charm encouragingly. "Really, Hermione, wonderful job. Last we measured, you were at a hundred and sixty five. That's eight loveable pounds in just nine days. Almost a pound a day! Of course, there's fluctuation to do with water weight and all that, so you have to consider that..."

But Hermione wasn't listening at this point, instead sinking down on the lid of the closed toilet and, as she did so, looking down at her beautiful growing belly. "Today is October 13th. A hundred and fifty one pounds in seventy-three days. That's over two pounds a day. Can I *really* put on that much so quickly?"

"It's possible, dearie," said the witch with a smile. "But only if you eat practically nonstop, and every single day, you must eat just a little bit more than you can comfortably fit in your belly. You'll need to push yourself." The charm gave Hermione a look that was practically wicked. "But, I think with the help you'll get from your boyfriend, you won't have much trouble." The witch paused. "That's what you young folks are calling each other these days, right? Boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"That's right," Hermione said with a grin. "Oh god." She stood up, feeling wet and weak in the knees. "Thanks, Cozy."

"No problem at all, sweetheart," the witch said with good humor, "Now go back to that nice plump hunk of a man and get yourself fueled up. You've got a long way to go in very little time!"

............
Hi folks! I love love love love love love love when you review, especially when you tell me what you like about each chapter. It really helps to keep me going! The denouement of this story *is* in sight, I think, though honestly I could probably write this story forever. (I won't, I don't think, but hey, it would be awesome to get this to a million words!!! That would take forever but it would be awesome!)
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Old 12-10-2014, 02:17 AM   #39
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I like where this is going, the mix of erotic parts, and story, keeps me reading this story whenever updates are made.
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Old 12-10-2014, 06:59 AM   #40
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wow this whole story is so great and long ;-) (what is always nice so I have to read more ;-)
that i can´t explain in how many ways ......
but their relationship and behaving and both eating and stuffing themselves ;-) and this potion was such a cool idea hehe
and their stuffing/sex scenes were so deliscious mhmmm....

really a great adaötation of Harry POtter :-)
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Old 12-12-2014, 10:35 AM   #41
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Yet another excellent update...I cannot wait for the next one!!!!
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Old 12-15-2014, 10:42 AM   #42
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Molly, this continues to be wonderful! Fan fic is such an interesting thing--you take this universe and then create your own little planet within it. I feel like you've been really true to the spirit of the Harry Potter world while still making it your own. I absolutely love it. =) Thank you thank you!
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Old 12-29-2014, 06:56 PM   #43
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thanks everyone for the responses! I really appreciate getting feedback because it helps drive a positive feedback loop. (without responses it feels like I just arted and the universe didn't notice so why should I bother writing more?)

anyway I have more chapters coming, I just started a new job and the holidays happened and everything so more will come, though not immediately.
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Old 12-31-2014, 05:25 PM   #44
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...feels like I just 'arted'....

That is brilliant. Love it!

I look forward to seeing your next chapters
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Old 01-04-2015, 06:31 PM   #45
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hgss 30

She headed to Severus’ rooms, and he looked truly lonesome. He was in the bedroom, sitting against the headboard, curled up in the cutest way with a mug of tea at hand, glasses perched on his high nose, and his computer on a side-table that extended its arm over the bed. It was heartbreaking the way he perked up when she came in, even though his momentary joy was covered up as fog began to fill his eyes. His gaze went back to the computer screen, looking chastened.

“Hey,” she murmured, shyly, and he nodded, not looking at her. She felt concern constrict her throat; there was something weary in his expression, even though he seemed like he was trying to be warm.

She gently propped herself up on the edge of her bed with her elbows and surveyed him. “Why do *you* look guilty?” she asked, feeling the words come out a little more forcefully than she intended. “I’m the one who was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“I suppose,” Severus said, but he clearly was not convinced.

“Well,” Hermione said, “how about we talk about about your control complex? Not everything that causes you pain is your fault.”

“No,” he conceded, bitterly, and she sensed that she was on progressively thin ice. “but that’s what I’ve been trained to believe, nonetheless.”

“You must know it’s rubbish,” she responded affirmatively. “You’re no more at fault for other people than other people are at fault for you.”

He seemed to take heed of her words, but after a brief moment of contemplating this reality, he seemed to find it too much of an effort to think about, and he pulled the comforter up over him tighter. His big tummy created a comfortable-looking hill under the duvet.

“No,” he acknowledged. He sounded like he wanted to believe in the words she said, but knew it was far outside the realm of possibilities he could reach. It was like seeing someone trapped in a glass bottle, being told for the hundredth time that life outside of the glass bottle was just peachy, and if only he could get out of the bottle, he would be happy.

“I apologize,” he added, not looking away from his computer, “for not responding to your patroni in kind.”

“It’s all right,” Hermione said. “Is there a particular reason you didn’t?”

He stared vacantly across the room towards the door, absorbed in his own painful thoughts, self-loathing etched in his face. The fingers of his right hand wormed their way under the blanket and seemed to rub at his love-handle. The comforter fell a little bit, revealing where his shirt had accidentally folded over itself as he sat in bed. It peeled back over his skin, revealing a comfortable-looking bulge of porcelain skin, which he grabbed and pinched between vicious fingers.

Out of concern, Hermione’s own fingers inserted themselves between his, preventing him from pinching himself, and he looked at her with a startled flash of alarm.

He took a deep breath and, thusly preparing himself, saved his screen and shut the computer with a snap.

“So, I have a request,” he said, “and please know that this is not as highly significant as it might sound, but is, in fact, just a request. We don’t need to talk about it.”

Hermione nodded. “Let’s have it,” she responded, trying to appear as affirming and responsive as she could be.

He sighed and leaned back on the headboard, staring at the ceiling. “I… would like if, barring major emergencies, you would… find an alternative to sending me patroni… I don’t want to explain.”

She, of course, could intuit there was something happening here, and it took her a full minute of thinking to get an idea of what it might be.

“Is it… because your patronus reminds me of *her*?” she asked softly, “I mean… at worst, it’s inconvenient, but of course if it hurts you because of the association, I understand.”

“It’s not *just,* that,” Snape said, a growl rising in his voice. Hermione put a hand on his tense shoulder and rubbed it. He added, teeth gritted, still staring straight up, “It’s much *worse.*”

Hermione, for her part, began to notice the smell of burning, and she looked up - the spot on the ceiling where Snape was staring was starting to fizz with red sparks, like ants dancing on a smooth white desert plain.

“Hey,” she whispered, trying to be comforting, “hey.”

Her touch and warmth seemed to have no impact on his pain, but he at least seemed to tolerate her touching him. “I can’t even say it,” he spat, his face fierce. Then, he summoned self-control with a deep exhale, and he closed his eyes.

Then he opened them again, and he let out a painful laugh that was clearly forced.

“Hah. All right. Forgive my moment of weakness.”

He unpeeled himself from her, landing a kiss on the surprised woman’s face, and he got up with practically a bounce, brushing down the corner of his shirt that had ridden up. “Have you had dinner?” he asked, and Hermione shook her head. “Good,” he said, “Let’s do that.”

Hermione followed him to the table, somewhat bewildered at the sudden change in mood.

“Erm,” she said, as he clapped for a house-elf, “Severus? Are you all right?”

“Certainly,” he said, sounding almost chipper. “Are you?”

Hermione squinted at him, suspicious, but sat down with him at the table. As he took off his glasses and laid them on the table, she was so confused that she didn’t even pay attention to what Severus ordered for himself. It seemed like he barely said anything to Minty, the elf that had quietly replaced Lowly as their regular servant. But no matter. Hermione ordered herself some decadent dishes, not feeling quite peckish herself, but knowing that once she started eating she’d get hungrier. Then she settled back in her chair for the moment, surveying her lover with worried eyes.

He seemed to be doing everything but making eye contact with her. Soon, the elf was gone, Severus began talking blithely about the invitations to the conference, and got out his computer again in order to recite, in alphabetical order, the individuals who they were inviting as guest speakers, the periodicals in which they’d advertised the conference, and the names of those who had registered.

“We have confirmed Ronan Gros for a presentation about dill’s anti-prophegenic properties,” Severus said, casting glances at her as he went, but never quite meeting her eyes. “And for the requisite presentation on the Ned’s Welt flower, the Norwegian who’s been publishing papers on it for seventeen years at this point, Mia Sorenssen. That covers all of the herbal essences, presuming all of them accept the invitation. Overall, I think we have a decent balance of genders presenting, despite everything.” He clicked from screen to screen with the ease of a graceful swimmer, never stopping for a beat.

Hermione felt herself relaxing into his banter, despite her worry. “What about people of color?”

He paused. “Let’s see,” he said, scratching on a piece of paper. There was an energy in him that she hadn’t seen before in their relationship; even in his very penstrokes, he seemed to be hustling with a sense of urgency.

“Not well balanced at all,” he admitted after a few moments of silence. “I suppose we could reach out to more of the Americans on the list.”

She nodded, and watched as he did some careful copy-pasting into emails. He glanced back at her between his rapid keystrokes, reflecting an intense intimacy, and she smiled feebly in response. This seemed to be enough.

He was garrulous and effortless, and appeared like he was entirely in control of himself and the situation around him. It was pleasurable in some ways to see him like this, because it reminded her a lot of how he presented in class - but instead where his laser focus had once been on preventing cauldrons from blowing up, he was intent on completing this task ahead of him.

If this change of mood hadn’t been so sudden, and so out of character with his mood recently, Hermione would have enjoyed seeing him a little less depressed. As it was, however, it made Hermione feel chills down her spine.

He’d sent ten emails by the time their dinner arrived, and he showed no signs of stopping.

“You’ve done a lot,” Hermione cajoled him as she looked at what was on the table. There didn’t seem to be nearly enough. All the elf had left at Severus’ plate was an anemic bowl of lettuce with vinegar as the only dressing, desperately trying to reassure the lonesome pork chop next to it. “Come, let’s pause for a while.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, a bite in his voice. “Let me finish this.”

Hermione felt like her fork was heavy - too much so to eat anything. Severus, as it happened, wasn’t eating anything either.

Finally, after trying and failing to eat for several minutes, and watching Severus click and type with such hurry, she pushed his plate towards him. “Come,” she murmured, “let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m not,” he said, and his eyes shot a glare at her before going back to what they were doing.

“It’s not that important,” she said, feeling an intense anxiety mount in her body. But she swallowed it, and tried to keep it out of her voice. “It’s really not.”

He proceeded to actively ignore her, which made Hermione unsure of what to do. Out of a desire to get his attention, her hand moved towards his plate, hesitated, then grasped the pork chop by the bone.

Then she picked it up and put it to her lips, experimentally, watching Severus the whole time.

He didn’t look at her, but as she hesitated, he said with a shrug, “Go ahead and have it, if you want.”

She gently put the meat down on the plate again. This was not good.

“Hey,” she said, taking a deep breath, “when you get done, let’s talk a bit about what’s happening right now, okay?”

He shrugged. “Nothing’s happening. Just let me finish.”

So they sat there for almost twenty minutes, Hermione half-heartedly eating her own food, watching Severus’ efforts with bated breath.

The room was silent other than the sound of his fingers on the keyboard, until the sound of Severus’ phone rang. Both Severus and Hermione them visibly jumped in their own skins.

“A moment,” he said, standing up to answer his phone, heaving his body out of the chair and rising to pace the living room rug. He flung it open with a practiced air. “Hello?”

His body visibly tensed, as he crossed his free arm over his chest, his posture shrinking into a slump. “Yes, yes, yes. Completely better, yes. Yes. No trouble. I… thank you, my dear. All right. As I said before, those dates do work. Text me details as you have them. I love you, too.”

His vigorous new energy seemed to deflate even more as he flipped his phone shut, and Hermione could see that he felt self-conscious about having this conversation in front of her. Embarrassed, even.

“I may as well tell you,” he said, approaching the table again and putting a hand on top of his chair, “that Erika and Jean-Raoul are coming to visit in a few weeks.”

Hermione felt an immense rush of relief. At least here was a potential reason for his erratic behavior.

She waited for him to say something, but he looked at her expectantly. His stomach chose that moment to announce itself, and, mortified, he drew his robes more tightly around him, doing a decent job of disguising his tummy bulge.

“All right,” she said at last, resting her hands in her lap, “how do you feel about that?”

He glanced away from her, then met her eyes, and for the first time since she’d come in she felt like she recognized him.

“Suboptimal.”

And then all at once, he seemed to revert back five years, a haunted look entering his face.

She couldn’t help but be startled, since, in his pain and vulnerability, she was reminded of the look on his face that he’d had when he was in the Shrieking Shack, dying on the floor.

“You’re not excited about seeing her again,” Hermione said, her voice soft. They were making progress, even if she had to be intensely careful how she stepped. He wasn’t pretending away his panic anymore, and it had given way to despair.

“What do *you* bloody think?” he snarled, and, as though immediately regretting it, he leaned against the back of the chair and hid his face in his hand. “I’m sorry,” he murmured after becoming more composed. “I… I can’t let myself be a miserable git to you.”

“No,” Hermione said, “but don’t let that make you feel worse, this particular moment.”

She patted the seat of his chair. “Come here. Really.”

Shaken, he did obey her, and he practically curled into his chair. Awkwardly, of course, given his size. He tried to tuck his legs beneath him, though had a lack of success in this because of the thickness of his thighs. “I’m not… I’m…” he tried to say, and she offered him her hand. He took it, his eyes bright with self-hating tears, but he wasn’t crying.

“So,” Hermione said, as he faltered again. “First, you’re going to eat something. McGonagall could practically hear your stomach from her chambers, the rate you’re going.”

He appeared grim, but said nothing, and made no objection as she stroked his hair. It was a painful thing to watch, the way he almost winced under her fingers. She could tell he wasn't as comfortable as she wished he could be.

She then guided the fork into his hand, squeezing his soft palm in a comforting way, and he began to thrust it at the salad haphazardly.

“Come on,” she murmured, “ten mouthfuls.”

It took an age for him to do the first one. Hermione just patiently waited until he had successfully stabbed a quantity of lettuce and put it in his mouth. He barely chewed, and swallowed almost immediately.

“Good,” she murmured comfortingly, “that’s the way.”

The rest were no less painful to watch, as he seemed to engage in an internal tug of war every time.

Finally, he’d gotten through the required number, and he even picked up the porkchop, though he looked defeated as he ate it, as if he begrudged every morsel.

But at least this satisfied Hermione. “When you’re ready,” she said, “I’d love to know what you’re thinking. For what it’s worth, I'm looking forward to meeting Erika," she said hopefully.

"I am too," Severus said, not noticing the grammatical inconsistency. Instead, there was something else in his voice.

Hermione just waited. Severus glanced at her, and she nodded at him, encouraging him to speak further. He swallowed. "I... I am different with her than I've been with any other person ever in the world," he said softly. "I think you could tell."

Hermione nodded, listening, though she could not confirm anything other than that his physical depression was exacerbated by the call. "Different in what ways?" she asked, permissively.

Snape looked miserable. "I... I'm not sure exactly. It's not like I make jokes or such around her... But I'm lighter when I speak with her. I speak with her in a way I dare not at Hogwarts. There is a lack of… cultural history, I suppose… between us. I... She makes me forget," he said, stumblingly. "I don't have to put on an impenetrable facade. I don't have years of reputation as a slimy git working against my favor with her. And..."

He seemed to realize something, and had to fight it from stopping midway out of his mouth. Hermione tilted her head sweetly, trying to solicit his thoughts, feeling a curious type of intimacy.

How strange it was to speak with her man about how he felt about another woman. It filled her with a mix of emotions she didn't easily understand.

It was similar to how she'd felt when Ron had gushed about the way a teammate's arse looked on a broomstick, and that conversation had ended with tears. His, mostly, but as Hermione remembered the echoes of that ominous conversation years ago, she remembered she had cried, too.

-(It's not as though I'm into blokes or anything, but I just want to grab that thing and shove myself into it, you know?

-Erm, darling, that's exactly what being into blokes sounds like.

-No it isn't, it's just... Friendly roughhousing.

-Tell that to the men at the kink bar up the street.)

Presently, Snape managed to find his words. He looked reluctant, but strangely brave.

"I think she would be... ashamed... if she knew what people think of me here."

Hermione's heart melted, and she began to feel her eyes get wet.

He did love Erika, even if he did love Hermione too. But Hermione did fear that Snape's love of Erika might be a completely different kind of love in Snape's heart, and that Erika filled a hole formed in the image of Lily.

Whereas his love of Hermione was nowhere near the kind of love Hermione and he shared. Hermione realized that while she knew that he loved her, and she loved him, she didn't feel like she was in some kind of romance novel. There wasn't that deep and intense passion driving their relationship that she saw . Part of this, she realized, was because his love of her was requited. If it wasn't, chances are his way of relating to her would be completely different.

"I understand," she said, and even though they both knew she didn't, not one whit. But he didn't argue.

Instead, he sighed, seeming bewildered and slightly defeated. "I suppose I'm not thrilled about her coming *now*, at any rate."

"That's understandable," Hermione said, convincing herself that tears were exactly the opposite of what was a good idea right that moment. For some reason the voice of McGonagall coming back to her mind.

"He was left out in the rain sometimes... He would never be invited to their weddings in peacetime..."

She felt a shiver of sadness.

Severus seemed to be feeling the same, marinating in his own sadness, but it didn’t seem to be sad enough for him. “Understandable, yes. That’s an understatement,” he said, and he scooped up his hanging belly into his arm and cradled it. “I’ve become monstrous.”

He proceeded to let go of his excess flesh, and he toppled over slightly, and placed his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Are you okay?" She asked, desperately hoping he could reassure her.

"No," he said, after several long moments. His voice was tight, and Hermione rubbed the back of his shoulders.

"That's all right," she said, feeling weirdly confident. "It's all fine."

He proceeded to weep silently. It was the eeriest thing, Hermione realized, to see such a strong fortress of a man keeled over, seeking comfort in her arms. He was clearly in a lot of pain, and she didn't know how to respond to it other than to try and comfort him. She felt both confident and helpless, her breaths even and slow to try and balance his own jagged inhalations, but also knowing that this was really the limit of what she could do.

"Forgive me," he murmured after some silent moments, "I am such an old fool."

"That's not true," Hermione said warmly, her Gryffindor spirit rising in her heart. "You aren't old, and you aren't a fool. You've... You've been broken, intentionally, is what's happened." She thought back to McGonagall's words, "Albus would say this was a matter of national security..."

Severus seemed to grow very small in her arms, his body withdrawing into itself. "That's not true," he nearly whimpered. "I've always been broken."

Hermione knew better than to press this point. She sadly stroked Severus' hair and held him just a little bit tighter.

Finally, Severus managed to reallocate his emotional resources, and he sat up, banishing his tears almost unnaturally. "I don't want to look this way for Erika," he said firmly. "She hasn't seen me in a long while, and I've gained nearly four stone since I last saw her in person."

"I see," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. “So that’s why you’ve been… not all right this evening.”

“That,” he said, with a murmur, “and the other thing. With the patroni.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Hermione asked, her hand wrapping around his.

He grimaced. “Would it be completely crushing if I didn’t want to talk about it?”

Hermione paused and thought very hard. “Two things,” she said. “First, it seems to continue to be hurting you. Second, this is the second time you’ve brought it up. I’m wondering if you’re hoping I will press you into telling me, because you feel embarrassed but you actually want to tell me. The other option, of course, is that you’re genuinely in pain and feel that it’s going to make your pain worse to tell me. If you are in pain, and you think you will feel better for telling me, then by all means, let’s have out with it then.”

Severus laughed darkly. “Hermione, the world would have been in the worst trouble had you been the Dark Lord.”

Hermione took this as a compliment, though an odd one. “Well, fortunately, you’re not servant to a dark lord anymore,” she said with as much pleasantness as she could muster, “and fortunately, I’m not and have never been a dark lord, and even more fortunately, I am really concerned about your well-being, and I don’t have time for Slytherin mindgames, thanks very much. So which is it - do you need to talk about it, but are reluctant to, or do you genuinely need to sort it out on your own?”

He seemed uncommonly pleased by this response. “I see that, in fact, you are pressuring me. In a very Slytherin way, as it happens. But no matter, you’re close to the truth when you ask me if I *need* to talk about it. Though *wanting* to talk about it is out of the question.”

Severus then took a deep breath. “I can’t,” he breathed out, “I can’t cast one anymore.”

Hermione’s brain buzzed, but she kept quiet for a moment. “Why not, do you think?” she asked, as she realized he was waiting for her.

“I don’t quite know,” he said, “I expect it has something to do with the neurotransmitters. I didn’t even notice for a long time after I started medications. I’ve talked about it extensively with Erika, who has taken quite an interest in the problem, but suffice it to say, I cannot cast a patronus of any kind.”

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, feeling the intensity of his sadness resonate through her. “That’s terrible.”

He didn’t respond, and looked away instead.

“I… I hope you don’t think that you’re a bad person, or like there’s no hope for you to be happy, or something because of this,” Hermione went on, “I certainly don’t think so.”

“All right,” said Severus, shaking his head, “let’s talk about something else.”

“I hear you,” Hermione responded. “But please know that I don’t think less of you for it. There must be hundreds of people in history who couldn’t cast a patronus. It’s just one spell.”

He cast her a baleful look that implied, *shut up, shut up, shut up!* so she did so, with great restraint.

She obeyed, for once, and they sat there in silence until Severus took a deep breath and gestured to Hermione.

“I was being ridiculous,” he said, brushing his hands over his face. “And being hungry doesn’t help anything. Can I have some of your pudding?”

“Please,” Hermione said with a bright smile.

As he served himself from the tin in front of her, she hoped that he wouldn’t notice her hands shaking with the final release of the tension that had been in the room.
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Old 01-09-2015, 09:29 PM   #46
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Chapter 31

Chapter Text

Despite her efforts to hide them, she wished he would notice her shaking hands. She wanted to be comforted, but was far too embarrassed to ask.

He didn't notice at all, actually, and it stung, particularly coming on the heels of her thoughts regarding how he seemed to feel about Erika. Hermione was certain he would notice *her* hands shaking at the dinner table, even if she tried to hide them.

But given her pragmatic attitude, she tried to feel all right.

She was cheered by the fact that Severus seemed to have abandoned all his former hesitancy, and had taken the pudding tin into his hands and was directly eating out of it. He was focused on this, and it was adorable, and she tried to forget everything else. His cheeks were chubby, his belly was filling out nicely as he ate bite after bite, four servings of pudding already disappeared inside him without pause, supplemented by copious glasses of milk.

"Are you going to finish that?" Hermione asked, taking a deep stabilizing breath. She definitely was enjoying the view, and her own pain was easing as she watched him eat.

"It's practically gone as it is," he confirmed, scraping out the remaining treacle crumbs.

"And I thought you were trying to be moderate," Hermione teased gently.

He looked at her with a cool, dispassionate glare, which wasn't really all that harsh.

"A fool's errand," he responded, "particularly given recent evidence that demonstrates my mood's stability depends on my intake being unrestricted."

"A quick turnaround," Hermione said, "but no matter. The main thing is, you're feeling better?"

He put the empty tin on the table and passed a tongue over his lips thoughtfully.

"...no," he answered, after significant deliberation. "I am better able to cope with my discomfort, now, but no, I do not actually feel better."

Hermione moved her chair closer to his, and laid a hand on his own. She wasn't shaking any more, and she felt more in control of herself.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I wish you did feel better."

He looked at her with a kind of sadly amused appreciation, charmed by her efforts to make him feel better despite their futility.

"Myself as well," he murmured.

Hermione's hand gripped him a little harder, and inched its way up his arm, where she grasped him tighter at the base of his fleshy upper arm, the one closest to her. He responded by putting his other hand in her lap, where his thumb slowly traced the outline of her navel through her clothes, gently caressing the rim of her blossoming belly. It was an electric sort of feeling, and she could feel his energy changing as they touched each other.

But they did not move for many minutes, instead feeling each other physically. Hermione, for her own part, was feeling herself emotionally.

She'd been scared for a good part of the earlier evening. Scared of what, she wasn't entirely sure she could name, but Severus had behaved strangely, and she had been terrified of this being a new normal. She had already struggled to adapt to his depression, and she wasn't sure if she could adjust to... Whatever it was that had been. She'd actually forgotten that he could be so irritable, so uncaring. And the only reason that he'd been able to snap out of it was because Erika called him.

But, she reasoned, wasn't Erika the reason he started acting that way in the first place?

She was interrupted from thinking more about this by Severus' saying, "I apologize for earlier. Sometimes my own behavior gets the best of me."

She cast a look at him that was partly kind, mostly serious.

"You've never been like that before," she said. "Is this part of your...bipolar?"

"Perhaps?" He responded, and touched her shoulder, his long but pudgy fingers massaging it. She loved the feel of how he touched her. "You might be right. I can't always tell when mania sets in, while depression hits me like a bludger."

"is that what mania looks like?" she asked, perplexed.

"I don't know," he answered, though his voice was getting stony-edged again. "It's easier for me to remember what it looked like at its worst than to remember anything else about it. It's likely, come to think of it. But medication helps it from taking root in me for days, the way it used to. Let's move on, shall we?"

"No," said Hermione, and she started to feel herself shaking again. "No, we've got to talk about this. We can't just pretend it away."

"It's not pretending," Severus said, and there was that same unkind fierce defensiveness in his voice, and Hermione felt herself slip momentarily into the eyes of an eleven year old girl with painfully long teeth, and the pain and despair began to set in.

Her face paled as his eyes bore into hers, penetrating and scornful....then suddenly he back-tracked, and she felt herself return to her present with only an echo of the feelings to remind her of what had happened. It always hit her hard when she remembered they’d once had a student-teacher relationship, and the smallest things could make memories come back to her in a wave of nauseating emotions. Especially of that incident with the teeth.

"No," he revised, more quietly. "I must check myself. This is me trying to hold myself together, and regretfully failing."

He stood up with a wince, then, upon thinking again, sat down once more.

"Mania," he said, biting his tongue for a moment as he grouped his thoughts, "for me, was never really euphoria. They say that's atypical. I don't give a shit about what is or isn't, you understand, but it bears noting. When I was in a manic state, I could go days without sleep and not feel a thing. They say that's very typical."

He grimaced. "Dumbledore liked these periods for that reason alone. I had a great deal of energy, though I was always very argumentative with him during these times. I think he enjoyed it, kept him on his toes. And when I lost my temper with him, he thought it meant I was able to keep it better leashed with the dark lord."

A bitter smile. "He was right about that, but not for the reasons he thought."

He gazed into the distance for a moment, reflective. Hermione thought about Snape the insomniac, raging around the castle for hours and never sleeping. It occurred to her that she'd never thought about why running into Snape in the late night was a likelihood, and not just a possibility. It put quite a different tone on the exploits she had shared with Harry over the years.

As if reading her mind, Severus added, "Come to think of it, many of our arguments - between myself and Dumbledore - were about Potter."

Hermione felt her heart twinge with pain at not having talked to Harry in so long. She should floo him, maybe this week.

"Sounds really distressing," she said, and he nodded.

His face was drawn as he further reminisced, "The mania usually ended in terror - usually I believed that I had been found out. I would hear phantom voices telling me to kill myself."

Hermione felt strangely unfazed by this. While she never would have guessed off hand that he had suffered hallucinations, it was not surprising to her.

"You couldn't block them out by occulmency?" She asked gently.

"Only for a little while," he responded, his hand clasping hers more tightly. "It was different than having someone in your mind - it seemed to be from outside, and thereby was more real and unpredictable."

He looked seriously at her. "I think that's what scared me the most. I would have to go to Madam Pomfrey a complete mess, and she would knock me out with some home brew of hers for twelve hours or something ridiculous, and then I'd wake up again, and recoup most of the hours with a time turner, and for the most part that was the end of that."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said. She felt these were paltry words, ineffective and a poor response. But he didn't seem to think so, as he drew himself closer to her.

"I only really feel like I can cope with all of it when doing one of two things," he said slowly, "and I suppose you don't need me to tell you what those are."

Hermione didn't need to be told - she passed him platter of linguine that had sat in front of her their entire conversation. It was cold, and he didn't seem to be appetized by it, and indeed after a moment he clapped his hands and summoned their elf again.

"I know I abase the practice,” he said, after calling for what seemed enough to feed a small army, "but there’s something about Muggle packaging on foods. It’s mostly abhorrent to me, but I do miss the sensation of knowing exactly how much damage one is about to do before one has done it. It's hard to replicate without losing a great deal of its aesthetic - casting a calorie interpretation charm just doesn’t have the same feel as eating an entire package of cakes and looking at the calories on the back, and realizing one has eaten enough to fuel a family of four in one meal.” He settled back, one warm hand on his tummy.

“They have these ‘family-size’ frozen dinners. I found it amusing, buying these to feed my family of one.” His smile was blackly humorless. “There’s such a sensational misery of knowing you’ve eaten, in one sitting, more than three times what you’re supposed to in a day. The thrill of disbelief, the summoning of courage against the compulsion. The ability to quantify the pain and review the course of the struggle with utter precision."

He sighed. "I did not realize I would miss that."

Hermione felt her throat stick, as though she had tried to swallow a pill without water.

"You really are doing this to hurt yourself, aren't you?" she murmured, and she was terrified of his response.

She felt herself wilt under his gaze, her heart racing as his serious eyes mournfully implored her to pay attention. "I was talking like that," he murmured, "last week. But I've been giving it some thought, and I don't think I want to die quite yet."

She could have been struck by a thunderbolt, she was so startled. "Well, that's a relief," she said, trying to get her bearings back, but as it happened, she lost them completely, and ended up sobbing for no particularly rational reason.

He scooped her up and held her as she cried, and kissed her tenderly and stroked her hair. She tried a few times to get a grip on herself again, but three times lost it immediately. It was no use.

Finally she managed to cry herself out. Sometime during this period, Snape's food arrived, but he let it sit. It was only when she had gasped the last tears out that he asked, "What was all that?"

"Severus," she moaned, "you're important to me. You don't think I'm going to be glad when you tell me you've got the will to live?"

"I *dont* think I said that," said Severus gruffly, but there was a tender thoughtfulness underneath it.

"Well, a desire to not be dead is a step in the right direction," she responded with a pained laugh.

"How could I want to be dead," he murmured. "I've never *wanted* it. I've been ambivalent, yes. Because being dead has merely seemed better than the alternative sometimes, that is all."

The corner of his mouth formed a recalcitrant smile. "For the moment, though, I'm very satisfied with what I've got." He kissed her on the top of her head. "I suppose I simply struggle in terms of the mechanics of *how* to live effectively. At least," he added darkly, “that’s how I feel right now.”

"After so many years of panic and fight or flight, settling down is hard," she affirmed. "Even I have had trouble with that."

"Unfortunately,” Severus said, and began to reach for the chips that sat in front of him.

As he ate, Hermione nestled herself deeper in his arm, face first. His deodorant or what-have-you smelled deliciously masculine, and breathing in the scent, laced with sweaty pheromones, made Hermione's mood improve a bit as well. The feeling of his flesh reverberating as he chewed was incredibly satisfying, and she thought blissfully about the calories he was consuming, adding on top of those he'd already eaten in the treacle tart.

They remained quiet until he had finished his fish and chips. This took a rather long time, because he'd ordered a platter sized to feed a cadre of students.

He couldn't finish it all, even with Hermione's help (her hand snuck out to steal a great many.) but eventually it became clear that he was comfortably full, and Hermione massaged his well-plumped tummy with great admiration. He had put away a great many chips indeed, and several battered fish besides, and his stomach seemed to radiate warmth as her hand massaged it.

Then, with salty breath, Severus began kissing her again, on the top of the head, then slipping down to nibble provocatively at her ear, and she felt herself warm up to the idea of making out. She felt his hand brush away the fierce strands of hair that hid the back of her neck, and his fingers wormed their way up to gently touch the nape of her neck, along the hairline, where its velvet softness yearned to be touched. His lips proceeded to wend their way up the same path, beginning near the base of her spine with slow, perfectly-tempered kisses that made their way up her neck, warming her and leaving her skin tingling and warm.

There was the hint of teeth once every few kisses, just the right amount, reassuring Hermione of his animal possessiveness and attraction to her. She murmured and sighed as she felt him nip her just a bit, and arched her neck. he responded to this by experimentally taking the lump of fat at her chin into his teeth and pressing down a little harder.

She outright moaned. "God," she whimpered, "yes."

He was immediately intrigued, and with a fierce motion, he ripped her front buttons open to reveal her growing, swelling breasts. Scooping one of them into his hand and kneading it - what a nice feeling, she thought as she looked at it, her breast was so big it spilled out of his hand, unable to be contained, a big ball of fatty molten tissue, like jiggly bread dough - he then pressed his lips against the side of it, at the place the breast joined her chest, where the fat was thickest, and he clasped it in his teeth gingerly.

"Yes," she murmured, relishing the feeling of teeth and hot tongue together. He was biting and licking at the same time, and with a few careful waves of his hand, Hermione felt a similar sensation on her other breast as well, symmetrically. Snape had used what Hermione privately called a cloning charm, which replicated his efforts on her other side.

She felt herself opening up like a flower on time-lapse video, her entire body awakening to the sensations and longing to be penetrated. She slipped out of his arms onto the floor and lay there. The rug was old and not particularly comfortable, but she grabbed her wand and waved it, and suddenly the rug was fresh and plush, the kind of rug that was a pleasure to sink one’s feet into. She relaxed into it and undid the rest of her bodice.

He seemed happy to oblige her needs, and he leaned practically into her armpit and kissed her down her sides, licking and sucking at the rolls of chub she had grown. His cloning spell meant that she felt the same thing up and down the other side of his body. She felt the waves of euphoria exude from her, and she had to wave at him to cancel the spell.

"Too much, too quick," she murmured. "Come on."

She wiggled her butt out of the rest of her dress, balled it up, and tossed it carelessly out of their way. Severus undid his shirt, but that's as far as he got. She was met by the sight of his big pudgy tum, restrained by an improperly sized belt (in other words: it was too small) and tucked into the binding spells that kept his trousers from falling to pieces as they struggled around the circumference of his so-wide gut. As his hands moved towards his belt, she shook her head and grabbed at his chub.

Oh, it bulged so deliciously, stuffed so completely, as into sausage casing. It threatened to burst as he moved, and she nearly screamed in delight to see the way his tum sloshed and moved under the too-right fabric, daring it to try and hold on much longer. There was evidence of a second belly roll forming there on top, depending on the angle at which he was positioned. As he sank to sit on the rug with a satisfying, fleshy thump, she saw it poking above the other one like the sun peeking over a hill.

"You are gorgeous," she murmured, a hand pressing against the delicious rise of flesh. "What if I told you I wanted to be as fat as you are by Christmas?"

His eyes widened in horror.

"That would... be quite a lot of weight," he said, dangerously close to stammering. "Why set a goal like that for yourself? Didn't we just have a conversation about... living, and its relative merits?"

Hermione sighed, and sat up. She had been hoping this was an avenue to pillow talk, not a distraction. Alas.

"I mean," she said, with a frown, "it's different. It really is. I'm not suicidal, darling - I just want to be fat."

"How are those not the same thing?" He demanded, and, as if he were becoming self conscious, he held his shirt against himself, cradling it.

"They aren't the same," Hermione said.

"How?" He demanded again. "Fat is an objective risk factor for poor heAlth on every major metric. Hermione, I appreciate body positive attitudes, I appreciate the erotic components of feeding and stuffing. But you have got to get it through your mind that no one who is healthy wants to be fat. That is the bound between reality and fantasy that I'm not willing to cross if I'm trying to be healthy. Wasn't it you who was arguing the exact opposite of this with me a month* ago?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "but that was because you were blatantly in disregard of your health. You were a hedonist kamikaze, not simply a hedonist. Just because you've changed your mind on one part of it doesn't mean the rest of it is non-negotiably bad."

He seemed to consider this, and then shook his head. "I can't accept this, Hermione."

"Well," Hermione responded, "how do you think I felt when you said you don't care if you get so fat you become mortally sick?"

He looked down his nose at her, but said nothing else.

"I accepted that," she said, "even though the implication was that I might lose you, and that you were all right with that eventuality. I made an effort to not take it personally. I demand the same from you. You don't have to feel good about it, but accept it you must."

He rolled his eyes. "Either you, my dear, have outwitted me, or whatever spell or potion you've used on me is making me think so. I don't have a response that isn't an emotional argument."

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Now of course," she said, "in my case, if any health indicators are alarming, I would stop, Severus. I'm not about to sacrifice my long term happiness for short term happiness. But I do want to do this, for whatever reason, and I would like for this to be a delightful, erotic, and pleasurable experience for both of us, if you choose to participate. Either way," she said, "my mind is made up, and I will try and do this."

"But why," he murmured, looking down at his own body. He seemed to be asking beyond the reasons he cited.

"Because," Hermione said, gently touching his bare shoulder. "I'm immensely curious about what it will be like, and I want to experiment with my own body, and find a weight that both meets what image I have for myself and is optimal in terms of health. I already know I like being bigger, and I want to see what it is like to be significantly bigger. Beyond what most people would imagine desireable."

She felt herself add, despite herself, "in some ways, I also want to be of comparable size to you. Partly to show you that, indeed, you are beautiful. And partly because I know your interests, and I think you would enjoy more of me, as much or even more than I will."

She smirked. "I must say, though, that the main reason is me. I want to. And my not-too-serious goal is to be as big as you are by Christmas."

He let his shirt drop into his lap, and he leaned towards her. Rolling his shoulders back, he let his body assume a more confident posture. Hermione had long known this attitude was an affectation, but even as he sat there, training his eyes on her, the raw power contained in his gaze and body was formidable.

This was not a man who would like you to play him falsely in any respect. Hermione appreciated that about him, his distrust. It made gaining his trust all the more valuable.

"I have accepted, with great effort of will," he said softly, dangerously, "that you like this." He cupped a handful of his soft breast into his hand and squeezed it. "It just makes me feel like I walked into a trap. And anything that seems to speak too much like the accoutrements of a trap makes me suspicious. Whether that's you appreciating my... Appetite.. Or you dangling before me visions of Eros so confounding that they make my head spin." He gazed at her menacingly.

"This isn't a trap," she responded, her own voice low and dangerous. "Accept that, and let's get fat together. For the right reasons, not the wrong ones."

"The right ones being?"

She grinned. "Enjoying it marvelously."

He nodded sagely, as if it had been his idea all along.



.........
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Old 01-09-2015, 10:16 PM   #47
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He didn't seem to know how to respond, so he stumbled up and towered over the table. His lips pursed, and he touched his chin with his fingertip. She was reminded of how she first saw him that day in the Great Hall when they first encountered each other again, the way he had so carefully deliberated the choice he was going to make. It was a false sign of reservation, she saw now, an elegant but awkward attempt to stave off time before he took practically all of it.

"Just get whatever appeals to you," she said with a smile on her voice. "No need to debate with yourself."

He grimaced, apparently hating how easy he was to read, but did not respond, his sense of dignity too fragile to stop pretending at it.

He went ahead and brought down some things for them to share on the rug - a large toffee pudding (apparently he hadn't had enough), and a bowl of strawberries.

"Here," he said, the crisp white bowls gleaming in the firelight as he set them down, "have some."

She realized she had barely eaten dinner, other than the fried chips, and was still queasy with the emotional turmoil. She did take a strawberry and she chewed it, letting the sharp flavor cleanse her palate.

She was more interested in feeding him, for the moment, so she picked up a berry and licked it seductively.

"You," he murmured, laying down on the floor, belly flattening underneath him, "what are you doing?"

She didn't need to respond; she put the berry gently in between her teeth and went, belly first, to his eye level, grinning impishly.

"Fine," he moaned, and he inched towards her and began to lick her lips, slow and tantalizing, coaxing her until she gave up the fruit to his tongue.

"Thank you," he said once he'd swallowed it, and before he could say another word, she had another one in her hand, twirling in front of his face by its fibrous stem.

"That's not polite," he said with a groan, but snatched it out of her fingers like a shark grabbing at a fish slung over the back ledge of a boat.

"Why not?" She asked, pressing another one into her mouth, and he moved towards her again to grab it from her lips. She rolled over, starting to giggle, still in possession of the strawberry, which began to ooze its juice out of her mouth over her teeth and down her chin. She tried to suck it up but failed.

He settled the question by kneeling and, as she tried to escape, he lorded himself over her like a lion, with a heavy arm supporting him on one side, and the other possessively caging her on the other side, successfully pinning her down. She felt her chest pounding to have so much heaviness above her, and Snape's cruel smile... Was it play, or was it real? Probably both. He looked as smug as a Gryffindor that had caught its prey unguarded, and was prepared to use brute strength to overcome it to submission.

Oh yes, this was how Slytherins and Gryffindors were the same, Hermione thought, drinking in Severus' power. They both were lords of their ladies, conquerors at heart, never ceasing to have enemies, but also never ceasing to have passion. Slytherins just had been bullied so long they knew the value of hiding their truest desires from everywhere else - that was what disenfranchised people did to protect themselves. But in their own territory, when their own power had waxed.... Oh, Severus was a sight to see. She had, in her relationship with Ron, always thought of herself as the one in charge of the relationship- particularly in charge of such necessary evils as maintenance and care.

But here, in this relationship, she knew it wasn't so one-sided. Ron had never ceased to irritate her in how little he initiated in anything other than the obvious. This was not the case with Severus, no matter what was going on with his crystal-like love for Erika.

Oh, she knew the way he looked at her, he didn't think she was a fragile creature waiting to be protected by him from the cruel world. He saw her as different than that, she felt - a partner worth fucking, not worth worshipping. A partner worth twisting into submission for the sheer joy of it. A partner who wouldn't submit unless she wanted to - and half the pleasure was in convincing her.

He could indeed be a wolf, or a snake, or whatever convenient metaphor he chose. He could do this with her. Not with Erika, and certainly not with Lily.

She had never thought of herself as submissive, but here she was, letting him play her into that place so easily. What a delight it was not to have to be the one trying to get his attention! He was intensely focused on her every breath, watching as she fidgeted and moved.

She was startled from her rapturous wool gathering as he launched himself to the floor and bundled her inTo his arms and stole the squished strawberry from her parted lips, kissing her deeply afterwards, licking her chin and cheeks. Then, when satisfied, he relaxed, and she rolled slightly in his arms until he was spooning her as they lay on the floor.

"This is... Enjoyable," he murmured after some moments, "but I grow impatient. I think we need some more... Efficient methods, am I right?"

"After you," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm a bit worked up after the intensity of the past hour. Not feeling quite all right."

"I hear you," he murmured, and with a great effort he sat up, and the motion was such that his stomach slipped out from being constrained by his trousers; now his belt sat underneath his massive gut, and he rubbed it absently along the lines the belt cut into him. "Would you like to feed me, then? Would that whet your hunger?"

"yes," she said with an enthusiasm that made her own spine tingle.

.......:::
She let her fingers dive into the soft flesh of his belly and knead it. They were becoming used to having this decadent experience. it was like bathing in cream. And she was well on her way to developing her own luxurious body for them to enjoy.

"Let's get some more food into this belly," she said with a smile, and with gentle hands she guided him into a reclining position, his head propped up by pillows.

His hair arrayed beautifully across the silk and velvet, and she positioned herself beneath the pillows so that his head was indirectly on top of her thickening thigh. "There," she said with a whisper, "that comfortable?"

"Very," he returned, a sly smugness on his face.

His stomach, relishing the relaxed position, made satisfied gurgling noises.

"I can't tell if that means hungry or processing," Hermione said with a smile, "but either way, a bit more can't hurt."

Snape responded by leaning slightly upwards and putting his mouth on the fatty underside of her breast, a hot rush of teeth and soft tongue.

"Mmm," she murmured, feeling awash with heat. "I can't wait until we can sit like this and my breast is so big you can suck my nip from where you now sit."

He shivered. "That's a pleasing thought."

She struggled off her underwear, careful not to disturb him, and he made a motion to take off his trousers and pants as well.

"No," she said as she put an imperative hand on his belly, "wait."

"They hurt," he argued feebly.

She looked down and met his eyes. "Do you *really* want me to let you take them off?"

He nodded.

She conceded. "All right. But let's make sure we're both on the same page as we enter the play."

He mumbled his assent as he swiftly disentangled himself from his belt, trousers, and pants.

"All right," he said with a nearly silly grin, "I didn't think it was fair if you got to be disrobed while I didn't."

"No matter. I have some other plans for you, sweetheart," said Hermione. "Remember our safe word, though."

"I remember," he said with a low growl of pleasure.

"Then let's begin," she said with delight. She proceeded to accio his trousers to her hand. "You won't be needing these anymore, will you?" She asked softly. "They're far too small to be comfortable."

"I only have one other pair in an... Appropriate size," Severus said with embarrassment.

She nodded. "We can do something about that this week," she said. "For the moment, is there something else I can use?"

He wandlessly summoned a cotton dish towel from the kitchenette.

"This is fine," she answered. "Let's get started."

She proceeded to lay the cloth on top of his belly, grab her wand, and cast some interesting transfiguration spells. When it had finished transforming into a long bolt of cotton cloth, she gestured for him to help her get it underneath him, and he arched his back, unintentionally provocative as his belly became prominent, and she admired it with one hand caressing its curve.

She remained focused though, and stuffed the cloth underneath him. Then she began to magically cut and sew it, the first time she'd bothered with anything like this since Molly Weasley taught her the domestic skill. (Her face grew hot at the realization.) the cloth began to grow into an Oxford shirt, with buttons down the front. The fabric yielded to her easily, though it remained checkered and dish towel-like despite her efforts to blend it. She was also unable to get out the few snags that plagued the thing, but she managed to work them into buttonholes that were halfway passable.

Soon the shirt was done, and Hermione admired her handiwork. The towel had been repurposed to an almost unrecognizable end.

Severus looked at it skeptically, craning his neck.

"If I even sit up," he said with a grimace, "this entire thing will fall apart."

Hermione grinned with a thrill as he said that. The sight of him in this shirt was even more enticing than he'd looked in his trousers. The buttons gaped, revealing the delicate skin underneath, and looked in his

"The point," she said with a giggle, "is that you will be trapped where you are until you eat enough to burst the thing."

Severus' face grew quiet. "No," he murmured, "I can't do that. I'm already so full."

"Not too full to sass me, though," she replied smoothly. "No, Severus, I won't be satisfied that you've had enough until you eat your way out of that shirt. Come now, it's already so tight on you. You could do it right now if you finished that tin of pudding, now couldn't you?"

He groaned, and put a hand on his upper belly to massage it deeply with his fingers. She could already see his erection rising, which was a very good sign.

"I suppose," he tumbled good-naturedly. "But I can't do it without some help."

"No fear," Hermione said with a smile, and she accio'ed the tin of pudding into her hands. "I will stuff you, Severus, until you are too full to speak."

He nodded, and she was satisfied by the twinge his dick made as she spoke.

"I am ready," he announced, and she took the big wooden spoon from the table and drove it into the thick, gooey pudding. It was like driving a pylon into the sea, where it could stand right up afterwards, but she wasn't doing this for aesthetics. She took the spoon out of the pudding and gave Severus an enormous spoonful.

"Enjoy," she said with a soft smirk, and she was exhilarated to see him attack it ravenously. He practically inhaled it, then waved her hand to get more as he sucked it down.

"That's so rich," he murmured with a sigh after eating the second heaping spoonful. "I might be unable to tuck it in."

"Now that's all right," she said cheerfully, "you can take a break if you want to, my dear. Just know that this warm, sticky mess will be followed by a course of something quite different."

She pressed a strawberry into his mouth as he tried to respond, and he was effectively shut up for the moment.

"Hermione," he begged, and he thrust a second, then a third strawberry in his mouth, pudging out his cheeks in the way that made him look so plump and delectable. Then, as he swallowed, he seemed to have a flash of inspiration. "Mistress?"

That got her attention darned well. "Yes, poppet?" she asked, not sure how she chose the word, but if Severus objected, he didn't say so. In fact, she thought she saw a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. Maybe he liked being talked to like a child.

"Can't I have some more?" There was a contented purr in his voice that she found irresistible. She began to stroke his shirtfront, trying to smooth the wrinkles in vain.

"More what?" she asked, obviously she knew, but it was part of the play. She draped herself across him and kissed his cheek.

"More pudding," he said simply.

Hermione tsked with her tongue.

"Now darling, I know I usually let you have whatever you want, but I want to make sure you know that you're getting a bit, erm, big."

"Is that so?" he replied, the awe and surprise in his voice clearly a charade, but an effective one.

"Oh yes dearie," Hermione said, finding her voice sounded like her grandmother's strangely. It was a comforting sort of fretting. "I mean, haven't you gotten too big for your trousers? If you keep this up," she went on, her voice getting stiffer as her lady-bits got harder, "you might get fat."

"Oh no," murmured Severus, with childlike simplicity, and it was the most eerie and charming thing. "But," he went on, "what if I can't stop eating? I like to eat, Mistress. It's my favorite thing to do."

"Do you want to get fat?" answered Hermione, her face reddening as her hand grappled with the most convenient and beautiful roll of his fat.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Severus, and that was Hermione's cue. She ripped herself from the floor and sat herself down on top of his cock, her buttocks spreading over his balls and her vag firmly trapping his dick, forcing it to fold backwards up against his belly.

"Imagine your belly is as heavy as I am," she whispered, "that my fat behind is your own belly and pubic fat. They’re so large and so jiggly that they trap your precious willy and hide it in a massive blob of flesh."

He shuddered in ecstasy, his eyes closed, his hands groping her blindly until they got to her beautiful deflating-bubble butt. (She’d noticed her buttocks just starting to sag with cellulite as the fat cells began to adhere to gravity's call.)

"Do you want to get so big, Severus," she whispered, "that you can't get out of bed, that you're entirely dependent on me, your busty Mistress-slave, to fetch and carry for you what you yourself cannot?"

He was clearly having immense trouble keeping his body from succumbing to the rapture of orgasm, so all he could do was nod.

"Good, good, my sweetheart," she whispered, "then here you go."

She gently got off him, and his hands went immediately to touch himself, to alleviate some of the desperate pangs of lust that she had evoked in him. She grabbed his hands in a forceful coup.

"No," she said imperiously, "not until you have finished your dinner."

He moaned with what seemed like genuine pain, so she broke for a moment. "Do you want to stop?" she asked, staring at him seriously. And his eyes opened to look into hers with what seemed to be actual hurt and struggle.

He answered, in a hiss, "No."

"Are you sure?" she confirmed, "You don't look particularly happy"

"Go back," he sneered, his face reddening, "now."

"All right," she said, and he glared at her even for saying this. She grabbed the tin of pudding, and Severus demanded, "Say it again."

"What?" she asked, and he groaned. Then she realized what he meant. "Oh," she responded, squeezing his hands again and holding him down. She leaned in closely, slowly, until her lips met his ear.

In an erotically dramatic fashion, she whispered, "You can touch yourself any time you like, as much as you like, but only after you have finished your dinner. You promised me that you'd finish your toffee pudding." She then lifted the spoon to his lips. "Were your eyes bigger than your stomach?"

"Never," he responded hoarsely. He proceeded to grab all of the contents from the spoon with his teeth, and as he chewed, a change came over him. He tore his hands out of her grasp. “Now,” he said, one hand on his belly, the other propping his head up in an incredibly luxurious fashion, “let’s dispense with the frivolity. Feed me, witch.”

She saw it was her time to let him be in charge, and she shrank away a bit as she lifted the next spoonful to his mouth. He took it and swallowed it swiftly, and then gestured for something to drink.

Hermione grabbed him the pitcher of milk, and she poured him a tumbler and gave it to him. He drank it greedily, his thick double-chin bobbing as he gulped. He gave the tumbler back to her, and she put it on the floor, and as her head was turned she peripherally saw him stifle a burp in his sleeve.

She then took the spoon and offered it to him again. He took another heaping bite, but frustration seemed to set in. He seemed about to say something caustic, but instead revised, it instead saying, “This...oh, just give it to me.”

Hermione gave him the spoon and held the bowl for him. He proceeded to go to town on that tin of toffee pudding. While substantially larger than the other one, he made steady progress.

During his next milk break, the man finally lost the buttons on his shirt. Hermione was watching for any sign of breakage, as the shirt’s buttons couldn’t possibly take any more strain, and she was delighted when, as he took a deep breath after drinking a full tumbler of milk, the buttons practically peeled off.

“Gods,” was all he said, with relief, and he peeled off the scraps of what was left of the shirt (which, granted, was all of it, minus buttons.)

He didn’t see the red marks that dotted his torso, instead picking up the pudding again and stuffing himself to the finish.

Hermione got up, rummaged around his desk drawers, and found a tincture of hazel to put on the red marks.

He was startled by his ministrations, but was at the point where he had to pause for breath between bites, so he didn’t say anything.

He started outright panting as he neared the bottom of the pan.

“It’s… it’s too much,” he moaned, laying back on the pillows, “I’m so… so full. More milk, please?”

She gave him the tumbler back, and he drank two full glasses, though it took him a great deal of effort to get them down; in the end, he had to take little sips.

“You’re doing so well,” Hermione said. “Just a bit more, now.”

He nodded, and looked about ready to fall asleep. “I know,” he said lamely, and he yawned, which turned into another burp, which he stifled far less subtly. Embarrassed, he glanced at her, and she just patted the top of his tummy as reassurance.

“How can I get you to finish?” Hermione asked, and Severus looked at her with such a painful grimace, she knew it was nearly time.

“We’re almost there,” she said, “come on, Sev. You helped demolish the dark lord, certainly you can finish your cake.”

He looked like he was going to start laughing, but then he looked like he was going to throw up if he started laughing, so he just groaned and rubbed his belly. “Don’t… don’t make me laugh,” he warned her.

“I won’t again,” she promised. “Here.”

She picked up the tin of pudding, dragged her finger through the sauce, and held it to Severus’ lips. He sucked on it hungrily, until it was clean, and he sighed in contentment.

This was going to be easier than she expected.

She did this a grand total of twenty-three times, and the entire bowl was clean.

Severus, however, was unmovable. He looked like he was about to be sick any moment, and Hermione implored him to recline and relax, and she rubbed his overtaxed tummy with vigorous motions.

“How was that?” she asked Severus as he stared at her through nearly-closed eyelids.

“Wonderful,” he affirmed, “as usual.”

His breathing proceeded to get slower, and then finally it was clear he had fallen asleep. Hermione snuffed out the candles in the room with a swift hand, then accio’ed one of the throws from the sofa, and draped it over them, with some extension spells of course.

Then, she cuddled up to him, making herself the big spoon as she fit her body against his, and draped her hand over his belly, to conveniently massage it as she drifted off, too.
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Old 02-12-2015, 06:33 PM   #48
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dang no one commented on last contributions :/

The weeks rolled by with relative ease after that long, tumultuous weekend. Hermione found herself making a frustrating amount of progress on her weight gain, partially because of the stress they had gone through over the course of that weekend of October. It took her several days to acquire equilibrium again, despite their delicious play on Sunday evening.

But two weeks later, a stone’s throw from Halloween, she came to a breakthrough, and it was joyous and sexy.

It was a Saturday morning. She had gained significantly less than her goal of two pounds a day - in two weeks she had put on scarcely ten pounds. Her hopes of gaining a hundred pounds come Christmas were, she feared, long gone.

She had been working a bit too hard, Severus told her, on the conference, and she wasn't exactly putting her teaching on the side burner either. She was preparing her students hard for the upcoming NEWTS and OWLS, which seemed like they were coming up in a shorter time than not, and that meant extra hours grading, providing a revision group, and more. While Severus seemed to eat more the more stressed he was, she found herself eating less because she was so frantically busy.

Severus, once or twice, mentioned his potions, but she frowned and refused them. Her weight gain was not going to be sustainable unless it was natural, she knew, and she didn't want to come by her added voluptuousness by what she felt would be cheating.

But one Saturday her luck seemed to change.

She awoke to the sound of water running in the bathroom. It was warm where she was in bed - in fact, she felt like someone had thoughtfully cast a warming charm on her - but with enough effort she managed to shake it off. The fire was in embers, quietly emanating a cozy heat, and it sounded like Severus was running a bath.

She went to the bathroom and knocked. "Enter," he said, his voice echoey on the marble.

She went inside and was wrapped in steam. Severus was in the shallow end of the enormous bathtub, only partly submerged as the water ran. He had his glasses on and his computer positioned on a stool within reach of him. He lay on his side, his chin propped on the rim of the tub, and his dry hand scrolled on the trackpad. His other hand was hidden beneath the bubbling water, which, at a mere foot deep at that part, was enough to obscure everything lower than his breasts. The water lapped at these gently, teasingly.

Hermione smiled and cast a hand over her body absently. "Room for one more?" she asked, and he nodded, clearly in a good humor.

“It's bigger on the inside,” he said, and she slipped into the foaming water, which was a beautiful aquamarine color, the shade of a chlorinated swimming pool. It smelled like the ocean, serenely briny. The bubbles were magnetic to her skin, attaching themselves to her in a protective ring.

The tub was indeed bigger than it looked - magic was trippy that way - and Hermione put her legs around him and pressed her crotch against his squishy wet bottom. He shivered slightly as she moved her dry hands gently down his arms, inching like spiders; her hands disconnected around where his fleshy upper arms ended at the elbows, and her hands floated through the air to land at his sumptuous love-handles, which she grasped fervently, stroking his taut skin, which was flushed with the heat of the bath.

She ground against him, then submerged her hands in the water to follow the curve of his belly from the thigh to the unreachable penis.

Try as she might, there was no way her hands could meet when they were tight around his circumference. She put that down to both his massive size, but also the amount of pudge she'd put on herself, particularly in the area of her breasts and belly.

But she could, if she leaned far enough, and was willing to wrap along his hip line rather than his belly, still get at his member from this position. It was awkward and ungainly, but her hand dove beneath the ponderous overhang of fat and could grasp his balls in her hand, though just barely.

He turned his head back to look at her, and his eyes were full of lust and pleading.

“Let's try this a different way,” she said, and she motioned for him to turn around. He pushed his computer away, and she got a glimpse of some intriguing photographs. Mermaids, it so happened, mermaids with large creamy bellies and breasts, all of them with beautiful hair that floated around them in the water.

"Well," Hermione said with a smirk, gesturing at the computer, "is this the mood you're in?"

"A bit," he replied, his face reddening, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "The Slytherin’s common room always had its...point of intrigue, for me, in this way."

Hermione nodded, and they recalibrated their position in the bath. He slipped from the shallower depth and disentangled himself from her grasp, moving towards the deeper edge of the bath. "Come," he purred.

The water was deep enough and broad enough that it might have been more efficient to swim, though not so deep that she couldn't stand on the floor and still breathe. It was about four feet deep at its lowest point. Like the swimming pools Hermione had grown up with at her local muggle community center, it had places to sit carved out of the wall, and even when the water was off, it created a marvelous series of waves automatically, gentle and relaxing.

Severus sat himself on one of the ledges of the tub, and one hand attached immediately to his cock. Hermione brushed it away and took his cock and balls into her own hands, and in response, his own hands moved to part her labia and play with her clit. The water made his hands silky, and she gasped as he brushed her, over and over.

Her face must have drained of color as she felt her body writhe with pleasure, and she felt her head go woozy with the orgasm.

"Relax," he said, and disconnected her hands from his parts, - his dick was as hard as a dragon’s toe - “just enjoy it."

She felt herself go numb with relaxation, and as she let herself relax, she found her legs floating up.

"Perfect," Severus intoned, and once she was floating completely flat, he separated her legs a little more. His touch was almost electric, and she was fascinated at how his tongue moved so ravenously over her skin.

She sank a little bit into the water as he indulged her, her body involuntarily flexing with rigidity, and he followed, his head ducking underwater for a concerning amount of time until she realized he must be using a bubble head type of charm. He finally released her and she panted gratefully as the stillness seeped into her. The water lapped around her body and she floated, relaxed and unmoving.

"That was brilliant," she slurred, breathing deeply the aromatic air. Bubbles began to emerge in her crevices in unexpected ways, and she shivered and stood straight.

"Thanks," he said, his smile shy and obliging, and she couldn't help but grab him forcefully and smother him in hot, careless kisses, ignited by his efforts.

He seemed momentarily bewildered, but kissed her back just as ardently after a brief second of hesitation. His lips were wet with water, his face and hair drenched, and she ran her hand through his long tresses stuck together though they were, and she toyed with them as she enjoyed him.

Gradually her hands started moving lower, and her head too, pausing to suck temptuously at his nipples, so naughtily positioned on the thick slabs of his breast meat. He moaned as she did so, and her hand roamed across his stretch-marked belly, which was like silk in the sudsy water. It was beyond pleasurable to touch, and she found herself becoming fiercely turned on again. One of her hands wandered to her clit, which she stroked ferociously, and she began to come again, leaving her charge unattended with guilt.

"Gods," he murmured, and he reconnected her hand with his aching, ramrod member, which she took reluctantly - her hand grabbed at him with the same fierceness she needed inside her, and she stroked with the same viciousness with which she wanted to be penetrated.

He proceeded to grab her head and, purposefully, he gently shoved it in a downward way.

The urgentness of his request was not lost on her, but sucking dick underwater was not something she was prepared to do without significant aid. "Spell me?" She asked, and with a pass of his hand over her face, she felt a gasp of breathlessness emerge in her throat and she plunged underwater. She was able to breathe there, and she took a moment to recuperate. Then she saw that her vision was clear, as if she were wearing goggles, and severus' cock ached meaningfully, begging for mercy. Sev was obligingly making room for her face by holding up the massive poundage of his front.

So delicious. Her face went straight for deep throat - she had, after all, researched this years ago out of a desire to be Better Than Lavender at sexing Ron - and fortunately his cock wasn't so long that she gagged on it, like Ron’s always had made her do. She was indeed highly satisfied with his feel in her mouth, the water giving his cock the texture of a massive tongue. Sometimes, though she wasn't entirely sure how she managed it, as she stroked him with her mouth, her lips would grace his succulent pubic fat, which would make him visibly shudder every time. She did her best to jiggle it with every stroke, one hand grasping the base of his cock and pressing deeply into his pillow like fat there.

Also his balls. They were enormous, and looked strangely bigger underwater. She jostled them warmly like birds eggs, clasping them and stroking them. She felt thrilled to be there, so close to him in the morning.

Then his muscles convulsed with a definitiveness, and she began to work more vigorously, bracing herself for the final push. Victory came swiftly, squirting in her mouth, and she collected it and spit it out into the water discreetly when he pulled himself out of her mouth.

She came up again for air, gasping, eyes blurry as though she was underwater. he had his head rolled back. She tapped him and touched her throat, and he released her from the spell that made her breathe above water like she was under, and vice versa.

"Clever spell," she murmured when she had her breath back. "Where'd you get it?"

He grinned and shook his head, letting out a soft moan. "Clever girl," he murmured, panting for breath, "give me a moment to recover."

She was not planning on doing anything of the sort, and she climbed out of the bath and grasped one of the warm Slytherin-green towels that presented themselves to her. "Time to be productive," she said, wrapping one gingerly around her self, and one around her mass of bodacious hair. She smiled seductively at him as he looked wearily back.

"Don't forget," he said with a grumpy petulance, "that I have twenty years and a hundred pounds on you."

"Well," Hermione said with a laugh, "I thought we were going to work on that last part."

He sighed, with faux aggrievance, and he hoisted himself up out of the bath with trembling arms. "You're shameless," he said, his thick feet slapping the tile mercilessly, and wiped himself off with a towel, then thrust himself into a luxurious silk robe that, Hermione noticed, actually tied around him as intended, with room to spare.

"You won't be able to fit in that for long," she said with a melodic teasing voice, and he responded by grabbing her around the waist from behind, with a ferocity that made her clit beg to be touched again.

Pressed close against him like she was, she heard him whisper in her ear, in a voice so low and seductive that he must have imported it from hell, Severus murmured, "When I'm done with you, neither will you."

"Fuck," Hermione whimpered, and looked around for a convenient place to lay down and get herself off. She decided the fluffy frieze bath mat would suffice, and she unravelled her towel and spread it across the tile. Then, putting her beautifully-formed behind on the rug, she lay upon her makeshift bed. The warm dampness of the water residue in the towel was a balm on her back, and the marble tile of the floor was cold on her heels. She spread her legs apart anyway.

Severus didn't need to be told what to do, and he knelt down and eased himself into the place between her legs, putting his knees on the mat. His robe came slightly unfurled, the belt riding up his belly, exposing his delicate scarred flesh and thick thighs. He automatically used one hand to try and readjust his robe, but it was pretty much futile while his other hand was occupied in Hermione's vagina. She needed very little persuasion to come heavily under his practiced hand, and her body bucked with pleasure.

She was soon panting and spent, her body glowing with the rush of hormones and fresh orgasm. "Beautiful," she murmured happily, and Severus eased himself up from the floor with surprising agility.

"Altogether too much before breakfast," he said grumpily, extending his hand to help her rise, but she knew he was joking. "Come on, my dear, calories wait for no man."

"It's true," she said with a smirk, "though a good fucking always makes me ravenous."

"A fine thing, too," he said, "since we've wasted so many calories working so hard this morning."

"I'll make them up, no problem," Hermione intoned giddily, and unwrapped the towel from around her hair - it had gotten loose in their exertions - and encased her body in it. It was smaller than the other towel, and it barely came together around her waist. She grabbed a pin from the dresser and closed it, at the top, but The rest of her body was visible in the wide split that followed her growing pear shape.

He drank in the view appreciatively. "You'd better," he purred, placing a hand on her growing roll of belly fat, his thumb slipping down until he grabbed it and heaved it in an upwards motion. It overfilled his hand and jiggled invitingly, sending a sensitive shiver through her body, but didn't have enough flesh behind it to be lifted; it wasn't quite yet an overhang like he had. "Wouldn't want to wake up tomorrow with a skinny Minnie in my arms. You're quite small still."

"Then let's feed me up," Hermione said, and grabbed his hand and marched out of the room, him following meekly.
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Old 02-15-2015, 01:02 PM   #49
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Wonderfull.
I like all the spells and would like to do them on my own.
I'm waiting for more.
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Old 02-20-2015, 03:04 PM   #50
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I'm really enjoying this story! I especially love the use of magic for all manner of devious intentions.
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