Summary: In his seventh year at Hogwarts, Mycroft finally begins to understand just how out of control his weight problem is. Not to worry, Greg is there to help. AN: If you have any problems regarding weight gain/fat kink, please do not read. I’m dead serious about this, this IS a fat admiring fic.
WARNING: WEIGHT ISSUES/EVENTUAL FAT KINK if you are not comfortable with this PLEASE DON’T READ!
I've spent too long here. My followers grow restless, as do I.
They think they've outsmarted me, the two dear Holmes brothers.
Do they really think something as petty as an unbreakable vow will stop what I have planned?
Well, they'll soon find out that isn't the case.
Speaking of which, what have we got here...
Uh-uh, no you don't~
[Raising his wand, he pointed it in front of him, muttering 'Petrificus Totalus'. Crouching down, he observed his handiwork and smiled.]
Thought you could try the same old tricks, hmm? How very stupid of you.
But you've saved me rather a lot of trouble, which I suppose I should thank you for.
I would have had to kidnap you some other way, but this is rather convienient, is it not?
Here we go. Let me introduce you to your new home for the time being...
Much better.
Now, I think we've overstayed our welcome, don't you?
[Picking up the jar, he stood and gave the Slytherin dorm room one last look before heading towards the door. Reaching the stairs leading towards the common room, he gave Sebastian one last fleeting glance, noting the cat was perched on his vacant bed, and closed the door behind him.]
[Walking through Hogwarts at a leisurely pace, he started humming to himself, slowly making his way to the Great Hall where the majority of students were sitting down for breakfast. Stopping in the open doorway, he spotted who he was looking for, ignoring the few looks thrown his way. They didn't matter now. No one did, but him.]
[Raising the jar in a mock toast, he locked gazes with Sherlock, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He was going to enjoy this.]
I'm afraid I have some bad news. You see, for all intents and purposes, the little vow you had me make was a step in the right direction. But the wording was, how shall I put it. Rather poorly excecuted. As a student who has already graduated Hogwarts, I'm afraid that I am no longer bound by meaningless promises. Therefore, I shall say adieu now. Oh, and I'll be sure to give your regards to your brother. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.
[The cold whisper of Moriarty's voice limited to Sherlock's mind only, their brief conversation seemed not to have taken place. Students looking towards Jim's prone body might have been confused as to why he was staring at Sherlock so intently, but would soon turn their attention back to their breakfast. As a slight shift in motion signalled the ending of the conversation, Moriarty turned his eyes on John, giving him a flash of his teeth. Turning his head again, he gave Irene a brief wink before flashing out of existance, leaving an empty space and a wail of alarms in his wake.]
I heard you like art. :) Do you paint? Who are your favorite artists?
I love art. I'm naturally more of a musician than a painter- I'm particularly interested in singing, and I've received training in opera.
I do paint a little, though. I favour watercolours. They're very soft and elegant looking, and it's difficult to go wrong. I don't find the time that often, though, so it's generally just ink sketches of things I find interesting. As far as my favourite artists, that's a big question. There's an old Muggle painter, Berthe Morisot, who I rather like right now. The way she paints faces is absolutely charming.
I'm also quite intrigued by Charles Rennie Mackintosh. My room at home is based around his famous rose design. Although I dearly love opulent art, when it comes to interior design, I'm something of a minimalist.
Friend | Godfrey Norton was the best friend Irene had, and she realised this when they were seven years old.
Friend:
Godfrey Norton was the best friend Irene had, and she realised this when they were seven years old. His parents had brought him over so that the Adlers and the Nortons could have drinks, and so the two children were confined to the kitchen. They were in the process of making a cake- Muggle style, since neither of them could hope to do anything magical at their age. Irene was perched cross legged on top of the counter stirring flour into the cake batter, and Godfrey was up on his tiptoes, whisking eggs. They had been working with the sort of studious silence only ever found in young children intent on a task, when Godfrey spoke, not looking up from his frothy bowl of eggs.
“You know Caroline who we sometimes see at the park?”
Irene nodded, sticking a spoon into the bowl and licking it.
“I really fancy her,” Godfrey informed her.
“Yeah,” Irene said, looking up at the ceiling briefly. “Me too. She’s funny,”
“Yeah,” Godfrey didn’t bat an eyelash, but went right back to whisking his eggs solemnly.
Courage | It's no secret that Irene oozes confidence- she always has. What's a bit more of a secret is how difficult it is for her to maintain.
Fan | “Let me paint you a little picture of how it went,” Irene said, throwing a wad of parchment at Kate’s head. “It has a lot of splatters and blobs, uses a lot of green and silver, and there’s a gaping great hole in the middle from where the artist stabbed it with her paintbrush,”
Courage:
It’s no secret that Irene oozes confidence- she always has. What’s a bit more of a secret is how difficult it is for her to maintain. When she was at Beauxbatons, the girls all whispered about her. She was a slut, she was a whore, she was a dyke. A lot of fifteen year old girls would have changed in the face of those whispers, tried to fit in, but Irene wouldn’t. She was happy, she enjoyed her body, and she saw no reason why that would make her a slut or anything else derogatory, even though it hurt her to hear those things from other people.
Her attitude to life didn’t make her terribly popular- particularly at an all girl’s school- but she didn’t intend on pretending to be something she’s not. Similarly, she doesn’t lie about her feelings. Ask her what she thinks about Sherlock and she’ll give you an honest answer.
For a fifteen year old girl, some things take more courage than just fighting the bad guys.
Fan:
“Let me paint you a little picture of how it went,” Irene said, throwing a wad of parchment at Kate’s head. “It has a lot of splatters and blobs, uses a great deal of green and silver, and there’s a gaping great hole in the middle of the canvas from where the artist stabbed it with her paintbrush,”
Kate didn’t reply. She hadn’t known Irene for long, but it was long enough to know when it was a bad idea to talk back. Irene’s eyes were still red around the edges, her fingers shaking in the kind of unbridled fury that was very difficult to provoke in her. She was confident that she had beaten Mycroft when she had mentioned the Vow he had made, but he had one last trick to play on her. The fact that the trick had been aimed at Jim didn’t even remotely comfort her. While she recounted the events of the day, she could feel her blood boiling.
If she had learned anything from today, it’s that she was not a fan of Mycroft Holmes.
3 + 4 [in which Irene works on her social skills and discusses relief]
Relief | The bread basket was always Irene’s favourite part of eating at restaurants.
Basket | Relief was one of Irene’s favourite feelings, and certainly one of the most pleasurable she could think of.
Basket:
The bread basket was always Irene’s favourite part of eating at restaurants. She was too young to have really mastered the art of conversation, so when her parents set her up with the son of someone rich that they thought she might marry, she spent a lot of time interacting with the bread basket. She had long ago discovered that boys were fascinated with girls’ hands, and so she spent a great deal of time picking up rolls and tearing them up, licking butter off her fingers.
As long as she busied herself with that, the boys didn’t much notice that she wasn’t too talkative, not to mention not even remotely interested in them.
Relief:
Relief was one of Irene’s favourite feelings, and certainly one of the most pleasurable she could think of. She loved the mental sense of relief that came after finishing a particularly big homework assignment and all of the usual things, but more than that she loved the physical sense of relief. Her first experience with this came when she lost her virginity, and she felt indescribably light. Euphoric, even.
That is, in a way, one of Irene’s favourite things about sex- the sense of relief and release that comes with it. She’s been known to put herself into dangerous situations, just because she knows how much she’ll savour the relief when she gets herself out of it.
1 + 2 [in which Irene is obsessive and a little bit of a show off]
Sherlock | Irene likes to watch Sherlock. He is a constant source of fascination to her.
Magic | Irene was one of those showy witches. She couldn’t help herself- she loved a spectacle.
Sherlock:
Irene likes to watch Sherlock. He is a constant source of fascination to her. She’s never sure if he’s so lacking in self-awareness that he hasn’t noticed, or if he just can’t be bothered picking her up on it, but either way, he leaves her in peace. While she watches, she sketches. She now has a rather fine collection of drawings of Sherlock- hunched over a book beneath a tree, laughing with John, bored in class, any situation, in short, in which she has seen him.
Some of the girls in her dormitory have tried to convince her that she fancies him, but she refuses to believe it’s anything so plebeian. In any case, she’s known for a long time that she’s gay. Fancying Sherlock isn’t an option.
Magic:
Irene was one of those showy witches. She couldn’t help herself- she loved a spectacle. While everyone else in her class concentrated their power into performing the spell accurately, she concentrated on the colour, the smoke, the noise and the smell. In her opinion, not enough people appreciated how beautiful spells could be. Depending on how you concentrated as you cast it, you could bring out different senses in it. Levitating objects, for example, could have a sea-salt smell. The smoke from a blocking spell could take on a lavender hue. The smoke that rose from summoning an object could be formed into a starburst.
Of course, this happened at the cost of weakening her spells. Irene’s professors were constantly berating her for choosing style over substance, and her grades were never what they could be. It would never stop her though- she was convinced that everyone else had their priorities wrong.
