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

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

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

And other people were noticing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And oh - these were dirty thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn't he said as much the other day?

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

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

…...