It was the beginning of Harry’s 8th year after the war, and he was excited for a peaceful and uneventful year. As he sat down at the feast, he though he heard a crunch under his foot. Brushing it off, he began to pile his plate with food. He ate and ate for what felt like only minutes and yet his plate was clean. He felt full, yet he couldn’t stop himself from taking seconds thirds, fourths, and even fifths. His pant button popped, and his belly pressed against his robes. ‘Ugh, I feel like I’m about to burst’ he thought. At this point the main courses disappeared and dessert popped into existence on the table. Heaping plates of pudding, cake, pie and all sweets imaginable. As soon as the appeared, Harry’s hands, with a mind of their own, reached for everything in front of him, piling sweets onto his plate. ‘Staring jn horror at his possessed hands, he began to shovel food into his mouth at a breakneck pace. At this point his belly was beyond the point of overstuffed, yet he couldn’t stop. He eventually began to slow down when the table was cleared of all food around him in a 3 foot space either way. His belly had reached his thighs, spreading out onto them and pressing up into his ribs in a tight, spherical shape, making the boy who lived appear 9 months pregnant with twins. Harry began to slow down at this point, falling into a food coma right in the great hall, sleeping off his feast.
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