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.

~ugly~

Days turned to weeks, and weeks began to pass with alarming speed. Suddenly, they were at the end of October, and Severus was surprised at how comfortable he was with the young Professor Granger.

She still drank like a fish, and he still ate like a boar, but somehow they had reached some level of understanding and camaraderie. It felt so natural, after a mere two months, to sit together staring into the fire of a cool Scottish feasgar. Her hand would sometimes wind its way into his, and the warmth of it peeled away the final barriers he had to embracing and accepting intimacy.

It was during this kind of comfortable moment, on All Hallow's Eve, that Severus felt his stomach churn with a sudden, unbidden knowledge: he was ready.

"Granger," he breathed, and he ran a tongue over his dry lips. "What would you like to do, this evening?"

"You mean, you aren't interested in finishing your book?" Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, curious and possibly a little annoyed. Her finger was poised on the edge of her own page, and she did not seem pleased at an interruption.

"I am," Severus agreed, laying down his material with a sigh. His heart was beating faster, and his breath was about to catch in his throat. If he wasn't careful, he was going to give himself a panic attack. He tried to keep his voice calm and level. "I simply find my mind wandering."

"To where?"

Her question was direct and somewhat cold. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all.

"Never mind," he responded, rising and stretching with care. His joints hadn't hurt before he spoke, but now they ached, and he wondered if all of this was a fool's errand.

He didn't like the solution that presented itself first to his mind. Scrying was never a first, second, or third choice for him, but something about the mood of the holiday moved him towards it. That, and Hermione's own reluctance to engage with him with the receptiveness he hoped.

Not looking to her, he toddled to his pantry cupboard and found a knife, an apple, and a few hazelnuts. Perfect. This was all he needed.

Without deliberation, he settled back into his chair at the fire and bent over. The two hazelnuts rolled out of his hands and landed together on the stone hearth. The invocation was easily done in a whisper, and he sat back, noticing he'd been holding his breath.

Hermione didn't seem to notice, absorbed as she was in her reading. The momentary disruption did not remove her too far from her focus.

Then, Severus took the knife and carefully began to peel the apple. The skin was thick and the knife was dull, so it was more difficult than he hoped to carve the peel in one long continuous strand, but his deft fingers managed to make it work (despite their pudginess).

With another invocation, he closed his eyes and tossed the strand behind him over his shoulder, and it landed with a wet splat partially on the edge of his chair's back, and partially on the bare floor behind them.

This got Hermione's attention, and she grumpily peered at him from over the edge of her book. "What was that?" she asked, and then noticed the apple and knife in his hands. "Hungry?"

There was a sharp smile on her face, simultaneously excited but pessimistic - like a hungry dog that had been starved mercilessly, but that out of pure survival instinct continued to hope for scraps. As he studied her, he decided that she looked somewhat gaunt in the dim glow of the fire. It was as if she'd been growing smaller of late, not eating as much. This corresponded with what Severus had been noticing of her - his impression was that she was drinking more, and eating less, and her clothes seemed to cling a little less closely to her amplitude.

There was still plenty of substance to her, but she had deflated somewhat. It roused his concern in a way he didn't expect. And it made him want to give her an unexpected feast.

But he was an inveterate worrywort, and even though the hazelnuts at the hearth seemed content to remain together without hissing or spitting, he needed more evidence that his instinctive actions would be welcome.

He took a perfunctory bite of the apple, then stood up and struggled to look at the rind on the floor.

It was not a perfect uppercase H - which would have still remained inconclusive in his mind nonetheless - but he could see how it resembled an H in lowercase, if written in script.

Racking his brains trying to remember one final superstition to bolster his ego, he kicked the rind to the fire and resumed his seat.

"Stop thinking so loudly," grumbled Hermione, snapping her book flat against her knee. "You're too restless, Snape."

"I apologize," he offered, closing his eyes. He remembered a rite where if he ate some salted bread and went to bed silently, he would dream of his future spouse giving him a drink of water. But the idea of trying to scarf down something, when his throat already was so dry, made him painfully uncomfortable. So, he rose again and drew himself a glass of cold water from the bathroom tap, letting the water rise in the basin while he sipped.

It was dark; there was only light from a candle in the bathroom, the shining moon and stars outside, and the gleam of the fire. And it was there, in that shadowy gloom, that he remembered a final intervention that might seal his fate, and reassure him that he was not to err.

He turned off the tap and stared into the half-full basin, watching as the water danced in the partial light. As it began to settle, he entered a state of calmness, deep relaxation, and he held onto the sides of the sink to keep himself from toppling over onto the floor.

It felt tremendously odd to be staring into the shadowed water, seeing his reflection dappled on its surface. Severus was not generally given to full-throated enthusiasm for divination - in fact, he often downright laughed in its face. But his life had been changed by a bloody prophecy, and thus he regarded the practices with simultaneous belief and incredulity. And in moments like this, when he had no guide to turn to, he saw value in addressing the future with whatever aid he could get.

So, with a final invocation, he closed his eyes and re-opened them to see the very clear image of a scowling Hermione in the water.

But the reflection was not a vision - the young professor was standing next to him, arms crossed in frustration, and she did not seem amused.

"Have you gone quite mad?" Her voice was tinged with disgust, but Severus felt like he was trying to walk over live electric wires, he was so nervous. His pulse was beginning to enter a state of franticness, and he noticed his breath beginning to catch.

"Let me," he asked, gesturing to the doorway she occupied, and she sidestepped to allow him through.

She was clearly surprised when he grasped her arm and dragged her into the bedroom.

"What… what are we doing?" she asked, beginning to laugh as they seated themselves on the side of the bed. "Severus?"

She only used his name in moments of intimacy, when both of them had their defenses down and they were connecting deeply.

"I'm comfortable," he offered, with a shy smile. "Whatever you will think of me, I am ready."

"Are… are you serious?" Hermione was so used to having her advances shot down, she seemed surprised and a little embarrassed. "I… erm…"

Severus was peeling off his clothing, his fingers dancing as if possessed across all the buttons.

"What?" His voice was low and dark, as he tried to understand the situation. Then, realizing she was not as enthusiastic as he'd expected, he slowed. "Do you not wish to…do this?"

"Oh, please, please, don't take me to be reluctant," Hermione insisted, and she sidled up closely to him with a return of his shy grin. "I… just… I'm in the middle of my cycle right now."

He frowned. "Oh. Are you in pain?"

"A bit, but that's not the problem," she reassured him, and sighed. "I just… have it on good authority that it's a bit much for people to deal with when focused on pleasure. I will gladly suck you off," she continued, though her face softened at the disappointment in his eyes. "I wouldn't want your first time to be… lackluster."

Severus felt his need urgently and strongly in his pants - after all, he'd had two months of denial, of trying to hide his pain for what seemed, at this moment, like utterly stupid reasons.

He looked at her, and for some reason the idea of blood didn't make him squeamish. Rather, it reminded him of a succulent pomegranate, heated in the sun, squished and dripping.

The mental image was strangely attractive, and so despite her rejection, he allowed his eyes to simply stare at her, steadfast, like a ship's captain charting a course across a dark ocean.

"You've said before," he offered carefully, "that orgasm eases cramps splendidly for you."

"Well, sure," she responded, looking at him dubiously. "But do you really want to-"

The questions were getting annoying. Severus kissed her with sudden, heated passion that left her whimpering in his arms.

"Fine," she spat, as if she wasn't the one who had been egging him on for weeks. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"With pleasure," he purred, and with unexpected confidence he pulled her close and kissed her again.

"Oh." She relaxed and curled up on the bed, grinning without a hint of guile.

…

Dewy-eyed and dazed, Severus cradled the little woman he adored.

Loved, even. Though it was quite a different kind of love than he'd ever had before. Hermione Granger was stroking his hair, his cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose like these were the most delicate china she'd ever seen.

Lily Evans hadn't touched him like this, ever. Much less any other woman.

He felt himself lean in to her, pressing his cheek to her soft shoulder, and she accepted him warmly. The tender closeness they shared at present was so drastically different than their usual sharp banter, Severus could scarcely believe this was the same person. He wondered if there would be whiplash when they returned to their usual activities.

It surprised him to feel hot wetness drip on the back of his neck, and he withdrew to look into her eyes, alarmed.

"Don't worry," Hermione reassured him, though the sadness in her heart was palpable to him. "I'm fine."

"Bloody hell, woman." He cursed aloud, but also crackled with protective energy. "Don't you dare lie to me."

She didn't answer at first, so he sat back to stare down his nose at her skeptically. It was rare for her to allow herself this much vulnerability with him, and to be honest, it terrified him to his core.

"Fine," she decided, and turned away from him. "I'm being a self-pitying wanker, is what."

"What about?" The terror didn't diminish in his heart. Was she, despite all he had done to prevent it, regretful of their intimacy?

"It's stupid." She shrugged her shoulders, but did not lift her eyes or head.

"Tell me."

The command went unanswered for several minutes, and he was just about to tensely demand it again.

"It'll either make you laugh or cry."

This made Severus roll his eyes.

"Now you're truly trying my patience, witch."

She responded after that, but so quietly he couldn't hear a word she said.

"Turn," he requested with a stern tone, and she complied with reluctance.

Her face was wet and starry with tears and smeared mascara.

"I'm berating myself for how fucking ugly I've got," she hissed, and threw her face into a pillow.

The clock on the wall seemed to begin ticking louder. Severus felt his face pinch as he processed.

"I know," Hermione added, raising her head just enough to make herself heard. "I'm a hypocrite."

"Because you've put on a few?" Severus asked, feigning incredulity. There were not enough sarcasm resources in the world to help him, and he frowned. "Merlin help us. Hermione Granger thinks she's ugly because some Weasley has rubbed off on her."

It was a low blow, but not nearly proportionate to her attack. He wasn't the one who had spent two months seducing someone who purported to adore something about him that she detested about herself.

He'd allowed himself to finally unfurl with her, to some extent. To be comfortable, even. And here she was, spoiling it all by telling him it was all some kind of ruse.

"That's… not the point," Hermione insisted, and she sat up, cradling a pillow to her front. "It's more complicated than that."

"I'm sure it is," Severus answered, too incensed to even look at her anymore. He became suddenly self-conscious of his naked chest, and unclothed body that hid beneath the blankets, so he struggled deeper beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm not explaining myself well," Hermione went on, and began to cry again. It was pitiful to hear, despite his anger, and after a few moments of blankness, he couldn't help but come back to her side.

"Then try again," he implored, and turned carefully over to gaze at her. He continued to view her with skepticism as she tried to collect herself.

"I hate my body, sometimes." Hermione's wet, overfull eyes tried to connect with his, and reluctantly he engaged. "I've been steadily getting bigger since graduation, slowly but surely, and I detest it. Sometimes a switch in my brain flips, and then I can suspend my disbelief long enough to enjoy myself. But after a bit, suddenly the light goes out all on its own, and I'm left feeling like a pathetic lump."

She sighed.

"I'm feeling like that today. It usually happens when I'm bloated and disgusting, on my cycle."

The painful squeezing of panic in Severus' stomach eased a bit.

"Ah," he replied carefully. Women's menses - one thing he never remembered on his own. Women vexed and perplexed him, but it was strangely reassuring to remember they were like werewolves - one with the moon.

She probably just wanted comfort in her dysmorphic moment, despite the preposterousness of her discomfort in comparison to his own problem. He reached out for her and gently rolled her towards him, so that he could wrap his arms around her taut middle. "If it makes a difference, I've been noticing that you look like you've lost a bit since September."

She didn't reply at first, then confessed with a shallow breath, "I haven't felt as hungry."

There seemed to be an underlying accusation in her voice, though he didn't know what it was for.

Severus felt his mouth grow dry as he racked his brains for what might be the cause of her anger. "Does it also change your interest in… other persons of size?"

"Strangely, it doesn't." Her voice was flat and unbeguiling, but despite that, Severus felt a treacle warmth in his chest that rose up to his face. "I just..."

She began to sniffle. "Just, I thought your cause for hesitation with regards to sex was because I wasn't pretty enough."

Oh, Merlin. He could see her perspective, though there wasn't a single thing he'd ever said to support this idea.

"That's not the case at all," he said with a sigh. "And truthfully I am offended you would think me so shallow."

"Well, that's just it, isn't it?" Hermione begged, "Right now, I can't stand the sight or feel of myself. Whereas ordinarily, I am at worst ambivalent about my appearance, and at most delighted." She laughed, bitter and dark. "I usually like to see I'm no longer a bundle of sticks."

"I'm sorry to hear that it's so difficult for you," Severus demurred, feeling strangely satisfied by this whole encounter. She wasn't the saccharine Polyanna he'd taken her to be, with regards to issues of size. It made him feel like she actually had her feet on the ground somewhat to know that she underwent some struggles inside herself. "I can assure you - my hesitation to engage with you sexually was no manifestation of my attraction towards you. But rather, a mark of my own self-conscious experience. Which experience has returned in full force, as I'm somewhat skeptical at your claim that it doesn't bother you with regards to objects of attraction." This was somewhat of an exaggeration - obviously she did find him at least somewhat attractive no matter how she seemed to think of herself - but he wanted to hear more of her thought process. Plus, it seemed like she wanted to detail it further.

She rounded on him, her face stern and uncompromising as she broke from his embrace. "You're not a mere object, Snape."

"I know that," he responded, feeling the conversation start to move towards their more familiar banter. "The question is, do you?"

Hermione wasn't game to play, though. She stared at him with bleary but immovable eyes, and reiterated, "You mean something to me. My desire for you is not simply superficial, though I am wildly excited by your current body. I've wanted you, at least to some extent, since I was in my fifth year."

"Let's not talk about that," Severus responded, feeling his throat dry as he tried to remember in vain what she'd looked like during that time. He stopped himself, not willing to open that door of his mind - today, or ever. Despite their current compromising position, Severus was not one of those teachers who leered at students during one of the most tender stages of their lives. Even the prospect deeply repulsed him on a basic level.

"I'm just saying. You were truly a sorry sight at that point." He felt her fingers probing to find his flesh beneath the bedclothes, and then she made contact. Her fingers felt like soft bread dough gently pressing into his flabby stomach and rolls, and it made him shudder to notice the sensitive way her fingers ran across that sensitive area just along that tender stretch-marked ridge…

"I just wish I had been there to help fill in those scraggly bones," Hermione continued, and he felt her breath hot and wet approach his undertum. It was like a jolt of electricity when her lips made contact there in a slow, enticing kiss on his fresh new baby-soft skin. He moaned in spite of himself.

She went on, "All those decadent dinners I missed. All those fattening feasts. All those opportunities to watch you overextend yourself. I wish I had been there to watch your body unfurl like a flower, while you indulged and enjoyed yourself like you never had before. Tasting happiness for the first time - literally and metaphorically."

Severus didn't realize he was holding his breath until she kissed his navel suddenly, sending his flesh wobbling in all directions - and rousing his downstairs tenant.

"I do have difficulty appreciating what you're saying, however," Severus uttered in a blatant lie, trying not to succumb to the temptation of her words quite yet. He closed his eyes and willed his erection to keep from surging.

He felt her move, and so he chased her slightly, groping until he found her pussy. It was soft and wet from before, and without thinking he tantalized her little bud with a few practiced flicks of his fingers.

"I… oh, yes…" Hermione was losing herself initially, but regained control of her faculties. "I admit to being so surprised to see you got so large, all on your own. I never would have imagined you capable of such magnificence on your lonesome. Usually, I don't see men so large as you without someone to… ease things along."

"It's wanton abandonment of everything else," Severus drawled, feeling his chest tighten, "all my waking hours are preoccupied by thoughts of my next gluttonous binge."

"It's glorious to see," Hermione whimpered, seeking more contact from his fingers. He felt her need throb above his touch, so he began to intervene with the most hesitant of introductions. "I truly love to see the way you appreciate your food, both in its quality and quantity. It's a splendid performance of succulence and savoriness that make me ache to please you as much as you're pleased by every bite you admit into your mouth, and every ache you ease in your belly."

"I'm just making up for lost time," Severus responded, allowing his fingers to move faster, dancing on the outer edges of her labia and thrusting with flirtatious energy. "I still can't get enough to make up for the empty feeling inside me."

"It's a splendid performance, and it drives me wild," Hermione repeated, and she moaned full-throatedly as he kept bringing her closer and closer to her edge.

Severus just smiled in a wretched, lost-soul type way at her, believing her but discounting her meaning as being tainted by inexperience, by naiveté, by her own trauma. No, the more he thought about it, she couldn't possibly actually want him. But he was willing to pretend, for the moment.

"I have this feeling, in my lower gut," he contemplated aloud, "that simply feels insatiable. It is like a balloon, able to be filled but constantly leaking volume, so that no matter how much I put in, it's never enough. I always wish there was more food, even if I'm so full that I am nearly about to burst. I actually do think," he went on, strangely proud of himself, "I have taken so hard to the table that I have felt my stomach on the verge of splitting, if I were to sneeze or stuff myself with a single further bite."

"What have you done?" Hermione begged to ask, and her soft pubic flesh jiggled as she flexed her pelvic floor muscles in short, concentrated spurts.

"I've sat there incredibly uncomfortable, in tears from pain, waiting for the discomfort to pass," Severus answered truthfully. "Eventually, it always does - but I have had a few moments here and there that have left me vowing never to overdo my eating again. And you see exactly how that turned out."

He ruefully touched his stomach, and Hermione practically pounced on him.

"You've been unable to stop yourself," she chimed in, cooing softly as if she were a mother speaking to her baby. "You had a very bad stomach ache and still kept on eating, unable to stop because you're so overtaken by the delicious things available."

"If you say so," Severus said, and chuckled as her hips flinched so prettily with her accumulating libidinal energy. "Even if I did feel able to stop myself, I always have found it rather silly to prioritize the needs of my wardrobe over the needs of my stomach. One serves the other, and not the other way around."

Hermione gasped aloud as her release began to take shape, and he allowed himself to concentrate on pounding her with his fingers until she had expended all that she seemed capable. She was left groaning and exhausted, sweating and glorious.

"Severus," she breathed with relief and admiration. "You always make me feel better, dearheart."

His pulse quickened slightly but he mostly felt proud.

"If you find peace in the fact that I have trouble stopping myself from being an absolute hog," he murmured thoughtfully, "Then so be it. Never think less of yourself without also thinking of me, and what you might say to me if I was expressing the thoughts that come to your own mind."

"But that's not fair to you," Hermione offered sounding sad. "My own self pitying should not be a burden I place on your shoulders."

"Oh, well, perhaps it isn't," he countered with a bitter laugh. "But I can take it. When has the world ever considered what was fair to Severus Snape?"

She answered him by inching closer to him and planting a kiss directly on his thin lips. "Starting with me, I think," she decided.

It pleased him to think that perhaps, she might be right.