mllknvs

Sure! Thanks for you interest. Sorry, had a huge change in my life so didn't even have access to a computer for a long while. Should have another chapter incoming in the next few days. Believe it or not this is probably only the 2/3 mark of the story. This was always the plan, I hope I pull off the changeover well enough. Not to get too navel-gazey, but the whole idea of the story was to use magic in a kind of grounded way, but also to really explore some of the psychology of these characters. Chapter 8: A More Mundane Cocktail It was more than an hour before Hermione woke up. Harry’s arm was fully asleep, and he sat listening to her steady breathing, the soft repetitive crinkle of her nappy in time with it. He could feel the sodden seat of it turn from body-warm to room cold, and every once in awhile he could catch the scent of what she’d done. As she finally stirred Harry felt a pang of regret, stronger than any he’d felt up to this point; he’d spanked her, forced her to let him wipe her after using the loo, washed her in the bath, and put her in a nappy — all without her consent. He found himself, for the first time wishing it would all go away, that she wouldn’t wake, and he could just enjoy this. And he was enjoying it, this time with her, this special sort of intimacy, forced or not. Her eyes opened and she was staring right at him, and slowly he watched the whole situation come over her, turning her cheeks red, and forcing her gaze from him. “I wet the nappy,” she mumbled to the ground. Harry was unsure what to do, sitting there, supporting his best friend with one arm, her sodden nappy pressed against the crook of the other, crinkling as she tested the limits of his embrace. She buried her head in his neck, apparently unsure herself or unwilling to make a decision. They lingered for an agonizingly awkward minute, neither willing to pull the trigger. It was horrible, and Harry had to wonder if she was afraid. Afraid the portion hadn’t worn off; afraid he’d spank her, punish her, force her into some new and uncomfortable position. He stood up, his legs shaking (she no longer felt so light), and he took her to the spot on the floor where he’d changed her before. He set her down on her feet and she looked at the spot, and resigned herself to it. She sat down on it, slowly testing her weight as she pressed her bottom down on the floor. He helped her lie back, and slowly un did the tapes on the nappy. As he pulled it forward he saw her exposed before him, and he just couldn’t go any further. “I’m sorry,” he said and he stormed out of the tent, out into the cold to be alone with his shame. He sat out there for hours, waiting for the cold to outweigh his emotions, but it never did. He was becoming afraid that they never would, that he’d die of exposure, and that it would be a fitting for the boy who lived. The boy who squandered all his potential for a sick desire. But Hermione called him back inside, and he dutifully obeyed. He followed her back into the tent, and she wordlessly presented a book to him, laid open on the table. It was the potion book. “Yeah, that’s it.” He answered. She nodded and slammed the book closed. He didn’t fail to notice that she had changed into clothes, and wore her dressing gown too, wrapped around her like armor, but even still she seemed to feel naked as he looked at her. She retreated to her books, her back to him as much as it could get without actually turning away. The baby supplies were gone, where too, he couldn’t see, but he was glad for it. He sat and dove into the books. A welcome distraction from the tension between them. Harry was lost. The next twenty four hours were the hardest he’d experience with the horcrux. It’s darkening influence increased to a deep and inky black, blotting out all color and life. When he slept his dreams were of creeping crawling things, and when he woke he knew he was the insect; an emotionless husk, keen on nothing but survival. Hermione didn’t seem much better, and in his despair he took solace in hers. She looked shaky, on the verge of either screaming or crying, or else running away from the tent to look for Ron. But she didn’t go. The next morning they woke up like two undead creatures. Sloughing out of their beds more because of the inertia of habit than anything else. They both stood, only feeling human in the vaguest sense, and stared at each other. “We need to do something,” she said first. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Ideas?” She did have one. From a cabinet she produced a bottle of sherry and two glasses. She set them down at the table, and despite the early hour, and empty stomachs they drank. At first it was a solemn duty, like taking medicine. But after awhile Harry felt the numbing on the edges of his feelings, and warmth in his chest, and he drank with her happily. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice finally unstuck. She stared at him, a look on her face, he'd never seen before. It was somewhere between conciliatory and full of pity for him; somewhere between feeling like she’d done something wrong to him, and he’d done something to himself. There was no hint of her own grievance on her face. “Thank you,” she started, but then she closed her mouth. Unsure or unwilling to say anything more. She took another long gulp of sherry, and change tact. “What happened exactly?” “I… I brewed the potion. It was easy, you’d been bloody proud of me except. Well,” he took a sip. “Anyway, I figured you’d wish for something… Wish for Ron. Or for me to be gone, or anything else. But then I saw the spill on your crotch. And I’d seen the Nappies. Ginny’s nappies. And… then you said ‘I wish you’d get what you want’ and I guess it mixed the two?” She nodded slowly. “Makes sense.” But she was watching him, asking why with those big brown eyes. “I just always, wanted to take care of people. I guess because so rarely did anyone take care of me. When I was cared for, nurtured, it felt so good. But then I wanted to also be that strict influence. That kind of ‘dad’, maybe not always fair, but firm. Strong.” The word dad seemed to trigger her, and Harry knew she was going to say what she hadn’t before. “I’ve been having a hard time. I love Ron, but he doesn’t understand me leaving my parents out in the muggle world. They’ve always been kind of… hapless. Disconnected from all these adventures we’ve had, misunderstanding my role in it. The terror we’ve experienced together, it does damage. No matter how hard we pretend it doesn’t,” she paused, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe because I was gone at Hogwarts so much. Maybe because he didn’t see me enough -- Daddy always treated me like his little girl. The last night I was home he asked me if I went potty before bed, we laughed about it, but then he tucked me in. Made me feel safe. Loved.” The bottle was gone, and Harry sat staring at it for a long while. “I need going back to bed,” she said, standing up a little wobbly. But she stopped behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “The thing about wishing potions, is they don’t need you to say anything outloud. In fact, they work better when you don’t. Ask me later what I was thinking after you spilled the potion on me.” And with that she kissed him on the back of the head. He didn’t turn to see, but he heard her slip into the bed, and in the silence her breath settled into a rhythm. She was asleep.

Chapter 6: the Supply Run It was barely Six A.M. but that was always part of the plan; Get up early, pack the tent, get to the stores and back before they got too busy. Unlikely as it was the muggles would even notice them, it felt like the safe-bet. They’d become practiced striking camp, and by 6:30 they had the tent down. In the dawn light he noticed he could see the pullup slightly bulging the seat of her jeans, but it was too late to change her into something more discreet. The tent was already nearly folded, and a minute later they were stuffing it into Hermione’s bag. They disapparated, appearing beneath the bridge along the canal near a sleepy hamlet. They’d chosen it because they knew that right up on the main road were both a chemist and a grocer. Looking around themselves in the grey light Harry noticed that Hermione seemed fidgety in that specific way he was learning to recognize. “Do you need the loo?” He asked, gesturing toward the public building down the tow-path from where they stood. “No,” she said, not even hesitating. “I’ll be okay. Let’s just be quick?” “Sure,” he said, trying not to sound as skeptical as he felt. “I’ve got the chemist, you get the food, alright?” She shrugged and they made their way up. The only vehicle there was a rumbling bin lorry, and the bin men paid them no mind as they collected the morning’s rubbish. With a meaningful look they separated, Hermione crossing to go to the Grocers, and Harry walking down the footpath towards the Chemist. It felt strange, especially after the potion, to be there. He’d long felt quite literally other-worldly in Muggle settings, but that day he felt not himself, and setting foot into the store underneath the bright fluorescence and music, he felt even more so. There were two girls about his age stocking shelves, and a chemist. All of them looked to be from the same family, sisters putting in hours at Daddy’s store before school. They all glanced at him as he entered, but he was just another early morning customer, and they returned to their work. He grabbed the basic stuff first; toilet paper, tooth paste, his body soap and face wash. But as he collected these things he could hear the sisters talking as they worked. “I know,” the younger was saying. “It’s really scary right?” “Absolutely,” the Older replied. “You can’t tell me that’s normal. First the hurricane then the murders. There’s a feeling the whole world is gone nutter, at least that’s what Maji says…” ‘Maji’ — 'mother' in Indian, Harry remembered; it was what the Patil twins called their mom. “Yeah it feels like everyone’s lost the plot.” Harry was absentmindedly filling his basket with things as he listened. His ears burned, and he imagined the horcrux around his neck burned as well. For the first time in days he felt it there, weighing on him. Distantly he felt his hands on automatic, no longer under his control. “Speaking of lost the plot,” One of the girls said, and then she whispered something to the other. “She did not! Really?” “I swear, James’ got a snap on his disposable camera, you know that’ll be makin’ the rounds come monday,” the younger said. “Oh my god. Poor girl,” the older sister didn’t sound compassionate at all, but before she continued she glanced up and saw Harry looking at them. “Can I help you?” Harry scrambled, and glancing down at his now full basket and said: “I was just wondering do I pay up front or…?” “Yeah,” the younger sister said, before the older one could insert more attitude into the conversation. “I got ya.” He followed her towards the registers, and only now did he realize what he’d put in the basket. He froze at the end of the isle and when she saw him standing there she looked at him quizzically. He stared down at the objects, knowing the Potion’s influence had selected these things for him. “Something wrong?” “No,” he said, his mouth dry. “No. I think I have everything.” He set the basket down and she went to work scanning everything, and bagging it up. If she noticed his embarrassment she didn’t let on, and before long she was done and he had paid. Hermione was a little longer (she had more items to get, even including the extras Harry had picked up), but she took far longer than he expected, and by the time she emerged from the store, the road was packed with morning commuters, and she looked positively knackered. “What took so long?” he asked, but she looked like she wanted to scream. “They were so sure the money was counterfeit,” she hissed as they walked together towards the bridge and the canal. It had started to rain, and was threatening to piss down at any second. “I mean… isn’t it?” She shot him a look that instructed him to shut up. “They tried their marker, and had the GM come and look at it,” she said. “I really needed to get out of there.” She said meaningfully, but then biting her lip she added: “I think the counter guy must have been sensitive to magic, because even when it tested good he was convinced it was a fake.” “Wouldn’t he have been selected?” Harry asked. “For Hogwarts? Maybe, but they’ve been known to get things wrong before,” She shrugged. Apparently over it. As they passed the public building, Harry asked if she needed to go, but she pretended she didn’t hear him and adverted her gaze from the building. Again he considered being more pushy, but he decided against it, anxious himself to get out of town. At the bridge, though, they had to wait. Apparently the Canal was a well-used spot for local joggers and dog owners. They barely had enough time to surreptitiously slip the bags one by one into Hermione’s bag of holding, and it wasn’t until the rain began to piss down that the foot traffic disappeared and they were able to do the same. Relocating was largely guess work and they apparated into a field that looked perfect until they turned around and realized they were face-to-face with a major highway. They decided to walk over a hill, but they rounded the hump only to find themselves in a fast-food chain parking lot. It took two more jumps to find a suitable area, and another hour to find a spot flat enough for the tent, and a further hour to get it up. The spot they’d chosen was far more pleasant than the last one, it was sheltered from the wintery wind, by tall evergreens, and the tent rested on a mossy bed. And as they headed into the tent Harry noticed Hermione’s butt again, the pullup much more evident as it sagged heavily against her jeans. Chapter 7: the Enchantment Hermione went to the kitchen to put away the food. Now Harry saw her mood, and her rush, as a distraction from the state of her Nappy. He stood there as she tried to look busy, and pondered for a moment. “Hermione,” he said. “Do you need to go potty, love?” She froze, and setting a carton of milk down in the fridge, she turned to him. She seemed to go over a number of options, in her head really fast. “I uh, don’t have to,” she settled on the lie by omission, he noticed, but she was the smartest person he knew, and she quickly saw it wasn’t working. “I already did.” “Where?” “In the…,” he raised his eyebrows, as she stammered. She deflated, defeatedly. “In my nappy. Twice. At the store, and again while we were setting up the tent.” “Hermione,” he started, but she cut him off. “No, I just…It was easier this way. I hate public loos, even the ones at Hogwarts, I’d hold it until every one was gone to class or asleep,” she said. “Oh god Harry. Do you have any idea how humiliating all of this is?” He hadn’t expected that last bit. They’d danced around it the whole time, not saying how any of it was making her feel, or how it was making him feel. “I’m sorry Hermione,” he said, and he honestly meant it. He wanted to ask if she suspected the potion, if she understood that they were under the influence of something else. “Lets get you cleaned up?” Surprisingly she seemed to relax, and she came right to him. He took her hand and led her to the rug. He had to move aside the board games first, but she laid down without him asking. He grabbed the bags from the chemist, and his wand, and brought them nearby. She glanced at them, but didn’t say a word. He unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled them down her legs. The pullup was soaked — yellowed from the front to the back. “I don’t think you need a punishment,” he said, as he retrieved some wipes he’d bought from the bag, and started to wipe her vagina. “But you should have been honest with me that you’d rather pee in your nappy…” “I wouldn’t rather,” she started to say, but he cut her off. “…So from now on we’ll just remove the choice.” He hadn’t meant for it to be so dramatic, but he retrieved from the shopping bag a package of real baby nappies. Her eyes went wide as he pointed his wand at them. “Engorgio permanus,” he said, and the whole packet ballooned in size. “I don’t need…” she said, and her composure was almost gone. “Stop it. I wasn’t asking Hermione.” He warned. She was watching as he pulled one out, but then her eyes squeezed shut as he unfolded it. Harry looked at the nappy, and noted how cute the little bears along the top were. He pulled the soiled pullup out from under her, and wiped her butt cheeks, and her anus. But as he set her legs back down he noticed he still faintly smelled pee. He rolled up the pullup and put it in an empty bag, just to be sure, but still the smell lingered. He leaned in to her, placing his face just inches from her open legs, and sniffed. It was her that smelled, or, more precisely, her pubic hairs. She opened her eyes as he sniffed, and tears welled in them. “Please, no.” She said, but he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hermione. We have to.” He handed her the wand, and she took it. Her hands shaking, but after a second seemed to decide she had no choice. “Cappilum Incisia,” she said, and a faint light emitted from his wand. The hairs receded into her and all at once her pubis was hairless, not even a hint of stubble remained. Just like her legs, probably a spell she was practiced with. “Good girl,” he said, but she was looking away. From the bag he found powder, and as he sprinkled it over her he felt her twitch. He rubbed it in lightly with the tips of his fingers, over her hips, and over the ends of her pubic bone, and down into the folds of her vagina. He felt her warm to his touch as he circled her clit, and she bit her thumb. “Oh, Harry,” she cried. “Not now.” And of course he stopped immediately. He looked at her, her thumb between her lips. “Hey,” he scolded jokingly. “none of that.” He produced a dummy, and popped it out of the package. She took it and looked at the foreign object like it were as insane as he was, but she did put it in her mouth. Testing it, suckling at the nipple. As she made light sucking sounds, he finished up, and pulled the nappy up over her crotch, and taped it in place. The enlarged nappy was big enough that it went nearly to her belly button, and it puffed up thickly around her bum. As he checked the fit, she absently was playing with his wand. Idly, she had enchanted the boats in battleship to start traveling around the board, and by the time he helped her roll over she was so entrenched in the game, he left her to it. Harry finished putting away the groceries, but it took him longer than it should have. He kept glancing over at her nappied bottom, it was cute. She was cute. But more importantly, it was a sign that she was his. When he finally finished up, he saw that she’d completely magic’d the game. The ships now rolled on a stormy sea, and their canons shot over the top of the backboard at each other, tiny shells sent sprays of water into the air. “Wanna play?” She asked, her words slurred by the dummy in her mouth. “Sure.” He sat down opposite her. The game wasn’t that much fun when the ships could move around, but it was fun playing with ships all the same. They had a mind of their own and kept wandering off, or firing missles out of turn. There were bugs too, such as when Hermione’s submarine instead of descending down into the depths floated up into the air, and she had to jump up to catch it. Soon she tired of the game and they moved on to Snakes and Ladders. Hermione’s usual magical genius was in rare from, as though inspired by the playfulness of it all, and before long she had the game sprawling across the whole tent. Snakes rattled and hissed through the air and they were climbing up the ladders themselves. There was no spinner, just a race to the roof. The snakes would scoop them up in their spoon like noses if they got too-close and they’d slide down scaly backs . Hermione won the game by reaching the top first and it dissolved beneath them, and set them down lightly on the floor. Harry on his feet, and Hermione on her thickly padded bottom. “Look what I got you!” He said, and pulled from the chemist bags a coloring book and crayons. She smiled wide around her dummy, and went to right to them. Looking at her nappy, he couldn’t tell if she’d wet, but he didn’t want to disturb her as she went through the book, trying to choose which Lion King character she’d color first. He knelt down behind her, and slipped his finger into the leg band of her nappy. She froze. But then slowly, deliberately, went back to flipping the pages. She was dry still, but he wondered how long that would last. It was around lunch time, and he cooked for her. They were limited with what options they had — they had limited room in the tiny enchanted icebox, so they had a bit of milk, some cheeses, and some sandwich things to work with. He thanked the potion for controlling his hands at the shop, as he filled a baby bottle with milk, and cut up a sandwich into little squares for her. “Lunch time!” he announced, and she looked up from her coloring as though she wanted to argue, but she didn’t. She came to the table and he pulled out a chair for her to sit at. She sat down and stared at the cutup food, and the baby bottle for a long few seconds. “Thank you,” she said, but she just looked down on her plate. Harry went to the stuff he bought and retrieved the last item in the bottom of the bag: a bib. He engorgio’d it and hooked it up around her neck. She blushed but again, she didn’t argue, she just sat there, as if taking in the sights. “Do you need me to feed you?” he asked. “No,” she said. “I’m not hungry.” “Sure you are,” he said. “Eat baby. Now.” Tentatively she took one of the tiny squares of sandwich and popped it in her mouth. Harry ate his own sandwich and watched her. Despite not being hungry, she managed to eat the last of it, but she’d not touched the bottle once. “All done?” he asked. “All done!” she announced proudly, and a little too enthusiastically. She stood up and seemed to want to return to coloring, but she hesitated, and turned to him. “Harry… I… I need to have a pee.” “That’s what your nappy is for, sweety,” he said simply, clearing her plate. She was watching him wide-eyed, apparently deciding if she wanted to fight it, and as had become the new normal, choosing the very un-Hermione-like choice of not fighting. “Here, you need to finish your bottle.” He saw with it on the arm chair, and held his arms open for her. Awkwardly she came over and sat ever so slowly, setting her padded bum down on Harry’s lap; the whole time she stared at the bottle like a blast-ended-skrewt. A volatile thing that might explode in her face. But he wrapped her arms around her, and supported by the arm chair and him she relaxed. He gave her a little bit, as her breathing slowed and she stared up at him, her face becoming peaceful. “We need to talk about what’s going on,” she said quietly. “Yeah,” he answered, but somehow he knew the potion was wearing off. This was the last of it. “Bottle first?” Reluctantly she agreed, and he placed the nipple between her waiting lips. Tentatively she put her mouth over it, and suckled lightly. He had one arm hooked under he legs, and that hand rested on the seat of her nappy, the other hand held the back of her head, and he played with her hair. Before long she was drinking from the bottle, the whole time her eyes were locked on him. That same look of peacefulness as earlier on her face. About half way through the bottle though, something changed. The sucking sounds became intermittent, and her breathing increased, and before long she stopped drinking entirely. He felt her body tense as he held her, and for a moment her eyes became distant, but then they snapped. She held eye contact as her cheeks went pink, and tears welled in them. Harry was confused for a second until he felt heat on his arm around her bottom, spreading out across the nappy, and he realized he could hear the faintest distant hiss. As the sound faded, she seemed to exchange a look, with him. It said: “I did it. Now its your problem.” She went back to suckling the bottle, and by the time there was just a little bit left she had fallen asleep cradled in his arms. Her still-warm and wet nappy sagging against his arm, the baby bottle still in her mouth.

Chapter 5: in a Sliver of Light Harry woke up before dawn to the darkness of the tent. He opened his eyes to see Hermione in a sliver of light from the wood-stove. She was sitting up. Harry felt worried for her, and almost asked her what was up, but something held him back. There was a feeling that he had a few times after the potion, that what was about to happen needed to take its course. An unspoken whisper telling him to let go and let the boat float where it may. She turned to him, and he thought that was it, she knew he was awake now, but then he realized she had the firelight in her eyes, and couldn’t see him. Couldn’t tell he was awake. He saw the thin line of her lips open, and then close again, and his racing mind formed a narrative: She’d woken up, and she wanted (or needed) to wake him up, but she was having trouble with it. After a long moment she seemed to make a decision, and she sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. She was very quiet, and as she stood up he closed his eyes. No longer in the wedge of orange light, he feared that her eyes might adjust to the darkness, see him watching her. He could hear her bare feet scuffing on the wood as she tiptoed away, but she only made a few light steps out of the bunk room. He heard her linger for a long time there, the floor boards beneath her feet creaking ever so slightly. He slowly lifted his head and saw her. She was standing, her back to him, silhouetted against the fire, apparently unable to go further. It was utterly silent, with both his ears off the pillow he could hear her breath now, and after a second a slight hissing sound filled the tent. She tensed, and he saw her weight shift, and her breathing rate increase. Then after a few more seconds the hissing came to a stop, but she lingered for a while. She pulled back her hair, and he saw her take a deep sighing breath, and finally turn. He dropped his head back onto his pillow, and a moment later she was back in his view, so he closed his eyes again. The sound of her covers being pulled back, and her steps was all he heard, but that meant she was back in the light, and he was in shadow. He cracked his eyes, but she was looking right at him. He thought again that she could see him, but the look on her face was strange, and again he had to imagine what was going through her head. Would he spank her again? She should have told him about needing to pee. She squinted, and seemed to decide either that he was asleep, or that it didn’t matter. Still either watching him or just looking in his direction she sat herself down on her bunk, slowly, and as her bottom made contact she froze. He watched as she slowly allowed the wetness to press up against her, and he was startled as her hand shot to between her legs. She seemed to rock there, letting herself become accustomed to the feeling, but something else happened. Her breathing rate increased, turning ragged. One hand pressed the wet nappy against her vagina, the other found her breast beneath the button up. The rocking turned to gyrating, turned to humping. The bunk squeaked, and before long her hand slipped inside the nappy. Harry imagined it, her hand down between her legs, her knuckles brushing the soft wetness, feeling the weight of the nappy, the weight of her “accident”. She fell sideways against her pillow, and pulled down the PJ pants. Her eyes still on him, as the first moans escaped her lips, and Harry’s erection returned. Distantly there was an alarm going off in his head, but before him was a girl, and he was a boy. His own hand found his cock, and he started to rub in time with her. Her breathing was loud, her eyes wide, wet with tears now, and he somehow knew she couldn’t see him, but instead she was imagining him watching her. And she was bucking against the nappy. Indistinct words escaped her lips, and they became clearer as her whispers and moans rose louder and louder. At first it was “Ron”. Then: “Harry.” Then: “Daddy…Harry.” She repeated these over and over and over. And they came at the same time. She shook the whole bed, her body vibrating and tensing. Their eyes snapped closed with pleasure. When he opened his, he saw hers open as well, looking past him, but there was a smile on her face, soft and gentle. He listened to her breathing calm down, and still she looked out towards him as her eyes got heavy and she closed them at last. Just like that she was asleep, her legs spread out with pants down at her knees. Harry didn’t fall back asleep. He got up and cleaned himself with toilet tissue, and lay back down. He watched her for hours until dawn came and the sun rose, and she began to stir ever so slightly. He went and got a washcloth, and returned to the bedside. He could smell her pee, and see the nappy hanging heavy, both from her accident and being stretched out. He managed to slip the pants off the rest of the way without her awakening, but she came-to as he tore one side of the nappy. He felt her tense, but it was only slightly and by the time he ripped open the other side she’d relaxed. He glanced at her. “Good morning baby girl,” he said, and at first she seemed confused but then she smiled with warmth. “Morning…,” she hesitated. “Harry.” She yawned as he pulled the nappy forward, revealing the yellowed padding. He wiped her with the cloth, making sure to get inside the folds, and she made a squeek as he gathered her ankles and lifted her butt up. He slipped the cloth along her butt crack, making sure to clean deeply. He pulled the nappy out from under her. She relaxed, thinking he was done, but he took her hand — the one she masturbated with. He wiped it off thoroughly, and she watched him, like she was watching him wipe away her shame. She blushed deeply, and he sort of wished he could have just left it, not revealed that he had known, but he just couldn’t bring himself to let it go. He thought on this for a moment, as he slid a new pullup up her legs. Just like her bottom, the hand needed cleaning, and he was the one to do it.

Thank you so much! Not to speak ill of the non-present, but the genesis of the idea was wondering what kind of ABDL fiction I see a lot of but don't see done all that well. The magic world gives some really good opportunities for some scenarios, but a lot of other writers have made the magic one-stop shop for everything in the story. Need someone changed? Just magic it. Want them to have an accident at that exact moment? Just use a spell -- It all becomes too easy, which is just boring. And worse, often the magic distorts the characters into mindless zombies under the influence of the spell, except instead of moaning brains they moan "diapers". I hope I've at least kept Hermione and Harry's characters intact while also showing that they're clearly under the influence of things both welling up from deep inside and magic.

Chapter 4: Games It was only a little while later that Harry found he couldn’t focus on the books any longer. He was exhausted, not in the way the Horcrux had made him, but in a more mundane way. Harry set his book down, and blurted it at once: “Let’s have fun.” Hermione stared at him, and one eyebrow raised in confusion. “We have to do a supply run tomorrow, today let’s relax. I mean when is the last time we did anything but look at books?” He said. He thought he saw her eyes flick towards the bathroom, and he considered adding ‘besides that’, but she shrugged. “Any ideas?” she said, a bit bemused. He did have one! Again he dove into the chest and came out with the box of Mr. Weasley’s muggle stuff. He took out the drill, a rubber ducky, and three board games: Snakes and Ladders^^, Battleship, and Monopoly — which Harry could tell was missing most of its pieces before he even opened the box. “Which one first?” He asked, holding up the two complete games. Hermione bit her lip, and pointed to Snakes and Ladders. “Great,” he said, handing her the box. “You set up. I’ll make us tea.” Tea made, game set up in the living area, Harry sat down with her on the floor. They sipped their tea, and started playing. At first it was going great for Hermione, she was a nearly to the end, but then she hit a couple snakes that sent her all the way back to the beginning. “Honestly though, not fair!” she pouted. But Harry tickled her bare knee and she cheered up. Eventually she did end up winning and she hopped up and down excitedly, nearly spilling her tea as Harry congratulated her with a hug. They played battleship, and Harry won the first round, and as they set up for the second Harry glanced at her empty tea, and had a thought. “Do you need a break?” Harry asked her, and she looked at him, and after a second of thinking she nodded. He stood and held his hand out to her, and when she took it he pulled her up and led her to the bathroom. He pulled down her pullup, and helped her sit on the toilet. “Having fun?” He asked her, distracting her from her humiliation. She shrugged and managed a smile. “Well, hurry. Then we can go back.” She nodded and she squeezed out a quick pee, not much more than a few dribbles. “Is that all?” he teased. “Hey! I felt like I had to…” she shot back. But he shrugged, and collecting a wad, he wiped her, and pulled her DryNites back up. She bounded off back to the living room as he washed his hands, and he watched her as she sat innocently back on the rug. She won the second round, and the third round petered out into giggles and laughs. They talked about muggle things; playing board games at birthday parties (which Harry did very little of — parties or board games). What muggle school had been like, the teasing, the lessons, the food. The conversation turned serious though as she brought up her parents. “I’m never sure if I’m glad or sad they’re not part of all of this,” she said, waving her hand over their tent, and the magic world at large. “At times its like my own thing. I have you and Ron, and magic. But I don’t have parents here. No daddy. No mama. You know what I mean?” Of course he didn’t. Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh Harry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” “No,” he said. “It’s okay. I just wish I did understand.” She nodded, and she took his hand. They ate a light dinner together, and as Harry was washing dishes he noticed Hermione seemed uncomfortable. She kept shifting. “Alright, Hermione?” He asked and she shrugged. “It’s just that, well my bottom itches,” she said, not making eye contact. “Oh!” He said at once, and shut off the tap. “You’ve learned your lesson no?” She nodded, and he looked at her, wanting her to say it out loud. “I… I will tell you if I need to… you know…” but he raised her eyebrows, feeling it important she say it all. “If I need to go potty.” “Good girl,” he said, and she looked at him, but he pulled her in for a hug and almost immediately she relaxed into it. He took her by the hand to the bathroom, and turned on the tub. “Harry…” she said, a new tension in her voice. “It’s ok,” he said. He pulled down her pullup and helped her step out of it, and then reached for the hem of her t-shirt. She bit her lip as he looked at her, and waited. Eventually she nodded, and he pulled the shirt up, revealing her breasts to him. She stood there as the tub filled, one hand covering her lower bits, and the other arm across her chest, and when finally the water filled enough he helped her step inside. She sank immediately beneath the water, letting it hide her shame as much as it could. “Harry,” she said meekly. “Can I have bubbles?” “Sure!” He used her body wash and squirted it into the water below the tap. It was no bubble bath, but small bubbles formed on the surface, and gave her a little bit more cover, but that gave him a thought! He went to the muggle box and retrieved the rubber ducky, and brought it to her. She looked at him like he was crazy, but took it all the same. The second the ducky touched the water, though, it sprang to life. Mr. Weasley must have put a charm on it! “Hey!” she yelped, and the thing swam away from her under the tap, hiding himself behind the stream of falling water. “Oh I’m sorry, did I startle you?” She leaned forward and the thing backed off, bumping into the side of the tub. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” He peeked his head out, and Hermione looked to Harry with delight. He took a little bit of coaxing and patience but eventually he paddled his way out, right up to her outstretched hand, and swam happily around in circles. She giggled cheerily as the ducky swam around her in a long arc, and nestled up against her side right below her breast, now exposed above the water line, her modesty forgotten. She tried to touch him, but he moved too fast and he took it as a game. He swam fast to the other end of the tub and she reached out again, and again he avoided her fingers. He ducked his head beneath the water, and when he came up he sprayed her square in the face with a stream of water. “Not fair!” she squealed, splashing the thing hard and tipping it over. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she said grabbing it and setting it upright. She looked worried, but the thing sprayed her again with an even more sustained jet. Harry watched as they played like this for a few minutes. It filled him with warmth seeing her have so much fun. As their game wound down, Hermione scooped up the little duck and whispered something to it. She set it back in the water, and looked at Harry with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “No!” He shouted, but it was too late. The duck sprayed water straight at him, soaking his shirt and his slacks. “Stop!” It ran out of water and, he leaned in, pointing his finger at her as she tried to look as innocent as possible. It was cute, and it almost worked. “Do that again and I’ll give you another spanking,” he said, not serious; She feigned a wounded look. “You wouldn’t!” She said, but he just shrugged, and grabbed a washcloth. He kneeled over the tub and the duckling receded into a corner, looking like the life had left it. “The waters getting cold, let’s finish up,” he said. He plunged the cloth in and went to work. He started with the easy parts — her hands, and arms, her feet and her legs. He did her back, taking his time, and felt her relax as he scrubbed around her shoulders. That didn’t last long as he moved onto her breasts, he tried his best not to linger, but the whole area took more time than he thought either of them would have liked. He got under them, around the side, and her armpits, and then coming back his fingers brushed over her erect nipples. She focused on the duck on the other end of the tub the whole time. Sliding the washcloth down across her belly, he felt her tense, and her knees snapped together, and so he paused. “It’s okay,” he whispered, giving her a kiss on the forehead, and he felt her relax, every so slightly. He pushed the washcloth down between her thighs, and all at once there was a splash and she had her wet arm around him. “Shh. It’s alright.” He felt her breath on his neck as he rubbed just above her vagina, and circled down. The cloth hit her clit, and she tensed, fingernails digging into his neck, and her breath caught. He tried to work fast, but also gentle, but at one point he felt his finger slipped out of the washcloth and across her lips. He quickly recovered but she was shaking, holding on to him tightly. As he finished he thought he felt her leaning into his hand, pressing her self down into it, and when he pulled his hand away she slipped forward in the tub. He held her up, and reached back, feeling her shudder as he ran the cloth between her butt cheeks. “All done.” He announced, and shakily she nodded. “You did quite good. I’m proud of you!” She looked up at him, blushing, but also looking strangely proud of herself. He let the plug out and grabbed a towel off the rack. He stood with it out stretched, and she stood. Wrapping it around her he began to dry her off, and she smiled at him. He had to rub harder than he thought to really get her dried, and by the time he was her skin was pink, but dry. He wound her up in the towel and in one movement, he scooped her up into his arms. He’d like to think the walk was easy, but that would have been a lie; still, he managed it well enough, and he got her to the bunk room without dropping her. He set her down on her bed, and grabbed another pullup. She didn’t argue, he opened up the towel and she raised her bottom as he slid it up and over her hips. “What do you want to wear?” he asked her, and she shrugged, watching him with a look in her eyes he couldn’t quite place. He picked from her drawer a matching set of PJs, pink shorts and a button up short sleeve. He slid the shorts on over the DryNite, and buttoned up the shirt for her over her erect nipples. “Thank you,” she said it begrudgingly, but he pulled her into his chest, and held her for a long time. Long enough that he heard those soft snores again. He tucked her in, and kissed her forehead. “Goodnight Baby,” he said and he turned down the lantern. ^^ Snakes and Ladders is the UK version of Chutes and Ladders, weird because I feel like Snakes are more an American thing, and Chutes are more British — maybe it’s an attempt to seem more exotic to the opposing groups?

This is, in my opinion one of the best ABDL/MDLG pieces of writing ever. I've been lurking for a long time, always enjoying reading, but rarely enjoying reading. Emily and Joyce's relationship is the perfect mix of pathos and passion, reluctance and trust. It's beautiful, and you've really done something special here. I notice you seem to feel really pressured to constantly get out the next chapters, and while we're all desperate for it, you're still staying well ahead pace of most of the best stories I've read on here. Thanks for all your hard work and your writing!

Chapter 3: Accidents When Harry woke up he heard her immediately. She was sniffling, sitting up in her bunk, looking down at herself. He was confused at first, but then the smell hit him. “Oh Herminone...,” he said. She looked up at him, innocent tears in her eyes, and he went to her. He pulled back the covers to be sure, and she hid her face. Sure enough she was soaked, he could see those pink knickers clearly through her PJs. He pulled her to him and hugged her tight. “It’s okay, it was just an accident.” He helped her stand, and looked at her, she seemed frozen, staring at the wet spot on her bed, her sodden pants clung to her. Harry felt the strong need to make it better so he said: “Go, shower. I’ll take care of it.” She went to the drawer to grab clean clothes, moving as though she’d do anything to not feel her wet panties, and her soaked PJ bottoms. He took her hand, and looked in her eyes. “Go. I’ll get you something.” She looked at him thankfully and rushed off. The bed was easy. He used a spell to dry it, and was glad to see it took care of whatever “staining” there normally would be; no unpleasant scents remained. At her drawer he found a pair of warm flannel pants, and a plain white t-shirt for her, but staring down at her panties and bra he somehow felt it a step too far. It was as if the situation was bleeding into what he’d normally feel was appropriate. He just couldn’t bring himself to touch those things. Searching for options he considered just bringing her a towel, letting her sort it out, but he’d promised he’d take care of her. He wanted to take care of her. Whether the logic was convoluting itself towards an end, or if Harry was, he wasn’t sure; Regardless he knew what he needed to do. He dove down into the Chest and retrieved the DryNites. He took one and placed it in the pile with the other clothes, along with a fresh towel and left it for her on the sink, just inside the curtain. He also fished out her PJs from the floor, and used the same drying spell. He thought he sensed a long void between the shower turning off and her coming out of bathroom, but she did emerge eventually, and Harry saw the consequence of not wanting to touch her under things first hand. The white t-shirt did nothing to hide her nipples, which poked through the thin cotton, were clearly visible. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat at the table. He felt his heart rate rise as he saw her, but it wasn’t seeing it that got him feeling warm, it was her response — the innocence, but also the willingness to not argue with him. Walking past he glanced down at her back, he saw the white of the pullup sticking up over the hem of her pants and he felt a surge of pride. Maybe she hadn’t done everything he’d asked yet, but at least she didn’t fight him on that. Besides, it was a practical solution to her accident wasn’t it? As the day wore on Harry felt refreshed. He dove into their research with an energy he hadn’t felt in months, and he almost forgot about the Horcrux tied around his neck. They ate lunch, finishing off the last of the sliced bread, and sipped tea together in silence. The only sounds for a long time were the sounds of each other’s breathing, the turning of pages, and the wind howling outside. The only sounds that is until Hermione shifted in her seat, and Harry heard a little toot escape her. It was so quiet in the tent that there was no ignoring it. “Brilliant,” Harry said with a smile. “Oh shut up,” she said blushing, but also smiling herself. More time passed and again she farted, Harry only glanced up but he saw she was red with embarrassment. He almost asked her if she needed the toilet, but thought better of it. This time it was only seconds before yet another puff escaped her, and Harry could hear her belly gurgle in the quiet of the tent. “Herminone, do you need to go...?” He asked, leaning over the table, and touching her hand. She peeked over her book, and stared at him for a long time, the anger and worry clearly passed behind her eyes. “No.” She said simply, and then dove back into reading. But nearly a minute later one last sound escaped her, it was a wet fart and much louder than the others. Hermione made a gasping sound, and Harry watched as her knuckles went white clinging to her book. But it seemed to pass and she relaxed, though somehow, despite not being able to see her face, he knew she was no longer really reading. Finally she slammed the book down, and looking down at it with all the intensity she could muster, she whispered something. “What?” She repeated it, but Harry couldn’t hear her. “I can’t hear you...” “I said: I need to go to the loo,” she said, this time audible, but just barely. “Ok,” he said, he stood and held out his hand for her. “Do you still want to...?” “Yes. I’ll help you clean up,” he said. She hesitated, but then she took his hand and he helped her stand. She seemed to be afraid; afraid of going on the way there if she didn’t rush, and afraid of what would happen after even if she did make it. She went in the bathroom, and with him still standing right there, closed the curtain behind herself. As soon as she sat down Harry heard it coming out. It was loud, wet, and very embarrassing. Already he could smell her poo, and as the louder sounds stopped, he heard the plops of more solid stuff into the toilet water, and along with that the hissing sound of her peeing. When all her sounds were through, he waited. He half expect to hear the toilet paper be torn, the sound of it on skin, and the sound of flushing, but those never came. She just sat there, waiting for him. He wanted to give her time, but the seconds wore on, and he was sure she felt him waiting. He decided to just do it, and he pulled the curtain back. Harry was afraid she’d fall right off the loo, but she sat there frozen, looking at him, her pants down around her ankles, naked from the waist down. Tears were in her eyes, but she just waited patiently. He went to work immediately: grabbing toilet paper, he guided her up onto her feet, lifting her bottom up and off the seat. He reached back and wiped her, checking to make sure he was getting some on the paper, and with each touch he could feel her shaking. He tried to be fast, but he found there was some extra liquid on her cheeks, and thighs so he had to use a few extra wads of paper. He then let her sit back down and moved onto her front, he didn’t look as he reached between her legs, but the thin paper gave him a good idea of what exactly he was touching. Her whole body tensed as he brushed her clitoris, and he felt her fingers dig into his shoulder and the back of his neck. Finally clean he helped her stand up all the way. He knelt down and helped her pull up the DryNite but as he did he paused. On the seat of it, he saw a light brown stain, spread out across nearly the whole thing. “Hermione...,” He said, hearing his voice turn reproachful. It didn’t escape him that he was staring right at her vagina, right at the fuzz of her trimmed hairs. Realizing he was fast approaching an awkward moment, he stood up and looked at her. “Did you have another accident?” he asked. “No!” She said adamantly but following his eyes she looked down and saw what had done to the Pullup. In the Pullup. “I just...I mean it wasn’t an accident it was just. I just...” “It’s okay,” Harry said, taking her hand. “But I did ask you if you need to go, didn’t I?” “Yes.” “And did you listen?” She shook her head no, hanging her head in shame. “I need you to listen. Don’t I?” “Yes.” “And what has happened now that you didn’t listen?” She focused on the wall, and he saw her jaw tremble as she hesitated. He watched her fight with herself, nearly gaging on the words as they came out: “I…I had an accident.” “Where, Hermione?” “In… in the Nappy.” She was biting back tears now, and he pulled her close, she had to stumble forward with her pants down, but as he wrapped his arms around her one hand found the small of her back, the other her hair, and she relaxed into him. “It’s okay, I’m not mad just disappointed,” Harry said. Hearing in his voice the voices of Hogwarts teachers, and his friend's parents. “Do you think you deserve another punishment?” She pulled away and her eyes snapped up, searching his, and she opened her mouth to argue, but no arguments seemed to come to her. Finally, resigned, and biting back tears, she nodded ‘yes’. “I’m not going to spank you again, neither of us want that,” Harry said. “I think you should wear your dirty nappy as a reminder.” She looked at him, and at the pullup, and nodded. Obviously feeling she’d avoided the worst, but not all of it. He knelt back down and pulled it up. He started to put her pants back as well, but she stopped him. “These are quite warm...” “Do you want lighter slacks?” Harry asked, but she shook her head again. “Do you just want to leave them off?” She shrugged and nodded. “Okay. That’s fine.” She shuffled back towards the table, and Harry watched her. The PullUps were stained lightly around her bottom, and she seemed to be trying to avoid the feeling of them as she walked. When she got to the chair she hesitated for a long moment, but then, eventually, she sat down. A shudder ran through her and all too quickly she grabbed a book to distract herself. He returned to the table, and watched her for awhile, his feelings were conflicting in a hundred ways, but mostly, seeing her sitting there, in white T-shirt, and white pullup, he felt connected to her. She glanced up at him, and with raised eyebrows asked what was up. “Nothing,” he said, and he too returned to their research.

Thank you so much! I was starting to feel disheartened honestly by lack of response. I'm definitely continuing on regardless, but thanks for the kind words!

Chapter 2: Punishments Trigger warning: non-consensual punishments in this chapter Somehow the potion had an effect, but not the one listed on the page. Hermione’s mood had softened, a bit; she was less spiteful, and had settled into a quiet comfortable disdain. Maybe she felt bad for yelling at him, but she was speaking to him, though only in short bursts, and usually only to point out something he’d done wrong. Still, for the first time in days they were able to sit across the kitchen table from each other without her anger radiating like a roaring fire. They went through books, looking for the same answers that had eluded them for months. A few hours after they awoke she abruptly stood from the table, and headed towards the loo (a full bathroom, the only thing tent-like about it is that it didn’t have a door, just a thick velvet curtain). “Where you going?” Harry heard himself say, she stopped and looked at him, confused at first. “To have a pee Harry,” she said, spite returning to her voice. “Okay, let me know when you’re done and I’ll help you clean up.” She stared at him. And he knew they were both having the same thought: just what in the bloody hell had he just said? Harry had rarely seen her at a loss for words, but she clearly was, and a long moment passed before she seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it. She stormed off into the loo and snapped the curtain shut behind her. It was surely justified, but to Harry it felt very insolent. He stood and went near the curtain. He could hear her, the hiss of her pee hitting the toilet water. Then he heard her rip off some toilet paper, and heard the toilet flush. And as he the sound of the sink running reached his ears he grabbed a chair from the table and set it down outside the bathroom. As she pulled the curtain open she saw him standing there. A number of questions went across her face, and he saw each one make her more and more angry. “Hermione, I asked you to tell me when you were done peeing,” he said. “Yes Harry. You did,” she spat back. “And did you!?” He shouted over her. “What!? No Harry. Ofcourse I didn’t!” “That was very naughty,” he heard himself say, and she slapped him hard. His glasses nearly fell off. He grabbed her, and sat down in one motion. He pinned her legs with one of his, and held the hand she’d slapped him with behind her back. And with his other hand he smacked her bottom. Again and again. Until his palm felt like her jeans had been permanently imprinted on it. She shook and writhed, and when he let her stand there were real tears in her eyes. He looked at her. “Next time, you’ll let me know.” He said simply, and returned the chair to the table. “You’ve gone crazy,” she muttered to herself as she put on her coat, and boots, but at the door it was as though she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Instead she stomped off to her bunk and climbed in still wearing her jacket, and cried for a long time. Harry *did* feel bad. He wondered if it was the horcrux, somehow distorting the potion, or some other magic, but he found he didn’t care. What was the point? He spent the afternoon and evening listlessly staring out the windows at the rocks outside. Well after dark Hermione stirred for the first time, and again she tried to make it out the door, but again it was as though she couldn’t leave. Instead she grabbed Harry’s wand, and took it with her to the bathroom. “Hermione,” he called after her. “Remember...” But she snapped the curtain closed, and again he heard her peeing, and again he heard the toilet paper, and already he was grabbing the chair. *Why Doesn’t she want to be taken care of*, he thought, as the toilet flushed. She opened the curtain, and saw him again. But this time she pointed the wand at him. “Stay back,” she said. “Hermione, what did I ask?” but she didn’t answer. “Petrificus Totalus!” She shouted, but barely a spark emitted from his wand. She tried the spell again, and again it fizzled. The color seemed to drain from her, and he reached out and took her hand. She almost seemed to relax into it, perhaps hoping he was taking pity on her. But he reached up and with one finger unhooked the button her jeans, and as his fingers brushed her lower belly and the hem of her panties she bucked. Her back arched away from him, but with the other hand he pulled her jeans down past her bum, revealing her pink undies. He spanked her hard this time, alternating between cheeks. He didn’t count the strokes, but it must have been ten or twenty before he slowed, and by the time he was finished she had melted. He pulled her upright, and she stood before him, her pants fallen to around her knees and her knickers on full display before him. She was shaking, sobbing. He pulled her back down onto his lap and held her there. Holding her as she cried. He found he could lift her so he took her to the sofa, and rocked her back and forth. It wasn’t like the other times, this time she was crying with no reservation, letting it all out. She held him tight and cried for a long long time, whispering Ron’s name, about horcruxes, and he heard the word “daddy” multiple times. Harry cried too as he thought about all she’d been through. She’d been forced to choose him instead of Ron, to choose the magical world over her parents. They didn’t even remember her, and Harry knew all too well the damage memory spells could do, they might never remember her. And when it came down to it he was still just a kid missing his parents, and she was the same. And now this, whatever this was. It was late and she fell asleep like that in his arms. He laid her down on the sofa, and got a blanket for her. Both to keep her warm, and cover her partial nudity. A few hours later she awoke, and he went to her. She blinked at him through puffy eyes, obviously confused, but looking at each other feeling like a weight had lifted. Ron leaving still hurt, they were still afraid, but that crying session had somehow lightened them. “Can I have some water?” she asked, smacking her lips. He got her some and when he brought it to her she stared at it like it might poison her. Harry knew what she was thinking: drinking led to peeing, eventually. But she’d dehydrated herself so much with all the crying that she gulped down the whole glass in one go. Under the covers she bashfully pulled her jeans back up, and standing she busied herself straightening up the tent. “Hermione. Are you ok?” It took a lot of courage to speak. She paused with a book in her hand, and looked at him. Again she was at a loss for words, but eventually she seemed to decide to answer him honestly: “I am,” she said, “I just don’t like...” Her hand seemed to want to touch her bottom, but she winced and thought better of it. “I don’t either,” Harry blurted out. “I really don’t.” “Then why?” She asked. She came and stood before him, but he didn’t have an answer, instead he said: “Let’s just make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?” And the moment expanded. Harry remembered kissing Cho for the first time, and how the whole world seemed to recede away, but this was something different. It was just them in this place now. She understood, he knew she did. He felt the urge to be more explicit, but whatever was left of his unaffected mind held it back. She got it: don’t make me spank you again. “Ok,” she said, nodding as her cheeks flushed. She went back to tidying, or pretending to be busy. She’d slept awhile so it was a couple hours before they headed to bed. She got on her Pajamas, and was brushing her teeth when he went to the bathroom to stand with her. “Do you need to before sleep?” He asked, and at first she didn’t seem to understand. She turned to him eyes wide, and opened her mouth to say something, toothbrush still in it, but then, thinking, she shook her head no. “Ok... you sure?” “I’m sure,” she muttered, but she didn’t sound sure to Harry. She went to bed, and when Harry went to the bunks a few minutes after her she was fast asleep, already snoring lightly. She looked peaceful.

Chapter 1: The Potion Long after Voldemort’s fall there was always one thing that stuck with Harry Potter. One event, one period of time that would startle him out of sleep long after the trauma had faded, long after he’d learned to live with all he’d experienced. It was something he couldn’t speak to anyone about, and something he couldn’t forget. It happened during that last year, while they were on the run from the Ministry’s forces. Camping in the Weasley’s tent, carrying with them the Horcrux pendant. Harry and Ron had just had their argument, and Ron had disappeared, and Hermione and him had been forced to move on, disapparating, leaving behind any hope of Ron’s return. Hermione was angry with Harry, and he was angry with himself. They camped on a windswept rocky outcropping, and it was as cold as Harry felt. He went looking for more blankets, hoping he could shore up some heat loss, and maybe soften Hermione’s mood. He found some in a large chest, that like the Tent, and like Hermione’s bag of holding, was larger inside than out. Inside the chest was more like a shed, with shelves of supplies, and what Harry was sure was the Weasley’s other tent. Crawling in, he found blankets easily enough, but as he rummaged through them he stumbled upon some things — there were old soup cans, boxes of dry detergent, an old crate of muggle things (an electric drill, and some old board games), dusty looking candies, and a basket of toiletries. He almost didn’t give it a second look, but he saw that they were girl’s things — tampons, a packet of hair ties, flowery shampoos, and nestled down beneath everything, a packet of nappies. Well not nappies, Harry decided as he looked closer, they were Pullups. nighttime pullups, DryNites✫ brand to be exact. Harry stared at them for a long while, partly because he knew to whom these things must belong, and partly because it was a welcome distraction from everything else going on. The last time either tent had been used, had been for the Quidditch World Cup, and the Girls tent was where Hermione and Ginny stayed. These were Ginny’s things. Ginny’s nappies. The thought somehow made him feel closer to Ginny. He knew he should be embarrassed for her, but he saw her in his imagination, clearer than he’d done in months. Going to bed in the tent, slipping on the humiliating thing. Why? She must have a problem, a bed-wetting problem? Or else, an all-the-time problem? Regardless, this secret was his now. Something he shared with her. A bit of intimacy. He imagined her in them, as he slipped one out of the package. And he saw her body, mostly naked, as she pulled one up her legs. And then he saw her in the morning, somehow waking up beside him, and he’s reaching down, and saying: “Looks like you’re wet again, Ginny.” And she replies, her cheeks blushing to match her hair: “I’m sorry.” But he’d have none of it. He’d help her, tearing the yellowed nappy at the seams, and cleaning her most sensitive bits with a wipe. She’d lean into him, feeling safe, and happy, and taken care of. He wanted that most: to hold her, and take care of her. Without realizing it he’d developed an erection, and embarrassed with himself, he quickly returned the pull-ups and things to the shelves. With one last look he grabbed the blankets climbed out of the Chest, trying to make sure everything looked as he’d found it. As his feet touched the floor of the tent, he turned to Hermione, her nose in a book as always. “Did you know that chest is bloody huge inside?” He asked, but she only looked at him. Eyes bloodshot with tears, and her look answered for her. “Of course I know that Harry,” it said. “You’re an idiot.” If the blankets, left folded upon her bunk, had any effect on her mood at all it might have made things worse. Over the next day she hardly said a word, and left Harry almost entirely on his own. All there was to do was to look at books, and listen to the wind howling outside. Hermione would cry, sometimes, but she didn’t let him see it. She missed Ron. He knew she hoped, wished, prayed, that Ron would return and Harry wanted nothing more than for her to get what she wanted. And as if it had heard him (which should have been an enormous red flag) the answer appeared before him: in a book of potions. It all but fell open to the perfect spell, the perfect way to undo the damage he’d done, and bring Ron back; and looking at the ingredients it didn’t even look all that difficult, and it was topical, meaning all he’d have to do is put her in contact with it (It would have been a real difficulty to get her to drink a potion). They had a cauldron they’d mostly been using for heating soups, and nearly all the ingredients were food-like enough. He was also willing to bet that Hermione was so engrossed in both her book and her concerted effort to ignore him that she wouldn’t notice even if the recipe require a Bog’s Heart; she’d ignore even the worst smells or loudest bubbles, he was sure. Maybe it was the influence of the horcrux, or something else, but the whole time he was assembling the potion he couldn’t imagine what would go wrong. Through his bitter feelings and thoughts he couldn’t see his friend Hermione, and he couldn’t believe she’d want anything else than Ron. The worst that would happen is it would banish him, replace Harry with Ron, which was what he felt he deserved. Walking with the potion, holding it in a tea cup, as he moved toward her he knew what he wanted. It had hurt her so much to choose Harry over Ron — to choose the mission over... whatever those two were. He wanted to help her make a different choice, or remove that choice from the table completely. As he approached he made like he’d slipped, and “spilled” the tea on her lap. “Harry!” she yelped, jumping up, and all her anger welled in her. She looked at him, and he waited for it. Bracing himself for banishment, or punishment. She seethed, and shook, “Honestly, I wish you’d just...” she began, and he closed his eyes, almost afraid of what would happen next. But a moment passed, and when he opened them again she’d deflated. She looked at him sweetly, with all the warmth and pity pouring out on her face. She looked cute, and like she needed a hug. Normally he didn’t let himself think of her that way, but she also looked very pretty. He watched her, still half-hoping she’d say the right thing, or at least think it in her head. But then his eyes wandered down, past her house-coat to her soaked crotch, and without thinking he thought of Ginny’s Pull-ups. It did look like she’d had an accident, she did look like... “I just wish you’d get what you want.” Hermione completed her sentence and panic rose in Harry. He sat frozen, but after a long few seconds nothing happened. He’d mucked up the potion. They were safe. ✫DryNites is the brand in the UK, and debuted in 1994 (the same year as the quidditch world cup) at this point they would be plain white with just a DryNites/GoodNites tag on the back. Some notes on this... I did try to match JK's voice, and generally be british-y as much as possible so that it wouldn't be jarring, but I'm american, and I'm not going to kill myself to be perfect in that regard. Also, I'd prefer to use the word Diaper, but it just makes no sense. I tried to be as accurate to the books as I could as well, and I'm pretty sure my nerdy obsession with HP has helped there. I reread the relevant chapters, and I'm pretty sure I got it fairly close, and the timeline does (and will) make sense. And then as far as the tent I'm purposely going with the tent as represented in the books and the Goblet of Fire film. In Deathly Hollows the filmmakers decided to make the tent much more spartan, which I get, it fits with the mood, but would make it really hard for any of this to work. It also makes no sense. This is a good illustration of what I'm working with: https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=cjG7QP5IL8c Thank you so much for reading! I have more chapters in the pipeline I'll be posting on Friday!