Harry Potter, Sherlock 1. Chapter 1

Mycroft discretely scanned the room before taking another bite of his scone. There was no one he knew there yet, just a couple of Ravenclaws making out at their table. Early morning studying and snuggling; the stereotype was almost painful. It was, in addition, too graphic for Mycroft's taste, but at least, he mused, it wasn't Sherlock. It could very easily have been Sherlock. He shifted on his sit. It wouldn't be the first time Sherlock spent a sleepless night out of bed, practicing advanced spells or potions –which were practically forbidden for a boy his age, Mycroft made sure he knew perfectly well- and finally collapsing on the Great Hall's tables. It could have _very _easily been Sherlock.

Mycroft took another bite, this time without raising his eyes from his book. He absolutely adored the silence in the Great Hall at dawn. He only wished it was like that all the time. Even in the Slytherin common room there was always a number of noisy little buggers, saturating the air with their obnoxious socialising. Mycroft wasn't particularly against it, but he preferred peace and quiet most of the time, thank you very much, and alas it was hard to come around it in the castle at all.

From the corner of his eye he spotted a shadow approaching from behind. He automatically sat up straighter. A second later a boy with a full head of rebellious brown hair and wrinkly black and yellow robes was sitting by his side. Mycroft reckoned he was the only Hufflepuff he knew who could simply sit on the Slytherin table without even bringing attention to himself. He smiled at the thought.

-We have to stop doing this so early.

Mycroft almost couldn't contain a chuckle seeing the look of sheer exhaustion on Greg's face. His eyes were barely open.

-Maybe if you didn't stay out practicing Quidditch _every_ evening…

Greg threw _open_ his _arms shrugging_-ly.

-I'm the captain! I have to practice.

-Do you know what you also are? Failing Potions. Come on, open your book.

Greg looked a little like he wanted to punch a first year. He wouldn't, of course, but the though sure comforted him.

When Mycroft leaned in to share Greg's book, he could feel the strain of his stomach on his trousers. Almost involuntarily, he looked up to make sure Sherlock still wasn't around. He hadn't exactly been watching his weight as of late, but he didn't feel too terrible about it yet. Sherlock, on the other hand, was so damn fixated on the subject Mycroft knew he wouldn't leave him alone if and when he noticed just how bad it was. But he wouldn't let it bother him, no sir. Everything buttoned up. Everything was just fine. He defiantly took another bite.

-I just don't get how it always turns up wrong; I swear, I only add three drops of pomegranate juice, Mycroft.

-Gregory, need I remind you we are in this class together? I sit beside you; you don't even use a dropper.

Greg, who was casually playing with his pencil, making it roll back and forth on the table, looked up to meet Mycroft in the eye; he had to at least pretend he was paying attention. God, he was so tired and Potions was _boring! _How could Mycroft stay awake an entire class, he had no idea… At that moment the pencil kept treacherously rolling and fell down on the floor, right between Mycroft's feet. Mycroft looked at his friend with a perfectly shaped eyebrow rising almost to le limits of his forehead before bending down to pick up the pencil.

-If you could please stop doing that while I'm…

_Pop!_

An audible gasp could be heard from underneath the table. Greg was befuddled for a second. When Mycroft's face reappeared, the look of despair on it was positively heart-wrenching.

-What, what's wrong? What happened?

And then he saw it. He followed Mycroft's eyes to his lap, where his trousers lay open and his shirt had ridden up a bit, letting his unmistakably chubby belly show, almost up to his belly button.

Mycroft could barely move. He couldn't think. How? When? It wasn't possible. He hadn't been cheating on his diet that much, had he? He must have been, since he was literally holding to his trousers for dear life, his plump stomach showing for everyone to see and only crumbs of the huge breakfast he had ordered earlier on the table. How did he let this happen?

Luckily Greg had a faster time of reaction.

_-Accio button. Reparo. _

Mycroft couldn't thank the heavens enough for his best friend being so incredibly good at spells. And a really, _really_ quiet whisperer. In a flash, almost everything was back into place. Except, of course, he still needed to button up, which, he was certain, would prove to be extremely complicated.

-Wait! I know!

Greg pointed his wand at his trousers once again.

-_Engorgio!_

Mycroft hadn't moved so fast and swiftly in his entire life. A second later, it was as if nothing had even happened. Except, of course, for the feeling of complete and absolute disgrace nesting quietly on Mycroft's chest. Even Greg remained speechless, not being able to find the right words. Suddenly, Mycroft broke the silence with an almost inaudible:

-I have to go.

We took his books and off he went, promptly but almost knocking over half of his house mates, who were beginning to gather round in the immediacies of the Slytherin table.

For a second Greg doubted. Should he follow him? Maybe Mycroft needed space... Or maybe he needed someone to talk to. He wouldn't know. He figured he had to be there if he needed to vent; Mycroft could just punch him in the face if he wanted him to go away. So he followed.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg dodged what seemed to be the entire school; flashes of blue, yellow, green and red was all his eyes could register. He went up stairs and turned around corners. When he finally reached his friend in a deserted corridor, he was almost out of breath.

-Wow, Mycroft, you are actually really fast!

Mycroft looked quite miserable. He didn't even look up to meet his gaze as he spoke.

-For a fat bloke, you mean?

Greg's little smile froze on his face.

-That's not… that's really not…

Mycroft smiled a gloomy smile and sighed.

-I know.

He was leaning against the wall, staring at the ground. Greg leaned by his side.

He had never, not even once, mentioned Mycroft's weight. He knew it was a sensitive topic. He had heard Sherlock teasing him about it and he had seen the blush on Mycroft's cheeks while he tried to dismiss it, as if it didn't matter. Greg had never mentioned it, even though he knew it did actually matter. Way to be a best friend, he thought.

-Do you… wanna talk about it?

He honestly couldn't think of anything better, more appropriate to say. He tried to sound casual, but his voice came out as small and timid.

Mycroft pondered for a second. He tried to look at Greg in the eye, but could only do so for an instant. He groaned and went right back at staring at the ground. Greg restrained the impulse to hug him right then and there.

-Sherlock's right. I just… I'm terrible at this.

His voice had started to fade out a little, in the end it was barely a whisper. He bit his lower lip. Greg had to admit that it was downright painful seeing him in that state.

Once more, he had to struggle to find the words. He knew they needed to address the subject, but he didn't want to sound insensitive while doing it.

-Hey, you know… I'm your friend, I could help, if you'd want me to.

Mycroft let out an incredulous laugh.

-Really now?

Greg shrugged.

-Why not? You always help me when I need you too. Just now you were helping me slowly decipher potions for the hundredth time. I know I'm not an easy one, but you have spent hours making sure I get it. You even corrected my History essay last week.

Mycroft still looked unsure. Greg knew wasn't the best idea he had ever came up with, but it was something and he was going to stick with it.

-Come on, it can't be that hard. I've been training the Hufflepuff Quidditch team for two years now. I can assure you, you are more docile than they are. They are vicious!

They shared an almost silent laughter.

-We'll try it for a couple of weeks, we can stop any time if it doesn't work. What do you say?

Mycroft looked torn. Greg wasn't sure if it was because he thought it wouldn't work, or because he thought that, in fact, it would.

To be completely honest, Greg was having second thoughts too. Mycroft had to be the absolute worst dieter he had ever met in his entire life. They had been inside the kitchens together. Greg still couldn't forget just how fast those elves were moving. He didn't know they had it in them; it was quite the sight… Oh, and God help the poor bastard that tried to make Mycroft move a muscle. He still remembered that one and only Quidditch class they shared in first year. Poor Madame Hooch was never the same…

Mycroft voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

-Fine. But you are not making me run around the Quidditch field like an idiot, I swear to God if you even dare to suggest…

Greg had to laugh at that mental image.

-Ok, ok, I promise. We'll find another way. We'll make it fun!

At the sight of Greg's cheerful little smile, Mycroft buried his face in his hands and let out a grunt.

-Dear Lord, I'm regretting this already.

Greg patted him on the shoulder. He wasn't too confident himself, but he was certainly going to give it his best. He was going to honour the house of the loyal and hard-working if it cost him his life.

-Don't worry, I'll be gentle. Come on, let's get to class.

They started to walk away and down the stairs, but all of a sudden Greg stopped with a small:

-Oh!

Mycroft frowned in confusion.

Greg extended his hand with his palm facing up. It was more than evident that Mycroft stood straighter under Greg's expectant look. They both stared quite intensely at each other till Greg broke the silence.

-Do I have to accio them?

Mycroft rolled his eyes and put his hand in his right pocket. Three chocolate frogs then landed silently on Greg's palm.

-All of them.

A fourth and a fifth frog were handed to him, this time coming from Mycroft's left pocket. The look Mycroft gave Greg wasn't exactly one of devotion. He still tried to be civil.

-Thank you.

Mycroft rolled his eyes for the second time.

-Oh, shut up!

It was going to be a long, long two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft closed his book with a thump. He had been trying to read the same line for a straight seven minutes. It just wasn't happening. He was hungry and frustrated and couldn't cope with three periods of Arithmancy in a row. He pressed the tip of his fingers on his temples and tried to appear to be reading his own notes. He actually really enjoyed the subject most of the time, but most of the time he also had had a decent breakfast minutes before the first period. He was just thankful Greg wasn't there to watch him sulk through big, brown puppy eyes. Mycroft knew what he was trying to do was a remarkable thing, and he was deeply moved at just how much their friendship meant to him, but he felt like now he had one more person to disappoint. The added pressure wasn't helping his cause.

When midmorning (and thus the end of the final Arithmancy period) arrived, the rumble of Mycroft's stomach had become unmistakable. It had been three days since he had begun dieting (properly dieting) and he was beginning to feel the strain. The tiny breakfast hours before seemed to have vanished already, and his appetite was back in full force. Not to worry! The squeaky, annoying voice of self-restraint exclaimed from somewhere deep and dark inside his head. Mycroft began searching through his bag. He knew he had packed a snack for those occasions. He also knew it was an apple. He would have liked to beat himself on the face to the death with that bloody thing before having to eat it, but it was all he could have and so he opted to eat it.

When he arrived to his next class, Greg was already sitting inside on their spot, waiting. He dedicated Mycroft a smile too big for the circumstances –Potions, then History-. He was way too excited about this whole arrangement, Mycroft didn't like it. He returned the smile the best he could and sat beside him.

-So I was thinking, may be this evening we could go somewhere quiet for a run? I promise it would be away from the Quidditch field, no one will bother us. It shouldn't be too cold out yet. Still he should make the most out of the few warm days left…

While Greg pondered out loud, Mycroft's throat had closed it a knot. He knew this day was coming, he just hoped they could extend the 'just diet' period a little longer. It had been so long since he had last exercised it was bound to be an utter disaster.

-Mycroft?

Apparently Greg had been waiting for an answer for some time now, judging by the look on his face, but Mycroft had been busy planning an escape from his awful fate to even pay attention.

-I don't own any sports clothing. Or running shoes.

-Oh, don't worry; you can use some of the old Hufflepuff Quidditch uniforms until you get your own. There's plenty just stored away. And everything is clean; you don't need to make that face.

Mycroft noticed that his face was sending Greg to the edge of just bursting into mad laughter. He didn't blame him; he very probably looked exactly like a terrified baby deer.

-I also promised no one will see us, you'll be fine. How has everything else been going?

-Oh. Fine.

Mycroft contemplated that Greg would have believed him more if he didn't look so much like he has about to eat his own arms (Mycroft had decided that apples were evil, lying, treacherous things, and that, yes, he would very much rather have eaten his arms), but at least he didn't make any comments.

The day went by without any further events, and Mycroft was actually beginning to feel somehow better, having successfully navigated lunch and tea and also having finished all of his homework for the day. He was even beginning to believe that Greg had forgotten all about working out, and was planning on heading straight to the Slytherin Common Room as soon as he got a chance. Unluckily for him Greg had a good memory, and when he returned to the Great Hall from a not so mysterious little trip a few minutes after, he also had his practice gear on, and a bag full of clothing for Mycroft to wear too.

-I brought the most discrete things I could find. The trousers and the shoes are black, that's good.

He started handing Mycroft every item as he spoke.

-The shirt is white, that's also good. The jersey is yellow, but you can put it on when we are already out, no one will be out there at this hour. Oh, about that: we only have about 45 minutes, sorry we have to make it so short but we have to be inside the castle by then if we don't wanna get detention.

He didn't know exactly how, but in a minute Mycroft was changed and ready to go. He wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, and if that meant putting on that old smelly Quidditch clothes, then so be it.

Already out, they headed for the back of the castle. It was very unlikely there would be anyone there, but Mycroft still felt horribly self conscious.

Soon, Gregory finally chose a spot and began stretching. Mycroft hadn't the faintest idea of why he looked so happy. He knew that Greg was the sporty type, but to actually have a smile on one's face while stretching was ridiculous.

-What? What are you smiling about?

-You are really enjoying yourself aren't you?

-Well, the weather is delicious, we are about to go on an even more delicious run, and also you are here. I'm glad you are.

Mycroft though he could see a splash of pink on Greg cheeks.

-What do you mean?

-Well…

He shrugged.

-I know we do a lot of things together, but I never go to share this part of me with you.

-May be I should start turning up to Quidditch games.

Greg seemed genuinely pleased.

-If that would mean you'll let me off exercising for every time I do.

Greg acted offended but had to laugh.

-You bloody Slytherins! You have to turn everything into a negotiation, don't cha? Come on, you are not escaping so easily tonight, let's go!

Mycroft was wrong if he thought he knew what pain was before that night. Greg looked as if he was walking on a cloud, while Mycroft felt like he was breathing water. He didn't even want to imagine what he looked like.

-You are slouching, stand up straight. And remember to breathe, Mycroft. It's actually very important.

If he had any breath left he would have replied, and it would have been a sharp, really clever reply. But that would have to wait. A long time. Probably till the next day. Then he would see…

Even before the forty five minutes where over, they had to stop. He was exhausted, his chest hurt and it didn't matter what Greg tried, his poor abused legs weren't going to take another step. He was done.

Greg didn't seem too disappointed though, he actually said something among the lines of 'not too bad for the first time', which only made Mycroft more miserable; thinking about the next time.

When Mycroft went to bed that night he could feel every muscle in his body throbbing in pain. The next day was going to be a long and painful one, he was sure.


	4. Chapter 4

Greg discretely eyed Mycroft from the Hufflepuff table. He was certainly not an expert lip reader, but he could have sworn Mycroft had said the word 'bacon' to himself when he saw the steak and bacon tray changing hands in front of him. Not a very good sign, Greg though; that poor kid was going insane. It had already been a week since he had started helping Mycroft with his diet and exercise plan, and he had only manage to take him outside to work out twice, and that's if he counted the second time; the time on which Mycroft invented an excuse after fifteen minutes and got back inside as quick as lighting. Greg decided he hadn't seen him run so fast as when he was getting away from him. Not too good, indeed. It seemed he had been doing better with food, but he looked really miserable. Greg sighed. He didn't want to see Mycroft like that, he wanted to help. Alas, he was running out of ideas very fast.

Mycroft absently rubbed his belly. It had been days since he last had a proper meal and it was constantly rumbling in complaint. He always made sure to grab a bite before dinner without Greg finding out, but the food on the table was invariably too tempting, even if he wasn't terribly hungry. He tried not to look too pitiable, but it didn't help that the girl by his side was moaning with every bite she took.

-Anthea, darling, if you could be just a little quieter please.

The girl almost chocked on her food while trying to contain a fit of laughter.

Mycroft resented the fact that she had the kind of body that couldn't really go wrong. At her smallest, she looked delicate and elegant, at her biggest, luscious and sumptuous. Everything was always proportionate, and not a hair was ever out of place. Anthea was most of the time on the heavy side; in fact, she had been Mycroft's faithful companion when it came to indulging for all of their years at Hogwarts. When Mycroft was dieting on the other hand…

-You know I'm doing this just to bother you, don't you?

-I do.

-Because you are lying to that sweet Hufflepuff boy.

-I do, thank you.

-That secret stash in your room isn't going to last forever, you know.

He didn't want to answer that. It wasn't a stash. And it certainly wasn't secret; she knew about it, didn't she? It was just some backup victuals he was saving up for emergencies. Who knew there would be so many emergencies in so little time? Greg was painfully strict, to his surprise. Mycroft was very aware that soon he would have to go back to the kitchens, and that meant having to dodge Greg, not to mention the other Hufflepuffs. He didn't particularly care for that Molly girl; he had seen her following Sherlock around, and that could never be good news.

Speaking of Sherlock, when Mycroft saw his brother's scrawny frame getting up of the Ravenclaw table and heading for the Hufflepuff one, he felt his heart skip a beat. Sherlock didn't have any Hufflepuff friends; he actually didn't have any friends Mycroft knew of, except for that tiny Gryffindor kid, John. But he certainly had no business on the Hufflepuff table and Mycroft only knew that he wanted him out of there immediately.

Greg saw Sherlock coming up to him and dedicated him an honest smile. He was very aware of the rivalry between the siblings and quickly made the inner decision not to let anything he said about Mycroft affect him. After all, Sherlock loved to mock Mycroft about his weight, and it was actually surprising he had been missing such an easy opportunity to humiliate him.

Sherlock's smile was positively scheming when he sat by his side.

-So you are either an idiot, or blinded by… would you call it friendship?

Greg rolled his eyes at him.

-Sherlock, if you are not here to help I don't wanna hear it. Your brother is actually doing very well.

-Oh, I'm here to help. I don't want to see you misplacing your trust, you see, and I happen to know Mycroft is a gifted liar, and has a trick or two under his sleeve. Do you want to help him or not? I could offer a little guidance.

-Of course I do! But I can't force him to accept that help. It has to come from him.

It seemed Sherlock had spotted Mycroft from above Greg's shoulder; he was quickly approaching them. Sherlock smiled one again and stood up just when Mycroft was close enough to hear.

-I would just keep an eye on the kitchens if I were you.

Mycroft decided it was futile trying to argue with Sherlock. After all, if he had called him a phony and a cheat, he was painfully right. He watched him walk away and then took his place next to Greg. 'Coward', he thought.

-Your brother is incredibly devious for a thirteen-year-old.

Greg showed actual concern in his voice. Mycroft sighed before speaking.

-It runs in the family.

He forced a smile.

-He's most likely right, nonetheless. What did he tell you?

-That you were cheating. Or that you were going to, I'm not sure. Either way, Mycroft, I don't care.

Mycroft frowned with curiosity.

-I am helping you do this because I thought you wanted me to. If you've changed your mind… it's fine, really, you can tell me any time. And I won't feel let down, I promise. But if you do need my help I need to know I can be a bit harsher. I'm not doing you any good by letting you have your way behind my back.

Mycroft didn't truly believe Greg could be 'harsh', not by his standards at least. Still he knew he had to make a decision and it wasn't at all easy. He bit his lower lip.

-Sherlock wasn't lying. You should keep an eye on the kitchens.

-Done.

Greg wee smile was driving him nuts.

-And I… may have some things I shouldn't in my room.

-Ok, um… You can bring them to me tomorrow at breakfast and I'll get rid of them. And we are also exercising more this week, you're better at it than you give yourself credit for; you just need a chance to prove that to yourself.

Mycroft wanted to believe him, he really did. From the Slytherin table, Anthea was busy with desert. She waved when she saw him looking and rubbed her tummy in faked delight. Mycroft gave her a sarcastic smile. He mentally listed the items he was not going to give Greg the next morning, he wasn't an idiot, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft showed up early at the Quidditch game that morning. It was freezing. He sat down as soon as he found a free place and waited in the cold, hugging himself through his heavy coat. The match was Hufflepuff against Gryffindor, apparently, and oh! was he jumping in joy. He would have actually been able to enjoy the game on a different occasion, he thought, when being around Greg was just plain fun, and not a fest of half disappointed looks, diet tips, and work out reminders. Mycroft pondered that he didn't really mind being hungry, being sore, the nasty remarks from Sherlock –he was quite used to that, honestly-; he just wanted his friend back, he just wanted to forget about that whole deal. The entire thing had been a terrible idea from the beginning; he had just managed to make himself feel miserable and lonely, and, on top of that, he hadn't been able to drop a single pound –well, maybe one or two-. To be quite honest, he was feeling like the biggest failure to walk this earth. He hugged himself tighter as he sighed.

Greg missed the hoop once. Twice, three times. And then he lost count. Either the Quaffle had gotten bigger or Gryffindor's keeper had gotten remarkably better since the last match. Greg didn't believe either of these was the case.  
He tried to concentrate, but his head was somewhere else. He knew he had promised he wouldn't be upset with Mycroft, but he was making it too hard for Greg to help him. He made excuses, he cheated every chance he got... Greg was losing his patience with him because things just weren't working out. He only wished he could be able to forget any of that had happened and go back to the way things were before. Who gave a freaking damn if his friend was a little on the heavy side? Or a lot? Greg knew he didn't. His parents? Perfectionist bastards who wouldn't be satisfied if Mycroft became captain of the English National Quidditch Team. Sherlock? Well, Greg didn't think Sherlock actually cared; mocking Mycroft about his weight was just the easiest way to mock him, simple as that.  
In the meantime, the game kept developing around him. He dodged a Bludger by practically twisting upside-down. It had been far too close for his taste. He had made a decision, but right now, he needed to focus; he could deal with Mycroft later.

Gregory had been a little off at the beginning of the game, but Mycroft evaluated it hadn't been too bad. He was able to score a few points, and in the end Hufflepuff's seeker had caught the Snitch. Not too terrible at all.  
On the way back to the castle he heard Greg's voice calling, and, in turning, he saw him running behind him, trying to catch up. Mycroft waited and managed a smile. Greg seemed more cheerful than of late; when he got next to Mycroft he was wearing an honest smile on his flustered face.

-Congratulations, you played rather well.

-Oh, it wasn't my best, but thank you.

He paused for a second, and his smile faded a little.

-Listen, do you have a minute? I think we need to talk. Come on.

Mycroft didn't particularly like the sound of that, but he stayed as composed as he could and followed Greg's lead to under the shadow of a distant tree. No one was around.  
Greg looked tired, sweaty and hadn't really caught his breath still, but Mycroft couldn't help but notice he seemed more far more relaxed that he had been in days.

-I have something for you.

Greg searched a small pocket in his sports bag. Out came a handful of toffees that Mycroft recognized perfectly well.

-Anthea gave them to me; she said she took them from your bag. I don't know how that's even possible, but she is more cunning than she seems at first sight.

Mycroft was getting used to feeling that burning sensation on his cheeks, the sudden numbness on his legs; the shame.

-Greg, I...

-Wait, don't. Stop.

Greg put the toffees on Mycroft hand and looked at him in the eye. He smiled with a warmness that made Mycroft blush even more intensely.

-You are running out of 'I'm sorrys' and 'it won't happen agains', look just…

He put an awkward but affectionate hand on Mycroft's shoulder.

-You know you don't actually have to do this, right? It's fine. You are fine. There's nothing actually wrong with you. Okay, so you are not exactly the athletic type, so what?

Greg shrugged and let out a nervous little laugh.

-I think you are quite... perfect. Just the way you are. You don't have to do this for anyone but you, and, honestly? I have never seen you more miserable than now, when I reckon you were perfectly fine before. I don't think I understand, frankly.

Mycroft stared down at the candy in his hand. He pondered he wouldn't have had to sneak them around if he could allow himself one or two every once in a while. He bit his lower lip.

-I know you are right, Greg, I know.

Mycroft sighed, trying to find the right words.

-But I don't know how… not to do this.

He tried to keep his voice steady and emotionless, but it was becoming harder with each word he said. He just managed to soften his tone until it was but a whisper.

-For all my life I have been told I'm not good enough, that I have to deal with this, this imperfection, or whatever you want to call it.

Greg slipped his hand from Mycroft's shoulder to his hand and tangled his fingers with his. For a second all was silence; neither of them knowing what to do or say next. Mycroft could feel the tips of his fingers tingling at the contact with Greg's warm skin.  
Greg's voice came out in a murmur.

-No one's perfect, after all. And that's all right.

The wind was whispering in their ears. Mycroft could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It was the moment to make a choice; he just had to… take the leap.

Greg was saying something, filling the silence, but then he was cut by Mycroft's lips on his. He gave out a moan, half in surprise, half something else.

-Shut up.

-Okay.

This time the kiss was longer and kinder. Mycroft threw the toffees on the grass to be able to grab Greg's other hand. After the kiss broke, they stood there a minute, their lips still searching for more, brushing slightly against the other's.

-This is it.

Mycroft said, finally breaking the kiss.

-What?

They looked at each other in the eyes. Greg reflected that Mycroft's smile was sincere for the first time in weeks.

-Perfection.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft felt little self-conscious every time Greg held his hand under the table. Them dating wasn't a secret in the least, but they hadn't exactly been shouting it from the rooftops either. Two boys; one of them the kind and carefree captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, the other a high-born Slytherin, top of his class and aspiring government official? People were bound to talk.

Greg held Mycroft's hand under the table either way, and Mycroft's fingers intertwined with his every time.

Small kisses on the cheek were exchanged too, and noses rubbed and arms touched briefly when walking along each other, but everything between Greg and Mycroft was so public, it seemed even talking had been banned from them.

Neither had mentioned Mycroft's weight since the talk they had on the field. Mycroft still contained himself at every meal, looking for any sign of disapproval on his partner's eyes. So many years of dieting had taken their toll.

-Would you stop?

They had been studying the entire morning, exams were near and the pressure had started to build up. Always turning to food for comfort, Mycroft had ordered breakfast, and a massive one by some standards, but kept moving the food around, taking a bite every now and then, looking at it with half concealed yearning.

-I'm not doing anything.

-Exactly. Your food is getting cold, why aren't you eating?

Mycroft pursed his lips in scorn.

-Do you really have to ask, Gregory?

-Well, if you ordered it I'm guessing it was because you were hungry, so, yes, I'll ask again: why aren't you eating?

Greg interpreted Mycroft's silence as a sign to keep talking.

-Look, we've been over this. You are healthy, believe it or not. Your mood has improved tons since you are off that god-awful diet, _and_, if you'd allow me to say, well… you look bloody fantastic!

Mycroft's head actually cocked in surprise.

-If you really need to know, you look more than fantastic, Mycroft.

He eyed his partner with masked but unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

Mycroft realized. The red on Greg's cheeks, the general language of his body was saying more than he had in fact dared; he wasn't just attracted by Mycroft, he was attracted to Mycroft's body type. Mycroft's lips curved into an amused smile. He had never noticed before, how curious. Many things started to fall into place at that sudden revelation.

-I didn't know you felt so strongly about my physique. Very strongly indeed, if I'm not mistaken.

Greg exhaled, exasperated. He ran a swift hand through his hair.

-Fine, fine! You and your marvelous deductive skills will never let me be, huh?

-I just assumed you went more for the athletic type. Silly me.

Greg took a deep breath as Mycroft simply stared inquisitively.

-I never said anything before because, well… we weren't dating and it could have been weird; one does not tell their friends they think they're hot, right?

Mycroft mentally reviewed the times he had wished to tell Greg exactly that. No, one keeps those words inside, deep inside one's chest, hoping one day they'd magically disappear.

-And also because I knew it was a touchy subject for you. Look, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt your feelings. If what you wanted was to lose weight, hey, anything to make you happy.

-And right now?

-Right now I want whatever you want. I'll always will.

Mycroft rolled his eyes too dramatically, even for him.

-You've been reading too much poetry again. What is it that you really want, Gregory?

Mycroft's seemed to have emphasized each single word of his question. His gaze was so intense, Greg wasn't so sure he was asking for comforting words anymore. He wanted the truth, and when Mycroft wanted the truth, God helped the poor fool who didn't comply.

Fine, if that's what he wanted.

Greg didn't even look around. He didn't care who saw. His lips all but collided with the ones of a very surprised Mycroft Holmes. The kiss was by far the most intense they had shared so far.

Both his hands found their way to Mycroft's middle before he was able to protest. Not that he would. Greg's whispered in his ear.

-I want you to be able to eat whatever you want, to savor every meal, to enjoy every bite. I want to see that smile on your face again when you know something delicious is coming your way. And I want…

His fingers had managed to introduce themselves in the tight space between Mycroft's trousers and his spilling belly. He squeezed the soft fat gently.

-I want you to embrace every pound that brings. I know I will.

A second later Greg was his calm and gentle Hufflepuff self all over again. He sat back on his seat, crossed his arms around his chest, and stared at Mycroft as if nothing had happened. Mycroft was breathing in huffs.

He had always known he enjoyed food in a special way; more than his parents, more than Sherlock, more that every single kid he had met in school. A little too much, according to no one who mattered. He ate because it was the most sensuous bliss he could possibly imagine. Yes, eating had always been an unearthly pleasure for him, but having Gregory spell it out in his ears in such a way was a whole different experience. The proposal all but pleased him; being able to eat whatever he wanted, feeling full all the time, and all that knowing his partner was enjoying it as much as he was. No judgment, no worries about his weight. He had never felt such a rush; his whole body ached for it.

Mycroft composed himself, shifting in his seat to ease the pressure in his trousers. He smiled. Under Greg's astonished stare, he finished his breakfast to the last bite. He then proceeded to focus his attention back on his books.

- Greg, would you call the elves? It's going to be a long morning and we don't have any more food.

With an unusually big smile, Greg complied.


	7. Chapter 7

Notes:

This chapter is /very/ sexually explicit. You've been warned, carry on.

Chapter Text

Mycroft knew he was going to like being able to eat whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to -of course he did-, but he hadn't anticipated such pleasure in his wildest dreams. His previously tortured stomach never again had to go empty for hours; now it was always full, always satisfied, anything it wanted was immediately provided. The sensation of being constantly full was simply glorious, nothing he had ever felt before compared. The warm feeling in his belly after every meal was so delightful he honestly found it quite addictive; more often than not he stuffed his face silly with treats just to get that feeling again. Mycroft was enjoying himself so much he didn't even have a second thought about it when his uniform started to fit him more snugly; he actually felt quite relieved now that weight was off his mind. He wasn't gaining uncontrollably either; a little bit here, a little bit there… He was definitely softer and rounder, especially in his middle, but just enough to make Greg blush every time his hand brushed over his tummy. Having such a strong effect on him was enough to make Mycroft feel tingly all over too.

That particular afternoon they had gone to the library to study after lunch. Mycroft had been especially generous with himself this time, and his stomach was protruding further than usual. He absently rubbed it as he read his notes, hoping to help digestion, but did not dare to unbutton his painfully tight trousers even though they had chosen a particularly solitary corner and he knew no one would see.

Greg could barely keep his eyes off of him; let alone actually keeping them on his books. He was utterly jealous of Mycroft's hands, massaging his softness, feeling every inch of flesh as they moved through his ample middle; the sight of it was simply mesmerizing. All he wanted to do was to remove Mycroft's shirt and rub that beautiful belly himself.

-I know you think you are being discrete Gregory, but you are practically drooling over my notes.

Greg murmured a 'sorry' but didn't stop staring at all. In fact he leaned closer in and cautiously slid his hand under Mycroft's. Mycroft's little blushing smile was answer enough for him, and he started kneading his fat with enthusiasm. He felt just amazing; soft and warm and just so much fatter than he had been weeks before. Greg slyly unbuttoned his trousers and watched his doughy tummy expand before his eyes. The smile that appeared on Mycroft's face was shy but devious, and Greg just couldn't resist anymore and planted a fervent kiss on his lips. Suddenly, Mycroft's hands were on his tights, rubbing up and down with such skill that as soon as one hand moved closer to cup his balls, Greg thrusted his hips in mild desperation. One of Greg hands kept caressing Mycroft's belly while the other moved towards his crotch and, as he fondled him, he felt the hardness of Mycroft's cock straining against the cloth. Greg was in heaven, and he couldn't keep his mouth shut for much longer, so in heaves he managed to speak.

-Holy crap Mycroft, you feel fantastic.

Mycroft let out a little laugh as he kept thrusting against Greg's warm hand.

-Is that right?

He was barely able to suppress his moans, but he kept talking.

-Tell me more. How does this feel?

He kept one hand on Greg's hardness and moved the other to meet the hand on his middle. He pushed slightly, so that both their hands sank further into his fat.

Greg's breath caught in his throat.

-Good God Mycroft, you are gorgeous, gorgeous.

Mycroft finally reached inside Greg's pants and began stroking avidly. Greg imitated him swiftly, and soon they both were far beyond words. Greg wanted to keep talking, to keep telling Mycroft that he was so fat and so lovely now, but he had been reduced to a wiggling mess, and he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from making any more noises. The library stayed soundless when he came over Mycroft's hand. A few more strokes and Mycroft finished too, his mouth a perfect 'o' for that couple of seconds, but silent as well.

For a minute they stayed there, half naked, planting small kisses on each other and breathing heavily. Then a sneeze from a student at the other end of the room snapped them out of it, and they promptly cleaned themselves as if nothing had happened.

Neither could wipe the smile off their faces for the rest of the day.


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft watched his brother with his hands raised; prepared to cover his face in case anything went… not as expected.

-You can leave me now if you're so scared, Mycroft, you are aware I just wanted to borrow your book; I do not need your help with this. Do you not have some food to go eat?

-Even though I stick with my position that you are an insufferable child, Sherlock, you are my brother and I wouldn't like to see you end up in the infirmary. Nor I would like to have to deal with mummy afterwards. You may be quite gifted, brother, but this potion is way too advanced; I'm staying until it's finished, whether you like it or not.

-Fine. Just shut up.

The silence of the dungeons was only broken by the bubbling of the thick liquid in the cauldron.

Mycroft knew Sherlock generally used that room that had fallen into disuse (or maybe had never been used, even) to practice very complex potions and spells, away from the judgmental eyes of the teachers. He generally didn't disturb him, but as his experimentations became more and more dangerous, Mycroft became increasingly concerned.

-The burner, Sherlock! For God's sake!

-Ok, ok. I got it.

Sherlock turned down the flame just before the potion boiled over.

-Thanks.

-And you should be literally pulverizing that, Sherlock; I wouldn't even call that crushed.

-I'm getting to it! God, Mycroft! Why don't you pulverize them then? Just sit on them; that shall do the trick.

Mycroft only rolled his eyes slightly at his brother's remark.

-Don't you ever get terribly tired of that kind of joke?

-Actually…

Sherlock's eyes left his potion for the first time since he had started brewing and set on his brother. Mycroft wasn't sure why, but every time Sherlock stared at him like that he found it extremely unnerving.

-I always found them quite entertaining. I know it's not the highest form of humor, but you should see your face sometime; it is quite hilarious. Still, I have to admit I haven't been getting the expected reaction lately… Which doesn't make sense, because you have been putting on weight nonstop for a few weeks now, one would anticipate an immediately proportional drop in self-esteem, and hence a rise in amusingness of the joke. So, what has changed?

Mycroft was at a loss for words. If Sherlock was able to deduce what was going on… Lord, he didn't know what he would do.

-Nothing has changed, Sherlock.

-Yes, yes it has.

Sherlock's face suddenly became disfigured with revulsion.

-Are you and Lestrade…? Are you two sleeping together?

But at the precise moment Mycroft's face was turning crimson red, and by the grace of a higher power, the potion spit up and covered Sherlock's right cheek. With the back of his hand he removed what he could of the thick, yellowish solution off his face.

-Never mind. I don't actually want to know. I really, really don't want to know.

He empathised each word by accompanying every one of them with a shake of his hand, as he tried to get rid of the rests of potion on it.

Mycroft nodded.

-Well, you appear to have everything under control, brother. You still have a little… oh, there, you got it. Go to the infirmary if it starts to itch. But really, you should be fine. I, um… I'll be on my way.

He was out of the room faster than light. Sherlock would forget all about that dire conversation in a couple of days. Ok, weeks, more likely. Mycroft really hoped he didn't ever bring that up again, but he trusted Sherlock would be too overcome by disgust to even try. Yes, he would delete that information as soon as his brain allowed him to do so. Thank God.


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft gave himself one last look in the mirror in the morning before leaving his room. He didn't really take notice, but for the first time in very long his reflection dedicated him an honest smile. He then went out of the dungeons and headed to class with Anthea arm in arm. His recent weight gain, freshly tailored uniform and latest –and probably last- growth spurt made her look delicate and petite in his arm, while he felt he looked quite imposing. The glares people dedicated them -or him, more like- didn't feel intimidating anymore; he actually found himself craving that kind of attention more and more with each pound he gained. But no one dared bring up the subject, not even Sherlock, not after what he had learnt days before. So he simply smiled to himself in silence at the bewildered looks and half-concealed whispers aimed at him at meal times. Mycroft's body got all the appreciation it craved elsewhere, anyway.

The end of the academic year was approaching and, as it was his last, a feeling of apprehension was beginning to nest on Mycroft's chest. Of course, he had already gotten an internship on the Ministry –in the Muggle Liaison Office, to be precise- but it wasn't his career he was particularly worried about. His relationship was going as smoothly as one could ask, for a couple of school children at least, but he was preoccupied things between them would feel the strain after classes were finished. Mycroft hadn't said a word to Greg yet, but he picked up the hint soon enough.

-If I'm gonna be a Hit Wizard we are going to see each other every day anyway.

The amused smile on Greg's face made Mycroft frown.

-I wouldn't say every day; we would probably cross one another in a hall, once in a while. It's a big place, you know.

Greg actually snorted.

-You are cute when you are worried, have I told you that before?

Mycroft rolled his eyes at him but couldn't contain a smile.

-I'm not _worried,_ I'm being realistic. Things are inevitably going to change and we should be prepared. I dislike surprises, you know that.

Greg scratched his head, looking to the horizon for inspiration.

-Well, we are still going to date. That's what people do, go out on dates. Right?

Mycroft bit his lower lip.

-Actually… well, my parents are going to let me use their apartment in Whitehall. It's supposed to go to me and Sherlock, but it'll be four years until he's out of school. I could buy some place new by then; leave him the old place…

Greg looked fairly confused. Mycroft was a bit thrown off by this, but he cleared his throat and continued.

-And as you were planning to go back to your parent's place, I was thinking that maybe –if you want- you would like to move in with me?

Greg's eyes widened like plates.

-Are you serious?

-Why, of course.

Mycroft allowed himself a hint of a smile.

-Provided you learn how to cook.

The velocity in which Greg's mouth went from wide open with surprise to the beamiest smile Mycroft had ever seen, was quite astounding. In a blink, Greg was snogging him almost to the point of asphyxiation. Mycroft broke the kiss, barely able to contain the laughter

-Darling, remember we are in public.

Mycroft reckoned Greg looked a bit like an excited puppy.

-Jesus Mycroft, I don't know what to say.

-Well, you _could_ say yes. You haven't yet, I'm getting a bit worried.

He said sarcastically.

-Yes, of course yes!

He resumed his kissing, and Mycroft let him take it a bit further this time. Well, that had gone ever better than expected. He knew there were downsides, of course -meeting Greg's parents as his boyfriend would be painful enough, but Greg meeting his would be simply excruciating- but he decided he would leave those thoughts for later; right now he would simply enjoy the moment. Suddenly and without a warning Greg broke the kiss and just exclaimed.

-I gotta get down to the kitchen. I gotta get _recipes. _

Mycroft stood frozen for a moment, watching him run away. Greg then turned back, as if he had forgotten something, gave him a peck on the lips, whispered '_I love you', _and went on his way again. Mycroft was just staring at him, with a quirky smile on his lips, when Anthea came out of the shadows.

-So I take you asked him.

-Yes.

-And it went well.

Mycroft's smile reappeared brighter than before.

-Very well, yes.

Anthea smiled beamingly.

-Congratulations, darling. I believe this calls for a celebration. Tea?

-God, yes.

-You think you can handle that with your stomach full of butterflies?

She said teasingly. Mycroft had to laugh.

-You know I can.


	10. Chapter 10

-Where do you think you are taking me?

Mycroft's voice sounded more tired than he had intended. He had been taken out of bed in what Greg had described as a 'romantic escapade' but Mycroft felt it was more like he had been violently kidnapped. Not many people had interrupted his sleep before and lived to tell the tale.

-I've had this idea for weeks now; I can't get it off my mind, please just bear with me.

They were both whispering into the darkness as they attempted to run on their tiptoes through the empty halls of the castle.

-Greg, it's three in the morning on a Thursday, what is so important that can't wait until tomorrow?

Greg reckoned Mycroft looked simply adorable in his snug blue pajamas, constantly rubbing his eyes, trying to stay awake. He knew his boyfriend definitely wasn't the best at dealing with lack of sleep. Greg couldn't help but smile at the sight of Mycroft yawning for the hundredth time that night.

-Just come. You'll see soon enough.

A few more left turns and they arrived at their destination: fifth floor behind the fourth door to the left of a statue of Boris the Bewildered.

-The prefects' bathroom?

Greg tried to look innocent.

-You are Head Boy, I'm captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team; we are not technically breaking any rules here.

-Gregory, it's three in the morning! We are breaking many rules! Besides, I don't think the intended purpose of the prefects' bathroom is snogging, sir captain.

-Well, I wasn't thinking of snogging, not particularly...

Greg's devious smile was enough to make Mycroft suddenly very aware of how tight his pajama pants were getting in the crotch area. Greg didn't wait for Mycroft reply, and without wasting another second, whispered the password.

- 'Maximam voluptatem'

A second later Greg had dragged Mycroft inside by the hand.

Mycroft wasn't particularly fond of that bathroom. He had used it before, yes, but it was so far away from the dungeons and, as Greg had pointed out, one could never know if they would walk in on a couple snogging. If he had been asked, he would have never predicted he would become one of those people. Really, who knew?

Gregory had already gotten rid of most of his clothes and had practically jumped into the pool, wearing pants only. The sight of his half naked boyfriend covered in soap and water was all but tempting, but Mycroft took his time in taking his own clothes off. He first got rid his pajama bottoms, and sat on the edge of the pool, his legs hanging into the water, a bit embarrassed about the tiny white pants we wore mostly to bed, but there was not much he could do about that now. Gregory came to him, swimming rapidly, and laid his hands on his thighs.

-Take your top off too.

-Well, someone's impatient tonight.

Mycroft didn't even try to conceal his pleased smile.

-And I don't know if I should, Gregory; you didn't come to Hogsmeade with me last week.

He was teasing and Greg knew it. He started laying soft kisses up and down Mycroft's legs.

-I'm sorry; you know I had an emergency practice.

Mycroft kept playing offended for a bit longer.

-Well, you didn't even ask how it went.

Mycroft's fingers began playing with Greg's soaked hair as he spoke.

-You would have liked the story.

Gregory let out a small laugh and looked at Mycroft in the eye.

-I would? What did you eat, then?

-Oh this and that, you know.

Mycroft mimicked Greg's teasing smile.

-You should also know that Anthea is upset with you; she says as you don't take me out to dinner as much, she ends up putting weight right along with me.

Greg focused his attention back to Mycroft's legs.

-I hadn't noticed. Not with you there.

Mycroft took a hand to his pudgy belly, and rubbed it over his pajamas.

-I don't really blame you. It's been two pounds already this week.

Greg let out a moan that was muffled by Mycroft's thigh.

-You are the worst of teases, Mycroft Holmes. And a liar. Take that damn top off, I beg of you.

He tugged at his pajama. Mycroft laughed but finally complied, the look on Greg's face making him feel not less than worshiped. He looked positively like Christmas had come early as he reached out to trace a pinkish stretch mark on Mycroft's side with his index finger. Mycroft frowned a bit.

-That one must be new. Hadn't noticed it before.

Greg tried to articulate a coherent sentence but all that came out of his mouth was a half whispered 'Oh!' as he bit on his lower lip. His gaze found Mycroft's.

-You are still ok with this?

It was more of a question than a statement. Mycroft hadn't expected to hear that, and seemed a bit taken aback. He smiled reassuringly.

-You are kidding. I'm great with this, Greg. Really.

He placed his hand over Gregory's and motioned him to begin massaging his stomach. The feeling was unbelievable and, for some reason, it sent waves of heat directly to Mycroft's lower belly. Gregory had blushed all over, and was biting his lip with such force as he massaged him that Mycroft feared there would soon be blood. Mycroft cupped his face with both his hands and, lowering his head, kissed him tenderly.

-It's ok, relax. I'm fine.

Greg smiled in relief and kissed Mycroft back with renewed intensity. His hands started tugging at Mycroft's underwear, so he lifted his hips a bit to allow Greg to get them off. He then got rid of his own, and Mycroft could see both pairs of pants floating away placidly on the water. They both remained quiet for a second, only the occasional droplet of water falling from a tap breaking the silence between them.

-I don't think we've ever been naked in front of each other before.

Greg's voice was but a whisper.

-What are you even talking about Gregory? Have you forgotten about the library completely?

He fake gasped for effect.

-Should I feel offended?

Greg relaxed and even laughed a bit.

-I don't mean like that, I mean like proper naked. I didn't even get a good look at… you that time.

Mycroft was suddenly very aware that he was 'proper naked' as Greg had put it. He looked at his boyfriend's bare chest, and then at his own, not being able to help noticing the remarkable contrast between both. Greg's was not muscular, but definitely toned, his skin tanner from practicing shirtless when the weather allowed, his taut and firm stomach getting lost in the water. Mycroft's body couldn't be more different from his; his skin was painfully white, a sea of freckles covering his shoulders and a bit of his arms, soft peaks for a chest, and a protruding belly underneath, not a bit of muscle to be seen, not a bit of firmness. He had been told thousands of times he should have felt disgust, but he didn't. He simply didn't.

-And now that you have, what do you think?

Greg's cheeks became even pinker.

-You are pretty fucking perfect, honestly.

He hadn't hesitated for a second. Mycroft blushed right along with him.

-And you have the nicest tush.

Greg added with half a smile. Mycroft had to laugh.

-You haven't even seen it yet, I'm sitting down!

-Well then, come here.

He put his arms around Mycroft's lower back and urged him to get into the water. A second later they were embracing in the pool, forehead to forehead, lips but a millimeter away.

-This was all a clever scheme to touch my butt, wasn't it?

-Can you blame me?

-No, not really.

Mycroft placed his hands over Greg's and squished his own bum hard.

-Even I can't keep my hands away…

-You are a fiend, but one with a great body, I give you that.

Mycroft's mouth interrupted Greg's compliment, all but colliding into his. The water around them was still warm, but it felt somehow cool against their skin. Mycroft felt Gregory's hand cupping him first and then stoking him mercilessly.

-What was it that you ate then?

Mycroft was confused for a second, but immediately realized what Greg was referring to.

-Chicken and ham pie, for starters. Sausages with bacon and fried tomatoes, afterwards. You wouldn't believe how good it all was. And then, of course, dessert.

Mycroft's hands kept scanning Greg's arms and back, his chest, his thighs, purposely avoiding his erection, but teasing the area around it as well. Greg let out a whimper as he placed his free hand on Mycroft's flabby side and leaned on him so as to get some friction on his cock.

-Fuck. What-what was it?

-Gregory, are you straddling my leg?

-Uh, apparently.

Mycroft grabbed his hips and pushed him closer. The feeling of his erection against his skin, the skilled strokes on his own penis, everything making him lose his cool at a surprising fast rate. He tried to keep talking without it showing too much, but it proved to me more difficult than anticipated.

-Chocolate tart.

He gasped as orgasm seemed to be approaching.

-We… I asked for extra strawberries. And cream.

Greg was increasing his pace, and though Mycroft found it hard to describe his meal as he thrusted into his hand, he kept talking the best he could.

-It was too good for words, I swear. I… oh, God, Greg, keep going.

He let his head roll back and bit his lip in pleasure.

-This is actually making me hungry as we speak.

The sound Greg made when he came was enough to send Mycroft over the edge as well. They stood there for a bit, embracing each other, and trying not to fall down into the water and drown in ecstatic bliss. Greg only spoke after a minute or so.

-Well, this water's ruined.

-I would say. Shall we empty the pool?

-I couldn't live with myself if I knew someone bathed here after us.

They got rid of the water, not without retrieving their pants first, and dried themselves swiftly by its side. By the time they got their pajamas back on, it was past four thirty.

-Did you mean it? When you said you were hungry?

Mycroft looked at him with interest.

-What do you have in mind?

-The elves are sleeping, but we can sneak into the kitchens anyway. There's always leftovers there. It's not Hogsmeade's chocolate tart, but I saw you enjoyed the jam doughnuts last night. What do you say?

Mycroft's smile widened considerably.

-You are a fiend. Fine, but only because now that you have planted that thought in my head, I won't be able to get to sleep unless I eat something first. But it'd be your fault if I fall asleep in the middle of Potions tomorrow.

-I'll be there to smack you on the head, darling.


	11. Chapter 11

The train had left the station over an hour before, according to Greg's watch, which meant they were very close to arriving to King's Cross. The trip had not been a particularly quiet one, but as they reached their destination the tension in the air was becoming more and more palpable.

They usually spent Easter week at Hogwarts, since it was a period filled with homework and exams, but this time Greg and Mycroft had decided to make a better use of their holidays. They were first headed to Gregory's, where his mother and sisters would be waiting to officially meet Mycroft as Greg's boyfriend. Mycroft's stomach churned at the mere thought. He had met Gregory's family before, of course, he had even visited their house in muggle London -much to his own parents' dismay- but this was a complete different affair. However, he pondered, it would certainly be better than what they had planned for the rest of the trip. On the last days of their holiday, they would be staying at the Holmes family state. Now, that was an especially terrifying situation for both Greg and Mycroft. The Holmes weren't bad people, all in all, but they had been described as 'nutters' before –Anthea's words-. Mycroft preferred to describe them as perfectionists; they would always find something to be disappointed about, and if this time it was Mycroft's choice of partner, it wouldn't be surprising to him in the least. It probably wouldn't be the best Easter holiday of their lives, but it was something that certainly had to be done sooner or later.

The train hit the station faster than they had expected, but neither of them was on a hurry to get off the train. They waited for the small crowd to get off before gathering their bags and doing the same thing themselves. As soon as they got out the platform, Mycroft spotted Greg's family.

-Oh, your sister's there.

Both Greg's sisters looked very much like him; even someone who hadn't met them before would have guessed the three were related just by looking at their identically shaped brown eyes and heads full of rebellious dark hair. His mother, on the other hand, was of a fairer complexion, and one could only tell her relation to her children by the very particular shape of her nose. Or at least Mycroft could.

Suddenly, the three spotted them, and Mycroft unconsciously stood his straightest possible. Greg smiled and mouthed a silent 'relax' to him as he waved to his family.

-Gregory, darling! Oh, I'm so glad we came early, that train of yours arrived before schedule. Erica said it would, didn't you darling? She noticed it usually does.

Greg's sisters were both older than him; Erica by three years, Josie just by one. Mycroft reckoned that if it weren't for a slight difference in height between them, they could have easily passed as triplets.

-And Mycroft! Oh my God, dear, how you've grown!

Mycroft felt himself wrapped in an immobilizing hug that sent the Lestrade children into a fit of giggles.

-Let go off him mother, you're gonna scare him more than he already is. Hi Mycroft.

Erica waved at him from behind her mother's back, who had not completely ignored her comment and had let go of Mycroft, but was still holding both his hands in hers. He smiled back at Erica.

-Evening, Mrs. Lestrade, Erica. Hello Josie.

-Hi Mycroft.

Josie was still trying to control her laughter and was elbowed ever slightly by her younger brother.

-You boys must be starving, am I right? Come on, let's go home. Dinner's almost done; just have to pop it into the oven.

It was always strange for Mycroft to be out on the muggle world. He blended in quite well, of course; he was certainly aware of most costumes and rules, but still he had to learn something new every time he was there. He kept staring out of the car window for most of the ride –not too much, he wouldn't forget to engage in conversation- quite frankly astonished by the innovations he would spot in every block.

The Lestrade's place looked cozy as usual, and just about half an hour after their arrival, dinner was already served. Mycroft remembered having eaten at Greg's place, and he would have never forgotten how good of a cook his mother was, but that evening he was able to manage a considerable degree of self restraint and kept his portions small.

-Oh, you barely touched your food. Weren't you hungry, Mycroft dear? Was there anything you didn't like?

Greg's mother sounded terribly disappointed at Mycroft's apparent lack of interest in her food.

-No, not at all! Everything was delicious. I was just… saving room for dessert. Greg told me your blancmange was unbelievable. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.

Mycroft thought he saw a bit of pink on her cheeks.

-Oh, darling! He did?

-I did?

She sounded completely ecstatic. Greg sounded very confused.

-How did you know we would be having blancmange, Gregy?

Mycroft suddenly realized that no one had mentioned the dessert before; he had just gathered it would be blancmange from the various ingredients spattered around in the kitchen.

-I… didn't. I was only hoping we would.

Mycroft squeezed his hand as a thank you under the table as they shared a look.

Soon dessert was served and Mycroft couldn't actually believe Greg hadn't actually said it was his mother specialty. He had two servings, so as not to disappoint Mrs. Lestrade.

As the conversation turned to exams and school in general, and soon after to Quidditch, Mycroft couldn't help it but feel horribly silly for having been nervous before. He knew Greg's family would be lovely, as usual; he had worked himself up over nothing at all.

-Mycroft, sweetheart, would you like something in particular for breakfast?

The question caught him off guard, as Greg and his sisters were still enthralled in their conversation about the Hogwarts' Quidditch teams.

-Oh. No, not really, thank you. Just whatever everyone else is having will be perfectly fine.

He had been absolutely honest too; nothing she could cook could ever displease him in the least.

-Oh, don't be shy, dear. Greg has told me about that dreadful diet of yours, but in my house we don't worry about such things. I'm sure you can drop the extra weight when you go back to school.

From the corner of his eye, Mycroft saw Greg's eyes grow like platters at his mother's comment. He felt a tinge of shame at his weight having been brought into attention in front of the whole table, but he was able to fight away the blush threatening to redden his cheeks and pull himself together.

-I'm not really dieting anymore, so I can have whichever delicious treats you choose to send my way.

His smile at the thought of a tasty homemade breakfast made by Mrs. Lestrade was quite honest too.

-Oh, that's wonderful! Why hadn't you told me anything, Greg?

Gregory had not quite managed to keep his embarrassment at bay and was covering half of his face with his right hand.

-That's his business, mum…

-Well, I think it's lovely, Mycroft dear, I'll will make you a nice breakfast tomorrow.

Mycroft gave his boyfriend a cheeky smile as his mother walked into the kitchen with a pile of empty plates.


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft honestly thought it was a joke when Greg's sisters suggested a quick game of soccer at a nearby park. They had just finished having breakfast and Mycroft knew he would need more than a couple of minutes for his belly to stop feeling painfully bloated, so running around chasing a ball wasn't exactly what he had in mind for the morning. Still, when he saw the excitement on his boyfriend's face, he didn't have the courage to propose they spent a quiet morning drinking tea and revising for school. So after only a bit of insisting from Greg, Mycroft found himself carrying some type of leather ball around the park, helping Greg and his sisters to try and find a 'good spot', whatever that meant in that situation.

-So, what do you say: boys versus girls? -Jodie smiled deviously. -Do you think you can take us?

Mycroft was pretty certain he couldn't. Greg, however, seemed quite confident.

-I know it's been a while since I've done this, but Quidditch is pretty good practice, let me tell you.

-Just remember you have to use your feet for this one, little brother.

Greg rolled her eyes at Erica with an amused smile on his face and then turned to Mycroft.

-You understood the rules? It's not too hard, right?

-Oh, I'm fine, yes. I got it.

A bit of exercise couldn't hurt. Not too much, at least. And the game didn't seem horribly complicated, so he was almost certain he could survive a couple of minutes.

The ball started rolling soon after, and Mycroft began to feel less confident by the minute. He wasn't terrible, in his humble opinion, but Erica and Jodie were extremely skilled, and it was close to impossible for him to keep up. Greg was doing pretty well, and he even managed to score a few goals for their team, and though they were losing painfully, he looked like he was having the best of times.

Mycroft was close to falling flat on his face from exertion when they decided to the game was over. He hadn't wanted tell them to stop before, but his breathing had become so shallow he was sincerely surprised he hadn't just flat out fainted.

-Good game, huh?

Greg himself was breathing a bit quickly still, but didn't look half as beaten as Mycroft did. They had sat on the grass as the girls went to buy a couple of water bottles.

-Please, don't ever make me do that again.

Greg laughed as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his t-shirt.

-Why? I thought you were pretty good.

-As flattered as I am, I have to disagree; I barely knew what I was doing the whole time.

Greg laid his hand over Mycroft's.

-You gave them quite a bit of trouble back there, I'm serious. You are way too hard on yourself.

Mycroft entwined his fingers with Greg's and smiled.

-You'll get it when you meet my parents.

Greg half laughed and half grimaced.

-Right. How are you feeling about that?

Mycroft took his time to reply. He had thought he was over being anxious about his parents' opinions, but, sadly, that situation made him realize he wasn't. Not in the least.

-A bit nervous, to be perfectly honest. They won't have much to say about you; you are perfectly lovable, but they will certainly give me hell about the weight.

Greg's hand squeezed his a bit tighter.

-They just worry about you.

Mycroft remained silent for a bit. He was finally beginning to accept himself at his current size, and it would be all for nothing if his parents managed to shatter that confidence with a couple of hurtful words.

-Still, you are better than a bit of a belly, alright? Don't let it get to you.

-I won't. Not as much as to forget about lunch, at least; I'm seriously starving.

Greg laid a small kiss on his cheek.

-Lets go get the girls and head home. I think mum mentioned meat pie.

Mycroft almost jumped to his feet in joy, but he then realized he was simply too exhausted to.

-We should probably buy dessert. Which flavour ice-cream does your mother like?

-I'm sure she'll appreciate whatever you choose. Come on, time to go.


	13. Chapter 13

Mycroft kept staring out the window for the entire trip. He wasn't one to get visibly nervous, but his prolonged silence was more than enough to tell Greg he wasn't in a particularly cheery mood. Greg did, however, manage to rob Mycroft of a few smiles by pinpointing the receipts he would like to try on the cookbook his mother had lent him. Mycroft even suggested a couple as well; most which contained tremendous amounts of chocolate and cream. Greg promised himself that, once they were done with the visit to the Holmes, he would prepare one bowl full of ganache truffles for Mycroft for every time his parents made a hurtful comment directed at him.

They were picked up by a driver, and arrived to the house from the station soon enough. Mycroft's anxiousness seemed to have become catchy; when walking through the front door Greg was beginning to feel more than a bit tense himself.

The Holmes' state was simply astounding, as he had expected, but Greg didn't have time to comment, since the sound of heels announced that the figure of Mycroft's mother had appeared swiftly from the next room.

-Oh, you are here already! I was afraid I would miss you. I wanted to pick you boys from the station but… Oh, never mind. Hello, Mycroft, dear. Would you please introduce us?

Mrs. Holmes was the picture of elegance and refinement. Gregory remembered seeing her years before, and knew already that she was a sophisticated, wealthy woman, but it seemed she had put some special effort in looking her best for the evening; just the silver bracelet on her wrist was probably worth more than his mother's entire jewels box. The hem of _her deep blue dress brushed her knees_, and the neckline modestly covered her chest, dipping into the slightest 'V' cut. Greg was at a loss for words. One would think she was about to meet the Minister of Magic. On the other hand, she probably already did…

-Mother, this is Gregory Lestrade. My boyfriend.

The smile on Mrs. Holmes face wasn't exactly warm, but it wasn't as terrifying as Greg had expected. She extended her hand and he imitated her, laying a kiss on the back of hers, somehow alarmed at his on temerity.

-It's a pleasure.

The smile on her face softened a bit. From the corner of his eye, Greg thought he saw Mycroft breathe for the first time in the evening.

-Oh, a gentleman, how wonderful.

Greg tried to reciprocate her smile, not completely sure if successfully.

-We should be heading to the dining room, dinner will be served soon. Though, Mycroft, dear?

Mycroft stopped breathing once more at the sight of his mother's raised eyebrow.

-I shall have a talk with the cook; he will prepare something else for you. I don't think you have the need to spoil your diet tonight, am I right Gregory, dear?

She smiled at him and quickly turned back to Mycroft, not giving him even the slightest opportunity to answer.

-Those trousers used to fit a lot more loosely a couple of months ago, dear.

Mycroft blinked a couple of times more than necessary, but nothing else in his expression showed he was upset.

-Yes, mother.

Mrs. Holmes smile grew a bit wider when hearing Mycroft's answer.

-Great, darling. Now let's go, your father must be waiting.

Greg mentally added his first bowl of truffles to his list as they walked.

The dining room was as astonishing as the rest of the house, of course, but again the chance to comment on it passed, as Mr. Holmes made a sudden appearance in the room.

-Mr. Lestrade, I believe? Sherringford Holmes.

As he extended his hand, he looked only slightly less frightening than his wife, as his smile seemed simply uninterested and not spiteful, as hers did.

After shaking hands with Gregory, Mr. Holmes turned to his son and scanned him from top to bottom with pursed lips.

-I expect you have had a word with the kitchens, Melissa?

-I'm on my way, dear.

As she exited the room they sat on the table; Mycroft apparently oblivious to his father's comment, Greg adding another bowl of truffles to his list as he grabbed his boyfriend's hand underneath the table.

Dinner was served soon after, a full course with a first dish of oysters, followed by Filet Mignon with creamed carrots and green peas. Mycroft's meal consisted simply of a vegetables consommé. Greg would have declined eating most of it in view of his boyfriend's misery, but the gaze of Mycroft's parents on him was too menacing for his taste. By the end of the night Greg was so painfully stuffed, he could barely utter a word.

At least the conversation had run pretty smoothly until that point, and Greg was almost positive the Holmes didn't completely detest him, which was more than he had expected.

Mycroft was able to keep his composure through most of the meal, but by the time dessert arrived -peaches in Chartreuse jelly- his poker face had dissolved into a quite evident look of desperation.

Greg was positively full, and, in a bold move, he tried to offer Mycroft his own plate. He had never seen eyebrows raised so high as in Mrs. Holmes face. Mr. Holmes clicked his tongue without raising his eyes from his plate.

-We've have had enough of your bulging waistline problem in this house, Mycroft Holmes. I suggest you rethink your choices before you outgrow of your entire wardrobe… again.

Mrs. Holmes agreed with her husband as she, apparently, checked her own nails.

-You've already begun spilling out of your clothes, and I just know I'm not paying for new ones this time, Mycroft.

Greg could have sworn he heard Mycroft swallowing. He pushed his plate back to Greg's place and simply nodded twice. Greg knew if he spoke it would only make things worse, but the look in his boyfriend's face was so heart wrenching he felt like punching both his parents right on their noses. He didn't, however. He sat there for the rest of the meal, slowly munching on his pears as Mr. Holmes asked about that season's Quidditch games. He felt like a failure for not standing up for Mycroft, but he would make damn sure he would make it up to him somehow.


	14. Chapter 14

Greg had been rolling around in bed for a while now. He couldn't get what happened at dinner out of his head, and he had been trying extra hard. He had been suppressing a growing urge to kick himself for most of the night, but it was becoming almost unbearable. For the third time that night, Greg got up of bed and headed for the bathroom for a drink of water. He stood there, clinging to the sink for a minute, while staring at his face in the mirror. He shook his head before heading back to bed, resigned to not getting much sleep that night at all.

The knock on his door was almost imperceptible. Mycroft hadn't been asleep –he had never been able to do so with an empty stomach-, but he couldn't help but wonder if he just hadn't heard the noise in dreams. However, soon after, he heard his name whispered in the dark, so he jumped to his feet and opened the door as quickly as he could afford without making too much noise.

-What are you doing here?

Gregory's ruffled his already messy hair.

-What do you mean? Didn't you slide this under my door?

He handed Mycroft a small hand-written note. The paper just read 'downstairs', but Mycroft immediately recognized the hand writing. He couldn't contain a smile while looking at it.

-You are staying in my old room; she must have thought I was sleeping there.

He folded the paper and put it in the pocket of his pajamas.

-I am incredibly confused, Mycroft.

-Come on, you'll see.

They walked down the hall and down the stairs as silently as they could, Mycroft warning Greg when he was about to step on a creaky step, and then he guiding him through the living room and dining room till they arrived to the kitchens. The door was closed, but there was light coming through the gaps. Mycroft pushed it in carefully.

The woman on the other side of the door must have been in her late fifties, Greg thought. When she heard them walking in, she jumped so evidently that her remarkably curly hair bounced in what seemed to be a movement defying the laws physics.

-Oh, Mycroft, darling!

The woman was incredibly big and tall, easily one head taller than Mycroft, and Greg couldn't help but grin at the sight of her literally enveloping his boyfriend with her arms. Mycroft didn't seemed troubled about it, like Greg would have expected –ever since he'd known him, Mycroft had been irked by most physical contact-, he had, in fact, buried his face in her neck, like a child would, and Greg noticed his cheeks had flushed pink.

-They're starving you again, aren't they? That silly mother of yours still doesn't know she's doing more harm than good after all these years, what am I going to do with her, huh?

She kept caressing Mycroft's hair and cheeks as she spoke, seemingly not noticing Greg standing by his side. Mycroft placed his hands over hers and laid a kiss on her cheek. The smile on the woman's face was warm enough to melt the glacial heart of any Holmes in precisely a hundred miles.

Mycroft suddenly blinked himself back into reality and turned his head to meet Greg's gaze.

-Sara, this is my boyfriend, Gregory and…

Abruptly, Greg found himself in the exact same position Mycroft had been only seconds before; with Sara's arms surrounding him completely. His first thought was that he had never been around someone with such an intense scent of vanilla. It was borderline intoxicating, but it was still wonderful. He felt like he had been baked into a cake.

-…this is Sara, my former nanny and our current cook.

She turned around and began piling plates on the marble counter in the center of the kitchen

-Oh, shush! I'll always be your nanny, honey. I wasn't expecting you both, but I trust there's enough food, none the less.

Even if Greg hadn't been completely full, there was probably enough food there for four people more. He didn't even know the names of most of the dishes, and he was only able to recognize the leftovers from dinner earlier.

Sara was a lovely woman, and asked Greg more than he probably knew about himself. She ate a bit from each plate as well as them both.

The swiftness in Mycroft's movements while eating was initially a bit surprising, but then Greg remembered it had been a very long time since he had last gone empty-bellied and was probably not so used to it anymore.

Sara said her goodnights shortly after and headed to bed –she had to prepare breakfast in the morning-, but reminded them first that there was still a bit of ice-cream in the freezer if they wanted some. Mycroft's smile was just beaming.

It always astonished Greg just how neat Mycroft was at eating; in a matter of minutes he had vanished a third of the food of the table without as much as a crumb on his clothes or a stain on the table.

-You were just famished, weren't you?

Mycroft smiled, helping himself to another serving of pears and jelly.

-I was. But it's nothing that hasn't happened before; I would have probably survived till morning. I'm glad I didn't have to wait to find out, however.

-Won't your parents find out there's a bunch of food missing?

Mycroft took his time with the answer, as he swallowed his last bite.

-They don't care much for leftovers, I think we are safe.

-Oh, do you?

The voice that came from behind their backs was terrifyingly calm. They both turned at the same time to face what looked like a very upset Sherringford Holmes.

-Cheating again? Well, I can't say I'm surprised, Mycroft. Simply disappointed… as usual.

Greg could feel his own cheeks flushing. He had to do something this time, or he'd never forgive himself.

-He's not cheating.

The words had left his mouth even before he had thought it through. He didn't regret it in the least, though.

Mr. Holmes gaze met his, and his eyes bared an intensity that was almost sinister.

-I beg your pardon?

-He isn't on a diet anymore, so he can't possibly be cheating.

Mr. Holmes was rendered silent for a second. When he next spoke, his words were but a whisper.

-Says who?

-Says I, father.

Mycroft hadn't moved from his seat. He was still holding the spoon, and he was doing it so hard that his knuckles had become white.

Mr. Holmes eyes went from Greg to Mycroft and from Mycroft back to Greg.

-I'm beginning to think you are not a very good influence, Gregory Lestrade. And you, child,

He didn't look back at his son as he spoke.

-I'd like to see you try explaining to your mother that you'd rather indulge your ever-expanding gut than make her happy.

With that, he turned around and closed the door behind him.

Greg put his arms around his boyfriend, trying to be comforting. Mycroft laid his head on his shoulder.

-Are you all right?

It took Mycroft a second to answer.

-Honestly? I'm not even that upset.

He looked up to meet Greg's gazed and he laid a small kiss on his lips.

-Although… Tomorrow is going to be a really, really long day.

-We should slip a Valium into your mother's glass.

Mycroft frowned in confusion.

-A what?

Greg had to laugh. He kissed Mycroft on the forehead.

-Never mind. Ice-cream, then?

Mycroft's smile found a way back to his face.

-You read my mind.


	15. Chapter 15

-There's something on your mind.

Mycroft looked up from his parchment, blinking a bit excessively, perhaps. Greg noticed he had been staring at the same line of his homework for a whole minute now; he had to say something.

-What?

Greg lips curved into a smile at the sight of Mycroft's bedazzled face. It was a rare sight to come about, and he couldn't get enough of it, honestly.

-You've been a bit distracted, that's all. It's been going on for a while.

He drew his chair closer to his boyfriend's and run a hand through his own hair as he spoke in a smaller voice.

-Is it your parents?

Mycroft had been able to compose himself by then and offered Greg a calm smile.

-Don't worry about it.

-But it is them then.

Mycroft shook his head and let out a breath that could barely be considered a sigh.

-They still affect me, that bit is true. But it's honestly not about that, Gregory.

Greg frowned noticeably.

-There is something, though.

Mycroft turned back to his parchment and stared at it for a second. Greg felt tempted to say something, but thought it would be wiser to wait for Mycroft to be ready. He knew his boyfriend had had something bothering him for a while, and Greg was anxious to hear it, but he decided giving him those last few seconds to organize his thoughts wouldn't be so bad.

Mycroft pursed his lips before he began speaking again.

-Gregory, I'm happier with myself right now than I had ever been. I mean it. And I love that you've help me discover this side of me. I don't want you to freak but…

Jesus. Greg had been dreading this moment since the second they started dating. He was going to say it, he was going to say that he couldn't cope with his weird ass kink anymore. God, he had broken his boyfriend. He gave Mycroft a long look from head to toe and everything in between, admiring him in all of his glorious fatness. Greg felt like the most horrible person to walk this earth for loving every inch of him, he really did.

-Your panicking is showing, Gregory.

Greg eyes went back to Mycroft's face. An honest smile greeted him.

Greg ran a hand through his hair again.

-Jesus, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I never… I promise.

Mycroft grabbed his hands and looked at him in the eye.

-Gregory, please calm down, I can't finish if you get like this.

He rubbed small circles on his hands with both his thumbs.

-Now, are you calm?

Greg nodded silently.

-You've not hurt me in any way, understand?

He nodded again.

-It's just…

Mycroft broke eye contact for a second, but he went right back to it.

-Again, I'm happy the way I am. Just like this. And I feel like if I gain any more weight I may not be as comfortable anymore.

Greg opened his mouth to apologize again, but Mycroft continued before he could say anything.

-I don't want to lose the weight, and I promise I'm being completely honest about this. I'm not just saying it because I want to please you. I feel truly satisfied with myself. Like I finally belong in my own body.

He looked down at his pudgy belly with a smile escaping his lips. Greg stayed as silent as he could. He felt amazing. Being able to see that look on Mycroft's face was more than he could have ever asked for.

Mycroft seemed to snap out of his own thoughts, looking a bit embarrassed for having let them take over.

-What I mean is that I want to stop gaining… On purpose at least.

Greg had to smile when he added that last bit.

-Maybe try to cut back a bit, just that. This doesn't mean I don't want to keep exploring this… area of your interests, do you follow?

Greg felt a bit more relaxed.

-Of course. We'll save it for the bedroom, is that what you mean?

Mycroft expression suddenly seemed more relaxed. His lips curved into a smile once more.

-Precisely.

After a short silence, Greg spoke again.

-So… You're on a diet or something then?

Mycroft gasped, pretending to be offended at the word. He then shook his head shrugged.

-No, no exactly. Just not stuffing myself silly for a while.

A sigh he had been repressing escaped his lips.

-I have to admit I'll miss it, though.

Greg gave him a tiny peck on the lips.

-Don't you worry, I'll help you. And besides, there's always the bedroom.

Mycroft pointed his index finger at him and spoke in his most serious voice.

-And don't you dare forget.


	16. Chapter 16

-You are not starting to regret your diet already, are you?

The teasing smile on Greg's face when Mycroft raised his eyes from his tiny, empty plate made the Slytherin purse his lips.

-Mocking me already? I thought better of you. Obviously, I was wrong.

Greg shared a devious smile with Anthea, who was sitting opposite them at the table.

-Come on, he was just kidding. You get so sensitive when you are hungry.

Mycroft's eyes shot up again to meet what seemed to be a very amused Anthea.

-Seriously. You two are seriously doing this now. Great, loving the support.

This time Greg's demeanor changed a bit, and he seemed genuinely repented as he put his arms around his boyfriend. Mycroft didn't move a muscle.

-Oh, Mycroft please, don't be upset. It's just that sometimes you just look so vulnerable it'd be a sin not to take advantage. It doesn't mean I really think you are doing less than great.

Mycroft shook his head with an expression of genuine bewilderment on his face.

-Who are you? Weren't you supposed to be a Hufflepuff?

Anthea pointed a finger at them both as she nodded.

-We sort too soon, I'm telling you. I've always thought that. Besides, he'd been hanging around with us too much. He caught the Slytherin.

-Don't let my Quidditch team hear you say that.

Mycroft let himself relax the tiniest bit, and smiled at the comment. Greg turned to him again.

-In all seriousness though, how have you been doing with your… not diet.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes as Anthea cut in.

-He's been eating rabbit portions again. And regretting it later…

Mycroft's eyes went like plates as he shook his head at her, implicitly begging her not to continue that sentence.

-…and raiding the kitchens at night.

Greg gaped in surprise.

-You are a horrible best friend, do you know that?

-Yes, I've heard that before. From you, actually.

They smiled sarcastically at each other. Greg was just staring at Mycroft and shaking his head.

-Why? Why would you do that? I thought you…

He was going to say 'were over that', but it sounded a bit too harsh, even inside his head.

-…didn't feel like you needed to do that anymore.

Mycroft shrugged with fake disinterest.

-I have long since given up in trying to understand my eating habits, Gregory.

Anthea nodded, pretending to agree with him.

-Also, his parents wrote again.

Mycroft slapped the table with his palms.

-Why do I even keep you around?

She shrugged.

-I am the conscience you never had?

Greg's voice was but a whisper when he spoke.

-They did?

He let his head roll back as he ran a hand through his hair.

-Why didn't you say so? Oh, I'm so sorry Mycroft.

Mycroft sighed. It was out there now, wasn't it? There was no point in trying to deny it hadn't affected him. Still, he kept his composure the best he could.

-I'll be fine. It's just not as easy when you can't immediately answer back. Besides, they were a bit harsh. Well, harsher than usual, at least.

Greg knew better than to ask.

-Having that crap on writing doesn't help either. You should get rid of it already.

Anthea's tone was demanding. Greg looked confused.

-You haven't? Why?

-He needs a shrink, Greg.

-You need a muzzle, Anthea.

Greg sat back and ran a hand through his hair. He was going to punch both Mycroft's parents right on their stuck up noses. When Mycroft had finally found a bit of emotional equilibrium, they had to sneak in and ruin everything. He hadn't felt this angry in a very long time. He held his boyfriend hand, but kept staring at the floor.

-I'll never tease you again, I promise.

Mycroft had to smile. Greg looked simply too cute.

-You'll make it up to me later.

They tenderly smiled to each other.

-Ok, I hate to interrupt your romantic moment guys, but you need to figure this thing out, Mycroft. Either you give in to what your parents want –which would be completely idiotic, in my honest opinion- or you start eating like a normal human being again. This kind of intermediate thing is not working out at all. You are going to make yourself sick.

She held her tongue. She was about to say 'again'. Mycroft, however, didn't seem in the least upset by this point in the conversation.

-Fine, you can stop worrying, I'll start eating properly.

Anthea didn't look convinced. Mycroft insisted.

-It was just a minor setback, I promise; it happens to the best of us. Look, this kind of thing is not something you just get over from one day to the next. And relapses… happen.

The word 'relapse' was a bit too strong for Greg. He didn't know Mycroft had been struggling that much. Of course he knew he had some food issues, but he didn't know he considered himself to be sick. He could feel a tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

-Oh, Greg, don't make that face again.

Mycroft's voice showed his amusement. He laid a sweet kiss on Gregory's cheek.

-I've told you once and I'll tell you until you get it: you are not the one hurting me, ok? If anything, you've made things so much easier for me. You've helped me.

-You mean it?

He didn't sound too convinced.

-I wouldn't lie to you. You are too good in bed.

Anthea stood like there were ants on her chair.

-All right! That's my cue to leave. Goodnight, darlings.

She grabbed her stuff and dashed away under Mycroft's and Gregory's amused eyes. Only after she disappeared through the door, Greg dared speak again.

-In all seriousness, are you really ok?

Mycroft nodded.

-I am. And I promise this had nothing to do with you. You've done nothing but good for me.

Greg finally relaxed a bit.

-Just promise next time you are not feeling ok, you'll tell me.

Mycroft nodded. Greg allowed himself to smile.

-So I can go to your place and punch your parents sane.

Mycroft's laugh was honest.

-I promise.


End file.

Harry Potter, Sherlock, Romance