Crossposting from Ao3. Adult SSHG. Fat kink / weight gain elements. Glorification of gluttony. Adult themes including suicidal ideation (no attempts), alcoholism, and super-size Fat with a capital F characters. Striving to be more realistic and nuanced than other fics of its ilk, but still intended to be a Kink Fic. You have been warned. Not intended for readers under age 18.

~desperate~

Instead of trying to answer that question, he bundled the young woman up and got her to her flat. Once she was inside, he bid her a quiet 'good night,' and returned to his own rooms.

Or at least, he tried to. But Granger's ancient kneazle, Crookshanks, took it upon himself to leap at Snape as Hermione was closing the door.

It wasn't completely an unfair assumption of the kneazle, to think that Severus had caused the young woman's distress. But the force and velocity of the flying catlike creature knocked Severus flat.

She burst out laughing as Severus landed with great indignity upon his bottom.

"I… I'm sorry," she gasped, and she shook a helpless finger at the kneazle. "Naughty Crooks. That was very naughty."

The kneazle, with the utmost self-righteous huff, stalked back into Granger's rooms, pleased at what it had accomplished.

Now to any ordinary person, being knocked down and out like this was a mere inconvenience and anecdote for years to come. But for the top-heavy Severus, it was simultaneously more inconvenient and less remarkable. He found himself on the ground probably once or twice a month, but it didn't mean getting up was any easier for all that practice.

He looked up at Hermione with the stern lecturer's eyes of old, daring her to laugh more at his expense.

It was a saving grace to his dignity that she understood so instinctively. "Let me help you," she offered with a graciousness befitting a Malfoy, and extended both her pudgy hands to him. With a practiced tug, Severus was able to get himself back on his feet, and he brushed off his posterior in silence. He tried not to remember the less simple, rather traumatic operations he'd had to endure in the past to resolve the same issue.

"You'd… better wash your face," Hermione added once he was upright once more, and she extended an arm to invite him inside. "Loo's on the left."

It was only then that he felt the pinprick of pain from a scratch on his face. Grumblingly, he teetered inside the flat, shaking his head back and forth to regain his balance.

Once he'd washed his face and examined the scratch - it was minor and barely bleeding - he noticed the state of the bathroom was… for lack of a better word, horrendous . Splotches of something sticky splattered across the mirror, the sink was full of loose curly hairs, and a litter box stunk up the space rather badly. There were candy wrappers on the floor surrounding the toilet on all sides, which made him shudder, and the waste bin was overflowing with lady's hygiene items, which made him shudder even more because he could see Professor Granger was a heavy bleeder.

His revulsion must have shown on his face, because as he walked out of the bathroom, Granger's face fell with embarrassment.

"Uh, pardon the mess," the young woman said, and tried not to make eye contact. "I don't use the house-elves for… ethical reasons."

Severus pursed his lips and noticed there was basically no clear spaces to sit in the living room. All of the surfaces were covered in cardboard boxes full of books and papers, upon all of which was a fine layer of dust. His feet ached twice as much, instantly, and he sneezed.

"I… see that," he answered, surveying the mess with undisguised disgust. "When did you move in, if I may ask?"

"A month ago, about," she confessed, looking like a mouse caught outside its bolt-hole. "I know, it's awful."

Severus did his best to dismiss his unpleasant feelings from his face. "I say. Do you have a place where I could sit a moment?"

She lit up, happy to make some kind of gesture of apology. "Of course. The bed is always clear." Then, realizing how that sounded, she added with a wink, "And while that was not intended to be an invitation, Professor, you can take it however you like."

Having already made it clear that he was not inclined in that direction this evening, Severus responded with a furrowed brow. But he needed to rest his fat arse, so after her he went.

Happily, there was a sturdy easy-chair in the bedroom, strewn with clothes. Before Hermione collapsed onto her messy ink-stained bed, she threw the garments onto her vanity.

"So, I'm still too drunk to bed?" she practically whined as Severus eased himself into a sitting position. "You're no fun."

"I won't be a moment," Severus said, trying not to appear as relieved as he felt. "Then I'll leave you to your sleep."

"I'm sorry for being such a mushy mess tonight," Hermione said, drawing the blankets over her lap and snuggling into Crookshanks as the kneazle mewed for attention. "Great first impressions of Adult Hermione, hm?"

"It's hardly your first impression," Severus drawled, leaning back and sighing into the comfortable chair. It was one of those that magically adjusted to whatever the sitter preferred in terms of support, and oh he'd been putting off getting one of these for years and was regretting it now. It was the most luxurious seating experience his large body had enjoyed in a while. "Your achievements in the ministry, despite all your challenges, were astounding, Granger. Myself and others watched your career from afar with pride and envy, respectively."

"I mean, I know I was in the public eye a great deal," Hermione said, leaning back against her headboard and closing her eyes. She looked quite at peace, even though half the bed was covered in books and pens and parchments and things. "I just never really thought about who might be watching."

She sighed. "It was a bit like trying to walk a tightrope. If I bothered to think too much about what was looking up at me from below, I'd lose my balance."

"How do you feel about retreating from that life?" Severus asked, feeling simultaneously curious but also uncomfortable in the amount of power he had in this conversation. It felt like he was more a father confessor than a prospective lover, and it didn't feel right to him, but he didn't know how to change things.

"Extremely relieved," Hermione said, and she opened her eyes to look at Severus. That sensation of being a priest was swiftly disassembled by the smutty way she was looking at him. "I can do what I like, now, without fear of it getting back to the bureaucrats in charge of my program's money. Also, now I can do who I like, now, too."

Severus smiled thinly. "It sounds as if you've had an adventurous career in many ways."

Her face remained unruffled, but she closed her eyes again. It was somewhat comforting, that she wasn't intent on staring straight at him at all times. It also spoke to her sleepiness, he thought. "I mean, not as much as I thought it would be. You don't get this podgy from a life of high-powered all-night sexual marathons." She paused. "Or is it that my podginess prevented me from being invited to such?"

This elicited a dark chuckle from Severus, the clear winner in the room of any podge-owning contest, and Hermione opened her eyes in a flash. "Sorry. That might have been insensitive."

"No matter." He was more amused than offended, and gazed at her with a thoughtful glint in his eye. "I'm used to hearing people waffle on about their own troubles while patently ignoring the elephant in the room."

"That's rather unfair to you, though," she returned, gazing back at him with a disarming amount of compassion. He was taken aback and tried not to blush. It wasn't every day that someone was concerned with what was fair towards Severus Snape.

"It's kind of you to think of that," he said with measured tones, "but really, do not trouble yourself. I'm more than used to it."

"In fact, you probably expect it," Hermione added, and he was reminded of the days when she'd pursued significant advocacy efforts on the part of the unwitting house-elves. There was that steely tone in her voice that made him somewhat terrified.

"Let's… discuss other matters," Severus asked, trying not to beg. "It's already a delicate subject."

"Hmph. Severus Snape, delicate ." The hilarity was evident in her voice, and he begrudgingly agreed with her ironic twist of his words. "Leave it to you, to remain inscrutable and stoic, while I proceed to fall apart all over you on our first night out together. I appreciate your allowing me some egocentricity, but believe me, I'm dying to know more about what makes my old professor tick ."

Damn . He could squeeze his way out of this, maybe, but it wouldn't be as graceful as succumbing to the siren-song of her supposed interest.

"Fine," he spat, ready to take her to the mat, but there was an element of sportingness in his approach. There was a little twist of her smile, too, and a fierce level in her eyes. She was right - kvetch was their shared language, and rightly so. The world hadn't dealt out a great many handouts to either of them.

So, he took a breath, and without thinking too hard, he spoke: "I do expect it, Granger. I expect it because I know better than to imagine that my feelings on the subject matter. And it's not a delicate subject because I'm vain - I swear I couldn't care less about what I look like. What makes it so uncomfortable is the way that it puts me in a different class of people."

Perhaps it was foolish to bother with explaining himself like this, but his best judgment was clouded by the warmth and interest that emanated from behind her spectacles.

"I can understand that," she echoed, appearing thoughtful. "I would hate that."

"And I do ," he responded, feeling like he was shedding excess skin like a snake. "It's so difficult when I'm no longer seen as just a person . I always felt different from the rest of the world - I was always the ugliest, the weakest, the pouf. And all my life, I felt like my identity was the triangular peg in the square hole: never good enough to amount to a full measure of a man. "

It was a difficult admission to make, one he'd never articulated even to himself before.

Now who was getting confessional?

Then his tone grew darker, and the rage developed into a deeper misanthropic loathing. "Before, I could find my corner and just be , because at least I was small enough that I could share the space. I had personhood, even though it was less than most persons. People were uneasy about me before for many reasons: I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, I had a terrible cruel streak and volatile temper, and I appeared desperate in every sense. But while I was deficient, I was also fixable."

The misery blossomed now, and his throat got tight. "But now I'm a round peg that doesn't even fit in the square hole. People distance themselves from me, but not for the same reasons they did before. Whereas before I was broken and failing to thrive, now I am a monster who consumes beyond his fair share. I am an entity that has grown beyond human proportions. Neutered, powerless, stuck, and pitiable, though also deserving of intense hatred because obviously my existence in this state is testament to how little I care for anything aside from my own sensual gratification."

He closed his eyes, feeling awash with emotional pain. "So yes, Granger. It is unfair. I've only ever glimpsed what it felt like to be a normal human being, my whole life. So of course I hate it. My size is now an additional barrier to being recognized as anything of societal or moral value: useful, effective, talented, a terribly hard worker. It becomes the alpha and the omega, my raison d'etre and the definition of my being. People assume my will is weak, my head is muddled, and my desires end at making it to my next meal. I am not just a man anymore, but a stupendously fat man, and that must always be taken into consideration whenever I'm looking at improving my life or even just participating in a conversation."

The words were pouring out now, faster than he could stop them. It was almost terrifying, except that the young woman seemed to be a receptive vessel for all these newly-unearthed feelings.

"I can't tell you how many times people have gotten themselves excessively interested in my personal business," he went on, desperate to be heard, "because they are hopeful that with the right amount of poking and prodding, I would shed some weight and come a little closer towards fitting into their world view. I hate how much people feel entitled to thinking about me and my size, as though it were up for public debate."

This rant had escalated faster than he ever expected. If he'd known how vulnerable he'd become under her steady eye, he wouldn't have dared speak at all.

Or would he have?

"I hate when people look at me and obviously wonder, what happened to him? " he said, staring deeply back at her, daring her to flinch first. I hate it when people tread on their own toes because they said something about their latest diet, and they just remembered who they were talking to. I hate it when people stop talking because I entered the room, like somehow by virtue of my size, I have sucked out all the clean air. I hate not being able to find clothes that fit… the perpetual risk of breaking an untested chair…" The lump in his throat was fuller now, and he felt like he was on that tightrope, staring straight down and seeing her gazing right back up at him. "...And I hate having waitstaff look at me with any kind of reaction when I eat out."

Hermione looked somewhat bemused, but nonplussed. None of the things she'd heard made her surprised, it seemed, and that was a relief on its own.

"How was the waitress tonight?" was her only question, and Severus felt his ears burn in shame.

"I tried not to notice," he responded, feeling acutely heard, but also terrified of what that meant. "I can't imagine what she thought."

What was he doing here, talking to this charming young woman. What kind of person heard such private musings and remained unflappable? At least when he was skin and bone, he had the whole dark and mysterious cadaverous gothic look working for him. He could somewhat understand a desperate woman's interest in him from that standpoint. Now? He wasn't even sure that he would date someone his own size. And he was as desperate as they came.

"I'm sorry I put you in that kind of position," Hermione said, and her voice was soft and comforting. She patted Crookshank's rump firmly, and the kneazle leapt off the bed in an annoyed fashion. Then she pushed some of the mess from the side of the bed further down towards her feet. "Are you sure I can't make it up to you, in some way?"

The temptation was maddening . There she was, a woman with beautiful bosoms, a sweet face, and a quirky twisted attitude about life that made Severus feel incredibly seen. This was no angelic Lily Evans, no golden glorious gleaming pristine goddess. No sir! This was a sadder but wiser girl , as that old song he couldn't place went.

And moreover, she wasn't utterly repulsed by the sight of his great shame. Indeed, contrary to his expectations, she seemed quite eager to see him in his birthday suit, which concept scared the hell out of him.

It was with great reluctance that he muttered, with masterful deadpan stoicism, while standing up and moving to the door, "Sorry, Granger - it seems there's only room for two pussies in your bed tonight."

He wasn't prepared for the book chucked at his head, but when he spun around, the young woman was grinning in a devilish, delicious way.

"Don't you fucking dare disappear on me, you old death-eater!" Granger demanded, but he had already closed her chamber door and was headed to his own rooms.

"Too late, too late," he told himself as he practically bounced out to the hallway.

It had been a long time since his heart had been so light.

…..

The night they'd shared was so eventful and enervating that he'd never wanted it to end. But when Severus woke up the next morning, all he could feel was dread.

Somehow he was supposed to remain collegial with this woman.

How in heaven's name was he supposed to do so, after a night like that?

He proceeded to do what he did best these days: he made himself scarce. House-elves meant he didn't need to attend meals at the Great Hall unless he wanted to bend Minerva's ear. The duties he had ahead of term starting were already long accomplished. So all he had to do was what he enjoyed most about life: to sit in his flat reading and writing, and to enjoy copious amounts of tea and cakes.

And it worked, mostly. It was the day before term started when she finally got wise to his tricks, and banged on the door of his flat with vengeance.

"Are you quite mad?" Hermione asked as he opened up to her pounding fist. "I thought you were having a lovely time with me."

"I was," Severus said with good humor, brushing crumbs off his shirt, "and now it is over. Pray leave me alone, Granger, and find some other poor sod to throw books at." Despite his words, he was rather pleased to see her, and to get the whole messy business resolved. While minutes ago he had told himself he never wanted to see or hear from her again, now the sight of her rendered all those assumptions invalid.

"You aren't serious," she demanded, and she barged her way into his living room. "You were having the time of your life. I could see it."

"Thank you for the memories," he answered, throwing up his hands in the air. He knew his protests were useless against her pulsing vortex of passion - though to be fair, his protests were far from serious. "I would like to have some peace and quiet now, if you don't mind."

"No."

He was delighted by her tenacity, though also somewhat irked by her brute-force approach. He settled onto his most comfortable chair and stared at her grumpily.

"I'm not going to let you take back that closeness we shared, without so much as a good reason," Hermione insisted, looking as keen as a dog with a very scrumptious bone. "Give me one good reason and I'll let you be."

"Fine," Severus answered, though he already knew he was a goner. "I don't like you." He tried to keep a straight face, but she saw right through him, as he knew she would.

"Lies," Hermione bit out, "if you didn't like me, you wouldn't have asked me to dinner in the first place."

"So what," Severus returned, enjoying the repartee, "I might have liked you then, but I certainly don't like you now ."

"But you're a Slytherin," the woman answered, "If you really disliked me, you wouldn't be telling me that you don't like me. So your reason is invalid," she said with triumph, "since it is made in bad faith."

"Curses." He raised an eyebrow at her, trying to hide a smirk. "Then my reason is, I find you grossly annoying ."

"Paging doctor Kettle," responded Hermione with an outright grin. She dropped her bookbag on the floor, flopped onto the divan, and gazed up at him with penetrating eyes. "If you think I'm annoying, then I think you're infuriating. "

"Heavens." He thought some more. "What if I said that the reason I didn't call was that I was too much a coward to let you down easily?"

She stared at him with vicious eyes. "Then I would say that you're lying to yourself about your real intentions."

With a sense of determination, she stood up and approached him, sliding her glasses down her nose to better look at him directly.

It was a come-hither look that worked far too well for Severus, and he felt his need springing to life beneath his tum.

"Am I too drunk for you today?" she asked, hunger in her eyes.

It was too painful. She was slipping off her cardigan, revealing creamy soft shoulders, tempting sponge-cake-like underarms, the tops of her well-molded breasts, and a gentle, delectable double chin.

He swallowed, trying to keep all his bodily systems in check.

"No," he answered, too struck by the vision to lie.

"Then what," Hermione asked, approaching with a knowing smirk on her face, "is stopping you from ravishing me, right now?"

She shook gently with each firm step towards him. He'd never realized how appealing flesh could look on another human being. His fingers ached to touch her all over - to seize her by the waist and wrap her limbs around him, to touch her dark and meaty parts to make her sing his name.

Too strangely, she seemed to have the same desire reflected deep in her eyes. She approached him and was wrapping one tender hand around the back of his neck, the rest of her body circling him like a tiger ready to pounce.

"I…" he rasped, and despite his melting heart and thrumming loins, he short-circuited his opportunity to get laid. "I… am a bit old-fashioned?"

This note of seriousness, of confessionality, it paused Hermione Granger right in her tracks.

"What does that mean?" she asked, more curious than furious.

Thank heavens for small mercies.

"I just... I'm not good at this," he proclaimed, feeling tremendously ill at ease. "I don't know what I'm doing. I've never courted a lady before."

The deeper implication made her jaw drop, and she was beaming ear to ear. "You're a virgin ," she practically crowed, taking a step back. "How old are you again? Fifty?"

"Forty-eight," he acknowledged, not willing to meet her eye.

"Oh dear god. Of course ," she thrilled, looking for all the world as though this was a life-changing revelation. "It all makes sense now. I had no idea, I assure you," she went on, and Severus smiled awkwardly at her rapt expression. "I never imagined. All right then," she decided, beaming, "I can understand why you would want to take things slow. Of course you do. And you deserve to have it be a really romantic night, too. Rose petals and soft music and all that."

"I wouldn't say that's necessarily what I meant…" Severus said, rolling his eyes, but Granger had already taken the reins.

"Perhaps not," Granger went on, but she had a gay spirit in her eyes. "But indulge me, please? My first time was a hurried shag against the wall of a bathroom stall with a boy I stopped liking the moment I saw how small his Slavic cock was."

Severus didn't know who she was referring to, but he imagined it probably had something to do with a boy from Durmstrang during the Tri-Wizard Cup. Though he never liked to think too much about the sexual exploits of students more than he had to.

Hermione kept detailing her vision. "I have always dreamed of taking a man's virginity and making it the most decadent, wonderful experience." She smiled with a genuine kindness, causing her chubby cheeks to dimple in an incredibly inviting manner. "What sorts of things do you fancy romantic?"

"Erm…" He couldn't believe he was having this conversation, and his ears were burning up. "Aside from the obvious?"

She cackled at that. "You're going to have to use your words , little boy."

It made him even pinker to be called a 'little boy.' Did this mean he liked being topped by this strong-willed Valyarkie? What an insult to his masculinity. (What shreds of it he had.)

"What do you consider obvious?" she taunted him, and under the gaze of her raised brow and seductive smile, all he wanted to do was squirm away to the bathroom and rub one out.

"Erm, breasts," he practically squeaked out, feeling his whole body dissolve into mush. "And... arse."

"And how do you like them?" she purred, leaning forward and putting one podgy finger underneath his soft jaw so she could tilt his head to look at her.

"Big," he announced with a very small and insecure voice. Then he realized, he wasn't really addressing the question of what he found romantic, merely erotic , so he added with trepidation, "Also, velvet and lace."

She looked so pleased with him that he tried to elaborate more. "Rose petals… that's nice too. And if I may be so bold...it's always been a fantasy of mine to learn to undo a corset with my teeth." The words sounded so paltry and dumb when he said them aloud, and they didn't do justice to the envisioned experience whatsoever.

"I see ," Granger said, looking thoughtful and puckish. "I can work with that. You have a real gothic streak to you, Snape. I like it."

"Oh," he answered, feeling weak-kneed at the thought that maybe she might make this happen. The night of his most optimistic dreams - just like that! "Excellent."

Then, deciding he couldn't take anything more, he begged, "Would you excuse me a moment?"

"Of course," she answered, knowing exactly what kind of impact this conversation must have been having on him. "Take your time. Just call if you decide you need me."

It was with frantic impatience that he raced to the loo, his heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. The sight of himself in the mirror was truly depressing - sweat on his brow, the prickles of six-o'clock shadow on his lip and jaw, and damn it to hell there was even a zit on the side of his beakish nose. He washed his hands under painfully hot water, then splashed his face with arctic cold, and ran a comb through his fading, thinning hair.

This did very little to improve his appearance, in his opinion, but there was little else he could do on such short notice. It was sufficient distraction to get his heart rate into less dangerous territory, at least, even if his cock was still tingling with arousal.

He came back into the main room, feeling calmer and more level-headed. Hermione was sitting there on his sofa, looking as pleased as if he'd told her she'd been given a merit award for her hard work. It was difficult to believe that the sight of him was what made her feel so elated.

"You poor dear," she cooed, and she patted the ample space next to her on the sofa. "Just come and sit with me, would you? I won't bite unless you agree to it, I promise."

Knowing that he was taking the first steps of his journey deep into the bowels of hell, Severus obeyed her request. As he settled down with an involuntary sigh, she swarmed him, pressing her thigh against his own and cleaving against his side like a demon sidling up to a susceptible young dreamer. Her hands remained prudently in her lap, against all expectations, and he couldn't help but remember the way, a few nights ago, her fingers had felt crawling down his arm to hold his wrist.

He most assuredly wanted them to go touch somewhere else, if he was honest with himself.

"So, let's take it slow ," Hermione said with a fiendish giggle. "And let's just talk. You like talking, right?"

"I do," Severus responded, feeling like he was looking into the face of a trap but seeing no evidence of what kind it might be.

"So, again," Hermione started, and she leaned into his side with great casualness that took him by surprise. "I'm sorry again for falling apart the other day. It probably made you feel uncomfortable."

"Rather," he agreed with a low, slow exhale. He was deucedly sensitive to the fact that her cheek was pressed right against his upper arm and he could feel every word she enunciated as she spoke. It was hot .

"I didn't mean to get so loose-lipped," she went on, and she mused, "I wouldn't want you to think that I'm generally such a free-loving woman. Despite my bravado, I don't get out much."

"I understand," Severus answered, and reflected carefully, "I sensed it was somewhat part of a mask that you've felt a need to wear."

" Exactly. I am no less bookish and sensitive than you might remember me," Hermione said, and he felt her breathing grow heavier. "I still cry in bathrooms sometimes. I just have developed a thicker skin. And also learned that having a good offense is the best defense, so to speak."

"I can see that." To be honest, this revelation made Severus feel much more comfortable in her company. The waspish attitude she seemed to have embraced as an adult? It felt hollow. Severus knew a thing or two about cultivating a bark that was worse than his bite.

"So, excuse me if I seem…" She broke off, not sure of her word.

"Brash?" he suggested.

She shrugged."More like bitchy," she answered, and she cackled as he grimaced. "It's served me well in my time in the Ministry, but I want to reinvent myself now that I'm back at Hogwarts."

Severus frowned. "Why?"

Then it was her turn to get serious. "Because I don't want to be the kind of teacher you were, to me."

The disclosure made his heart sink, and his shoulders droop. But this was to be expected. He knew he was never at his best during her student life.

"You deserved better," he acknowledged, feeling legitimately sad.

"I know I did," Hermione said, sounding bright. "But so did you. Harry has told me things about you, Snape, that frankly boggle the imagination. I can't imagine what kind of living hell you were in, forced to interact with the idiot offspring of your worst enemy and your lifelong love."

This was a surprise. Not that he'd really expected Harry Blabbermouth Potter to keep his deepest secrets… but he was confounded by her compassion.

"I still was a walking nightmare of a teacher, I'm sure," he responded, figuring the compassion should run both ways.

"Oh, undoubtedly. You were vicious ," Hermione said with a charming bluntness. "But in retrospect, I understand. I imagine you were being pulled a thousand different ways by your various masters. I developed a lot of respect for you during my time in the Ministry. I committed just as egregious fouls with the pressure I was under. And with a lot less justification, too," she added, and her eyes belied the depth of her appreciation. " You actually had life-and-death matters on your mind."

"Well, thank you for noticing that," he said. While the words might have sounded sarcastic on paper, the resonance of his voice was one of immense gratitude.

He wondered how on earth she'd gotten to such a place the other night. Her ebullience was back in full force, but that image of her teary-eyed do you really think I'm bright? was emblazoned on his memory.

"But it's clear that I fucked you up rather well, irregardless," Severus went on, feeling ashamed but charging forward anyway.

"What, why do you say that?" Hermione asked, and the curiosity in her voice was genuine.

"I mean," Severus answered, "you did not seem too confident of yourself the other night. It seemed as if you were pining after my approval. Which is fairly meaningless, all things considered."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look," she said firmly, turning to face him. He tried not to avert his eyes. "It's not your fault I was nursing a starry-eyed crush on you. It just happened."

The look on his face revealed more than he would have liked. Hermione laughed uproariously at his shock and disbelief.

"Of course what you said mattered to me," she went on, and patted his shoulder kindly. "You were my teacher , and my favorite teacher for most of my years studying at Hogwarts, even when I hated your guts. You cared more than most of the others, and I could see that. And because of that, I believe you weren't quite so bad as you remember."

"I… thank you," he grumbled, still feeling like a piece of shit. "I've done my best to temper my moods since. I do take my role as an educator very seriously, and I knew that I was burned out during the time you and Potter were under my tutulage. I really was just going through the motions, not deriving any pleasure out of it anymore."

"I don't recall seeing that," Hermione answered, and the smile she gave him was wholehearted and rosy. "I saw the struggle, but I also saw the enjoyment you got out of it. You walked us through practices that really pushed us, at great personal risk. I learned later that Slughorn never even had first-years doing applied potions, instead focusing on theory. But I know that I really internalized the lessons you taught, because we saw the results right in front of us."

"I've had to scale that back, since," Severus supplied, "It was too ambitious a course, I decided. Losing my eyebrows to explosions got old once I turned forty."

"But you tried , and that amounts to a lot," Hermione reflected, and the sparkle of enthusiasm made him believe, just for a moment, that she was right. "So I give you credit for that."

"Still, I was not the best of examples to follow," Severus reminded her, "and for that, I ask for your forgiveness."

"Yeah, you're right." She snuggled closer to him, and he realized that she'd sneaked one hand around his ample waist. Her hand had made itself a comfortable home among his rolls of flesh, and he was immediately self-conscious of how much each breath he took inflated the bulk of his stomach. He didn't feel comfortable with the idea of her hand being poised to notice how much effort just breathing took.

But strangely, she seemed appreciative of the massive man she embraced, and he scarcely dared to say anything to endanger that.

"So, make it up to me," Hermione beseeched, and she nestled her head in the crook of his neck.

"How?" He closed his eyes, knowing in his heart what she was probably going to ask.

But she didn't say anything. Instead, she drew away from him, and stood up slowly.

With some confusion, he opened his eyes again, just in time to see her plump lips primed and ready to touch his own.

….

Her kiss was like buttercream on sweet cakes, melting his heart like white chocolate across a warmed baking sheet. She tasted delectable and hungry, with an urgency that made him catch his breath in surprise.

Then, all too suddenly, it ended, and he opened his eyes with desperate and unabashed need.

"Come back," he whispered, feeling like the floodgates of desire had been opened, and Hermione laughed at the plaintive plea.

"Of course," she giggled, her chubby fingers running across his face with tender appreciation. "I just thought you wanted to take things slow ."

He didn't know how to respond to that, other than to lunge forward and grasp her bottom lip with his own. "Maybe not," he breathed once he'd tasted her again, and he felt his heart spiralling into an abyss of ecstacy.

He couldn't remember ever kissing anyone like this before. He wasn't a complete romantic novice, in the sense that at one point he had actually kissed a girl or two. But this highly-charged, deeply emotional connection? It was entirely new to him, and he loved it.

Her tender tongue was strong and responsive, and she sucked and coddled his lips so prettily. He couldn't imagine anything nicer than letting his mouth roll into hers in a thousand different ways.

It was ridiculous how magnified his heart felt at this moment of time. There was a significant weight in his chest that felt new and important, like a little seedling bursting out of the ground. He didn't know the word for it, at first - until he remembered it.

Joy.

What a startling revelation, to notice that he had such power! As far as he could recall, there were few memories that inspired such a painful, liberating, all-encompassing feeling.

Severus hadn't even noticed his eyes watering until she drew back and dabbed at his face with her sleeve. "Are… are you all right?" she asked, sounding muted and worried.

"Never… never better," he intoned, taking her into his arms again.

He didn't dare think about when this was going to end. The present moment was far, far too precious for that.