Chapter Text
As a general rule, Harry did not make a habit of being attracted to his friends. It must, therefore, have been the excess of drinks that people kept buying, which was causing his eyes to drift in the general direction of the bar, where Ron was buying another round.
It was simply unfortunate that Dean and Seamus had got engaged mere days before Ron and Hermione had decided to go their separate ways – at least for a while. It had apparently been mutual and perfectly amicable, but this did not, of course, prevent the group’s dynamic from being a little awkward. With this in mind, Harry could perfectly understand why Hermione had contritely declined the invitation to hit the pub in celebration of their friends’ engagement.
Ron, for his part, had been more subdued than usual, but remained relatively upbeat. Until now, that was, Harry thought, as he saw his best friend’s shoulders slump as he loaded seven drinks and several packets of crisps onto a tray and turned back to the tray. Harry’s eyes followed him unbidden, trying very hard to ignore the curve of Ron’s bum in his jeans, and the fact that the buttons on his shirt were straining more than usual.
It wasn’t very surprising, really: for as long as Harry had known him, Ron had always been a fervent foodie, taking delight in the feasts Hogwarts had offered them in their schooldays. Now in their mid-twenties, though, without a teenager’s metabolism, Ron’s nearly-unmatched appetite and an indoor job at his brother’s joke shop seemed to be catching up with him.
Harry shook himself out of his reverie as Ron returned and started to pass around the drinks – beer for himself, Dean, Seamus and Ginny, cider for Harry and Neville, and a sweet mojito for Luna, who was still getting used to drinking in Muggle pubs. Harry was afforded an eye-level view of Ron’s lower torso as he took his place opposite him again. His shirt really was getting tight. Harry hastily hid his smile in his cider glass, and hoped no one had noticed him blushing.
“A toast,” Ron said loudly before the conversation descended into chaos again. “To the future groom and groom.”
“Not so loud,” Ginny hissed. “Muggles haven’t caught onto the idea of gay marriages yet.”
“Fine,” Ron grumbled. “To the happy couple, then. We’ve been rooting for you forever, and all breathed a sigh of relief when you finally saw sense and got it on.” They all laughed at that, and Ron seemed to take confidence. “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that we’re thrilled that you’ll be spending the rest of your lives together.” If there was any bitterness in his voice, only Harry noticed. He eased himself back onto the bench next to Ginny, and Harry was fairly sure he reached down to scratch at his gut as conversation resumed.
“Who ordered the chips?” said a Muggle waitress, approaching the table and holding up a shallow bowl. Ron raised a hand, and she set it down in front of him.
“I didn’t know we were ordering food,” Dean said slyly, and Ron shrugged.
“I bought the round, I’m not paying for your grub too.” Nevertheless, he tilted the bowl towards Harry, who smiled and shook his head. Classic Ron, he thought fondly.
As the evening went on, more and more empty glasses filled the table, until finally, at a little after midnight, they decided to call time. Harry’s head was starting to spin, and Ron looked in a similar state.
“Are you alright to Apparate, or shall we get a cab?” Harry asked tentatively, and Ron groaned.
“I was supposed to be going back to the Burrow,” he mumbled, and Harry understood – Ron had been, effectively, couch-surfing while he looked for a new place to live, since the flat he’d been sharing with Hermione was technically hers.
Harry shook his head. “No, absolutely not. You can crash at mine.”
“Thanks, mate. Appreciate it.”
When they got back to Harry’s place, Ron shrugged off his coat and scarf and exhaled deeply. “God, it’s hot in here,” he grumbled.
“Advantage of living over a restaurant,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Saves me a fortune.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a bit much.” With some difficulty, Ron tugged off his jumper, and Harry sucked in a breath; Ron’s shirt had ridden up with it, and his midriff was in full view. Harry couldn’t believe how fat Ron had become – his stomach jutted out in front of him, just about soft enough to spill over the waistband of his jeans, with a thin layer of strawberry-blond hair sprawled across his lower belly. Harry suddenly became aware that Ron was looking at him, and swiftly averted his eyes. “Think I overdid it tonight,” he admitted, pulling his straining shirt down and patting his ample stomach.
“Yeah, maybe,” said Harry evasively.
There was a pause, before Ron added, “Do you think that’s why Hermione broke up with me?”
“What?” said Harry, half-sure that he knew what Ron was referring to.
“Don’t be thick,” Ron said sharply. “You know what I’m talking about.” His hand rested unconsciously on the curve of his belly.
“I doubt it,” Harry said truthfully. “She’s not like that.” Ron hummed, unconvinced, so Harry added, “And if she did, then she’s less clever than we thought.”
He smiled at that, then frowned. “What do you mean?”
Harry’s heartrate picked up. “I mean you look good,” he said with a shrug, in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “You always do. It’s quite irritating, really,” he added with a low laugh.
Ron chuckled nervously. “Come off it! Girls are always after you.”
“Not just girls.” Harry’s voice was quiet, but clear as a bell.
“Oh,” said Ron, evidently surprised, then after a moment, “uh, same here, truth be told.”
Harry hadn’t noticed that they’d been inching closer, but suddenly Ron’s face was less than a foot away, close enough to count every freckle, if he’d so desired. “Can I..?” he whispered, and Ron hesitated only a second before nodding.
Harry wasn’t sure why he was so nervous – after all, six years of sharing a dormitory with four other boys had led to a certain amount of messing around on bored evenings – but something felt different this time. Something different in the feel of Ron’s lips, and in the give of flesh under Harry’s fingers as his hands found their way to Ron’s waist. Something different in the way Harry didn’t have to stand as close to feel Ron’s body press against his own. As the kiss deepened, Harry wondered if Ron felt it too.
He thumbed at the buttons of Ron’s shirt, glancing down when the kiss broke apart, to admire the way Ron’s gut protruded from the gap that was left. He brushed a hand admiringly across its expanse, and Ron gave him a funny look.
“So, you… like this?” His tone was inquisitive, and Harry blushed.
“Uh,” he muttered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah.” He paused. “Do you?”
“Yeah, actually.” Harry raised an eyebrow, hoping he would elaborate. “I used to just like the food, but that comes with it now. I… God, this is embarrassing.”
“Go on,” Harry said gently. He sensed that Ron had never admitted any of this aloud, and wanted to encourage him.
“I like feeling my clothes getting tighter, and that sort of thing.” Ron’s ears were bright red now, so Harry knelt down and pressed a soft kiss Ron’s bloated belly, relishing in the way he sank through the fat into the fullness underneath.
“Keep going,” he murmured between kisses.
“I, um, like having to unbutton my trousers when I finish eating,” he said, eliciting a gasp as Harry squeezed a sensitive spot at his side. Out of curiosity, Harry lifted Ron’s stomach to look at his jeans waistband, and sure enough, Ron had already undone them. And, by the look of things, Ron was seriously enjoying the attention Harry was giving his belly. “The last time I stayed here, I could barely get through your shower door.”
“Merlin,” Harry muttered, palming his own crotch at the thought of Ron having to suck in his gut in order to fit into the shower. He sensed Ron was finished talking for the moment, so he stood up and pressed his lips against Ron’s again, seizing a handful of fat to squeeze, eliciting a moan from Ron. “Do you want to get fatter?” Harry whispered, and Ron inhaled sharply at the words.
“God, yes.”
Harry nodded, having made up his mind. “Go and get comfortable on the bed,” he said, running a hand over Ron’s belly once more for good measure. “I’ll be right there.”
Chapter Text
Ron groaned as his alarm broke through the fog of sleep, reaching around on the bedside table to shut off the invasive beeping. He glanced over to the other side of the bed, but Harry didn’t seem to have stirred at all. As he rolled over onto his side, he could feel his whole gut shift, the weight of the previous night’s meal sitting heavily in his belly.
It worked, this new arrangement: although he had only intended to crash on Harry’s sofa for a few nights, about a month had passed since that night, and Ron had been to full-time roommate. It was still more or less platonic, Ron thought as he wandered into the bathroom to wash his face, relieve himself and put on deodorant. Assuming, of course, that it’s considered platonic for his friend to fill him with food and then make out with him. With an occasional hand job to take the edge off, which so far, to be fair, had only happened last night.
After all, it had been a special occasion, because it was Ron’s birthday. Harry, whose Muggle school was closed for half-term, had spent most of the day ignoring his lesson planning, and preparing an absolute feast for Ron to come back to after work. Ron had eagerly taken to it, and most of it had made its way into his stomach by the time Harry helped him waddle to bed.
He’d found the sight of his own enormously-expanded belly domed in front of him as he lay on the bed incredibly hot, and judging the way Harry had been gazing at it, entranced, so had he. Now, though, Ron sank onto the toilet and leaned back against the cistern, massaging his still-bloated gut – after all, eating so intensely had shorter-term consequences than rapid weight gain.
Come to think of it, Ron thought as he stood up, I haven’t weighed myself in a while. In fact, the last time he could remember standing on a scale had been about a month before he’d broken up with Hermione, when it had read a startling 247 pounds – well on the way to eighteen stone. He could feel his heartrate picking up nervously as he stepped on the scales in the corner of Harry’s bathroom, watching the dial spin, wobble, and settle roughly halfway between the 260 and 270 mark.
“Shit,” he muttered, squeezing a handful of the fat which adorned his middle and giving it a shake. It bounced under his grip, oozing out between his fingers and spilling over the waistband of his boxers. There was a gentle knock on the door and Ron stepped off the scales, calling out, “Come in!”
Harry’s face appeared round the door, and he grinned as he noticed Ron next to the scales. “Go on then,” he said eagerly, “how much?”
“Nineteen stone,” Ron said, uncharacteristically shy. “Give or take.”
Harry’s jaw dropped as he stepped into the bathroom and crossed over to Ron. “You’re kidding,” he breathed. “That’s nearly twice as much as me.”
“And about a stone of that is since I’ve stayed here,” Ron pointed out. “You’re a bad influence.”
Harry bit his lip as he pressed his hands into Ron’s softened sides. “It’s not like I had to persuade you much,” he murmured as he pressed his lips against Ron’s. Ron’s hands were drawn to Harry’s thin waist, revelling in the contrast of Harry’s flat stomach pressing into his big belly.
“I have to go to work,” he whispered, and Harry let out a pitiful noise of protest.
“Do you, though?” he said between kisses, slipping a thumb into Ron’s belly button and gripping the fat underneath in his fingers. “Call in sick. You can stay in bed, and I’ll make you soup.”
Ron let out a breath of laughter, and kissed Harry once more before breaking away. “Yeah, I do. Because we’re going out for drinks tonight, remember? And my boss is going to be there.”
“You mean your brother.”
“Same thing,” Ron laughed as he wandered back to the bedroom. He pulled on his work trousers and sucked in his stomach to make them button. “I’m getting too fat for these,” he remarked, as Harry slumped on the bed to watch the show.
“You’ve already engorgio-ed them once,” Harry pointed out as Ron slid his arms into his shirt. “They’ll start to wear out. We’ll have to get you some new ones. And maybe some new shirts,” he added as Ron breathed out, making the shirt bulge outwards and the buttons crease.
“It’ll wait,” Ron said mischievously. “It’s sort of exciting, going to work knowing I could burst out at any moment.”
Harry groaned. “Do you have to stay stuff like that just before you go out? Now I’ll be thinking about that all day.”
“You’ll live,” Ron laughed as he kissed Harry goodbye. “And you know I’ll be expecting dinner when I get back. Can’t go drinking on an empty stomach.”
“Don’t worry, Weasley,” Harry said with a smirk. “As long as you’re living here, you don’t get to do anything on an empty stomach.”
Chapter Text
“I’m home!” Harry called, shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. Turning around, his eyes widened as he saw Ron standing on the other side of the room. “Whoa,” he said admiringly. “Found your warm weather clothes, I see.”
It was fair to assume that the t-shirt Ron was wearing had not seen the light of day since the weather had changed in September. With this in mind, it wasn’t surprising that the shirt clung to him, the hem stopping just on his navel and revealing a good four inches of Ron’s belly underneath.
“What, this old thing?” Ron said casually. “Shrunk in the wash. I’m just wearing it in.”
“Well, I wish you’d wear it out,” Harry said, crossing the room and squeezing his exposed fat as he pressed a gentle kiss to Ron’s lips. “How about it – wear it tonight?” They’d planned to go out for dinner to celebrate the end of a long week, and Harry was practically salivating at the prospect of Ron spilling out of his clothes as they ate.
“Yeah, maybe not,” Ron chuckled, “but I did find one I might get away with.” He wandered over to the sofa and picked up a checked button-down, tossing it to Harry to hold while he peeled off the tight t-shirt.
In these few seconds, Harry’s gaze lingered on Ron’s belly – wide, doughy, spilling over the waistband of his chinos, with a few stray stretch marks from his growth spurt after moving in with Harry. Ron breathed in sharply as he started buttoning the shirt over his stomach, and Harry smirked as he remembered the previous night, when he had brought Ron to climax by filling his deep belly button with chocolate sauce and licking it out. He felt a stirring in his groin at the memory of his face pressing into the soft fat of Ron’s belly, and feeling the firmness of his full stomach underneath.
“Ready when you are,” said Ron breathlessly, and Harry nodded dumbly. Although the shirt had obviously been one of Ron’s larger ones, it was still straining considerably, particularly just under his navel, where he was fattest. Harry suspected that a large portion of pasta would be sufficient to bloat Ron enough to glimpse his gut in the gaps between the buttons.
“Ready,” Harry echoed, before clearing his throat to remove the husky tone from his voice.
Even after three months of their unusual arrangement, it still astonished Harry just how much Ron could put away. Harry himself wasn’t exactly a light eater, but Ron’s appetite consistently dwarfed his own, to the point where Harry occasionally wondered how long he would keep going if Harry didn’t gently suggest that he might have eaten enough (and this was coming from someone who actively wanted Ron to get fatter).
On this occasion, though, something seemed to be slowing Ron down: he’d demolished his starter in mere minutes, but he was showing signs of discomfort before having even finished his main course, which Harry found concerning.
“You okay?” he asked tentatively, twirling tagliatelle around his fork and lifting it to his mouth.
“Let’s just say,” Ron replied between shallow breaths, “there’s a reason I normally where loose clothes to eat in.” He palmed his gut gingerly and suppressed a hiccough.
Suddenly Harry understood – the reason Ron never felt full when Harry fed him was because there was always room for his belly to expand. Constrained within a shirt that fit seventy pounds ago, this wasn’t nearly so easy.
“You got this,” he said warmly. “Try to keep going.” Ron nodded, his jaw set with determination, and lifted his fork to his lips again.
They started chatting again, to keep Ron’s mind off his discomfort, until suddenly Ron gasped, and Harry heard a dull clatter on the tiled floor. He glanced under the table, where two small buttons had landed by the legs of Ron’s chair. He averted his eyes upwards, and saw that the lowest part of Ron’s belly was spilling onto his lap.
“Whoops,” said Ron feebly, and Harry felt his dick stiffen in his boxers.
“Might as well finish now,” Harry said, partly amused, partly aroused. “You can borrow my jacket when we leave.”
Just this once, they agreed to skip dessert and have something sweet back at the flat. Ron carefully slid on Harry’s jacket, not keen to expose his swollen gut to the entire restaurant, and they Disapparated from a back alley to Harry’s living room. Harry quickly helped Ron take the jacket off, desperate to get his hands on him. With one hand on Ron’s underbelly, Harry pulled him into an earnest kiss, fumbling at the straining button on Ron’s trousers.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m tired,” Ron mumbled. “That was… actually quite stressful.”
“You want ice cream and a belly rub?” Harry asked, masking his disappointment. Ron nodded, and Harry patted the back of the sofa. “Take off those uncomfortable clothes,” he said kindly. “Let’s see how much fuller we can get you before you fall asleep. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” Ron said with a smile.
Chapter Text
Ron woke with a start as a small snore escaped his throat, and he yawned. Truth be told, he was a little uncomfortable: for the first time in several weeks, Harry had fed him pretty much to his limit. Two pizzas, a bowl of carbonara, a generous side salad, a bowl of chips and a large portion of ice cream were now sitting heavily in his belly, and he pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle a burp.
Perhaps one of Harry’s herbal teas would soothe his stomach a little. He eased himself out from under Harry, whose arm was still draped over his torso from where he had been massaging Ron’s bloated gut before they fell asleep. As he wandered to the kitchen, he scratched the stretch of bare skin that hung out of the hem of his t-shirt and smiled – this was one he’d brought with him when he came to live with Harry, and it had just about fit back then. Now, he had to tug it hard to get it to even cover his belly button.
He filled the kettle as quietly as he could and flicked the power on, hoping that the noise of the water boiling wouldn’t wake Harry, who had to go to work in six hours. He pulled a mug from the cupboard and placed it down on the counter, then dropped a peppermint teabag into it, stirring as he poured in the hot water. This done, he added a little cold water from the tap, so that he could drink it straight away, and it was as he did this that he heard a floorboard creak from the next room.
“You okay?” Harry asked sleepily as he entered the kitchen, pulling down his own t-shirt where it had rucked up while he slept.
“Indigestion,” Ron said with a sheepish grin, patting his stomach for emphasis. Harry smiled sympathetically and pushed the hem of Ron’s shirt up to his chest, giving him unrestricted access.
“Occupational hazard.” Comforting hands pressed into the warm expanse of Ron’s belly, kneading into the bloated knot of his insides. “I’ve told you before about eating so much,” he teased, and Ron chuckled into his tea.
“I think you’ll find this is all your fault,” Ron replied, rubbing his side ruefully, where he was bulging over his boxer shorts.
“Not all my fault,” Harry said seriously, splaying his hands and watching as the fat spilled through his fingers. “You’d been getting bigger for a long time before we started this.”
Ron hummed an affirmative and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Harry’s hands on his belly, working through the internal discomfort. Because that was the way it always was, and that was why this arrangement worked.
Harry never pushed him, not really – only if Ron was being stubborn. Truthfully, Ron needed no pushing; the urge to overeat came very naturally to him. Harry simply gave him a space to give into his desires, to and to encourage him that it was okay to do so, and to relieve his discomfort afterwards. The fact that it provided as much sexual enjoyment to him as it did to Ron was simply fortuitous; Ron suspected that even if he had told Harry about it as a friend, Harry would still have supported him through it. And when they had discussed a scenario in which Ron decided he wanted to lose the weight he’d gained, Harry had agreed to help with that, too.
The fact that they had never put a label on this relationship, nor told anyone about it, didn’t seem to bother Harry, and it certainly didn’t bother Ron. It just worked.
Ron lowered his mug to the counter as Harry tilted his chin upwards, and Ron leaned down an inch or two to meet Harry’s lips, before allowing himself to be led back to bed. He lay down on his back, as Harry knelt on his thighs and continued to massage his swollen belly, tracing the fading stretch marks, and squeezing sensitive spots when he found them.
Ron could feel sleep overcoming him again, but he’d just remembered something he wanted to tell Harry. “I weighed myself the other day, while you were at work,” he mumbled.
“Yeah?”
“I had to push in my stomach,” he said with a low chuckle. “You know, to see the dial.” He heard Harry suck in a sharp breath.
“That’s hot.”
Ron smiled. “Thought you’d like that.” He felt Harry climb off him, and then Harry’s lips pressed against his cheek as he settled down beside him, one arm still resting on his belly as they drifted off to sleep again.
Chapter Text
“Remind me again,” Ron said indistinctly, his voice muffled by a mouthful of cheesecake, “why I need a Muggle suit?”
Harry sighed and slipped a hand under Ron’s t-shirt and palmed his full stomach, being careful not to dislodge the dessert plate resting on the crest of Ron’s belly. “Because Dean’s whole family is going to the wedding, and most of them don’t know about wizards, so we can’t wear dress robes. Besides,” he added, lifting another forkful to Ron’s mouth, “it’s not like your last pair of dress robes would fit anyway.”
Ron hummed in acknowledgement as he chewed. “Fair enough.”
“It does mean you won’t be able to get any bigger once the tailor’s done your measurements, though,” Harry pointed out gently.
“Yeah, fine,” Ron said, swallowing the final mouthful. “Honestly? This is about as big as I want to be anyway.”
“Whatever you like,” Harry said amiably, removing the plate and sliding the hem of Ron’s t-shirt up to his chest. “Merlin knows you’ve grown plenty the last six months.”
“Thanks to you,” Ron remarked, and Harry grinned as he leaned in to kiss him. He massaged Ron’s belly in companionable silence for a few moments, before Ron asked, “Will Hermione be there?”
“I imagine so – she’s their friend too.” He slid a hand under Ron’s overhang, feeling its weight in his hands, and shivering as Ron’s dick brushed up against his wrist. “Will that be weird?”
“Probably,” he replied gloomily. “After all, I haven’t seen her since we broke up. And more importantly, she hasn’t seen me.”
Harry let out a non-committal hum: he severely doubted that Hermione would be rude enough to mention it. All the same, even Ron’s own mother, who throughout their youth had frequently admonished them both for being too thin, had blinked in surprise upon seeing her son for the first time since moving in with Harry, and that had been at the beginning of the summer.
Even though his weight gain had been far more gradual since then, the truth was that Ron was about fifty pounds heavier than he had been the last time he’d seen Hermione, and it showed. His chest was bigger and wider, the slight double chin which had been forming was now unmistakeable, and even his arms and legs, always wiry, had thickened slightly. And Ron’s belly, which had been the target of much of his growth, had now outgrown every shirt Ron had possessed when he’d moved in with Harry.
For all of Hermione’s faults, obliviousness was not among them.
It was hard to worry about that, though, whilst lifting up Ron’s belly to give Harry free access to close his lips around his cock, and listening to Ron’s sighs from somewhere above the mound of soft fat pressing against his forehead. For the moment, they had nothing to be concerned about.
The next morning, they had a lazy start to the day, with a light breakfast in front of the television and a playful back-and-forth about which teams would qualify for the next round of the national Quidditch championship. Once they were ready, they headed out and took the Tube into the city centre, where Harry noticed with amusement that Ron elected to use the wider barrier, ostensibly meant for people with pushchairs or suitcases.
He led Ron into a tailor’s shop, filled with smartly-dressed mannequins, and an unimpressed-looking man approached them.
“Good morning,” he said, regarding them down his nose. “Can I help you?”
“My friend needs a suit,” Harry said simply. “Nothing fancy, just a black-tie affair suitable for a family wedding.”
“A wedding?” the clerk repeated. “Would a morning suit not be more appropriate?”
“It’s a more casual event,” Harry said firmly.
The clerk looked insulted. “Have you done business with us before, sir? I confess you are unfamiliar to me.”
“Yes – name of Potter.”
The clerk raised an eyebrow and consulted his ledger. “Potter, Harry?”
“That’s me,” he said cheerfully, sliding his wand surreptitiously into his back pocket. The clerk sniffed and inclined his head politely.
“My apologies, Mr Potter, I must not have been working that day.” Harry waved a hand airily and gestured to Ron. “Of course. Right this way, sir.”
“Uh, what for?” Ron asked timidly.
“Your measurements,” the clerk supplied helpfully. He led Ron into a large cubicle and closed the curtain. “If you could remove your jacket, sir?” Ron obliged, while the clerk procured a tape measure and started muttering numbers to himself as he placed it on different parts of Ron’s body. Ron paid keen attention – there was one measurement in particular he was very interested to hear. “Arms up, please, sir,” the clerk said stiffly, and Ron’s heartrate picked up as the clerk wrapped the tape around his stomach, and muttered fifty-four. Ron’s eyes widened in shock; he could hardly believe it. He was so dazed that he barely even noticed the rest of the fitting. “All done,” the clerk announced presently, and Ron shook himself out of his reverie, putting his jacket back on as the clerk went out onto the shop floor to discuss fabrics and styles with Harry.
“So?” Harry murmured when the clerk was distracted, subtly tracing a finger along Ron’s underbelly. “How big?”
“Fifty-four inches,” he whispered back, and Harry swore under his breath. “I know, it’s big.”
“That’s huge,” Harry breathed, but the clerk turned back before he could continue, and Harry pulled out his wallet to pay. Ron smirked as he noticed the bulge in Harry’s trousers – even after he’d removed his wallet.
As they left the shop, Harry shyly offered Ron his hand, which Ron readily accepted, and they started wandering back down the road. “You know,” Harry remarked, “we don’t have to go home straight away. We could get lunch somewhere.”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to get any fatter now?” Ron said with a chuckle.
“Ron, let’s be real,” Harry grinned. “You’re already as fat as you’ve ever been. What difference is one extra meal going to make?” Unsurprisingly, Ron found he had no argument.
Chapter Text
“Harry!”
At the sound of his name, he popped his head around the door and smiled at the sight of Ron standing in his unbuttoned suit trousers, his gut spilling over the waistband. “You okay?”
“Need a hand,” Ron grumbled. “Come and lift, will you?”
“Gladly,” Harry said appreciatively. He crossed the room to stand behind Ron, sliding his hands under his big belly and lifting, as Ron fumbled at the fly and button underneath. “I thought you weren’t going to get any fatter?” he added, slightly sternly, as he let go.
“I haven’t got fatter,” Ron protested, tugging on his dress shirt. “I’m just fat, and can’t see down there anymore.”
“Okay,” said Harry, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just holding you to your own rules.”
In fact, Ron was being truthful – he had barely put on a pound since his decision to stop, although his weight still fluctuated a little, like anyone else’s. He was comfortable at this weight – there was enough belly for Harry to play with and for them both to enjoy, but not so big that he couldn’t fit in the fireplace to Floo around. All the same, he fully intended to eat well at the wedding, and was more than a little relieved to find that the rest of his suit fitted with a little room to spare. He was in little doubt that it would fit perfectly, with the buttons maybe even straining slightly, by the time Harry pulled it off him that night, his slender fingers grasping urgently at the taut, doughy flesh of Ron’s stomach, interlocking delightfully with Harry’s toned abdomen –
Ron shook himself out of his reverie as he and Harry materialised on the Apparition green, in a clearing in the woods behind which the wedding was to take place. Not that the Muggles in attendance knew it was a wedding, of course: they merely thought that Dean and Seamus were having a ceremony to declare their love and commitment to each other. After all, it was only legal under wizarding law, but that didn’t really matter.
He gazed around at the immaculate setup – fifty or so chairs arranged in neat lines, with a wide aisle dividing them, and a white wooden archway adorned with purple roses. A matching carpet ran the length of the aisle, and old-fashioned oil lanterns emanated a cheerful glow into the evening sunlight. A large marquee stood a hundred yards away, with circular tables laid for the wedding breakfast. It looked perfect; Ron felt a little jealous.
“Hi,” said a voice Ron would have recognised anywhere. He spun around to see Hermione looking hesitantly up at him. He didn’t miss the way her eyes widened slightly as her gaze rested momentarily on his midriff, but immediately her dark eyes met his own, and she smiled. “How are you?”
“Um, good,” he said awkwardly, reaching up and scratching the back of his head.
“Sorry it’s been so long.” She looked down at her turquoise dress, so silky that it seemed to shimmer as it moved, and picked off an invisible piece of lint. “I should have… called, or something.”
“So should I,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry too.”
She smiled and nodded slowly. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I feel I need to say… I think we did the right thing.”
“Oh, thank god,” he said with a shaky laugh. “I was half-afraid you’d say the opposite.”
“Friends?” she said with a hopeful smile.
“’Course.” He smiled back and pulled her into a hug, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I, um, don’t know if Harry told you – ”
“About you two?” Hermione interjected, to save him some embarrassment. “Yeah, he mentioned it. Can’t say I’m surprised,” she added, and Ron spluttered in protest.
“I thought we were subtle!”
She gave him a withering look. “When have you two ever been able to hide anything from me?”
“Is there anything you don’t notice?” he grumbled.
“Nope,” she said wryly, poking him pointedly in the stomach. Ron felt his ears redden. “I’m going to find a seat. Want to join me?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let me find Harry.” Hermione nodded and wandered off, and Harry bounded up to his side and surreptitiously squeezed his hand.
“How was that?”
“About as good as it could have been,” he murmured, and Harry grinned.
“Told you,” he said, slipping a hand around his waist.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats,” a nearby wizard announced, and they hurried to the fourth row, where Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna were waving to them. As a string quartet struck up, they twisted in their seats and smiled as Dean and Seamus processed down the aisle together.
It was well past midnight when Harry and Ron were finally able to make their excuses and slip away from the party. Once home, they headed straight for the bedroom, both absolutely exhausted from the evening’s emotions. Ron collapsed on the bed, rubbing ruefully at his stomach, feeling full and placated, and only slightly light-headed.
“That,” he sighed, “was the best meal I’ve had in a very long time.”
“Rude,” Harry said shortly. He had already changed into his nightwear boxers, and was hanging his suit up in the wardrobe.
“Apart from all of yours, of course,” Ron added, and Harry chuckled.
“It was good,” he said, joining Ron on the bed and unbuttoning the lower half of his shirt for him, revealing his swollen stomach as it protruded from the fabric. “You certainly put away a lot,” he remarked, rubbing a soothing hand over Ron’s belly. “Did you leave Dean and Seamus any of their cake?”
“Oh, shut up.” Ron tugged at his tie and tossed it on the floor, allowing Harry to reach under his gut and unbutton his trousers. “That’s better.” He stifled a yawn as his belly surged forward to fill the gap that was left. Harry slid a finger into Ron’s navel, drawing his stomach up and allowing it to bounce back down, making Ron smile. “I like being fat,” Ron murmured, and Harry leaned down to press a kiss to his fat gut.
“I like being with you,” Harry said quietly, pulling the covers over them both and draping an arm across Ron’s big belly. “I’m glad I was your rebound.”
Ron smiled again and kissed Harry’s forehead. “You were always more than that.”