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.
notes
Dear readers who like this fic: Sorry for lack of regular updates, real life stuff has been overwhelming lately. Thank you for reading and reviewing, you're the greatest. Also please check out more art I commissioned from fattington at deviantart. (Google 'fattington deviantart growing' and look at fattington's gallery!)
…. warning, soapbox ahoy! ….
Dear readers who leave reviews telling me it's 'unhealthy' and 'out of character' and 'the amount they're eating is unrealistic' and such: this is a piece of fiction written in the genre of weight gain fiction. Within the realm of said genre, my writing is consistent with those norms. I understand that if this isn't something you've previously been acquainted with, then you might be shocked and disturbed. I can't say I didn't warn you - the label on the tin is pretty clear. Don't like, don't read. I think this fic counts as a 'rule 34 of the internet' type of fic. Take it in that spirit, please. And seriously: If you don't like it, stop reading it. Take the story off your alerts. And stop commenting your hate. It bums me out and I don't publish your comments anyway.
I've been getting one lovely troll repeatedly telling me "you clearly are mentally ill because you wrote this disgusting thing." I'd like to observe that this is really offensive to over twenty-five percent of the U.S. population. Over 60 million people in the U.S. alone experience some kind of mental illness or disorder in any given year (according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, 2013). This number is inclusive of mood disorders like depression and psychotic disorders like schizophrenia. Please be respectful towards those who struggle with mental illness.
Moreover: Exploring sexual fantasies through writing is hardly a symptom of mental illness. It is a natural thing to experience sexual fantasies that don't fit within typical bounds of what sexual fantasies 'should' look like. I'm just more comfortable with my non-normative fantasies than some people. A fantasy like this can be really scary for people to learn about - and also to have! But I think many people reading this fic have had some kind of sexual fantasy that made them worry about their mental health. And that's okay. The human brain is weird, and we can't always predict or control what turns us on. All we can do is control our behavior, and make sure our real-life relationships are ethical, and our sexual play is consensual.
Last point: One purpose of this fic is to help those who have this particular kink know that they're not alone. I'm not advocating for people to become interested in this kink. I'm writing for those who already have this kink, especially those who are terrified about it, like I used to be. It's a kink that is stigmatized both among people who struggle with their weight, and people who identify as kinky. But many people - like me - have known this kink was part of them since puberty. Fortunately, people are becoming less afraid to talk about weight-gain and fat-centric kink on the internet, at least within communities like Fantasy Feeder, Grommr, Dimensions Magazine Forums, and Tumblr. The more we talk about this kink outside of these communities, the more we can expand peoples' ideas about sexuality. Even if I have to get abuse from commenters for it, I know it's valuable. In the month of August, 3,345 individual visitors came and read this story. That's 3,345 people who may not have heard of this kink before. Less than half of those visitors get to chapter two, as you might guess, and there's significant attrition afterwards. But at this point, every update I get at least two hundred visitors per chapter. Isn't that cool? I had no idea this story would get so much attention.