Growing - Harry Potter fandom fic - Snape / Hermione mutual gain

Dimensions Magazine

Help Support Dimensions Magazine:

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Hi folks! I realized that I've been posting this delicious stuff on other sites but not my favorite fat lit reading resource, dims! <3 anyway, I'll post chapter by chapter as it comes.

also forgive me if I posted this in the wrong forum, mods please move as needed. It's mostly BHM-centric.

Summary: Hermione is getting a bit fat, and she's starting teaching at Hogwarts. Severus Snape is actually alive, and is coming back to do research at Hogwarts. And oh, he's gotten really fat himself. Post-DH, EWE. FAT KINK - FAT ADMIRATION - FAT APPRECIATION - DON'T LIKE DON'T READ - NO FLAMES PLEASE. SSHG romance. TW: mind-rape.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Hermione lay on her bed, feeling the conflicting feelings of guilt and pleasure - not just any pleasure, quite extensive pleasure.

Her belly was still growing bigger. Granted, it wasn't surprising given how much she'd been eating at the Great Hall lately, but still, the fact that her actions had tangible consequences was strangely refreshing. She felt guilt because - well, didn't everyone who put on a few feel guilty about it? But the pleasure...that was a different story.

Perhaps it was just because of her miserable experience in the ministry, where nothing she ever did made an impact irrespective of her hero status - misogyny prevented her influence from transcending from an era of war to an era of peace. Perhaps it was just because of her health-obsessed parents and their desire for their girl to have perfect teeth, perfect skin, and a perfect body. Perhaps it was just because she thought she was sexier this way, and loved the way every step she took made her little pot-belly and thickening thighs jiggle in an incredibly erotic way. Or perhaps it was all of these things.

In any case, Hermione found herself reflecting on these complicated feelings about her weight gain within the privacy of her new Hogwarts bedroom. As she contemplated this new home of hers - with its walls, painted a turquoise blue; its furnishings, old and comfortable, newly upholstered with silky velvet brocade; its living picture, a landscape reminiscent of Van Gogh's - all of it made her feel safe and comfortable.

Making this cozy domestic picture even more cozy, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Come in," said Hermione, sitting up and straightening her robes.

Professor McGonagall - who else would it be, really? - stood outside, and she smiled faintly.

"Hermione. May I come in?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Hermione, and bustled to move some books out of her guest chair.

"Thank you," said Minerva once she was seated. "I trust your preparations are going well. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Not at the moment," said Hermione cheerfully. "I think you know I'm not afraid to ask when I do."

"I do indeed," said Minerva, "but it is my duty to ensure you know I am receptive."

"Thank you," said Hermione with a smile. "Care for a biscuit?"

"My, my," said Minerva, daintily. "Isn't everyone taking a leaf out of Albus' book. Every time I go to talk to someone, they order me to take a biscuit. My waistline can't stand that many biscuits."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione with a laugh, "if you prefer, I won't offer them to you, then."

"No, don't do that," said Minerva, "you'd better share them. Your own waistline can't stand that many more biscuits, from what I can see."

Hermione felt her hand, against her mind's will, move to her belly and grab the nice round muffin-top that had grown there the past several years.

And she shrugged, trying not to let it bother her. Honestly, the men at the ministry had been far worse about it. "Erm, sure. But let's keep it professional, shall we?"

Minerva, knowing she'd transgressed, backpedaled. "Yes. Of course. On that note," she went on, "I… I have some news that is not going to please you much."

"Oh," said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"It's about… oh… well…" Minerva was clearly uncomfortable, and then with a deep breath she blurted out, "Severus Snape."

Hermione shrugged, but if you looked more deeply you would see that her eyes were wider, her lips parted just slightly, and her face slightly more tinged with worry. "What about him? I heard they had cleared his name. Poor man. I'll never regret anything more than I did letting him die like that."

"Yes," said Minerva, fretfully. "About that. The fact of the matter is, he isn't really dead."

"What?" exclaimed Hermione with a rush of anger and confusion leaping into her face. "Not dead? What do you mean? Are you saying he had some sort of…"

And even then, she began to piece together the truth - she'd seen Severus grasping at his lapel at some point during his...experience… and she'd not paid it any attention at the time, being too paralyzed with fear to really think about what to do.

Oh, who was she kidding. She had only been grappling with the question of whether or not she should let him die. She'd had an antidote to Nagini's poison on her person constantly for months, one of many crafts she'd made in the woods with Harry's help. With a dark lord on the loose, carrying a pet snake like that, it'd be only a fool who'd not keep some emergency kit for the eventuality that something would happen.

And, of course, there was the solution - Severus wasn't a fool, same as her. And he'd also had a potion ready and waiting for once she and Harry left the room.

She sighed. "So where's he been all these years?"

Minerva shook her head. "That I'm not really allowed to tell you much about. In fact, there's not much I know for sure. However, given his recent clear of recognition, he decided to come out of the woodwork and take up potions again."

Hermione's look of horror was all too telling, and Minerva laughed.

"Of course, my dear, he's not going to take your job. He's always hated teaching, as I'm sure you might guess. He's going to come back in a research capacity. He spent most of his time away from our world, apparently, devising some healing potions of some nature. And he's got some papers published. He wants Hogwarts to revive the old academic conferences, which was something he and Albus were always banging heads about. I see no reason not to, given the right circumstances."

Hermione sighed. "That actually sounds perfect for him."

Minerva nodded. "That's what I think. I'd never let him come back to teach. Albus was a dunce about that one. If you're going to have a double agent on your staff, don't saddle him with the full responsibilities of teaching as well. No wonder the poor man was always so irascible. He was performing two overworked, underpaid jobs for the price of one. And he hated both of them."

Hermione had never thought about that before, and she was somewhat surprised that Minerva was being so charitable when just years ago Minerva felt so betrayed by Severus' apparent defection.

She held her tongue, however.

"So I'll still be teaching my classes the way I want to," she said satisfied. "Fine, that's all I care about."

"Is it?" asked Minerva, and Hermione immediately rolled her eyes.

"God, Minerva, don't you dare."

"I do indeed dare, it's one of the finer points of being nearly a century old - it doesn't matter if I dare or do not dare, so when I feel like it, I dare!" said Minerva with a Dumbledore-esque twinkle. "So, I just want to make sure that things will not be… uncomfortable… between you and Severus."

"Oh, come on," said Hermione, and she threw herself down flat on the bed. "This was a schoolgirl crush. Nothing more. Can't you just let it go?"

"I believe," Minerva said, with a dull smile, "that you're not going to persuade me that it's 'nothing more' by acting like a spoilt toddler, Hermione."

"Well," said Hermione flatly, "I don't know what you expect me to say. I was attracted to him when I was a schoolgirl. Before I'd ever even had sex, Minerva. And since, I've barely even thought of him. Don't you dare tell me that you expect I'll go silly the moment he turns up."

(She winced when she realized she'd said barely even thought of him. Oops. Way to hide your old unresolved feelings effectively, Hermione!)

And Minerva, having made her point, got up to leave. "Anyways," she said, standing, "just thought I'd let you know right away. Forgive me," she added as she bustled towards the door, "I should admit, Hermione, that I've known he was alive and returning for some time now. I delayed so long in telling you because I just couldn't stand to see you run away because an unpleasant old face showed up again."

"So you waited until my syllabi were all drawn up and confirmed," said Hermione with a dashing smile. "Very well, Minerva. I think that was prudent, but please know it shouldn't have caused you any worry. I'm an adult, and as long as he behaves himself, I'm sure we'll get along just fine. Thank you for the chat, see you at lunch."

"My pleasure," said Minerva, "and thanks for the biscuit. But please, dear, don't eat anymore yourself - you don't need them."

"See you later," said Hermione blandly. And as soon as the door clicked shut, she picked up a biscuit right then and there and began eating it with relish.

She wasn't precisely pleased to see Severus, but it sounded like he had got his act together, and wanted to get some activities that would benefit both her and their profession well. She could at least be supportive.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Hermione was, despite herself, and despite her disavowals to McGobagal, eager to see her old professor. Perhaps it was just because she had left him on such a regretful note. Perhaps it just was the fact that she was eager to see him in a new light - as a colleague, a fellow potions specialist. Perhaps it was just out of reminiscence - she remembered he was a world-class asshole, but somehow she felt like he couldn't have been that bad. It was somewhat endearing, as far as she remembered. (And, honestly, she commisserated with his frustration with dunderheads.) Of course, she told herself, it was *not* because of her (former!) crush on him. Such would be silly.

The day he was slated to arrive, she was disappointed not to see him. He was not at lunch, breakfast, or dinner. The next day was the same - no sight of him.

With a week before the start of term, she was beginning to despair of seeing him at all, much less getting to talk with him. In her state of worry, she automatically assumed that once term started, she'd never see him - and thus her only chance to convene with him was during this first week.

Then, the third day, she was early to the Great Hall for breakfast. Only Pomona Sprout and Madam Hooch were there, keeping their covert romantic breakfast-dates as they'd been doing for the past fifty years, so they could hold hands without attracting the less mature students' attention.

But someone was there who wasn't supposed to be there - an unfamiliar figure doing its best to slink in and out of the hall unnoticed with a plate piled high with food, and pockets bulging besides.

Hermione was incredulous as she watched the rotund and truly fat Professor Snape - previously the svelte and lithe Professor Snape - debate between two flavors of pastry, considering them both equally, with a forefinger on his pursed lips. Unable to decide, he grabbed them both and shoved them in his pocket. Then, for good measure, he grabbed an extra and took a bite out of it right then and there.

And then, feeling eyes on him, he turned. And - despite all past empirical evidence that he was as cold blooded a fish as any that had ever walked the halls of Hogwarts - he blushed furiously red.

But as was his talent, he suppressed his mortification as soon as it began to show, and as he was singularly capable, he completely reversed the situation to make it appear that it was Hermione who had been embarrassed, not him.

"Miss Granger," he said, as if she were an uninteresting speck of porridge on the floor, "I heard you would be here on staff." His voice was even deeper than she remembered it, and it rumbled out of him powerfully, like a burst of highly-pressured water coming out of a mess of old pipes.

"Many congratulations to you. You've discovered the world is too harsh a place for your fragile ego and you've come back to Hogwarts to console yourself amongst the familiarity of books and learning. I'm frankly surprised that you did not take on the role of second-wind student before now; it seems your naïveté was worse than I imagined." With that, he took a few wolfish bites of his pastry, as if daring her to comment on his choice of breakfast.

Any illusions that Hermione had had regarding her old professor came crashing down at this moment. Yes. He really was more awful than she remembered. And no, he was not going to be kinder to her as a teacher than she was a student.

And yes, his words stung because he was right, at least in respect to her naïveté. (She should have known better than to try and change the world.)

"Good morning to you too, you old grump," she said with a flash of nervousness. Granted, she wished she could be more venomous, that she could compete with him in a battle of cruel wits - but he had years of practice, and she was genuinely kind of heart, if resentful at times.

Still, even this small retaliation brought forth a combination of fear and exhileration. It was a fascinating and strange feeling to be disrespectful to a professor - much less Severus Snape.

He glared at her sternly. But she didn't feed into his haughty attitude - he was giving her just enough rope to hang herself, and she wasn't interested.

Overall, she was just disappointed.

As he seemed to be waiting for her to say something else, she decided she wasn't going to bother postponing her breakfast any longer. She turned her back, flounced over to the table, and sat herself down smack in the center - the place she could be concurrently farthest from Pomona and Rolanda, as well as Snape.

Snape appeared mildly surprised. For a moment, he focused again on the pastries on the table in front of him, then looked torn between escaping and continuing to needle her. Given the innate bully that he was, he opted for the latter.

He scooped up another pastry and sat down at the table directly next to her, going significantly out of his way. Which in and of itself was strange, Hermione noted. It looked like he was indeed planning to talk to her. Though heaven knew why!

"So," she said helping herself to a serving of scrambled eggs that was fully intended to satiate her until lunch, "You're doing research."

"Yes," he responded, as if he was trying to decide if she were testing him.

"I'm honestly glad," she said, pointedly not making eye contact. "You didn't seem to enjoy teaching. Either that, or you enjoyed it too much."

His stomach audibly gurgled by way of an answer, and he very carefully pulled a small vial of what looked to be antacid pills out of his sleeve, poured three into his hand, and then took them dry, clapping his hand to his mouth carelessly.

"Sure," he said, by way of response to what she said. He still sounded hesitant, as if he was expecting her to say something sharp to him.

She tried to take a bite of her eggs, but couldn't stomach them until she got the obvious elephant out of the room. Without looking up, she began. "I… I must tell you," she said awkwardly, "I'm… I'm really sorry I didn't try to do something when I saw you last."

And she couldn't look up at him. So she kept staring at her eggs, stirring some clumps them in the scattered salt she'd put on the side of her plate.

"Well." Snape sounded mollified, if not somewhat amused. "Given what you knew, it seems unsporting to have expected anything else from you. Moreover," and now he sounded genuinely curious, "what on earth could you have done?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I had a potion on me that would have, at least I thought at the time, worked against the poison in your system."

"What was its composition?" His tone was crisp, objective. She felt immediately as if she were a teenager back in his potions class.

"Brown ochre as a platelet tag, willow bark as a blood thinner, syrlinase as a toxin absorbtion inhibitor, microsilicone as a conduit, essence of bezoar as an agent, paraffin as a preservative, bound by arithmantic spells that I adapted from the Apparentless Lesion potion."

She looked up, automatically searching his face for his begrudging approval.

He merely kept one eyebrow raised, expectantly.

"And I know now, it wouldn't have worked," she said, head sinking. "I figured out a few years ago - this would have worked well for an emergency anti-lycanthropy potion, with the addition of wolfsbane and balancing the dynads accordingly, but of course it wouldn't have helped with a reptile's venom. In my defense, I came up with this hodgepodge brew with inadequate resources: all I had were two books with any notes on venoms and toxins, and one had an extensive section on mammalian rabies and similarly transmitted diseases, and other was a book on spiders."

Snape just looked at her with the same curious, smirking gaze, which made Hermione feel like she had just failed.

Therefore, she was floored when he said, "And this is why we need honors-level courses at this institution. It baffles my mind, to this day, why Albus thought it was remotely appropriate, from a basic educational point of view, to let someone like you struggle to remain engaged and interested in a class dumbed down to meet the needs of someone like Potter. I tried to teach to the median of the class - but when the median was so unclear, it was all I could do to keep you all from exploding yourselves every day."

He sighed, and visibly let his guard down, his shoulders slouching and his belly's rolls pooching in front of him as his posture loosened. "Fortunately, Minerva won't stand for that kind of nonsense. Nor will you, I hope. I am confident that between the two of you, Hogwarts will regain its standing as an institution of actual repute."

He took a bite of the rashers and kidneys from his plate, then tidily dabbed the corner of his mouth. "Then again," he said, thoughtfully, "perhaps Hogwarts' reputation was all a grand illusion from the start, if the likes of Albus Dumbledore was allowed to remain in power as long as he did."

"Oh," Hermione said, catching her bearings. She was still reeling at the fact that Professor Snape thought she was honors-level material. "Well, as it happens, I did some research about that. Turns out he was breaking all sorts of codes, coaxing loopholes around him and such. Nothing he was doing was anything more than technically legal by the letter of the laws set down by the founders. After all, how could he be in accordance with their values with such an autocratic reign as his was? Traditionally, there's supposed to be at least two head-masters at any given time, though in the times of greatest economic bounty, the ideal was to have four, one for each house, with no single person sewing together their differences."

"Hm," Snape said, taking a few more careful, slow bites of his food, as if he was afraid she was going to take it away if he ate too fast. "I did not know this. I can't even imagine what that would have been like. Where'd you learn that?"

"Restricted section," said Hermione glibly. "There was all sorts of reading banned at a whim by Dumbledore. It's pretty sickening, really, how much he relied on ignorance to reinforce his strictures."

"In almost every way," Snape said blandly, "he was a sick, sick man."

Their eyes met in intense agreement.

"On my part, I… I can't even imagine what it must have been like, to be emotionally manipulated by him for so many years," said Hermione softly, without realizing what she was saying.

Snape's face grew dark, and he stabbed pointedly at a bite of kidney.

"On my part," he snapped back, "I can't even imagine what it must be like to live a normal life where the rest of world doesn't know my secrets."

"I- I'm sorry," said Hermione, backpedaling immediately.

"Moreover," Snape went on, his face curled into a snarl, "I can't even imagine what it have been like to have been the best friend of Harry Potter, the petulant arse who wasn't supposed to live past his usefulness as a pawn in Albus' great drama for the greater good."

With this, Hermione stood up, grabbing her plate. "And this is my cue to leave. Goodbye. Enjoy your miserable bitter life."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Stop being indignant. When's the last time he even called you?"

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't even remember herself. Was it a few months? A few years?

"What does it matter to you?" she responded hotly. "I prefer the friend who thinks fondly of me but sucks at keeping in touch to my ex-professor who can't respect one of the nation's greatest heroes - who also just happens to be my closest friend."

He looked at her, and laughed sadly.

"Well then. I guess that's fair." He began to pick at his food, and again his stomach rumbled.

Hermione decided to sit down again. "Why aren't you eating?" she asked, frowning. "It's going to get cold."

He turned and gave her a dead-on look. "Seriously?" he asked, clearly incredulous that she would encourage him to eat.

She stared back at him, unfazed. "You're obviously hungry. Don't hold back on my account. Far be it for me to judge you."

Casting a side-glance at her, he proceeded to eat, though conservatively. Hermione could tell he lusted after another plate or two. Heaven knows she herself was hungry enough for a second serving.

Deciding that, in fact, she'd go ahead and get that second serving, she stood and made a gesture towards his plate. "Want me to spoon you some more?"

Snape muttered, "I've heard that one before," under his breath, which made Hermione almost drop her plate with a giggle.

He didn't actually answer for a moment, as he seemed to survey the damage on her plate, the expanding pudge at her middle, and the amount of food left at the staff serving-table.

Then, with a nod, he pushed his empty plate towards her. "No potatoes," he said, by way of instruction.

Hermione, feeling gratified - as though somehow she'd been allowed entrance into some deep secret place in his mind - went and served him several generous scoops of everything there was on the table, with a couple extra pastries on the side.

He didn't say anything other than a grunted, "Thanks," when she brought it back, but she saw he attacked it ravenously, and once in a while as he ate, he cast her a mysterious glance - whether it was one of appreciation or disgust, she could not tell.

Of course, she was also watching him as she was eating. It was hard to keep her fingers attached to her fork and knife, away from the succulent love-handles that he'd grown, the ponderous overhang that spilled over his trousers, and the thick double-chin that threatened towards a third. It was even harder to keep her eyes away from his bulging stomach, with its growing folds and ripples that wiggled seductively every time he leaned forward to take a big bite of pastry over his plate.

She ate, he ate, and they covertly looked at each other.

Then, just as suddenly as they'd begun their conversation, they left the Great Hall, headed their separate ways.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 3

Chapter Text

She didn't see him again for over a week, though truly she was not trying to find him. She had plenty on her mind aside from the strange new changes to her ex-professor.

Unlike some gifted folks, Hermione was a genuinely good teacher, and she used her prep time to its fullest advantage. Not to mention having a time-turner again made her dizzy with delight - of course she'd known that all the teachers had one - how else could they teach so many sections each? - but she was only beginning to appreciate the use of one as a professor.

And as she dashed around completing tasks, she found herself gaining weight at an alarming rate. Almost every other real-life day - which given her heavy turner usage was the equivalent of nearly 36 hours - she felt her body a little different. Usually it was softer, or the accumulating fat had shifted somewhat. Overall she felt increasingly satisfied with herself - she was working hard, engaged, excited, and happy. And with every added ounce, she felt like it was just that much more evidence of her incredibly comfortable and enjoyable life.

And other people were noticing.

She didn't see Snape for nearly a week in real life, possibly because, in Hermione's opinion, he had rendered himself slightly too vulnerable in their last conversation. In her mind, he was deeper than he let on, and while she felt complicated feelings about him - specifically regarding how much of an asshole he was - she found herself retracing her old, convoluted, matted thoughts that his bite must be a protective effort to prevent his soft underbelly from being exposed and violated.

Though, granted, that metaphor was particularly apt these days.

She next encountered him in the great hall, as last time she had seen him, he was doing the same thing as before, filling his plate and pockets and looking like he was ready to dash.

"Miss Granger," he said, his mouth crawling into an intimidating smile. (He seemed to be doing this particular gesture a lot lately , Hermione realized. Snape smiling in any capacity was odd.)

"How are you finding the time turning life?" asked Snape when she saw him next. He was grinning at her in a predatory manner as she helped herself to what was effectively her third breakfast of the day (though her body was craving dinner).

"Completely enjoyable," said Hermione, settling down and helping herself to generous portions. "Though annoying that I can't come downstairs and see your pretty face for breakfast three times over. I don't like eating in my office alone. But you know the story. Quantum mechanics and all that."

"Ah ," said Snape with a smile that said he knew full well she didn't think his face pretty, but he was going to hold her to her words someday. He also was clearly unsure whether or not he intended to sit with her.

She made the choice easier by patting the place at the table next to her. "Join me?"

He gave a horselike grunt and sat with her. She particularly enjoyed the view of him spreading his legs wide enough to accommodate his belly, so that he could successfully stuff his stomach under the table.

"So why is that," he asked, noncommittally, "why don't you like eating in your office alone?"

She knew the reasons well, of course, but she was figuring out that interacting with Snape was a kind of art form.

Therefore instead of launching into an enthusiastic analysis, she shrugged with affected ennui. "I count meals as social time. When I can't, it means that I'm not getting that needed boost of social energy."

"I see." He pursed his lips and said nothing else, just analyzing her.

"So tell me," Hermione said, feeling like talking to him was like pulling teeth, "do you use the time turner these days?"

"Never," he answered, in a slow drawl. "At least not in my dotage. No need to, after all. Experiments and explosions, they rush for no person."

"Wouldn't you still be able to use them," Hermione said brightly, "for when you're writing on a deadline? I certainly like that flexibility."

Snape shrugged. "Honestly," he said with a scowl, "I just don't enjoy using time turners. They always make me feel like I'm going to chuck my bile on the head of the next poor sod who cuts me off in the hallway. Thus they thoroughly take away my appetite."

This was another subtle little test, and Hermione could tell, because he seemed to be daring her to riff off of his weight. He stared at her with the audacity of a London rat that had been caught in a pantry. So what, he seemed to say, you're the fool in this situation. I'm perfectly at peace with what I am - how this conversation goes is entirely on you .

And while Hermione was not sure how she would react to a rat in her pantry, staring her down, she was not repulsed by Snape and his diehard attitude.

Instead of turning his weight into the joke he seemed to expect, she said, congenially, "So that's why you used to be so skinny, then."

He seemed inordinately pleased at this response. "Yes and no," he said with more congeniality than she could have guessed he would reciprocate, "I've always eaten a lot, except when I used the time turner. It's just my metabolism that's caught up to me."

"Well, I guess I'm suffering the same fate," Hermione said, struggling not to blush.

"How strange," Snape said, sounding bored. "I assumed women were a monolithic group who could only be thin by starving themselves or something."

"Some, I guess," Hermione said, not sure if he was serious or not. "Maybe I'm different, but I never starved myself."

"Hoo fucking ray," he responded, but his bite was not as frosty as usual. "Now tell me," he said, appearing thoroughly fatigued of the conversation, "Is your curiosity surrounding my ample size subdued to a more decent level, or are we going to have to keep chit-chatting about it all day?"

What a strange question. Startled, Hermione turned her head and found herself meeting Severus face to face - how he'd got himself in that position so soundlessly, she had no idea. But either way, she felt her most recent thoughts swimming to the surface of her mind - oh no!

Feeling her face grow hot, she saw the swarm of thoughts that had sprung to mind the moment he asked about the state of her curiosity.

And oh - these were dirty thoughts.

She had three involuntary fantasies that had come to mind. First, she'd had the fantasy of shoving him back in his chair, ripping off his pants, and sucking him dry right there in the Great Hall. She saw herself on her knees, tucking her fingers under the folds of his magnificent belly and grabbing it by the sides, putting her lips on his plump throbbing member. She saw him rear back in ecstasy, his face taut and hot as his body contracted and flexed with pleasure. She saw herself stroke his belly and cover his member with a liberal amount of sweet rosehip jam, which she licked off with pleasure.

The second scenario involved her plump body, bare on the table, and Severus in an authoritative position, efficiently gathering ingredients while keeping her clit tightly squeezed between two of his meaty, strong fingers. Then he began to feed her, bite after bite of rich corn bread stuffing, giving her a delightful squeeze of pleasure every time she swallowed. This meant that she was constantly on the edge of coming, but never quite there, no matter how fast she ate. And once it seemed she had eaten every bite she could fit into her body, he gathered salts, spices, and oils and began to massage her great fat belly and every other spot of skin on her body, as if preparing her to be shoved in an oven. He also put an apple in her mouth, which she could suck the juice of. She moaned with pleasure at these sensations until he finally disrobed himself and began to fuck her, and she was stuffed in every conceivable way, doing her best to not scream with pleasure (lest she lose the apple).

And then there was the coup de gras - Hermione imagined herself a hundred pounds fatter, her body jiggling with every movement, and Severus was licking her cunt, flowery-white with whipped cream and syrup, as she ate grapes and chocolate-covered berries. She was reading aloud from a book of incredibly sexy literature. A relatively famous book of gay literature, as it happened, about two fat men eating and fucking each other while reading, a la Tristan and Isolde. (In short, fucking and eating while reading about another couple fucking and eating that was reading about another couple fucking and eating). And somehow this seemed to intrigue them both so much that Hermione had to put the book down, and Severus fucked her as she lay there on the couch, both of them sweating with the effort but pleased by the end of it.

All of these were conveyed in the blink of an eye, and Snape seemed both fascinated and repulsed by what he'd found.

"How utterly complex," Severus the non-fantasy person said, and stared into Hermione's eyes with a strange fire of passion that she'd only seen in movies.

It seemed like he was about to kiss her. And Hermione probably would have kissed him back, if he had.

But as the fog of desire drained away, she realized what had just happened, and she dropped her fork.

"That," she said breathlessly, "that was not okay."

"You seem pretty okay to me," said Snape cooly, going back to his food with measured caution.

"No," she said, and she stood. "That was not okay, Severus Snape. That was not okay. Bad man." She said this as if she were scolding a dog - but she didn't really know how else to convey the seriousness of the situation to him. She knew Snape had a habit of violating peoples' minds - at least Harry's - but she didn't think he would do this with a colleague.

She had the sinking feeling that, no, he just didn't see her as his colleague. He saw her as an upstart trying desperately to justify her existence to a world that was neutral towards her.

Hadn't he said as much the other day?

With that, she collected her bag and raced out of the Great Hall.

She didn't know what he thought he was, but he wasn't going to be able to get away with this.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Predictably, Hermione was not hungry any more. She found herself in McGonagall's office, and her emotions were wavering between righteous anger and blubbery sobs.

McGonagall's response was to reluctantly push Albus' old bowl of lemon drops towards Hermione. Despite what she knew about Dumbledore's unfortunate two-faced decision-making, she still felt a fondness for him swell up as she contemplated the bowl, then took two drops and put them in her mouth.

"I suppose I understand why Albus kept these," McGonagall said with some distaste. "It saves one the trouble of getting up and offering someone a hug."

"I guess you haven't figured out how to get rid of them, it seems," Hermione said, taking a deep breath while sucking on the drops.

"No chance," said the headmistress with a sigh. "They seem to never end. Even when I had Neville in here the other day, and he stuffed himself silly with them out of nervousness - I could swear he ate a gallon of them, and yet the supply never grew small."

"Wait," Hermione said, finding herself smiling despite what had just happened downstairs. "Is Neville joining the staff?"

"Yes," said McGonagall, "though heaven knows why I hired him. I swear, if his grandmother didn't frighten me so much, I probably wouldn't have even seen him for an interview."

Hermione laughed. "He's a Hufflepuff at heart," she said, "so at least he'll be hardworking and helpful."

"So it would seem," said McGonagall dryly. Then she went on, standing to play around with the potted plants she'd been letting take over her office, "now that you're a bit more composed - what happened with Severus?"

"He - used legilimency on me," said Hermione, her voice dropping low in a confused mix of shame and anger at Snape.

"Explain." McGonagall was impassive.

"I mean," Hermione said, trying to stand up for herself, "we were talking, and he asked me suddenly a fairly inappropriate question, and he was suddenly looking into my eyes, and he saw a bunch of very - very private thoughts. And when I told him that he could not do that, he told me that I looked like I had enjoyed it, and dismissed me. So I came up here. So," she said, feeling a bit breathless, "that's what happened."

"I see," said McGonagall, thinking for a moment. Then, leaning primly forward, she asked, "So what was it that you were talking about?"

Hermione felt her face flush a thousand times over. She wasn't about to tell her mentor - and the person she respected most in the world - what they'd been talking about, at least she wasn't going to tell without thinking about it for a moment.

"Well," she said, stalling and gathering her thoughts, "erm."

"Was it sexual?" asked McGonagall without an inch of sympathy.

"Erm," Hermione said, and tried to think back to the moment. It certainly had felt sexual by that point, but whether or not this was because of what was actually said or the feeling of the conversation, she couldn't tell.

"In that case," said McGonagall, not bothering to wait for Hermione's explanation, "I don't see what you're making such a big fuss about. Just take it as a compliment, if you're not happy about it. Or else just go and lay with him already. It's not like you're both teenagers. I've got better things to do than arbitrate your petty squabbles."

Hermione's respect for McGonagall sunk instantly. "But… but it's an issue of consent," she moaned, wringing her hands. "It was a violation of my privacy. Of my mind. And he doesn't seem to care. How on earth am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

McGonagall sighed with aggravation, picked up a stack of papers, thrust them in Hermione's hands, and ordered, "If you must make a fuss about this, you can fill out this paperwork, and we will proceed as laid out in the staff manual."

Hermione took the papers and said nothing, not sure what to do at this point.

McGonagall stared at her. "Now, unless there's something else you've got to tell me," she said with an air of closing the conversation, "Please do go find something else to do. Someone I know submitted a thirty-page syllabus and I'm only at page five."

There was a twinkle in her eye - of course Hermione was the one who had submitted said syllabus - and Hermione momentarily found herself outside the office.

Sobered, she went back to the dining hall. It was clear that McGonagall was not going to be her ally for this fight.

She'd have to do this on her own.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Hermione looked at the stack of papers on her bureau bleakly. The experience of being shot down so readily by McGonagall - who truly should have known better - made her feel absolutely crummy. A week after the incident, she was still hurt by the incident, and found herself taking to her bed as soon as she could after work. She wasn't using the time-turner much anymore, aside from when absolutely necessary to teach her classes at the same time. She also was barely eating.

Eating was, for her, fundamentally a symptom of enjoying her life. At this time, she simply wasn't able to enjoy it.

She was angry and resentful towards Snape for feeling like he was entitled to look into her mind when he pleased to. She was angry that she'd let him get close enough to her to steal into her mind like he had. She felt angry that she felt guilty for making a big deal out of something that shouldn't, apparently, be a big deal.

But most of all, she felt angry because this sort of thing was *exactly* why she had left the Ministry and come back to Hogwarts in the first place.

Not to bore you with a long story - suffice it to say that Hermione had been the recipient of unsolicited legilimency more than once during her time at the ministry. Amongst the more skilled wizards - because this truly was a male wizard thing, not a female witch thing - she'd been forced to submit her mind over and over for 'mind clearing' checks and similar arbitrary experiences on the parts of her surperiors.

One particularly traumatizing set of events was when she was passed over for a deserved promotion, and the man who had formerly been her intern became her boss. While Frederick had been incredibly sweet as an intern, as her boss he was a nightmare. And he demanded that Hermione regularly give him entry to her mind as a way of ensuring that she wasn't planning to seduce him and take back the seat of power she'd had over him. (As if she cared that much.) As part of his unfortunate delusional complex, he'd dominated her thoroughly, without her consent, starting with small things, and finally taking her mind and forcing her to accept his doing as many horrible things to it as he could think of.

She'd initially submitted to it out of a desire to maintain her position and keep doing the good things she was doing in the public advocate's office. But finally, she realized she wasn't doing as good of work as she used to do, she was dispirited, and too unhappy to do a good job. Realizing that she didn't need to submit herself to his abuse, she quit.

She hadn't described what had happened to McGonagall when she came knocking at Hogwarts' door for a position - after all, she was trying to make a good impression - and since her hiring, she'd never bothered to clarify what had happened at the Ministry of Magic that had made her leave.

She hadn't felt like she needed to worry about this kind of thing happening here. But here it was, starting all over again.

Men. She hated them. And she hated that McGonagall - who could have disciplined Snape - wouldn't even acknowledge his trespass.

She was absolutely irate. Partially her anger was directed at herself, for having stuck with Frederick and his shenanigans for so long. But also, she was angry at Snape, and she knew she could do something about it, now, so she was going to. At least she would try.

But for the moment, it was easier to take a step back from the situation and self-medicate by taking herself to bed every day, wrapping herself in warm blankets, and sometimes screaming, sometimes crying.

In truth, she hadn't ever given herself time to mourn and grieve for what had happened at the Ministry - she'd never gotten a chance to allow herself to feel the pain of being violated like she had been by Frederick, to allow herself the space to cry about having lost her dreams and visions of doing good for the downtrodden of the world, to allow herself to refresh and relax and be comforted by the things around her.

No, she hadn't had a chance to process what had happened at the Ministry, not really. She'd lept from one job into a feverish search for another job, then jumped headfirst into this job. There'd been no time to process her experiences.

And now, she was finding that all her effort to suppress her feelings were catching up to her. It was immensely more painful than it should have been, but then again, she didn't exactly have any support in the situation.

She did think about calling Harry, but knew that Ginny would do her best to block her husband from speaking with Hermione. And Ron... well, how did one talk with the former-boyfriend-who-you-pretended-to-have-dumped-but-who-actually-had-dumped-you about one's deeper life issues? Ron had to deal with a family that judged every move he made, and she'd been happy to take the blow for him, since she knew they'd never give him peace if it was revealed that he had dumped Hermione.

Anyhow. Here she was, fairly isolated and alone. What could she do?

Well, for the moment, she slept.

Until one night, as she was curled up on her couch under the fluffiest blanket in her flat, there was a knock on her door.

Of course, she knew it was Minerva. "Just a moment," she called, pulling her blankets awkwardly, sloppily around her and treading to the door. She wasn't wearing anything more than underwear underneath, but then again, it as nearly midnight on a weeknight, and Hermione felt like she had the perfect right to be wearing nightclothes if she chose.

Well. As you might guess, she regretted it as soon as she opened the door.

Severus Snape stood there, looking practically crestfallen. His brow was furrowed and his face was taut.

"Miss Granger." He seemed afraid to even look at her, dressed scantily as she was, and he cast his eyes to the floor.

"Erm. Hi." Hermione wondered where on earth all her feelings of anger had gone. As she regarded her former professor, she no longer felt the burning pinch of anger in her upper gut that she'd been growing for the past week. Instead, she felt - well, strangely, she felt like she wanted to invite him in for a cuppa. "Erm. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to speak with you," he said, clearly ashamed. "Do you have a moment?"

"Sure," she said, despite herself, "come in, please. There's... erm... hold on a moment."

She went to her ice-box and pulled out a package of biscuits that hadn't been opened yet. They were chocolate sponge biscuits with raspberry inside, and they were cool to the touch.

She picked up a pitcher of milk left over from her dinner - she'd eaten upstairs this evening, to avoid meeting her time-turner counterpart downstairs - and brought two cups into the living room. Then she seated herself on the sofa. Snape had settled himself into her big comfortable armchair, and he was idly skimming the pages of the book she'd left between its cushions.

"A brief history of rape," he read the title carefully, then put the book respectfully on the side table. He looked even more admonished than when he'd first walked in.

Hermione didn't know how to respond, so she merely pushed the pitcher of milk, the plate of biscuits, and the cup in his direction.

"Please," she said, as he looked hesitantly at them.

With a look of feeling somewhat relieved, though still uncomfortable, Snape poured himself a glass of milk, took a biscuit, tossed it in his mouth, and washed it down with the grim determination of a warrior fortifying himself for battle.

"So, *colleague,*" Hermione said, a fierce note in her voice, "What can I do for you this evening?"

He looked even more chastened than before. "I believe I owe you an apology," he said slowly.

"For what?" asked Hermione, not because she didn't know, but because there was a certain satisfaction in hearing him say it.

"For... for taking advantage of you when you were defenseless," said Snape, and he stared down at his giant belly with more sadness than Hermione thought could exist in the world. (For the record: she noticed it was bigger than when she'd last seen him. Not much, but visibly.)

He added, "I don't expect you to forgive me," he said, not looking at her, "particularly since it took me this long to get my sodding arse up here to apologize. But if you could do me the honor of listening, I'd like to provide some small explanation - not as an excuse, since what I did was truly inexcusable, but so that you can understand my half of the situation."

Hermione sat there, and only realized that he'd been intending for her to respond when he looked up at her, fear in his face that she wasn't going to forgive him. And she said, uncomfortably, "Oh, erm, carry on then."

He sighed. "I just want to stress to you how strange it's been, coming back into the wizarding world. I don't know if you knew this, but I spent the entire time I was out of the world, I lived and breathed life as a Muggle. I rented an apartment in the outskirts of London. I dated. I scraped together a non-magical living. And after a while, I got so comfortable there, that I somewhat forgot the intricacies of what life is like when you have magic at your disposal."

He took a deep breath, and seemed ready to conclude. "In summary - it's been a bit of a culture shock, returning to the wizarding world. And since my entire life prior to leaving, I was a spy - well, I've been struggling against those instincts ever since I set foot in these wretched halls."

He lowered his head and appeared to prostrate himself before her.

Hermione was so flabbergasted by this entire conversation that she could barely think of a response. Though luckily for her, she had one come to mind.

"Erm. So. Erm. What brought on this change of heart, exactly? You seemed completely fine with what you did last week."

Severus looked up at her, and his face visibly softened into something that strangely - so, so strangely - made her want to cuddle him like a podgy stuffed bear.

"Erm. My girlfriend?"

He did not seem exactly pleased to be admitting he wasn't single, though there was a significant amount of pride and happiness in his voice that made his story plausible.

"What?" asked Hermione, actually finding herself disappointed. "Who is she? God, don't tell me it's Trelawney."

"No," he responded with a gag, and his face shifted back into something more recognizable. "No, no. Erika's not here. She's in Boston."

"Is... is she a Muggle?" asked Hermione, beginning to realize the significance that all this seemed to have. And he nodded in assent.

Severus Snape had a girlfriend. Severus Snape had a MUGGLE girlfriend. Severus Snape had a MUGGLE (AMERICAN?!) girlfriend.

This, and Severus Snape had gotten fat.

Surely there had to be some relationship between these two things.

In any case, Hermione swallowed the disappointment that was making her throat feel tight. "So your girlfriend. She's a Muggle. And she's in Boston. How exactly did she change your mind?"

"Oh." Snape smiled sadly. "I... I was just describing to her what had happened. I was gloating over it, actually, and then she gave me an earful as a response. It took me a few days for the message to sink in, but she refused to talk to me until I listened to reason, so...that's what happened." He appeared sad and self-deprecatingly angry. "I do always go and botch up things," he said in a sad lament.

Hermione, however, noticed there was something strange in his story. "I hear you. But one question - exactly *how* are you able to talk with your Muggle girlfriend in Boston?"

Snape perked up at the question, apparently having feared a worse one about to roll off her tongue. "Well, as it happens, I just got the electronics wards down. You know how electronics have never worked in Hogwarts? Well, that's changed now. I finally figured out the trick to Albus' old anti-electronics spells. For such a progressive man in some ways, he was also quite the luddite. But then again, we both know it was part of his larger scheme to control everything. Chances are, it helped us survive the war, in the long run."

And then, as Hermione stared at him incredulously - he'd just casually unraveled yet another one of Dumbledore's lies, one that could have made her life incredibly and dramatically different - and even as she stared at him bewilderedly, Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

He flipped it open, and on the screen flashed a recently-received text message, from someone named Erika Holmes: a less-than sign next to the number three.

Hermione stared at it. "It's... it works?"

"Yes." Snape typed a response, clicked send, and showed it to Hermione as it processed the text message and, in a moment, blinked 'Text sent!'

The text he had sent was a smiley-face.

A SMILEY-FACE. Severus Snape was in the habit of sending SMILEY-FACE text messages to his AMERICAN MUGGLE GIRLFRIEND.

Oh, and Severus Snape had gotten fat. She couldn't forget that.

Hermione wasn't sure whether she should laugh or cry. So much new information.

"So," she said, gathering her blankets more closely around her, as she felt her mood sink dangerously low, "What did she say that made you think otherwise?"

Snape seemed to consider his options. Finally settling on one, he seemed to get shy all of a sudden, and pull himself back up into a more dignified, snobby position.

"She's a trauma survivor," he said slowly, carefully, as if he'd practiced saying this in the bathroom mirror. "She was raped when she was fifteen and has gone through the full gambit of issues that come from that since then."

"Erm," said Hermione, feeling awkward about where this conversation was going. "Maybe you shouldn't be sharing this."

"Oh, it's fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's incredibly open about it. Writes and blogs and such all over the internet. Moreover, she told me I should share whatever I felt was necessary to help make this situation better." His eyes then came alight, and he snatched another biscuit from the plate, shoving it into his mouth. "By the way - Granger, do you even know about the internet? I didn't until I left, and now I can't live without it."

"It... it was still pretty new when I was a kid," Hermione said, still overwhelmed by the new amount of information she was facing. "I never got used to it. I'm not like the Muggle students in my classes, all abuzz about their social networks."

"You've got to get on it," he said, a thrill in his voice. "You absolutely must. Now that the wards are disbanded, Minerva's given me the go-ahead to install a computer lab. I insist you try it."

"Erm," Hermione said, "all right?"

"Excellent," said Snape, taking another biscuit. "So..." he said, his voice dialing down again, as he remembered the original reason he'd come to see her. "So, I wonder if you have any other questions for me. I..." he paused, took a deep breath, and sighed. "I'm still adjusting to you being a colleague and not my student, I admit." He closed his eyes. "It's been a difficult adjustment. Environmental influences make people act completely different. I..." he took a breath, "I suppose I want you to know, Miss Granger, that I've changed. And I'm not entirely sure how much I've changed, really. But I'm definitely different physically, and I know I'm different psychologically."

Hermione, touched by this speech, could indeed see that Snape was different than she'd ever seen him.

"Very well," she said, sadly, "it seems you've learned your lesson. Thank you for your apology, Professor."

"Severus," said the man, earnestly - perhaps too much so. "Please call me Severus."

"Maybe," said Hermione, standing up and drawing her blanket more tightly around her. "I'll... I'll think about it."

Snape studied her. And Hermione studied him. He did indeed seem much more lively than when she'd seen him the past few days. And... and receptive?

How interesting.

Despite herself, she said, "So, you see what the problem is with what you did."

"Yes," he said, and sighed. "Moreover, I must thank you for your charity - though perhaps it was out of a misplaced sense of guilt for what happened, so perhaps I should not be thanking you at all - in not going to Minerva about this. I know she'd have had my guts for garters had she known about this."

"We wouldn't want that pretty gut made into garters," said Hermione, more tenderly than she intended, allowing herself a healthy glance at his vast belly. (Now that she knew he was off the market, she felt like she could do this more safely than before). Her face reddened as she did so, but she brushed away her blush, by adding, "So, erm, about that. I actually did go to Minerva. Right away, as it happened. She just wasn't interested in hearing what I had to say."

Severus Snape's entire face changed. "Really?" he said, "I can't believe this."

"Neither can I," Hermione replied, "but she completely brushed me off. And she gave me this enormous bundle of papers." She gestured at the papers that had been residing on her bureau. "I just know it won't go anywhere, so I figure, why bother?"

Snape's round face was clearly heated, and he took one additional biscuit and stood up.

"Miss Granger," he said, a tone of iron bracing his words, "I'm glad you told me this. I... it seems I'm going to have to go have a talk with our headmistress."

"What sort of talk?" asked Hermione, standing up with him.

His thick jaw was set and determined as he said, "I need to know why I wasn't punished for what I did."

With that, he stormed out of the room like a barrel dropped from a wagon on a mountain road.

And, like a weak metaphor, Hermione threw on a cover-robe and followed, not sure what to expect, but feeling a rush of dismal pride (informed by jealousy).

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 6

Chapter Text

They got to McGonagall's suite in faster time than Hermione would have imagined from someone of Severus' bulk. Also, she was impressed with how silently he still moved - where he once was as soundless as the gentle swish of his cloak against the floorboards, now that there was a little bit more to him, there was now the reassuring added sounds of floorboards groaning under his weight with every step, as well as the scraping of twill fabric between his thick thighs.

Snape rapped at the door firmly, and McGonagall's frail, "just a moment," resulted in her being at the door in her braids and slippers in seconds flat. "Yes?" she said, and when she saw both of her potions professors standing in the hall, one of which was barely decent, McGonagall asked, "Where's the fire?"

"In my tongue," said Severus fiercely, and, with an apologetic look towards Hermione, he edged his way inside McGonagall's suite and closed the door.

Hermione found her ears full of muffilato all of a sudden, and feeling somewhat infantilized, she sat down and poked at her belly. In her haste, she'd picked up one of her more comfortable (read: large) robes, and it saddened her to see that the belly that had been rounding out nicely last week was, at this point, deflated significantly due to her lack of eating.

Since she was already feeling better about the situation, she went back to her suite and took some action to remedy her lack of plumpness by eating the remainder of the biscuits and drinking most of the rest of the milk. Once these were accomplished, she felt more full and plump, and generally in a better mood than she was before.

She went back to sit in the hallway, and sat on the floor, one hand on her expanding tummy, one pinching her delicious lovehandles to try and see what kinds of shapes they made when she squished them.

Finally, the muffilato ended, and Severus stepped out of the room, and McGonagall closed the door behind him.

"That didn't sound like it went well," said Hermione as she looked at Snape.

Snape shrugged. "I hope she'll come around at some point. I've given myself the duty of scrubbing the cauldrons for you tomorrow, however. By hand."

"What?" Hermione asked with a laugh, though her mind couldn't help but stutter as she realized he was prescribing his own favorite punishment to himself. "Why on earth?"

He looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "Just let me."

She couldn't exactly deny him such a self-flagellatory commitment. "Erm. Sure. If you need it, have at it."

He nodded, and as he walked her to her bedroom door, he bid her goodnight, and said, "I...I hope I haven't been too forward, Miss Granger. Social things - at least *real* social things - were never my strong suit. I'm an old spy with habits that die hard. I... I struggle when it comes to interacting with people that aren't clearly-marked enemies with goals on their backs."

She felt herself smiling as she looked at him, his face taut and chubby, his belly hanging low and heavy, his arse full and succulent. And to look at him, she knew she couldn't hold anything against him.

"You... you're forgiven," she said gently. "Don't fret over it. Please. Just... as long as you're nice. I think I like this effect that Erika has on you. I'm looking forward to meeting her someday."

"Oh, perhaps you will," he said, not sounding entirely invested in such a future, "perhaps not. Whatever she wants. She doesn't plan on coming back to England for a while. She's doing a pharmacology fellowship, you see," he added, with pride bleeding out of his voice. "At Harvard Medical School."

"She sounds great," said Hermione, feeling like she didn't give a damn. She truly didn't want to hear about Erika Holmes and how Brilliant she was.

"She is," said Snape.

He then took a deep breath, and said, "Well, I should be off to bed, as should you, I believe."

"No rush," said Hermione, feeling sorry to see him go. "Thank you for… being nice, for once."

"I…" He seemed surprised by this comment. "I could ask for some elaboration, but I think we're both a bit too tired to go on talking about this. I say we adjourn here and regroup some time during the week."

"That sounds fine," said Hermione, already feeling sleepy.

"Excellent," said Snape, and he gave a short bow. Even as portly as his body was, it was elegant.

"To later," he said, and turned on his heel to walk towards his own room.

Hermione replied, softly, "to later," and crept into her own room, thoroughly bewildered by the events of the evening.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 7

Chapter Text

She didn't actually see him that soon. Granted, she was on the verge of avoiding *him* at this point, because she felt awkward about the whole situation.

It surprised her very much that Snape's next step, after seeing into a very intimate place in her mind, was to reconsider his actions and ask for forgiveness.

Well, she supposed, people changed. She'd certainly changed during her time in the ministry.

It did rankle her that she seemed to be the one worse for wear after five years. Then again, as she considered it, his life was so abysmal, perhaps the only direction he could go was up.

Speaking of going up: after her interaction with Snape in her room, she felt her body going back to its more-normal state of softness, though slowly, as she began to regroup and get back into a healthy routine.

She was trying to keep as her meals as regular as she could in the Great Hall, arriving early whenever possible, and staying late when she didn't see Snape come in the entire meal. But most days, she realized, he just didn't eat in the Great Hall.

Once she realized this, she wondered how much she should take this personally. While Snape had told her he looked forward to talking with her later, she hadn't seen him really make an effort to make this happen. It was disappointing, and Hermione wondered if perhaps he had been lying.

But no. She had a pretty dang good bullshit detector, and nothing had come to her attention during that conversation, so she decided that he must have been sincere.

But a week went by, and she didn't see him. A second week went by, and she only saw him the day she came in late to get breakfast - he was already on his way out, and he smiled - SMILED! - at her apologetically and went on, not stopping.

During this time, there was no one else really to talk to at the table. Pomona and Rolanda always came and left swiftly. McGonagall, while polite, seemed to focus all of her attention on her stringent portion of steel-cut oatmeal, and while other professors came and went, none was interested enough in Hermione to break up their habits or cliques in order to sit with her.

It wasn't strange to feel like the outlier at Hogwarts. But she hadn't felt this lonely since her first year.

Not only was this emotional drama taking place, she also felt her clinical-grade anxiety mounting. Of course, why should she feel anxious that he was avoiding her? What did it matter? It wasn't as if her crush on Snape - oh, yes, she'd finally admitted to herself that she was completely smitten - was solicited, reciprocated, or even noticed. But she still wanted to make sure that she wasn't on his bad side.

Granted, she'd spent so much of her life chasing after good grades from him that it wasn't exactly a difficult transition.

Being a teacher meant you had a lot of power, Hermione noticed, and she felt the power imbalance acutely between herself and Snape, even though they were supposedly colleagues.

Finally, not able to take it anymore, Hermione found herself knocking on Snape's chamber door one morning. She noticed, as the sunlight hesitantly shone through the hall window, that the nameplate on his door was more dim and tarnished than any of the others. Many years of pounding from Dumbledore in the dead of night, she assumed.

And she sighed. It was always painful to think about Dumbledore in a state other than a cheerful, benevolent, if brilliant old man.

Snape wasn't the kind who could open the door without undoing several layers of wards, it sounded like; a few words and a tangle of spells later, and Severus opened the door. He was scowling at the light.

"What is it, Granger?" he spat, looking cross.

"Erm," Hermione said, finding her tongue confiscated by a cat. "Erm. Come to breakfast." She at least managed to get part of what she'd intended to say out of her head.

He looked at her, rubbed his temples, and closed his eyes. "Erm," he responded, just as awkwardly, "I have already come to breakfast."

"When?" Hermione demanded, "I didn't see you. I almost never see you. What, do you eat all of your meals in your rooms, alone?"

He seemed a bit taken aback. "Yes?" he answered, somewhat testily. "What would you expect? That's my routine. I've never regularly dined in the Great Hall for any meals."

Hermione scrutinized him briefly. She was delighted to see that he looked a bit rounder than he had last time she had a good look at him. He wasn't wearing a cloak, and his shirt was partly untucked from his trousers, but she could see his trousers were quite tight, and getting a little bit thin at the waistline where it was clear Snape had been regularly stretching them with tailoring spells.

"Well," she said, "can I eat with you?"

"Whatever for?" Snape asked, clearly uncomfortable, but then he put a hand to his head. "Oh, because for you, breakfast is gossip time. Can't get along with your day without hearing the latest tidbits about who's dating who and whatnot."

"You know it's not that," said Hermione with a scowl. "I just don't like to eat alone. And I'm really not able to find anyone else to eat with every morning. At least, no one who wants to talk to me so early. So, will you let me eat up here with you?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Fine. But you must promise me one thing."

Hermione, glad he'd been so easy to convince, still was cautious when she asked, "What?"

His eyes were mischievous as he responded, "You must promise not to ask me to share."

With that, he clapped his hands briskly, and a houself that Hermione had tried to free at one point - who went by the name of Lowly - showed up, smiling and beaming.

"Master Snape," said the elf with a bow. "Do you wish anything else?"

"Not for myself," Snape said, but then amended, "Oh, well, wait. I would like some of that brioche french toast you mentioned. I thought I didn't, but now I've thought about it and changed my mind."

"Very good sir," chirped Lowly. "Would you be wanting that instead of the eggs Benedict, or with?"

"With," said Snape with a sniff, "Now Lowly, please be so good as to take Professor Granger's order."

Professor. He'd called her Professor Granger. Feeling uncommonly lovely inside, she almost said yes to everything Lowly offered, though barely caught herself.

When Lowly had gone, Snape was looking at her with curious eyes.

"What did you mean, the other day," he said, settling himself down in a sizeable armchair that he nonetheless succeeded in filling. "When you said 'thank you for being nice, for once'?"

"I meant," Hermione said, feeling the need to tread lightly on this issue, "that you've got a history of being... less than kind."

"Oh." He looked relieved, though also sad. "Well. That's all?"

"Yes," Hermione said, then smirked. "No deeper meaning."

"All right," he said. "I understand."

He then proceeded to be thoroughly distracted as Lowly brought him a hot cup of coffee, a carafe of orange juice, and Hermione's black tea.

"So." He stirred no less than four lumps of sugar into his black coffee, and took a sip. "What do you want to talk about, Granger?"

She was put off by the comment. "Well, when you put me on the spot like that, of course I'm not going to have an answer."

"Very well," he said, and she could start to see that he was just teasing her. "I'm guessing that you're interested in my newfound affection..." he paused, looking out the window dramatically, "for research."

"Oh," said Hermione, annoyed because she'd been hoping - as he knew she'd be hoping - that he'd elaborate a little bit about his girlfriend situation. "I'd genuinely love that. But I want to know a little bit more about your newfound affection for a woman that isn't Harry's mum."

That might have been a little inappropriate, and Snape looked stunned.

"Again," he repeated, "how nice it would be to live in a world where one's deepest secrets weren't left on the pavement to be picked up and trampled on by casual wayfarers."

"Do you think I'm a casual wayfarer?" countered Hermione glibly.

He studied her, and she smiled at him.

"I have no way of telling," he answered at last. "My frame of reference for such things is rather poor. My closest confidante for the past twenty years was a man who was using me up until his last breath."

"Well," Hermione said, shrinking a little bit, "perhaps your frame of reference could use with some expanding."

She cast a glance at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched, picking up the place where she could have made a joke, but didn't. It seemed to cement how comfortable he seemed to be with the conversation.

"So," he said, after a pause, "Once I got myself out of the shithole that I called my escape apartment, I spent most of my time as a research assistant in a lab at Oxford. Initially it was just tedious work, but soon I started pursuing my own independent projects..."

He described in great detail his adventures at Oxford, and Hermione listened, enraptured.

There was something in his face that she'd never seen before, when he talked about the intricate problems of chemistry, and how he was trying to apply his new skills and knowledge to developing an evidence-based werewolf vaccine, to prevent the virus from infecting innocents upon being bitten.

"I had the great privilege of being exposed to some of the best research on HIV/AIDs that the Muggle world could offer," he was explaining, and then there was a sudden blink! and pop! and there was a great smorgasboard of plates on the dining table.

Snape heaved himself up out of his chair and edged himself to the dining table. He briskly unfolded his napkin, laid it on his lap, and gestured for Hermione to join him.

He then continued, barely skipping a beat to shove items of food in his mouth.

It was fascinating to watch him, Hermione observed. As she ate, she watched him eat. And even as he was talking virtually non-stop about all of this exciting research, she kept being distracted by the wobbling of his chins, the way he tucked food into his mouth as efficiently as one might put mail in a postal box, and the way he simply seemed to enjoy every bite.

There was a sense of exquisite pleasure that he experienced every time his fork went to his mouth. Once or twice, he'd been so overtaken by the delicious taste that he'd had to pause his description and murmur, "Oh, that's excellent," before ploughing forward both with his narrative and his eating.

And oh, Hermione was enjoying watching him eat with an obscene amount of pleasure of her own. Her panties were starting to get sticky the moment he sat down, spread his legs, and began to attack the food. She was nearly squirming with desire as he began to finish his meal. He'd cleared away at least four plates' of food, not to mention a half-dozen pastries. (It was clear he liked the sweet stuff.)

She herself had eaten well, too, though she'd not eaten nearly as much.

As he laid down his fork for the final time, she was struggling to finish her second plate of food. Snape, looking as if he was barely able to keep his eyes open, so stuffed and content he was, managed to maneuver himself in a position where he could make eye contact with her without much effort. This meant propping his fat, heavy face on the table in his hands, with his elbows supporting them by jamming into the table.

"You going to finish that?" he asked her, truly serious (from her standpoint).

"Mmmm," Hermione said, wondering if she was or wasn't.

She looked at his eyes, and she saw a devilish grin in them. A dare, as it were.

"Yes," she answered, "And no, I'm not sharing."

"You'd better finish it, fast," Snape said, scooting his chair towards her in a threatening manner. "Or else I'll be taking it from you."

"No, that won't be necessary," Hermione said, hoping it was true.

"I'll help you," said Snape. He added, "may I touch your abdomen?"

Leave it to Snape to call a stomach an abdomen. Hermione, feeling herself stuffed, figured there could be no harm in his touching her, and allowed him to do so. She felt a pang of worry that somewhere far across the Atlantic, a pretty (thin!) girl was going to get her knickers in a twist about this. But the sensation of having Snape so close to her was so electric that she couldn't bear to think about that.

His touch was surprisingly chaste; he used only his palms to massage her belly and try and make room.

"Come on," he said in a low whisper, too close to her ear for her not to notice, "Just a few more bites, it's good, isn't it? You're getting so round, sweetheart, you're getting so round. Just a few more bites and we can call an elf for our dishes - but until then, take another bite. Good girl."

And so it went, Hermione being coaxed to finish her french toast, and Snape doing her the favor of coaxing her.

Soon, she was beyond stuffed, and Snape continued to massage her for the next several minutes.

Until, both of them simultaneously looked up to see the clock chiming the start of classes.

"Frack," Hermione said, standing up in a wobbly fashion. "I'm supposed to be teaching right now."

"Please," Snape said, "let me help you get there."

Thus saying, he bent down (despite not being agile) and picked up her bookbag. Then he rushed (as fast as he could) to the door, opened it, and took her down the hall.

"I've... got it from here," Hermione insisted, feeling delighted at the amount of care he seemed to be putting into their friendship. "Same tomorrow?"

"Yes," Snape said, smiling.

Hermione stalked off, feeling immensely proud of herself for the events of the morning. She could tackle anything today - she had another wonderful breakfast with Snape tomorrow.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 8

Chapter Text

The next day, he was not as cross as the day before. Perhaps it was because the day outside was gloomy, and the light that shone in the window by his door was dim and more polite, less intrusive.

She knocked and he welcomed her in wordlessly. She noticed that clutter that had spread across the room the day before - books, papers, other academic detritus - had been unceremoniously removed to end tables and other vestigial furniture. Hermione was pleased to see that there were already two chairs at the main table, specifically observing that Snape's most comfy armchair had been moved there. With a strangely gentlemanly gesture, he offered her a seat, and smiling she accepted.

He sat down in it hastily, as if aware that Hermione had been coveting his spot. Without further preamble, he clapped his meaty - though still long-fingered and elegant - hands, and Lowly appeared, and both of them ordered, neither with much deliberation.

"So," Hermione said in a congenial fashion, "I believe you were telling me about the way peptides interacted with each other once you added the reactive agent, in that final experiment before you ended your retirement in the Muggle world."

"Was I?" he said, and a hint of a smirk came to his face. Lowly popped back to deposit coffee and tea on the table, and disappeared again. Snape added his four lumps and slowly stirred, though he wasn't using it as a method of escape as he was yesterday. "I thought the last thing we were talking about was something...completely different." He wore a wry grin, but didn't make eye contact, as if sharing a private joke with his coffee mug.

"Perhaps it was," Hermione said, trying to sound noncommittal, trying her best not to blush. "Well, no matter. What do you want to talk about now?"

Snape paused, looking up at her, beaming as if entertaining the most dangerous of thoughts, and as he looked down again, she thought she saw his tongue skim over the rim of his lips, but once he spoke, his words were just as composed and impassive as always.

"How are you finding teaching?" he asked, glancing up and then down again, failing to conceal a mischievous look that hinted that he was biding his time before asking something truly salacious.

Hermione's face morphed into something resembling a comfortable melancholy. "Oh, well, I'm sure you know its pitfalls, so instead I will tell you what I enjoy about it."

"Do," he bid her, leaning forward over his coffee and gazing at her in such a way that was just slightly exaggerated - she wasn't entirely sure if he was mocking the convention of leaning forward to express interest, or if he was genuinely keen.

For her sanity, she had to assume good faith, she decided. So, she decided he was being earnest.

"While of course it's not all fun and games… I really love to see when a student gets it," she said, a glow rising to her face. "When someone has been struggling and then all of a sudden has an illuminating moment - that makes the struggle worth it for me. It's all the more sweet for a long battle," she went on.

She went on to describe a detailed example of one of the students in her class.

Snape listened with close attention, though it was clear that to some extent, he was indulging her.

"I wish that mattered as much to me," he said finally, as she paused to sip and take some bites of her scone. "I just hated the struggle so much. Especially when there were students in the class, like yourself, who got it right away. Why not devote more time to those minds, rather than the dunderheads who wouldn't get it if it bit them on the leg and announced 'here I am, I'm the solution, pick me up and run with me.'"

"Well, the dunderheads do have something to offer," Hermione counteracted. "I mean, just think about it. If we only educated students who liked the subjects we taught, then there would be so many people who would remain largely in the dark about what we do and why. And then - well, when these dunderheads get positions of power, they think what we do is valueless. And cut our funding. At least this way, they know what we do is valuable - even if the only reason they think it's valuable is because it's hard."

Snape laughed, a low dark laugh that made her thrill expectantly. "Certainly a fair point," he said, smiling, "but that doesn't mean it's enjoyable for the teacher."

"But it's important," Hermione said.

He grinned at her quizzically. "Are you quite sure you weren't sorted into the wrong house, Granger? Deriving enjoyment from the a task's value to society is a decidedly 'Puffy, at least in my book."

She rolled her eyes. "I have a theory about this, actually. I think the whole house system is dumb."

"What a theory, so original, wow,*" he responded coolly, but his eyes were alight and engaged. He clearly was interested.

Lowly arrived then with their food, and they tucked in ravenously.

"So as I was saying," Hermione went on, "I've got a firm-held belief that people naturally gravitate towards approximately two houses. There are very few people who actually meet all of the criteria for their house description - and also very few people whose personalities don't involve at least clear signs of fitting in with another house."

Snape didn't respond, just smiling faintly and eating. As she watched him, Snape truly seemed to have an unlimited capacity, and today as Hermione dominated the conversation, he seemed to do nothing but swallow and chew. She noted happily that he seemed to have rapt attention towards what she was talking about.

"For example," she said, "I do have some very strong Hufflepuff traits, such as a desire to maintain equilibrium with the world morally, and not create enemies when they could be friends."

Snape snorted and took a sip of coffee, but said nothing.

"However," Hermione went on, "the way I actualize these desires - models of relating to the world, you might say - is very active. Whereas the majority of the Hufflepuffs I know, they are highly reactive and don't take initiative very often, at least not in large-scale ways. The Hufflepuffs I know are usually the first to remember your birthday, for example, while a Gryffindor might forget. But a Gryffindor might be more likely to help you get a job promotion, which is likely to have a much broader impact than remembering your birthday, whereas a Hufflepuff might be a bit ambivalent towards helping you towards that goal because they don't want to take a stand for or against anything."

Snape sipped his coffee and pushed away his first clean plate.

"So, in your theory, that's the dividing line between the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs," Snape said, pursing his lips. "How does this train of thought extend to Ravenclaws and Slytherins?"

"You're a step ahead of me," said Hermione, feeling delighted that she had someone to say that to. "So clearly in this schema, the thing that separates Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs is a sense of extraversion, in the sense that they see their actions as having a greater sense of meaning and importance in the world than, I assume, a Slytherin or Ravenclaw might have."

"Are you saying their difference is one of optimism versus pessimism?" Snape asked, frowning. "That doesn't ring true to me."

"I wouldn't even say that," Hermione clarified, "I just would say that the dividing line is what has more weight in terms of personality expression - focus on other-ness, or focus on self-ness."

He caught her eye as she laid emphasis on the word 'weight,' and they shared a brief glance of shared resolution. It was becoming clearer to them both that teasing each other about their bodies was not happening here.

And being able to have this strange connection, of being able to dialogue meaningfully about their fat (even though they weren't explicitly talking about it) really turned Hermione on.

But after this shared moment, he refocused and, after musing for a moment, muttered "Narcissism?" He accompanied this with a bit of a laugh, but she was afraid from the tenor of his voice that he was taking it a little too much to heart.

"I mean," she said fretfully, "in the classical sense, that's what I mean. Not with the contemporary connotation of narcissistic personalities and whatever."

His face indicated he was still not quiescent about this, and she pointed a finger at him.

"Look," she said, "even now, as I'm describing this, look at the form of psychological distress you're having while I'm saying this. What is the primary feeling you're having right now?"

"Erm," he said, his face changing as he switched gears from feeling to analyzing his feelings. "I'm insulted. I just don't feel like someone who's made the error of dedicating his whole miserable life to others qualifies as a narcissist. And I'm bitter that you think I'm a narcissist, though from your perspective, I probably deserve it. "

"Exactly," Hermione said, "you're not worried that such a narcissistic persona would be a bad thing in the world as a whole, you're worried that it's what I think of you. You're concerned more with the self-image than in the images of others. And that's not a bad thing, necessarily," she went on. "It has advantages and disadvantages, like any trait. How it manifests in you, though, it is a fairly concerning disadvantage."

He seemed concerned, but also confused, so she clarified, "I mean, you do have a history of being really cruel to people. Lacking empathy."

His face clouded in pain.

"Even now," Hermione pressed, "as I say this, you're considering this from a self-image role - or, oh, I mean an ego-centric perspective - and not an other-centric perspective."

"Well," Snape said, hesitantly, "what if I'm concerned with what you think of me?"

"That's still what I'm talking about," Hermione said, feeling gratified that at least he was listening to her. "You're concerned with how I perceive you. You're not really concerned with the image of me in your brain. You're concerned with how I perceive you, not how I perceive myself."

"Okay," he said, and then quietly he asked, "so, let's approach another part of your thesis. You say that I have a problem with empathy. I'm surely going to regret this but - give me an example?"

Hermione was surprised at how interested he was in listening to her, despite how clearly he was disliking this.

She took a deep breath. Was she really about to confront him about something that had happened so long ago?

Yes, she was.

"Remember when someone cast that miserable spell that made my teeth grow to enormous proportions?" she said, finding a lump catching in her throat despite herself. "Do you remember what you said to me?"

He closed his eyes, and appeared visibly pained.

"I...I see what you mean," he said.

"Say it," she said with a hiss.

He looked at her, mortified. And he was probably stunned that she sounded so much like him, honestly.

"Say it," she said again, her voice stern and taut.

"I… I said," he murmured, "I said, 'I see no difference.'"

"That's what I remember," she affirmed, feeling victorious. "Take note that when you said this, you humiliated a little girl who was already a frequent victim of bullying," said Hermione, her voice rising with emotion. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," he confessed.

"I'd agree. And I think somewhere inside you, there's something about making other people feel bad that pleases you. Seeing other's pain makes you tick."

She looked at him, and it was clear he was repressing his negative emotions. His face was blank, and he pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

Oh. She had overdone it. She was definitely not feeling pleased with herself at this point - she'd quite lost control of herself. Snape was sitting there, subdued.

What the hell had she been thinking?

"Well," Hermione said, trying to make up for the arrow she'd shot out of the bow and could not return, "maybe given that, maybe I'm wrong about the self-image thing. It's clear you have an acute awareness of other peoples' emotions. But in this case - as in others, I imagine - you took this knowledge and exploited it. Basically for fun. Am I on to something?"

"I… I guess?" Snape said, and he took a deep breath. "Look," he said, after a moment of silence, "Let's take a moment to talk about something else. I'm a bit overwhelmed."

"Good on you for acknowledging it and not snapping at me," said Hermione, backpedaling, and realizing that she'd been pressing really hard.

"I… I have to ask, though," he said, looking at her. His face was red, and his eyes were… not glassy, but nearing it. He blinked a few times. "Is… is that what you really think of me?"

Hermione was already self-flagellating. Oh, Merlin. What on earth had she done?

"Well," she said slowly, "I guess not. Or I probably would not have said all that. And, on that note, I probably wouldn't be here, either, if that's what I really thought of you."

She looked up at him sincerely, and they maintained steady eye contact for several moments. There was no sound in the room but the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel.

Finally, she sighed, and pushed her plate towards him.

"I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach," she said meaningfully.

Snape, who had another full plate of his own to go, looked uncomfortable and pale, like he was going to be sick.

He was really good at hiding it, but she'd made him physically feel ill. And she felt like a monster for it.

"Oh, bother," said Hermione. "I...I'm sorry," she said, standing up and moving her chair to be next to him.

He didn't look at her, just staring ahead, blinking fiercely and glaring at the bookcase across the room.

"Listen," she said softly, "It's... all of this is weird. I get it. It's weird for me, it's weird for you. Not the least of things that's weird is that you're freaking alive, and I'm not freaking crusading for change at the Ministry of Magic. It boggles my mind that I'm here, and you're here, and that we're both here at the same time. And it also boggles my mind that somehow, of all the staff members I could be interested in, I feel like you're the only person in this school who I want to talk to."

Her preliminary exposition complete, she took a breath. "But two people can't always adjust their changing roles seamlessly. Especially two people like us, with such significant breakage in our pasts."

She took a deep breath. "At least, I know we won't get through this without a transition period."

She took another deep breath, preparing herself to be more vulnerable than she'd been with him yet. "I… I think we can be friends, Professor Snape," she said. "At least, I'd like to try. And if it's a bit rough at first, I hope you'll not hold that against me. I have a lot of resentment, but not so much that I can't get over it in a timely fashion. Already I feel like the densest bludger for having been so fracking insensitive this whole conversation."

This did not seem to make Snape look more calm, less distressed, or more receptive. Instead - oh, if only Harry and Ron could see him now - Snape looked like he was going to start tearing up right then and there.

But after a moment, he regained his composure, and shook his head fiercely.

"Weird isn't the half of it," he said with a low grumble. "Of course, turbulence is part of learning to fly."

Then, with a sigh of relief, he said, "Pass… pass me the preserves, please?"

Hermione too was relieved, and she gratefully passed them to him. Rosehip preserves, they were, she noticed with a deep rush of exhilaration.

She wondered if it was a mere coincidence or not. But Snape wasn't about to give up that secret, it was clear.

He finished both of their meals methodically and meticulously. Hermione was looking forward to perhaps touching him a little afterwards, but the clock struck nine before he was done eating, so she just squeezed his shoulder and left him there at the table, finishing the crumbs.

"Tomorrow," he mumbled as she stepped out.

"Yes," she replied. She was glad that there was going to be a tomorrow, after today.

*yes, I just almost used Doge in a fanfic. No, I do NOT apologize. Very Snape. Much in-character. So Doge. Wow

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 9

Chapter Text

She was back the next day, more generous of spirit and thoroughly chastened.

Snape appeared to be in an uncommonly good mood despite the events or yesterday, and Hermione was glad to see that he had already ordered and started eating.

"Sorry," he apologized perfunctorily, "I didn't sleep much, and I was hungry."

"That's fine," she said preferring him eating more than less. "I hope you'll still get something when I order. I don't like feeling like I'm the only one getting food."

He caught her eye, "I'll see what can be done," he said, and again they shared a significant moment of mutual understanding.

She realized that he understood - possibly better than she herself did - how much she enjoyed watching him eat.

They soon were ordered, and they launched directly into conversation.

"So," she queried, "you were up all night?"

"Yes," he said, and began explaining a complicated combination of spells that he'd been using in his methodical, scientific proceedings in the lab.

It was very interesting to Hermione, but it isn't really interesting to us Muggles. So forgive me - I'm going to use my authorial liberty to skip over it.

"This is all really fascinating," Hermione mused. "I remember the genius ideas I used to get when I had all-nighters. Just the shift of perspective needed, sometimes, to think of trying an unusual angle. Now," she said, sitting back and putting a hand on her full stomach, cradling it. "I used to carry out all-nighters regularly as a student, and even at the Ministry sometimes, but it's gotten harder as I've gotten older. At this point, though, the recovery from such exertions is no longer efficient enough to make it worth it." Hermione said, laying down her fork for the first time in about twenty minutes, as Snape played catch-up to focus on putting food in his face.

"I commiserate," Snape said with a roll of his eyes. "I used to stay up three nights in a row and barely feel it." Then he frowned. "And why are you talking about getting old - I was your age."

"You're right," said Hermione with a grin. "So since this doesn't seem to be something that you do often, what inspired you this time?"

"Honestly?" Snape asked, a funny look in his eyes. "You might not want to know."

"What?" said Hermione, guessing that this was something salacious, and unable to think of anything else but what it might be.

"You might regret me telling you," he said with a smirk.

"I won't know until you tell me," she responded with a frivolous twist of her hair .

"Okay," he said, and (almost gently) he murmured, ducking his head and letting his hair fall over his face, hiding it partly, "phone sex "

She laughed - it was painful, given that she wished she could be giving him real-life sex - but it was also a funny reason for staying up late.

"Given where Erika lives," she said, self-consciously, "that isn't exactly surprising."


He flat-out blushed. Not a furious red, just a little hint of pink in his cheeks.

It was freaking adorable, and Hermione wanted his cheeks for herself.

Why did he have to get himself in a relationship with a girl so far away?

Why did he have to be so chubby and plump and delightful looking?

Why did she think it was okay to have a crush on her former teacher?

Grow up, she told herself. Stop messing around with a thing that promises to be very good in its current form. Poking and prodding isn't a way to get what you want. You should be satisfied to have someone to get fat with.

Because, fundamentally, that's what she realized this relationship was becoming. A relationship based on their mutual love of food, and mutual shared interest in being fat.

"So," she said, her voice drooping with a little bit of sadness , "When you stay up late, you stay up late and keep on staying up, I take it."

"Yes," he said, "and it's quite productive. Even though I'll crash later. Can't stay up for days on end like I used to, subsisting on a cocktail of adrenaline and cigarettes."

"You smoked?" Hermione said, and Snape shrugged.

"In my generation, it was more rare to find someone who didn't smoke, Miss Granger," he said sternly. "My parents - and most of my peers parents - were crummy. Which meant that my generation's offspring - your generation - was coddled beyond measure."

Hermione smiled. "I guess that's the cycle."

She then remembered a loose end that they hadn't tied up yet. "So tell me about Erika," she said sweetly. "What is she like? She must be pretty special to stay with even though she's a quarter way round the world."

"She certainly is," said Snape with a genuine smile - again hiding half his face under his hair. He spooned a generous dollop of cream cheese on his lox. "I don't exactly care to gloat, however."

"Gloat away," Hermione begged, despite the fact that she was sure she was opening a bag of worms. "I get a thrill out of it. Vicarious romance."

He still seemed uncertain, so she urged him, "Come on. I have had five years of believing that you died the tragic unrequited hero who never found love. You owe it to yourself to start changing the color of your story."

"Do I really," he responded, but he ultimately seemed thoroughly pleased by her suggestion, so he said, "I suppose I will tell you - but I do intend to keep this as brief as possible. Maybe I'll tell you more in the future, because heaven knows there's more, and heaven knows you probably would bleed just to hear me tell it. Greedy girl," he added with an affectionate - affectionate?! - growl.

"But suffice it to say: I was sick to my stomach of being in love with Lily."

The statement dropped out of his mouth, and quite truly shocked Hermione. He elaborated, "I'd been in love with her for practically my whole sodding life. I can't even begin to explain how miserable it was, not to be able to move on. By the time you were in school, I wanted to, but I felt like I couldn't. I didn't want to be unfaithful. I didn't want to renege on my debt to her, to Albus, to society."

A quiet rage began to build in his voice.

"So that was my prison. I was so angry, but the only place I knew to direct it was towards myself. After all, I was the screw-up, I was the one who had blasphemed her when she was trying to help me, I was the one who had become a Death-Eater, I was the one responsible for their death."

He took a sip of his coffee, and Hermione was surprised to see his cup shaking slightly in his hand.

"But then, Dumbledore's final request. It happened. I killed him. It nearly drove me insane. Can you imagine, being forced to kill a man you're indebted to a thousand times over because of, yet again, your own error? Then having to act - to believe, at least in the epidermis of your mind - that you were happy about it?"

He was breathing deeply, and took another sip of coffee. His hand was steadier, but he was gripping the handle harder. Hermione noticed the way the fat that covered the back of his hand shifted over his bones as he grabbed the cup, forming little rolls and wrinkles. But she felt guilty for noticing this, so she brought her eyes back to make contact with Snape's own. He wasn't looking at her, he was just staring deeply into his coffee mug, his hair loosely covering his face so that he was completely out of sight from her.

Not looking up, he went on, "I was at the breaking point, and I was feeling faint of heart. I realized that by spending my entire life trying to pay back debts that weighed on me, I'd only accumulated more. That summer, in a fit of despair, I succumbed finally to the one sin I'd never sunk to - going to a prostitute."

Hermione didn't exactly find this shocking - she was on the more sex-positive side than not - but she listened soberly, giving him the attention he was due.

"I… I didn't want to leave, after the fact," he went on, still not looking up, but a certain tenseness left his body as he relaxed into the upward swing of the story. "And she was willing to indulge me as long as I paid her. So we chatted for hours. Well. Chatted wasn't exactly what happened," he said miserably. "I spilled my life's story to her. I felt so crippled, and I kept telling myself I could just obliviate her afterwards and my secrets would be safe, and it felt so refreshing to talk to someone who wasn't psychoanalyzing me the entire time. I suppose I wouldn't have done it had I not been so overcome by having finally, after so many years, felt the flesh of a woman."

Hermione was startled to realize the significance of this story: Snape was confessing to never having had sex until he was almost forty. She stared at him in wonderment. To look at him, he'd always seemed so sexually evocative, so cool and collected and charming. She knew that by that time, she'd been having fantasies about him for years.

All that, and he'd never once done the dirty. No wonder he'd been fucking mental.

He sighed. "She was so kind. I was so depressed. She coddled me and held me when my heart could not bear any more strain. And she effectively became my mistress after that. She took the place of Dumbledore as my confidante. I thoroughly regret having not gotten myself a whore sooner - she was so much more safe and trustworthy than he was."

A rueful smile emerged on his face. "I should look in on her," he said softly, "I wonder how she is. Anyway," he went on, "she eased my burdens significantly during that time. I was cared for in ways I'd never been cared for. I know I would not have gotten through that final year without her. And, she helped me realize that my obsession with Lily was not really the focal point of my life, at least not in the way I thought it was."

He took a deep breath, and looked up to read Hermione's face, as if he expected her to be judging him.

She wasn't. Her eyes were a little glassy, but she was listening soberly and quietly with rapt attention.

"You're ever the attentive student," he commented under his breath.

"Only when the material's worth learning," she responded quietly.

He nodded. "So anyway. As my life became more and more colorful with that relationship - if you can call it that - my obsession with Lily was fading in importance with every passing day. Soon my whole life prior to his death seemed like a nightmare. And I began to realize how Albus had clipped my emotional wings, so to speak. He had actively kept me attached to her - attributing everything I did to her in ways that were persuasive to me at the time, but once I was out of his cloud of influence, lost their power."

He was at a place emotionally where he was able to pick at his food again, and he began to munch on a slice of toast. "So much of our relationship - I mean mine with Albus - was one centered around debt," he said between bites. "I was in debt to him, in debt to Lily, in debt to society. And he fueled the fires of self-hatred that burned in me so fiercely. He liked to let me believe that I was one fucked-up fucker who was responsible for all the fucked-up-ness of the world. It was easier to control me, I suppose."

Hermione felt her heartbeat, and the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed. She wasn't sure what to say, if anything.

Snape went on, "And even after Albus was dead and the albatross around my neck slipped off, for a while I still walked around like I was still wearing it, because I was conditioned to the weight."

He glanced at her and made eye contact, but he wasn't testing her this time he used the term weight, at least not really. It was like he was testing a floorboard that he was fairly certain would hold, but wanted to check to see if it would squeak if he stepped on it.

Hermione was rock-solid, and didn't squeak.

He took a deep breath. "But! Once I had 'died,' and had a moment alone to think, and wasn't being pulled every which way to fill a position running Hogwarts that I didn't ask for - I realized that the debt that had trapped me was gone. I was cold and alone and naked and starting again from square one, but dammit, I was free."

Hermione felt her face drain with emotion. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily. She felt like she'd just read a really intense novel and wanted to cry. "May… may I ask," she said quietly, "Why on earth would you choose to come back then, to this place where you were so abused?"

He seemed genuinely pleased she had asked. "Merely to prove to myself, Professor Granger," he said, picking up his napkin from his lap and putting it unceremoniously on the table, "that the shadows had no power over me any more."

And then, in a thoroughly delightful way, he added, "Also, magical research. Peace and quiet, not needing to hide my explosions and strange smells from the Muggle neighbors. Perfect timing, too, because I was so fucking sick of the drugs busts."

This lighthearted comment did not divert Hermione from her primary set of emotions of the moment: Snape was fucking badass. Even more than she'd thought he was.

"Do you know," Hermione said, practically whimpering, "how terrifyingly great you seem right now?"

He was taken aback, but after a moment of consideration, he took it in a way that showed he was flattered.

"Erm," he said, "it's… not as though my life is fiction devised for your amusement," he said, though he wasn't biting. He merely sounded bewildered.

"You're still great," Hermione replied, swelling with sadness and affection, a poisonous brew that threatened to explode her heart.

"I don't feel it," he said, slowly. "At least, recently, I've felt like I've been copacetic. But that's not until recently. So, great? Not in my vocabulary."

"Shush," she said in response, not able to articulate, just emote. "I think you're great. End of story."

He seemed to hesitate, but a lopsided smile emerged on his face. "Well," he said, "the feeling is… mutual?"

He sounded uncertain about it, but Hermione was soaring.

And angry.

Dammit, why did he have to have a girlfriend?

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, breaking her mood swing gracefully. "You've barely touched your food. It'd be a shame to waste it. Poor elves will be broken-hearted."

Hermione shrugged. "I guess I'm not."

Snape took another sip of coffee, then heaved his way out of his comfortable chair. "How about we try and get a little more in there, shall we?"

Hermione flushed quite red, and nodded vigorously.

They proceeded to stuff Hermione until the clock chimed, and she left reluctantly, almost too satiated to teach her class.

"You know," Hermione said as she left, "we were supposed to talk about Erika. And you were supposed to gloat."

He shrugged. "So sorry. Tangents, you know."

But she had the sneaking suspicion that he was holding out on her, for some reason. Teasing her.

Well, she could wait, if he wanted her to. She might be a greedy girl, but she'd show him that she was at least a patient one.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 10

Chapter Text

"Blimey, 'Mione," Ron said from the other side of the Floo, "you're putting it on, aren't you?"

"Thanks for being so considerate, Ron, as always," Hermione sniped back, rolling her eyes. She loved him, but sometimes he was just such a blockhead. In her defense, she wassitting in such a position that her belly prominently blocked out as much of Ron's face as possible. And also gave him an unabridged view of how plump she'd gotten since she'd last seen him.

"Sorry," he said, abashed. "I just… you know. I miss you. And, you know, I think you look cute when you're chubby."

Hermione wished she could say the same about missing Ron, but she hadn't thought much about Ron and the demise of their relationship in a while. At least not since the school year started.

"Thanks," she said, ignoring his chubby comment. "I'm keeping myself busy," she said, fluffing herself up like a hen. "I mean, being a student was a cakewalk compared to this."

"I'm sure," Ron said, smiling. "I can't believe we're not together anymore, 'Mione."

"Well, you'd better start believing it," said Hermione crossly, "given everything we've gone through. Don't tell me you are getting cold feet about Rodney?"

Ron blushed a furious red. "Don't say that," he said with a grimace. "It's not like that at all. In fact, we're moving in together."

"Oh." Hermione plastered on a fake smile, thinking of their little flat in London, where he still lived. She knew Rodney cursorily, and she really wished that Ron had fallen in love with one of the surely-abundant more-aesthetically-sensitive gay men in the world. The whole flat's color scheme was white and khaki, not colors that would stand up well to Rodney's large muddy boots. "Congratulations. When is that happening ?"

Ron looked down, mortified. "Erm. Whenever I tell my folks, I guess."

"Can't you just… pass as roommates for a while?" Hermione suggested, though she was sure Ron had a good reason that this wouldn't work.

"We talked about it," said Ron, "but neither of us is particularly interested in pretending. He's… he's being really patient, 'Mione, but I'm afraid that either my parents are going to disown me or he's going to leave me. And I really don't want either of those things to happen."

"Well," Hermione said gently, "you've got to tell them sometime."

"Do I?" Ron asked, and in his eyes she saw the strategist. "I mean, if I think of a way out of it - why not take it? I just need to come upon the right course of action." He looked at her with puppy-dog eyes. "I love my family and Rodney both. Why should I be forced to choose?"

"There's no guarantee that you'll be forced to choose," Hermione said, "Your father would definitely not disown you. I know him. He's sympathetic to queer issues."

"But it's not dad I'm worried about," said Ron with a sigh.

Both of them knew who he was worried about: Molly, the ever-doting "when am I going to be having grandchildren?" matron. When Hermione and Ron had, while still together, implied that children were going to be out of the question because of Hermione's desire to remain career-focused, Molly Weasley's eyes had burned, and she had begun a tirade the likes of which Hermione had never seen before directed at her.

Am I not good enough for you because I'm a mother and housewife? Children are the future of the world. Do you not care about the world's future? You're an intelligent witch - you should be morally obligated to have children. Children are everything! If you will not bear my son's children, you will never be a part of this family.

Thus, Hermione had a lot of empathy for Ron, when Ron wanted to avoid coming out to his family as gay.

"Well, anything I can do to help, let me know," Hermione said. "Have you spoken to Harry recently?"

Ron shook his head, somber. "I don't know if we'll ever talk again," he said, with deep pathos. "You know."

"Yeah," Hermione said, sadly. "I know."

Harry hadn't been particularly helpful when Ron came out to him a few months ago, though granted he was really put on the spot by Ron's declaration of love for him, and Hermione couldn't blame Harry for needing some space. When it came between choosing between the love of your life and her brother… well, as an unequivocally straight dude, Harry had chosen the love of his life, and Hermione couldn't blame him. At least Harry, without needing a reminder, promised to keep his lips sealed about Ron's non-normative inclinations.

"I guess I understand it," Ron said, still in grief, "I guess in his place, it'd feel a little weird."

"Sure," Hermione said, though she herself couldn't imagine abandoning one or the other of the boys because of something as uncertain and flexible and relatively unimportant as unrequited affection. She'd gone between fancying one, then the other, then both, then neither of her best mates, with some fluctuation in between. Ultimately, having them as friends was more important than having either one of them have a relationship with her in any particular way.

"So what are you doing for fun, 'Mione," Ron said, trying to be encouraging. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"No, not really." Hermione flushed red. She really wished that she could call what she did with Snape some amount of 'dating,' but was quite unable to do so. "But I do see a lot of Snape, though."

"Wait," Ron said, stunned. "What?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Hermione said, though of course she knew Ron didn't. She wanted act casual about the whole thing, knowing that Ron still harbored a great deal of hatred for Snape. "Snape's alive. Came back to do research here. He and I are…" she paused. "Friends? I guess?"

"Hermione," Ron said, emotional. "I forbid you to see that man as a friend."

"Well, too bad," Hermione said, "you definitely don't have a say in who I see as a friend. Even when we were together, I never allowed you to define what I did with my time."

Ron rolled his eyes, aggrieved, but he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere.

"Just… Hermione? He's such a slimy git. Are you sure he's not a vampire, coming back from the dead?"

She just laughed. "He's definitely not a vampire, Ron," she scolded. "And I'll have you know that I don't intend to sit idly by while you keep on saying cruel things about him."

"What, would you stop him if he was mocking Harry and me," Ron said with a growl.

"Yes," Hermione responded, "believe it or not, as I get to know him, you and he have some real points of similarity, now that he's not running around being a double agent."

"Yeah, right," Ron said in disbelief. "Merlin, at this rate, 'Mione, next time I talk to you, you'll be engaged."

"Not likely," said Hermione firmly. "He's got a girlfriend."

"What?" Ron said, his mind clearly blown. "Snape. Has a girlfriend."

"Yeah," Hermione said, shaking her head at Ron's reaction.

"Snape has a girlfriend," Ron repeated. "Well, she better watch out." He was shaking his head. "I can tell you got the hots for him."

"Maybe a little," she admitted. "But don't you dare tell anyone."

"Oh, I was thinking of shouting it off the rooftops," he responded, still shaking his head. "'Mione, you got to know that he's a slimeball. You know I can tell. I never liked him."

"How on earth is that supposed to be a good barometer," she said with a sniff. "You started hating Viktor once we started dating."

"But that's because I fancied him, you arse," he responded. "Come on, 'Mione, you know I care about you."

"Then let me make my own mistakes," she said, and added, despite her better judgment not to, "Don't try and be your mum."

He clouded. "Okay. Fine. I won't. Go on. Go fuck that slimeball. When he dumps your arse and come back crying to me, I'll tell you that I told you so."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, again, he's taken. I'm not stepping into that mess."

"I can't imagine he'll be taken long," Ron said with a grumble. "He's too much of a slimy git to stay in someone's hands when there's something more attractive to look at."

"You're presuming he finds me more attractive," Hermione said, getting frustrated of this conversation.

"Who wouldn't!" Ron cried, then clarified, "Erm, what straight guy wouldn't! Or lez girl," he added, fumbling as Hermione flat-out laughed at him. "I dunno. You're attractive, 'Mione. Don't underestimate the power you have as a drop-dead gorgeous girl."

She just shook her head. "I never, and still don't, understand why you think I'm so irresistible. I don't do makeup. I don't work out. I don't eat small portions. I suck at managing my hair. And I rarely shave my legs and whatnot."

"None of those things matter," Ron said, smiling ruefully. "You don't know men, 'Mione. There's something else about you that makes men swoon over you."

"And what's that?" Hermione asked, indulging him.

"Charisma?" Ron suggested.

"Well, gee, that simplifies matters," Hermione sniped. "I'll stop taking my charisma pills. Then I won't be attractive to the likes of Snape, and I'll keep celibate until one day you preemptively dump Rodney, and you decide you want to pretend to be straight for your parents' sake, and you buy me a wedding ring. And then we'll suffer through twenty years ofwhere's my grandbabies and, in the end divorce quietly. This plan okay with you?"

"Shut up," Ron said, laughing lowly. "You know we're past that point."

"Just a reminder," Hermione said, smirking. "I'm willing to go to the mat for you, my dear, but a life-long commitment to misery isn't a simple matter of defending your best mate from a cruel world."

"We could make it work," Ron joked, though it took her a moment to see he was joking. "This place is a two-bedroom. One bedroom for you, one for me. You can fuck as many blokes as you like - or, or women, I guess - and I'll fuck as many blokes as I like. If we get bored, we can fuck each other. And someday, if Harry decides he's into the idea, we can fuck him together. Sound good?"

"Perfect," Hermione said with a hearty laugh. "Just what I envision for the rest of my life. One big house of fuckery."

"That's what we can call it," Ron said, "House of Fuckery. Or just to confuse people, we could call it House of No Fucks, for no fucks given."

"That's great, Ron," Hermione said with an indulging laugh. "Well, I'm gonna ring off now. Got loads to edit for class tomorrow."

"That's right," Ron said with a grin. "Well, call me when you end up fucking Snape."

"Which won't happen," said Hermione, trying to persuade the inkling of hope that was winding its way around her heart the more that Ron talked about it.

"And later you'll be mortified you were in such denial," Ron replied, chipper. "Go on, have fun. Bang the slimy old cock."

"I love you," she said, trying to shut him up, a smile on her face.

"I love you," he replied, "talk to you later."

He threw some ash on his end, and the floo went back to normal flames.

Hermione heaved herself up out of her chair and went to the kitchen for some water. As she passed the door, she noticed there was an origami swan next to the door, flapping its wings and looking highly annoyed at having been kept waiting.

"Oh," she said, wondering how long it had been there. It gave a little squawk, and she picked it up, whereupon it unfolded into a flat piece of paper.

Sleep cycle's fucked up, read the note. Dinner tomorrow instead of breakfast?

"Yes," she said, and began to look for a quill, but as she spoke, the word formed on the page.

Whereupon the swan refolded itself, dove out of her hand, and slipped under the door without another sound.

Hermione was touched by the delightful little thing, and she got the distinct sense that it was a little attempt to show off.

Which got her to thinking - was her attraction to Snape all that obvious? She knew that Snape was aware that she liked to watch him eat. But did he realize that it extended beyond that?

If he did, what did that mean?

She wasn't sure. All she knew was, she was looking forward to dining with him without the obstruction of class terminating their time together.

She wondered what would happen instead.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 11

Chapter Text

The fantasies she had about what might happen at dinner made Hermione float all through Thursday despite herself. The students would have all gotten O's on their tests if she wasn't careful.

The one problem with meeting after the school day ended, instead of before it started, was that she was somewhat at the mercy of the students who attended her office hours.

This meant she was running later than she would have liked to meet with Snape. Then again he'd never specified a time. But the Great Hall served dinner at 7, so she wasn't able to get rid of her students until the gong rang.

"Aren't you coming?" asked one of the more clingy students, who seemed to want to keep bending Hermione's ear on the way there.

And Hermione, being the ever-enthusiastic young teacher she was, let her ear be bent for a full half hour as the 11-year-old sobbed about being socially isolated from the other people in his house.

After dismissing the child with a hug, a tchotchke from her desk-drawer (she had a bunch of cute toys from George's shop ready for this exact kind of occasion), and a promise to make another appointment, Hermione raced up the stairs to the teacher's wing, two at a time.

Snape was reading comfortably, leaning back in his chair and nibbling on bread and butter when she flew in the door. He looked up at her expectantly, looking for all the world like a landed English gentleman with little else to do than sit and enjoy the simple hedonistic pleasures of life.

"You're late," he said with the slightest scold in his voice.

"Were you worried I wouldn't come?" asked Hermione, feeling for all the world as if she'd stepped into a Victorian novel. Indeed, Snape looked slightly more dapper than usual, with a satin cravat and almost-skintight waistcoat with buttons that ran the entire length of his torso, from his succulent double chins to the smiling lower curve of his stomach.

He looked scornful, but didn't look at her. "Of course not." But she felt like he protested a little too forcefully.

The room was lit by candles under frosted glass, which lent the room a further antiquated air. Usually in the light of the morning, she didn't notice these details. Now, however, she looked down at what she was wearing herself. This morning - or, at least, last time she'd awoken from her time-turner nap - had been one of those mornings where the thing she'd put on was a bit more fancy than it'd looked on the hanger, but when it was on, she decided it looked so good she couldn't take it off.

Generally, in the school environment, her garb was conservative, taking a leaf out of McGonagall's book. This garment was no exception, but it was particularly lovely. A high collar, dark green silk brocade, tiny vestigial buttons along the collar that made a line down to her narrow wrist. Her hair was pulled back partly by a clip, just enough that it looked casual - she didn't have enough time to do the laborious task of straightening out all the curls with a flat-iron.

The one drawback of this particular dress was that it required a corset. So she was wearing one. With its aid, her middle was readjusted according to the needs of the garment, belly thrust low below the waist, breasts popping up, waist cinched as tightly as she could get with the aid of a doorknob to yank the laces into submission. She ultimately felt very sexy, though in retrospect it might not have been the best choice of outfit for eating herself silly in.

"You look fabulous," Hermione said, sitting and taking a piece of bread. "Just fabulous."

"Same to you," he said, folding his book and lazily tossing it onto the couch with a sweep of his arm. "What's the occasion?"

She was taken aback, having assumed that he'd dressed up for this dinner, and having assumed that he would assume the same.

It took her a moment to notice the silent peals of mirth in his eyes as he made eye contact with her. He was toying with her.

"Oh, no particular reason," she responded loftily, and grinned back at him. "Just dinner with a friend."

"I see," he said, running a hand absentmindedly - or was it? - up and down the buttons of his stomach. "Just a friend," he repeated carefully.

"Yeah, I mean," Hermione went on, "he's got a girlfriend, so, you know."

He looked back at her archly. "Have you spoken with him about the nature of his relationship with said girlfriend?"

She felt a twist in her lower abdomen. "Not in so many words," she responded.

Continuing to stroke the brocade of his waistcoat with one hand, in such a way that looked like he was truly enjoying it, he heaved out of his chair and walked over to the mantel to stare into the fire, his other hand behind his back.

"What if his relationship with said girlfriend was…flexible?"

Hermione felt a jolt of excitement thrill her veins.

"Erm. What would such a thing mean?" she asked, realizing her legs were trembling as though she were very cold.

He turned around and looked her in the eye, seeming to assess whether or not he should proceed. He did.

"You might ask him if, in an ethical and sensitive fashion, he was interested in pursuing an additional relationship with you."

"What," Hermione said, finding her breath was slipping away from her. "Like… an open marriage?"

He smiled long-sufferingly. "Sans the marriage, yes. Polyamory?"

She sat there thinking for a moment. She'd joked occasionally about menage-a-trois with Ron, as well as the possibility of them engaging covertly in an open marriage. But the idea of pursuing a relationship with a person who was already committed to someone else… that felt different.

What if Snape was the slimy git that Ron imagined? She wondered briefly if this was the sort of thing that married men used to convince naive girls to bed them. Polyamory. The word hung heavy in her gut.

"Uh," she said, finding her breaths were shallow and difficult, "uh."

She'd not been expecting this. If she had expected anything, it would have been along the lines of Erika's not real, or Erika broke up with me this morning, or Erika's so far away, how about we keep each other company. Honestly, any of those would have been better choices if he was planning on cheating on Erika with her.

Still, she was in doubt about the offer's authenticity. She didn't have any frame of reference for this.

"Is this a trick?" she asked. "I… I find it hard to believe that two people who love each other that way would agree to have sex with other people as part of their schema."

Snape was clearly disappointed, and sat down again.

"A moment," he said, and clapped his hands to summon Lowly. "Let's order. I'm starved."

Lowly showed up, bobbing brightly, and Snape didn't look up once as he ordered. If Hermione thought he ate a lot in the mornings, she was dumbfounded by the amount he ordered tonight. Two kinds of pasta (red and white sauces), lobster bisque, a whole roasted chicken with trimmings, an entire steak and kidney pie, a large quantity of rice biryani, nicoise salad, fish and chips, and cucumber salad. His selection was haphazard, almost fatalistic, as if he were ordering a cocktail of poisons without attention to what they were - apparently, the larger the quantity, the greater the likelihood of one of them successfully killing him.

Hermione looked at him in awe as she opened her mouth to order for herself, and she chosen a creamy, heavy pasta and some lobster bisque of her own, followed by cucumber salad.

They soon sat there, effectively drooling at the amount of food that was headed their ways.

"Can you really eat all that?" Hermione asked, thoroughly distracted from the problem at hand.

He just smiled, pressing his lips tightly together, and said succinctly, "We'll see."

Hermione closed her eyes and thought about how deliciously fat Snape was going to look after this meal - she knew he was in danger of bursting the buttons of his waistcoat, which were already straining.

But, ahem. She needed to sort out what this whole polyamorous thing meant.

So, taking another bit of bread, she chewed thoughtfully and asked, "So tell me about what it means, that you're polyamorous." She pronounced the word carefully, and Snape smiled a little at her.

"She had a serious boyfriend before we met," Snape said. "She lives with him now. His name is Jean-Raoul."

"Jean-Raoul?" Hermione asked, and then nodded, as she filed this away. "I see. Continue."

Snape shrugged. "There's not that much to say. I was dating a girl but I hadn't deactivated my online profile from a dating site. I got a message from Erika asking her if I was interested in meeting. We coordinated, and she showed up, and I was intrigued by her - far more than by the other girl I had been dating for the past month. She was beautiful, vivacious, flirtatious, and drove me wild the moment I set eyes on her. And she was also interested in me, even though she already had a boyfriend."

He smiled, looking down into his glass of wine, which Lowly had poured before leaving.

"She didn't need a lover to make her life complete. If that had been the case, she'd be entirely set. She and Jean-Raoul had three years of solid relationship behind them, two years of which were poly in nature. She explained to me: she didn't need someone to love to make her life complete. What she did need was variety, and the additional stimulation of meeting new people. And the freedom to pursue romantic endeavors with them if she chose to. And - well - you can imagine why this appealed to me."

"Tell me," said Hermione. She had no intention of letting down her guard until she knew everything there was to know about the situation.

"What else," Snape said, "but the idea that someone would choose to be with me when they had no objective need to be with someone. At some points of my life, I would have accepted anyone who threw themselves at me, no matter their reasons for wanting to be with me. But at the point where Erika and I began to date, I had already played the lovelorn sap a few times - Lily being the greatest example, of course - and was fairly sick of it. It was a pattern that wasn't worth repeating, and since she was interested in dating me because she genuinely thought me interesting… well, that was what I wanted. I wanted to be appreciated for myself, not for what I could bring to the table in a relationship, so to speak."

He sighed and relaxed into his chair, sipping his wine. "She's wonderful," he said, "and she really helped me get to the...better-balanced place where I am today. I think she is my best friend, really, in this dismal world we live in. But I suppose I should clarify," he said gracefully, "she's not what you'd call my primary girlfriend."

He took a deep breath, and added, "It's easier sometimes to pretend she is, especially among people who don't and won't understand. But neither she nor I has any desire to actually live our lives together the way a traditional couple might."

"Who is your primary girlfriend?" Hermione asked, dreading that there was yet another woman in Snape's heart.

His response was anticlimactic. Feigning ambivalence, he held up his glass to the light and swirled it. The rosy color fell onto the table. "No one, right now. But I would be interested in exploring you as a candidate."

Hermione felt her body grow tighter. "Erm, well." She took a deep breath. "I don't think I can give you an answer right away."

"Take your time," he drawled, "whatever happens, happens. It's taken me a month to adjust to the idea that you're not my student, and that you are, indeed, a consenting adult. It will take me even longer to get over the fact that you used to be my student, and I'm this attracted to you." He sighed. "Maybe you're still stuck in that place as well. I'm sure that if we proceed, that may cause some rifts down the line. And also," he added, though he lowered his head and let strands of loose sidebangs obscure his face, "if this is all you want to do with me - be friends - I can live with that. I think."

He took a deep breath and swallowed. "There. I think all my cards are on the table now."

She smiled at him. "I doubt it, you Slytherin," she said, sitting back and relaxing in her chair as well.

He appeared to be in pain, not looking at her directly, but peeping out at her through his hair. "So. What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts," Hermione said, realizing that he'd just done the remarkable thing of basically giving her his heart to do with as she pleased. "I know that I wouldn't be able to live with just being friends. I think it's clear that there's something too magnetic happening here to ignore. I admit that I don't know what to do. I don't exactly have enough information to make a conclusion towards having a relationship with you or… or not. But I do think that I want to. I just don't know what to make of this. I thought, truly, you were unable to engage with me in this way."

"Despite all my… erm… flirting?" he said, appearing to be on the verge of laughing nervously.

She nodded. "Gryffindor. Too trusting."

"Fair enough." He took a deep breath, his stomach heaving visibly. "So, it didn't occur to you that there might be the possibility of engaging with me romantically at all."

"No," Hermione said, "at least not ethically."

"But you wanted to," he clarified. "That much was evident."

"I mean," Hermione said, flushing to her roots, "I wouldn't have probably if you looked the way you had when I was in school."

It was his turn to blush. "R-really?" He rubbed his eyes deliberately, and opened them wide. "So. Wait. If I were in the best shape of my life, I wouldn't have been attractive to you?"

"I… I guess?" Hermione said, feeling herself tremble. "I mean, it's not exactly something I knew until I saw you at the end of August. I'd had a crush on you while I was in school, but it was different, you know?"

"So," he clarified, "in my find me exponentially more attractive than as the lithe, well-exercised man I was back then."

"That's what I'm saying, isn't it?" Hermione responded, swallowing hard against her less than ladylike reaction tightening in her cervix.

He shook his head in wonderment. "I'm so surprised," he said, his throat tight, "and I'm ever so pleased. Because I like myself better this way as well. But the reaction is far from universal, particularly among women."

"Isn't it weird," Hermione said, "how much importance society places on thinness? It's not exactly logical. Sure, from a biological standpoint, I guess it's harder to run from danger if you're fat, but at the same time, isn't it nice to have the luxury of being fat? Isn't it nicer to know you'll likely never have to run from danger again?"

"Yes," he said, and he picked up his napkin, lowered his head, and dabbed at his eyes. "It's someone else's problem now. Not mine."

Hermione felt a rush of tenderness. She got up, stepped over to him, and, hesitantly, drew his hair away from his face.

"I don't know what this means, yet," she said, crouching to meet him at eye level, "but I'd like to kiss you."

His eyes were glassy, but the smile on his face was genuine. "Please do."

So she did.

And it was wonderful.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 12

Chapter Text

They broke away from each other reluctantly, but with promises in their eyes.

In the meantime, Lowly had snuck in and out, filled their wineglasses, plated their dinners, and departed without a sound.

"Well, I guess we can eat," Hermione said, looking at the spread. Her nose was accosted happily by the wonderful tapestry of smells.

"Sit closer," Snape said, and with a flick of his wrist he moved her chair from being across the table to being perpendicular to him.

She sat back down in it gently without an objection - All the better to watch you chew, my dear - and picked up her fork.

"So," Snape was saying, as he elegantly sliced the meat from the chicken bones. "Have you ever had a crush on more than one person at once?"

"I… I actually have," said Hermione, feeling a little sad at having lost Harry with the whole Ron-being-gay thing.

Snape took a bite, swallowed, and prepared his next one, almost daintily. "Wouldn't you prefer to live in a world where dating both of them was more… accepted than not?"

"Well," Hermione said ruefully, "I'd have liked the chance, but what about jealousy?"

Snape chuckled. "If I'm not mistaken, you're thinking of Potter and Weasley."

"They're my best mates," Hermione responded sharply, "and I love both of them, in their ways."

Snape smiled resolutely. "I'll try not to judge you. How are they both?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry's married, Ron's in love with a Quidditch star, we're pretending I dumped Ron instead of the other way round, to keep his family from knowing that he's gay."

"That's...intense," Snape said, looking more amused than anything. "So you set yourself up against the wrath of Molly Weasley for him. How formidable."

Hermione shrugged. "Ron's preferred plan was for us to get married and have babies and pretend we actually enjoy fucking each other, and for me to let him go fuck dudes on weekends, and presumably for me to go fuck girls, because even though he professes to be gay, he doesn't want anyone else's dick inside me."

"I hope you don't pay attention to him in that respect," Snape said cooly, "Because otherwise that would be a significant problem for a relationship with me, if we are to form one."

"Oh, of course," Hermione said cheerfully. "If we become an item, I fully intend to fuck you. Quite a bit, actually."

"Good," Snape said, spots of color appearing on his cheeks, and he began to dive more heartily into the chicken trimmings of sauteed spinach, carrots, and onions.

Hermione poked her fork at a clove of garlic on his plate. "Can I have?"

"...yes," he said, his mouth full, and he swallowed. "But you can only have vegetables from my plate, you understand me?"

He added, with a grimace, "And potatoes. Fucking hate potatoes. Have all you want of those, if I'm so unfortunate as to receive them by accident."

Hermione decided to wait to prove about this aversion to potatoes, and kept her fork to herself, and twisted linguini around it. She was regretting not having gotten chicken in her pasta.

"If you want something of mine that's more substantial," Snape added, seeing her look, "order some for yourself."

Chided, Hermione nodded, and grabbed another clove of garlic from his chicken.

In response, he smiled at he and pushed the chicken towards her. "Well, I guess I can share. I don't think I can finish all this food, though I wonder if between the two of us, we can."

Hermione flushed again, and took several choice bits of chicken breast and thighs.

Snape pulled a large bowl of rice biryani towards him and began to eat steadily.

"One of the great advantages of living at Hogwarts again," he said dreamily, digging at his rice, "is the unlimited quantity and the incomparable quality of the food." He swallowed bites of the light biryani as fast as he could (and it was very fast, considering it was fluffy, oily rice, which he seemed to suck down his hungry gullet without much effort at all). "I admit, I dreamed about coming back here just to gorge myself. After so many years of living here, paying for every meal in the outside world was beginning to grate on me."

"I'd say the same," Hermione said, "but I was rolling in the dough at my Ministry job - no, don't look at me like that, I wasn't on the public advocate's office's payroll, there was some dodgy tax stuff going on - so going to elite London restaurants taught me better than to think that Hogwarts' food was the best on earth."

"To each their own," Snape said, toasting her with a spoonful of rice, "but I think it tastes all the better for being free."

"I'll grant you that," Hermione said with a smile, and finished her pasta, pushing the brimming bowl of bisque into her line of reach.

She sipped it with her spoon and nearly melted at the warm buttery goodness of it. "Mmm," she breathed, "this is really excellent."

Then, inspired, she took Snape's spoon and dipped it into his soup, and took it to his lips on his behalf.

He was clearly intrigued, and his face flushed red. But he swallowed the rice in his mouth and accepted the spoon without hesitation. "Mmm," he said, sitting back in his chair and putting two hands on his massive, increasingly-taut belly. "More, please."

Hermione was tickled pink to feed him the fatty brew, and he accepted several more bites of it, but eventually shook his head and picked up his fork again.

"Two things," he said, then amended, "no, three. First, that was lovely. I liked it a lot. Your interest in seeing me eat is… uncommonly exciting."

Hermione flushed. He also flushed, and cleared his throat to hide his emotion.

"Second," Snape said, "I prefer to save the heavier foods for last. If I can resist them. They are satiative, make one feel fuller faster. My preferred method is: carbohydrates first, with some proteins over time, and then as much heavy food as I can stomach."

Hermione nodded. "Understood," she said, pushing the bowl away.

"Third," he said, and he leaned forward, "I'd like to ask you a favor… if you could touch my stomach when you're feeding me, that would be...good. And, erm," his voice dropped lower, "talk about how big it's getting?"

"Sure, that's amenable to me," Hermione said brightly, and she gently wrestled the biryani spoon from his hand into hers. Then, as she scanned the table, she realized there was a serving spoon that might better serve the purpose of stuffing him. She grabbed the silver serving spoon and dipped it into the rice, brought it up sideways to Snape's face, and bid him, "Eat."

As obedient as a hog at a full trough, he did indeed eat from the spoon, his tongue sneaking out and lapping it out of the basin like a dog.

You can imagine what Hermione was thinking about as she watched him licking that rice so diligently, excitedly, and gently out of that spoon. (Hint: she wasn't imagining him licking something else out of a spoon - instead out of another kind of crevice.)

Highly aroused, she touched his rounding stomach and rubbed it tenderly as she fed him, and he moaned into his food whenever she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

Soon, though, he needed a break, and she scooted herself back slightly, and he sipped his wine and looked incredibly comfortable and portly, with one hand resting on the shelf his tummy made, the other holding his wine with elegant fingers.

"So jealousy," Hermione said, as he stifled a burp in his napkin, "Don't you get jealous of Jean-Raoul?"

He shrugged. "Jealous of Erika's time, certainly. She's incredibly busy. At first I was a bit afraid that her saying she was busy was her brushing me off. But she introduced me to one of her other non-primary lovers, and she assured me that Erika is truly just busy."

"How many partners does she have?" Hermione exclaimed, feeling horrified at the idea of talking with a metamour.

"Erm," Snape said, "Not entirely sure. I asked her at one point, and she gave me a list of people she counts herself as currently having some kind of relationship with. Granted, I'm closer to her than most of the people on the list - about half are people she only sees at conferences. But as far as a number goes, I think it's around fifteen, with fluctuations as relationships change and such."

Hermione frowned. "So she hooks up with people at conferences?"

"Yes," Snape said with a shrug. "Though granted, this phenomenon of bonking at conferences isn't that unusual - this is actually something that I've known about for some time. I just didn't realize that it was often a poly thing. Instead, in my most jealous days, I thought it was just some large network of deviants that complicitly got together for orgies or something. Which, they do," he mused, "but I thought it was a great deal more sinister and exclusive than I've learned since."

"So, Erika has more partners than you can keep track of," Hermione said. "Would that be something I could expect out of a relationship with us?"

His face became stony at the proposal. "Not at all," he said, his voice nearly a growl. "I'm too possessive for that. If we start dating, Hermione," he said, carefully testing out using her first name, "I'd prefer a much smaller circle between the two of us."

She smiled back. "I see. So you do have jealousy."

"It's… a different set of expectations,that I'd have," he responded. "I don't want to restrict you, of course. But I'm a lot less…"

He sighed, struggling to find words. Then he restarted.

"...I've already lost a lot to carelessness and errors," he said, not looking at her, "And while I'm excited to share a form of living with you that's vibrant and has the potential to enhance our overall life satisfaction, social support system networks, and all that rot, I can't be as carefree as Jean-Raoul and Erika. They have their form of poly. It happens to be compatible with my relationship with Erika. But I know that my own practice of poly looks different from theirs.

"And especially," he said, glancing up and glancing down again, "I'm not interested in something casual with you. That's because, on my own part, I don't care for casual relationships. But," he added, his voice getting lower, "I also know that I wouldn't want you to be in too many casual relationships either."

"Because of jealousy?" asked Hermione.

"To put it plainly," Snape said with a grimace. He didn't like to admit it, and he stabbed at the chicken again. He'd gotten most of the meat off it, so Hermione pushed forward the first plate of pasta.

"Thanks," he said, not glancing at her, tucking away a good forkful.

"Welcome," she said. She sat there thinking, listening to him chew, and she sipped her soup some more. "Yeah," she said at last, "I'm glad you said all that. It does make me feel like what you're saying is actually something that might work for me."

"I'm...glad," he said, looking up and smiling at her, still looking worried.

"What else are you thinking?" asked Hermione, somewhat puzzled. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh, no," Snape responded, taking another few bites, "I just… well…"

It took another reassuring glance from Hermione and a few bites more to get his nerve to say, "I was...worried?" He seemed to be trying the word out. "I… yes, I was worried that you were late today. It still hasn't shaken off."

"I am sorry," Hermione said gently. "There was a student."

Snape looked at her quizzically.

"Student in tears," she amended. "Tell me, do you often get first-years with social isolation issues? Or was that just 11-year-old me?"

Snape looked stricken, and stabbed another bit of chicken meat. "I didn't know you were one of them," he said. "If you'd brought it up, I'd have taken care of it."

"How?" Hermione asked, "because I don't see the other teachers doing anything else other than saying 'go join a club!,' which is profoundly unhelpful as you might guess."

"I had my methods," Snape said, "and actually, I'm ashamed that I haven't thought to reinstate them. I don't know...who took over head of Slytherin House?"

"Some tosser named Reginald Floss," Hermione said off-handedly. "I haven't spoken with him. He's not as ancient of blood as the Malfoys or Blacks, but he's from an older family, so it seems."

"I know the name," Snape said with a tone of disgust. "Taught Reginald when he was in his last three years. He's…" He paused. "Let's just say, I hope he's changed as much as I have, with the war."

"I can't speak to that," Hermione reiterated, "never talked to him."

"I see," Severus said, and went on, "So what I did is fairly simple, though honestly it should be school policy: all students in Slytherin house, when I was head, had randomly-assigned study groups that met continuously throughout the year, with the requirement of meeting at least twice or three times a week during study period."

He took a few bites, swallowed, and went on, "To deal with administrative duties, I assigned a house head boy and girl to manage, and whenever an issue came up that was beyond the seventh-years, they came to me. For the most part, these groups ran themselves. And whenever a student from another house was brought to my attention, I gave them a role in one of the groups."

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
"Brilliant," Hermione said sadly. "I wish that I'd spoken with you, though I'm not sure I would have wanted to be friends with Slytherins."

"Is that so?" he said, somewhat amused. "Think back, Granger. I doubt your beliefs about the houses were as firm back then. I think you might have been more receptive, if you were as lonely as you say you were. What might have mattered more to you - what the other houses said about Slytherin malice, or concrete evidence against this presumed truth?"

"Besides," he added for good measure, "we were the much-maligned house. No other house withstood so much abuse from the rest of the world. I think you might have been sympathetic to our… underdog status… same as any other marginalized group you care about."

Knowing full well he had won, he threw his hair back proudly.

She nodded gravely, thinking about the little girl she'd been, crying in the bathroom. "You know, I think you are right." She sighed. "So, I had no idea you were a fan of social interventions," she said, finding herself feeling more impressed by him than ever. "What inspired it?"

He looked at her darkly. "What else but creating the resource I wish I'd had?"

She nodded solemnly. She thought of him so much as being part of the tapestry of Slytherin that she did not often consider that he might not have fit in well there, either .

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be bloody sorry," he snapped, not looking at her, stabbing his food viciously. "You didn't do it to me. If you must pity me for anything, pity me for the things I couldn't have changed, not the things that were a result of my poor choices and unfortunate circumstances. I'd prefer you feel pleased that I did something about it."

"I am," Hermione said. "Very pleased." She just looked at him until he looked up at her, and saw how softly she was gazing. His face became less strained.

"What on earth were you doing in the public advocate's office," he muttered, "your skills were certainly wasted there."

Not sure how to respond, Hermione let her fingers wander up to her hair, and she played with it a little, as she thought. Snape continued eating, though slower than before, as he seemed to be growing full. He pushed away the empty plate of pasta, gave up on the fairly-picked-dry chicken, and settled the steak-and-kidney pie in front of him.

"So since neither of us is head of house," Hermione said, "what do you suppose we should do to help create more social connections between the students?"

He appeared to give the question all the consideration it was due. "Two possibilities that might be effective," he said slowly, unearthing the meat from the pie with a practiced air. "First, we might lobby Professor Floss to do what I did. All the structures are there. The sixth and seventh-years at least will remember the system from their first and second years. Indeed," he said, finding himself keenly interested, "I'd like to see how those students have turned out, and what their thoughts are regarding the study groups."

Hermione nodded. "I think it'd be worth a try. But I think he might object on the grounds that implementing this mid-year would be difficult."

"Not if we pretend it's part of our larger plan," Severus said, smirking.

He took a deep breath, and paused, letting the food settle in his stomach. "If I remember correctly, my last Slytherin head girl wrote some excellent modules for discussion, though many of them were inconsistent, without any real logical flow, and didn't precisely jive."

Three quiet bites later, and he said, "I can't tell you how nice it is to talk about pedagogy and know that there's an actual chance that I can do the things I want to do."

"Instead of having your attention potentially drawn at any moment to the duties of a more sinister nature?" Hermione said, feeling the grief on his behalf. "I can understand that frustration. As it is, I focus myself so wholly and completely on my passions that I feel I don't have enough time to do the things I intend to do, without that obstacle."

"Time is a luxury," Severus said. "And for a while - before your cohort, because that's when everything turned for the worse - time was something I had an abundance of. I worked my ass off in order to keep my mind out of the darker places it was wont to wander. I know I was a beast of a man for most of the time you were at school," he said sullenly, "but I swear to you, I wasn't quite as bad before Mr. Potter arrived and the war shifted out of dormant."

"I mean," he went on, "I don't know what you thought of your seventh year, once you came back, but I assume it was much more quiet and uneventful than your other years."

"It was, Hermione said with a laugh. "It didn't quite feel the same, somehow."

Snape nodded sagely. "That's how it was before the war, before Quirrell showed his ugly face and the Dark Lord returned. While Dumbledore put on a placid, unconcerned front to the school about the whole matter, he was sending me hither and thither on personal errands of increasing levels of urgency. Of course, I took out the stress on the wrong set of people - the students."

He sighed deeply. "I particularly wish I had been able to convince Albus to remove Potter from his blood family. I personally feel that his insistence on the power of blood magic was a lot of twaddle; I myself know that the power of a loving environment provides so many other tangible and rewarding benefits that, in my professional view, would far outweigh the importance of any protection that blood might provide."

He grimaced. "I almost suspect that he intentionally wanted Potter to stay in that environment for other… more unsavory reasons."

A chill settled on the room, as Snape's words fell on ears that were highly attuned to this exact problem.

"I wanted to do more, too," Hermione said softly. "I tried to convince Harry to come and stay with my parents and me - they would have loved having him. But he always just relied on Dumbledore's good faith. I wrote him loads of letters, but I felt like they weren't that helpful."

"I argued with Albus for hours," Snape responded, sinking deeper into his chair, "but I never could manage him to change his mind. And unfortunately, Albus never argued out loud. Instead he spent so much time going 'he's got Lily's eyes! he's got James Potter's physique and bravado!' that it clouded my judgment where the boy was concerned."

He looked completely and utterly miserable.

"Before Potter came to school, I just pretended he didn't exist. But then Albus started priming me, in the guise of 'reminding me' to 'not let my feelings get in the way of my professionalism.' But I think his attempts were not in good faith," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't realize this until a year or so ago. I… I hestiate to say this, because I don't want to create the sense that I'm trying to excuse my actions by attributing them to some external locus of control…"

He took a breath, and looked at Hermione as if for permission to finish his thought. She nodded, supportive.

"..I felt like Dumbledore was deliberately trying to make me hate the child. A child that, otherwise, I would have been happy to pretend didn't exist."

He shrank into himself even more, and pushed his plate away from him.

"Now, granted," Snape said carefully, "he was incredibly supportive of Potter having you and Weasley as friends. But whenever an adult started to become involved in Potter's life, Albus did his best to keep them apart. I saw it several times. With Black - now granted, I'd probably have made that call as well, because Black was unprincipled and a bully same as James was - and with Remus Lupin."

"He had Hagrid," Hermione said.

"Yes," Snape said, pithily, "but Hagrid wasn't exactly a powerful wizard. A powerful friend, sure, but he didn't exactly have the skills or desire to, for example, take over the wizarding world. A harmless friend," he said with a smile.

Hermione began laughing. "What," she said, "you think Dumbledore was trying to break a future Tom Riddle?"

"Perhaps," Snape said, a little ashamed. "I don't know for sure. Maybe. Why else would he insist on giving the boy so many unreasonable expectations, forcing him to go back to an abusive home every fucking summer, and putting him in close proximity with someone who hated him as much as I did for over a year?"

Oh. Hermione had forgotten about the Occulmency lessons. She realized that snape probably knew Harry better, on some level, than she ever had or could.

"Granted," he said, "i felt like albus was using those lessons as a punishment for me, which i still think is true. But I was so, so angry," Snape said. "I wasn't safe for him. But Albus insisted that I work with the boy anyway. Can you imagine," he said, shaking his head. "Being in this school skews your perspective of reality.

Once I was out of it, I realized what lunacy Dumbledore was guilty of. And I can't help but hold my actions against myself. What if I had been able to see the similarities and not the differences between my own upbringing and Potter's? Who knows," Snape said, looking at the floor with undue interest, "maybe he and I would have found support in each other. Or something."

Hermione felt a shiver of sadness and empathy. "I don't know how to respond," she said, "I'm listening, but I don't know what to tell you. It's a terrifying thought, that Dumbledore might have wanted to cripple Harry so badly."

"It is," Snape said, "but do you doubt it? If he felt that it was for the greater good of the wizarding world, do you doubt for one moment that Dumbledore would have gone that far?"

And this, Hermione could not argue.

"I don't doubt it," she said, anger rising in her throat. "I don't at all."

"But no matter what I said or did," Snape said, "I always felt like Mr. Potter deserved it," he said with an eyeroll. "God. What a way to lose perspective. But I don't know how Albus could have expected otherwise."

"He should have lightened your load," Hermione affirmed.

"Yes," Severus replied, "and he didn't." He pushed away the remains of the steak-and-kidney pie, in favor of the second plate of pasta with red sauce.

Hermione was looking a little deeper than at Snape's change of food, however. Not wanting to depress him, she kept this thought to herself.

It looks like Dumbledore did a good job of breaking you, too, Severus Snape. And I don't think that was an accident, either.

"But all this is old news," he added, shaking away his own thoughts. "Let's go back to talking about this student."

Hermione shrugged and allowed herself to move out of this intense topic. "I like study groups," she said , "but what other ideas do you have? You said you had two."

"Yes," he responded, enthusiastically, pulling the plate back towards him. She wasn't sure if he was doing this unconsciously or consciously, but it seemed to be a clear indication of his mood. "The other one that comes to mind is to just make such a study group a requirement of your class. One component of this: the hated group project."

Hermione groaned. "No," she said , "I really genuinely hate them. They always result in the smart ones taking charge and the rest goofing off."

"I see you have some experience in this department," Snape said with a laugh that conveyed all too well his own familiarity with the phenomenon. "Well, that's fine. Just thought I would mention it."

"That's not fair," Hermione said, swatting him flirtatiously. "Give me another option. That one doesn't count."

"I suppose," he said, voraciously swallowing a mouthful of pasta, "that you could make this a non-graded study group. Requirements entail presenting once a week in class on a topic. Demand a routine set of objectives to be met. Just provide enough laxness in the assignment to foster some idleness, and hopefully some bonding."

"That's an idea," she said. But then something came to mind. "I think I have another potential solution."

"Tell me," he said, his eyes sharp.

"I don't know what you might think of this," she said, "but I think that, for those particularly gifted students, it would be a great thing to institute an honors seminar."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

It boggled her mind that he'd never heard of such a thing.

"It's a Muggle thing," she said, "a class for academically strong students to join together. Just not based on N.E.W.T.S. It's based on raw academic ability, which means it includes some students who are too bored to bother with doing well on their studies in normal classes."

He furrowed his brow. "So what do you envision?"

She took a few significant bites of pasta. "I envision," she said, grandly, "a space for students of every house. A space for those who, based on teacher assessment early in the first year, are identified as the brightest and the best, but who also are the most likely not to fit in with their peers. A space where these students can have a meeting of minds, so to speak, and learn that intelligence transcends house systems." She sighed. "I went to a private school and took honors classes from almost preschool onward. My parents were shocked that there was no gifted student track at Hogwarts, though I convinced them that it was worth sending me there because everyone at my school was as smart as I was."

She laughed, thinking back on it. "It was worth it, but just barely. They'd never have let me come here if they knew the truth."

"I'd like to ask more about that later," Snape replied warmly. "So what you're saying is: we group together different subjects, why not also group together different people based on aptitude, outside of these subjects."

"Yes," Hermione said, "from a lower level than fifth year. Because it seems a lot of the social benefits just don't happen when you have this kind of gifted class so late in the academic track."

"I do wonder if in the past, that was what the house system is intended to serve as," Severus said. "Truth be told, it always puzzled me why the founders thought it was a good idea to group people based on similar personality traits but not things like academic skills. It seems an unfortunate way of distributing talent in lieu of concentrating it and making that talent better. But, if the house system did function like a series of subject-specific houses," he realized, squinting at her as if to assess her reaction, "would that dismantle your theory regarding the dual personalities?"

Hermione smiled. This man was so smart and attractive. What was she doing just sitting with him here, talking to him?

"How about," she said with a smile, "we change the subject. I'm starting to lose focus." With a swoop of her hand, her fingers landed on the top of his overstuffed belly and went lower, lower, lower, until she felt the firm bulge of his cock beneath his trousers. Which trousers, incidentally, were unbuttoned (not surprising, given the quantity of food he had eaten this evening).

"Oh are you?" He asked with a bit of a grin. "Or are you just dodging the question?"

She just smiled in response.

"Well," he said, "I just want to finish my thought." He paused, seeming to wait for her permission.

"Go ahead," she said, retracting her hand, and she smiled at him.

He smiled back, benevolently. "Suffice it to say that, I think I would be excited to have an honors seminar. I think it would fill an unmet need at Hogwarts, and I think that it could be potentially very beneficial for students who are lacking friends and are otherwise spread out across houses."

"But let's not forget," Hermione said, "that this would ideally not involve more work for the poor dears, but merely access to a higher level of thinking than they're used to."

"This I like, quite a lot," he responded with utter delight. "But let's stop now," he said and gestured for her to come closer. "Now," he said with a low rumble, "may I ask you a highly unprofessional and ungentlemanly question, Miss Granger?"

"Certainly you may ask, but I might not answer," she responded with a smile. She knew there was little she wouldn't answer honestly at this point in their exciting new relationship - since really, the questions about poly that she still had notwithstanding, it was clear they were at least going to try out some form of relationship - but he seemed to play well against her occasional coquettish affectations.

"Why on earth," he said, leaning forward, "did you wear a corset to dinner?" He hesitantly advanced his hand to touch her abdomen, though he hovered over the fabric until she gently pushed his hand forward to meet the brocade.

"Seems a bit silly for coming to dinner in," he went on, "Like wearing a swimsuit to visit Finland in winter."

"Also it's a little strange for someone who likes her own fat so much," Hermione said with a laugh.

"Yes, that also," he said.

"It just makes me look sexy," she said, "moves my bulges from one place to another in interesting ways."

"As long as it's not a matter of trying to look thinner," he said, throatily, "I approve."

His fingers landed on the curve of steel boning that made her waist curve succulently, and Hermione felt her breath suddenly intake in pleasure.

"Yes," she whispered "touch me more there."

He turned his chair abruptly and began to grab her stomach fat on either side with both of his hands. While it was tightly compacted, he could still grab it under the cloth.

"Yes," she murmured at this touch, feeling nearly faint with desire.

Then, with an expert motion, he reached around her, lifted her from her chair into his lap, and drew her close. Given Hermione's own heavying build, it was evident that for an "unexercised" man, he was still fucking strong.

"Oh my," she whispered, and kissed him deeply.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 13

Chapter Text

She was unable to maintain her composure after kissing him. Instead a burning heat consumed her, and she wrapped herself around him. She was fully seated on his lap, her ample rump hanging off precariously, her head gently on his soft shoulder, and one arm slyly encircling his fine wide waist from the front, the other sneaking around his back. She was delighted to find she was completely unable to meet her hands around him, even though it might have just been a result of the angle.

On his part, Snape held onto her in all the right places - his legs were spread wide to accommodate the way her limbs draped over him, one of his hands held on tightly to her arse, supporting her back with his arm, and his other hand rested on top of her growing belly.

“Steady now,” he said, though it was clear by the hoarseness of his voice that he was barely holding himself back as well. His hand fondled nice soft mound of her softening belly, which was barely held in place by her corset. “You wouldn’t want to rush into things, particularly since at the beginning of this evening, you weren’t sure where your opinions on polyamory sit.”

“I still don’t know what I think of it,” Hermione said, trying to sound as reasonable as she could manage - she needed him urgently, and she wasn’t prepared to wait any longer. “But I know I want this, right now. Isn’t &#8216;no strings attached’ a thing?”

“I...erm…” Snape’s breathing was heavy, and his thumbs caressed her gently where he held her. “It’s generally not my type of thing, that’s all.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, willing to concede somewhat in order to get what she wanted, “How about we call this an empirical test to see if, at least in certain components, we’re well-suited for a long-term match?”

“You just want to get laid,” he replied, coldly, but the frostiness was counteracted by his holding her closer, tighter. The hand that was on her stomach moved, and grabbed onto her supportively, staking delight in squeezing the fold of her fat.

“And that’s okay, isn’t it?” Hermione said, whereupon he just grunted in response, putting his nose in her neck to smell in her scent. “Moreover - I’m pretty choosy about who I want to lay with.”

“How long has it been, for you?” Snape asked, not giving her a straight answer, but he began nibbling her ear.

“Almost a year,” she said, her hormones racing. “Ron and I weren’t doing so great for quite a while, and until we figured out that he was just plain-”

“-Stop talking about Weasley,” he said sharply, hungrily, and he dove in to kiss her lower jaw.

Hermione moaned with pleasure despite herself. His lips were soft, his cheeks were cleanshaven and smooth, and the way he sucked - oh! - the way he sucked gave small credibility to Ron’s vampire theory.

“Why,” Hermione said, toying with him. “You don’t want to be reminded that someone else has been here before?”

“Not my issue,” he purred, licking the base of her neck with a teasing, serpentlike strategy. “I merely want your mind to belong exclusively to me when I thrust myself into you.”

She felt faint and watery with desire.

“How will you be sure,” she said, gasping, “that you’ve completely bewitched my mind and ensared my senses?”

He bit back a laugh, but it was hard; his entire body shook silently as he sat there, and Hermione was pleased to see the way it moved as he convulsed, jiggling. She moved with his body, being draped over his lap and pressed against his shoulder as she was.

Finally he took a deep breath, and said, breathily, “I’m fairly confident in my abilities to fascinate. I’m just not sure that you know what you’re signing up for.”

“What am I signing up for?” she breathed, letting her hand sweep down to touch his plushy buttocks.

“I can’t tell you that,” he responded, “I can only show you.”

Whereupon he grabbed her and stood up, carefully, balancing her in his arms, and though she was clearly too heavy for him to carry comfortably, he held her close, and, with an awkward gait, carried her to the bedroom.

The door was shut, but a movement of his wrist changed that, and soon he dropped her into a fluffy duvet of clean, cozy white linen.

“Disrobe, or be disrobed,” he growled, dragging her to the center of the bed.

She tried to sit up, but the combination of her too-full belly and her tight corset made this impossible.

“Can’t,” she whispered deliriously, “you’ll have to help.”

“What,” he said, and she felt the bed dip as he climbed on, and soon she felt his heavy bottom against her legs, and the fullness of his excited cock (concealed though it remained in his trousers) near her pelvis as he straddled her. “Did you eat so much you can’t move?”

It wasn’t precisely true, but Hermione was so excited at the prospect that she didn’t bother clarifying. “Yes,” she whimpered. “Have I been bad?”

“Well, bad is such a relative term,” he said, stroking her belly area fondly. He remained sitting up, crouched over her. “From some standpoints, you might be bad. But others, you might be good. Either way, you’ve eaten a ton of food tonight. But not nearly as much as you could have, my sweet.”

He leaned forward and kissed her neck, up and down, slowly, and it was tantalizing.

“I think you’ve only been bad in one way,” he said, his fingers loosening her high-collar buttons. “And I think the only bad thing you’ve done is wear that sexy corset. Now granted, it is sexy, but I have to ask - are you trying to hide the evidence of your gluttony from me, my sweet?”

“...Maybe,” she said, taking it seriously, but then realizing that this was a kind of play, she whimpered, “Oh, erm, yes! Yes! I admit it. I’ve been trying to keep it a secret. I’m so ashamed. I’ve been getting so fat and round. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“How silly,” he said, and he continued to slowly unbutton her garment. He was nearing the bodice area, but he seemed to tire of the position and rolled out of a crouching position onto his side, where he took a few deep stabilizing breaths. She rolled so that they were looking at each other, smelling each others’ breath and nearly touching bellies.

“How silly,” he said again, and his hand moved to touch where the soft part of her belly squeezed out of the corset, which (she could tell, even under her dress) was starting to ride up with her movements. (It wasn’t exactly a high-quality corset.) “It’s still clear that you’re getting fatter. This restrictive thing just displaces your growing rolls to different places.”

He touched his fingers to undo the buttons of her dress that started from the waist, and with every one, the fabric sprang back to neutral position, revealing how much it strained to cover her. Her creamy skin - where the corset didn’t hold it back - became more and more visible with every inch, the fabric relieved of its difficult duty of covering her round torso and plumpening breasts.

“Yes,” he said hungrily, sitting up and surveying her in as predatorial a manner as she could imagine, “I like a girl with curves and a belly. You’re a bigger girl than most,” he said approvingly, “but not as quite as big as you could be. And clearly you want to be bigger - the way you eat, it’s apparent you’re in heaven. And here in the nice, comfortable environment of the castle, you’re swelling up to previously unknown proportions.”

“I just can’t stop,” Hermione moaned, her cunt fully wet at this point, “I just can’t stop eating.”

“It’s atthe point where I don’t know if you’re going to stop,” Snape said with a teasing lilt in his voice. “You just enjoy your food so much,” he went on, “and you don’t get any exercise at all. I wonder, if you keep up your current habits, will you eventually be so fat you can’t rise from your bed?”

“Perhaps,” she said, with a hoarse whisper. “How fat and lovely I would be.”

“Indeed,” he said, and he moved gingerly until his head was nearly at the base of her panties. She felt his breath on her cunt. Her undies were too small, and there was a nice gap of creamy, furry skin that appeared at the place where her thighs met her pubic area. She suddenly felt his tongue lick her there, on that gap of skin, in the corner of the place where her thigh fat encountered her pubic fat to form a corner of skin, and she moaned, unable to contain herself.

But he was just teasing her, and he too soon left that area, to rest his head face-first on that lovely growing stomach of hers.

“I’ve been watching,” he said, hoarsely, “the way your belly swelled with all that deliciousness sinking into it this past month. I couldn’t believe how fat you were getting, and so quickly. How much do you weigh, and how much have you gained the past month?”

“A mere stone,” she said with delight, “I’ve merely gained a stone.” `

“For a total of…?” he prompted.

She giggled headily, drunk on the attention. “You’re the potions master; you tell me.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Can’t guess unless I see you in your full splendor,” he said after a studied moment, “May I?”

“Please, just do it,” she said, wiggling her legs from her toes to her thighs, setting them jiggling in a most evocative manner.

He grinned and set about it. It was a trifle difficult to undo the front-latching buttons of her corset, but after a few tries he effectively began to get a handle on it, and snap, snap, snap, snap, they started to come undone.

Oh, the relief. Her belly had lines up and down it from where the boning had put pressure on her skin, and the fabric wrinkles had left their mark as well.

“Oh,” Snape said, breathing in the sight of her creamy, glorious tummy, and he immediately pressed his lips upon it. His hands began to roam across her wide belly, and he groaned with desire as he squished her fat, kneading it with both hands.

“You like it?” Hermione whimpered, enjoying the sensitive touch of his hands, which she was surprised to discover were smooth and soft, not rough at all like her father’s over-washed hands. And yet the muscles in his fingers were strong, and Hermione knew with every touch that she was ready to come over and over again.

“Oh yes,” he breathed, clearly swept away. He also added, “You’re not a pound under thirteen stone.”

“Oh, stop,” she said with a laugh. “I’m just shy of twelve.”

He looked at her inquiringly, and she said, “The thing is, some people have some muscle underneath their flab, and that adds extra weight. Given that the only time I get any exercise is when I’m late to dinner,” she said with a giggle, “I have none. So this -” she slapped her belly affectionately, making it wiggle, “is all, entirely, buttery fat.”

“Merlin,” he said with a gasp, “You look this great at less than twelve stone. Full or empty?” he asked, for clarification.

“Empty,” she responded, “I check right when I wake up in the morning.”

“Merlin,” he said, stroking her belly like an artist admiring a model, “I can’t imagine what you’ll look like in the -hopefully- many years ahead of us.” He relaxed his head on her stomach and took an almost non-sexual pose, laying on his belly and pressing his face into her flab with an air of utter adoration.

Hermione relaxed into the feeling, closing her eyes and wondering why on earth he must tease her so. She wanted to have him fucking her. Her mind wandered to the crude non-electric dildo she’d brought back to Hogwarts with her, and she realized that with the lift of the electronics wards ban at Hogwarts, she could finally - finally - have the pleasure of her favorite electronic toys again.

That aroused her even more, and so she poked Snape in his soft shoulder.

“So, are we fucking, or not?” she whined.

He gave an uproarious laugh and cried, “Patience! Thy name is not Hermione Granger,” and began to strip off his own pants.

She was pleased to see that they were a bit of a chore to get off.

“My arse is getting fat,” he said as he finally succeeded in his attempts, “I’ll need another expansion spell to get these on again.”

“Tell me more,” she whimpered, sitting up.

His face seized up in initial confusion, then relaxed into excitement. “Sorry,” he said with a gasp, “not used to it.”

“You seemed to be doing fine with me,” she said with a grin, but she sensed there was something more difficult for him about his own body.

“Yeah,” he replied, and took a deep breath, then, with an involuntary whimper, he closed his eyes and seated himself on the bed. Hermione was pleased to see he went commando, at least tonight. His member wasn’t the longest she’d ever seen - that had belonged inexorably to Viktor Krum - but oh, it was nice and thick, which was what her petite frame preferred anyway. (Krum, when he’d fucked her, had left her bleeding the next day.) It looked to be in a mid-level of excitement, and it was bobbing down as Snape tried to concentrate.

“I...erm,” he said, and took another breath, “I’m…”

He opened his eyes and glanced at Hermione, who was taking him in shyly. She was aware of her belly curving and folding upon itself in a luxurious fashion, and she was nude aside from her too-small panties. Sitting there, propping herself up on her hands, smiling at him, her hair completely a mess, she felt like a movie star in a glamor magazine.

He seemed to think she looked good as well. “I like that little… squished part,” he said, touching the place her abdominal fat made little rippling rolls.

“Take off your shirt,” she responded, “I’ll not be distracted by flattery.”

He looked intently at her, not sure if she’d run screaming like Christine Daae from the Phantom of the Opera, but finally he decided to give her a chance.

“Fine,” he said, and began to tediously, tremblingly, unbutton his straining waistcoat.

Hermione quickly decided this was taking too long, so she started assisting him from the bottommost curve of his belly, inching her way up until their hands met on the final button, which Snape decisively finishing with a flourish.

The waistcoat was relieved to retreat from its post, and its leaves hung flaccidly on either side of Snape’s enormous belly. Snape took over in undoing his shirt buttons, of which there were considerably less than he had on his waistcoat, and soon he was sitting there in front of her, slumping slightly, his tummy so broad and heavy, and it was covered with stretchmarks. His gain had been very rapid indeed, it looked to Hermione. She touched them with the softest part of her fingers.

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

“Oh, goodness no,” he said, but he looked pained in a different kind of way.

She withdrew her fingers and asked, “Do you like me noticing them?”

“I mean,” he said, and she could tell he was hyperventilating slightly, “I haven’t had anyone see me with my shirt off for years at this point.”

“Even Erika?” Hermione asked, surprised.

He nodded, looking as if he wanted the world to swallow him.

“Your choice, or hers?” she asked, trying hard not to sound like she was pressuring him.

“Mine,” he answered, and shook his head firmly, as if trying to get rid of wrackspurts.

“Let me clarify,” he said, focusing on his breathing, “I have my reasons why Erika hasn’t seen me shirtless in the light for a few years. I just don’t want to talk about them right now. But suffice it to say - I am deciding very specifically to reveal my body, fat and scarred as it is, to you. I realize it is much more of a turn-on when clothed.

“But,” he said, his eyes trained on a wrinkle of the bed some distance away from Hermione, “I don’t want to enter a relationship with you with any false illusions about what I look like. Fat is an aesthetic you indicate that you appreciate. I’m just not sure that this is an element of this aesthetic that you like. I’m not like you, with creamy, unmarred skin. My weight gain,” he said, appearing mortified, and almost as if he was regretting having taken off his shirt in the first place, “was sudden, unintentional, and unregulated. And it continues to be.

“I don’t know that these scars will go away, at least not quickly. And chances are, there will be more in the future. I’m sorry,” he said, sounding deeply unhappy, “I was afraid of mentioning this to you, because I was enjoying things too much. That was an error.”

“Oh, please,” she said, sitting up and caressing his downcast face. “Do you really think I’d choose not to date you because of fucking stretch marks, which every woman spends so much angst about post-pregnancy that there’s loads of creams and such in both the wizarding and muggle worlds?”

She smiled, but said firmly, as he looked up at her in awe, “Snap out of it. You’re sexually very appealing to me, stretch marks or none. I’m curious about this element of your history, but we can talk about it when you’re ready. But until then,” she said, laying back down on the bed, “just enjoy fucking me. Please.”

She threw back her hair and spread her legs. “Seriously. I thought you were experienced, with your polyamory and your kinkiness. Can’t you see my cunt is so tight, I can scarcely breathe?”

This definitely piqued his interest, and he sat a little straighter and, wordlessly, moved over to sit within arm’s reach of her nether regions.

“Looking at your fat gut,” she whispered viciously, “I want to straddle it and ride it until I come all over it. I love the thickness of your cock, the nice flap of flab at your pubes. It might be able to fill me up better than anyone else ever has. My vagina is just as greedy as my mouth, I guess,” she said teasingly, “and just as hungry as my belly. I crave you, Snape, and the way you look right this moment makes me want to come several times over. All over you. Stretch marks included.”

He seemed to take spirit at this speech, and he grabbed his member and began stroking it.

“Way to take &#8216;stroking your ego’ literally, huh,” said Hermione, and he laughed with her.

“Please,” he whimpered, “keep at it.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, her fingers moving towards her clit, but as she did she felt Snape’s fingers get there faster, and he was flicking her and stimulating her with the same breaths as he was stimulating himself. Instead, she started grabbing at her fat stomach, caressing and slapping it alternately.

“You want me to get so fat, I won’t be able to move,” she whispered, and his face got a touch redder in response. “Once I’m too fat to run off, you’ll be happy to let me try fucking other dudes sometimes, but you want to know that yours will be the only one that satisfies me. So you’ll keep me here, immobilized by my own greed and sloth, and you’ll watch as men try to satisfy me, one at a time, and while they are overcome by my beauty and girth, none of them will impress or satiate me. Then once I am so frustrated, you will come in, with your nice, fat belly and thick, thick cock, and you will fuck me and feed me, and feed me and fuck me, and only then will I be able to come.”

Her eyes never left him, and his eyes never left her, and finally at this point he stuffed himself into her aching pussy and thrust, over and over, so forcefully and passionately. She came the moment he entered her, and kept coming, over and over, and he lasted a very few strokes before he finished inside her.

He pulled out and lay back, exhausted on the bed, but Hermione wasn’t done; she moaned for more relief, and after a moment he had the idea to accio a candle that had been burning, shape it with a gentle transfiguration spell, and harden it slightly, then with her assent he stuck it in her, and the warm mutable wax brought her to climax a few more times before, with a sigh of relief, she tapped him on the arm, and he stopped, breathlessly.

They lay there in the slightly darker room, breathing heavily together, and Snape murmured, “Well, I don’t know what I expected, but I think you just blew my bloody mind.”

“Agreed,” Hermione said, sinking into the pillows with a sigh. “Here’s to more where that came from. But not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” agreed Snape, then he laughed. “You know, I had planned for us to have dessert, but I don’t feel a need for it this moment.”

Hermione sat straight up in bed, immediately invigorated. “You don’t?”

This response made Snape chuckle, and he pulled at her to lay down again. “All right, now you’ve alerted me to the possibility that I *might* have enough energy to at least watch you eat.”

“Dessert is the best part of every meal,” she said without a trace of irony, and laughing more, he clapped his hands.

“I guess we can have dessert in bed.”

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 14

Chapter Text

They snuggled under the duvet together, Hermione clinging closely to him, Snape gently stroking her.

“I like the way you feel,” she whispered, nestling her face between his heavy masculine breasts, which shook as he shivered with the pleasure of feeling her breath on his sternum.

“I like the way you feel me,” he responded, letting a hand cup her succulent bottom. She felt every bit as squishy and soft as she looked, like smooth clean fondant on a marshmallow cake.

They relaxed there for a time, then Lowly arrived, bringing a large side-table with her, decked with a lace tablecloth and a fetching arrangement of fresh-picked red ivy, a scraggly few bits of heather, water mint, and Rose of Sharon berries. Lowly left as swiftly as she’d come, presumably to get the food.

“It’s late in the season for heather,” Hermione said, smiling brightly at the pale white flowers, and looked at Snape. “Is this your doing?”

He ducked his head, as if to conceal a smile. “I have a few spots I know to look.”

“You’re too precious,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I demand at some point you show me. I wouldn’t know where to look.”

He seemed confused for a moment, then realized that, by default, she’d rarely, if ever, left Hogwarts’ grounds to go into the wilderness of the moors around it before. “Oh,” he said, “Yes, certainly. Any time. On days I go, I usually leave after lunch and return by dinner. Why bother going into town to get rowan berries, yarrow, burdock, asphodel, and such when I can very easily go out and collect it myself? Especially when Hogsmeade shopkeepers charge such outrageous prices?”

“I’m game,” she said, rolling over onto her belly and looking at him with a flirtatious peek from over her arm. “But for the moment, I’m hungry.”

“I fully intend to feed you into a state of satiation so complete that you will have no desire whatsoever to go to your classes tomorrow,” he said with a subtle grin.

She flipped around again and poked him in the belly, gently. It sloshed and wiggled with the heaviness of being full.

“Are you at that place yet?” she demanded, astutely assessing him.

“Not exactly,” he said with a yawn that, inconveniently, was also a burp, and he barely got his hand to cover his mouth in time.

“Clearly not,” Hermione said, sitting up, “it sounds like you’ve still got some room in there.” She patted his belly fondly, and it thumped with a satisfying hollowness.

Looking down, she noticed that her own podgy belly was decidedly growing larger. The painful-looking marks from her corset were no longer visible, and the way it so completely obstructed her view of her pubes was new.

She pressed down on the top of her belly, squeezing it until it folded down upon the nice squishy upper pelvic area, though she couldn’t cover it. Also, her newly-stretching belly came right back up again when she let go.

“It’s really taut,” she mused, then gestured for Snape to get up and play with it too.

Intrigued, Snape sat up laboriously, his hand and forearm lifting his own massive belly. He’d long gone past the point where his belly could comfortably rest on his pubic area and completely cover it.

He indulged her and pressed down on her belly, which, while it landed nicely on either of her thickening thighs, it was indeed too full or simply too small to go down very far.

“I can’t wait until it’s so big that it covers up my whole clit area,” Hermione said with unrepenting frankness. “The sense of being so fat that I can’t sit cross-legged without stimulating myself when I laugh - that’s so sexy.”

He thought about it, and sat at the edge of the bed, letting his own enormous mound of fat droop over his penis and squish it between his thighs. “I never thought about the repercussions for the feminine form,” he said with a low, sexy drawl. “I just know I enjoy the way it feels on my cock. In certain positions,” he added with a wink, “It’s almost as good as fucking.”

Hermione’s hand snuck over and dug its way under his belly to rescue said cock, and she began to stimulate it, periodically rubbing his balls as well.

“You’re so sexy,” she whispered.

“You’re so sexy,” he repeated, and they gazed into each others’ eyes, challenging each other to refute the other, until finally they both looked up to see the table neatly laid with a jaw-dropping amount of food.

They both looked at the amount of food, looked back at each other, and simultaneously declared their intentions.

“I can’t eat all that,” Snape said, in the same instant that Hermione said, “Oh, you’re going to eat all of that.”

“Okay,” Snape said with an eyeroll. “If this was a different point of my life, I’d happily overindulge and throw up in the bathroom, and come back for more, but I’m not interested in revisiting those days of binging and purging.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, noticing the comment but filing it away for later, “I’ll make you eat so much that you’re ready to toss it, but we’ll stop there. I’ll eat as much as I can to help you, and when you’ve stuffed yourself silly, I’ll give you all the belly rubs, and you’ll make delightful sexy noises, and when you genuinely need me to stop, you can say &#8216;Dolores Umbridge’ and we’ll stop. But until you say her name, I won’t stop, even if you tell me to.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her choice of code word. “Fine,” he agreed, “let me get comfortable.”

He barricaded himself against the headboard with pillows on either side of him, his legs spread wide, his belly proudly presiding over the matter with understated glory.

“Ready?” Hermione said, sitting on her knees, looking at all the delicacies laid out before them.

“One moment,” he said, and waved wandlessly at an old phonograph. An ancient record of Edith Piaf started playing, artistically scratchy.

Non, rien de rien. Non, je ne regrette rien…

“How fitting,” Hermione said with a snort.

“Don’t laugh,” he said very sternly.

Her eyes were alight, perceptive. “This chanson means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she asked, searching his face. “&#8216;No, I regret nothing.’ Is that how you actually feel, or what you wish you felt?”

“Shut. Up.” he growled, then, in a flash of recollection, he said, “Umbridge.” And he waved his hand angrily at the player, whereupon it shifted to the next song, the classic La vie en rose.

“Erm, sorry.” Hermione looked sufficiently chastened, and she leaned over, her belly shifting into an exaggerated angle as she reached out to grasp his hands. “Are we okay?”

He gave her a grumpy face - was it exaggerated slightly? - but shrugged, and took her hand. “Feed me,” he said, a growl in his voice, a hand curling sensuously under the curve of his belly, “and we’ll see.”

Hermione looked at him closely for a moment, before stretching up to land a shy kiss on his cheek.

“We’ll get there by leaps and bounds,” she said empathically, “and many, many pounds.”

His cock visibly twitched with the second part of her sentence, and she decided enough was enough, so she grabbed the plate of croissants and sat, cross-legged, in front of him.

“Almond, chocolate, or plain?” she asked straightforwardly, and he looked at them with a raised eyebrow.

“We are, of course, talking about the order,” he said, “not an exclusive choice.”

“Of course not,” said Hermione frivolously, “just as you prefer many tastes in women, it only stands to reason that you’d feel the same about pastries.”

“Croissants are in a class separate from all other delicacies, though,” Snape said, “now stop chatting and feed me.”

She looked at the choices in front of her, and decided of the dozen croissants she’d stuff a plain one in his mouth first, though prior to entry she had a few other tricks up her sleeve.

“You want to be fed, do you?” she said, and she began circling him on the bed. He nodded in response. “Oh,” she said, with a deeply orgasmic sigh, “oh.”

His cock was definitely paying attention, and Hermione was also experiencing a lady-boner.

“You’ll just eat whatever I put in front of you, won’t you,” Hermione said, leaning in and breathing in the crook of his neck. “You just can’t control yourself. You’ve trained yourself to eat on the sight of food. You feel hungry just seeing it. Yes,” she whispered, “it’s taking all you can muster to keep from grabbing it and shoving it in your face.”

He nodded, his hair bobbing, his jowls wobbling, and on the springy bed his belly bounced slightly.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I’ll feed you, you pig - but in my own time, not yours.”

Snape moaned, and one hand went to touch his cock, the other went to grab a croissant.

She slapped him on the hand, hard.

“No,” she said, “you’re too fat. These fine foods should be kept under lock and key to keep them away from your growing belly. Your overindulgence is catching up to you, my dear Snape,” she said, patting him on his stomach.

He was red in the face, and trying to keep her from seeing that he was stimulating himself with his hand, but she caught him, and murmured, “Your hands seem to be betraying you. You get off on this, don’t you? Being so fat that I need to put you on a diet? Do you like this?” she said, trying to be as stern as she could.

It seemed to be effective; he gulped and appeared completely flustered, though completely turned on.

It seemed he had a bit of a masochistic streak, Hermione observed. Well, well. She’d certainly use this to her advantage.

“You like this,” she said, removing his hand from his cock, and grabbing his other hand, and holding them both together. “You like the idea of getting fatter. You get so turned on by the idea of eating yourself so fat you can’t move, you can’t resist touching yourself and stuffing your face. Well,” she said, “if that’s what you like, that’s what you’re going to get. But on my terms!” she spat, and she held his hands tightly together and dove down to grab her underwear from the floor. She reemerged and put his hands in the leg-slots, and tied the makeshift restraint tightly, so that his hands were behind his back.

“Now,” she said, stroking his tummy, which was quivering as he breathed irregularly with the pain of being immensely aroused, “now you will eat. You fat, fat, pig.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the headboard, mouth open as he breathed hard, and his stomach moved with him, revealing his dick’s alert and distended state.

“Here,” Hermione said casually, and she stuffed the corner of a croissant into his mouth. He bit it off hungrily, and chewed swiftly. “That’s right,” she said, taking away the croissant as soon as he was ready for the next bite, “tell me you’re a fat pig who gets off on the idea of getting fatter.”

“I…” he said, with a sharp intake of breath, “I’m a fat pig who gets off on the idea of getting fatter.”

“That’s right,” she said, putting the next corner of croissant in his mouth. “Eat, eat, and eventually you’ll be so nice and fat that I’ll be able to take you to market and show you as my prize pig.”

“Oh gods,” he murmured, “touch me, please.”

“Oh, you like that?” she said, and she began stroking him, shoving the remainder of the croissant in his mouth. As soon as he stopped chewing and swallowed, however, she stopped stroking him.

“Mmm,” he whimpered, almost as if in pain, “more.”

“Yes,” Hermione responded, giving him another bite of croissant. She decided that tearing up the croissants in three chunks would be the most efficient way of getting them inside the body of her lover, so that’s what she did.

He licked her fingers so sensuously when he took the next bite from her fingers, she almost came right there.

She stroked him as he took bites and chewed, but stopped as soon as he swallowed, so that incentivized him to take bite after bite without stopping.

“More,” he pleaded any time she had trouble, “please don’t stop.”

She did indeed keep stuffing more and more pastry into him, until the dozen croissants were gone, and she grabbed a tureen of rice pudding.

“More carbs,” she said, “low fat. Eat, eat, eat. This will settle heavily in your tummy and bloat it. Be prepared. Do you want to feel fat and bloated?”

“Yes,” he moaned, and he obediently sucked down spoonful after spoonful, until there was nothing left but the tureen.

At this point, the food was beginning to really make its mark on his tummy, and it was so taut and round that Hermione had to stop rubbing Snape’s cock with both hands in order to feel like she was doing justice to the massive amount of food Snape was putting away.

But she couldn’t put both hands on stomach duty, because the second she tried, Snape growled fiercely and said, “No!” very definitively, so she let one hand do one activity, and the other do another.

“Now,” she said, “now that you have finished your rice pudding, I will lick the tureen. And you don’t get any.”

He watched in near-horror as she did exactly this, licking the spoon sensuously, letting the spoon represent a phallic symbol in her hands.

Snape moaned in agony, and pseudo-struggled to get his hands free, but to no avail. He was thoroughly stuck in his bondings.

“You’re too fat to get out of those,” Hermione said with a grin, digging her fingers in the tureen, scraping off the last grains of rice, and licking them one by one, seductively. “You won’t get any more food until I say so.”

“Please,” he begged, “feed me more.”

“You’re still hungry?” she said with a laugh, patting his enormous belly. “I would have thought you were stuffed like a Christmas goose by now. No matter,” she said, “try some Turkish delights, while they’re here.”

There were at least three dozen of the little gooey treats. She popped them into his mouth, one by one, an entire dish of them. They went down easily, and he almost didn’t need to chew them. She could have almost poured them down his throat.

Once there were no more, he opened his eyes and burped, with a glazed look starting to enter his eyes.

She’d never seen this look before in him - a nirvana of being perfectly and utterly transfixed on the feeling of being stuffed. He looked so beautiful, huffing and struggling to take deep breaths, leaning back on the headboard, his belly struggling to stay together in front of him, his fat jiggly thighs rising and falling with his breathing.

She wasn’t done yet, though.

“Are you ready for the finale?” she said, as she picked up an enormous chocolate cake decorated with chocolate-dipped strawberries, the final major course on the table. “Because I think you’re going to have to finish every last bite of this before I let you go to sleep.”

“No,” Snape groaned, leaning back and wiggling his fat arse as he tried to get more comfortable. “I’m so stuffed. I really can’t.”

“Let me help you make some room,” she said, and she readjusted his pillows so he could lean back farther. “Yes, that’s it. Now one moment,” she said, and her head disappeared underneath his thick fat tummy as she began to torture him with her tongue.

“Oh god,” he said, and came almost immediately on contact, which made Hermione’s job simpler, even if it did make her hair messier.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured when she reemerged, and she laughed it off.

“No apologies,” she said, and she wiped the cum off her chin with the back of her hand. “Shall we start on this cake, then?”

“Umbridge,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m stuffed to the absolute brim.”

“How about just a few bites more?” Hermione said, “then I’ll stuff myself with the rest?”

He considered this, looking at the cake with longing. “All right,” he responded. “Even though I’ve eaten enough for nearly the entire castle in one sitting, I’m game for a few bites more.”

“Good,” said Hermione, standing up and taking a silver fork from the table, while also grabbing a napkin to get the rest of the cum out of her hair.

She coaxed him to take a bite of the succulent cake by kissing it, then meeting his eyes with a sad pout. With the sense of a lover making up for lost time, he ravaged a good third of the cake by the time he lay back, shaking his head, muttering, “Umbridge, Umbridge.”

“You did a good job,” she said, relaxing back next to him, untying his hands, and she dove into the rest of the cake.

She had the feeling that this wasn’t as much fun as being fed the rich chocolate molten cake, but the way he watched her, captivated, but so stuffed he could barely speak, well, that was also fun.

It surprised her how much she could actually eat when she was working at it. Halfway through her chore, she had to readjust herself, and she rested the plate on her curving belly in such a way that it was easier to lift a fork to her mouth.

“Yes,” she said, as Snape watched her, his tongue barely emerging from his full lips, “I’m getting fat and lazy, too.”

He groaned in an affirming way, nodding ever so slightly, and she kept at it until she’d finished - after many deep breaths, and a couple of forced burps - the entire rest of the massive cake.

“I’m feeling it,” she said, and she lay down flat on the bed, wiggling herself down inch by inch until she was horizontal. “Oh god, that feels so good.”

“Mhm,” Snape said, and with a much more painful, slow process, he joined her in being flat on the bed. “Oh god,” he said as he finally lay back, “This relationship - if this is what we’re doing - is not going to leave me off a thinner man.”

“Not if I can help it,” Hermione said, and she scooted over as close to him as she could get, and ran her fingers through his long hair.

“I’m kaput,” he announced breathlessly, clearly not able to open his eyes, but his hand wormed its way to rest on Hermione’s stuffed belly, where he stroked it with careful fingers.

“Me also,” she whispered. “Tonight was fucking wonderful.”

“You staying here?” he asked, “or going back to your space?”

“Which would you prefer?” Hermione asked gently.

“Erm.” He didn’t seem comfortable telling her to get out, but that seemed to be the sum of things.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” Hermione said, easing herself up. “I like my privacy too. I’m going to bid you goodnight then.”

“Erm.” He opened his eyes and gestured for her to lean back down again.

“What?” She obliged, though slowly.

“I enjoyed myself,” he whispered hoarsely. “May not seem like it, but I did.”

“It certainly looks like you enjoyed yourself,” said Hermione, gently stroking his belly, so distended and round that his skin seemed as thin as latex. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” he whimpered in response.

She laid a kiss on his lips.

“Before I leave,” she added, as she stood and half-heartedly began to dress herself in her underwear and such, “I… we talked about a lot of things tonight.”

He opened his eyes wide, and she thought she sensed fear in them. But he did not speak.

“We talked about a lot of really… personal, intense things,” she said, “and I don’t want you to feel like… beholden to me or anything. I know that sometimes,” she went on, “telling someone a bunch of intense stuff can be something you regret the next day, and I don’t want you to feel badly if you do. Just…” she sighed, “if you need some space, don’t be fucking mysterious about it, all right?”

He didn’t respond, and she went on, tremblingly, “...truth be told, I think we perhaps pushed too hard to get to know each other tonight. And while I’m fine and I don’t regret it, I am afraid that, in the morning, you will. So if that’s the case, just tell me, and we can work it out. But here’s what I don’t like,” she went on, trying to pull her dress up over her belly and failing miserably, “I don’t like when I have a conversation with a person that really goes deep, and then I never hear from them again. That’s happened to me with…”

She sighed.

“A lot of people. And I don’t want it to happen with you. Okay?”

He looked at her sadly, but he seemed to be acknowledging the truth in what she was saying, sleepy and overfed as he was. “Okay.”

“And,” Hermione said with a huff, removing her dress, “I think I’m going to borrow a dressing gown from you, because I’m not fucking putting on that corset again, and without the corset this dress will not go on. So where can I find it?”

She walked to the closet, and opened it, and Snape nodded as she grabbed the first silky thing that was hanging on the back of the door.

“Nice,” she said, slipping it over her shoulders. It was satin, green and black paisley, and a little dusty.

“Keep it,” he murmured, and smiled painfully. “Too small.”

“It’ll be too small for me as well, soon enough,” she said with a giddy laugh. She wrapped it around herself, and tied it well, and gathered up her clothes.

“Good night,” she whispered, and kissed him on the top of the nose. Then she pulled the sheets over him, and pinched out the remaining lights that were on. “I enjoyed myself. See you tomorrow.”

“Night,” he muttered back to the dark room.

Hermione left his chambers to the sounds of Edith Piaf’s accordions and orchestra floating off in the distance, a dopey romantic smile on her face despite herself.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 15

Chapter Text


The next morning brought Hermione to reluctantly - grumpily - face the sunlight. Crookshanks stalked from the end of her bed and meowed his high-density smelly breath in her face, and she pushed his cheek away from her nose and groaned.

“Fine,” she said begrudgingly, and slipped out of bed. Of course she’d woken up ten minutes before the alarm rang - just enough time for her to go back to sleep and luxuriate in the spare time if she wasn’t dealing with an irritable kneazle.

She poured herself some cool chocolate milk from the icebox, filled Crookshanks’ bowl, and patted his butt as he set to it hungrily. She’d been a little generous with him, and his belly was full and round, and he was always ravenous.

She sat down to sip at her milk, and found a swan on her table, curled into a delicate rose that unfurled when she picked it up.

You're right, was all it said, to start, I need space today. But tomorrow? Meet at great hall for lunch then go out on moors?

"Yes," she said, and the swan flapped its wings and disappeared under the door. She was a little crestfallen that she wouldn't see him today, but as she thought about it, she realized it was a good thing. She needed some time without distractions for serious grading that she had put off all week. As well as thinking about what on earth she wanted to do with this captivating man who wanted her to be his best girl.

She took her breakfast meal in her room, eating light because she did feel a little overfull from yesterday, and grabbed her things and trudged down to the classroom, where she graded furiously until the bell rang.

She took her breakfast meal in her room, eating light because she did feel a little overfull from yesterday, and grabbed her things and trudged down to the classroom, where she graded furiously until the bell rang, and she began teaching her classes for the day.

She could only relax once she'd gone forward and back a few times with the timeturner and completed her full 'day' of teaching (which of course was considerably longer than a day because of zipping around back and forth through time).

It felt, at this point, like it’d been forever since she’d seen Snape, and she almost felt like she was a single woman. She’d never felt this detached from someone when she was starting a relationship with them. With Ron and Viktor, she’d been all over them every second they were in private, and she devoted every waking moment she could to being with them.

But for some reason, this relationship with Snape was already very different in how it felt. She did actually feel lonely. She’d never felt lonely in a relationship before.

But then again, perhaps it was the weather, which was slipping from warm September sunniness to the cooler days of October.

The evening was heavy in the atmosphere, making her feel gloomy, and she decided to nip out to the gardens for a breath of fresh air. The days were only going to get shorter, she reasoned, and the nights were only going to get longer, and she really needed to savor whatever warmth she could find before the castle was plagued by the drafts and freezes of winter.

The gardens were lovely by moonlight. It was a waning moon, precisely fitting her mood. She felt the pain of things slipping away, finally, after many years of internal torture.

She was so glad he was alive, first and foremost. And she was so glad that he seemed to be happy.

It wasn't something she was likely to admit to anyone, much less Snape, but leaving him there in the Shrieking Shack without a shred of decency or courage on her part - it was one of the most shameful things she'd ever not done. And being that she was a girl who lived on the power of regret-for-having-done-something-is-better-than-regretting-having-not-done-something, well, that made it worse.

She sat down in an iron chair and slipped off her shoes; her feet ached with being trod upon all day, and she massaged them gently with her thumb as she edited scroll after scroll of script.

It was strange, how she found herself assigning essay after essay these days, when as a student she'd vowed never to assign an essay in class if *she* were ever the teacher.

Those days, she'd been filled with delusions about making classes some sort of elite symposium, where it was assumed that everyone had, indeed, completed their work, and instead they talked about things on a different kind of level - it wasn't flavored like a remedy for uneducation, but flavored like a fine wine of intelligence and wisdom. Something like that.

But of course when you got down to brass tacks, teaching a room full of kids, even sixth-years and seventh-years, was like herding kneazles, and time after time again she found that assigning the standard essay was her recourse.

It saddened her to see so much important content reduced to a shred of truth, bolstered by assumptions, grandiose generalizations, and limping run-ons, but it was better than not forcing the dunderheads to think about these things at all.

She found herself looking up at the gazebo near her often, and her eyes snagged on shadows until they were assured that there was no man in a cloak concealed there, watching her protectively.

It made her almost laugh aloud to think that Snape, as large and fat as he was now, might conceivably hide in the shadows of a ramshackle gazebo. She knew she would actually see him right away, if he *were* there, but that didn't stop her from looking.

He was, indeed, the sort of person who would get stuck in one's imagination and never leave.

Thank goodness he'd left the domains of her imagination, and the replayed scenes of horror and self-hatred, to manifest so pleasantly here at Hogwarts.

As she thought about him, she felt pangs of jealous heat, despite herself, towards Erika. Hermione knew she had no claim to Snape - none whatsoever - and that he was an adult, and he was perfectly able to choose a person to be his close friend and fuckbuddy without Hermione's intervention.

But Hermione was feeling increasingly like she didn't know him as well as she thought she deserved to - and that was because she didn't know Erika.

It was uncharitable, but she imagined Erika to be some monstrous person who used and disposed of lovers, but dragged them along by playing to their most vulnerable bits.

After all, hadn't Snape said that Erika hadn't seen him shirtless in *years*? If Erika was so shallow that she wouldn't catch on when Snape was struggling with his self-image, what worth did she have, and what kind of claim could she justify towards Snape's heart?

And, thinking about it more: What was it that had made him gain so much weight so fast, Hermione's train of thought continued. What had happened to him?

The only things she could think of were magic-related, and therefore not likely contenders.

It wasn't just aging. Not everyone who got old also got fat, and Snape was so lean for so long, it made no sense that he would just up and balloon up so swiftly.

Her mind teased at her with possibilities, but none of which seemed likely.

In any case, she puzzled over these questions as she mused among the ivy, fading red, and the gentle murmur of the fountain bubbling, and the gloomy shadows of the gazebo, and the increasingly-cold feeling of the iron chair and table.

Eventually she tired and picked up to go back up to her room, but she realized as she got up to go that there *was* a shadow in the gazebo. And this shadow was lighting a cigarette.

"Erm," she said, putting her satchel on her shoulder, "Hello?"

She was surprised to see Neville standing there, scratching out his cigarette hastily on the ground with his boot, as if she were his grandmum who'd caught him.

"'Mione," he said, smiling as much as he could muster. Which wasn't all that much, it looked like.

No, Neville looked the worse for wear. Where Snape had gotten fatter over the past five years, Neville had gotten leaner. He was haggard now, no longer the double-chinned, roly-poly boy of Gryffindor house.

It made Hermione sad, frankly.

"How are you? We haven't talked much since school started," Hermione said, approaching him gently. She considered whether or not to hug him, but he didn't hesitate, and he grabbed her around the shoulders and held her tightly, as if dreading letting go.

"Now, now, I'm not going to float away," she said, patting him between the shoulder blades. He squeezed her tightly again and reluctantly broke away.

"What's happening," he said with a whisper, fingering his cigarette case again, and he looked at Hermione for permission.

"Go ahead," she said, shaking her hand at him, "just don't blow in my face."

"Sorry," he apologized, and lit up with his wand. He inhaled deeply, looking up at the waning moon, and didn't look at her as he exhaled.

"You don't seem well," Hermione said, leaning against one of the gazebo's supportive poles. "You tell me *what's happening.*"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath again, and seemed to visibly relax.

She realized the smell of his smoke was strange, and it took her a moment to recognize it. Neville was smoking marijuana.

"Funny," she said, as he remained silent, "I wouldn't have pegged you to choose wacky backy."

"It's not what it looks like," he said with a whimper that tried to be a growl. He took a deep breath again and leaned against the railing, closing his eyes. "I'm not doing so well, you're right."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, realizing that, indeed, there was something truly wrong.

He looked at her with sad eyes.

"Come on," she said with a whisper, "it can't be that bad."

He nodded. "It is."


She tried to ask him *why hasn't the wizarding world cured this yet,* but the words got stuck in her throat. Fortunately, this gave her a chance to reconsider.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm so, so sorry." She took a deep breath. "What kind?"

Neville grimaced. "Cancer of the lymph."

She looked at him, and their eyes met, and she found herself tearing up.

"I'm so, so sorry," she whispered.

"It is what it is," he said, taking another breath of his joint. "I'll probably survive it. Statistically speaking. They didn't catch it as early as they could have... but no one's to blame for that. Not really," he said, but there was something about his voice that indicated that he did indeed blame someone.

Hermione didn't say anything, and Neville took another few deep breaths.

"They all just thought I was losing weight because I was becoming more healthy or something," he went on, his voice cold. "They all congratulated me on my portion control. Did anyone check my lymph nodes until they were swollen and painful? No. When I went to the healers for chest pain and constant fatigue, they all just told me to drink more water and take vitamin D."

He looked miserable, and slumped more into himself.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered. She felt a variety of emotions - a desire to help, a desire to ease his pain, a desire to find a preventative cure. "How long has this been going on?"

He shrugged. "Since last school year. It's sometimes better, sometimes worse. Mostly worse."

He took a deep breath. "But what can you do. I just ask you don't tell my grandmarm. It's hard enough trying to keep it from McGonagall and the rest."

"Why not tell them?" Hermione exclaimed.

"What, and lose my position, which I just got?” he said, "Risk looking weak and incompetent, yet again? No!

“Moreover,” he added, “it's my own private health matter. I have no desire to be pitied. I've had enough of that for one lifetime." He shook his head, evidentially regretting things in the past.

Hermione saw his pain, and wanted to do something, so she asked, “What can I do to help?"

Neville snorted, which was strange to see. He'd become bitter with his disease.

“Nothing you’d actually do for me,” he said with a hollow laugh. “Nothing that anyone’d do for me, these days.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

Neville looked at her squarely, then, evidentially deciding he could risk telling her, said flatly, “Luna and I broke it off.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, a sad weight sinking into her stomach. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Neville said, and his face started to clearly tear up, and he began to cry. He sank down onto the ground and sat there, curled into a ball, and he sobbed. “I… I just want to be held,” he whimpered, “I want someone to tell me it’ll be all right. I want to be cuddled, and kissed, and held, and sucked off once in a while, and told that I’m not alone. That’s what I want,” he said, choking up on his own words, “and I may as well say it, since I’m being a bloody fool right now, but Hermione, I’ve always carried a torch for you. And if you want me to be completely honest - I want you to care about me, at least a little, and hold me and tell me it will be all right. Because I’d trust it, from you. And maybe I won’t die alone.”

Now none of these feelings were ones that Hermione had ever reciprocated. She’d never thought of Neville more than a friend, though granted she’d occasionally noticed the way his pants were just a trifle too tight, and his belly was hanging pudgily over his belt. But she’d been so consumed with her school-wifery of Ron and Harry that Neville simply hadn’t been observed by her.

She was observing him now. And she was wishing that she wasn’t entering a pseudo-relationship with Snape right this very moment.

“Perhaps it’s just my infatigable do-gooder instincts,” she said softly, kneeling and putting a hand on his shoulder, “but I’d like to be that person, at least do some of those things.”

He was genuinely startled, and his dew-kissed eyes fluttered open. He was weak and fragile, and inspired all sorts of tender feelings in her breast.

Dammit all. This was the same sort of problem she had with Harry and Ron. She couldn’t help but be attracted to any attractive figure that sat in front of her.

Hm. Actually. This was the same sort of problem she had with Harry and Ron - but there was a possible fix.

“So, erm,” Hermione said, “I don’t know what or how much we can do, or how far we can go, since, erm, I’m kinda starting a new relationship right now.”

Neville retreated as self-consciously as a snail. “Oh, then, never mind, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t know. Forgive me.”

“No,” Hermione said, “you misunderstand. This particular relationship, I think, has some… room… for a kind of arrangement that would be satisfying to both yourself and me.”

Neville looked at her quizzically, but he was clearly not impressed.

“I don’t think I want to be part of that,” he said, sadly. “I mean…”

He hesitated, and his tongue passed over his lips. He was clearly weighing the benefits of being with Hermione and not, and it was not an intuitive decision.

“Who,” he said at last, “is this other relationship with? Someone I know?”

“Erm,” Hermione said, and she imagined at once that Neville’s reaction would be volcanic. “I don’t know that I want to talk about the specifics, exactly. I’m not sure what he and I are doing right now. But,” she added, grasping him in both arms and cradling him, “I know that I want to be here for you. Even if it’s a bit late.”

He continued to cry quietly into her shoulder, clearly resonating with the feeling of having let his burden down for the first time in a long while.

It felt so strange, knowing that she had an agreement with Snape and yet here she was, entirely permitted to indulge her desire to comfort Neville in whatever way she chose. Though granted, she realized that she and Snape had far from described exactly what the parameters of their relationship were.

In any case, she’d see him tomorrow, hopefully they’d be able to stave off having sex for long enough to see where their boundaries lay, and then she’d see where Neville fit into all this.

He seemed to cry for an eternity, there in the gardens, but Hermione was compassionate to every tear, and she didn’t feel begrudging one bit.

There was, as it turned out, only one thing that distracted Neville from his physical and emotional pain enough to stop crying - and that was a lovely, deep kiss.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Saturday breakfast was leisurely and wonderful, with scones and jam, but Hermione did not overindulge. She had kept her meals light throughout the past few days, always leaving the table a little hungry.

If Snape liked to watch her eat, then by golly, she would eat.

The sun was running its paces faster and faster through the sky, so when she got into the Great Hall for lunch, the sun was shining through the windows already, and all the students were lazily trickling in from whatever activities they’d been at all morning (including sleeping, she assumed).

Snape was already there, even though she thought she was early herself, and he was staring coldly in the direction of the Slytherin table.

“You all right?” she asked as she approached him, and gently stroked the back of his hand.

He cast her a warning look, and it was all she needed to know she needed to back off.

“I get it,” she said with a nod, and sat down, her eyes drifting in the direction of his own gaze. Two Hufflepuff pranksters, dressed in black from head to toe, including synthetic, unnaturally dark long tresses, were throwing bedpillows at each other over the dining table, the feathers spewing everywhere.

Hermione wasn’t sure immediately what had happened, but she watched as one of them - a 2nd year named Milly - grabbed all the pillows again and - to Hermione’s shock - shoved them up her robes, creating an enormous round belly, complete with rolls. Speaking of - Milly’s compatriot, Roveric, grabbed several sweet pastries from the table and gave them to the other prankster, and Milly smeared her face with them, and took a few enormous bites to fill out her cheeks.

“I’m Professor Serious Snaps,” she said, deadpan, “and I lurk the castle at night because I’m still searching for the lost breakfasts of Christmases past.”

This was met with uproarious hooting and applause, to which the budding actress crowed with delight, “Detention, detention for all of you! Except for Slytherins. You get to crawl up on my belly for the warmth.”

Hermione stood, and cast one look at Snape, who was abject (she could tell now) but still stoic, and she literally leaped over the table - managing to be graceful, not awkward - and approached the Hufflepuff table. The children had never seen her mad before, so they didn’t stop their games.

Well, when she grabbed the ear of the ringleaders and dragged them out of the Great Hall, the rest stopped and stared after them in wonderment and fear.

“Erm, Professor Granger,” chirped Roveric, “we didn’t intend for it to get this out of hand, you see-”

“Enough,” Hermione said, her voice so cold it nearly chilled her teeth, “enough.”

She dragged them out of sight of the Great Hall’s open doors, and let them stand in the corner for a good long minute quivering before she spoke.

“Mildred,” she said, “don’t you have something about your body you’re ashamed of?”

The girl squirmed. “Erm.”

“Spit it out.”

She looked pale, and glanced at Roveric.

Hermione kept her face stern. “You felt like it was all right to embarrass an esteemed Professor - who is also one of the most important people who made the wizarding world safe for you to live today - in front of over a hundred students. I’m sure you can handle sharing in front of just one.”

Roveric giggled nervously, and Hermione just shot him a look that said, &#8216;You’re next.’

Milly blinked, then said, “Erm. Well. I… my cunt don’t look like they do in pictures.”

This made Roveric - poor chap - turn dirigible red.

Hermione sighed. Yet another thing to talk about with McGonagall - sex education. “As long as there aren’t six tentacles poking out of it, you are probably fine, my dear.”

The girl still appeared concerned, and a little embarrassed, but Roveric looked like he was going to die of not breathing.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “But even if there was something wrong with it,” she said, as the girl opened her mouth with an unmistakable &#8216;erm-professor-could-you-take-a-look-at-this-please’ in her eyes, “would you be happy to have it be the talk of the school over Saturday morning lunch, the day of a big game?”

The students both knew they’d been told, and hung their heads in lieu of an answer.

“Roveric,” Hermione went on, “tell us something now.”

The boy mumbled something, without looking up, and Hermione demanded, “speak up!”

“I got pimples,” the boy said, “in my arsecrack.”

Hermione had to summon willpower from one of the nearby suits of armor in order to suppress her laughter.

“And you wouldn’t like that to be shared with other people, either, I take it?” she said firmly.

“No,” he admitted.

“So,” Hermione said, “how do you think someone like Professor Snape might feel about being teased for something that’s not his fault?”

“How is it not his fault?” Roveric exclaimed. “He’s a fucking lardarse.”

“And how do you know it’s not a spell cast by an enemy that made him a &#8216;fucking lardarse,’” Hermione hissed. “How do you know it’s not because he’s sick? How do you know it’s not because his body is just different?”

The children were clearly regretting their activities of the hour.

“I didn’t mean to let it get this far,” Milly said, becoming tearful. “It just happened. I just was trying things on for the game and my friends told me I looked like Professor Snape, and I thought it was funny so I took it downstairs.”

“How embarrassing,” Hermione said with a shake of her bushy head. “Especially to be made a fool of for losing points for your house on the day of a major game. Fifty points from Hufflepuff.”

Both of them looked crestfallen, and began to realize the severity of the situation.

“Moreover,” Hermione went on, “if this incident &#8216;just happened’ to you, I think it’s safe to say that you have no right to be criticizing someone for something that might have &#8216;just happened’ to them,” Hermione said without skipping a beat. “I think you’ll reconsider this course of action if it &#8216;just happens’ in the future.”

“Yes, Professor,” Milly said, sniffling, and Roveric nodded in agreement, looking pained.

“I think,” Hermione said, “that the best way you can apologize is to think of something truly, truly nice to do for the Professor. In fact, I will give back half the points to Hufflepuff if you come up with and act out a suitable idea. Am I understood?”

Their chime, in unison, of “yes Professor Granger,” was music to her ears, and she went back to the Great Hall, where Snape appeared to have relaxed none of his muscles, and he was waiting for her, not having eaten a single bite of his food.

Neville came in just then, and Hermione waved, but she sat down next to Snape. She saw Neville’s eyes flit from Hermione, to Snape, and back to Hermione again, then with a carefully-cultivated ambivalence, the younger professor chose a seat at the opposite end of the table, where he half-heartedly ate a bowl of porridge.

Hermione could only focus on one catastrophe for the moment, however, and she pushed Snape’s plate towards him.

“Eat,” she murmured, “it’s fine now.”

“You took points,” he said, not nodding or gesturing at the house points display. “Quite a few, it seems.”

“I’ll give the points back to them,” Hermione said, “provided they do something for me.”

“Ah,” Snape said, apparently reassured, “so your bleeding heart has not escaped you after all.”

“No indeed,” Hermione said with a grin, “It’s just gotten a bit more sly.”

“I see,” Snape said, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers thoughtfully.

His stomach gurgled pleasantly, and *how* arousing it was for her!

She responded by taking her fork and taking a bite of his spaghetti bolognese. “Hey,” he exclaimed, but gently, watching her face as she spooned the red sauce into her mouth and chewed and swallowed.

“Always looks better on someone else’s plate,” Hermione said with a smile, and got up to get herself a plate of her own.

Upon her return, he’d cleared half of the contents of his own plate, and was dabbing his lips with a napkin in as dainty a manner as possible - as if he could hide the sheer pleasure he’d been having in filling his belly.

“Come now,” Hermione said, and put a second plate next to his. “You’ll be wanting a bit more, so I saved myself the trouble of getting up a second time.”

“Or have you?” Snape asked with a smile, and Hermione was pleased to see that he seemed no longer to be paying attention to the children. A good thing, too, because Milly and Roveric were watching Snape eat with a mixture of concern, disgust, and fear.

Hermione herself gave them a stern warning look that made them retreat hastily into their own lunches, and though they periodically checked back to see if she was still looking, she didn’t disappoint them.

At least her charmwork didn’t disappoint them. For herself, Hermione was unable to tear her eyes from Snape and his nice fat belly, heavying man-breasts, and tickling of a triple-chin.

As he tore his way through a third - then fourth - platter of spaghetti, then finished with two generous slabs of chocolate cake, Hermione was almost unable to keep her hands away from her clit to more decent places. As it was, as she helped grab his napkin from the floor when he dropped it, she went nearly wild to feel his boner creeping underneath his trousers.

Soon they finished lunch and exited the Great Hall, Snape moving slowly with the preponderance of food that had made its temporary home in his stomach.

“How full are you?” she asked as they began to walk outside in the yard towards the apparition point.

“Just full enough that I won’t be hungry until dinner,” Snape said, “and just in case…” He waved his hand, and a basket emerged from where it was invisible, floating behind them.

“How sweet,” Hermione said, in all sincerity, and showed him that she’d also brought provisions in her magic shrinking bag.

“We *will* be feasting up there, won’t we?” he said with a lopsided smile that was entirely too adorable, and Hermione added, “and other things, I hope.”

“Quite,” he said, almost jovial, and soon they reached the apparition point.

“Take my hands,” he said commandingly, and she obeyed without question. “Let me lead,” he said, and she closed her eyes, allowing him to will them where he wanted to go.

With a few moments, they arrived on a beautiful hillcrest.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
Chapter 17

Chapter Text

They landed in the middle of a beautiful hill with patches of dying heather scattered all around. Hermione reflexively gathered her arms around her to insulate herself from the brisk, bog-scented breeze that came from over the moor, and Snape noticed before she did herself, and cast a warming spell over her. He himself was wearing a heavy coat that settled well over his large body. Not saying anything, he strode forward, putting on his long komodo-hide gloves, and started skinning the dried yarrow flowers from their stalks.

She hadn't known he was serious about this being an actual gathering trip, so for a moment she floundered - she had worn good walking shoes and a warm wool sweater, but she hadn't brought anything to take clippings or collect them.

Snape seemed to have anticipated this, however, and as she caught his eye, he nodded towards the basket that had followed them.

"I wasn't sure if you would remember to bring the necessary things," he said, grunting as he bent over, "so I took the liberty of bringing extras."

"Thanks," Hermione said, going to the basket and opening it.

She tried not to look too closely at the food that jammed the basket to its brim, so that it'd be a surprise when they got it out. She saw another pair of heavy gloves and retrieved them, as well as a pair of iron clippers, and several mesh bags of varying fineness.

She grabbed one of the more fine ones and put on the gloves, then joined Snape in his exercise.

He seemed to be enjoying his exertions, she noticed as she set herself up to work alongside him. His hands grasped the stems firmly, without breaking them, and if it was a single stem without any extensions, he'd cup his hand around the stem and slide it upwards with a swift and practiced motion that resulted in virtually no breakage, and almost no loss of the tiny frail drying flowers.

Hermione tried to emulate him, and initially lost a great deal, the flowers and their pollen floating in the afternoon air like powdered sugar.

"Faster," he said, "you have to be like a viper. And be on the watch for poison hemlock," he added, "it looks similar, and sometimes the most frail and delicate of flowers is the most deadly."

"You don't need to warn me about that," snapped Hermione, "I've taken first-year potions."

He didn't respond, instead just snapping a final cluster of flowers and moving to another part of the patch.

They worked in this way for a time, until Snape decided they'd filled enough bags with flowers, and he sealed them with an antileakage charm and got out trowels.

"Roots," he said by explanation, "It's a bit of work, but it's a galleon per pound."

"Oh," Hermione said, and realized that, of course, he wasn't just picking all this just for his own potions. As she looked at the bags they'd collected - about two dozen at this point - it was painfully obvious that it was more than a single potions-master, even one completing research, might need.

"What," he asked, studying her face as she obediently picked up a trowel and knelt on the ground, "are you disappointed that I should be so mercenary?"

Hermione began to excavate a root from a plant she had already picked flowers from. "If I were less of a pragmatist," she said slowly, "I'd say that it was inappropriate to pick things to sell on a date."

He looked stricken, and stopped scraping at the ground to look at her attentively. He seemed a little confused, but as she was getting to read him better, she could tell he was mostly scared.

"However," she said, continuing with the task of shoveling before her, "I am more of a pragmatist than most girls, so as long as I get a cut, it's fine with me."

"Oh, of course," he said, visibly relaxing. "Except that it's not for personal gain. This is purely to supplement my meager research fund."

"Really?" Hermione said, taken aback. "You mean to say that you're struggling for funding? After all you've done for this country?"

He shrugged, and went on digging. "McGonagall gives me an annual research stipend in lieu of a full salary. Since I'm not teaching, she doesn't feel like I deserve a substantial income separate from my research goals, especially since I am not paying for the research facilities-"

"-you mean the dungeons," Hermione interrupted with a grimace.

"I get a certain amount that I am permitted to use for personal matters, and a certain number of quid in a pension fund," he continued, and moaned in pleasure as he successfully unearthed a large nebulous root network. "And I in fact earn more than I did as a teacher and as head of house. But there is the expectation that since my cost of living is so low, the money I receive is supposed to cover all of the work that I do. I can't get another penny out of her. Which is ridiculous," he went on, bagging the root system and inching carefully towards the next bulging recipient of his attention, "given that the cost of my materials for a semester can potentially be more than my earnings."

"I can't believe it," Hermione said with a frown. "How do you make up the difference?"

He shrugged. "Grants, mostly. But the problem with those is that I have to squeeze my goals into their parameters. Sometimes this means I massage the goals of my research - which is not ethical of course, particularly since I am expected to get certain results - but more often I massage my project's boundaries. My research, indeed, is just as bloated and overextended as other things about me," he said, sending her a firey glance that betrayed how shallowly beneath the surface his lust lurked.

Hermione took this as a cue, and carefully removed her gloves by turning them inside-out, attentively not getting the outside surface of the gloves on her hands. As Snape turned back to digging - well, more like stabbing at the soft dirt around the base of the root with his trowel - Hermione moved behind him and gently snaked her hands underneath his coat and settled them on either side of his paunch, which seemed to struggle to be comfortable as Snape knelt in the dirt.

"I like these other things about you," Hermione said with a shiver, pressing her lips against his neck, letting her hands snuggle in the folds of his lovehandles, her fingers draping over the curve of his belly and patting it gently, stroking it.

"Also," she went on, as Snape leaned back, uncurled his legs, and sat back on his arse, heaving deeper and deeper breaths as he gave up on this particular root for the moment. "I'm impressed by your taste. I never really noticed how much care you put in dressing. When I was a student, it was all black, black, black to me. But now I notice that you seem to choose the softest, most lovely fabrics. It's nice."

"Blame Lucius Malfoy for that," Snape said with a groan, "there was a day in fifth year where I was... embarrassed by my clothing, and Malfoy decided that it reflected badly on the whole house for me to be dressed so poorly, so he made a point of taking me shopping, in exchange for writing some essays for him or some nonsense." He sighed. "He was so in the closet, it was ridiculous. I'm certain he enjoyed that shopping trip much more than I did, even child of poverty that I was."

"So ever since, you were addicted," Hermione said, letting her hands relish the feel of his silk shirt and the soft, tender, juicy man inside it.

"No, not addicted," Snape corrected, as he took off his gloves from the inside-out as well, "it... mostly was for self-protection."

He leaned back into her slightly, and grasped her hands, guiding them closer to the front of his belly, and gently rubbing them against him.

"Once I realized that people based their impressions of you so heavily on your clothes," he went on, "I saw a reason and a way to take charge of how people saw me. And once I realized that Malfoy was an easy mark when it came to dressing up young men," he said with a smirk, "I... well, I won't say exploited that, but I took advantage of it as needed until I couldn't any more. And at this point," he said, unwinding her from his body and turning around to face her, "I am able to take care of myself, as it were."

"No more dressing up for Lucius Malfoy," Hermione said, pressing more kisses into his neck, and his breathing began to get more shallow. "Did you ever do anything else for Lucius Malfoy?"

"Oh, just the typical tit-for-tat," Snape said, clearly not interested in going into more detail, but he added, dismissively, "I sucked his dick in broom closets, let him fuck me in the ass whenever he liked, that sort of thing."

She looked at him, somewhat horrified at his blase attitude.

"It's not as if that wasn't the norm back then," he said, with a detached coolness that frightened her. He nestled his face into her neck as she held him, and he had one hand on his belly, one hand on her thigh. It was an awkward but strangely adorable position. "The purebloods of their parents' generation were *so* fucked up. There was an explicit belief that purity reigned above all, and that fucking boys didn't count as impure because of bullshit reasons, and they remained virgins if they avoided contact with women until marriage. As most of them insisted, Malfoy talked big about his love of the fairer sex, but unlike most of them, I could tell he actually *enjoyed* seeing me naked."

Hermione let her hands drift down, and she pulled him close into a hug, not sure how she felt about all this self-disclosure.

"Are you all right?" he asked, pulling away just enough to look at her face.

"Fine," she said, her tongue feeling heavy. "It's just hard envisioning you as a bottom."

"I didn't think of it that way," he said, putting his face back where it had been, which was nice because his plump face against her clavicle was warm and comforting. “I didn’t feel taken advantage of. I only bottomed for Malfoy, and I definitely felt like I was getting the better half of the deal.”

“All for a bunch of clothes,” Hermione said with a frown. She didn’t like to judge, but in this particular case, she felt justified.

“Well,” Snape said, “there was that, but there was also protection. No one in Slytherin bothered me anymore about my blood status, which was nice.”

This changed how Hermione felt about the situation immediately. “Oh. I see.”

“Yeah,” he went on, almost wistfully, then said, “but enough about that. We’ve still got much of our task ahead of us.”

He eased himself out of her hold and went back on his knees to continue digging, casting a glance back at her as he did so, as if unsure what she was thinking of him - and as if he was concerned about it.

She stood and tapped the trowel, transfiguring it into a spade, and she leaned into it.

“Be careful,” he warned as the metal sank into the earth, “you don’t want to destroy the roots. They’re very thin and small.”

“I’ll just loosen up the soil around the edges, and you get it out with the trowel when you’re ready,” Hermione said.

She pressed it into the earth and felt it sink into the soil, and it stopped when it hit a root, and she carefully wiggled it until she was digging around the root. Once she’d found the bottom of the root base, she used the spade as a lever to raise the plant out of the ground.

Snape watched with concern and interest, and ultimately begrudging approval.

“That fine?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Just don’t cut up the roots too badly,” he said, and moved to unearth the rest of the one she’d been working on gently. His work was painstaking, like an archaeologist brushing away soil from a priceless painting.

She watched him with fascination at the way he leaned forward, his belly sagging against his plump thighs, his man-breasts hanging heavily, his bottom lip tucked under as he focused on the careful procedure. She realized she’d never seen him truly at work, ever, after years of knowing each other, and it was refreshing to see him in a position where he was in his element so absolutely.

It occurred to her that she’d also never really seen him *happy* before, and that saddened her.

“Kiss me,” she said as he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his glove.

“With pleasure,” he growled, and their lips met.

He tasted salty, and bitter. Not minty-fresh, but still pleasant. She pulled away an inch or two to look into his eyes.

“Your lips are so fucking soft,” she whispered, and licked them tenderly, her tongue convincing its way into his mouth again, and he made small protesting noises, though smiling.

“We’ve got to finish,” he said, though it was clear he was saying this just for the sake of being responsible.

“Screw responsibility,” Hermione said with a flirtatious sweep of her hair. “Screw me instead.”

He looked at the roots in his hands, then without preamble he dropped them and again unrolled his gloves.

“I can’t say no to that,” he said with a glittering smile, and he stood up awkwardly. “Get the blanket.”

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice, and in a split second the blanket was laid out on the dry, slightly damp grass.

Snape’s belt buckle clinked as he whipped it off, and Hermione noticed he had extended his trousers today, or worn a looser pair - there were no harsh red lines telling the tale of the struggle between his garments and his body today.

She lay down on the blanket and drew up her modest, long dress to reveal that she was wearing no underwear.

“Oh,” Snape said softly, easing himself onto the blanket, “you’d like me to do something about that?”

“Not yet,” Hermione said with a whimper, “kiss me more.”

He responded positively to this command, and lay down next to her, slipping his arms out of his coat and laying it across them both.

Then Hermione began licking him, all over his face - the high parts of his cheekbones, from which his fat cheeks drooped so elegantly; his nice round chins; his taut upper lip; his earlobes; his neck.

In response, he lay there perfectly still, his eyes closed and his face taut with a growing smile. His hands began to wander around her body, feeling her squishy parts and her firm parts with equal attention, and he stroked her lower and lower until, finally, the inevitable - they dodged under her hem and began to play with her clit, stroking her as gently and lovingly as a musician might a mandolin, bringing her closer and closer.

Hermione’s breathing quickened, and she smelled the scents of the dry hillside: rain on the horizon, leaves aging into temperate reds and yellows, mildewy lichen, and the heavy scent of peat. All this served as a backdrop for Snape’s smells - clean laundry, sweat, yarrow sap, and post-lunch breath.

Snape was laying his head on her stomach, and he turned to look into her eyes searchingly. He was somber, but focused, and all of a sudden a flash of impishness came on his face, and he dove down to lick and suck at her lower regions.

She hadn’t felt so spoiled in a long time. Viktor had been this interested in pleasing her, but Ron had never been - cunninlingus had been a chore for him. Now of course she knew why, but at the time she had forgot that some men *liked* to lick pussy. And it was lovely to see that Snape wasted no time working on this goal.

Fat Molly

hufflepuff hobbit
Aug 3, 2010
, female by default
“Enough,” she finally whimpered, wet and overwhelmed by desire, her cunt aching, “get inside me.”

He eased himself into a missionary position, and arranged his belly so that he had unobstructed access; it landed on her pubic area and sent a wave of stimulation through that area, so pleasurable that she nearly fainted at the feeling of his fat belly there.

He cast the normal protective, anti-pregnancy charms and went fully into her, thrusting in beautiful agony, and Hermione writhed under him, completely satisfied with being stuck underneath his enormous stomach. She felt it dig into her over and over again, heavy in its pressure, and she felt moans of pleasure ease out of her body despite herself.

“Oh yes,” she breathed as he hungrily consumed her, “please, please, yes.”

Her cervix was tight and tingling, full of the blissful experience of being filled with a cock of perfect fit. It was a relief after years of pretending that Ron’s rod-like cock, so narrow and long, satisfied her.

In and out he went, every moment breathing hard with the exertion.

She noticed that he sweated a lot, at least today, and it was almost enough to make her laugh out loud as she felt drop after drop land on her creamy skin. She loved feeling him inside her. He was so virile and soft and luxurious. There was nothing, nothing, she felt, that could make her more happy than fucking him right now.

He had a lot more endurance today, and she herself was almost fatigued by the time he finally came inside her and collapsed, heavy and unbearably delightful on top of her, protecting her from the wind like an enormous warm bear. He kissed her over and over, and she smiled and kissed him back.

“That was beautiful,” she said, and kissed him, her arms around his soft torso.

“You’re beautiful,” he said after a pause, as if he’d debated in his mind whether or not he was willing to be that corny.

She laughed and kissed him again, her mind awash with pleasant feelings.

They lay there a few minutes, resting, breathing deeply of the clean air, listening to the rustling of the dry grass in the wind, the soft rumbling of a nearby unseen brook, and each others’ breathing.

As she embraced that clarity, she remembered that she’d forgotten to tell him about Neville, and she felt a lump form in her stomach.

She sat up and pulled her dress down, but wrapped the coat around her as much as she could.

“Hey,” he said, lazily, “I’m the one without trousers.”

“Look,” she said, pointing. Her eyes trained on a motion in the distance, in the underbrush. “That’s not a sheep. There’s no domestic animals around here.”

He sat up, reaching for his trousers. “Where?”

She stared at the animal, and as it moved, she saw its profile, and she could tell what it was. “There. It’s a doe, it looks like. With a fawn.”

The graceful creature trotted through the heather, and disappeared out of sight as it headed in the shadow of their hill.

“I saw,” Snape said sadly, and sighed deeply. He lay back down again and stared blankly at the sky.

It took her a moment to realize why this might be triggering for him, but a conversation with Harry had given her knowledge that Snape’s patronus was a doe, same as Harry’s mum’s.

She bent her head. “Sorry,” she said, “so sorry.”

“Whatever,” he said, throatily, “I’ve got to grow up sometime. Can’t fucking go on like this forever.”

She raised her head to look at him, and he caught her eye, and in response he covered his face with his hair. He wasn’t fast enough to prevent her from noticing that he’d already gotten teary-eyed.

*Fuck* Hermione thought.

“You take your time growing up,” she said, “I’m still getting to know you, and eventually I won’t run ramshod accidentally over your sore spots.”

“No,” he said, “instead…”

But he seemed to reconsider his words, and swallowed them.

“Instead what?” she asked, laying down next to him, putting a hand on his thigh, and staring at the sky alongside him.

“ temper was going to make me say something unkind,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m choosing not to.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, though she felt uncomfortable. This was yet another time that Snape had gone from utterly blissful to tearful in a matter of moments, and it was concerning. However, she wasn’t about to say anything about it now, so she filed it away for later. She felt bad for even filing it away, particularly as his hand sought out her own, and she grasped it.

*Poor broken man,* she thought, *you’ve had it rough enough without me trying to decide that you’re too broken for me to love before I’ve given you a chance.*

She stroked him comfortingly, and she noticed his breathing become regular and slow, not strained and shallow. Sitting up, she took a good look at his face, and she decided he had fallen at least partially asleep.

Deciding she had better get back to work, she went back to gather more yarrow roots.

He awoke a mere quarter hour later, and appeared recomposed. “Good,” he said, kissing her on the cheek as she finished bagging a fifth bag of roots, “we’ve got another few bags to go, then we’ll call it a day, does that sound all right to you?”

“What about other plants?” Hermione asked, “there’s poison hemlock around here, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Snape said, “though we can’t pick anything else once we’ve gathered it, at least not without cleansing our gloves and shears.”

“Well, let’s make that our last effort for the day,” Hermione said, “It’s useful, and certainly brings more per bag than this silly yarrow.”

“True,” Snape said with a sly smile. “I still feel that you’re an awfully strange Gryffindor.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she replied evasively, and heaved up another root system for him to excavate.

They spent another hour on these tasks, until finally Snape sat back on the blanket, grabbing a canteen of water and sipping from it. “I’m not ready to continue until I’ve had a bit of something. Will you join me?”

“Of course,” she said with a purr, peeling off her gloves.

He got out two mugs and immediately filled them with sweet spiced cider, setting the bottle with a charm to automatically refill them when needed, and Hermione laid out an assortment of cheese and butter, and pressed them onto slices of fresh rye bread.

As Snape chewed his second slice, Hermione felt like she’d waited too long to mention Neville.

“So, what exactly are our parameters for our relationship, given that it seems we are starting one?” she said, leaning back and sipping her cider.

“I thought it was unclear whether or not we were starting something,” Snape replied casually, but based on the attentive look in his eyes, this was an affected casualness.

“I guess so,” Hermione said, and sighed. “So let’s make it explicit, then.”

“This suits me,” he said dryly, but he was smiling gently.

“So given that we are doing a relationship, of sorts,” Hermione said, “the qualities of it are yet to be defined. You said you really don’t want me pursuing casual relationships with others. Am I correct about this impression?”

Snape shrugged, not appearing concerned. “Who do you have your eye on?” The look in his eyes seemed to assume that there wasn’t anyone interesting in the sphere of Hogwarts, so he wasn’t worried.

“Erm,” Hermione said, then took a deep breath. “I have to confess - last night, I kissed Neville Longbottom.”

Snape literally dropped the slice of bread from his hand.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said, “he’s not any sort of competition for you, especially not in the important ways like physical attraction and whatnot. I just… erm…”

Snape seemed to be in a frenzy of internal calculations, given his eyes were glued to the ground, and his lips moved ever so slightly.

“Can you listen to me, please?” Hermione said, and he snapped to attention.

“Yes,” he said, clearly biting his tongue.

“Neville’s ill,” Hermione said, “in fact, there’s a chance he’s going to die. He’s incredibly lonely. And don’t you *dare* tell anyone else on staff that he’s sick,” she added, “he’s terrified of losing his position.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Gryffindors.”

Hermione conceded that it wasn’t likely that Neville would be dismissed for being ill, so she didn’t argue.

“Anyway,” she said, “perhaps it isn’t the best timing-”

“-that’s bloody accurate,” Snape hissed, but he picked up his bread finally from the blanket and stuffed the rest in his mouth.

Taking this as a good sign, Hermione went on, “Point is, Neville is lonely for physical touch and companionship. You don’t want to see me all the time, and I get lonely when you don’t want to see me, so I figure it might work.”

“Would you want to fuck him?” asked Snape, barely keeping civil.

She knew she couldn’t get away with half-truths with Snape at this point.

“I dunno,” Hermione said, “maybe? However,” she said, “he’s just not attractive to me. His cancer has done away with all his soft parts.”

Snape seemed vaguely reassured, though not completely. Hermione realized that part of his fear must have been related to Neville’s gangly body. *He doesn’t believe that I genuinely prefer bigger folks,* Hermione realized, and once she understood this, it made Snape’s entire reaction more understandable.

She went on, “I’d be happy to cuddle with him and try and cajole him into putting some meat back on his bones. And who knows what might happen,” Hermione went on, “Maybe I’d even touch him, and maybe I’d let him touch me, too. But he’s not the person on campus that drives me wild with desire,” she said, gently touching his tense arm. “He’s not the one that excites me.”

“How much of this is bullshit, Hermione?” he asked carefully, and she could tell he was testing her.

“None of it,” she said firmly, looking into his eyes. “I erred by kissing him without talking to you about it first. I feel guilty about that, just in case you see that feeling in my face. But I don’t have an interest in him aside from a friends-with-benefits sort of situation.”

“And why is that?” Snape asked crisply.

Hermione let her hand wind into his own. “Fundamentally, he doesn’t have the same level of intellectual engagement that I need.”

They studied each other for a while, and then Snape took a deep breath and laughed.

“If I am deceived now,” he said, “then shame on me.”

“I’m not deceiving you,” she said. “I’m not good at deceit.”

“No, I suppose not,” he said, with a strained smile. “All right. Have your thing with Longbottom. I certainly can’t tell you not to.”

“Thanks for your blessing,” Hermione said, “but what else are you thinking about? There’s something you’re not saying.”

Snape shrugged. “I’m mostly embarrassed that I felt threatened at all. By *Longbottom* of all people.”

“He’s got good qualities,” Hermione said in Neville’s defense, “just not the kind of qualities I need for someone of more primary importance in my life.”

“Have I already risen so high in your estimations?” Snape asked with a sharp laugh.

“Yes!” Hermione said. “How can you doubt that?”

He shook his head and hid his face. “Instead of saying something vicious, I’m going to take what you’re saying at face value. Now Hermione,” he said with a grimace, “I’m hungry, which makes my mood more unpleasant. You should feed me and prove me that you’re *really* into fat men.”

“Not only am I *really* into fat men,” Hermione said with a shiver, “I’m into *really fat* men.”

“Then let’s set about making me fatter.”

He reclined back on the blanket and laid a hand on his stomach provocatively.

“No matter how fat Longbottom gets under your healing custody,” he said, “I fully intend to be exponentially fatter.”

Hermione shivered and leaned in to kiss him. “Thanks for keeping your darker parts in check for me,” she said. “I’m sure it’s difficult.”

“Difficult as fuck,” he said, “especially when I’m hungry. Feed me, witch.”

“Okay, you don’t need to ask twice,” Hermione said with a laugh, and she went back to the basket.


Note: I forget which year Malfoy canonically graduated, I think it was actually like five years before Severus’ graduation. But whatever, in this story he’s a 7th year when Severus is a 5th year.

Also: if you want to see what I’m seeing in my head as far as the moors go, google “Loch Ness, Glencoe and Scottish Highlands Day Tour from Glasgow” (with quotes) and on the first hit, look at the picture with a rock in the foreground. The yarrow plants aren’t there, but otherwise it’s a good visual image. Also yes, I did research on plants of the region. ;) Some combination of that and the picture that comes up when you google “South from Holcombe Moor, Greater Manchester, England” (with quotes).


Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008
Quite an opus - well written.

You definitely know your Harry Potter and do a good job at weaving in recognizable and believable elements of the story.

Also - I can really relate to your penchant for Snape; I always found him much more intriguing than all the do-gooders myself.

I must confess though, that I have pretty general doubts about fan fiction or adaptions on very well known characters or stories.

Latest posts