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.

~comfortable~

A few weeks later, he had a heart palpitation of some concerning degree, and at his fiancée's insistence, he begrudgingly went to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey, while no lightweight herself, tutted and fretted over him like a stern mother hen.

"I have half a mind to issue a medical order to the elves," she bustled, peeling off the cardiac assessment spells. "You certainly could do with less salt, for one thing."

Less calories, for another.

Being preternaturally adept as a legilimens had its pitfalls, Severus was grimly reminded; when someone's thoughts were so loud, it was impossible to miss them.

But he pretended to not have heard; the healer's task ahead was difficult enough without giving her a hard time.

"So?" Hermione asked, stubbornly concerned about him. He wished she cared less. It was depressing to have someone who was so optimistic on his behalf.

Pomfrey had given up on trying to change him. Somehow this was comforting.

The healer visibly bit her tongue.

I've never seen such a sad case. He is going to eat himself trapped into his quarters. I can't believe this is happening.

Poor Madam Pomfrey. Her heart was in the right place, but it still stung so much just to make the briefest of eye contact. Severus tried to ignore the pangs of her pity that washed so vividly into his mind.

"What do you want me to say?" Pomfrey stated, looking almost betrayed and angry. "There was no significant cardiac event. In fact, there is nothing acutely wrong with him." She turned directly towards him. "But the stage is well set for you to be seriously hurt. When is the last time you weighed yourself, Severus?"

"In the summer," he answered meekly, and added, with a downturned lip, "in your office."

"Hmph." She proceeded to grab his arm and drag him to the office's scale, and she manhandled him onto it. She stated in equal parts fascination and rage as she read the assessment: "Five fifteen."

She then summoned a chart, which she referred to briefly. Then she sighed, and circled something in it. "This was your last reading," she stated, turning the book to Severus.

She had circled the number "487."

Hermione, ever too nosy, looked over his shoulder. She swallowed and looked to him for a cue.

He gave a mirthless smile and sighed. How was it that he just… didn't care? Normally it stung more to see those numbers going up, up, up… and today, they felt so much more neutral. Poppy's abstaining from overt shame and blame helped, but normally the pangs of self-hatred were stirred by the simple numerals. Today, though, it read just like an address in a directory.

He weighed five hundred and fifteen pounds, and showed no sign of reducing anytime soon. And to some extent, he didn't care.

The real question was whether *she* cared, actually. It was all very well to enjoy pushing each other to the brink with binge eating, but when faced with cold, hard reality, how did it strike her?

As Poppy Pomfrey got no significant reaction from either of them, she shooed them both out of her office. "For Merlin's sake," she tutted, "get some exercise or something, Severus. I'd rather not outlive you."

She left them both outside the office door, slamming it rather forcefully.

Hermione seemed relieved, though still concerned.

"Perhaps we should start an exercise regimen," the girl responded. She seemed visibly worried, and she put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to console.

Severus shook it off, feeling ill at ease.

"Fine." He gritted his teeth and felt twice as old and three times heavier than he had felt ten minutes ago. He hadn't brought a cane with them to the infirmary, but he was regretting that he didn't have it now. He touched the wall with every step instead.

Hermione watched as he took several painful, labored steps, then moved to keep up with him.

"I suppose it isn't the worst thing," she mused, and added, "What she said really resonated with me: I certainly don't want to outlive you, either."

This was a step too far; he rounded on her with a snarl. "Does this look like the picture of a man who cares to make it to his golden years, hm?"

The vitriol in his voice was perhaps a bit extreme, but he was now feeling the sting of shame and hopelessness that Pomfrey's words had squeezed out of his soul.

"Get it through your thick skull, Granger," he bit out, to her shocked eyes. "All I want to do is eat until I die. If I have some sex between now and then, fantastic. But I have no more elevated plans for my life. I'm so spent ."

He hadn't been this close to actively crying in the corridors in as long as he remembered; tears were emerging and he just didn't care . At least the main part of him didn't.

Another part knew this was not his Best Self, and that he actually did care. But if this relationship had any legs, she needed to hear and be able to cope with the extreme ambivalence he had about living, in these kinds of moments.

At first it seemed like she was scared off - she stared at him like a fawn in headlights, her dark eyes wide and shocked.

But then, as he stared back, unyielding and panting with the exertion of standing still for so long, all of a sudden she laughed, and patted his shoulder.

"There, there my dumpling," she said, her power returning to her in the simple phrase. "You'll do as your mistress demands. Now, how about we go off to Hogsmeade? I heard that Honeyduke's special this week is éclairs."

The sudden shift in dynamic made Severus feel woozy all of a sudden. Particularly at the mention of éclairs.

"Please," he agreed, his cock twitching despite itself. All the stress of the previous minutes seemed to float away instantly at the suggestion.

"That's a love," she acknowledged, and she proceeded to rummage through her bag. Then she brought out his cane; it was miniaturized but with a shake it was the proper size, and he was so thankful that the girl had such a knack for transfiguration. "Now," she continued, giving it to him, "we have time to walk to Hogsmeade. No apparation for your fat arse. You need to earn those eclairs."

"Oh sweet Merlin," groaned Severus. Somehow, Hermione had correctly intuited the manner in which to completely turn his mood on its head.

She could cope with his worst parts, after all - and the results were beyond impressive.

"I will give you moments to rest, too, my chubby boy," Hermione went on, as they headed in the direction of the front hall. "I am fully cognizant of how lazy and idle you've gotten."

Heavens. He was thankful for the shield of his panniculus as his cock determinedly got tighter and tighter. He put one foot in front of the other, doing his best to maintain his stoicism as she hustled him along. He was getting red in the face from their brisk pace, but eclairs were waiting for his delectation…

"Bloody enormous," she whispered in a lower tone of voice as a group of students walked past. "Practically toppling over with the evidence of your gluttony. As round and soft as camembert."

"Please." He raised a hand indicating she needed to stop, and she giggled demurely.

"Should we find a broom closet?"

Thank all the gods she understood. All he could do was manage a nod.

"Indeed," she said sweetly, then chuckled. "I know one that is big enough to fit the likes of you."

She began to hurry them more, and that was a good thing too - because he needed release so desperately, he could barely speak.

They practically crashed into the first closet that presented itself. He smashed his back against the wall, she was undoing his trousers and sinking to her knees.

The sweetness of her mouth on his cock overpowered him too much, and by the end he was actually in tears.

"There, there," she said, and pulled his hand.

He sank down to join her on the floor, his body wracked with sobs as so much tension and energy exited his body.

"I don't… know… how you… did that," he gasped, feeling very vulnerable but also, unexpectedly, so safe .

"I opened my mouth and sucked you off," she answered wryly, but she wrapped her arms around him in a comforting gesture. "Shh. You're alright."

"I'm not," he answered, feeling as meek and foolish as a geriatric viper without any teeth. "I shouldn't have said those things."

"I know," Hermione said, and she seemed strangely all-knowing in a way that made her seem superhuman. "You have strong reactions, Sev. They're draconic at times, but not representative of your actual self. I am just the dunce that took forever to find the means to deactivate your nasty side."

"No one else ever has," he urged her, feeling like she didn't quite understand the significance of what had happened. "No one else has ever cared to."

"What are fiancées for, then?" laughed Hermione, and she pressed a kiss on his head. Then, he felt her shift away from him, and at first he felt unsettled, but this faded when she began to adjust her collar to reveal her bosoms. He was thrilled when she asked, "Would you be a dear and suck on my nipples while I get myself off with this broom handle?"

He didn't even answer, but launched his face immediately into the voracious application of his lips in the designated location.

Somehow, she had made herself comfortable with him, and all his spiky parts, and this by extension won his undying devotion.