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please please leave reviews on every chapter if you can, even though I've been updating a lot lately. they really make life a lot better for me.
Note: This fic features a fat! and black!Hermione. Don't like, don't read.
other content: lesbianism, bisexuality, transgender stuff, genderbending, genderqueerness, fat appreciation, erotic weight gain (minor compared to my other stories), imposter syndrome, depression, dealing with complex racial issues, peer pressure, radical changes in beliefs. Also a lot of really cool stuff that doesn't seem content-note worthy.
Written for NR and JK, with kudos to PurpleFluffyCat.
Millicent Bulstrode looked at the door of the healer's office. It felt like all of the emotions she'd been accumulating over the past several years were crashing into her at once, like opening a drawer with a malevolent genie inside.
The door was finely grained oak, aged a long time. The healer could probably afford it, after having spent so many years in the world of St. Mungo's only to graduate to a quiet private practice in Diagon Alley. The handle of the door had two serpents twining around it, and the knocker was a silver medieval caduceus. It was probably a family heirloom, given that Healer Caius was descended from a long line of alchemists and healers.
She took a deep breath, and withdrew her hand from where she held it extended in front of her. It might have just been her imagination, but she thought that as her calloused hand reached out to take the handle, it sparked with real electricity.
The thought made her immediately sad, for the sparks reminded her of days gone by. The sparks, indeed, reminder Millicent of her. Fire, electricity, sparkles: that was the way she had been. The creativity, imagination, and passion that had been in her eyes. The way her bushy hair, coiled with energy in every seductive spring, surged with blue electricity when she was angry. The way her hands had felt as they touched the most sensitive places on Millicent's body...
...But, Millicent reminded herself, that was why she was here now. To stop feeling so bad about what had happened. To get her back to sorts. And if that meant forgetting everything, well, she was alright with that.
The memories were too painful to endure any longer. She'd gained too much weight. She was too burdened by the shame, the resentment, the despair, and the disgrace. Life was mechanical now, perfunctory, and unmeaningful.
Millicent knew she had to do something to get her back on track. Maybe finally find a boy to marry, to make her mother breathe a sigh of contentment at long last. Maybe someone gay, so they'd be able to have some sort of martial arrangement where they each pursued their own interests privately, but appeared in public together and sexed once or twice to produce suitable offspring. Like Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, whose open marriage was an open secret amongst the pureblood elite, but significantly less rich.
Yes, that was the best she could hope for now. If she and her love were still together, Millicent might have been game to fight for their rights to be accepted, unconventional as they might have been.
But they weren't. Things had been said. Millicent hadn't budged. Neither had she. And they'd parted, unable to compromise.
It had been devastating for Millicent. Millicent knew she had moved on fairly swiftly, finding solace in her frenzied efforts at the public advocate's office at the Ministry of Magic. Last she heard, it looked like she barely missed Millicent. Oh, what a shame.
Millicent swallowed her pride. This wasn't the time to break down in tears. What a fool Healer Caius would think her! Now was the time to summon courage - the one thing that Millicent had found in herself during her brief, tumultuous courtship with Hermione Granger. She needed to use that courage to get her heart detached from the beautiful mudblood who'd bewitched her mind and ensnared her senses.
Ah yes. Think of Snape. The one man she'd ever crushed on. Use him to fan the flame of her sexuality, that way she might someday find a man halfway appealing.
With a grim smile, she took a deep breath and, gritting herself against her fear, she grasped the handle again, turned it, and opened the door.
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