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

Discussion in 'Fantasy/Science Fiction Archive' started by Fat Molly, Aug 25, 2014.

  1. Aug 26, 2014 #21

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    The sun came out for the third or fourth time that afternoon, casting the moor in a golden light, making Snape’s perfect - *perfect* - dark hair glisten.

    She grabbed the plate of cheese and bread and lay down next to him, and he readjusted himself so that they were both looking at one another, and he rested one hand on his belly and propped up his head with his other arm folded beneath his neck.

    Without a word, she broke the rind off the hearty bread, smothered it in the cool, creamy butter from the basket, and offered it to his lips. They opened hungrily, and stole it from her fingers, licking the butter off her fingertips to follow.

    “More,” he implored, moving closer to her on the blanket, inching his body sideways like a large fat seal on the beach.

    “You’re so round,” she said admiringly, and she folded the entire rest of the slice of buttered bread in her hand over twice, and then squished it together until it formed a ball, and then she dipped it in the butter again and put it in his hungry mouth. “It looks like we’ve got a lot in this wonderful basket of yours, so I hope you also brought your appetite.”

    “When do I ever forget it?” he said with a low, delicious growl, and suddenly his lips were sucking the place where her second chin was forming so subtly.

    “I… I like that,” she whimpered, “but here.”

    She pushed another ball of smooshed bread into his mouth, and he chewed thoughtfully, sighing and moaning as he tasted the creamy butter in the center, and he lay back again.

    “Don’t you dare stop,” he said, laying on his back, folding his arms behind his head.

    “You’re just the biggest fucking fat cat in the universe,” she observed lowly, pushing another ball of bread into his mouth. He chewed happily on it, and as soon as he swallowed she put another one into his mouth. She found herself making balls of bread with one hand while stuffing them in his face with the other, and oh, she could practically see his belly expandiing.

    The whole loaf of bread was running low soon, however, and Snape’s eyes were attentive and alert to this fact. Hermione pretended she didn’t notice, never stopping her feeding of him, and just when she stuffed the last ball of bread in his mouth, he began to say something, but she shut him up with a kiss and grabbed her next choice of food from the basket - a large jar of creamy white mozzerella balls with basil and tomato.

    And with a deft twist, the jar lid was off, and she let her fingers sneak into the sixteen-ounce jar and grab a fistful of the cool, sweet-smelling cheese, and she popped one into his mouth without breaking her pace.

    “Mmmm,” he whimpered as she successfully stuffed a ball of cheese into his mouth the very moment he swallowed the last of the bread, “you do know how to please a man.”

    He was so cute, chewing the cheese in the back of his mouth so he could speak (if garbledly), and his entire cheek puffed out, full and stuffed.

    “I try,” Hermione said, then stuffed another two balls in his mouth as soon as he could swallow the last one, and to her delight he stuffed those in either cheek and chewed them both at once.

    “I like you with your mouth full,” she purred, kissing him on either cheek, and rubbing the great expanse of his belly. It wobbled, flabby and growing, and it aroused her beyond words.

    He swallowed again and opened his mouth wide, and she repated the process, and he chewed both balls salaciously.

    She realized it took him quite a bit longer to chew two at once, however, so she settled back to stuffing him bite by bite once he swallowed those.

    Soon the cheeses were gone, and Hermione was looking in her own expandable bag for vittles.

    “Just want to get rid of all the perishables,” she said with a smile as Snape looked at her expectantly, hunger in his eyes despite having eaten so much already. What she brought out of it made him shiver with anticipation visibly, his entire jellylike abdomen jiggling as she showed him what she’d brought.

    “I’m going to be so fat,” he groaned, opening his mouth, “So very, very fat.”

    “And you’re going to like it,” cooed Hermione. She’d stolen an entire cake from the Great Hall, and it was one of the most desireable ones, by her estimation. Sweet molten white chocolate frosting topped the thick, fatty, breadlike pound cake, and it was truly enormous, nearly as big as Snape’s gut. It was big enough to feed an entire house.

    “How on earth are you going to get that thing into me?” he mumbled, as she got a fork from the basket.

    “Bit by bit, my darling,” she whispered, “how else can you eat an elephant?”

    He looked at her quizzically, and she replied, “oh, a Muggle saying.”

    “Someday,” he said with a seductive grin, “I’d like to eat an entire elephant. A nice fat one.”

    “You can only prepare for that beautiful day by eating every single bite of this cake,” Hermione said, her tongue passing over her lips. She licked some of the scrumptious buttercream icing. “Except for that bit, I guess.”

    He grabbed his belly from underneath, squeezing his fat through his dark button-down shirt, and he opened his mouth with a moan of hunger.

    She didn’t need him to ask, and she stuffed an enormous chunk of the cake into his face. The landing wasn’t clean, since she’d overestimated the size of his mouth, and his face was covered with buttercream, but he sucked it down obediently, swallowing and chewing bit by bit until his mouth was empty again, and he licked his lips.

    “More,” he demanded, and she obeyed, despite the fact that she really wanted to lick the extra buttercream off of his adorable chubby face. He looked like such a glutton, she loved it.

    But she herself was getting hungry, and so she tore off part of the cake for him and stuffed it in his mouth, but she also stuffed another part in her mouth.

    He immediately sucked down what she’d put in his mouth, and he murmured “Oh god,” his eyes transfixed on her. “Again.”

    She responded positively, and took another nice big handful of cake and shoved it down her gullet, same with Snape, and he was rubbing his belly more and more determinedly.

    “Starting to feel it,” he said with a low rumble, rolling back and forth in an effort to get more comfortable, “but don’t stop. Let’s see how much I can take. Fill me to capacity.”

    So she proceeded with this goal in mind. She put slice after slice of cake in his mouth, and he swallowed and burped and stuck out his tongue, and huffed and took deep, painful breaths, and then opened his mouth for more.

    Oh yes, his face was starting to get red, and he was starting to sweat with the effort of chewing and swallowing, and Hermione kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing him to accept bite after bite.

    But eventually he wasn’t able to any more, and shook his head, lips closed, and he looked about ready to be sick.

    “You look about done,” Hermione said, and began to gently rub his overstuffed tummy.

    He groaned with pleasure and pain, but kept his lips tightly pressed together.

    “You need to rest for a bit,” Hermione said, stroking him fondly. “You just rest. You definitely outdid yourself this afternoon.”

    He nodded ever so slightly, and his entire stomach rose and fell as he burped a little, making a little bit of room.

    “Good digestion you’ve got,” she said with a smile, stroking the lower, intestinal part of his belly. “I wonder if there are potions that might help to speed it up?”

    He didn’t respond, but rolled his eyes.

    “Oh,” she murmured, “I guess that was a dumb question. Of course there are potions.”

    He swallowed and rasped, a snail-like smile spreading across his face, “Don’t you think I’m doing enough damage on my own without potions?”

    “Oh, erm,” Hermione said, chewing her lip, “if you don’t want to try them, then by all means, forget I said anything.”

    He just gazed at her with blissfully sated eyes, and ever so gently rubbed his belly, careful not to slosh it.

    “Maybe,” he said, lowly, “I’d like to try sometime.”

    Hermione gently laid down next to him, both hands gently massaging his gut, and he moaned and shivered with pleasure. Her hands, as they traveled, ran over the line where his trousers cut across his belly, and with a gentle hand, she tucked her hand up his shirt and pulled them down, and undid the belt and buttons. While they’d been perfectly-fitting at the beginning of this afternoon, by now they were just hanging together for dear life.

    “Oh god,” Snape moaned with pleasure, “oh god.”

    Hermione’s hands wandered a little bit lower, and found Snape’s hard cock.

    “You want me to fuck you?” she asked kindly, pulling his pants down and her skirt up.

    He just nodded, completely relinquishing control of the situation to her.

    She cast the regular spells and eased herself down onto his cock. It was harder than she’d ever felt it before, and it nearly felt fit to burst itself. His veins were clearly visible in the autumn sun, and his cock was as pink as a rose.
    Looking up at him, she admired the way his belly towered over the rest of his body. He looked truly like a beached whale, too fat to get up or even move, but desperately hungry to be pleasured.

    And pleasure him she would.

    She peeled apart her labia, drew the clitoral hood, and made sure that her clit rubbed against Snape’s nice fat pubic area, where it was stimulated by the hot, jiggling flesh unlike anything else.

    Then she started thrusting, relishing the control she had over the way his cock felt in her body, able to get exactly the right angle at any given moment.

    Snape moaned and moaned. Having come just over an hour before, however, he was not ripe to come again for some time, which Hermione savored.

    She was quite unexercised in having sex on top, given she mostly pleasured herself lying flat on her back, so it was hard to maintain the stamina, particularly how heavy she was. She thought back briefly to how it’d felt last time she’d been on top, with Ron.

    Granted, Ron generally liked her to ride him the opposite way, not facing him. She’d been dismayed because she couldn’t see his belly (which was washboardlike and insubstantial, except after Christmas when it was a little more soft than usual). He’d prefered to see only her ass, it seemed like.

    So she was worn down very quickly and had to take multiple breaks. She stimulated her clit with her fingers as she paused for breath.

    Finally, Snape growled and patted her on the arse.

    “You’re too fat and lazy to ride me,” he said, rolling over gently, “I don’t mind. In fact, I like it. Get those untoned thighs over here,” he said, gesturing for her to stand over him.

    She did, and took off her dres entirely, and lowered herself down until he could lick her cunt, and she could rest her head on his belly. She supported herself on her hands, and her feet both made their own nests in the dirt, but ultimately she was the one supporting herself.

    And oh, Snape knew how to use his tongue on more than just food. He licked up and down her genital area, seducing her clit with his soft warm wet tongue, so thorough and precise in his movements, sucking and needling her most sensitive spots with the finesse of a Renaissance painter sculpting a beautiful Grecian goddess.

    And Hermione felt her cervix tense up with pleasure, knotting up and releasing gloriously, and she cried out aloud, not heard by anyone other than the drying flowers, the rippling brook, and her lover.

    She collapsed on her side on the blanket, exhausted and still exquisitely pleasured.

    Snape licked his lips, savoring the taste of her juices, and smiled at her. There was an uncommonly beautiful look in his eyes.

    Hermione took many deep, deep breaths, but wasn’t able to say much of anything. She just touched his belly, which was heaving with every breath he took, and she poked him gently. The fat of his belly rippled, making him moan.

    “God,” he whimpered, “suck me?”

    Hermione nodded, and began to ease herself up.

    But he raised his hand as she propped herself up and prepared to rise.

    “Wait,” he bid, and gestured for her to scoot closer to him. When she did, he grabbed of of her lovehandles and kneaded it.

    “You’re getting so fat,” he said with a hushed voice. “All that cake going to your flabby gut. How long will it take for people to notice, do you think?”

    “People have already begun to notice,” Hermione said, smiling. “Ron was commenting on it last week.”

    “Yes,” Snape said, with a hiss. “If a Weasley can notice, then it’s definitely not gone unmarked by others in the school. How long will it be, do you think,” he added with a chuckle, “before McGonagall institutes a mandatory physical exercise requirement for all students and staff?”

    “With my gut growing the way it is,” Hermione responded sweetly, “I’d say no later than New Year’s.”

    “Yes,” he replied, and gingerly turned himself over so that his belly was no longer facing up, but he was lying on the side. He grabbed her with both hands and started kneading her belly more vigorously. “It’s so flabby,” he said, affectionately, “like dough. So soft. So beautiful.”

    He reached down and started stimulating his cock, and Hermione had the idea of changing positions so that she was sitting up, and her belly was trapping and stimulating Snape’s cock.

    It didn’t quite work, since Hermione didn’t really have any drooping overhang to speak of, and therefore very little flexibility in her belly fat, but she did have boobs, so she turned and put them on either side of his cock and let him fuck them.

    He ejaculated quickly all over her breasts, and rolled back onto his back.

    “God,” he murmured, “I haven’t had this much fun, ever.”

    Hermione wiped herself off with the corner of the blanket and lay down next to him again. “I’m still hungry,” she said, and lay down like he did on the blanket, hands folded behind her head. “My turn to be fed.”

    “Oh god damn,” he said, sitting up slowly, one hand resting on his enormous and over-stuffed belly. “I’m going to have to wank myself again just looking at you eat.”

    “What’s taking so long?” she responded coolly, and he shook his head as he stabbed one of the last slices of cake with a fork, and lowered it to her gaping mouth.

    “Who’s going to get so very fat?” he said, as she moaned with pleasure into the cake. “You are. You’re going to get so fat and round, you won’t be able to move.” He fed her bite after bite, until the remainder of the cake was gone.

    “What else have we got?” he asked, as he opened her endless bag, one hand resting warmly on Hermione’s belly. She shuddered with pleasure as his fingers moved slightly as he adjusted his body into a more comfortable position.

    “Oh. Yes. This should do nicely.” He opened a box of Bertie Bott’s Just the Sweet Ones and tilted it over her mouth, along with a bottle of pop. He poured a little pop into her mouth, then a handful of beans. “Don’t chew, just swallow. Like you’re taking pills.”

    Hermione did as she was told, opening her mouth and swallowing the beans. It was easier said than done, but she eventually managed to swallow them all.

    “I need to chew,” she murmured, “I almost choked.”

    “Sorry.” His face got red with embarrassment. “That’s an elementary mistake.”

    “Well, it’s not like we’re not both starting to experiment,” Hermione said, “come on, give me some more, but I’ll chew them.”

    He obliged willingly, though his resilience was not as quick as Hermione’s own. He still appeared chastised, so Hermione tried to help make up for it by emphasizing how good the food was.

    “Now give me some marshmallow,” she said, “I think there’s some in there.”

    He found a large jar of it, and he grabbed a spoon. “Just like this?” he asked with a smirk.

    “Yeah,” she said with a smile.

    “It’s straight sugar and lard,” he said, nearly crowing with excitement. “It’ll go straight to your growing belly.”

    “My intentions exactly,” Hermione said, “I’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do.” She patted his tummy, so broad and bulgy. “And take your shirt off. I like admiring your careful handiwork.”

    He nodded, and shrugged off his shirt with some effort. Soon his wobbly belly flopped out, and he grabbed his coat and put it on, though did not button it.

    “Perfect,” Hermione said, and nodded. “Get that marshmallow and spoon it into my mouth. Quickly now!”

    He obeyed without a word, and kept her mouth full for the next half hour.

    Oh! Once they were done! Hermione felt so satiated, bloated, and a little sick. Snape seemed to be better, and was already licking the spoon once Hermione couldn’t anymore, and he was rubbing her tummy in the most gentle and loving of ways.

    “What time is it?” she mumbled through the stupor of pleasant overwhelming sweetness.

    He grabbed his wand from the coat’s sleeve-pocket and waved it once.

    “Nearly time for dinner,” he said, “we’d better leave, lest we miss it.”

    He was clearly dismayed by this prospect.

    “Unless,” Hermione said, sitting up as much as she could given her overstuffed belly, “let’s go back to my rooms, or your rooms, or whatever, and sleep this off, then get up and have an excellent feast at midnight?”

    He smiled, sitting back on his nice fat arse. “Let’s do this.”

    Hermione was glad that they were magic, because quite simply, if she were a Muggle, she wouldn’t have been able to gather all of their things and get off the hill without taking a nap.

    Snape, fortunately, was a little more alert than she was, and he guided her in getting dressed again and grabbed her arm to apparate.

    “Let’s go,” he whispered, embracing her, and he kissed her tenderly on the lips as they whisked away from the hill.

    ………
    They arrived back at Hogwarts without any notable events taking place. No one intercepted the groggy, euphoric couple as they walked through the yard. The sun was setting, and the chill was starting to pick up, so they moved as quickly as they could manage.

    However, as they walked past the Great Hall, Roveric - the younger student Hermione had punished before - saw them walking, arm in arm. His eyes grew wide, particularly as he saw their hands twined together, and he ran off.

    “Ugh,” Hermione said, “that one’s a troublemaker.”

    “Never mind him,” Snape said loudly, his voice nearly delirious, “I’m walking with the most beautiful witch in the castle.”

    “Shh,” she said, but the damage was done. As it happened, Irma Pince showed up, looking even more anemic and thin than Hermione had ever seen her.

    “What are *you* doing?” she said crisply to the two of them.

    “What do you think?” scowled Snape, grasping Hermione possessively, “We’re going to bed each other.”

    “Heavens!” the old witch said with an icy voice, “the scribblers get their just deserts at last. You two deserve each other,” she snapped, “both of you, who could never respect a *single* library book by letting it speak for itself! Scribbles - SCRIBBLES in the margins,” she said, hissing. “How will you like it when life *scribbles* all over you, eh?” she said, and stalked away moodily.

    Hermione and Snape, so out of it as it was, looked at each other and burst into laughter.

    “Okay,” Hermione said, nearly choking on her own saliva, “I’m so glad to know I’m not the only one she hates.”

    “Somehow,” he said in response, “I had no idea there was a staffmember who hated you, aside from me.”

    “What?” Hermione said, becoming sober all of a sudden. “You hated me?”

    “-not quite the right word,” Snape said, taking a deep breath. “Found your prodigious skills overrated because you’re a Gryffindor, yes. I got very vociferous in staff meetings telling heads of houses precisely which students of theirs were just as good as you, though granted I was guilty of just a little bit of exaggeration. I had a reputation for dismissing you, actually,” he said, and he seemed taken aback by what he was saying. “Oh. Erm. Well.”

    She turned to him with ice in her eyes. “You actively made my life harder?” she said.

    “It wasn’t personal,” he said with a shrug. “I appreciated you, but I wasn’t intimidated by you like most of the other professors on staff. And instead of giving you the credit you were due, I thought it was a good idea to highlight the skills of others who were being overlooked because you outshone them so greatly.”

    Hermione shook her head. “Let’s talk about this some other time,” she said, “I’m too loopy to think about it.”

    “That’s fine,” he said, and added, as they continued walking to the staff wing, “I don’t expect you to understand me or forgive me. I’ve been an absolute arse to you most of your life.”

    “Well,” Hermione said, reflecting for several moments, “I guess I expect you to make it up to me as best you can, now.”

    They arrived at her bedroom, and Hermione unlocked the door and let them both in.

    Neither delayed in taking off their clothes and curling up in bed. Hermione only paused to throw some sparks in the fire with her wand, and they both lay down together with the roar of the warm fire to light their path to the bed.

    Snape lay down and wrapped his arms protectively around Hermione, and laid his face in the nape of her neck.

    “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m such a damnable fool.”

    She grabbed his hands and put them on top of her growing belly, not saying anything.

    They lay this way for several moments, and then Hermione noticed Snape was shaking - not pleasurably, but uncontrolledly, with great heaving painful breaths.

    Then she noticed her skin feeling hot drops of wetness at the back of her neck, then slowly rolling down her back.

    Snape was crying. Flat-out crying. Silently, holding in his sobs, crying.

    She turned around immediately, and wrapped her arms around him, and rocked slightly.

    “It’s okay,” she whispered, “let it out.”

    He shook his head with a shivering gesture, and Hermione grabbed her wand and cast a brief muffilato spell so that in case any of the neighbors were around, they wouldn’t hear.

    “It’s all right,” she whispered again, “Everything’s all right. Don’t be afraid to cry. It’s okay.”

    And then, only then, did he allow himself to sob openly.

    He took great shuddering breaths, burying his face in her soft shoulder, and the emotional pain was tangible.

    Hermione just stroked his hair, full of sadness herself, but also puzzled. What had brought on this? Was he just overwhelmed, or was there something more going on?

    Once he’d gotten out much of the physical elements of his crying, she kissed his forehead and whispered, “Severus? What’s going on in your head?”

    This brought on another round of sobs, and he wrapped himself more tightly around her.

    “Come on,” she whispered, grasping him tightly in return, “talk to me.”

    “I…” he tried to say, but stumbled over his words. “I… I just have an unconscious drive to self-destruct whenever I’m happy for a moment,” he finally managed to breathe out. “Nothing good can stay. If it’s staying longer than expected, I try and destroy it. If someone good is in my life, I try and distance myself. Because I don’t deserve good things,” he said with a sob, his face pinned against her with the salt of his tears, which still flowed down. “I can’t fucking let myself be happy.”

    “It’s okay,” Hermione said, kissing him tenderly again, “don’t pressure yourself into feeling happy if you’re not happy. And if you’re happy but struggling to remain so, it’s all right. You’re all right. You haven’t destroyed anything.”

    “But… I have,” he whimpered, and he kept on crying.

    “What have you destroyed?” Hermione asked gently, but he couldn’t respond. He just couldn’t stop crying, his body was convulsing with sobs and there seemed to be no end to them.

    “It’s okay,” she whispered over and over again, and finally, peacefully, his crying slowed to a low, murmuring, whimper, with the occasional staccato of a sob.

    “Shhh,” she whispered, “it’s all right.”

    She realized the conversation was over when he finally seemed to have fallen asleep.

    It was mysterious, she thought, as she looked at the beautiful large man with his arms around her, but one that she could explore in the morning.

    She closed her own eyes and, rocking him gently still, let herself fall asleep.
     
  2. Aug 27, 2014 #22

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    She awoke, and found that the space next to her in bed was unoccupied.

    Honestly, she wasn’t that surprised. As she’d drifted off to sleep the night before, she had felt that Snape might not be able to handle the embarrassment of revealing his emotions to her. Now she had to think about how to get him back - assuming she wanted him back. Part of her wondered if all of this was really worth it.

    She got up, draped herself in the dressing gown that he’d given her - it was quite roomy on her, and she wondered what it looked like on his large frame - and went into the main room, clucking her tongue for Crookshanks. She was amused to think that her poor kneazle was probably startled by the goings-on of the night before.

    She wasn’t expecting Snape to be in her sitting room, darkly staring into his coffee as though bracing himself against a formidable foe.

    “Hey,” she said, and approached him, extending her hand.

    His eyes didn’t move, but he did extend his hand, and she took it, and clasped it warmly.

    “How are you this morning?”

    “Better,” he begrudgingly mumbled, and he let go of her hand and sipped his coffee. He appeared skeptical of it.

    “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, desperate for him to give some kind of explanation.

    He snorted, her own feelings far too apparent on her face. “Well, *you* clearly want to.”

    “If you want to,” she replied, and turned to grab some coffee from the pot that he seemed to have brewed on her stove. “Sorry,” she said, grabbing a mug from the counter, “my blend might not be to your taste.”

    “It’s acceptable,” he said, his tone barely civil, just a hair away from a snarl.

    She poured herself a mug, found Crookshanks glaring at them both from the safety of the top of the bookcase, poured Crookshanks’ breakfast into a bowl on the floor, and went to join Snape in sitting in front of the fire.

    “Hungry?” she asked, and he nodded, reluctantly.

    “Not really,” he said, “but I should have something.”

    “That’s right,” she said, and gently squeezed his hand. “Do you want to call Lowly, or just want some biscuits?”

    “Biscuits, for the moment,” he responded, and Hermione got up again and went to the cabinet, where she got out her package of biscuits, and brought them back.

    “Thanks,” he said, as she pressed one into his hand, and he begrudgingly nibbled it, clearly without an appetite.

    “So what was all that about?” Hermione said, not willing to wait longer than she had to to get information.

    He groaned. “What do you *think*?”

    She didn’t know what to think, so she remained quiet until, with a roll of his eyes, he said, “Lily. Always fucking intruding on everything. I thought it was over,” he said, taking a deep breath, “because I haven’t felt this kind of grief for years now.”

    He took a deep breath and leaned back against the backrest, and laid his head on the back of the chair, clearly in pain.

    “I thought this grief was gone forever. That I was Over It. But I think being here... being here has shown me that these... feelings... were just dormant, waiting for me to come back here. Or start having a serious relationship with someone. Or both at the same time.”

    Hermione nodded. “I don’t understand, but I’m listening,” she said.

    “Look.” He sat up and looked at her, a kind of fierce anger in his face that wasn’t often there anymore. “When you’re as fucked up as I am, even the slightest thing can twist my mood from *nearly content* to overwhelming despair. I was more disturbed than I let on by seeing those deer on the moors, though I tried my best not to let them bother me.”

    Hermione nodded, just listening.

    “Then,” he said, his knuckles white on the handle of his mug, “when we were returning, and I started telling you how I was so privately cruel towards you, I realized I was actively hurting you, even though I didn’t mean to. And that lack of being able to control myself, and use my better judgment… that just brought me back to how I alienated *her,*” he said, his voice lowering, “and I don’t know that I can prevent that from happening with you.”

    “You can,” Hermione said, “don’t let this kind of thinking write the narrative of your life.”

    “What kind of advice is that?” he demanded, his face stern, but there was that hidden undertone of vulnerability and fear.

    He retracted this quickly. “I’m sorry, I know you’re only trying to help.”

    “I’m not doing a very good job,” Hermione said, and patted him on the shoulder softly. “So, erm, Severus?” (She didn’t feel entirely comfortable using his first name, even at this point. She made eye contact with him and he didn’t snap at her, so she took that as permission.) “I… I have to admire how well you’re able to describe all this and tell me what’s going on. It seems like you’re really self-aware about these issues. I’m really impressed.”

    He nodded, somber.

    “I’ve done a bit of work on myself,” he said. “It just hasn’t been enough.”

    “What do you mean?” Hermione asked, since this was a somewhat curious thing to say. “Work on yourself?”

    He sighed. “I have a disease, Hermione.”

    She raised her eyebrows, not sure if he was being metaphorical or not.

    “If you’re going to tell me you’re a vampire,” she said, when he didn’t say anything, “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to believe you.”

    He chuckled despite his gloom.

    “No,” he said, “I almost wish that were the case. Then I’d have a chance in a fight with the likes of Remus Lupin.”

    Hermione looked offended, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry, I knew better than to say that.”

    “Apology accepted,” Hermione said, gravely.

    Snape shook his head. “I know that you’ve always been an advocate for integrating Muggle medical concepts into our non-Muggle potions and such,” he said, “so I’m surprised you haven’t spouted out diagnoses for me already. There was that compelling second-year paper of yours that, while too ambitious, neatly laid out a variety of psychiatric disorders that correlated with symptoms of a selection of cursed potions.”

    “Oh,” Hermione said, and looked at Snape hesitantly. “Honestly, I haven’t thought much about that particular theory at all since.”

    “Well, I have,” Snape said, “and I think made a damned bit of good sense. Once I left Hogwarts,” he said, “initially I just floundered about, until I got myself the academic position at Oxford I’ve spoken extensively about. I went to a conference in London, and was invited to the United States for a year-long residency.”

    He smiled vaguely. “I met Erika there, and we hit it off. But she saw how emotionally unbalanced I was,” he went on, “and she insisted I get support for it. Particularly since she specializes in psychopharmacology.” He shook his head. “Even as badly knocked about as my head was, I was so thoroughly twisted around her finger, I did the unthinkable - I went to a psychiatrist.”

    He paused and took a deep breath, and Hermione gazed at him with fascination.

    “You did,” she said, when it seemed like he was waiting for a response. “How did that go?”

    “Well,” he said, and began laughing nervously. “I got a diagnosis of bipolar I disorder, is how that went. And the doctor gave me medication. And I didn’t plan on taking it.”

    He shook his head. “Then I went back to Erika and complained that the doctor had told me to take medication, which was clearly not the brightest thing to tell someone whose specialty is psychiatric drugs. She listened to me bluster and fester about how I should be able to control my mind by sheer willpower, and how it was an insult to my skills at Occulmency.”

    “Wait,” Hermione interposed, “You told her about being a wizard?”

    “Oh,” he said, “Yes.”

    She looked to him for more answers, and he shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about how and why. It was a decision that was poorly logical, but all’s well that ends well.”

    He shook his head to clear the air, and went on, “So she let me ramble about how I was above taking medication, and very simply she asked the question: if I was so successful without medication, would I call my current state of distress ‘success?’ And of course her point was clear. I was ragged and raw, and yet I refused medication that evidence demonstrated might help. So, she said, why not try it, in view of it being an experiment? Worst thing that could happen is that it wouldn’t work.”

    He paused, putting one hand on top of his belly, and his stomach growled. He took another biscuit and ate the whole thing in a few bites. “And even though I was insulted, I took it.”

    He sighed.

    “I hated the side effects, and told them I wouldn’t take it, so they asked me to try another medication, and then another. And then, when neither of those did anything, they put me on lithium.”

    He paused. “And my brain’s overdrive was finally able to quit. It was almost miraculous. I felt emotionally stable in a way that I’d only ever been able to manage with the heaviest Occulmency, which of course is not sustainable long-term. But somehow,” he said with a clear appearance of joy, “it made a difference that enabled me to feel like I was in control of myself. I could stop my brain from chewing on itself.”

    “But,” he went on, “there was a major consequence I hadn’t expected: I got fat.”

    Ah, it began to fit all together in Hermione’s mind.

    “I was initially deeply embarrassed,” he said, morose. “I even stopped taking medication a few times. But my brain needed it too badly, and ultimately I was better off with the medication. Still is,” he said, with a note of apology. “Though I’m on less than I was back then. In any case,” he went on, “I had a growth spurt, and I stopped taking my shirt off for any reason. And Erika was sad about it,” he mused, “but I… I could imagine her eyes trailing over my body. She and Jean-Raoul are just so disgustingly *fit,* going hiking and jogging everywhere, and I just felt myself becoming a giant ball of blubber.

    “I don’t think I could have lasted much longer in those conditions, so It was fortunate for us,” he went on, “that I ended up getting a new position in London the following school year, and I went back there, and I felt far more comfortable engaging with her virtually - over the phone and computer. She couldn’t grab my shirt and force me to take it off - which she never did, but I could tell she *wanted* to do - and I had some time alone to get used to my being fat.”

    “So how did you come to terms with it?” Hermione asked, moving her chair closer to him so she could touch his belly.

    “I still haven’t completely,” he admitted. “I sometimes see myself in the mirror and think it’s someone else. It’s… it’s unnerving, really. I took such a fierce pride in my leanness for so long. I scorned those who were even slightly pudgy because I felt like they were too soft. And now here I am.”

    He closed his eyes, and his stomach rumbled again.

    “There’s not many more biscuits,” Hermione said, and took one for her own stomach, which was beginning to gnaw on itself.

    “Let’s order, in a moment,” he said, “a nice hearty breakfast. I’m feeling better now,” he added, with a smile. “Quite a bit.”

    “I’m glad,” Hermione said, “so you still haven’t answered my question.”

    “Well,” Snape said, taking the last two biscuits greedily, “Erika told me I should try and find someone to date. And after hearing me complain ad nauseum about my weight, she told me that *some women* found fat men attractive. And this… this completely threw me. I demanded proof, and she showed me links that some of her other kink companions participated in. And that opened an entirely new way of looking at it.”

    Hermione smiled, “erm, links?”

    “Oh,” he said, and rolled his eyes, but it was more good-natured than complainy. “The internet is composed of links. They take you hither and thither across the net.”

    “I see.” Hermione clapped her hands - she was getting too hungry to wait any longer - and Lowly arrived.

    “The regular for me, please,” she said crisply, and Snape also gave his order, keeping his eyes trained on Hermione the whole time.

    “That’s a lot,” she said once he’d finished ordering.

    “Not all of it is for me,” he said, grabbing her around her waist and lifting her onto his lap. “Soon, my sweet,” he said, kissing the base of her chin and sucking at her neck, “you’ll be too fat for me to lift like that.”

    “Soon, *you’ll* be too fat to lift me like that!” Hermione replied with a giddy smile. “So ultimately, Erika both made you fat, and helped you find contentment in being fat.”

    “I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” he said, “I mean, I was content with being fat - for, indeed, I was enchanted by the pleasure of touching my newfound flesh, and feeling it, and being able to eat with total abandon - aside from the fact that I thought it meant my dating pool would exclude any human creature with senses.”

    “Well,” Hermione said, “it’s definitely more of a long-term attraction, for me. Though I’ve not been as aware of it as I am now until relatively recently.”

    She described how she noticed Ron’s tum grow a little bit with each passing season, then grow flat again, and how sad she was once spring training started up again and that nice little bit of pudge would disappear.

    “I didn’t realize I also liked a podgier self until I realized I’d put on a stone since graduation, and was enjoying pleasuring myself more than I’d ever enjoyed it before,” she said with a smile. “I recall always having enjoyed visualizing big fat bears going into hibernation, since I was a little tyke. But I didn’t make a sexual connection until I realized that shaming myself in front of the mirror for my newfound pounds, that had come on me from years of office work, turned me on.”

    “I really like your body, by the way,” he added, touching her belly gently. “It’s luscious.”

    “Thanks,” she replied, “I return the compliment.”

    His cheeks definitely turned red, and he took a deep breath and kissed her.

    “I can’t believe I’ve found this,” he said wistfully once their lips parted. “And I don’t want my mind and its games to crush it for us before it’s begun. That’s all I’m saying.”

    “I have patience,” Hermione replied, and kissed him again hungrily.
     
    Amaranthine likes this.
  3. Aug 30, 2014 #23

    Sweetsally

    Sweetsally

    Sweetsally

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    Okay, I LOVE this! Haven't made it to the end yet, but what I've read so far is fantastic. =) I unwittingly wrote a bit of Snape/Hermione fat fan fic myself a few years back. (I say unwittingly because I didn't know anything about fan fic at the time!) This gives such an interesting twist to the whole Harry Potter universe. =) Thank you for sharing!
     
  4. Aug 30, 2014 #24

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    thank YOU for reading and commenting <3

    here's more u guise...


    Food arrived soon, and she began to stuff him with pastries, his usual favorites it seemed, and he sat with his mouth continuously open, chewing voraciously.

    After a half-dozen crossiants to take the edge off, Snape settled into an enormous omlette of egg and vegetables, made with an entire dozen, laced with an almost-gruesome amount of hard cow’s cheese, and a delicious amount of flabby soft white goat cheese.

    “That looks utterly delicious,” Hermione said, raising her fork over his plate.

    He nodded assent, and she took a forkful. It was glorious, one of the finest, softest, chewiest omlettes she’d ever had, and the cheese oozed out of every bite so decadently.

    “I see this going straight to your thighs,” she said with a laugh, patting his belly approvingly. “This food is so fattening. My mother would have told me it was ‘only for special occasions.’”

    “Well,” Snape said with a crooked half-smile, “I see the entire rest of my life as a special occasion. I almost didn’t have one.”

    She didn’t want to say anything, so she just kissed him on the cheek, affirming that, indeed, she was glad he had one too.

    It was interesting, she thought as she tucked into her own delicious bacon, eggs, and fried potatos, how Snape seemed to wear his heart out on his sleeve sometimes, making his traumatic history into a joke for her to smile at. It was strange but oddly endearing, though it was overwhelmingly tragic when she thought about it. He was coping with it the best way he could, and hearing him poke jibes at his own expense was an unexpected side-effect of being part of his life. She wished he wouldn’t, because it made her feel bad to hear him, but she didn’t really know what the alternative was.

    At least he didn’t pretend that his experiences had been overwhelmingly positive, in order to fake his way through. Sometimes Hermione felt like she herself was guilty of that.

    “All right,” he said, shoving his plate away from him suddenly, only half the omlette successfully ensconsed in his belly, “I’m at the place where I’m actually getting full. And right now instead of stuffing myself silly, I think it’s time to pay a little more attention to your body.”

    He suited the action to the word, and turned his chair to face her.

    “What?” Hermione said, putting another mouthful of food in her mouth, “but I *like* watching you stuff yourself silly.”

    “I will, I promise,” he said, “but later. Now,” he went on, putting a hesitant hand on her stomach, “I want to see you grow.”

    Hermione shivered with pleasure. “I’m already pretty full,” she confessed. “Do you want to try something to help with that?”

    He paused a moment, calculating.

    “I don’t, by principle, like the idea of using magic in weight gain,” he said, leaning back and resting a hand on his tummy. “However,” he went on, “very occasional use, consensually, does not bother me the same way that some of the literature that exists on gaining does.”

    “What other literature?” Hermione asked, taking another stab at her food.

    “Erm,” he took a deep breath, “erotic literature?”

    He didn’t seem to want to admit that he’d read any. Hermione just laughed.

    “Oh. Okay. I guess there’s got to be writing on everything under the sun. I’ve written my own erotic literature a little bit, in my head, but I had no idea that other people actually wrote it down. I just know I’d be so ashamed if anyone found it, that’s why I never have.”

    “I see,” Snape said carefully. “Well, some of it is *very* arousing, don’t misread me, but some of it is very *clearly* something that most people would prefer to remain in fantasy, not reality.”

    “Like what?” Hermione demanded. Now, granted, she could *imagine* what he was talking about, but she also *really* wanted to hear him articulate it in his dark, sensuous voice.

    He paused, seemed uncomfortable for a moment, and then said, “The other day, when we were fucking, you talked about imagining being… being so fat you could not move from your bed… Some people actually aspire for this,” he said with a flush of redness, “and others just write stories. In truth, I would probably not want such a reality.”

    He swallowed dryly. “I admit that I’m scared, however. And what scares me is: I don’t know that I can entirely rule it out.”

    Hermione nodded. “So you don’t know that this is something you don’t want,” she said, slowly.

    “For me,” he said, with a nod, “it’s mostly about being able to eat, and eat, and eat, and never have to stop. And so in some ways, size does not matter - as long as I am able to eat until my belly is satisfied and overstuffed to the most pleasurable extent possible. However,” he went on, “I cannot, in good conscience, accept a reality where I’m chained to a bed and force-fed a slush of weight gain powder and cream all day.”

    “That’s not something I’d like for you, or any partner,” Hermione said with a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Even if that’s what they wanted - I mean, I might try it as a scene in the bedroom,” she said, contemplating it, “but not for a permanent state of affairs.”

    “I… I’d also try it as a scene,” he said with a whisper that revealed how nervous he was, but how titillating he found the idea. He sighed, drawing his hair back from where it crowded his face. “Well. I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he added, and smiled a little more fully. “So, Hermione,” he said, his voice getting darker and more tempting, “I’ve got a couple of potions here, and I’d like to try them on you, if I may.”

    “Mmm,” Hermione said, putting both hands on her belly, which bulged out in front of her after having eaten her whole plate - and then started tackling Snape’s leftovers besides. “I’m incredibly stuffed,” she confessed, “so unless you’ve got something that would help with that…”

    “Yes,” he said and drew from out of his robe-pocket a small zippered pencil pouch, which he opened and revealed a series of vials. He looked at each of the labels closely, and then chose one, and gave it to Hermione.

    “Six drops in your water,” he instructed her, “and drink it all. Now.”

    She obeyed. The bottle was not well-used, but it had been clearly tried before - it was not freshly sealed.

    “Your creation?” she asked, and he nodded. “What does it do?” She added it to her water and swirled it around.

    “Drink it,” he said with a smile, “and you’ll feel.”

    She obeyed, and at once she felt the tightness of her belly reduce as soon as the potiion landed in it. Her appetite perked up in a second wind, and she felt like her belly could swallow another couple of pints of food.

    “So,” she said, and paused, “let me guess, it’s something that accelerates the enzymatic breakdown of the food in my belly?”

    “No,” Snape said with a smug smirk. “Opposite effect. It’s not the amount in your stomach that gets smaller - for what then would the point of stuffing be? - but your stomach’s natural rebuilding mechanisms are accelerated to stretch and make more room around the food. But beware,” he added, and unbuttoned the bottom few buttons of his shirt, and showed her a series of oddly-congruent stretchmarks that seemed to be of the same age and lustre. Running his thumb over them, he said, “I got these from a single testing. It will be tempting to overstuff yourself beyond a place of comfortable fullness. Don’t overdo it, or you will regret it.”

    “Oh phooey,” Hermione said with a laugh, with one hand pulling the rest of Snape’s meal in front of her, with her other raising Snape’s shirt so she could admire his vast tummy better. “How on earth do you expect me to catch up to you in size without getting a few lines on my belly? In fact,” she added, blushing slightly, “I’d consider them badges of honor. Scars of the battle.”

    In response, he lifted up her nightshirt - she hadn’t gotten dressed - and touched her creamy white belly. “I’d just hate for this to get as scarred as mine,” he said, and bent down awkwardly and kissed her smooth white skin. “I want you to get fat for me, but not at the expense of-”

    “-Too fucking bad,” Hermione cut him off with a snap. “I think the marks are sexy, frankly. And it’s my body, so it’s going to look as scarred as I please. You’ve already given me the reigns, dear Severus, don’t you fucking try and take them from me now.”

    She tucked into the omelette with new relish, and within a very few minutes it was completely gone.

    “Glad we over-ordered,” she said with a smirk, as Snape watched with overwhelming fascination, and she stood and grabbed the tier of muffins and breakfast cakes. “I’m going to eat every single one of these.”

    She then proceeded to sit her nice, plump rear down in her chair, and she stacked her plate high with muffins and cakes. Snape mutely grabbed a bowl of Chantilly cream and brought it to her elbow.

    “Thanks,” she said kissing him on the cheek. “Now are you going to feed me, or not?”

    He seemed to get over his reluctance, replying, “Fine,” and he took a toasted muffin, coated it in a thick layer of butter, topped it with delicious rosehip jam, and Hermione’s mouth grabbed it out of his hand as swift as a cat grabbing a mouse.

    He gave her another muffin when she was done eating the first one, and then gave her a bit of a cake topped with an enormous dollop of Chantilly cream.

    “That’s exquisite,” she whispered with a whimper, and then Hermione then hungrily tried to eat the entire bowl of cream.

    Snape watched her, transfixed, as she took spoonful after spoonful.

    Eventually it became too much for her, and she looked around for something to take the rich edge off the cream. Snape accommodated her and took some strawberries, which he then dipped into the cream and put into her waiting mouth.

    She swallowed every bite with determination and grace. She had, after all, signed up to stuff herself a second time.

    By the time she finally stopped, there was nothing left on the table that was edible - and her belly had tripled in size. It hung out in front of her, wobbling and sloshing, and angry red stretchmarks had made their home on her skin.

    Snape did not seem as disgusted by them as he’d imagined, as he ran his hands over her belly gently, ever so gently.

    “Did you outdo yourself completely,” he asked, cautious, “or did you add more than six drops to your water?”

    Hermione shrugged.

    “Twelve drops,” she said, cracking a smile.

    He firmly frowned, but ran his fingers all up and down her stomach, sensuously taking in the size she’d swelled up to.

    “You’ve always been ambitious,” he said with begrudging admiration. “Now if I’m not mistaken, you’ll be needing this.”

    He opened the pouch of vials again and withdrew another vial. “Take twenty four drops of this and put it on your tongue,” he said, “and don’t adjust the dosage.”

    Hermione was beginning to feel an enormous tummyache, the like of which she’d never felt before, and it was not at all pleasurable. She nodded and took the vial, and applied the drops to her tongue, and the pain reduced significantly, leaving her feeling only immensely - *immensely* - fat.

    “Can you stand?” he asked, standing himself and offering his hand to her.

    Hermione nodded, and with his help she stood, though she was tremendously off-balance.

    “Sorry,” he added, “your balance issue is a side effect. Can’t be avoided, at least for the moment. But how is the pain?”

    Hermione smiled bravely. “Ooof. I feel like I should only have taken six drops.”

    “I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” he said, encouraging Hermione and her engorged belly to the bedroom. “The pain is not proportional to the amount you ate. I’m glad you stopped when you did, though,” Snape went on, assisting her in sitting on the bed, “I know it is possible for the stomach to become overtaxed, and split open, so I beseech you to be gentle with yourself for the next several hours.”

    “Understood,” Hermione said, smiling. “Does that mean you won’t fuck me?”

    She lay down on the bed and wiggled invitingly, both hands perched protectively on her belly.

    Snape grabbed her hand and placed it on his trousers, where his cock lay, and she felt it straining against his pants, as hard as a rock.

    “With great reluctance,” he answered, and with that, he shoved the nightshirt up Hermione’s belly, and, with practiced movements, he separated her legs and stuck his tongue up her cunt, laying on his belly on the bed.

    She writhed and swore as he tasted her, she who was already so wet that her nightshirt was damp, and he kneaded and stroked her belly with one hand even as he licked and sucked at her clit and labias.

    Finally she couldn’t take anymore, and he stripped off his own clothes and, without preamble, stroked himself until he came in his hand.

    Breathless, he lay back with her on the bed, and did not protest as she unbuttoned his shirt.

    “Look,” she said, sitting back and stroking her belly, “I’ve got marks now, too, and they match yours.”

    He nodded, and as his shirt separated and revealed his massive rolling tummy, he rubbed his own belly for a few moments, though eventually he couldn’t resist touching her all over.

    “You are so big,” he said admiringly. “So very big.”

    After a few moments’ quiet, he added, “So how far do you want to go?”

    “How far what?” Hermione asked, with a laugh.

    He appeared somber, but his cheeks were flushing red.

    “I mean,” he said with a smile, “what’s your end goal? How fat do you want to get?”

    Hermione felt her face turn red as well.

    “I… erm… I don’t know,” she confessed. “How about we re-evaluate in a month or two, once it’s no longer such a novelty to eat myself into oblivion with a sexy assistant like you?”

    Snape nodded. “Understood,” he said with a twisted smile. “I, for myself, also need some time to think about it.”

    They sat there listening to the silence of the room, breathing heavily together.

    “By the way,” Hermione asked, “how much do you weigh right now?”

    Snape paused. “I believe I am in the vicinity of three hundred and some-odd pounds. If I were taller, it’d look like less, I suppose, but on my frame, I’m more likely to look plumper than not.”

    “We need to see for sure,” Hermione said, and waved a spell at him. The charm made him glow blue for a moment, and then the number ‘324’ hung in the air, followed by the image of a disapproving Vogue-esque witch with the caption, ‘Getting far too ample in the region of your tum-tum,’ and a list of recommendations for weight loss.

    Snape was appalled by the charm, and his jaw dropped in disbelief.

    “What?” Hermione asked, trying (but failing) to sit up to see his face better. “Was that not what you were expecting?”

    He shook his head, “No,” he said, peering at the woman’s face. “No, that is *not* what I was expecting.”

    “I’m not surprised, though,” Hermione said, moving and grabbing a handful of his delicious belly fat. “Three-hundred seemed a *trifle* low.”

    “No,” he said staring at the witch in disbelief. “That’s not what I’m talking about. What on earth is that charm?” He grimaced. “It’s wretched.”

    “Oh,” Hermione said, “It’s something I thought all the girls used in the dormitories. One of the Patil twins taught it to me. Is there something wrong?”

    He looked at her askance. “Erm. *Yes,*” he snapped. “Is… is that *really* what they use in the dormitories?”

    “I suppose so,” Hermione said, a bit taken aback. “Why?”

    He shook his head. “I don’t like this. Do it again,” he said, and pointed at the bare coat rack across the room. “Try it on that.”

    Hermione did, not quite sure what Snape was getting at.

    The surly witch glared a little bit less as it covered the coat rack. “Quite good, quite good, but don’t forget to exercise,” read the caption, and the witch looked a touch less dismayed.

    “Gods,” Snape said, and shook his head. “How demoralizing. Gods.”

    Hermione cast it on herself, and saw the familiar tut-tut face on the witch, accompanying the caption, “Better had leave off the sweets, dearie, they’re starting to show around your middle.”

    “I was so excited the day my ‘scope changed from ‘Think about trimming down your portions for a more svelte figure’ to this,” Hermione said with a smile.

    Snape just shook his head, his jowls swaying. “And this is what you girls think of to torture yourselves with after hours?” he said with disapproval on his face.

    “Well,” Hermione said, “I haven’t thought of it that way, but yes.”

    He sat up laboriously on the edge of the bed “I’m banning this charm,” he said, “at least from my house.”

    “My dear,” Hermione said, “Reginald Floss is head of Slytherin, now.”

    Snape clearly had forgotten, and he sank back down onto the bed as he was reminded.

    “Shit,” he said, and, rolling his tongue thoughtfully, he added, “I wish I had power again.”

    Hermione turned herself over gently, slowly, so as not to pressure her belly. “Well, you can fix that here, if you want to,” she said with a wry smirk.

    He swatted her - playfully? yes, playfully. Severus Snape was being playful. *The wonders never cease,* Hermione thought as she smiled at him.

    “You know what I mean,” he rumbled, and he sat up again, eased himself out of bed, and went to the other room. He came back with a large package of crisps and a bowl of ice cream big enough to stuff him again.

    “It’s a bit early for ice cream, isn’t it?” Hermione teased him with glee as he took spoon after spoon of it.

    He shook his head. “And when do you think that will *ever* bother me?” he said fiercely, growling into it.

    She laughed and watched him eat, though she extended her tongue for a bite or two herself.

    “I love watching you,” she whispered, “I know that it’s all just going into that nice deep gut to make it spread out a little more, inch by inch. How much do you think you’ve got there?” she added as she burped a little, making more room to swallow another couple of bites.

    “Something in the vicinity of three pints,” he said, and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s magic food, it doesn’t come in boxes. Isn’t it odd how Muggle food comes in boxes? I never realized how odd it was until I was an adult.” He shook his head.

    “Anyhow,” he said, once he was slowing down, “I think I could get up to about five hundred pounds before I’d think about…slowing my intake.”

    Hermione nearly came right at the thought. “You, five hundred pounds,” she said, and began to reach for her clit. It was a bit awkward to reach, with her belly in the way, but she managed it. “I can see it.”

    “Though I’m fairly sure,” he went on, getting more comfortable on the bed and letting his gut wobble ominously in front of him, “I would not be happy if, at any weight, I was unable to get my cock inside your fat, fat cunt.”

    Hermione nodded passionately. She knew that would be a dealbreaker for her as well.

    “So, until that point,” Snape said, rubbing his belly to ease some of the stuffing pain, “I’d be content.”

    “Of course we’re not talking about health at all, here,” Hermione said, feeling sober for the first time in this conversation.

    Snape looked at her dead on.

    “Hermione,” he said, “you should think about that for yourself, and yourself only.”

    He took another heaping spoonful of ice cream. “I want you to know this,” he said, his voice very low and dangerous, “I’m done supervising my health. My life and health were both sworn to Dumbledore for so long, I’m pleased to finally have the freedom to trash my body if I want to. I don’t have to think about anyone except my own sorry arse, and my own sorry arse gets turned on by eating until I’m fit to burst, so that’s what my sorry arse will get.”

    He shook his head. “I don’t have to worry about staying healthy to protect Lily’s child. He’s an adult. My role in his life is done. I don’t have to worry about protecting the school, or anyone else. My role as a protector is over. I will not be Mad-Eye Moody,” he went on, “screaming in kids’ ears to get them to stop dawdling in the halls. I will not be waiting for the Dark Lord to come back. Because he won’t.”

    He took a deep breath, and glanced at her. She was looking at him empathetically.

    “Listen,” he went on, “I don’t ask for you to understand, I just ask for you to not bother me about it.”

    “All right,” she said, but he went on, turning to her and looking deeply into her eyes.

    “I’m going to get obscenely fat, and I’m probably die because of it. And I don’t give a flying fuck.” His face, growing white, revealed his emotions, even though he was continuing to stuff his face,

    “I don’t give a flying fuck about your feelings at all in this regard.” He shook his head. “Am I eating myself to death? Maybe. But that’s my choice to make.”

    He took a deep heaving breath, and finished off the ice cream. “So bring on diabetes, high blood pressure, cholesterol. If Slughorn could make it to whatever ridiculous age he’s made it to, then that probably bodes well for me. I’m hoping my wizard blood is better than that of my father.”

    He sighed. “But even if it doesn’t,” he said, trembling with emotion, “well, that’s on me. And I reserve the right to choose to live in such a way that I could potentially die of a heart attack at fifty.”

    Hermione had to think for a moment about all this. Didn’t he value her, and living with her to a ripe old age?

    Of course she realized she was jumping the gun a little, but still!

    “Moreover,” he added, reading her face, “I ask you not to take this personally.”

    “I’m trying not to,” she said, nodding, but still struggling. “But, I mean… don’t you want to live a life for yourself? You were telling me about your tendency to self-destruct… don’t you think this might be part of that?”

    “I’m sure it is,” he said grimly, “self-sabotage or what-have-you. I’m not going to examine it too closely. But whatever. I’m done. I’ve made enough marks on the world. If I died tomorrow, I’d die happy.”

    He put down the bowl, and added, “I hope you can live with my ambiguous feelings about life. If not, I understand.”

    Hermione shook her head. “I mean,” she added, “I hope that eventually you won’t feel like you’ve spent all of your life that is worth spending, and that eventually you won’t feel like caring for your health isn’t an obligation you have to make to others, but a chore like brushing your teeth - just good hygiene to protect yourself.”

    She paused. “I’d like you to feel that you’re worth it, and that your life is worth it.”

    “Well,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I don’t feel that way now.”

    “Yeah,” she said, and she leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. “Maybe someday you will. And I hope I can see you live to the fullest, until then.”

    “Fine,” he said, though his cheeks were red. “As long as you let me eat myself into an early grave if I so choose.”

    “Agreed,” Hermione said, and she gingerly wrapped her leg around his. “I can scarcely contain my excitement for you to weigh over five hundred pounds,” she said giddily, “You’d be a full meal for the Giant Squid instead of just a tasty snack.”

    “If that’s the scale you’re using,” Snape responded teasingly, “you’re scarcely a nibble at the moment.”

    “Mm,” Hermione said, “I can’t wait to be a full meal myself.”

    Snape looked at her hungrily. “How are you feeling at the moment? Still stuffed?”

    Hermione poked and prodded her tummy. “There’s a little room in there.”

    “Good,” he said, and pulled his trousers and pants off. “Then let me finally get my cock inside you.”

    “Ooh,” she whimpered, and they started having marvelous sex, which I’m going to save until next chapter.
     
  5. Aug 30, 2014 #25

    Xyantha Reborn

    Xyantha Reborn

    Xyantha Reborn

    - Actually Very Tame!

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    I am glad i am not the only one totally smitten with Severus, damaged as he was, and daydreamed of fattening him up!!
    Keep going!!!
     
    Fat Molly likes this.
  6. Sep 1, 2014 #26

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Understood," she said with a whimper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    He grinned. "Suit yourself, you fatty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ........
     
  7. Sep 3, 2014 #27

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    She chewed and swallowed, then gestured for more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Hermione nodded, taking in what he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    She relished it, and she began to swing higher.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And she landed softly at Snape's feet.

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

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

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

    "Just believe," he said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    He shook his wet hair. “Not particularly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    So she cuddled up against Snape, feeling the warmth of her great expanded belly nestle into the pit of his broad dimpled back, and she fell asleep, her arm draped over him fondly.
     
  8. Sep 17, 2014 #28

    Sweetsally

    Sweetsally

    Sweetsally

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    I hope you'll keep going with this! It's been so fun so far. =)
     
  9. Oct 3, 2014 #29

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 21

    Chapter Text

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    "Understood," she said with a whimper.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    He grinned. "Suit yourself, you fatty."



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    They both found themselves laughing at that, until he noticed a bit of melting ice cream getting away, and he went back to his ardent licking.
     
  10. Oct 3, 2014 #30

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 22

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    She chewed and swallowed, then gestured for more.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    Hermione nodded, taking in what he said.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    She relished it, and she began to swing higher.



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



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



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



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



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



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



    And she landed softly at Snape's feet.



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



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



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



    "Just believe," he said simply.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    He shook his wet hair. “Not particularly.”



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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


    So she cuddled up against Snape, feeling the warmth of her great expanded belly nestle into the pit of his broad dimpled back, and she fell asleep, her arm draped over him fondly.
     
  11. Oct 3, 2014 #31

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 23

    Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "What is it?" Hermione asked.

    Severus shook his head. "Nothing important."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ….

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

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

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

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

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


    http://fattington.deviantart.com/art/Growing-Fanart-480280625
    http://fattington.deviantart.com/art/Chapter2-Seconds-please-COMMISSION-481797807
    http://fattington.deviantart.com/art/Chapter-3-Ready-To-Roast-485310802

    and then you will see the hills are alive with the sight of fat snape :) holy cow I'm so happy you have no idea.
     
    Last edited: Oct 3, 2014
  12. Oct 3, 2014 #32

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 24

    Chapter Text



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



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



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



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


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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



    He nodded in response, his eyes wide and pleading.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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





    ……………...



    Thanks to all the reviewers who are reviewing and are great. Your face is great. You’re great. So great. Greatness. Great. Great. Great. Much love!
     
  13. Oct 3, 2014 #33

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 25

    Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The elf smiled broadly. “Watching you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “We see,” Lowly said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “My father,” he said with a twinge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    She looked at him quizzically. “Refuse what?”

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

    Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh come now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    He was thoroughly perplexed, and remained silent thereafter.

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

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

    “Yes,” Hermione agreed, “but go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Fine,” he agreed, “is that all?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Soon the sound of their gentle snores filled the room.
     
  14. Oct 6, 2014 #34

    Xyantha Reborn

    Xyantha Reborn

    Xyantha Reborn

    - Actually Very Tame!

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    "everyone has fat. Even thin people. It’s a matter of quantity.”

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

    Love the new chapters!
     
  15. Dec 9, 2014 #35

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

    Joined:
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    Chapter 26

    Chapter Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “What does that mean?” she asked thoughtfully.

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

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

    He smiled thinly. “Dostoyevsky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    He cuddled her in his arms for a few moments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Now, stay,” she commanded, and went back to the kitchen, but she took her robe off and left it on a chair in the living room.

    “I think you forgot something,” he said, not getting up from where he lay lazily on the floor.

    “For your own safety,” she responded with a laugh. “You can gawk at my lady bits all you like without risking a pan falling on your face.”

    He snorted. “I was *not* gawking.”

    “Well, what were you doing, then?”

    “Simply *appreciating.*”

    “Appreciate this,” she responded, and grabbed a spoonful of marmalade and took it to where he lay. She spread her legs and crouched over him, giving him a full view while offering the marmalade to his lips. He licked it up greedily from the spoon, then arched his neck and started licking her pussy with the hunger of a starving man.

    “Mm,” he murmured, readjusting himself to get a better angle, “You’re so wet.”

    “It’s just thinking about how nice and large you are,” she whispered with a gasp as she felt her body preparing to orgasm. “And how much you’re going to enjoy the food I’m making for you.”

    “Well then,” he said, a kind of thrilling satisfaction in his eyes. His hand absently wandered to rest on his large belly. “I suppose you really do like this, don’t you.” He seemed as if he could barely believe it.

    She began to feel a cramp in her upper thigh, so she stood straight again. “Yes,” she said simply, “I do enjoy it.”

    Then she went back to the stove, and barely caught the hotcake in time before it began to burn.

    Soon enough breakfast was on the table, and Snape was upright again and in a chair, and Hermione had served them both, and they were eating hungrily.

    “This is perfect,” Hermione complimented herself as Snape ploughed through his food. He nodded amiably in response, swallowed, and reached for the orange preserves to lather on the next layer of cake.

    “Mmm, more like Exceeds Expectations,” he responded with a humorous glint in his eye.

    “What,” Hermione said in mock dismay, “so you don’t want the rest, I take it?”

    She reached for his plate and he moved it protectively towards him. “That is *not* what I said,” he said with a mischievous grin. “It merely could be improved.”

    “How,” Hermione asked, “could it possibly be improved?”

    “In the states,” he responded, filling his mouth with blatant pleasure, “they use warm maple syrup. And butter.”

    “I see,” Hermione said, “so I fall short of American standards. That’s a low bar to miss, isn’t it?”

    He grinned. “So you would imagine. But haven’t you seen how fat Americans are? They must have something going well for them or they’d look quite different.”

    Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “So now America is the height of culinary offerings. It’s clear you enjoyed yourself there,” she murmured, grabbing a hold of his fat roll and jiggling it in her hands.

    He nodded, his face growing red. He took another bite of his food, and a smudge of marmalade stuck to his chin. He reached out his tongue to lick it up, and then wiped his face with the back of his hand as he took another huge bite.

    The way his face curled into a state of pure satisfaction at that moment was so intriguing and delightful. She massaged the hill of his upper gut, which was pooching out of the thick rolls of fat around his middle, and he moaned in response, his eyes closed.

    Then Hermione moved back to take another bite from her own plate, and as she did so, her hands brushed against her plumpening thighs, sending them into jiggling waves. “Oh, god,” she murmured, and spread her legs urgently, and began to stimulate herself right there on her chair. She was so turned on, she could not wait for Snape to finish his food.

    He seemed torn for just the slightest of moments between eating food and eating something else, but swiftly he was on the floor, grasping on the legs of the chair and tonguing her in the most convincing way possible.

    She moaned and swore as he used his well-trained tongue on her.

    Oh gods, he was ravishing her. There was quite a bit of benefit to his mouth being the most exercised area of his body - there seemed to be no end to his licking and sucking. As she bucked her hips, he put two chubby fingers in her vagina and rubbed with them fiercely, and she couldn’t open her eyes because of the amount of pleasure she was feeling.

    He kept at it until she patted him on the head and collapsed against the back of the chair, at which point he was panting for breath and clearly exhausted. He sat back on his wide arse and breathed deeply.

    Hermione slipped off the chair to join him on the floor, where she nestled herself in his lap and reached up to massage the corners of his jaw.

    “That’s… so nice,” he murmured once he had regained his breath.

    “Hope you’re ready to finish your food,” Hermione said firmly, accio’ing the plate and fork from the table. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

    “Mm,” he said, opening his mouth.

    Hermione put the hot cakes in his mouth, letting him slowly chew between bites. The sheer euphoria he was experiencing was tangible in every smacking noise of his lips, every gurgle of his stomach, and every little moan he had with every bite.

    Alas, too soon it was all gone. It was clear to her that he was still hungry to a degree, but he patted his tummy and rubbed it.

    “Are you still hungry?” she asked, “you can finish mine, if you want.”

    “No,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “I’m quite satisfied. You need to finish your own food. I have no desire to see you become a formless waif before my eyes, if I have anything to do with it.”

    “I see,” she said with a laugh, and took her plate from the table, and a pillow from the main sofa, and sat with him on the floor. She leaned back and accepted as he served her bite after bite of the rich cakes.

    As it happened, she was quite glad that he hadn’t accepted her offer of her leftovers, because she ate every bite and still was painfully hungry afterwards.

    “Is there more in the kitchen?” he asked as he eased himself up off the floor. She shook her head.

    “No, and there’s barely anything else either.”

    Snape didn’t believe her, and went to look for himself. Hermione cradled her stomach, which was begging for more food, and she took a look at herself. Her tummy was distinctly convex, finally claiming a victory in how it began to spill out from under her breasts, and was finally beginning to look substantial. As she curled up, her belly squished into adorable rolls of fat, perfect for grabbing onto. Her breasts rested on them, heavy and squishy. But her belly was what was blocking up her line of vision when she looked down - a refreshing change from her breasts occupying that position of prestige.

    Snape came back into the room empty-handed.

    “You’re right,” he said with tangible disappointment in his voice. He extended his hands to her, and helped her up. She mopingly went to the sofa and sat upon it.

    “Oh,” he breathed as he looked at her, his mouth clearly watering, and she looked down at herself. Her belly spread across her thighs and made for an inviting plump lump of fat. He sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her, nestling his plump fingers in the crevice formed between her tummy and her thigh.

    “You’re so delicious,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. “So, it appears you are still hungry?”

    “Quite,” she said, grumpy. “Let’s go to town, shall we?”

    He took a deep breath and did not respond for a few moments. He seemed entirely too preoccupied by touching her soft, supple skin. The way he gazed at her belly was far too telling. His fingers ran over the stretch marks there and massaged them gently.

    “Snape?” she said, and he jerked slightly, startled.

    “Erm. Yes. Madam Puddifoot’s?” he asked, and it seemed that there was an element of fear in his voice.

    “Not really,” she said with a smirk, “that seems cruel and unusual torture. What about the pub in town? The one that isn’t Aberforth’s.”

    He did not answer her right away, so she intuited that he wasn’t in favor of this plan.

    “Erm,” she asked, “is there somewhere else you’re thinking of?”

    He waited several long moments, his chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her, continuing to finger her soft flesh. Finally, with some amount of embarrassment, he confessed, “Well… erm… I really would prefer the former.”

    Hermione was so surprised she laughed. “Are you *really* saying you’d prefer to go to Madam Puddifoot’s over a quiet anonymous pub?”

    He looked uncomfortable, and quickly retracted, “It’s fine. The pub is fine.”

    Hermione just laughed. “No, I’m entirely ambivalent. I mean, if it were a Hogsmeade weekend, I wouldn’t be keen on going to Madam Puddifoot’s, but if you have a preference…”

    “It *is* a Hogsmeade weekend,” Snape said, standing up and going to mess with some papers on the coffee table as an excuse to not look at her. “And I would like to go there, even so.”

    Hermione grinned broadly. “Are you serious?”

    “Yes,” he said testily, as if insulted, not looking at her. “I have it on good authority that it’s a pre-requisite to becoming someone’s someone, when you’re at Hogwarts.”

    She felt like she couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t believe it,” she said with as gentle a taunt as she could muster. “Severus Snape, you’re asking me to Madam Puddifoot’s. On a public date.”

    He still wasn’t looking at her. “They have good coffee.”

    “I… I suppose,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know that anyone’s asked me to go there before.”

    “Then let me be the first,” he said solemnly, turning to stare at her.

    Their eyes met, and there was such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly frightened her. There were so many emotions that he seemed to be permitting to the surface of his eyes - trust, possessiveness, desire, pride, and fear.

    Fear of what, she had to wonder. But fundamentally pride seemed to be the most overwhelming emotion she could read, and she stood up and let her lips melt into his.

    After a few moments of snogging, she let go and patted his fine round rump.

    “Give me a moment to dress,” she said, practically bouncing into the next room.

    Chapter Management

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  16. Dec 9, 2014 #36

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 27

    Chapter Text

    They arrived at Madam Puddifoot’s at just the perfect time. Most of the folks in there were older students, the more mature ones who were less interested in getting a sugar rush from Honeyduke’s. So the tea shop was bustling, but still managed to be intimate. A disgusting amount of chintz and lace comprised the decor, though in a perverse way it was charming.

    “Cloying atmosphere,” Snape said, as if this expedition hadn’t been his idea in the first place, and he stuck his nose in the menu almost as soon as they were seated at a table. Hermione laughed a little to herself and did the same. She was quick to decide on what she wanted, so there was time for her to look around her and see if there were any students she recognized.

    Of course there were. Sixth-years Josephine Lestrange and Geoffrey Norell were hotly engaged in a jealous staring contest between themselves (apparently over the bashful and intimidated Michaela Secundis) and were too occupied to notice Hermione and Severus. But seventh-year Frank Graysteel was a little more alert - he seemed to be waiting for someone, and was trying (but failing) to be nonchalant, with a novel in his hand. He covertly peeked over the edge of the book every time the door jangled and glanced first at the person who came in, and then, given boredom, at Hermione and Severus.

    Hermione took Severus’ hand and ran her thumb over his fingers. Without looking up at her, he surreptitiously squeezed back. His stomach audibly rumbled, but he ignored it and sipped at the mug of tea, which a server had plunked upon their table when they arrived.

    Seeing this gesture of affection, Frank Graysteel’s eyebrows shot up, and he tried unsuccessfully to hide his stare. He dropped his book, and took his time bending down to retrieve it again, curiosity emanating from behind his glasses.

    Hermione knew her classes would be a little more awkward from this point forward, as everyone speculated about her and the former potions master. She wondered how people would react. She fully expected people to be confounded. But, she thought, as she looked at her lover settle deeper into the most comfortable chair in the room with a big enough seat to accommodate him, who else would the public actually approve of her dating, other than Ron?

    Better Snape, who was respected for his intelligence, feared for his temper, and romanticized for his long-suffering admiration of Lily Potter, than some weedy Newt Scamander-type like Graysteel, who couldn’t keep up with her own intelligence, temper, and passion.

    But as she was to discover, the public also seemed uncharitably favored towards her being Snape’s partner, just as much (if not more than) the public seemed uncharitably favored towards him being her partner.

    Example A: Madam Puddifoot herself was there to greet them the moment Severus lowered the menu, her plump face dimpled and her mood effusive.

    “My dear Professor Snape,” she gushed, “It’s been so long. And who is this with you… Miss Granger? Oh!” She fanned herself with her hand quite prettily, her other hand on her apron. “You look so much younger than I thought,” Madam added to Hermione.

    That was the last amount of attention she paid to Hermione. Madam Puddifoot turned her entire body very deliberately towards the former potions master. The tea-shop owner was very stout and had a shiny black bun, which was just a notch less tight than McGonagall’s. As her gaze moved back to Severus, her hand drifted up to twist her jangly earring,. Her eyes fluttered at him. “I’m so glad to see you here. I do hope you’ll become a regular.”

    Snape had no response for this, so Madam Puddifoot tried another tactic. “Do you have… any *questions* about the menu?”

    Snape blinked once or twice at her, and shook his head, looking for all the world like a cat that had been given an unwilling bath. “None,” he said firmly, snapping the menu shut and thrusting it at her. “I’ll have the full monty, but no bubble and squeak.”

    “Full English,” repeated Madam Puddifoot, looking as delighted as a cat offered cream, “no bubble and squeak.”

    “Right,” he said with a roll of his eyes, letting them rest where they met Hermione’s. “Darling?”

    Hermione smiled faintly, not particularly pleased at seeing the way Madam Puddifoot’s finger curled the loose hair that drifted down her cheek - in a way that showed she was interested in Severus.

    He seemed to not notice, however, as he fiddled with the corner of the doily that served as a placemat, worrying a loose string.

    “Here, let me get that,” Madam Puddifoot said with a genteel - but no less suggestive - note in her voice. She drew a tiny pair of scissors from a clasp at her belt, and she grasped her hand on Snape’s shoulder (in what was clearly a staged accident) to catch her balance and leaned her heavy large breasts practically in his face as she leaned forward. She inserted her hand between Severus’ and the doily deftly, and snipped the little bit of string.

    “Erm,” Severus said, but it was too late - the string was snipped, and swept off the table by Madam Puddifoot’s plump hands. She put the tiny bit of thread in her pocket, and patted it warmly.

    “There,” she said, and as if she noticed a speck of dust on his shoulder, she brushed him off with her hand. Then, smiling innocently, she turned to Hermione. “So sorry about that. And what will you be having, dear?”

    Hermione’s smile was barely civil at this point. “What he’s having,” she said, fierce with solidarity for Snape’s awkwardness, and also because Madam Puddifoot’s intentions were so patently clear.

    Madam Puddifoot took a gander at Hermione, looking the girl up and down, and very slightly shook her head, tsking. “Coming right out,” she said with a low, disapproving mutter, and Madam Puddifoot left their table.

    “Sheesh,” Hermione said once the woman was out of earshot. “What a performance!”

    “What performance?” Snape asked, yawning and stretching his legs out under the table, clearly enjoying the comfortable chair. He looked relaxed, and hungry.

    Hermione’s eyes blazed. “Are you really going to pretend that didn’t happen?” she demanded, leaning towards him. “That her double standards weren’t so painfully obvious?”

    “I don’t understand,” Snape said, clearly confused. He moved to sit up slightly. Hermione’s jaw dropped.

    “I… I can’t,” she said.

    He looked no less confused, but the toe of his shoe gently nudged at one of her calves. His face was somehow both sharp, but also thoughtful, and Hermione decided to give up for the moment.

    “Oblivious much,” she muttered, and shaking her head, she cast a customized flatten-surface charm. The teacups and flowers and doilies flattened on the table, and a semi-transparent chessboard, complete with pieces, appeared in an overlay.

    Snape had the good taste to look impressed. “Clever,” he intoned, and pressed his finger to the checkered board. It went straight through. Then he moved his knight from behind the battle lines to the board. It operated same as any other chess piece composed of regular matter, and stayed where he put it. “Is it an illusion?”

    “Partly,” Hermione said, with a grin. “Something I worked up in the forest of Dean during the last year of the war. We didn’t have much, and we had to make do with what we had. Do you play much?”

    “No,” he answered carefully, “though I did really get into board games in America.”

    The idea of Snape playing Snakes and Ladders popped into Hermione’s head, and she burst out laughing.

    He looked annoyed. “Oh, come on,” he said, and moved a piece from her side of the board.

    “Hey,” she said and tried to take it back, and barely got to it in time before he placed it down. “Not fair.”

    “Then stop laughing and play,” he said testily, but she could tell there was good humor behind it.

    So she focused, and they played. Now, Hermione thought she was really good after years of playing against Ron. But Snape was soundly trouncing her by the time they were five moves in, and Hermione’s king was starting a futile attempt to escape a circle by the time their food arrived.

    Madam Puddifoot was clearly not in the habit of serving most of her customers, as was easily observed by anyone who noticed her clean-aproned young busgirls. But she brought their plates out herself. “There we go,” she said comfortingly, as though they were impatient children, laying down the hot sizzling dishes, “we’re all taken care of, love.” She seemed to be speaking to Snape specifically, and this time he picked up on what was happening, casting a questioning glance at Hermione. Madam Puddifoot, for her part, grabbed Snape’s napkin. “I asked the cook to put on a few extra sausage for you, dearie,” she said, making a move to put Snape’s napkin on his lap.

    He intercepted her hands deftly, grasping them tightly at the wrists. Madam Puddifoot was caught slightly off balance, and she leaned forward with a gasp, her face approaching Snape’s to the point where they could have been touching noses.

    He didn’t say anything for a moment, and his eyes firmly staring into the hapless tea shop owner’s. Finally, with disgust, he stated, “Thank you, Madam Puddifoot, you have certainly been *more* than helpful.” Only then did he drop her wrists and turn to make contact with Hermione’s eyes. He seemed to be searching for a sign of her approval.

    For her part, Madam Puddifoot looked embarrassed. “I… I’ll be telling the girls to refresh your tea,” she said, and scurried off to the safety behind her main counter.

    Hermione smirked as she took a forkful of grilled mushroom. “That was something,” she said, moving the chess board a little bit higher, so they could see their food better.

    Snape shook his head, burying himself in his food, not meeting her eyes. “Tell me next time, please.”

    “Tell you… what? Why?” Hermione asked, “don’t you notice it when these things happen?”

    He closed his eyes as he shoveled an entire slice of black pudding in his mouth. “No,” he said, after swallowing contentedly, “I don’t.” He grimaced, still not looking up.

    Hermione gazed at him. “Really?”

    He didn’t meet her eyes or answer, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the set of events. “Gods,” he said, and that was all.

    He proceeded to stab his eggs savagely, straight in the centers, letting the gooey yolks smear all over his plate.

    “Hey,” Hermione’s hand sneaked across the table. “Hey.” She felt his fingers relax into her hand, and he took a deep breath, then looked up at her.

    There was that same sense of despair in his face that she’d witnessed the night before. And as she looked into his trying-to-be-blank eyes, she was overwhelmed by a sense of her own helplessness in helping him. There wasn’t anything she could do to make him feel better, not really. She could say things, but they might not seep in.

    “It’s okay,” she whispered. He gave her a look that clearly read, ‘It isn’t,’ but he took a piece of toast, erased the remaining yolk from his plate with the bread, and put it in his mouth, not breaking his gaze with her for a moment.

    She squeezed his hand, and put down her fork.

    “Do you want to go?” she asked.

    He shook his head in the negative, and silently went on to chew a sausage.

    Hermione didn’t know what to do, so she cleared away the game from the air. He looked at her askingly.

    “You were about to win,” she answered, waving her hand where the board had been.

    He nodded, not arguing, and they finished their meal in relative silence.

    He seemed better after having paid the bill and gone outside. The weather was chilly, and he took deep breaths of air as they stepped out into the blowing autumn leaves.

    “It’s getting colder,” he observed as they walked down the cobblestones of Hogsmeade.

    Hermione nodded, pressing herself closely to him, and he tightened his grip on her arm. It was remarkable how he made her feel so safe with just that simple touch, and she felt herself thrill.

    They sat down on a bench facing Montgroot’s Roots, a magical plant nursery with a greenhouse that rivalled Hogwarts’ for variety.

    “I’m enjoying today, Madam Busybody notwithstanding,” Hermione said as they placed themselves there. Severus couldn’t respond at first; they’d been walking briskly uphill, and he was a bit out of breath. His cheeks flushed as red as dirigibles, and the rest of his face was almost porcelain white. As he breathed deeply, he tucked her into his arms, and gently hid his nose against the softness of her neck, inhaling her scent.

    “I am too,” he said, finally regulating his breath at a normal speed. His lips pressed against her skin, and he held her tighter. “I’m sorry about my fucked up emotions.” There was a choking feeling behind his words.

    She wriggled her arms out of the cozy place between their bodies and patted his back warmly. “You’re getting through some stuff,” she said, “and you hold it against yourself more than I hold it against you. Thank you for letting me witness it.”

    “Yeah,” he replied, which seemed to be all he could say. Then, with a deep breath, he leaned back a bit and studied her. “Why do you want to be with an old, broken fool as me?” he asked rhetorically, “You’re so pretty and smart.”

    He sounded like a child, and it broke her heart to hear him like this. But she smiled steadily at him in response, which made him grab her roughly and bring her lips to his.

    His kisses were stern, at first, but they became secretly grateful, as if he didn’t want to admit that he needed them as much as he did.

    “Ew!” cried a cadre of first-years walking by.

    Hermione and Snape ignored them, instead kissing each other all the more urgently.

    They broke away at long last, both of their moods improved.

    “All right,” Hermione said, “we had better get back to the castle.”

    “What for?” he asked, standing with some exertion. “Let’s go into the woods. It’s clear I need some exercise.”

    “Aw,” Hermione said “why do you say that?”

    He snorted. “If I’m having this much trouble walking up a hill, that doesn’t bode well.”

    “Okay,” Hermione affirmed, “as long as it’s not for reasons having to do with aesthetics. Because, just in case you don’t know, I find you *very* aesthetically pleasing.”

    He stole another kiss from her, his only response to that, and they heaved themselves up and walked down the hill to where a forest path began, along the rim of the Forbidden Forest (the part that wasn’t forbidden).

    “It’s a good day for a walk,” Hermione said, though she wished she had worn thicker socks. She was wearing a heavy velvet cloak that, granted, was not all that good for forest expeditions, but was incredibly picturesque.

    Snape nodded. He wasn’t really as out of shape as he thought he was, Hermione decided, watching him. He didn’t waddle, though his succulent arse was truly as beautiful and round as a ripe cantaloupe. His thighs were thick and scraped together with every step, jiggling with the aftershock of his movements.

    His belly was the part that gave him the most trouble, though, as he had to maneuver the monstrosity through space with every step, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Especially as they started to climb a stone staircase that wound its way through the goldening trees, he would awkwardly twist and turn in uncomfortable-looking ways that revealed that he had only recently acquired such a massive tummy. It got in the way, and fundamentally he was not used to it. He was used to being an incredibly fit and thin person, and he’d never tried to be a fit and fat person.

    Hermione, being a lifelong nerd who was more comfortable on the couch than off it, had never bothered to develop fitness, but she knew enough about it from books. She wondered what it must be like, to be carrying that enormous protuberance in front of her. She couldn’t feel confident that her own experience with her little mushy belly was enough data to really know what it was like.

    She herself was panting just as much, if not more, than Severus by the time they stopped mid-staircase, and she had to bend over and catch her breath while he leaned against a wooden rail that was there, also breathing heavily.

    But watching him struggle was simultaneously a turn-on for her, though also she felt incredibly bad for being turned on by his straining. They started walking again, and she deliberately held back behind him because she loved watching the way his fat moved on his body, enjoyed hearing him huff and puff as he struggled in front of her, and sensing his overall frustration with his body.

    They finally got to the top of the hill, and Snape immediately seated himself on a long sun-warmed stone, panting. Hermione also clambered onto it and lay down, curling herself around him slightly.

    “Let’s rest a bit,” Hermione said, pulling at the hood of his cloak, and he nodded and lay back with her, his chest rising and falling steadily as he recuperated.

    Eventually, he recovered enough to pay a little more attention to her, and he smirked as he patted her belly. It jiggled, and made noise as her second breakfast sloshed inside her. His fingers hooked themselves in the fatty place at the top of her belly, and his wrist started to move in a skilled vibrato. This motion set her entire belly pulsing with waves of flesh, and Hermione felt her breath catch again, her cervix tighten, her butt fat jiggle as she tightened her glutes, and an overwhelming hunger to be penetrated.

    “Come here,” she begged, and pulled at Snape’s belt. “Please. Fuck me. I’m dying here.”

    He laughed in a rumbling way. “In the middle of the forest?”

    “Yes!” She moaned. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

    “How enticing you make it sound,” he quipped, but he was already getting up and yanking down his trousers and pants. He wasn’t very hard, but one hand worked at himself while his other one scrambled to make contact with her own underparts. She moaned as soon as his fingers dove under her panties, and just the slightest brush of his finger against her peachy pubic fat made her shiver and moan.

    Hermione, at this, began rubbing her belly, slapping it, making it into the greatest visual spectacle it could be without taking her clothes off. And then she realized, this was silly - she didn’t need to take off all her clothes to bare her tummy! So she pushed her cardigan up, and her collared shirt, and revealed her rounding belly in all its splendor, shaking joyously as she stimulated it.

    The very sight made Severus moan too, and he forcefully yanked down her underwear. It was progressively too small, and got stuck at her mid-thigh area, and he chortled with glee.

    “Getting too big for your pants, eh,” he murmured, stroking himself furiously. “I need to get a better look of what you like with your delicious rump pouring out of them. But not right now - now you need my cock inside you. You’re not able to wait for me to fully savor the sight of your growing body, not right now. You need to be fucked. By me. Now. For whatever reason. Right where anyone coming up the path could see.”

    Hermione groaned, and spread her legs as far as they could with the constraint of her panties, which were like handcuffs, and in fact the elastic was cutting into her skin. Snape saw this and, with his bare hands, grabbed the panties and ripped them down the crotch. Or at least tried to - the result was that said panties had a reinforced crotch (very sensible panties they were), and he had to actually use his teeth in order to get the fabric ripping.

    Not that Hermione was complaining. The undies were quite wet with her sweat and desire, and it was incredibly sexy to see this enormous man with her undies in his teeth.

    So without further ado, he cast the necessary spells and rammed himself into her. The stone on which she lay was the perfect position for him to slam himself into her, and his bit of exercise seemed to have invigorated his efforts. So the net effect was better than Hermione could remember, even with him.

    The stone was starting to feel cold, so she had to stop and place her cloak underneath her exposed buttocks.

    The feeling of sexual fireworks was utterly complete at that point. Severus’ member was going in and out at such a rapid pace, Hermione felt like it couldn’t actually be attached to a human being, much less one as large and chubby as Snape. He himself growled as he took her, gnashing his teeth and completely losing himself in the act.

    But all good things must end, so with a final shudder, Severus spent himself inside her, and groaning and gasping, he crawled onto the stone next to her, pulling his pants halfway up.

    “That was amazing,” Hermione whispered, feeling like people said marijuana made people feel like - she was gazing up at the clouds above them, and feeling every bit as high as they were.

    “Feeling is mutual,” gasped Severus, who was sweating with the exertion.

    They lay there with closed eyes for a while, breathing in the scent of the woods around them, and the sounds of the occasional bird tweeting.

    But hurriedly, a whispering - “Quick, let’s go,” - and Hermione sat up as if electrocuted. She was just in time to see the retreating form of Frank Graysteel, holding the hand of another student Hermione didn’t recognize, and they were running at top speed down the stairs.

    Snape groaned. “Well,” he said, “fuck.”

    Hermione began to giggle. “Oh gods,” she murmured, “poor kids.”

    “Serve them right for sneaking off against supervision,” Snape said a little more sternly. He turned his head and looked into her eyes, his face stoic.

    Hermione shook her head and began full-out laughing.

    Snape seemed inclined to remain properly embarrassed by the incident, but Hermione couldn’t stop laughing.

    So he smirked. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, kissing her, “you really don’t care?”

    “No,” Hermione said grandly, feeling benevolent and giddy, “I’m in love with Severus Snape. I don’t give a shit who knows that.”

    This utterance seemed to freeze Severus - his body grew still, and he seemed to stop breathing as he processed this information.

    “Erm,” he said, and Hermione realized that she’d possibly gone into dangerous territory. She apologetically sat up to look him in the eye.

    He sat up too, more cautious than she.

    “So,” he said, and his tongue passed over his lips thoughtfully. “They say it’s easier for a woman to fall in love with a man, and that it’s also easier for a woman to fall out of love with a man. And that when a man falls in love, it is more difficult for him to get in and out.”

    Hermione snorted. “We don’t live in the 1950s anymore, Severus.”

    “Hold on” he amended, “I don’t mean to say that’s true… after all, where does a gender-nonconforming person fit into that schema? ...what I mean to say is… Hermione…” He reached up and touched her hair, which was nearly golden in the autumn sun, “I’m not ready to say that I’m in love with you. At least not yet.”

    Hermione felt a lump in her throat - oh, she was so stupid! - but she nodded. “Of course,” she said, “I was speaking without thinking.”

    “It’s all right,” he said, and stroked her, and pulled her gently into an embrace. “I also don’t want to make it seem as if… that isn’t something that I want with you. In fact, all evidence points towards me experiencing loving feelings towards you this very moment, for example - my sense of completeness when I’m with you, the.... the bewildering drive to want to see you all the time… my heartbeat when I join with you… my desire to have sex with you constantly… I mean,” he went on, stumblingly, “It’s just… I don’t have a lot of experience with love, so please forgive me if I am cautious to say that I love a person. Is that fair?”

    “Certainly,” Hermione said, though she felt wounded. She knew intellectually that he wasn’t denying the feelings they’d been sharing together, but he just wanted to be slower and confirm that it was something he could safely invest in before he committed.

    Emotionally, she felt like he felt she wasn’t worth committing to. She felt like if there really was love here, he’d have to break his rules in order to engage in it fully. And he wasn’t willing to set aside his conventions and needs in order to just enjoy being with her.

    And that truly stung.

    “So,” she confirmed, trying to dispel the lump that grew in her throat, “you just need more time before you feel you can safely be in love with me.”

    He breathed out, apparently feeling understood. “Yes,” he murmured.

    “So,” Hermione said, “despite your actual admitted feelings, you don’t want to say you’re in love with me, even though you feel like you’re in love with me.”

    Severus seemed to be realizing that he had said the wrong thing, and a cautious, ‘Yes?’ peeled out of his voice, inviting her to say more.

    Hermione turned away from him and said, fiercely, “I’m not sure if you understand me. I don’t think it’s fair for you to hold out on me in the saying of something as essential and affirming as ‘I love you,’ especially when your only good reason is convention or something.”

    Severus was puzzled and perplexed, and there was an anger behind those feelings.

    “So, what are you saying?” he asked, clearly bracing himself for an answer he didn’t like.

    Hermione felt like screaming at him, but she kept her voice calm as she answered him. It was a heroic effort. “If you feel a feeling,” she said, “say you feel it. Don’t hide it. Love is not forever, Severus, even if you are desperate for it to be. You don’t have to love me tomorrow just because you love me today. Love isn’t a commitment. It’s a feeling.”

    “And that’s where we differ,” Severus said, his voice firm as steel. “As it happens, I *do* love forever, Granger. Every single person I have ever loved is part of me for the rest of my life. When you fuck me, you also fuck Lily Potter and Erika Holmes.”

    “Now that’s just creepy,” Hermione said, despite herself.

    Severus looked fierce, but ignored the comment. “For me, Granger, love is a commitment. It’s more than that. It’s an alliance. It’s me saying, I will forever let myself be changed by you. When I love someone, I look at the world with them through their eyes, and I will possess and be possessed by them. For me to love someone, Granger, is to take a part of their soul, and make it part of my own. So forgive me,” he said, with a huff, “if I’m not prepared to make that kind of promise after a few weeks of a relationship.”

    Hermione found herself close to tears, but she at least could understand where he was coming from.

    “I see,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I hear you. I think you’re wrong, but I do hear you.”

    Snape shrugged. “Maybe it means I’m not very good at polyamory,” he mused, and it sounded like he’d never thought of this before. “But I can’t change this basic principle of my being.”

    Hermione nodded, and took a deep breath.

    As she became calmer, he began to stroke her hair, and cuddle her softly.

    “For what it’s worth,” he said again, but there was little hope in his voice as he said it, “I’m certainly in a place where it’s possible to love you in the near future, given time.”

    “Fine,” Hermione said, and sighed.

    They sat there for several minutes, and Hermione began to pull on her clothes, minus her lost underpants.

    “What are you doing?” asked Severus, curious but not pressing her.

    “I’m headed back to the castle,” she said, and added as an afterthought, “are you coming with?”

    He looked at her for a few minutes, sadly, and said, “Erm. No. I want to sit here for a while yet.”

    Hermione shook her head and walked away. “See you later?” he called, feebly, not believing in it.

    Hermione didn’t look back. “I’ll slip you a note when I’m ready,” she responded, and she headed down the hill.

    As she was nearly out of earshot, she heard him cursing at the heavens.
     
  17. Dec 9, 2014 #37

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 28

    Chapter Text

    Hermione wasn't sure how she felt once she returned to her room. As she curled up in her messy bed, she felt the echoes of Snape's presence there. A few long hairs were left on the pillow, and her mattress retained his imprint despite him having vacated the spot so much earlier. The house-elves had done the dishes in the sink, at least.

    She felt like she had lost him, though she realized she was being melodramatic. She hadn't lost him. She needed space to think.

    There was no question in her mind whether or not this relationship was worth it. Being with Severus made her feel... incredible. Some people might have found his negativity too toxic, his depression too heavy, his sexual inclinations perverse. But she didn't feel that about any of those things.

    No, she didn't doubt that Severus was a good match for her, and moreover, she didn't doubt that he loved her at least as much as she loved him.

    But could she accept that he wasn't able to give himself over to it completely?

    She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting her head rest on the clean white pillows. Yes, she could accept it. It was hard, bur she had to accept where he was at, right now. She couldn't convince him to be different than he was. That wasn't what a relationship was about. You either like the person and what they bring to the table, or get out of the relationship. You can grow together, and alongside each other, but there's no changing a person when you're in a partnership with them.

    Change, after all, comes from within. And Hermione knew that. But damn if it wasn't inconvenient and uncomfortable for her.

    So as she lay there, she thought about her poor lover feeling angry and scared in the forest. She knew he'd headed back soon after her - she was certain the only reason he held back was to give her space.

    She rose up and grabbed her wand. It took her a few moments to get over her anger and think of something happy - the way he'd nuzzled her and kissed her so warmly, the feeling of the cold stone on her skin as he'd ravished her, and the way the sunlight glinted through the translucent leaves of the forest... and then the otter emerged from her wand.

    "Hi sweetheart," she whispered to the otter, who she privately called Kyle. She brushed the creature's glowing fur and Kyle danced around her, reproachfully. He knew he was an apology. "Go to Severus and tell him I'm sorry..."

    The otter seemed to set his mouth grimly, and he batted at the oyster that he carried in his hand, not opening it for her message.

    "Okay," Hermione replied, "Tell him, that I'm very sorry I acted so immature. And that now that I've had a moment to myself, I'm not mad, and that I want to see him tonight. Or, if not, tomorrow is also fine."

    She sent the otter away with a whisk of her hand, and Kyle disappeared out her window.

    Hermione took a moment to relax there in the cool bed, and picked Severus' hairs off the pillow and put them on her side-table, not quite willing to part with them. They were a tangible reminder that he existed, and that they had something together.

    She then proceeded to get out her students' papers and work idly on grading. It was tedious work, but a necessary part of the job, of course.

    It was no surprise that she received a knock on the door as the afternoon went on, and Hermione quickly pulled her hair into something presentable and answered it.

    It was a surprise that McGonagall was the one standing there, a curious light in her eyes.

    "Hermione," she said gracefully, and at Hermione's gesture she walked into the room. "I'm glad I caught you. How are you this fine Saturday?"

    "Fine," Hermione answered, a little embarrassed to be found grading in bed, instead of a more respectable place like the desk or table. As it happened, she was embarrassed at the mess of her living room - while there was space for two pudgy people on the couch, none of the other chairs were clear, all was covered in books. Snape's laptop was in there still, now that Hermione realized it, and she tried to ignore it.

    "I'm glad," Minerva said, and seated herself in the space on the couch, primly, trying not to disrupt a leaning tower of reading materials on the opposite end. "So, I just wanted to see how you are doing, regarding that paperwork you were going to fill out."

    Hermione tried desperately not to blush. "Hm. About that. I'm not actually going to be filling it out, after all."

    "Ah," Minerva said, her lips firm. "Well then. I suppose that's all I wanted to ask about, really."

    "Erm," Hermione said, "that's it?"

    McGonagall nodded, but there seemed to be some secret amusement in her eyes.

    Hermione took a deep breath. "No, that's not it. What can I help you with?"

    McGonagall smiled. "Well. Heavens. I mean, I don't want to be prying into your personal business."

    Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really? You don't want to pry?"

    "But I must be curious, just from a professional standpoint," returned McGonagall with a hint of humor. "I heard a rumor today that was... very interesting."

    "Rumor away," Hermione responded, clearing off one of the armchairs so that she had a place for herself to sit.

    McGonagall looked humored. "I'm hearing that have had the good fortune to find yourself a beaux."

    While this was certainly true, Hermione flushed red. "You might say that."

    The smile in McGonagall's eyes was not wavering. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, and she sighed. "To be truthful, I'm glad to hear it is Severus. I've always worried about the poor boy, and he's certainly not an easy person to tolerate."

    "He's changed," Hermione responded, thoughtfully. "He's not like he used to be. He's..." She paused. "He's different now."

    McGonagall gently clucked her tongue. "That's certainly evident, dear."

    But it was clear that Minerva really didn't understand, not like Hermione did. "In other ways, too," Hermione added, "He's not as bitter as he used to be."

    The headmistress seemed to hear her. "Hermione," McGonagall said, "I'm sure that he has. Time has healing properties for all of us. But that being said," she continued, "We cannot forget how he used to be. He is famous for having always loved a woman who wasn't his own. I just don't want to see you be hurt by him."

    Hermione was shocked by this pronouncement, and stood up. "What are you saying?" she asked, her tone dangerous.

    The old woman who sat there was thoughtful, and meek. "I don't know," she said, clearly regretting having said anything. "Just... remember that sometimes we can be blind to the failings of people we want to see the best of."

    The blood in Hermione's veins boiled, and especially given that this conversation was coming on the heels of her previous anxiety regarding Snape's affections. "You sound like Dumbledore," she said coldly, and Minerva's face changed, became darker.

    "Don't ever say that to me," McGonagall said, her voice tight with anger. "I am not, and never will be, like Albus."

    "Prove it," Hermione said, "because today you haven't convinced me. You're meddling," she said, and as she spoke she was almost surprised at what she was saying. "That's what Dumbledore always did. He always acted mysterious and meddled in everyone's affairs."

    Then, in an instant, something else clicked into place. "And what's more," Hermione added, her frustration growing, "did you think you were being clever by putting up a blank wall when I complained about Severus' legilemency incident? Because I don't appreciate not being taken seriously when I confide in someone I trust about something that bothered me."

    McGonagall had the good sense to look abashed at this accusation.

    "Well," Hermione demanded. "Did you, or did you not, purposefully stonewall me?"

    "I can't excuse myself," Minerva said, "I truly can't, Hermione. All I can say is, I thought I was acting for the best."

    "How reassuring," Hermione said sarcastically, "thanks for your concern."

    "I really didn't want to see him develop a divide from the other staff so early in the school year," McGonagall said weakly. "I knew that if the system moved forward too swiftly to condemn him before he'd had a chance to prove he was different... that no one would see how he had changed." She sighed. "He didn't have to change an awful lot. It only benefited Albus for people to think Severus was evil, chaotic, and malicious. But I knew him better, and I saw him as simply broken. And broken people don't get second chances, not in this cruel world. Not unless we make an effort to give it to them."

    Hermione shook her head. "Headmistress, I think you made the wrong decision for the right reasons."

    McGonagall raised her hands, subdued. "Perhaps. Only time will tell."

    "Time has told," Hermione said, reluctantly, "that he did apologize for his actions relatively swiftly."

    McGonagall looked as though she wanted to be triumphant, her faith in Severus being proven right. But Hermione wouldn't stand for that. "However," Hermione said, "that does not change the fact that you yourself did the wrong thing by not prosecuting him. Even he saw that," Hermione went on, "and he scrubbed cauldrons as penance."

    The headmistress looked shocked, until Hermione added, "At his own insistence."

    A silence settled over them, and the mantel clock ticked loudly.

    "I think," Hermione said, breaking the cold quiet, "that you protest too quickly on Severus' behalf. That's clear from this incident. But does this really come from a place of protectiveness for an underdog in whom you have absolute faith," she said, her voice growing frigid, "or is it actually a lack of faith in his own social abilities?"

    McGonagall said, tremblingly, "How *dare* you. Of course it comes from a place of faith."

    "Really," Hermione said, and she realized she was going too far, but she couldn't stop herself. "Because in this situation, I'm reminded of when my housemate, Gloria, had an owl that had to be put down because it was too savage, too wild. She insisted it was other people that had provoked it. But anyone could see that it was not the case."

    McGonagall stood. "No," she said vehemently, "You don't know what the *hell* you are talking about. You think because you've been dating him for a few weeks that all of a sudden, you know him better than I do? Well, my dear, you *don't.* You never saw how they ganged up on him, in the Order. They made him stand outside in the rain sometimes, and wouldn't let him in. They bullied him day in and day out. And no one did a thing about it. They never tried to protect him or give him advice or support him. They saw him as strategically important, but they wouldn't have invited him to their childrens' weddings when peacetime came.

    "AND YET," she said, in a clear, crisp voice, "He stayed true. Of course after Albus' death, we doubted him - everyone did - but I, I should have known better. Because, Hermione, dear,” McGonagall went on, “I saw him faced with choices that no person should have to live with - choices that would break normal people. Choices that I couldn’t make once, let alone day after day, part of my routine.

    “But Severus - he persevered through it, somehow, and me, I saw him do it. I saw him struggle with the daily effort that he expended just to go on living another day. I prayed to all the gods that he would find a way to stay the course and never break from it. And without a doubt, if I had been him, I would have abandoned hope and drive after years. I was blessed to be a mere supporter in the great drama of this war,” she concluded, “But Severus - he was one of the indispensible players.”

    Hermione felt a rush of passion, and realized that she had, in fact, underestimated McGonagall’s desire to do right by Severus.

    “I’m sorry I said those things,” Hermione said gratefully. “I didn’t know.”

    “Of course you didn’t know, child,” McGonagall said, and extended her hand. Hermione took it, feeling a rise of emotions. “I came to tell you.”

    “Why?” Hermione asked. “Why do you want me to know this?”

    “Because,” the headmistress said with a sigh, sitting again, “he deserves to have everything we can give him, and more. His mind has long been lost to illness the likes of which neither you nor I can imagine. And I firmly believe that this illness, it is the cost that he had to pay to keep us safe.” McGonagall looked defeated. “I only wish the treatment for this illness wasn’t so… dramatic. He’s had a weight on his shoulders all his life metaphorically, it’s dreadful he has to bear it physically in his middle age as well.”

    Hermione felt a pang of concern, and bit her tongue. She didn’t have to ask if McGonagall thought Severus would have, if he could, become the thin and well-exercised man he’d once been. Hermione did wonder if Severus would, in fact, take that choice if it were presented to him.

    “So you want me to be with him,” Hermione said, realizing that this wasn’t McGonagall’s way of trying to convince her that Snape was too dangerous or something for a sweet young thing like her. It was a refreshing realization.

    “Yes,” McGonagall said sadly. “I think it will be good for him. And good for you, too,” she added sympathetically, “but forgive me if I can’t help but think of what might be best for him right now. He’s been sacrificing himself since before you were born.”

    “Fair enough,” Hermione said.

    “Moreover,” McGonagall went on, “I came here,” she said, “not to warn you against him, as you seemed to expect when we began this conversation - but to warn you what you're up against. In him, you will see horrors the likes of which you will never see again. He has indeed changed, much more than you can imagine, but also not as much as you think he has. Mostly,” she said, thoughtful, “it’s the circumstances of his world that have changed. And what you see in him is what he could have been, all along.”

    She sighed. “Hermione,” she said, very serious, “There’s not many people that I would entrust with the mission of guarding our poor boy’s heart against the horrors of life. But you are, in fact, up to the task, if you are willing to accept it. You have time to back out, now,” she added, “if that’s what you prefer. I won’t pretend that loving Severus will be anything other than difficult. But it seems like you’ve chosen to do it, and I support you in your choice no matter what. I think it’s only fair to warn you that you should make this decision with the prudence and good sense that you’ve heretofore exhibited with aplomb.”

    Hermione smiled, the flattery getting to her a little bit, but she felt a little offended that Minerva had thought she needed warning. “I will do that.”

    Minerva smiled, a look of confoundment mixed with pleasure on her face. “I’m glad you seem to enjoy each other,” she said, simply. “Before I knew, I thought it would be difficult to convince you to join forces romantically with him, given his physical state. I’m sure if you nudge him, he’ll get himself back in at least some semblance of shape in due time.”

    Hermione’s smile was plaster-thin. “I’m sure he would,” she replied.

    At least the headmistress was shrewd enough to pick up on the falseness in Hermione’s voice. “Unless, of course, you prefer him this way?”

    Hermione coughed. “I think I’d like to get some more grading done before the hour’s out, headmistress, if you don’t mind.”

    McGonagall didn’t need more than one hint. “Of course,” she murmured, and she glanced around the room, as if searching for some clue about Hermione’s predilections. She added, reassuringly, “My uncle was a large man also, and his wife always insisted that he was eating them out of house and home - though it was obvious she enjoyed how he cleaned his plate of her cooking. It’s rare north of Edinburgh, but not as rare as it is in the south. The cold weather is the cause, I expect.”

    “I’m sure,” Hermione said firmly, not willing to engage in this conversation. “Is that all?”

    “Almost,” McGonagall said, standing again, and her bones seemed to creak as she eased her bony frame up. “Albus and I always believed that it was our mission to ensure that Severus found someone to love, after the war was over. My reasons were simply that he’d given up his soul to a fantasy, and that he deserved to experience a real kind of happiness for everything he’s done for us. But Albus’ reasons were more sinister, as usual.” She rolled her eyes. “He believed that Severus, if left unattended, could have become the next great dark wizard.” She shook her head. “So if Albus were here, he’d say that this matter was one of national security. Though you and I know, that’s not true.” Minerva shook her head, every year of her life etched in her face grimly. “Albus broke him too well for him to take that kind of initiative.”

    “So lead him, Hermione,” she said, as she went towards the door, “lead him towards happiness. He’s not a leader, he’s a follower, even if he is the noblest of them all. If you tire on the journey ahead of you, you should find a way to replace yourself in his life. But for the moment, while you have the energy, take him and lead him towards something that’s worth having. And let’s pray he never needs to enter battle again.”

    “He won’t,” Hermione said kindly, “He’s said over and over again, he’d never do it again.”

    Minerva laughed softly, and this laughter was more meaningful than any response she could have said.

    And then she was gone, leaving Hermione wallowing in her thoughts.

    It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard a response to her patronus yet.

    *Shit. I hope he’s all right.*

    She prepared another one and sent it, feeling a sense of dread boiling in her stomach.
     
  18. Dec 9, 2014 #38

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    Fat Molly

    hufflepuff hobbit

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    Chapter 29

    Chapter Text

    Hermione felt the worry knot in her stomach, but at that moment the floo began to glow, and with a rush, she hurried over to the fireplace.

    It was hard not to appear crestfallen when Ron's face appeared in the ashes.

    "Expecting someone else?" he asked with a bitter laugh.

    "Sorry," Hermione said, "Not that I'm happy to see you! But yes. Rather."

    "I'll be quick then," Ron said with a cocky grin, but there was an undertone of painful jealousy that assured Hermione that he hadn't been making his therapy appointments lately. "I know you're busyyyyyy."

    He dragged out the last word with a mixture of taunting and bitterness.

    "No, no rush," Hermione said, taking a deep breath and smiling, trying to focus entirely on her ex-lover's face. "I'm not actually busy right now. How is Rodney?"

    "Fine," Ron said, "I mean, I guess. He's busy too."

    Hermione picked up immediately on the rash of anger that Ron was hiding. "Come on" she said, "what do you think is really happening here?"

    Ron huffed. "I don't think *anything* is *happening,*" he said, clearly frustrated, "but I do find it strange that, all of a sudden, he's got so much to do with practice that we haven't seen each other in almost a week."

    "Almost a week?" Hermione asked.

    Ron nodded, glum and downtrodden.

    "Did anything happen that makes you think..." Hermione tried, but Ron cut her off.

    "Well, obviously something *happened,*" Ron said with a sneer. "The question is, *what?*"

    Hermione grimaced. "Well," she said simply, "what evidence do you see that indicates that he's... avoiding you, or whatever."

    Ron looked like he was on the verge of exploding. "What evidence," he said with a tight laugh, "well he's not coming to see me."

    "Have you spoken with him recently?" Hermione asked.

    Ron nodded, "Yes, just now. He said he was out grabbing a bite, and he'd be ready to come over later."

    "Then what's the problem?" Hermione asked cautiously. "It sounds like you'll be seeing him tonight."

    "Yes," Ron said, and his voice began to falter. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. "Yes, I suppose so."

    "So what are you worked up about?" Hermione said, finding herself chuckling. "You're being incredibly silly, Ron."

    This was not always the correct thing to tell Ron, but when it came to romantic sorts of things, she knew she had enough credibility in his mind to criticize him gently like this.

    "I guess so," he responded, and sighed. "I just... I just hate when I feel like he's slipping away, 'Mione." His face was taut and nervous. "I don't want him to leave me because of my family."

    "Well," Hermione said with a smile, "I think you'd probably know it if that's what was happening. Don't you think he would talk with you about it? After all, when you started your relationship, I thought he talked up and down about how many times he'd been screwed over in disingenuous relationships where his boyfriends didn't talk to him about problems. And I thought you felt like you guys were both on the same page about that."

    "You're right," Ron said, and he looked sufficiently chastened.

    "You should talk to him about these feelings," Hermione said, "even if this seems like it's a bit obvious for me to say this."

    "Bugger," Ron said, looking quite downcast and grounded again. "You're right. I should have done that right off, shouldn't I have?"

    "Yes," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. "But better now than later, I imagine."

    "I guess so," Ron said, and took a deep breath. "I'll talk to him when I see him later."

    "Right," Hermione said, "You do that. So how are your parents?"

    "They're all right," Ron said, sounding nervous again. "I... I told da' I want to talk to him about something, and he's been putting me off. Says he's too worked up about things at the ministry to put some time aside. I told him it's important, and he said he'll let me know when he has a moment. But I don't like waiting." Ron squirmed. "It-"

    Ron was interrupted by a knock at the door.

    Hermione's heart fluttered from her chest into her face, and it certainly did not go unremarked by Ron.

    "You've been waiting for that," Ron said, as Hermione pushed her hair back and pulled at a stray curl. "Well, go on then."

    "Don't go," Hermione said, and Ron groaned. She wasn't sure why she said that; ironically, while she was talking to Ron about conveying his feelings to Rodney, she didn't quite feel ready to talk with Severus about what happened. If it was indeed him at the door.

    So she got up and went to answer it, her stomach knotting even though she knew, rationally, she had nothing really to worry about.

    To her immense relief, Snape was standing at the door, two patronuses at his heel.

    "These..." he said softly, and stopped. Then started again. "They found me," he said with a curious smile. "I was coming anyway."

    "Good," Hermione said, and put out her hand. "I'm glad."

    He took it, a blank expression on his face, but there was a hint of awe in it. "You're wondrous," he said, in a very low whisper, barely audible to her ears, "And I'm sorry I'm such a stubborn old fool."

    "Don't worry," Hermione said, "I needed to get my head in line. You haven't done anything wrong, not at all. I should have been more empathetic."

    "Then... then we're all right?" he asked in a whisper, and his eyes tracked to the side, noticing Ron Weasley's head in the fire. Since the fire was the only light in the dim room, they were both draped in shadows as they stood at the doorway. He brought his eyes back to focus on hers again quickly, and their gaze was steady.

    "Of course," Hermione said with a quiet voice, and clasped his hands warmly. "You're wonderful. And if we're ever *not* all right, it will certainly be far less ambiguous."

    Severus processed this. "If you say so," he murmured, and proceeded to grab her with one hand at her waist, making her gasp involuntarily, and he brought her close to him, where he smothered her mouth in a fierce, decadent kiss.

    "Erm, 'Mione?" called Ron from the floo. "You all right? Where'd you go?"

    "I'm sorry, hon," Hermione called, and then, privately to Severus, she said, "And I'm sorry to you - I'll be done with Ron soon enough."

    "When you are," Severus rumbled, not bothering to keep his voice low, "please, come to my chambers." Their eyes locked, and he added, less loudly, "We'll have dinner."

    Hermione broke away from him slowly, her hand trailing down his buttons until she got to a nice juicy love-handle, and she squeezed him there. "I'll be there as soon as I finish my grading. I want all of Sunday free."

    "Fine," Severus said, and returning the touch, he squeezed both of her arse-cheeks, which made her nearly squeal with desire. "Eight?"

    "Eight's fine," Hermione said.

    He pulled her close again for a seductive, lingering kiss, and then he patted her rear and added, "Also, I came for my computer."

    "Oh," Hermione said with a laugh. "Well, it's there on the table. Help yourself."

    "I shall," he said, and he entered the dark room. Hermione went back to the floo.

    "Sorry, Ron," she said again, "so your father's avoiding you, and you were about to say something about that."

    "Erm," Ron said, clearly holding back a thousand questions, "yeah. Of course mum is bothering me a great deal too, it seems like whatever da' thinks is happening, she didn't get the memo, because she's constantly trying to set me up with girls. I've been telling her... erm..."

    Ron ran completely out of bluffing juice as Severus approached Hermione as she sat there on the hearth's carpet, carrying his laptop under his arm, kissed her sweetly on the cheek, and left without a word, his tread remarkably light on the wooden floor; no boards squeaked at all. The door closed audibly behind him, and Hermione blushed red. She'd been *very* effectively marked, even if Ron had missed all the happenings they'd had in the dark entry of the flat.

    "What was that?" Ron asked, his face completely aghast. "I mean... 'Mione! I... I..."

    Hermione burst out with giddy giggling. "I'm sorry, Ron," she gasped, "your face."

    For indeed, his face was comically overcome with bewilderment, his mouth moving in expressive variations of amazement, bewilderment, and horror.

    "I... I don't even know, 'Mione," Ron said, and took a deep stabilizing breath. "Have you completely gone bonkers?"

    "A bit," Hermione admitted, feeling awash with relief that Severus wasn't ignoring her. "I mean. Not in a bad way, I think."

    "Bad?" Ron echoed, and nearly yelled, "Bad? No, 'Mione, I don't think you know what that word means. Bad is falling for a slimy git like Severus Snape. What's happening here is goddamn *awful.* It's *horrific!* What the *hell* kind of potion did he slip you?"

    "Why," Hermione asked, perversely enjoying Ron's blockheaded subbornness right now. "Why do you think he's slipping me a potion?"

    "Because he's a potions master," declared Ron, "and a slimy git, and HERMIONE I AM LEGITIMATELY CONCERNED THAT YOU HAVE GONE BLIND! At least I could *understand* your attraction before, since he was tall, dark, and in a gothic way sort-of handsome (albeit disgusting), but now? God, 'Mione, this is sick!"

    Hermione was well prepared for this kind of backlash from the highly fat-phobic Ron. She also didn't quite know what to do with it. But she was looking forward to being challenged by this particular variety of blockheadedness. "You really don't remember, Ron, those times I tried to put you off dieting after you put on a little holiday pudge?"

    "I..." Ron took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "I remember, of course; we talked it to death. And you said you were fine watching me grow a little tum during the off-season. That's... that's different though. I had no idea it was... like this!" Ron's eyes blazed with realization. "Is that what you would have wanted for *me,* 'Mione? Just to get... so fat and blubbery I can't even fly?"

    "For the record, he *can* fly," Hermione said, "and what's more, he's no bigger than some of your Beater teammates. Honestly, you should watch your exaggeration, Ron."

    "No exaggeration's needed in this case!" Ron exclaimed, slamming his hand in the ash. "He's no athlete! Do you even *look* at him, 'Mione? He's *enormous!* And no muscle to speak of, he carries at least half his weight in that massive gut! Why, he's nearly as big as *Slughorn!* Would you go out with *Slughorn,* 'Mione?"

    She shrugged. "Maybe, if he weren't such an attention-seeking sycophantic arse, and three or four times my age."

    "HOW IS THAT ANY DIFFERENT THAN SNAPE?" Ron roared. "Really, 'Mione! I'm genuinely concerned that you have been jinxed or hexed or something."

    "Well," Hermione said with a smirk, "Don't be. I'm enjoying my time with Severus, Ron."

    "YOU CALL HIM SEVERUS?" shrieked Ron. "I can't believe this, 'Mione! Have you told Harry about this yet?"

    Hermione shook her head, feeling a little deflated at the mention of Harry. "No, I haven't spoken with him for months now."

    Ron raised his fists in the air. "With my luck, Harry'll just be all affirming, 'Oh, I'm so glad you can make him happy, 'Mione,' you know that's what he'd say."

    "I know it," Hermione responded, "So Ron, what would it cost you to be just a little bit more kind to me than Harry would be about this?"

    "Kind?" Ron demanded, "I'm being kind! I really am! I'm actually concerned about your bloody welfare is what I'm being kind about!"

    "Well," Hermione said, "I know your heart is in the right place, darling, but you see, you just don't get to tell me who is allowed in my life. We've talked about this."

    "I know I don't," Ron said, sighing and winding down his anger. "But... but 'Mione, he's fucking *enormous.*"

    "I like that," Hermione said with a grin. "More to love."

    "Seriously?" Ron demanded with a huff. "Really?"

    "You know, Ron," Hermione said, "you've got to accept this eventually."

    "Accept it?" Ron replied, "You're telling me that this is just the way it is? That I shouldn't be concerned that you've been drugged?"

    "No one's being drugged, Ron," Hermione said, grinning ear to ear. There was something comforting about his outrage, something that felt... hmmm... it felt like he was manufacturing it out of a desire to express affection for her, and care. Maybe it was her imagining things, but she could already feel the wind come out of Ron's sails.

    "Well, I know *I'm* not," Ron replied, "Not so sure about you." But he seemed to be settling down into a comfortable grumpiness about the matter already. "Would you *really* have been more into me, 'Mione, if I got as big as he is?"

    "Perhaps?" Hermione said with a snicker. "Not that it would have helped us all that much, Ron. I mean, given I'm the wrong gender for you and all."

    "Well," Ron said, considering, "It wouldn't be so bad a life, I guess. Just feed me up all day and all night. I'd be content with that. Just getting fatter every day. Sounds nice, actually."

    He began to grin, as a fantasy started to emerge in his mind. "My mum would certainly approve, provided it's your cooking that's doing the fattening. Nothing better than for a husband to get fat on his doting wife's affection. She might even forget to ask us about grandbabies, if I look like I'm about to be popping them out any minute."

    He paused. "Would you consider it, if I retired from playing? Rodney could be our 'roommate,' and you and I could 'get back together,' and you could fuck Snape on weekends?"

    Hermione laughed outright. She was surprised how easily he came around to supporting her. "There, you see?" she exclaimed, "you understand it. You do. So I won't hear another word about it from you, you silly."

    "Fine," Ron said, pouting beautifully. "But know, 'Mione, if he so much as breathes on you the wrong way, well, he's a dead man."

    Hermione smiled gratefully. This conversation had gone *much* better than she could have ever hoped for. "Thank you, Ron," she said, taking a nice deep breath, "You're wonderful."

    "And oh," Ron said, smirking a little bit on his part. "Is *this* why you've been going and pudging up yourself? Does he have a thing for you being 'a little more to love'?"

    "A little bit," Hermione said with a small self-conscious smile. "I'm just naturally getting bigger, my life being as sedentary as it is... but he has been helping a bit."

    "Cripes," Ron said, shaking his head. "If you aren't as big as he is come Christmas, I'll eat a bludger."

    "I don't think it'll be *that* bad, Ron," Hermione said with a laugh, even though her face was getting hot as she thought about it. Could she *really* weigh almost twice her current weight in the next two months? No, she thought to herself, that would be impossible.

    But... Severus did have those potions... and they hadn't even tried them all...

    Her cunt was definitely tight with desire, and her breathing became more shallow. If she weighed 324 pounds come December 25th... oh hell... oh my...

    Ron waved at her, and brought her out of her brief moment of daydreaming. "Earth to 'Mione," he said, using one of her favorite Muggle expressions, "You aren't getting all hot and bothered at the very idea, are you?"

    She shook her head no, but her blush said very clearly, *yes.*

    "Hell," Ron said, "I didn't mean to give you a new sex fantasy. Dammit." He shook his head. "All right, 'Mione," he said with an eyeroll and a stupefying grin, "I'm going to be seeing Rodney soon. You go run off to his *chambers,* and have yourself some delicious sex, why don't you."

    He rang off, and the fire went back to its usual state.

    Hermione, for her own part, ran to the bathroom as soon as his face disappeared from the flames, and she decided to cast the weight charm on herself.

    But before she did, she thought a few moments about how she might change it.

    Her spellwork was beautiful, as it almost always was, and instead of the bone-thin witch staring incredulously at her when she cast it, a delightful and plump Helga-Hufflepuff-type beamed back at her to read her total.

    "A hundred and seventy three," proclaimed the charm encouragingly. "Really, Hermione, wonderful job. Last we measured, you were at a hundred and sixty five. That's eight loveable pounds in just nine days. Almost a pound a day! Of course, there's fluctuation to do with water weight and all that, so you have to consider that..."

    But Hermione wasn't listening at this point, instead sinking down on the lid of the closed toilet and, as she did so, looking down at her beautiful growing belly. "Today is October 13th. A hundred and fifty one pounds in seventy-three days. That's over two pounds a day. Can I *really* put on that much so quickly?"

    "It's possible, dearie," said the witch with a smile. "But only if you eat practically nonstop, and every single day, you must eat just a little bit more than you can comfortably fit in your belly. You'll need to push yourself." The charm gave Hermione a look that was practically wicked. "But, I think with the help you'll get from your boyfriend, you won't have much trouble." The witch paused. "That's what you young folks are calling each other these days, right? Boyfriend and girlfriend?"

    "That's right," Hermione said with a grin. "Oh god." She stood up, feeling wet and weak in the knees. "Thanks, Cozy."

    "No problem at all, sweetheart," the witch said with good humor, "Now go back to that nice plump hunk of a man and get yourself fueled up. You've got a long way to go in very little time!"

    ............
    Hi folks! I love love love love love love love when you review, especially when you tell me what you like about each chapter. It really helps to keep me going! The denouement of this story *is* in sight, I think, though honestly I could probably write this story forever. (I won't, I don't think, but hey, it would be awesome to get this to a million words!!! That would take forever but it would be awesome!)
     
  19. Dec 10, 2014 #39

    BobbyFad

    BobbyFad

    BobbyFad

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    I like where this is going, the mix of erotic parts, and story, keeps me reading this story whenever updates are made.
     
  20. Dec 10, 2014 #40

    otherland78

    otherland78

    otherland78

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    wow this whole story is so great and long ;-) (what is always nice so I have to read more ;-)
    that i can´t explain in how many ways ......
    but their relationship and behaving and both eating and stuffing themselves ;-) and this potion was such a cool idea hehe
    and their stuffing/sex scenes were so deliscious mhmmm....

    really a great adaötation of Harry POtter :)
     

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