Matters Of Magic and Dealing With Diapers [A Harry Potter Fanfic]

Description: Most of us know the story of Hermione Granger. A brilliant girl born to perfectly ordinary parents finds out that she’s in possession of magical powers and is pulled into the strange and wonderful world of magic, mayhem, and maniacal murderous despots hellbent on wiping out those that they deem impure and setting up a new dystopian world order.

You know, Tuesday stuff.

But what if this world that she learns of is a bit different in one crucial way that has far-reaching consequences. What if the girls of this magical world are expected to wait to toilet-train until significantly later in life? Hermione Granger is about to run into the biggest hurdle of all, the most dire test of her commitment to learning all she can during her time at Hogwarts.

Because she’ll have to spend the whole time in diapers.

Uatu better look away, because this is gonna get weird.

Author’s Note: Okay, bear with me, here. I normally don’t write this stuff, but I’ve read all the stories several times and figured I’d take a crack at my own. This one borrows more than a little inspiration from the story Lillikol, by Sophie & Pudding (which was a pleasing read) and the visual novel Messy Academy by Messy Studios (a fun premise, but not my favorite medium). While casting around in my head for a setting, I found myself drawn to my fan fiction roots of Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger seemed a natural protagonist.

I hope you enjoy.

Yes, the prologue alone is a two-parter. I got a little verbose but couldn’t wait to share.

Prologue, Part One

Hermione’s favorite class had always been English. The English language had rules, it had structure, there was a right and wrong way to format a sentence. But using these concrete and rigid guidelines, one could craft a beautiful story, a creative wonder that no one else could have possibly put to paper because it was your own. It was art, given shape by a set schematic designed so that anyone who knew that schematic could enjoy it as well.

Perhaps she was overthinking it.

Today, Mr. Clark had assigned them an essay about…something. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure. She knew, though, that she had done really well; the words on the paper were…actually a bit hard to make out and seemed to swim and shift before her eyes even as she stood from her desk to head up to the teacher’s. As she walked, she became aware of a slight draft around her legs, and a voice she couldn’t quite place spoke from one of the desks as she walked by.

“Granger, are you wearing a diaper?”

“Oi, she hasn’t got a skirt on! She’s wearing a diaper!”

Hermione felt a flush of humiliation as she realized that she was in the middle of class, in the middle of school, and had somehow forgotten her skirt. Everyone could see the diaper between her legs! This would damage her already abysmal social standing for sure! It had to be a dream, there was no way it wasn’t –

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, her heart thudding in her chest as her mind attempted to shake itself from the dream and remember where she really was. Her own mopey reflection stared back at her, translucent against the breathtaking view of the English countryside that sped by outside—a plain, pale girl with mousy brown hair and eyes to match, as she often described herself. Eleven and going on twelve in only two weeks, she was young enough that adolescence could still hold some manner of “ugly duckling” transformation, but she didn’t have her hopes set particularly high for such a thing.

At least she hadn’t actually gone to school with no skirt; such a cliché dream, a trite thing no doubt the result of her nerves over the radical changes she had recently undergone in her life. In fact, even if Hermione had actually committed the social gaffe of somehow going to school without pants on, she needn’t have worried about the social repercussions.

She would likely never see any of her old classmates ever again.

The school she was going to—the school at the end of the train ride she was presently snoozing away on—was a private school of the most private sort, an academy dedicated to the instruction of magic. Real magic.

Hermione Jane Granger, plain and mousy, was a magician. A witch, to use the colloquial term, though the mechanics of the whole thing gave her more the impression of a sorcerer. So rather than starting secondary school with her…classmates (she could hardly call any of them friends), she was being whisked off by the magical community, tucked away in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which was a very silly name for what she was told was the most prestigious magical school in Magical Britain, despite also being the only one.

As if that wasn’t enough (and it was), there was a reason her dreams were so diaper-centric lately, and it was the same reason that despite the pressing matter of a full bladder, Hermione made no effort to get up and search out the loo. She already had that situation solved, though in a rather unorthodox fashion.

While stretching a bit and reaching for her carry-on bag to retrieve one of the granola bars Mum had packed, Hermione shifted in her seat and relaxed a few muscles in her lower regions, letting loose a stream of urine into the waiting diaper strapped to her hips. It flowed forth, blooming warm and wet beneath her as the padding between her legs soaked it up to join the wetting she’d given it hours ago before nodding off.

Despite being by herself, she couldn’t stop a blush, the memory of the dream still fresh in her mind. If her classmates knew that the “annoying bookworm girl” had been stuffed back into diapers like a toddler, well… She was glad for more than one reason to see the back of them.

At least she was in good company, in the form of half the population of the school she would be attending.

As if to underscore that thought, a commotion sounded in the corridor outside her train compartment, a chorus of shrieks sounding as a gaggle of girls who had already changed into their school uniforms had their skirts magically blown up to reveal diapers nearly exactly like the one Hermione had just finished wetting. A round of raucous laughter went up from a few boys nearby before they quickly attempted to hide their wands from the irate girls. It was not quick enough however, and a chase began as the girls took off in pursuit.

There was a certain irony to the fact that the boys were still the more immature ones.

Still, it served to remind Hermione that she had wanted to change into her new uniform as soon as possible. Beneath the dread of finding out she would be stepping back from toilet-training for the time being, the excitement of starting a new school still lingered, especially a prestigious private academy with a uniform.

She dug around in her bag, finding the neatly-folded garments exactly where she’d left them and laying them out on the bench in her compartment. Magical clothes never wrinkled, never creased in the wrong places, and even seemed to resist lint and all but the most stubborn stains. More than once, Mum had beseeched Hermione to find out exactly where she could purchase a few more outfits made of similar stuff before Hermione had had to inform her that wizard fashion tended toward robes and fancier clothing, nothing that would blend well in the life of the average non-magic person (or muggle, according to reliable sources).

Shucking the casual dress she’d worn for the trip to King’s Cross, Hermione was soon left in only a training bra (despite having no chest to speak of just yet, Mum had insisted she get a few) and her rather soaked diaper. Looking down at the thing, she was again struck by how very much it looked like any diaper one would buy from a corner store, though quite a bit larger (in order to fit a girl her age) and adorned with small golden shields emblazoned with the Hogwarts ‘H’ . Mum had done a fine job taping it up, so it fit her snugly, the thick padding wrapped tight but not constricting.

That had been the strangest experience of all, honestly. Finding out she had magical powers few could scarcely dream of had been a shock, but watching the incantation on the diapers take hold of her parents had been…unnerving.

She had been warned, though.

Several weeks prior…

As most life-altering circumstances tended to, the whole thing started off as a typically normal day. There was a bit of a chill in the air, but the sky was a gorgeous blue and dotted with great big fluffy clouds that made the only reasonable course of action to sit outside and read a book.

Well, it was reasonable to Hermione; while her peers would probably prefer to frolic around and climb a tree or play tag, she much preferred to spend her lazy summer days enjoying the weather while venturing to Middle Earth.

Yes, it was a Hobbit sort of day. Carting along her worn and beaten copy of the story, Hermione picked out her favorite spot under the aging oak tree in the backyard, enjoying the way the grass tickled at her legs as she sat and opened to the first page.

And in the quiet tranquility of her backyard on a summer day, with only the sounds of birds and the distant rush of passing cars, Hermione read while enjoying what she would later reflect on as the last peaceful day she’d have for some time.

By the time Bilbo was hiding himself away in a barrel to escape the Elvenking, she felt a pressing need to use the loo (and perhaps enjoy a cup of tea after), and so she marked her page and made her way into the house. The Granger home was quaint but surprisingly spacious. Mum and Dad were both dentists (Mum specialized in orthodonture while Dad was in pediatrics), so they were quite well-off and able to afford a somewhat privileged lifestyle. There was even talk of Dad having a swimming pool put in, though Mum was balking at the loss of space for a potential garden.

Hermione was sure the swimming pool would win out; Mum liked to pretend, but she was not the outdoorsy type.

The sound of a flushing toilet followed her out of the restroom as she made for the kitchen, intent on a cup of tea to warm up against the chill of an English summer. She was just picking out her favorite teacup when Mum’s voice called from the sitting room.

“Hermione, love, are you in there?”

“Having some tea, Mum!” she called back.

“Would you come in here for a moment, first?” Mum said, her voice sounding…odd in a way Hermione had never heard before. A bit worried, Hermione crossed the gleaming kitchen (it had been recently remodeled and now sported all-new top-of-the-range appliances), making her way down the hall to the sitting room. Mum and Dad were both sat on a loveseat in front of the bay window, and perched primly on the divan across from them was a woman Hermione had never seen before.

She would have definitely remembered meeting her.

The woman wore a long, deep red tartan dress with a black cardigan pulled over it. On her head was perched an actual bonnet hat that would have looked perfectly ridiculous on anyone else but only served to add to the impression that this stranger had walked straight out of the pages of Pride and Prejudice . In Dad’s modern sitting room with its white carpet and beige aesthetic, she looked comically misplaced, like a seamlessly done photo editing job.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” she said in a voice as crisp as a newly-printed book. She had a stern look about her, like a Victorian schoolmarm that was not averse to using the cane on a disobedient student.

Not surprisingly, those were the teachers that Hermione often got along the best with.

“Have a seat, dear,” Mum said, patting the spot next to her. Dad got to his feet quickly, as if he’d been looking for an excuse to begin pacing the length of the room. Hermione tentatively took a seat next to Mum, who reached up and began to rub at her back. “Hermione, this is Minerva McGonagall. She’s a professor at the, um…”

“The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Minerva McGonagall said with a perfectly straight face. After the fact, Hermione would reflect that choosing this strait-laced picture of poise to impart such unbelievable news was a perfect choice. After all, why would such a woman waste her time on such a silly, seemingly made-up story?

For the moment, though, she was just utterly confused.

“School of…what?”

“Miss Granger,” Minerva McGonagall said, and as she spoke, Hermione picked out a subtle Scottish brogue that gave her words a perfectly unnecessary amount of severity, “you are what is known in my society as a witch. You posses inborn magical powers that have likely already begun to manifest, and with training and dedicated study, you could become a fully-fledged magic user and a member of a community you can scarcely imagine.”

“I’m…magic?” Hermione spoke after a long pause. She looked at Mum and Dad, desperately hoping that this wasn’t some sort of elaborate prank. But Mum wore the same sad smile she had the first day Hermione had started kindergarten, and Dad hadn’t stopped his agitated pacing. They were no actors; perhaps the professor had shown them some sort of magic that had convinced them? “Could…could you do something to show me? Some kind of magic?”

The professor nodded, favoring Hermione with a small smile. She likely took a bit of joy out of showing up in a young child’s life and literally bringing magic to their world. Taking out a long and ornate-looking stick that Hermione guessed was a magic wand, she flicked it in the direction of the teapot. An instant later, the century-old Granger family heirloom was a small turtle, looking quite confused at the fact. It took one look at the woman brandishing a wand at it and ducked into its shell.

“Oh my goodness,” Hermione whispered slowly.

“My grandmother gave me that teapot,” Dad said, speaking for the first time since Hermione had sat down. “Bloody hell, is she going to be able to do that?”

“In time and with practice, she’ll be able to do significantly more,” Professor McGonagall said, idly returning the teapot back from its brief foray into sentience. “If she attends Hogwarts School, she will be instructed by the most brilliant minds of the magical world.”

“And…she won’t be at a disadvantage?” Mum asked, now hugging Hermione closely and bringing the scent of her perfume. “Because she’s…from non-magic parents?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Professor McGonagall assured her. “Plenty of the most brilliant minds I’ve had the pleasure to teach come from muggle parents. To children raised in magical families, this is a part of life. It’s rather boring, run-of-the-mill to them. But a child from a muggle family is often so fascinated by the world they’re to be a part of, they study all they can of it and end up being ahead of the curve, so to speak.”

“Oh, that will certainly be our Hermione,” Dad said with a smile. “I bet she’s already itching to get her hands on every book she can in that school library.”

“Maybe,” Hermione huffed, and even Professor McGonagall shared a laugh with her parents at that. Taking a prim sip of her tea, she reached into a small handbag at her side, producing a large and ornate-looking letter in a parchment envelope. An actual wax seal held it shut, pressed into place with a shield set with a letter ‘H’ . Holding the envelope out to Hermione, the professor eyed her.

“This is your acceptance letter,” she said. “Feel free to take some time to think about it, but term starts on the first of September. You’ll find a pamphlet in there as well, explaining many of the most common questions muggle-born students and their families have.”

Present day…

The pamphlet. That…damnable pamphlet, to borrow a favorite phrase of Dad’s.

Of course, Hermione had absolutely begged to go to Hogwarts, and after some time to mull the decision over, Mum and Dad had acquiesced, likely knowing it would be the worst sort of torture to deny Hermione the opportunity to learn actual magic. Only later, after opening the letter and studying the pamphlet that had come along with it had she truly realized what she was signing up for.

Fixing her tie in place, Hermione pulled the sweater vest over it and then set to tugging the buckled shoes into place over her knee socks, her diaper crinkling softly as she shifted her legs around. The uniform looked mostly like any standard school uniform; a pleated skirt for the girls or trousers for the boys, button-down shirt, black tie, and a sweater vest for the cooler months. The two most striking differences were a robe instead of a blazer and (in the case of the female portion of the student body) a diaper.

As she went back to her bag to fasten it up, the much-maligned pamphlet itself greeted her from between a stack of books she’d brought along under the mistaken impression that she’d be able to focus enough to read on this journey. Tugging it out, she sighed and opened to the page that had foretold her padded doom. Knowing it would only rile her up all over again, she read it nonetheless.


As toilet-training does not begin for witches until 20 – 22 years of age, all female students—including those from muggle families—are to wear the school-issued diapers at all times except when bathing. Furthermore, the boys’ lavatories are strictly off-limits to any female student. Female students fourth year and above are permitted to change their own diapers but may still report to the Infirmary to be changed by a nurse. Female students third year and below MUST report to a nurse for a change.

Muggle-born female students will receive a package of Hogwarts-issued diapers within one week of responding in the affirmative to their acceptance letter. Upon the breaking of the package seal, a very slight (and perfectly harmless) Memory Modification enchantment will take effect, and your parents or caretaker will begin to change you as needed without prompting. Rest assured that this will not affect their personalities in any significant manner and is only to ensure that you continue to follow school policy during the summer months.


And that was that. No explanation provided as to why toilet-training was left until a witch’s early twenties, no justification given for the gross double-standard. Boys were allowed to toilet-train and graduate to real underwear while girls were kept diaper-bound for two extra decades ? Hermione hadn’t worn a diaper since she was two, and now she faced at least another seven years, and more if she wanted to remain a part of magical society.

The real rub was, she did . The more she read, the more she learned, the more she yearned to dive deeper down this rabbit hole. This wasn’t just another society, this was a whole other world , and she’d been handed a golden ticket to participate. But instead of Willy Wonka, she’d been given her wish by a trickster genie, a monkey’s paw that had curled its ugly finger down and left her cursing herself for ever hoping that her fantasy stories might come to life someday.

Maybe she was being a bit melodramatic, but she’d had some really cute knickers back home that she’d never be able to wear now.

Plus, it was downright embarrassing . Cultural norm or not, the thought of wetting herself (or more ) in front of anyone was the literal stuff of nightmares, and she would have to live that nightmare every day in front of hundreds of her fellow students.

She was pulled from her spiral of self-pity by the dragging sound of her compartment door being pulled open, letting in the murmur of chatter from the corridor outside.

“Um…excuse me?” a small voice asked, and Hermione looked up to see a boy standing there. Hurriedly, she reached down to fix her skirt and make sure her wet diaper wasn’t showing.

“Hello,” she said politely.

“Oh, um, hi,” the boy said with a wave. He was short and a bit plump, with a tummy that stretched the front of his uniform taut. His face was equally round, topped with a thatch of messy brown hair in dire need of a comb. With his partially-tucked shirt and mismatched buttons, he looked a proper mess, and Hermione fought a stab of irritation at the notion that this boy was allowed to use a loo while she was relegated to diapers.

But she mustn’t dwell.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, trying to keep a note of impatience out of her voice when he continued to simply look at her. Wincing a bit, the boy toyed with his tie as he spoke.

“I was…wondering if you’ve seen a toad?” he asked. “I’ve lost mine. His name is Trevor, but he won’t answer to it. It’s just what I call him. I’m Neville, by the way. Neville Longbottom.”

“I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione said, her irritation melting in the face of this boy’s obvious concern for his pet. “I haven’t seen a toad, but I could help you ask around?”

“Would you?” Neville asked with a look of profound relief. “That would be brilliant, thank you.”

Getting to her feet, Hermione tried to ignore the puffy feeling of her diaper pressing gently but insistently against her thighs, as if to remind her that it was still there. With a lurch in her chest, she realized that Neville Longbottom was fully aware that she was in a diaper, as every boy would be. This thought wedged itself firmly in the forefront of her mind as she stepped past him into the crowded corridor.

“I’ll, um…check this way and you can check that way, alright?” she asked, pointing past him. Neville nodded with one last breathless “thank you” before hurrying away. Shutting her compartment behind her, Hermione turned and pressed through the crowd. Groups of students stood chatting and catching up after the summer, and Hermione caught meaningless snatches of conversations as she walked along.

“…new eyeliner, it really suits you…”

“…snogged a few times, but it wasn’t that great…”

“…for a change before the feast, I’d rather not…”

“…muggle-born girls? You can spot them easy…”

It was oddly familiar, no different than walking down a crowded hallway in her old school. And, like her old school, most of her classmates were…well an immature lot. The first compartment Hermione poked her head into was occupied by about five boys, and at least two of them looked to be fellow first years.

“Pardon me,” Hermione said politely. “Have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville’s lost his.”

“A toad?” one of the older boys asked with a chuckle. “Who still has those?”

“Oi, show Robbie your diaper!” one of the others said.

“Yeah, they’re muggle-born, they never seen it before,” the first boy said. “C’mon, just a quick one, innit?”

Hermione hurriedly stepped back and shoved the compartment door shut, feeling furious tears in her eyes as the boys’ laughter followed her down the corridor. She quickly swiped at her eyes, not wanting to be seen crying before the first day of classes had even begun.

It had to be worth it. This whole thing had to be worth it once she actually saw everything that this school had to offer.

The next few compartments yielded no results, though the occupants were much kinder. A compartment full of girls (all smelling strongly of baby powder) welcomed her to Hogwarts with kind smiles, and another group of boys simply shook their heads when asked about a toad.

At least they didn’t ask to see her diaper.

In the fourth compartment she checked, two boys sat opposite each other while sharing an absolute pile of snacks from the trolley. Mum and Dad would have wept at the amount of sugar they had likely consumed judging from the empty wrappers strewn about the floor. While a black-haired boy with round National Health glasses watched, his redheaded companion pointed his wand at a rat that sat in his lap.

“Have either of you seen…?” Hermione trailed off when she took in the scene. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

“He’s going to turn the rat yellow,” the black-haired boy said, sparing Hermione a quick glance. If Neville Longbottom’s hair was messy, his was utterly hopeless, and Hermione sympathized. Her own bushy hair was an untamable mess on the best days.

“Yeah, so do you mind?” the redhead asked her. Freckle-faced and ginger-haired, he had a shabby look to him, and the ill fit of his robes implied that they had come secondhand.

“Could I actually see?” Hermione asked, gesturing at the rat. Shrugging, the redhead cleared his throat theatrically and pointed the wand at the rat.

Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow.

He twitched the wand, which succeeded only in giving the rat a short zap to its bald tail and sending it burrowing frantically into his pocket to hide.

Hermione stared at the scene, askance. This was what the magical world had to offer? That hadn’t been a spell, that had been a poem . An even basic knowledge of the etymology behind incantations and their Latin roots would have been all he needed to understand that whoever had told him that spell had been pulling his leg.

“Are you…sure that’s a real spell?” she asked. “Only it doesn’t seem like it. I’ve read up on a lot of spells and even done a few as practice.”

“Well, go on, then, if you’re so brilliant,” the redhead bristled, his face flushing red all the way to his ears. “Show us one.”

Blinking at him, Hermione shrugged and took out her wand (ten and three-quarters inches, vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core), looking around their compartment to see if she could spot a proper opportunity to demonstrate something. Her eyes landed on the black-haired boy’s glasses, which seemed to have been snapped clean in half and were now held together with tape. Well, that was a simple enough fix.

“Alright, hold still,” she said, holding her wand up to the boy’s face and watching with amusement as his eyes crossed. “ Reparo .”

A nearly invisible jet of light shot from the tip of her wand, and the glasses twitched as the break mended together perfectly. Lowering her wand, Hermione smiled at him, watching him pull the eyewear away to examine it.

“Brilliant,” he said after a pause, and Hermione tried not to look smug as she pocketed her wand. He seemed nice enough, though his redheaded friend had a mean look about him as he glared at her effortlessly showing him up. Hermione was just about to attempt an actual human conversation with the two when she felt a sudden and mildly insistent push in her lower regions.


Were she not…in her present state of dress, it would have been a simple matter to excuse herself to the loo with time to spare. As it was, that wasn’t an option, but there was no way she would be… She couldn’t bear to even think it. But that would most certainly not be happening in front of these boys!

The fact that it was happening at all was distressing enough.

“Well, I expect we’ll be arriving soon,” she said, noticing that the two were still in their casual clothes and seeing a perfect opportunity to duck out. “You two should probably change into your uniforms.”

Leaving them with that statement, Hermione made her way back down the corridor and to her compartment, finding it still blissfully empty. She slid the door shut and locked it, breathing a sigh of relief before checking her watch. The train actually would be arriving soon, and she knew for a fact that those nurses mentioned in the pamphlet would be on hand to…change the girls’ diapers before the big Welcoming Feast.

So, at least she wouldn’t have to deal with this situation for particularly long.

Alone in her compartment, Hermione shifted her feet apart, and she relaxed. And she pushed. She could feel things opening up, and then a warm slide followed by the curious feeling of her padding filling. Rather than be deposited in a toilet, everything simply mushed against the seat of her diaper, leaving her feeling an empty sort of relief that mingled with a profound embarrassment.

And that was that. No fanfare, no time spent cleaning or redressing herself after a trip to the loo, no consideration given to the lavatory at all. Just a pile of mush in her already soaked diaper, several hours’ worth of trips to the toilet, all just carried with her instead. As the sky darkened outside and the lanterns in the train car sprang to life, Hermione took her seat once more, unable to stop a slight sound of discomfort as the mess pressed into her.

The remainder of the journey was spent once again staring out the window, occasionally dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.


I like it so far! Im definitely a fan of the hp fanfics

really good story! cant wait to see more! love HP abdl stuff!

Okay, this one is the end of what I call the Prologue, which basically means no more flashbacks after this point. The story ended up starting in an anachronistic order, and I didn’t want that to just suddenly stop after the first couple chapters, so they’re a prologue. Everything from here on out will be happening in chronological order.

Also, I’ll ask now if anyone would mind this story veering occasionally away from diapers and toward more vanilla fanfiction areas, because I’m having a lot of fun ideas that don’t really have anything to do with the ABDL aspects of this story.

Let me know, please.

Prologue, Part Two

Four weeks ago…

In the center of London, down a quiet side street, there sat a pub known as The Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had had to point it out to Mum and Dad three times before they’d noticed it, and Dad had wondered if it had even been open.

Thankfully, the pamphlet—shocking though some of the revelations had been—had told her to expect this. The Leaky Cauldron hid the entrance to the hub of all things magic in England, known as Diagon Alley, and as such the entrance was guarded with the most stringent Muggle-Repellent Charms.

It also served what Dad called a “damn decent plate of bangers and mash”, which he dug into with gusto while the trio had a quick bite before going shopping. Mum had chosen a cottage pie that was apparently the best she’d ever had, and Hermione was picking slowly at a salmon sandwich. It was delicious, but she could scarcely enjoy it with her mind swimming with what she had learned about this world and its policies regarding toilet training.

Diapers? If she wanted an education in all things magic, if she wanted to learn how to use this inborn talent of hers, she was expected to strap on a diaper and eschew all notions of toilets and such. Not only that, but for the first three years, she wouldn’t even be permitted to change herself. And the whole time, the boys would be unaffected, wearing perfectly normal underwear and using the toilet with impunity. It flew in the face of every single one of Hermione’s views about equality between the sexes.

But if she wanted to learn magic, she would have to play by their rules.

For now.

Behind the pub was a small closed-off alley, a dingy thing with only a few rusty bins and ancient wooden crates that looked like they hadn’t been moved in a century. Here, in this unassuming (and filthy!) brick and concrete square, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron—a positively ancient man named Tom—showed Hermione the entrance to Diagon Alley, accessible by tapping a particular brick in the wall.

“Three up from this bin ‘ere,” Tom said, raising his arm higher than Hermione though his hunch should have allowed, “and two across. Give it a tap with your wand once you get one. And you ask me, that oughta be your first stop. Ollivander’s is right down the main drag, and he’s been in the business long as I can remember. If it ain’t from Ollivander’s, it ain’t more than a stick.”

With such a sterling endorsement, it seemed only right to follow his advice.

“Thank you for your help,” Mum said, and Tom gave her a beaming smile that showed all four of his teeth before he reached out and tapped the brick he’d indicated. Hermione watched in wonder as the wall itself began to shift and fold away from that point, bricks sliding and reshaping into an archway large enough for an elephant to walk through.

On the other side was Diagon Alley.

Hermione hadn’t anticipated how massive the place would be. She’d been expecting a cozy block of shops populated with a bunch of old bearded men in funny robes, maybe a handsome elven archer or a rugged human ranger…

Well, there was certainly a smattering of bearded old men, albeit among a massive throng of people. Hermione was reminded of a crowded shopping center; the alley (though it was as wide as a small road) was positively packed with all manner of visitor. Men, women, family groups, all chattering in a din of mingling conversations. Hermione noticed that the favored fashions among the older crowd tended toward Minerva McGonagall’s choice of vintage clothing, though the men seemed to prefer their jackets cut nearly floor length not unlike a robe. Some of the eldest among the milling masses were simply dressed in flowing robes, fitting Hermione’s imaginings of Gandalf and Merlin out for a Sunday shopping trip.

Witches and wizards under forty, however, were equally split between the classic look of their parents and a more modern muggle dress sense. Jeans and t-shirts and casual skirts cropped up nearly as often as a three-piece suit or lace-trimmed dress.

And each and every girl, Hermione couldn’t help but remind herself, was wearing a diaper.

As they moved through the crowd, Hermione couldn’t help but steal a few glances. A ruffled waistband sticking out of a pair of jeans, the glimpse of leg gathers under a skirt lifted by an errant breeze, and even once a young girl of eight looking absolutely unbothered about having her dress lifted in plain view of anyone while her mother gave her a check. But why should she care?

This was normal for them.

Was she the only girl her age here wearing regular panties? What if she had to use the loo? Would she even be allowed? Surely some of the muggle-born girls like her went shopping before their promised package of diapers arrived.

“Hermione?” Mum’s voice snapped her out of her musings, and she looked up to see a hand coming in to brush a lock of hair from her face. Mum had no idea where Hermione’s out-of-control mane had come from; though she greatly resembled Hermione, her hair was a darker brown color that was nearly black and perfectly able to be combed and styled how she pleased.

That was often something of a sore point for Hermione.

“Lost in thought, per usual,” Dad chuckled, his sandy brown hair fluttering wispily in the wind. “Reckon this is where we get your wand?”

He pointed up at the sign, which read ‘Ollivander’s’ in an unnecessarily curly font. That was the place that Tom had mentioned.

“Do you think they’re quite dangerous, dear?” Mum asked as Hermione led the way into the store.

“Long as she doesn’t turn the car into some sort of rhino or set the second floor on fire, I’m sound,” Dad said.

“But the first floor is fair game,” Mum said in amused tones.

“We’ve been looking to redo the dining room anyway,” Dad pointed out.

As they spoke, Hermione pressed into the wand shop, which had the dusty, quiet, and old feel of a library and instantly put Hermione at ease as such. Behind the counter, an old man with white hair that was clearly trying to escape his scalp and silvery eyes stuck perpetually wide open stood hunched over the wooden surface, staring unblinkingly down at a bundle of stringy…stuff.

“Um…pardon me?” Hermione asked.

“Dragon heartstring…”

He muttered so quietly that Hermione wasn’t even sure if he’d spoken at first. This declaration hung in the air for long enough that Dad coughed awkwardly from near the door, prompting the strange man to slowly look up with a breezy smile.

“Good day, good day,” he said. “My apologies, I’ve just procured quite a fine specimen of dragon heartstring. Seven units, which means a possible seven future wands. I’m only waiting for them to seek out the wood they would inhabit.”

“Dragon…heartstring?” Hermione asked, and the man who had to be Ollivander nodded.

“One of three cores that I use in my wands,” he said. “Dragon heartstring, unicorn tail hair, and phoenix feather. Three extraordinarily powerful creatures, magic made nature. Other cores can be used, but their success rate is…spotty at best.”

Those three sentences alone had Hermione wanting to pelt the man with about a million questions, but she refrained out of a simple desire to get a wand.

Okay, she couldn’t resist one.

“What other cores do they use?” she asked, staring up at the wandmaker, who look pleasantly surprised at her interest.

“Well, various magical creatures are of course often chosen,” he said. “Thestral hair is one of the more potent choices, though the nature of the creature means wands made from its tail hairs are often believed to be cursed. Griffin feathers are quite popular, as well as their tail hairs, except they’ve been classified as an endangered species in recent years.”

“And that means you can’t use them for wand cores?” Hermione asked.

“As I said, results are spotty at best,” Ollivander said. “To craft even one viable wand, several failures are often necessary. In the case of griffins, many failures. With them, endangered, the Ministry of Magic would not take kindly to me leaving a bald griffin hobbling around their griffin sanctuaries for the sake of only two or three wands.”

Hermione amused herself with the mental image of a plucked griffin, though she was disheartened to hear they were endangered. Still, the mere fact that they were real was exhilarating, and she vowed to at least see one someday.

“But,” Ollivander said, clapping a pair of dry, calloused hands together, “let us talk of your wand. It’s here, isn’t it? Somewhere in my stores, it waits for you. Let us find it together, shall we?”

Ollivander started by measuring Hermione absolutely everywhere . Taking out a long tape measure, he began with the expected approach, measuring Hermione’s “wand arm” (which she assumed meant her dominant one) first from shoulder to fingertips, then from elbow to wrist. Then he measured her from toe to head, followed by head to toe (the numbers were somehow different), then toe to toe. By the time he was measuring the exact space between her right eye and her right index finger, Hermione realized that he was no long even holding the thing, which was now determining the length of her shadow cast by the single beam of light through the open window.

Hermione assumed this was all pertinent somehow.

“And I think we’ve enough to work with,” Ollivander said, immediately before the tape measure crumpled to the ground, forgotten. Hermione looked up to see him approaching with a stack of boxes, and for a moment, she was reminded of her last shoe-shopping trip with Mum and Dad. Well, trying out a wand should be immensely quicker, right? All she had to do was give it a wave.

“Alright, why don’t we start you off with eight and three-quarter inches, willow, unicorn hair?” Ollivander said, extricating the wand in question from a box that Hermione noticed had no label. Had he simply memorized them? Perhaps he had some innate magic sense that simply made him able to identify a wand at a mere touch? He held the wand out, and Hermione took it, though she’d scarcely raised it above her head when Ollivander snatched it right back. “No, no, not at all. Something…steadier, I think.”

He sifted through the stack of boxes, humming thoughtfully as he withdrew another wand.

“Here we are,” he said. “Rosewood, dragon heartstring, ten and five-eighths inches. Give it a whirl.”

Hermione plucked this one up, waiting to see if Ollivander would snatch it back, though he only gave her an encouraging gesture. Raising the wand, she brought it down in a flourishing gesture that felt just a little silly. When nothing of note happened, Ollivander took the wand back, looking almost pleased at how finicky a customer Hermione was shaping up to be.

“That one was…better,” he said. “Perhaps vine wood, dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarters inches. Give it a go.”

He passed another wand to Hermione, who gasped as she felt a buzz of energy, like the wand itself was humming in her hand. This surely had to be the right one. She waved it, and a shower of blue sparks surged forth, causing spots to dance in front of her eyes as she turned to see Mum and Dad giving her a little round of applause.

“Did you see that!?” she whooped.

“I do believe that’s the one,” Dad said.

“Indeed, you won’t get better results than that,” Ollivander agreed, looking pleased as punch himself. “Still got it.”

In short order, the wand was paid for, though Ollivander cautioned them that while he was happy to accept muggle money and take it to the bank to exchange at the end of his business day, many of the shops in Diagon Alley only accepted the magical world’s currency. Hermione thought the concept of a separate currency was needlessly complicated, when the magical world existed concurrently to the muggle world and overlapped quite a bit. When over half of your population lived on the muggle side of things, why not shift to their unit of money?

Then again, she was beginning to learn that wizards weren’t the most logical sort.

Tucking her wand into a bag, Hermione and her parents bade farewell to Ollivander, heading straight for Gringott’s Bank. The massive white marble building cut an impressive profile in the middle of the alley, reminding Hermione of the jutting skyscrapers in Times Square in New York City. Rather than massive advertisements, though, the building sported a beautifully-carved snow-white façade. Inside, an actual goblin accepted nearly two hundred pounds from Dad and passed back a pile of actual gold coins, along with a few silver and copper ones.

“Now mind you don’t go trying to sell those in any of your muggle stores,” the goblin cautioned him in a reedy voice. “Doing so is a violation of the statute of secrecy, and all three of you will have your memories of any and all magic wiped clean.”

“…Well…I’ll see to it I hang onto these, then,” Dad said with a nod, packing the coins into Mum’s purse and ushering them out of the bank. “Scary bloke, isn’t he?”

“Probably has to be, if he’s in charge of all this wizard money,” Mum agreed.

From the bank, they went on to the Apothecary to purchase everything Hermione would need to properly brew a potion (including a solid pewter cauldron to brew it in), and Hermione was thankful that wizard shopping bags seemed quite a bit more spacious on the inside than they appeared. The next stop was the bookshop Flourish and Blott’s, which Hermione could have spent a whole week in and not seen enough of. She bought every book on her school reading list and at least a dozen more; the sheer scope of this world was mind-boggling, and the rich history and lore was utterly fascinating!

They visited what felt like every shop in Diagon Alley that day, though Hermione knew it was only a fraction of what there was to see. How did they hide all of this right in the center of London!? Quill shops, broom emporiums (it seemed broomsticks were something akin to motorcycles among wizards), magical menageries selling owls and cats and belching toads. There was simply too much to see. It was like the time her parents had taken her to the Disney Resort in France and she simply hadn’t had enough hours to see it all.

The final stop of the day was Madame Malkin’s, where Hermione would be fitted for her school uniform. Madame Malkin herself was a kindly, plump woman who immediately had Hermione hop onto a stool and started taking all the necessary measurements. Like Ollivander, her tape measure seemed able to work on its own with minimal help from her, though it showed much less fervor in doing its job.

“Tut tut, dear,” Madame Malkin said as she wrapped the tape measure around Hermione’s waist. At first, Hermione wasn’t sure what she was so disapproving of, but Madame Malkin gave her a gentle poke in the tummy. “I’ll never understand why muggle girls subject themselves to so much needless stress.”

Of course. She was wondering why Hermione wasn’t wearing a diaper.

“I just wanted to…enjoy it while I can,” she said in a quiet voice. Thankfully, Mum and Dad were busying themselves in the main showroom, dubiously examining the latest in wizard fashion. Hermione hadn’t told them and didn’t plan to do so before she took the plunge. It would just needlessly upset them.

“A girl your age has no business wearing such grown-up underthings,” the seamstress said with a click of her tongue. “Every year, I get one or two of you, going on about how it’s not fair and moping over the whole thing like it’s some ordeal. You’ll have to make the switch at some point, and better it be sooner than later. Once you get to Hogwarts, they check every one of you for the Pre-Sorting Change. If you’re found still in those tart’s knickers, you’ll start the year off with a detention.”

Hermione fell silent at that, her good mood deflated at the woman’s chastisement. Thankfully, it was straight home after that, and she feigned sleep for the car ride. The whole time, she mulled over the woman’s warning.

“You’ll have to make the switch at some point…”

No matter how much she fussed, no matter how much she put it off, it was an irrevocable fact.

If Hermione Granger wanted to continue being part of the magical world, she would have to go back to diapers.


The train slowed to a stop, and Hermione did as she had been instructed in the pamphlet and stowed her carry-on bag in the overhead rack. It would apparently be transported, along with the rest of her luggage, to her dormitory once she was assigned a house. Empty-handed (but with quite a full diaper), she joined the throng of students leaving the train. Many of the younger girls seemed in states of similar distress to her, no doubt discomforted by their packed padding.

The older ones, able to change themselves as they were, didn’t appear quite as bothered.

As she stepped down off the train and into a cool late spring evening, a booming voice rang over the train’s platform, carrying easily over the din of babble among the students.

“Firs’ years, this way! Firs’ years, follow me!”

A literal giant of a man loomed over the crowd, his massive figure wrapped in a lumpy brown coat that was half-hidden beneath a burly beard and long hair that left his eyes and nose his only visible features. If the other students hadn’t seemed so unaffected by his presence (some were even greeting him like an old friend), Hermione might have thought he was some wild man that had wandered into their midst and was attempting the least-subtle kidnapping ever.

Instead, she made her way over to the large man, falling into step next to the boy with the glasses and the redhead from the train. She was soon joined by Neville, the boy with the lost toad, who seemed to have found his wayward pet and was attempting to stuff the toad into a pocket of his robes.

He was having little success.

“Hey, Hagrid!” the boy with the glasses called to the large man, whose eyes crinkled with a grin.

“Alrigh’, Harry!?”

Well, the large man’s name was Hagrid, at least. The name “Harry” felt like it should have been significant to Hermione, though. Neville was the one who jogged her memory, nudging her in the elbow.

“Is that Harry Potter?” he asked in a low voice, and Hermione finally placed the name. Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Well, his age lined up, at least. When he’d only been an infant, Harry Potter’s parents had been tracked down and murdered by a dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort. Wanting to make a clean job of it, apparently, he’d then turned his wand on Harry, only to have the Killing Curse rebound and kill him instead.

Thus, at the tender age of one, Harry Potter had been responsible for the defeat of one of the most prolific wizard terrorists in Great Britain.

And Mum and Dad called her a prodigy.

Hagrid led them down a wooded path that was lit insubstantially by evenly-placed lanterns. It was quiet save for the sounds of the forest around them and the soft rustling of the girls’ diapers. A few snatches of whispered conversation made it above the wind, but not much was said.

Eventually, the path led to a stone set of stairs, and Hermione was careful not to slip on the wet rock as they made their way down toward a small dock on the edge of a vast mirror-black lake. Clustered along the dock, a small fleet of boats awaited them.

“No more’n four to a boat, mind,” Hagrid said, and the various first years began to cluster together like the teacher had just assigned a group project. Hermione and Neville followed Harry Potter and his redheaded friend toward a boat, but the redhead spotted Hermione and shook his head.

“Oi, I don’t want some girl sitting near me with a great full diaper stinking the boat up,” he said.

“Ron,” Harry said in a chiding tone.

“What?” Ron said. “I deal with it enough with my sister at home.”

“Hogwarts diapers have scent-blockers,” Hermione told him in a quavering voice, suddenly keenly aware of the mushy mess in the seat of her pants. “It’s not like I chose to wear them.”

“You’re being really mean,” Neville said, putting a hand on Hermione’s back, between her shoulder blades. It was an oddly comforting gesture from him, one that did wonders to shrink the lump growing in her throat. “You should treat girls nicer than that.”

He helped Hermione into the boat despite Ron’s huffy protestations, and Hermione felt a swell of appreciation for the round-faced boy. He even helped her sit, though this simply brought more of her attention to the shifting mess in the seat of her diaper.

At least she would be changed soon.

Once they were all seated, the boats took off of their own accord, gliding silently along the water. Under better circumstances, the view would have been breathtaking; the lake was such a perfect reflection of the sky above that it looked like they were floating through the stars. As it was, the feel of her full diaper and the lingering sting of Ron’s words kept her from fully appreciating the sights.

“And there’s th’ castle,” Hagrid said, pointing ahead as the boats steered themselves around an outcropping of rocks that had previously been blocking the view. A chorus of gasps rang out, and Hermione’s joined the rest as she caught sight of the place that would serve as her school.

Hogwarts was an actual castle, a massive one that looked like it had been built thousands of years ago and meticulously maintained ever since. Far from the crumbling ruins tourists visited, this was a castle in its prime, with jutting turrets, massive courtyards, and windows lit with a welcoming orange glow that shimmered off of the lake’s surface. Out here in the chilly evening air with a cold wind blowing off of the lake, Hermione yearned to be inside, preferably tucking into a hot meal.

The castle soon disappeared overhead as they passed into a small cove. A flat stone landing served as the dock, and they disembarked. Neville hopped off the boat first and made sure to help Hermione out (both of them ignoring Ron’s disgust as her diapered bottom passed by his face), before the two of them joined the crowd near the lone wooden door. Hagrid raised a hand the size of a small child and rapped it twice against the door, which Hermione was surprised didn’t even crack under the force.

Seconds later, Professor McGonagall opened the door, peering imperiously down at the gathered children.

“Professor McGonagall, ma’am,” Hagrid said with a flourishing movement of his hand that nearly batted one of the children across the cave, “the first years fer yeh.”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” the professor said, her voice as prim and crisp as Hermione remembered. “I will take them from here. Everyone inside, if you please.”

The first years filed past her and into a long stone room, and Hermione felt her face heat up at the sight that greeted them.

“Oh, no,” she muttered.

Along the wall to the right, over a dozen tables had been arranged, and there was no other apparent purpose for them than to perform a diaper change. Each table was attended by a smiling nurse in pristine white robes and aprons. None of them looked much older than their late twenties, leaving Hermione to wonder if this was some sort of internship that they had to go through.

“Girls, if you would please form an orderly line at each table,” Professor McGonagall requested, “there should be no more than five or six in each line. If you are not properly attired, you will start your term with a detention. When the nurse has finished your change, wait by the door for me to come and collect you.”

She made for the door, gesturing the boys to follow. A few of them lingered a bit and watched as the girls made for the changing area. Hermione wondered how many muggle-born boys were (like her) balking at this strange dichotomy.

Then again, most of them probably didn’t even know the word dichotomy.

Hermione joined the rest of the girls as they queued up, winding up second in line right behind a girl with long blonde hair and cold blue eyes. The confident way she strode to the changing table and allowed herself to be lifted up by the nurse suggested to Hermione that she was from a wizarding family and used to this sort of thing. A few other muggle-born girls had found themselves in the lead of a line and were hesitantly shuffling forward, coaxed along by the very patient nurses.

Surprised that there weren’t at least dividers put up, Hermione looked away as the nurse flipped the girl’s skirt right up and set about changing her. Behind Hermione stood two Indian girls that were obviously twins. They looked a bit bored by the proceedings, though they smiled politely at her.

“Hello,” the one closer to her said. “Muggle-born?”

“How can you tell?” Hermione asked with a little smile back.

“Oh, it’s all over your face,” the other one said. “You’ll get used to it. By second year, most girls have adjusted.”

“That’s what worries me,” Hermione admitted.

“Next up, the lovely lass with the brown hair!” a voice sang out, and the blonde girl from before strode by, apparently finished with her diaper change. Hermione was up. Taking a deep breath, she made her slow way toward the table, unsure why she was delaying the inevitable. She should want to at least be in a clean diaper. The nurse spoke with a rich and welcoming Irish accent, smiling down at Hermione through a thick spattering of freckles and sandy blonde bangs. “C’mon, sweet-pea, nothing to be nervous about. What’s yer name?”

“Hermione,” she said, squeaking as the nurse lifted her easily onto the table and guided her to lie down.

“Well, Hermione, I’m Moira,” her nurse said. “Moira Finnigan. My wee little brother’s starting this year, too.”

“He doesn’t have to wear diapers, though,” Hermione huffed, aware that she sounded like a petulant little girl. She supposed she was one, for the moment. Letting a small giggle, Moira hiked up Hermione’s skirt and deftly undid the tapes on her diaper, which fell open under the weight of her mess.

“No, I s’pose he doesn’t,” Moira said, pressing Hermione’s legs apart as she instinctively tried to preserve her modesty. She was completely exposed! “That’s his loss, though, I’d say. Loads more responsibility on his head while you get to be taken care of.”

That was a unique way of looking at it, Hermione supposed, jolting as the nurse started swiping at her with a wet wipe. When Hermione’s mess got to be too much for just one, Moira tucked it into the diaper and grabbed at another, lifting her charge to slide the used padding away and deliver a final few wipes.

At least it felt nice to be clean again.

“Are you excited to start school?” Moira asked, taking out another diaper from under the table and unfolding it with a single flip. Scooping Hermione up by the ankles, she lifted and slid the new diaper in place, deftly lowering her bottom into the thick and crinkly softness.

“I-I suppose it’ll be exciting,” Hermione answered her, gasping as the nurse began to smear on some ointment.

“I know it’s a lot to adjust to for a muggle-born girl,” Moira said, wiping her hands before dusting Hermione with baby powder that settled thick onto her groin and butt. “Me dad’s a muggle, and he was so confused when Mam explained that they’d be potty-training little Seamus before me.”

“That didn’t make you feel…inadequate?” Hermione asked, and Moira looked thoughtful before shrugging as she pulled up the front of Hermione’s diaper and pressed it firmly in place, fixing one tape in place and then the other.

“It made me feel safe and loved, more’n anything,” she said. “Me parents and I are closer than ever. Mam still changes me sometimes when I visit.”

“You’re…” Hermione trailed off, and Moira helped her off the table before reaching back and giving her own bum a quick smack. Under her white nurse robes, a muffled fump sounded, indicating the thick padding concealed underneath.

“Still got a year or so before I start wearing training pants,” she said with a wink as she balled up Hermione’s old diaper and tossed it into a nearby bin. “Next, Twin One or Twin Two, let’s see yeh fight over it!”

Hermione made her way to the door where all the other girls were waiting, hearing the two Indian girls giggling as they jostled to be next in line for a change.

“Padma, let me go first, I have a messy one!”

“Nooo!” Padma said with a giggle. “You stay messy!”

As she lingered near the door, Hermione heard a small commotion at the nearest changing station, where a girl was apparently getting a bit fussy with the nurse, who held a pair of knickers behind her to be taken away by another who had already finished changing all of her girls.

“Give them back! I’m toilet-trained, I don’t need to wear diapers!”

“Listen, darling, I know this is a lot to take in,” the nurse said in a kindly voice, “so if you lie down and be good, we’ll get you all dressed and Professor McGonagall doesn’t have to know about it.”

“Or,” another nurse piped in, this one with a steely tone obviously meant to play “bad cop”, “you get a spanking and detention and put in a diaper anyway . The only way this doesn’t end with you diapered is you going home and forgetting all about this.”

“But it’s not fair!” the girl huffed, even as she allowed the nurses to soothe her and guide her onto her back. Seconds later, her words were cut off, and Hermione’s eyes went wide as she realized that they had popped a dummy into her mouth. Still, Hermione only felt a small bit of sympathy; the girl should have known she wouldn’t be able to bluster her way out of this, and now her first diaper was being effectively forced on her in front of a bunch of girls she’d only just met.

At least Hermione’s had been done by her own mother.

Three days ago…

Hermione sat upon her bed, cross-legged and staring at the package that had been delivered weeks ago. She could no longer delay it, and she probably already had waited too long. If she was going to make a proper go of this, she would need time to adjust to all of it.

To wearing diapers.

According to the pamphlet, once the seal on the plastic packaging was broken, a small combination of a Memory Charm and a Compulsion Charm would activate, taking hold of her parents and causing them to treat her as diaper-bound and all that that implied. They would check her diapers, change her as needed, and punish her if she was caught without one. The idea of her parents changing so fundamentally was a frightening thought, even if the pamphlet assured her that their personalities would remain intact.

Part of their personalities was the belief that she was old enough and possessed enough of her faculties not to need diapers.

But she had to. If she wanted to go to Hogwarts, she had to, and maybe she would be able to learn enough magic to undo the alterations someday.

Steeling herself, Hermione took a deep breath, reaching forward and taking the packaging in her fingers before ripping it open. Hands shaking, she widened the tear until one could reasonably fish a diaper out, getting her first look at the thick padded undergarments that would serve as her toilet for the next ten years. Just looking at it made her blush red with embarrassment, but imagining wearing them, using them…

She got to her feet and hurried out of the room, leaving the diapers to lurk menacingly on her bed while she took a shower. The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and Hermione experienced a surreal moment as she realized she was taking off her knickers for the last time in a very long time.

Well, she could make a production of it and belabor the moment, or she could press forward and get this thing over with. Ever a fan of the latter, Hermione shucked her clothes and got into the shower. She usually enjoyed a steamy rinse after supper, giving her time to wind down with a good book before bedtime. Tonight’s routine would add a new step to the mix, a fact that became apparent when Hermione heard a knock on the bathroom door.

“Hermione, love, are you in the shower?” Mum asked.

“Yes, Mum,” Hermione called back.

“Alright, let me know when you’re out so I can have a diaper ready,” Mum said.

“…Okay, Mum,” Hermione said.

And that was that. With no fanfare at all, the spells had taken effect, and as far as Mum and Dad were concerned, Hermione wore diapers.

This had to be worth it, she told herself. She was going to learn to be an actual wizard, to use magic. Her life was about to change in exciting and fantastic ways. And if the cost of that was wearing diapers, well…she could learn to live with that.

She had to.

Hermione lingered a bit in the shower, letting the hot water wash over her and build up a cloud of steam in the bathroom as it clashed with the chill in the air. Still, she couldn’t put this off all day. She had procrastinated enough; it was time to face this thing head on.

She climbed carefully from the shower (she had taken a tumble on the way out once before and was not keen to relive that experience), dripping onto the bath mat as she toweled off. Remembering Mum’s words, she opened the door and called down the hallway.

“Mum, I’m out of the shower!”

“Alright, dear, I’ll be right up!”

Heart pounding, Hermione finished drying and wrapped herself in a towel, crossing the short distance to her bedroom to find Mum already there with one of the diapers unfolded. She had a canister of powder ready as well as a tube of rash ointment.

She always preferred to be thorough, and that translated to her diapering techniques as well, it seemed.

“Let’s get you all dressed, dear,” she said with a warm smile, and Hermione nodded, finding herself unable to speak past a lump in her throat. Despite the fact that they likely meant no harm by their spells, Hermione couldn’t help but feel that these people were using her mother to further their strange diapered agenda. Helen Granger would never in her right mind have believed that her daughter belonged in diapers.

Even so, there was no sense dwelling on these thoughts. So long as Mum and Dad weren’t being harmed by these spells, Hermione could tolerate them. She made her way over to her bed and climbed up, smiling up at Mum as she set to work.

“Something the matter, Hermione?” she asked as she scooped under her daughter’s knees and lifted her bum, sliding the diaper under it and gently lowering her back down.

It was so soft…

“No, just…nervous I guess,” Hermione said, which was at least partially the truth. Mum smiled reassuringly as she dabbed some rash ointment onto her fingers and began applying it, smearing the gooey stuff along the areas Hermione was likely to get a rash should she linger too long in a used diaper. The spell seemed to be tapping into her memories of Hermione’s infancy, as she gave Hermione a little poke in the tummy as she worked, smirking when Hermione couldn’t stop a slight giggle at the tickle.

“I know you’ll knock ‘em dead, love,” she said. “You’ll show up and you’ll amaze all of them with how much you already know. And then you’ll learn so much more.”

“I just wish I didn’t have to be in diapers to do it,” Hermione said before she could stop herself. Mum dusted her with a coating of powder, patting her gently on the thigh before folding the diaper up between her legs. And just like that, Hermione’s first diaper (toddlerhood) notwithstanding was pressed into place and taped firmly around her hips.

“The less you fret on things outside of your control, the happier you’ll be,” Mum said, tucking her fingers into the leg cuffs and fixing the gathers around Hermione’s thighs.

Hermione didn’t have the heart to try to explain to her Mum that matters of her toilet-training were only outside of her control because she’d been made to put them there.


Professor McGonagall came to collect the girls only two minutes after the last one had finished receiving her change. Hermione felt an odd sort of relief now that she had been dispensed of her dirty diaper and placed in a clean one, feeling the pristine padding clinging to her and ready to receive another round of use. While she had sworn she would never admit as much about herself, she could see the allure of simply relieving oneself of her bodily functions into a diaper and having someone else take care of them. Still, that wasn’t the sort of girl she was, and she needed to keep her wits about her.

As the Deputy Headmistress led them toward the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony, Hermione reminded herself of her real goal here. She was not going to Hogwarts to be indoctrinated into some diaper-wearing girl incapable of holding her bladder or (most especially) her bowels. She was here to receive a magical education in spite of their strange customs, not to give into them.

Try as she might, though, as she followed the crowd into the Great Hall where the rest of the students were gathered, she couldn’t help the niggling thought in the back of her mind.

Was there really any point in trying to fight it?


I enjoy these girls in diapers premise stories like likolol but whenever I read one the first thing that comes to mind is how would young trans people work in this world? Is it based around a person’s AGAB (Assigned Gender At Birth)? If a person transitions do they stop or start wearing diapers accordingly? Or what about enby people? So far I really like the story though!

This is a fantastic story so far, and I really hope that you continue it.

In regards to veering into more vanilla stuff I sat do what you want to do - Though I really hope you keep going with the ABDL aspects, since this is great fanfic and we really don’t have enough of those in this universe.

Always enjoy Hermione fanfic… she seems so cute and fit to be diapered. Please don’t stop!

So, this one scene ended up taking quite some time, simply because it kept changing in my head. And the more it changed, the more this story branched out. As such, within the next day or two, I will be changing the name, as I plan to add at least one more main character to serve as a point-of-view. This will serve the dual purpose of broadening the scope and providing some insight into a pureblood girl whose only known diapers her whole life.

But, that will be next chapter. This one wound up being a bit more dense than I planned, but it was also a lot of fun to write, as I introduce two of my favorite Harry Potter characters.

Chapter One: The Sorting

Freshly diapered, the girls met up with the boys in the Hogwarts Entrance Hall, where Professor McGonagall cleared her throat to get the first-years’ attention just outside a set of massive double doors.

“Through these doors is the Great Hall,” she said. “In a moment, I will escort you in, and you will join the other students, but not before we get you sorted into your houses. The four Hogwarts houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each values a unique set of traits, and each brings something different to Hogwarts. During your stay at Hogwarts, your house will be like your family. Exemplary behavior will earn your house points, and any flouting of the rules will lose them.”

She paused there to regard the students severely, wordlessly promising the retribution that would await anyone that lost her house points.

Moments later, after some wordless cue that only Professor McGonagall seemed aware of, they were led into the Great Hall.

According to Hogwarts: A History , the Great Hall in Hogwarts had been one of the first areas constructed during the school’s inception, and had historically gone so long without a roof that when one had finally been installed, the Four Founders had determined that they had grown far too used to taking their meals under the open sky. Rowena Ravenclaw, ever the practical one, had taken out her wand and whipped it at the ceiling between bites of her morning hash.

And ever since then, the ceiling had reflected the sky outside with absolute fidelity.

Tonight, the ceiling was an inky blue, dotted with stars that occasionally disappeared behind swirling clouds. Aside from the pale light of the moon, the only other source of light in the Great Hall were thousands of candles that hovered over the four long tables dominating most of the floor space. Professor McGonagall led the first years up the aisle between the two tables in the middle and toward a smaller fifth one set along the farthest wall from the door. In front of a row of high windows, the various Hogwarts teachers were assembled, and at the very center sat the headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore himself.

With his long silvery hair and a beard that he could tuck into his belt, Albus Dumbledore looked like Gandalf, only with some fashion input from Liberace. He wore an ostentatious robe of deep crimson with a matching hat, both with gold threading stylishly sewn in. Still, as he stood and called for silence with a simple gesture of his hands, he smiled down at the arriving students with a grandfatherly air, and Hermione half-expected him to offer a piece of candy from his pocket.

“Let the Sorting Ceremony begin!” he announced. “First years, come forward when your name is called, and the Sorting Hat will find where you belong.”

As the new students clustered near the teachers’ table, Hermione watched Professor McGonagall stride up to the spot directly in front of Dumbledore. The Deputy Headmistress clutched an old wooden stool in one hand and a positively ancient-looking hat in the other. Tatty, patched and frayed, it looked like a classic wizard’s hat, the sort that a magic-user would have worn thousands of years ago.

Professor McGonagall set the stool down, placing the hat on it before reaching into a pocket of her robes to pull out a scroll of paper, which she unfurled until it nearly touched the floor. Peering down through her bifocals, the professor read out from the paper.

“Hannah Abbot!”

A girl with dark blonde hair pulled into twin braids made her way hesitantly toward the professor, who lifted the hat and gestured at the stool. Hannah sat, and Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head. The hat shifted atop her head seemingly of its own accord, and a minute or so later, the folds and creases in its form took the shape of a rudimentary face, which shouted in a deep, masculine voice.


The table to Hermione’s left erupted in cheers as Professor McGonagall removed the hat from Hannah’s head and sent her to her new house. Allowing Hannah time to sit, the Deputy Headmistress turned back to her list.

“Lavender Brown!”

Another girl made her way forward, and things proceeded in much the same way. The hat was placed on her head, and she was sent to a house, though this time Gryffindor, much to the delight of the table on the far left. According to a few of the books Hermione had read, the Sorting Hat had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself, and he’d placed numerous enchantments and such upon it, enabling it to determine the best fit for any aspiring Hogwarts student.

She wondered if anyone was allowed to simply wear the hat for a bit, to converse with it without any notions of sorting or placement of students. It must have had so much insight to offer, a perspective borne from thousands of years of students passing through, of meetings observed in the headmaster’s office, all filtered through the lens of Godric Gryffindor himself and tempered with a bit of the knowledge from each of the other three Founders.

To even spend a half hour wearing the thing had to be a fascinating experience.

“Hermione Granger!”

And just like that, it was Hermione’s turn to make her way toward the stool. It took a moment for her to find her legs underneath her as she meandered her way up toward the stool. Why did it have to be so quiet? Everyone could probably hear her diaper! Granted, that was exactly the case for the rest of the girls, but still!

Her legs gave a bit of a wobble as she climbed onto the raised platform that held the staff table, but she looked up to see Professor McGonagall giving her an encouraging smile. Fixing her skirt under her, she settled onto the stool, and the last thing she saw before the hat’s sheer size obscured her vision was a sea of curious faces staring up at her.

And then a voice was in her head with her.

“Ooh, what a lively mind I’ve been dropped on ,” it said after a moment. “I see you’ve quite the appetite for knowledge, dear. A desire to understand the world around you. But what drives that desire?”

How fascinating! She’d never interacted with a magical object before. Was it reading her thoughts? Some sort of occlumency spell? How long had Godric Gryffindor spent enchanting this object, weaving it with every spell it would need to function?

“Actually, Rowena did most of the enchanting work. Godric was more of a consultant, and she pulled a few of his personality points to use as a basis for mine. I suppose he was the most amiable and wouldn’t frighten the little blighters on their first day.”


“Well, I’m glad someone can actually appreciate all the work that went into me. Now, as to you. Driven, ambitious, dogged enough to come to this place even with the mental views they have on certain subjects…”

Shifting in her padding, Hermione was a bit dismayed to think that the only member of this society she’d met that agreed with her was a vaguely sentient hat.

“What do you mean, ‘vaguely’? I’m quite sentient, thank you. But a muggle-born…? And already so knowledgeable of our world. But beneath it all, a little subversive streak. Oooh, minds like yours are so full of such wonderful potential. You’d be suited for Gryffindor based on raw fearlessness alone, but that’s borne from a desire to learn all that you can, to truly know it all and not just be called one.”

Ouch. That one hit a bit close to home.

“Never be ashamed to be smartest one in the room, my dear. But this drive, this ambition. You don’t simply wish to collect and categorize all that you can learn, you would use it to drive yourself forward and drag the world with you if you could. You would do well, I think, in Slytherin as well.”

Slytherin? The snake house? They didn’t have the most pristine of reputations, but they were known for their cunning and guile, for their ambition in pursuit of whatever goal that they had in mind.

“Precisely. I can see it all here, even if you haven’t yet. As to the matter of your blood status, it’s certainly not a rule, or not one that I’m opposed to breaking once in a while. Goodness, I rarely meet a student so suited to three different houses. Slytherin is where I believe you’d have the most potential, but it would be a hard road. If you don’t think you’re up to the challenge…”

Oh, she knew he was playing her, but she also couldn’t stop the burning desire to take the challenging road. After all, the more challenging the path, the sweeter the reward at the end, right?

“That’s the spirit. Oh, Salazar will be rolling in his crypt. I send him a muggle-born every few years just to spite him. Welcome to…”


The last word was yelled out, and the hat was whisked away by Professor McGonagall, who Hermione noticed now looked the slightest bit… concerned? In any case, she gestured toward the table along the wall opposite the Gryffindors, where the students had begun to cheer their new house member, completely unaware that she was a muggle-born. Hermione climbed from the stool and made her way over.

As she walked, Hermione watched for the change in her robes, which had been enchanted to reflect the wearer’s house affiliation once they’d been assigned one. Sure enough, her tie changed from a uniform black to green with silver stripes, and the inner lining of her outer robe faded to a deep emerald that was actually quite nice. There were apparently smaller details that shifted as well (including the symbols on her diaper), but she didn’t have the time to look for them before she reached her new house’s table.

Two boys waved at her from the side closest to the wall, which had a few vacant spots along the long bench running the length of the table. Hermione made her way over, carefully climbing over to sit.

She probably flashed her diaper to a couple of people, but they had likely seen their share anyway.

The pair looked like they could have been related to Ron, the surly redhead from earlier. They were identical twins—indistinguishable down to the freckles—both with flaming red hair and twin mischievous smiles. While Ron was a lanky thing, the twins were stockier and only average height. Still, they were cute, if Hermione was honest with herself.

“Hey,” the closest twin said. “I’m George. That’s Fred.”

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Fred said.

“I’m Hermione, but…you already heard that.”

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat shouted, and the three turned their attention to the front of the hall, where the blonde girl that had been in front of Hermione in the line to get a diaper change was now making her way to the table. She saw Hermione and rounded the table to join her with a coolly appraising look.

“Aren’t you a muggle-born?” she said by way of introduction as she sat next to Hermione. She kept her voice low, though it looked like the twins still heard, as they looked mildly surprised to hear the question.

“You’re a muggle-born?” George asked.

“I heard you talking to those other girls while I was getting changed,” she said. “Muggle-borns almost never get put into Slytherin.”

“Why is that?” Hermione asked.

“Because Salazar Slytherin hated muggle-borns,” George explained. “He always had some mad theory about how they were polluting the magical gene pool or something. You know what a squib is, right?”

“Someone born to pureblood parents that doesn’t have magical powers,” Hermione said, and the twins nodded.

“Sally Slytherin used to say that every time a muggle-born was made, so was a squib, and that they were somehow stealing the magic from pureblood families.”

“That’s…completely demented and goes against every – “

“No, yeah, we agree,” Fred said, pausing for a moment to join the cheering as Graham Montague was made the next Slytherin. “If that were true, we’d be swimming in squibs, and the only one I even know of is an uncle of ours.”

“All the same, you should try to keep your blood status on the down-low for at least the first few weeks,” George added. “Give everyone here a chance to get to know you before you drop that on them.”

“Not everyone here’s as open-minded as us,” Fred said in mock-lofty tones, and the two girls shared a roll of the eyes at his put-upon pompous attitude.

“I’m Daphne Greengrass, by the way,” the blonde girl said. “You might not have heard my name while chatting with these charmers.”

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione introduced herself.

“So, if you’re muggle-born, you’re back in diapers pretty recently, right?” Daphne asked.

“I just had my first one put on by my mum three days ago,” Hermione told her.

“And you wore knickers before that?” Daphne pressed, looking mildly amazed.

“Well…yeah,” Hermione said with a shrug. “Muggles toilet-train usually before they’re even three or four years old. I was toilet-trained at two.”

“Well, if you want to actually blend with the Slytherins and not alienate everyone in your house, I’d suggest playing along with diapers,” Daphne said. “A lot of the girls that start here from muggle families make a big production out of it, according to some of the other girls I’ve met. They fuss and complain and just make themselves look immature.”

“They look immature by wanting to be out of diapers?” Hermione asked.

“Wouldn’t you agree the mature thing to do is bear with it and not go moping about?” Daphne asked her, and Hermione shrugged. In a nutshell, that was her approach, save a bit of private moping away from prying eyes. “At least until you can come up with a plan of action.”

“A plan of action?” Hermione asked.

“Harry Potter!” Professor McGonagall called out, and the hall went silent as everyone’s focus shifted to the Boy-Who-Lived. At least, that was what most of the books Hermione had read referred to him as. She thought it was a little too on-the-nose, but wizards, it seemed, were fans of hyphens. Even Lord Voldemort (a name they were literally too afraid to speak out loud) was simply referred to as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It reminded Hermione of the fact that people in early medieval times were afraid to say the proper name for the creature they had simply referred to as a bear, to the point that the original word was nearly lost to time. They were terrified that speaking the beast’s actual name out loud would somehow summon the bear.

She tried to imagine being afraid of a name. Were wizards so superstitious?

The hat spent quite a bit of time on Harry Potter’s head, nearly as much as it had on Hermione’s. The entire time, Harry’s lips could be seen moving in a series of mutters, though like Hermione, his eyes had been obscured by the large piece of headwear. After a full two minutes of deliberation, it finally shouted:


The table next door went absolutely mental at the pronouncement, though Hermione could scarcely blame them. Harry was the actual savior of the wizarding world, even if he had been a toddler at the time. Having him as a member of their house would be quite a status boost.

It took some time for this round of celebration to die down, and even then, it was only after a rather stern look from Professor McGonagall. Hermione wondered if she wasn’t a bit miffed at not getting Harry Potter in her own house.

“And as usual,” Fred said once McGonagall had reached the end of her list.

“They save the best for last,” George finished.

“Ronald Weasley!”

“Ronald,” George said mockingly.

“Is that your brother?” Daphne asked the pair, who shared a smirk.

“If it goes to Hogwarts and has red hair – “

“ – it’s a Weasley.”

“That girl has red hair,” Hermione said, pointing to a girl at the neighboring Ravenclaw table. “Is she a Weasley?”

“Also, there’s another boy waiting to be sorted,” Daphne pointed out.

“Oi, you’re spoiling our moment of twin synergy,” George quietly huffed while surly Ron Weasley took a seat. “You reckon we’ll get another Slytherin Weasley, Frederick?”

“Mum would be so scandalized,” Fred said. “She’s already wondering where she went wrong with over half her sons as snakes.”

“Really, they got a two-for-one deal on us,” George said.

Everyone gets a two-for-one deal on us,” Fred added.

“And I bet they all wish they could take fifty percent off,” Hermione said.

“…I like her,” Fred decided.

“It hurts because it’s so true,” George said.


“Yay,” the twins said in flat unison.

“Oh, Mum will be in tears of joy when she hears,” Fred said.

“Someone just made favorite son, that’s for sure,” George nodded.

“’Oh, Arthur, we’ve a lion in the house once more!’,” Fred mock-swooned into his brother’s side.

“’Our family can finally begin to redeem itself, my love!’,” George spoke fervently.

Hermione couldn’t stop a giggle, and she was grateful when the hat shouted “SLYTHERIN” for the final student, as it hid a snort. The two boys were entirely too charming.

As the last boy made his way over to the Slytherin table, Professor McGonagall tucked the scroll back into her pocket before sweeping up the hat and stool to whisk them offstage.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Albus Dumbledore said, standing again and spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Now that everyone is sorted, I expect our older students to extend a welcoming hand and make your new housemates feel at home. Having said that, I shall keep you from your dinner no longer. Eat up!”

Hermione had read about the way meals were handled at Hogwarts—she had glutted herself on so much information regarding the magical world that she probably knew more than a lot of her fellow students—but she was still a little amazed when the pristine golden plates and platters before them were suddenly piled with food that had not been there seconds before.

And what a spread it was . Every meat imaginable was present, prepared in the most delectable way possible. Roast beef, broasted chicken, lamb chops, fat sausages that Hermione knew Dad could polish off a whole plate of. Potatoes prepared every way one could imagine, Yorkshire pudding (yum!), and of course, vegetables by the platter and no-doubt perfectly spiced.

Hermione didn’t even know where to begin!

Well, first up was one of those sausages. And perhaps a few potatoes and some peas. She was just about to reach for the platter when Daphne placed a hand on her wrist to stop her.

“Ask one of the boys,” she said in a low voice.

“What, why? I can get it – “

“Just tell George what you want, ask politely, and if he offers to cut it for you, say yes. This is blending, trust me.”

Hermione thought Daphne might have been setting her up for embarrassment, but a glance around the table revealed other first-year and several second-year girls doing the same, asking the obliging older boys at the table to serve them their food. Across the aisle, the Ravenclaw table was much the same, older boys with genteel smiles helping the younger girls as they bashfully asked for food.

What on Earth…?

Well, when in Rome (and trying to pose as a Roman)…

“Um…George?” Hermione asked, tugging gently at the redhead’s sleeve. He turned and regarded her with a questioning look before smiling the same polite smile as the other boys.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“I just was hoping for one of those sausages,” she said. “And some mashed potatoes and corn? Please?”

“You got it, kid,” he said with such warmth that Hermione actually felt a little flutter in her heart. He dove into the scrum to get food, snagging up Hermione’s plate and doling out the requested items. Hermione even noticed him get into a fork-fight with another boy over one of the more premium sausages. He soon returned and gently placed Hermione’s plate before her.

“Thank you,” she said, and George waved off her words.

“No problem,” he said. “Need me to cut it up for you?”

“Oh, um…would you?” she asked, her face heating up. Was she two years old? Diapers were bad enough, but there seemed to be some degree of infantilization going on here as well.

Great. Thinking about her diaper made Hermione all too aware of the bulk between her legs, which she was a little surprised to realize she’d forgotten about. Of course, that also brought her attention to the fact that she rather had to use the loo. Or she would, if such a thing were an option. Reflecting that this would have been a rather inconvenient time to have to get up and duck out for a pee break anyway, Hermione shifted a bit in her seat and coaxed herself to relax enough to get a stream going. In front of the entire student body, she felt the all-too-familiar warmth blooming between her legs while she watched George cut up her food for her.

“There you go,” George said, giving her plate a little push back toward her. The sausage had been perfectly cut into bite-size pieces, with no two left stuck together by the skin. Dad couldn’t have done a better job.

“Thank you,” Hermione said again, and George once again gave her a dismissive wave.

“No worries,” he said. “When I wind up sitting next to my little sister, I always end up cutting up her food.”

“She says I don’t cut it even,” Fred said with a huff, passing Daphne’s plate to her, which she accepted with an aghast expression at her food.

“What have you done to my porkchop?” she asked. “You’ve mutilated the poor thing.”

“Oi, it’s a lumpy shape and it’s hard to get the pieces all the same size!” Fred said defensively, and George shook his head at his twin.

“Not a paternal bone in his body,” he said.

“Do…boys often do this sort of thing for the girls?” Hermione asked, and George nodded with a thoughtful expression.

“Is that not something muggles do?” he asked. “Get them their food and cut it up for them?”

“For toddlers,” Hermione said. “Your usually expected to be able to serve yourself by the time your eight or nine. At the very least, you can cut your own food. I’ve even made my own dinner on the stove sometimes.”

“You can cook?” George asked.

“Just grilled cheese or eggs, but yeah,” Hermione said.

“Well, you won’t have to do anything like that here,” George said in what he probably thought was a reassuring voice. “You ever need help just ask me or Fred.”

“Well, don’t ask me,” Fred said. “I apparently don’t know how to cut a porkchop.”

Once her plate was finished (and she made sure to try the Yorkshire pudding with a bit of roast beef), Hermione didn’t have to wait long until the food was whisked away before being replaced with an absolutely mouthwatering dessert assortment. Hogwarts did not mess around with its meals, and that included the desserts portion, it seemed. Entire blocks of ice cream that steamed in the warm air of the Great Hall, puddings and pastries of every flavor imaginable, the sort of perfectly-made cakes that would have made Julia Child proud.

Hermione felt a bit guilty letting George gather her an assortment of the sugary sweets, but she could hardly use the excuse that her parents were dentists and would have frowned up such tooth-rotting fare.

Some of these kids probably didn’t even know what a dentist was .

And so Hermione found herself indulging in some of the richest and most delectable cakes she’d ever had in her life. Mum’s sugar-free recipes had nothing on this butter-rich, sugar-laden chocolate slice of heaven.

“Oh, it’s so good, I could cry,” she said as she chewed her first bite.

“That’s pretty normal for your first Welcoming Feast,” George told her. “Wait ‘til Christmas, though. Your first Christmas Feast is life-changing.”

“I prefer Halloween’s,” Fred said. “Piles of candy. Literal piles.”

“Hogwarts sure goes all out with the food,” Daphne said.

“I hear that’s Helga Hufflepuff,” George said. “She said a good school should keep its students well-fed and happy. The Hufflepuff common room is even near the kitchens.”

“Where’s ours?” Hermione asked.

“In the dungeons, of course,” Fred said with a smirk. “Gotta keep the snakes locked away or we’ll sneak out and eat everyone else.”

“Our dear older brother will show the firsties,” George said. “Percy the Prefect.”

“As he’s seen fit to remind us a few times – “

“ – a minute – “

“ – all summer long.”

“I dunno about you, but that’s gonna drive me mad,” Daphne said in Hermione’s ear, and Hermione snickered.

“I think they’re alright,” she said. “You’re just mad because Fred cut your food wrong.”

“I nearly choked on a great big chunk of pork because of him,” Daphne said in scandalized tones, and Hermione giggled at her.

Was this what it was like to have friends?

This wasn’t so bad.

Even with diapers.

When the desserts too disappeared, Hermione was left feeling full and sleepy, and she mused that if whatever bed that awaited her was as comfy as the food here had been delicious, she might never get back out. Dumbledore stood once more and this time made his way around the staff table to the podium in front of it, smiling that same warm smile as before, like he was looking upon his favorite grandchildren.

All one thousand of them.

“Now, I can see from the sleepy looks I’m getting that you’re likely thinking of your beds at the moment,” he said, and a small chuckle ran through the room, “but I must beg of you your attention for only a moment longer while I make a few start-of-term announcements. Please be reminded that the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the grounds is called such for good reason. It is strictly prohibited to any and all students.”

“Unless you’re serving detention,” George muttered. “Then they send you in looking for wartcaps.”

“Our caretaker, Argus Filch, has seen fit to remind me that he has added seventeen new entries to the list of items which are forbidden in the corridors, bringing the number up to three hundred and fifty-six. The full list can be view in his office, if you wish to consult it.”

“Along with his collection of manacles and chains,” Fred grinned down at the two girls.

“Also, I must inform all of you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

“Oh?” Fred asked quietly next to George. “Georgie?”

“Oh, we’re checking it out,” George said.

“Now, off to bed with you all,” Dumbledore said into the still silence that had followed his last proclamation. “Pip-pip!”

“What a charming note to end things on,” Hermione said as they climbed to their feet. As she stood, that second glass of cider that she’d had made itself known, and with a small sigh she simply drained it into her diaper, too emotionally worn-out to make a fuss about it. “Do you think he was serious about that?”

“Knowing Dumbledore, yeah,” Daphne said. “He’s in a lot of hot water with the Hogwarts Board of Governors over the idiotic decisions he’s been making.”

“Boy, this one’s ahead of the curve,” George said from behind Hermione. She felt his hand settle onto the small of her back, just as Neville’s had before, and without a word, he gently guided her from the hall. Noticing Fred doing the same with Daphne, Hermione shot the blonde a look, and she just smiled in return.

“Our dear brother the Prefect is waiting to escort you to the common room,” Fred said.

“Is there going to be a place to get our diapers changed when we get there?” Daphne asked, and Hermione marveled at how casual she was, talking to two admittedly cute boys about the fact that she had a diaper in need of attention.

“I think each floor of the girls’ dorms has their own nursery,” George said.

“They’re called nurseries?” Hermione asked as they walked.

“Well, that’s where the nurses are, so yeah,” Fred told her. “Gemma Farley made Prefect this year, so she’ll tell you all about that stuff.”

As if on cue, a voice shouted above the din of students leaving the Great Hall, and Fred and George deposited the girls with the rest of the Slytherin first-years, where the Prefects were waiting.

“Slytherin first-years, this way!”

Percy Weasley was fire-haired and freckly much like his brothers, though he swam in the “tall and lanky” end of the Weasley gene pool. He kept his hair short and neatly-combed, which only brought more attention to his prominent ears.

He looked a bit like dad’s accountant, whom Hermione had met once when he had brought her to an office Christmas Party.

Next to him, Gemma Farley looked positively gorgeous. With long, straight brown hair and pale skin that made her dark eyes pop, she was everything Hermione envied, with her bushy mane and dull brown eyes. Still, she had a kindly smile as she looked down at all the new arrivals.

Idly, Hermione found herself wondering what state the pretty girl’s diaper was in. Come to think of it, how did boys reconcile puberty and the resultant attraction to girls with the fact that those girls wore and used diapers? Were diapers equated to panties in the muggle world? Did they carry the same unfathomable mystique to adolescent boys? Did university boys go on diaper raids?

Hermione shut down that line of thinking before she could dig too deep. There were questions she wasn’t ready to ask herself just yet.

“Alright, are well here?” Gemma asked as the twins bade the girls farewell, hurrying on ahead. “Alright, Slytherins, follow Percy and me, and no wandering off. You’ll have plenty of time to see the sights later.”

“Come along!” Percy said, and together, the two Prefects led the way out of the Great Hall.

As I said, the title of this story will be changing, though there is still plenty more diaper-centric content to come. Hermione hasn’t given up yet, though she might soon find herself distracted from matters of holding onto her toilet-training.


Now that’s a plot twist! The original gang splitting into three different houses was unexpected, but I’m excited to see Hermione explore this new perspective on Slytherin. It always seemed like a huge fault in the original books that Slytherins were almost categorically shown to be evil until Slughorn appears in book 6. Fred and George being there makes so much sense as well and will be super fun to follow.

Definitely interested in this story now beyond just the padding elements. Your writing and pacing are both well done without being excessive. Looking forward to more!


hi I love your story. like the previous message I like the highlighting of Slytherin, it is my favorite house. can’t wait to read more about Hermione’s adventures.

So, the official new title is up, and hopefully it’s not awful. I’m actually pretty rubbish at coming up with titles. In this chapter, Hermione is introduced to the Slytherin common room and deals with a bit more of the wizarding world’s strangely infantile treatment of girls. Still, she’s made at least one new friend, and who knows what the future holds?

Chapter Two: Bullies and Binkies

The Slytherin common room was located down a long stone staircase off the Entrance Hall. As the first-years descended, the air grew cold and damp around them, and Hermione clutched her robe jacket around herself against the chill before finally taking her wand out.

Calor siccus ,” she whispered, tapping the piece of outwear and sighing in delight as it was immediately as fresh and warm as though it had come out of the dryer at home.

“How’d you say that one?” Daphne asked next to her.

Calor siccus ,” Hermione repeated slowly. “Warming Charm. It keeps your clothes toasty warm for about a half hour.”

Calor siccus ,” Daphne said, tapping her coat and letting a positively ecstatic sound. “Oh, Merlin, that’s better. I hate being cold.”

“Well, you won’t like the trip to the common room in the winter, then,” Gemma Farley said ahead of them. “We’re about three floors underground. That’s a clever bit of magic, though. What’s your name?”

Hermione realized she was being addressed and perked up a bit.

“Hermione Granger,” she said.

“Not bad, Hermione,” Gemma said with admiring smile. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

Hermione absolutely preened as they emerged into a long stone corridor. A few old wooden doors could be seen at odd intervals as they traipsed along, but Hermione doubted that the rooms they contained saw much use. Still, she yearned to at least take a look. A castle as old and storied as this one had to have some goodies stashed in an old cupboard somewhere, a book long forgotten and containing some bit of primal magical knowledge.

She would definitely have to take a weekend and go exploring.

After she’d thoroughly checked out the library.

“Alright, everyone, we’re here,” Percy Weasley said when the group had finally trudged to a stop, and the first-years all clustered around the two prefects, who had paused next to a seemingly random stretch of wall. “There are no portraits or statues to show you where the common room is. It’s just the wall. Memorize the spot, and soon enough you won’t have a problem finding it. The password will change every two weeks, so mind you don’t forget to check the notice board inside when the time comes.”

Once Percy had finished his miniature speech, Gemma turned to the particular spot on the wall that apparently concealed the common room, speaking clearly so the others could hear.

“Abscondita domus.”

As soon as she had finished speaking, the wall shifted and began to sink in on itself, folding away and forming an arch not unlike the one that led into Diagon Alley. Hermione wondered if the entrances had been designed by the same person.

“Are the passwords always going to be in Latin?” Daphne asked, and Gemma giggled before fixing the rest of them with a little smile.

“No, we just like to start things off fancy,” she said.

Inside, the common room was dimly lit but surprisingly warm and cozy. Everything was, of course, decorated in shades of green (with a gothic aesthetic right out of an episode of The Addams Family ), and the antique leather furniture and dark wood cabinets reminded Hermione of her grandfather’s study. She half-expected to find him sitting in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace, puffing away at a cigar while reading the evening paper.

And then she simply missed Grandfather. Were he alive today, what would he think of his daughter being a magic-user? Would he even be allowed to know? No matter the case, she like to think that Grandad Henry would have been proud of his granddaughter, perhaps even dubiously supportive of her odd academic endeavors.

“First year boys, with me,” Percy Weasley said as they filed through the common room. His tone and commanding inflection reminded Hermione of a drill instructor, or perhaps a military school teacher who wished he had become one. As she watched, he directed the boys to the right, toward what were presumably the boys’ dormitories.

“Firsty girls, follow me,” Gemma said, conversely sounding like a young preschool teacher’s assistant as she ushered the girls toward a door on the left. As they walked, they passed by what Hermione finally realized was a set of three tall windows, though whatever lay beyond was completely black, leaving her staring at her own reflection. Plain and mousy, as always, though perhaps that would change in time…

“Keep up please,” Gemma said as they passed through a larch stone archway and into an octagonal room nearly the size of the old living room at home. Hermione saw three wooden doors, one each to the left, right, and directly ahead. The farthest walls—on either side of the door straight ahead—bore more dark windows that Hermione realized must look out right into the lake itself, given how far down they were.

“To the right are the dormitories for first through third years,” Gemma said. “The doors are labeled, so I’ll leave you to find yours. To the left are the fourth through sixth years, which you may visit but don’t be surprised if you get shooed right back out. The seventh-year dorms are straight ahead, and those are strictly off-limits. Seventh-year is an important one, that’s when you take your N.E.W.T. exams. So we leave them have a place to get away and study when they have to.

“Your nursery is across the hall from your dormitory, that’s where you can go get your diaper changed at any time. There are always two nurses in every nursery, but don’t go sneaking into the other ones. If both of them are changing a diaper, you can wait one minute. The only time you’re allowed to take off your own diaper is before bathing. Your bathroom is attached to your dormitory. When you’re done, just pop on a robe and head across the hall to get a fresh diaper put on. If you’re out and about, you can also stop by the Hospital Wing any time while classes are in session, but the nurses aren’t there when class isn’t going on, so otherwise you’ll have to come here.”

“Where do they get all these nurses?” Hermione asked before she could stop herself. Wincing a bit as Gemma looked at her, she wondered if that was something a pureblood would know. Had she already blown her cover?

“Most of them are first-year interns at St. Mungo’s and need to do so many hours a week,” Gemma said, not seeming to find Hermione’s question all that strange. Maybe it wasn’t common knowledge. “Some are just certified in childcare and making some money.”

“And what if we’re late to class because of a diaper change?” Daphne asked, which Hermione was grateful for, since that had been her very next thought.

“There’s usually enough time between classes to get a change done,” Gemma said. “Remember, they also have to account for a student going from, say, the Divination classroom way up in the North Tower all the way down to Potions. But each nurse hands out a signed note when they change you that you can give to the professor, and it’s against the rules for them to punish you for being late due to a diaper change.”

Hermione thought that that still didn’t account for the parts of the lesson they might miss, but maybe the professors would be willing to wait for them?

“Alright, well, I’ve kept you lot long enough,” Gemma said once no one else seemed to have any questions for her. “I’m sure there’s at least a couple stinky diapers in need of tending to.”

A flutter of giggles ran through the girls, and Hermione tried to smile along like it was all just a fun joke.

“You girls sleep well, and welcome to Slytherin.”

“Goodnight!” the girls all chorused as Gemma left them, and once she was through the door the led to her dormitories, a brunette girl with her hair cut into a bob that did no favors to her pug-like face turned to regard the rest of them with a sneer.

“I’m first to get a change,” she said in a tone that brooked no denial. “You lot wait outside.”

“Oi, she said there’s two nurses, we can both go,” another girl spoke. She was a petite thing, and if she wasn’t a first-year, Hermione would have assumed she was only about eight or nine. Despite her size, she stared down the girl with the bob without a trace of hesitation.

“I don’t want any of you peeking at my bits while I’m getting changed, so I’m going alone,” pug-face told them.

“You don’t really get to decide that, now do you?” the smaller girl said, stepping quite close to the one with the bob.

“Hey,” Daphne’s quiet voice spoke in Hermione’s ear, and Hermione felt a hand on her wrist gently pulling her to the dorms while the other Slytherin girls circled around the row happening. “Come get a change with me.”

They slipped through the doors leading to the first-through-third-year dorms, emerging into a dark wood-paneled hallway with a plush green carpet underfoot. It was a refreshing change from all of the stone and granite Hermione had been walking the whole day. Daphne’s cool grip slid from Hermione’s wrist to take her hand and lead her down the hallway toward a room with a plaque above it.

First-Year Nursery

Nurses On Duty:

Moira Finnigan

Eleanor Harper

“Oh, Moira’s the one who changed us before,” Hermione observed.

“You can have her,” Daphne said as she pushed the door open. “You’re probably not used to so many different people seeing you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Hermione said with a smile, and Daphne winked at her.

“I’m good for that sometimes,” she said.

Inside, the nursery was more of the same wood paneling, though with green and white checkered tile floors that were probably a lot easier to clean. The room was about the size of Hermione’s bedroom at home, with two padded changing tables much like the ones that had served them downstairs. There was (thankfully) a divider set up, with a blonde woman Hermione hadn’t seen before standing on the left side. On the right was –

“Is that Hermione?” a warm voice spoke. “Imagine you in Slytherin!”

“Imagine,” Hermione said, unable to stop a smile at just how infectiously cheerful Moira was. Making her way over, she paused in front of the smiling Irish girl, who fixed her with a thoughtful look.

“Why don’t you make sure yer all emptied out before we start, hm?”

Blushing a bit at that, Hermione shifted her feet. Despite having just peed about ten minutes ago, she had a little more to add to the diaper between her legs, a shy hunch pulling up on her shoulders as she wet herself right in front of Moira. Well, Moira herself was in a diaper as well, so that mollified her a bit.

“O-okay, I’m…all done,” Hermione said, and Moira grinned at her before reaching to heft her right up onto the table.

“Want me to go ahead and put some jammies on you, or do you have yer own?” Moira asked.

“Do the pajamas,” Daphne said in a raised voice from across the curtain, and Hermione giggled as she heard the rip of her new friend’s diaper being undone, followed by a vaguely disgusted sound. “Ugh, I always regret pumpkin pasties.”

“I guess I’m wearing the pajamas,” Hermione said. Moira snickered and set to getting Hermione undressed, which she achieved with surprising efficiency. Shoes, stockings, skirt, jacket, shirt, even her training bra, all were dispensed of and tossed into a nearby hamper to be laundered. Left in only a wet diaper, Hermione allowed herself to be guided to lie on her back.

And then her diaper was undone, leaving Hermione feeling fairly exposed.

Moira pulled the sodden padding away, humming a little song and reaching out to tap Hermione playfully on the nose.

“Want a dummy while you wait, sweet-pea?” she asked, not even waiting for a reply before pulling a drawer open on the table and withdrawing a black pacifier with the Slytherin emblem on the front. It was a big thing, larger than a baby pacifier and visibly the perfect size for a girl about her age. Before Hermione could protest, the dummy was pressed into her mouth, and she found herself working it with her tongue, unconsciously beginning to suckle as Moira went about cleaning her up. “Aw, aren’t you jes’ the cutest?”

Feeling her face heat up, Hermione almost spat the thing back out. She was nearly twelve years old, not some fussy toddler acting up during a diaper change! Granted, she was receiving a diaper change, but that was entirely not of her own volition! All she could manage around the damnable thing was a little huff, though, as suckling at it was…actually rather calming. Moira smiled down at her charge as she unfolded a fresh diaper and lifted Hermione by the ankles, settling her onto the thick padding.

“Alright, now a wee little tickle,” the nurse said before her hands began to work some ointment over Hermione’s skin. Wiping her hands, she next went for the powder. “And now we count the powder puffs! One! Two! Three! Four…”

She gave Hermione an expectant look, prompting her to tug the dummy from her mouth.


Moira winked at her as she added the last puff of powder before folding the diaper up, pressing the thick core up between Hermione’s thighs and taping it snugly in place. It was a sensation Hermione was rather nervous that she would get used to in time.

“Alright,” Moira said, taking the dummy from Hermione and popping it right back into her mouth. “Arms up, love, show me where the sky is!”

It was a bit silly, but the girl’s enthusiasm was infectious, so Hermione raised her arms up high, watching as Moira produced a black article of clothing from under the table and tugged it over her head. For a moment, all Hermione could see was the inside of a shirt, and then her head sprung free, followed by her massive mane of hair.

“That is a proper griffin’s nest,” Moira said, smoothing down Hermione’s hair for a moment before reaching between her thighs. Hermione felt a slight tug, and suddenly, her diaper was pressed up against her, pulled snug by what was revealed to be a snap-crotch onesie not unlike the ones any baby would wear. This one bore green trim around the sleeves, collar, and leg holes, and a Slytherin emblem was of course emblazoned over the left breast. The edges of her diaper’s leg cuffs poked out of either side, and her legs themselves were left completely bare.

“Fanks,” Hermione said, blushing as the dummy in her mouth gave her a slight lisp to her words.

“No problem, sweet-pea,” Moira said. “And mum’s the word on you being muggle-born. I know how unforgiving Slytherins can be about that.”

“Were you a Slytherin?” Hermione asked, pulling the pacifier free. Moira helped her to her feet, bringing a fresh chorus of crinkles from her new diaper.

“I was,” she said. “So was Ellie over there, actually. They try to staff the nurseries with former house members. Keeps the camaraderie alive, ya know? Especially with Slytherin. They’re not fond of outsiders.”

“They don’t seem too fond of many in siders, either,” Hermione opined, thinking of the pug-faced girl and her bizarre power play. She wondered how things had progressed out there; they’d only been in the nursery for a few minutes, but that was long enough for a fight to be defused or escalate.

“Well, you’ll get some that think being a proper Slytherin is stomping on everyone else to get to the top of the heap,” Moira said with a distasteful look, “but that’s not what it’s about, really. Just pick a few close friends, stick together, and look out for each other. Looks like you’ve got a good one with Blondie over there.”

“A muggle-born Slytherin?” Daphne asked, and Hermione turned to see her wearing a matching onesie and looking completely unbothered by the visibility of her legs or her diaper. “There’s definitely something there that I want to get to know.”

“As you can see, I’m just a piece of meat to her,” Hermione said with a wry smile.

“Oh, you hush,” Daphne said, folding her arms. “We’re going to be the best of friends and you know it. Come along, meat.”

A giggling Moira waved farewell as the pair left the nursery, Hermione feeling a bit nervous when they emerged into the stone hallway; her legs were completely exposed, and her diaper was perfectly visible! Daphne seemed absolutely at-ease, though, and even as Hermione watched, another girl emerged from the nursery further down, a third-year with sleek black hair and a similar onesie allowing a peek of her diaper. She spared them a look but didn’t seem to have the time nor patience for a welcome, heading instead straight across the hall to her dormitory.

“Still no sign of pug-face,” Daphne said, and Hermione snorted.

“She does have a rather unpleasant face, doesn’t she?”

“It’s such a squashed thing,” Daphne giggled. “I’d feel bad for her if she weren’t an absolute bread handle.”

“…Bread handle?” Hermione asked, and Daphne shrugged.

“My little sister came up with it,” she said, leading Hermione to the dormitory. “I guess it’s supposed to mean something’s useless, like a handle on a loaf of bread.”

“That’s adorable,” Hermione said.

“Oh, Astoria’s precious, you’ll love her,” Daphne said. “She starts Hogwarts in a couple years.”

“Enough time for us to get the lay of the land and eventually corrupt her?” Hermione asked, and Daphne gave her a wide-eyed smile of surprise.

“Now you’re getting it,” she said, pulling open the dormitory door and ushering her through. “C’mon, let’s see our new digs.”

Inside, the dormitory was more of the same plush green carpeting and dark wood-paneled walls. Another window set in the center of the opposite wall showed the mirror-black water of the lake, though when the sun came up, Hermione supposed it would allow some light to filter in. Six four-poster beds sat against the walls, each hung with green curtains and made up with green comforters and black sheets that were probably silk. Her things had already been brought in, and her trunk sat at the foot a bed, the rest of her personal effects stacked neatly atop the covers.

“At least it’s not a crib,” she muttered, and Daphne snickered.

“Actually, I heard from one of the older girls that’s an option,” she said. “I think it’s mostly used for punishments, though.”

By a stroke of luck, Daphne’s bed was right next to Hermione’s, and she climbed up onto the springy mattress as the pair surveyed the rest of the room. Save for their beds and a flanking pair of ornate bedside tables for each one, the room didn’t sport much else in the way of furniture. Hermione supposed the bulk of their time was intended to be spent in the common room.

“No one else here,” Daphne said, just as a door opened in a far corner of the room. Hermione hadn’t noticed it before; it blended so well with the rest of the paneling. She supposed that was the aforementioned bathroom, though she was sure she wouldn’t find a toilet in there. A cloud of steam issued forth from inside, and a girl with skin the color of chocolate made her way into the dormitory, her hair pulled up in a towel turban and steam fogging her glasses. She was wrapped up in a fluffy-looking black bathrobe, her hands still working the sash into a knot.

“Oh,” she said when she spotted the pair, raising her hand in a singular wave. “Hey. Glad I’m not the only one who thought to duck out before things got out of hand.”

“Did you see what happened?” Daphne asked, and the girl shook her head.

“I just managed to close the door when I heard Gemma shrieking like ‘What is going on out here!?’,” she said. “I think those two had their wands out. I scampered off to take a shower.”

“Smart call,” Daphne said. “I’m Daphne. This is Hermione.”

“Bella Zabini,” she said. “Isabella, but everyone calls me Bella.”

“Zabini…” Daphne trailed off. “Wasn’t there a – “

“Two of us?” Bella asked. “My twin brother and I. Blaise. Trust me when I say that he’s the worst sort of person you could ever meet.”

“There seem to be a lot of those in this house,” Hermione observed, and Daphne winked at her.

“But there are also plenty of the best,” she said.

Later that night, Hermione lay in bed and stared up at the canopy of her four-poster, listening to the quiet burble of the lake shifting and flowing around them. It had been a very odd day, a very odd past couple of days. And the oddness, she mused as she shifted in her crinkly padding, wouldn’t be ending any time soon.

Could she do this? Could she wear diapers for the next ten years? Could she snap on a onesie in her off time, suckle on the occasional pacifier, let a big strong boy cut her food up for her? There seemed to be quite a few little peculiarities involved in life as a witch, concessions that she would have to make and bits of agency she would need to give up.

And all in the name of coming into her own as a magic user. Because that was the rub; at the end of all of this, she could tell there was a serious shot at greatness. Magic was something to get good at with study and dedication, and she was damn good at both of those. If she stuck with this, she could be great, could be powerful.

“You’ve a very pensive look on your face,” Daphne’s voice startled her from her musings. She poked her head into the hangings around Hermione’s bed, nudging her leg. “Budge over. We need a powwow.”

“Oh, do we?” Hermione whispered, scooting aside nonetheless and snagging up her wand to cast a quick couple of privacy charms around her bed. The large mattress left plenty of room for Daphne to settle in at Hermione’s feet, her padded butt giving a gentle crinkle as she sat on her heels.

“You’re overwhelmed,” Daphne guessed. “I imagine this is a lot for a muggle-born to take in, and you can’t even do the usual bit of wide-eyed wonder, because the moment you show any unfamiliarity with it all, the jig is up.”

“That’s…an accurate summarization of the situation, yes,” Hermione said. “Is it always like this? Dummies and onesies and cute little counting games while my…my diaper is powdered up?”

“Well, the dummies are just to help muggle-born girls like you calm down a bit while they’re getting a change,” Daphne explained. “We usually wean off them around five or six, though Astoria hung onto hers until she was eight. She just loved the damn thing, and it got her to sleep like no one’s business. It’s considered immature to have one in while you’re out and about.”

“Immature,” Hermione said, finding the whole concept of wizards thinking anything immature while strapping diapers onto girls until they were twenty downright laughable.

“Yes, and that’s something that’ll need to stop,” Daphne said with a stern finger. “That…smirky look. The little head shake. This isn’t the muggle world, okay? We do things different, but that doesn’t make this any less valid. You need to understand that potty-training at age two doesn’t make you better than any of us, because to us, that’s the backward viewpoint. I’m here to help you, and I’d like to be your friend, but I can’t do that if you’re constantly doing these snide little asides to yourself when I talk about our customs and whatnot.”

“…Sorry,” Hermione said. Daphne smirked at her and tucked a finger under her chin, pulling her gaze up to meet those icy blue eyes.

“Your apology is accepted,” she said with a smile. “Now, what’s your plan? Skirt the system and wear your knickers anyway? Sneak into toilets, live in constant paranoia that you’ll be found out? I’m being serious, some Slytherins thrive on that sort of life.”

“I…don’t really know if that’s the best idea,” Hermione said. “If I get caught sneaking around, I could be expelled. And when a muggle-born gets expelled, well…”

“Obliviate and back to your muggle life,” Daphne said. “Fair point. Also, it’s just easier to wear diapers, isn’t it? I mean, you’ll adjust to it, and then when you’re twenty, you’re right back to panties.”

“You say it so simply,” Hermione said. “I just don’t know how you can wait so long. Surely you can feel it, right? You can’t possibly have no sensation at all down there.”

“Well, naturally, we all have some kind of…feeling down there when we need to pee or poop,” Daphne shrugged. “But a witch’s brain isn’t wired to prioritize that kind of thing. When a magical education is being pursued, we want to focus completely on learning, without distractions. That’s how it’s always been.”

“And boys can learn with those sorts of distractions?” Hermione asked her, struggling to wrap her mind around this rather flimsy logic.

“Boys have different…stuff going on down there,” Daphne said with a vague gesture. “Different biology. It’s easier for them to hold it and compartmentalize that kind of thing. We’re just…different. And there’s nothing wrong with that, right? They aren’t better than us just because they can pee in a toilet. And we’re not lesser than them if we let them get our food for us or cut it up so it’s easier to eat.”

“It’s just a bit embarrassing, I guess,” Hermione sighed.

“Why?” Daphne asked her, shrugging again. “Why does it have to be embarrassing? Did George make fun of you when he got your food for you?”

“Well, no,” Hermione said. In fact, he’d been quite accommodating.

“And did he sigh and absolutely grumble when you asked him to cut your food up?” Daphne pressed.

“Actually, he…offered to do it,” Hermione admitted.

“Because it’s perfectly normal for him,” Daphne said. “Hermione, all of this is normal to us. You are not a muggle. Their cultural norms and traditions and whatnot don’t apply to you anymore. You were born to muggles, but you aren’t one. You are magic. You are a witch. And while plenty of these snakes might think differently, you are just as much a member of our society as anyone born into it. But the more you fret about how different it is and how embarrassing using your diapers is, the more you make yourself miserable. Because cruel as it might sound, hardly anyone is going to sympathize with you.”

Hermione was wiping tears from her eyes at this point. It was all quite true, of course, but to have it put to her so bluntly was…well, she wasn’t really used to blunt.

“You’re right,” she said. “Sorry, I’ve just been…over here complaining.”

“Hey,” Daphne said softly, reaching out and gently gripping Hermione’s knee. “I don’t mean to sound completely insensitive, okay? This is a great big change for you, pun intended.”

Hermione snorted at that, and Daphne giggled at the sound.

“All I’m trying to tell you is, you need to stop treating it like it’s the end of the world, okay?” she went on. “You’re not being victimized or set up for humiliation and embarrassment. This is literally how life is on this side of things. Every girl you see is living the same way as you. We’re all here using our diapers, same as you. So, yeah, it’s different. And I get that. But you just need to stop treating it as some lesser way to life and look at it as just an other way to live.”

“George was being really nice to me,” Hermione said after a moment, and Daphne rolled her eyes a bit.

“His brother has no idea how to cut a porkchop,” she sighed. “Completely hopeless.”

“You did almost choke.”

“I did ! I’m lucky to be alive, no thanks to that boy.”

As Hermione settled into her covers a bit later (her cheek still warm from a smooch from Daphne), she found herself looking at the next ten years with a bit less trepidation. If she had Daphne along for it, would it really be so hard to live her life in diapers?

Maybe, with her friend at her side, she could handle it.

Next chapter will feature a change in the POV as well as our first glimpse at Harry Potter himself. Rest assured, he’s quite different from his canon counterpart.

Feedback is always appreciated. I try to reply to comments and address concerns as soon as I can!


Very good, I love the way the story is progressing. A totally different point of view to the diaper scene. Will Hermione actually come to love wearing diapers?

Wow, that chapter came out really quickly. Out of curiosity, do you have most of the story mapped out in your head already, or is it just kinda evolving with each chapter as the character interactions play out?

Good to see that not everything about Slytherine has changed. It would’ve been odd to have Pansy Parkinson not act like a complete bellend, and true to form she’s even lording her diapers over everyone in this world. Really curious to see how Malfoy plays into this timeline since he’s the other arch bastard of the HP universe.

Can’t even speculate what’s going to happen with Harry this time around. Eagerly awaiting the next chapter!

I have a rough outline of where I’d like the story to go and plot points I’d like to reveal, but a lot of it is in constant flux in my head. I’d had no intention of including Fred and George or Daphne, and Hermione was actually intended to be a Ravenclaw for a long time before I read a very compelling article about why she should have been a Slytherin.

Ron was intended to be a Slytherin, but he’s not ambitious enough.

Harry’s going to be a lot of fun. I’ve been having a lot of fun writing him in the upcoming chapter.

This one changed a bit in my head as I came up with more ideas, and there’s not a tremendous amount of diaper content, though I didn’t want to make it seem forced. This is, for me, a Harry Potter fan fic that heavily features diapers, not a diaper fic with Harry Potter tones.

Hopefully no one here is too bothered by that.

Chapter Three: Quoth The Raven

“C’mon, we need to go left,” Mike said. “Oi, Terry!”

“But the staircase is right there,” Terry protested with a gesture to their right.

“It’s Friday, that staircase goes to the north corridor on Friday,” Mike told him.

“Mental, this place,” Lisa said with a shake of her head. “Staircases that go different places, doors that are just walls pretending.”

“Don’t forget that the people in our pictures move around and talk to you,” Terry said, now following as Mike led the way left.

“And the girls wear diapers,” Padma added with a giggle, bringing up the rear. “You haven’t griped about that in at least six minutes.”

“Forgive me if I’m dealing with some culture shock,” Lisa huffed. Padma nudged her new friend in the shoulder, and Lisa stuck her tongue out in turn, tucking a long lock of strawberry blonde hair away from her cutely freckled face. Despite a bratty streak wider than the English Channel, Lisa was actually a sweetheart, even if she wasn’t handling the adjustment to diapers as gracefully as other muggle-born girls.

Padma thought it was absolutely bonkers that any child would potty-train at two years old, much less a girl. A little toddler could barely walk and talk, and they were expecting them to be able to handle a toilet? She’d seen the luridly-colored plastic buckets they had their little ones go in, and with adult supervision, no less. What was the point if it was going to waste everyone’s time anyway? A diaper let a girl enjoy her time without interruptions and enabled a parent to pick a time to handle the cleanup.

Everyone won.

“Padma, still with us?” Terry asked, snapping her from her musings. Bespectacled and always quietly polite, Terry’s family was evidently of Chinese descent, though he was fourth-generation and thus had no trace of an accent. His sleek black hair was kept rather short, as it was apparently uncontrollable when left to grow.

Padma rather enjoyed his company, as he wasn’t ever one to find it necessary to fill a silence with mindless chatter.

His buddy, Mike, however…

“Do you reckon the Founders made the castle like this?” Mike asked as they mounted a set of stone steps. “You know, all topsy-turvy with staircases full of trick steps or leading from the second to the fourth floor and totally skipping the third? Or did it just get like this from being thousands of years old and so full of magic? It just became halfway sentient?”

“I dunno, ask Peeves sometime,” Terry said with a shrug. “Isn’t he as old as the castle?”

“Right, I’ll make sure to get in touch with him and set up an interview around the same time I have the Bloody Baron ‘round for tea,” Mike snickered. He glanced back at Padma, inviting her to chuckle at his joke, but Padma spared him only a roll of the eyes, earning a wink in return.

If only he wasn’t so bloody good-looking. Michael Corner had long, wavy dark hair that framed his pale face and made his sea-blue eyes stand out even more than they already did. Most of the Ravenclaw first-years (and a fair few of the second-years) were already swooning over him, Padma included.

In fact, there was already an informal fan club of sorts, sprouting up around him and Ravenclaw’s other new prize.

“Hey,” Terry said once they had reached the top of the stairs. Before them, the third-floor corridor stretched onward, and only a few meters ahead sat the intersection that was home to the infamous “right side”. It was oddly deserted today, save for one person who rounded the corner as they approached.

Harry Potter was…more than a little intimidating to Padma. Like most girls who’d grown up hearing stories of how he’d vanquished You-Know-Who when he’d been only a toddler, she had a bit of crush on the boy. But who wouldn’t? He was the sort you wanted to be wearing a clean diaper around, the kind you’d trust to cut your food up perfectly, and definitely the type a girl would trust with her very first romantic change once she was old enough.

She felt her face heat up at the thought of Harry changing her diaper. She was much too young to think about such things! Mum would be scandalized!

“Hiya, Harry,” Mike said, and Harry raised a hand in a quiet wave as he strode toward them. His crow’s nest of hair stuck out in every conceivable direction, his round glasses glimmering in the torchlight around them. “Did you just check out the ‘painful death’ Dumbledore was on about?”

“Have you ever heard the story of Orpheus?” Harry asked in a quiet, muted voice that nonetheless carried all the way to Padma as she stood in the back of the group. It was uncanny, how he could be so softspoken but make himself heard.

“Er…no,” Mike said with a shake of his head.

“He was one of the Argonauts,” Harry said. He had a slow way of speaking, like he was in no hurry to make whatever point he may or may not have been working toward. “He could play the lyre so beautifully he even turned the Argonauts away from the song of the sirens while they were out at sea, saving their lives. Supposedly, he was able to play a lullaby that even Cerberus, the guard dog of the Underworld, couldn’t resist, and he fell asleep long enough for Orpheus to sneak in to try to get his wife back. He failed, of course, because it’s called a Greek tragedy, not a Greek triumph.”

This was apparently supposed to be a funny remark (judging from the very slight half-smile on his face), but Padma didn’t quite understand the humor. Still, Harry went on, unperturbed by the lack of reaction.

“As it turns out, a cerberus just really likes music,” he said. “It doesn’t even have to be on a lyre.”

“Wait…is there a cerberus in that corridor?” Lisa asked, and Harry slowly turned his head to regard her before spreading his arms wide.

“Big one,” he said.

“What’s a cerberus?” Padma asked, idly grunting as her stomach gave a shift and pushed out a pile of mush into her diaper.

“It’s a massive three-headed dog,” Lisa said, her face pale. “My dad’s really into Greek mythology. He has a statue of Cerberus on his desk. Keeping the real thing in a school full of children is absolutely mad.”

“So…along that corridor is a great big dog with three heads?” Mike asked, though far from terrified, he looked eager to see for himself.


“Bull terrier from the looks of it,” Harry said in conversational tones. His intense gaze fixed firmly on Padma for a few seconds as she finished filling her padding. “Staffordshire, not the ones with a face like a potato. That’d be a sight.”

“Are you up here all by yourself?” Padma asked.

“I’m generally always by myself,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’s how I prefer it.”

“Well, we won’t keep you from your solitude,” Mike said.

“I appreciate that,” Harry said with a final nod of farewell. Without another word, he made his way past their little grouping and down the stairs they’d just come from.

“That boy is spooky,” Mike said in a low voice once he was out of sight.

“Spooky?” Padma huffed, feeling the need to come to Harry’s defense. “He’s the savior of the wizarding world, what’s spooky about that?”

“Looking into his eyes is just…brrr,” Mike shivered. “It’s like a doll’s eyes. Something about that boy gives me the willies.”

“I think he’s very quiet and polite,” Padma pointed out.

Terry is quiet and polite,” Lisa countered.

“Oh, thanks very much,” Terry said.

“Harry’s quiet in a different way,” Lisa went on, and Padma was shocked that he was agreeing with Mike. “He’s quiet like he’s keeping secrets.”

“Yeah, and remember Potions?” Mike asked, though he needn’t have reminded any of them.

No one in Hogwarts would forget Harry Potter’s first Potions lesson.

Three Days Ago…

Padma was sure there had to be better places to hold a Potions lesson than in a dungeon three floors below ground. Whatever they were brewing on any given day would be sure to give off all manner of fumes, and that was if it was brewed properly . If any mishaps were to happen, who knew what sorts of foul smoke could fill the room, and where would it be ventilated to?

But that didn’t matter to Severus Snape, or so she’d heard. There were plenty of tales of his vindictive nature, stories circulating among all three non-Slytherin houses about his total lack of teaching methods. You were expected to read the material, produce the potion, and hopefully earn a passing mark for your troubles.

It was cold down here, as well. Padma felt a little bad for the boys; at least she and the other girls had nice thick diapers to keep them warm

Not that every girl was thrilled with such a thing.

“How do you even deal with having some strange nurse see you with no pants on so often?” Lisa huffed, hurrying to catch up with Padma after having dashed off for a diaper change following Transfiguration. “I mean, it’s all just out there for everyone to see.”

“There are divider curtains,” Padma said with a smirk. “And they’re nurses. Even your muggle nurses see you undressed, don’t they?”

“Well, not so often,” Lisa moped. “You get time between visits to mentally recover.”

“Oh, make it sound so damaging,” Padma giggled. “I guess I’ve grown up used to it, so it doesn’t bother me. You’ll adjust.”

“You mean I’ll be brainwashed into liking it,” Lisa snorted, though her tone wasn’t completely serious. “I was talking to Greta Thompson last night, she says she barely remembers what it was like wearing knickers.”

“She’s a seventh-year, isn’t she?” Padma asked. “So she’s spent about as much time in diapers as she was potty-trained.”

“…Bloody hell, every time I think I’ve got my head wrapped ‘round all this,” Lisa said.

“The more you fret about it, the worse you’re making it on yourself,” Padma told her soothingly. “Think of all the good things that have happened since you got your letter. You’re magic . Plus, you met me, right? That’s a plus.”

“Well, I suppose I’m a bit fond of you,” Lisa said loftily, and Padma snorted.


They joined the line making its way into the Potions classroom, which was a proper dungeon. Lit insubstantially by sparsely placed torches, the gloomy atmosphere of the place was only magnified by the shelves along every wall stacked with iridescent jars full of all manner of pickled things floating disturbingly in the brine.

Padma thought she saw a face peering out from one of them and quickly looked away.

The two girls settled at a table, and Padma saw Mike and Terry taking up the table in front of theirs. Most of the classroom, however, was dominated by the Hufflepuff contingent of first-years, which was apparently always the largest.

Helga Hufflepuff had not been kidding when she’d said she would take any student the other Founders deemed unfit for their houses.

The moment the bell rang signaling the start of class, Professor Snape himself swooped in. His cloak trailing behind him, he flicked his wand at the door, which slammed shut with a ringing sound. He was at his desk seconds later, and Padma mused that vampires must take lessons in proper skulking from Professor Severus Snape.

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or spouting of silly incantations in my classroom,” he said, insulting everything about the very world he was part of by way of introduction. “I expect few of you to understand the subtle art of potion-making or truly appreciate the complexity of the craft. Properly brewed, a potion can achieve many things no spell could ever hope to. With dedication and study, those among you possessed of the necessary qualities will learn how to bottle glory, to brew luck, and to even put a stopper in death itself.”

He paused to let that statement sink in, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on a point just over Padma’s shoulder.

“Potter,” he said very quietly, and Padma heard a matching tone behind her.


“Our new…celebrity,” Professor Snape said.

Padma resisted the urge to turn in her seat, though when Snape passed by her on his slow prowl to Harry’s table, she had to do so in order to keep her eyes on him. The professor was glaring at Harry, who only stared back with the most disaffected expression Padma had ever seen on a person. He looked positively bored.

“Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I were to add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” the professor asked.

“A sleeping potion,” Harry said after a brief pause. “A Class IV one known as the Draught of the Living Dead.”

“And where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” Snape went on, clearly unimpressed (and if anything, even more bizarrely angry) at Harry’s knowledge of the answer to his question.

“Well, in the context of potion-making, I assume you mean a bezoar from a goat, since it’s a known cure for just about any basic poison,” Harry said. “Anything with a stomach can get a bezoar, though.”

“Do not sass me, Potter,” Snape said. “What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“They’re different names for the same plant,” Harry said after barely a second’s thought.

“Also known as…?”

“Aconitum, mousebane, devil’s helmet, it’s got a lot of them,” Harry said. “I thought you were supposed to be the one teaching us?”

A shudder of nervous laughter ran through the classroom, and Snape’s lip curled in a sneer.

“I will not be disrespected in my classroom,” he said in a tone that made Padma shudder.

“But you can disrespect your students all day?” Harry asked. “It’s a two-way street, you know.”

“Ten points from Ravenclaw for your lip, Potter,” Snape said.

He whirled away from Harry, who stared after him with the same lackadaisical expression.

“Good talk,” he muttered, and Snape stopped in his tracks, turning to look over his shoulder.

“Something to say, Potter?” he asked.

“Good talk, Professor,” he repeated in louder tones. “Very illuminating.”

“Open your books to page forty-three,” Snape snarled at the class as he reached his desk once more. “Complete the Boil-Be-Gone potion found there, to be turned in by the end of class. If you have not completed the potion, you will receive no marks for the day. Get to work.”

Padma rushed to withdraw her book from her bag, as did the other students. Boy, he was moving things right along, wasn’t he? Opening to the page in her textbook, she found a complicated scrawl of numbers and symbols interspersed with the occasional block paragraph of instructions. It was an intimidating sight, and Padma wasn’t alone in the opinion, judging from the confused mutterings she was hearing around her. She had expected something of an introductory lesson, a primer where the professor actually went over what these terms meant.

Snape had different plans, it seemed.

When Padma looked up to see if anyone had made any progress (finding Harry already beginning to heat his cauldron), she saw only a hand in the air, belonging to one brave Hufflepuff girl.

“Yes?” Snape drawled, staring down the girl.

“Um…Professor, I don’t…really understand what some of this stuff means,” the girl said, quailing under the professor’s sustained gaze.

“Did it not occur to you to read chapter one’s ‘ Introduction Into Commonly-Used Abbreviations And Terminology ’?” he asked, and a flurry of page-flipping spread among the students as they did exactly that.

“I tried to, but some of it was a bit, um…confusing?” the girl went on in a voice that sounded nearly on the verge of tears.

“It’s no fault of mine if you’re simply too dense to understand the course material,” Snape said.

“It literally is,” Harry shot back into the silence. “Your job is to help your students understand it. If all you’re going to do is assign us a potion, sit and watch and occasionally insult us, why are we even here?”

“Ten more points from Ravenclaw, Potter,” Snape said coolly. “And you’re free to leave if you feel that – “

Snape didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Harry got to his feet, packing away his barely-started potion and making straight for the door without even a backward look. The door shut behind him, leaving a ringing silence in his wake. Even Snape looked a bit surprised, a single eyebrow arched at Harry’s daring. Padma highly doubted anyone had ever simply walked out of his class before.

But Harry Potter had.


“So, are we gonna get a peek of this dog or not?” Padma asked, feeling the mush in the seat of her pants shifting around as she watched Mike pace the hallway. “Only I need a diaper change, and I’d rather not stand around if you’re just planning on chickening out anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly enjoying waiting around with a big wet diaper, either,” Lisa said, her hand reaching back to tug at her skirt and ensure that it wasn’t showing off her saggy padding. Thankfully for her, Hogwarts skirts were knee-length and quite able to keep things concealed.

“I could use the loo myself, honestly,” Terry said, and Padma saw Lisa shoot him a scathing look, which only made her giggle. “Loo envy” was apparently a big issue among first-year girls from muggle families. Even hearing a boy speak about using the toilet was enough to earn a glare from some of the diaper-bound girls.

Really, why torment yourself when things were so much easier this way?

“Alright…alright, here we go,” Mike said, obviously a bit put-off now that there was a horrible creature to actually back up Dumbledore’s assurance of a “most painful death”. He’d spent the better part of the last half-hour psyching himself up for the main event.

“C’mon, Mike, Harry looked at it all on his own,” Lisa taunted the boy.

“I bet he petted all three of its heads, too,” Padma added.

“I’m not sure Harry’s entirely sane, so let’s not start using him as a role model here,” Mike shot back, though he did take a step closer to the door before whipping it open (it had apparently only been locked by a simple Locking Charm, which any first-year was able to break through). Padma saw his face go dangerously pale before he staggered back away, then everyone present jumped as three booming barks sounded, layered on top of each other. The noise echoed down the hallway, and Padma wouldn’t have been surprised if someone a floor down or up had heard it as well.

Suddenly, thunderous footfalls began to grow closer to the door, along with the skittering sound of a dog’s nails scraping for purchase against a stone floor.

It had never sounded quite so loud to Padma before.

Terry was the one who took action, hurrying forward and dragging Mike to his feet.

“Close it!” he shouted in the loudest tone Padma had ever heard him use, and both boys rushed to slam the door shut, a dull thudding impact on the opposite side of the wall announcing that whatever beast lay beyond had gotten a bit enthusiastic in trying to reach it.

A huge snuffling sound came from the door, and Padma could just imagine three heads fighting to sniff out the intruder. Terry, meanwhile, shoved a catatonic Mike away from the door and toward the stairs, the girls hot on their tail.

“Satisfied?” he asked the pretty-boy, whose eyes were wide as his face split into a manic grin.

“That was awesome,” he said.

“Well, now I definitely need a diaper change,” Lisa grumbled.

The quartet weren’t the only ones attempting to sneak a peek at the cerberus on the third floor. Dumbledore’s warning had been all but an invitation, a challenge to the school to test their bravery by meeting this painful death he had promised and living to tell the tale.

For him to have been expecting anything else, Padma mused, was simply the height of foolishness.

Once it had gotten out that the corridor was only blocked by one easily unlocked door (notorious troublemakers Fred and George Weasley had been the first to make a go of it and then spread the word through the proper channels), the first week of term became dedicated to doing what children did best when given an opportunity to do something incredibly stupid.

By the third day, it was no wonder the dog was getting a bit agitated.

Speculation soon began to run amok as to what was the point of the whole thing. The dog was obviously there to guard something, most everyone had concluded. But what had Dumbledore decided to put away in a school full of youngsters that was so valuable?

“The real question for me is, why go to all this trouble when it’s obviously a big fat danger to the students ?” Lisa asked over the sound of her diaper being ripped open. Settled onto her own changing table, Padma stared up at the star-patterned ceiling of the Ravenclaw first-year nursery as her legs were lifted and the nurse set to swiping away the mess clinging to her skin.

“It does seem…well, hugely irresponsible,” Padma agreed. She could hear more wipes being tugged free from the container on Lisa’s side of the curtain, and she guessed that her new friend had been messy as well. Likely the dog’s booming barks had startled her into filling her padding, the poor thing.

Padma was familiar with getting spooked into packing her diaper.

“Isn’t Dumbledore supposed to be super smart or something?” Lisa asked. “It just seems like he’s…not really showing it.”

As her messy diaper was pulled away and a new one slid under her, Padma shrugged even though Lisa couldn’t see it.

“I guess everyone says he is, but…maybe he used to be and he’s going a bit daft in his old age?”

The two nurses shared a laugh at that but said nothing as they began applying barrier ointment to the girls, leaving Padma feeling like she was missing out on some joke. Powder was puffed on next, and then came the familiar feeling of her diaper being folded up between her legs and taped snug against her. How could any girl stand to wear anything else? From what Padma knew, knickers were dreadfully thin and insubstantial. A diaper was thick and comforting, and Padma had been told that the muggle-born girls that accepted such logic were often the happiest. She supposed she could understand a certain level of embarrassment; after all, there were often twenty-somethings that started toilet-training too soon and needed to return to padding for a bit, and they were usually a bit bashful about the whole thing.

But at eleven years old? There was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Oh, before you go, dears,” Padma’s nurse spoke as the girls got to their feet and set their uniforms straight, “we’ve diaper covers now, if you want one.”

The other nurse approached clutching two Ravenclaw-blue diaper covers, each sporting a Ravenclaw crest emblazoned on the bum area. She held them out to the pair with a warm smile.

“They’re just a cloth bit to wear over your diaper, in case you don’t want anyone getting a peek,” she told them. Before she’d even finished speaking, Lisa took one from her and stepped into it, pulling it into place over her diaper. The pair chuckled at that, the one with the covers peering at Padma and holding out the other.

“What about you, dearie?”

“No thank you,” Padma said with a shake of her head. “Mum and Dad used to check me in public all the time, I’m used to people seeing.”

“Alright, we’ll always have spares here, if you change your mind,” the nurse said.

“Well, there, at least it’s covered,” Padma told Lisa as they made their way back to the common room.

“I guess,” Lisa shrugged. “I saw some boys use an Updraft Charm to blow some girls’ skirts up on the train, and I’ve been paranoid ever since.”

“Oh, I saw that,” Padma giggled. “Those girls made them pay, at least. I think one of the boys is still having trouble sitting down.”

“Who’s having trouble sitting down?” Mike asked as the girls trotted into the Ravenclaw common room.

“You, after you fell on your arse when you saw that dog,” Lisa said, and Mike pulled a face at her. “Oh, charming.”

The three made their way across the room toward the fireplace, seeking out seats near one of the many tall windows around the walls. The Ravenclaw common room was a massive and circular room unlike any other in Hogwarts. Located high atop the aptly-named Ravenclaw Tower, which housed the dormitories as well, the place sported a high domed ceiling painted a pleasing sky-blue and windows (hung with the finest blue silks) that ensured sunlight shone onto the deep blue carpeting every hour of the day. By night, Ravenclaws were treated to a stunning view of the moonlight playing over the distant mountains and forests of Scotland.

In Padma’s opinion, nothing was cozier than gazing out at the cold bleakness of those peaks while curled up under a blanket with a good book.

They found a cluster of chairs situated near a long table where a bunch of fourth-years were currently collaborating on an Herbology essay. Nearby, Ravenclaw Prefect Robert Hilliard was sanctimoniously offering advice despite the fact that seemingly none of them were paying attention.

He fancied himself quite the philosopher, and some of the third years had even formed a sort of fan group around him.

“Where’s Terry?” Lisa asked as they sat.

“Oh, get this,” Mike said. “Moaning Myrtle’s haunting the boys’ on the second floor. Terry went to use one of the stalls, and she comes bursting out like ‘What are you doing in the girls’ lavatory!?’ and chases him out!”

“Isn’t she supposed to be haunting the old Infirmary on the second floor?” Padma asked. “The one they used to change diapers before they expanded the Hospital Wing?”

“That’s what everyone says,” Mike told them.

“Wait…” Padma said, shaking her head as a thought occurred to her. “What is she talking about a girls’ lavatory ? When has Hogwarts ever had a girls’ lavatory?”

“And if they do, why hasn’t anyone told me?” Lisa asked.

“There’s definitely no girls’ lavatory,” Mike assured her. “You’ve got your diapers, why would you need one?”

“What did Terry do?” Padma asked.

“Oh, he scampered off to use another toilet before he weed himself,” Mike snickered. “And then I think he said something about going to tell Flitwick about it.”

Filius Flitwick, the diminutive Charms teacher (and apparently former dueling champion), was also the head of Ravenclaw house. Given that Moaning Myrtle—the ghost of an unfortunate eleven-year-old girl who had been killed under mysterious circumstances about fifty years ago—was also a Ravenclaw, he was likely as any to be able to get to the bottom of her mysterious behavior.

Still, a girls’ lavatory? Padma had to stop herself from scoffing out loud at such a notion. What girl in her right mind would think using a toilet was preferable to a diaper? The mere concept was laughable, and it was decidedly odd that Moaning Myrtle was suddenly convinced that the second-floor lavatory was a girls’. Was she playing some sort of elaborate prank?

If so, Padma didn’t get the joke.

When Albus had first hired Severus Snape, he’d been a bit apprehensive about the decision. After all, Severus was far from a people person and indeed often expressed a certain level of disdain for nearly every other living person in existence, including Albus himself at times. But Severus needed to be kept close at hand; his status as a former Death Eater and current loyalty to Albus himself put him in a perfect position to resume his duties as a double agent, should Voldemort return to life as Albus was sure he eventually would.

The only issue was his approach to the work.

Oh, his subject-matter knowledge was without compare, and Albus was often shocked at the innate grasp Severus had of potion-making despite only barely being into his thirties. He was sure, if Severus had the mind for it, he could literally write the book on potion-making and retire on the money made from it. However, even putting aside the Potions Master’s aforementioned and utter disdain for everyone else in the world (and therefore his reluctance to share his secrets with the “undeserving”), he was simply too useful for Albus to let leave Hogwarts.

This put him in a rather thorny position at the beginning of every school year.

Each year, absolutely without fail, Severus Snape spent his first week of classes displaying exactly what awaited the first-year students for the next seven years of their Potions education, and each year, no less than seven or eight of them went to their heads of house—they were exclusively from the three houses that Severus did not preside over, as he was at least tolerable to his own Slytherins and often showed an alarming amount of preferential treatment—with perfectly understandable and often sympathizable complaints.

And each year, Minerva, Pomona, and Filius sent the vexed Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws (respectively) to Albus, deciding that it was his duty to explain why they had to endure Severus’s teaching methods. The three of them had collectively determined that there was simply no good reason to allow Severus to continue in his treatment of the students, thus if it had to continue, Albus would need to be the one to assure the first-years that it was a necessary means to their education and send them along. In most cases, this was rather easy for Albus, whose grandfatherly air and generally friendly demeanor put students at ease and made them amenable to his logic.

Today, he expected, would go no differently, despite the fact that he was technically hosting a celebrity in his office.

Harry Potter was not the first student to walk out of Severus Snape’s class, though the last one had been ages ago, when a young Bill Weasley had had to be reminded of what his mother would have thought if she’d heard of him acting so disrespectfully to a teacher.

That had gotten him back in line rather quickly.

Today, he imagined, would be just as simple. Harry had grown up around the sort of gruff and abrasive personalities that Severus Snape embodied. No doubt, his patience for such a disposition had worn thin, but his tolerance had most certainly grown stronger.

He’d also never known the magical world before, and being told that he’d need to tolerate Severus in order to remain would likely spur him towards cooperation.

Perhaps it was an underhanded outlook, but Harry would come to understand in time.

A knock sounded at the door, and Albus put on his most peaceable smile.

“Enter,” he called.

The door opened, and Harry strode into the large, round room that contained Albus’s office.

Albus knew immediately that something was off in his demeanor. Where he’d been expecting Harry to be timid and perhaps wary but unfamiliar, he instead walked in with an air of such calm that Albus was even a bit taken-aback.

And that was a rarity in his rather considerable years.

Harry made his way to one of the chairs before Albus’s desk and sat without being directed, fixing Albus with a bald gaze that spoke of a boy that had already decided his course of action and was waiting to see how many feathers would be ruffled by it. In the sunlight streaming through the high windows behind Albus’s desk, he looked pale and drawn, the golden light casting long and angular shadows over his youthful features.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Albus said, figuring the best place to start was with introductions. “I am Albus Dumbledore.”

He met Harry’s eyes, hoping to perhaps probe a bit and discover what he could about the boy’s mindset. After all, Albus was rather a formidable Legilimens, though he didn’t care to use the power against a helpless student unless it seemed absolutely necessary.

In this case, a quick look into Harry’s mind seemed a good idea.

But as soon as Albus’s mental probe encountered Harry’s mind, it found itself shut out by a steel trap of a wall. Such a smooth and seamless barrier would have been impressive from even the most practiced Occlumens.

From this eleven-year-old boy, it was downright troubling. How had he learned to shut out others so completely?

The mental exchange took only a second or so, and even if his Legilimency attempts were being rebuffed as they were, Albus was quite able to keep his expression impassive and genteel. To Harry, he was merely waiting for the boy to introduce himself in kind. When he didn’t deign to do so, Albus simply forged forward.

“How have you been finding your time at Hogwarts?” he asked, hoping to ease into the subject of Severus and his teaching methods.

“Mostly positive,” Harry said after a short pause. His tone was flat bordering on emotionless, his words sedate and thoughtful, like he was picking each one before saying it. “The castle is amazing. I like exploring it.”

“Is that so?” Albus asked, unsurprised. Hogwarts had much to offer anyone visiting for the first time, let alone a boy unfamiliar with magic in general. “What have you found so far?”

“Plenty,” Harry said, leaving it at that.

“It would seem you disagree with one of our staffing choices, however,” Albus went on. Harry was a terse conversationalist, dragging things to a halt with every short remark and forcing Albus to keep the ball rolling. No matter, though; he’d dealt with plenty of stubborn students in the past.

“It would seem,” Harry agreed. He wasn’t in the habit of volunteering information, Albus was learning.

“Harry, Professor Snape has worked at this school for ten years,” Albus began, and Harry held up a finger to forestall him. Albus politely fell silent, genuinely curious as to what he had to say.

“I actually looked into that,” Harry said. “Since Snape started here, the number of students in his sixth and seventh-year N.E.W.T. classes has dropped every year. He only allows them in if they’ve achieved an O in their O.W.L. exams, which they rarely get because of his teaching methods. That’s to say nothing of his blatant favoritism. As soon as Snape became the Potions professor and head of Slytherin house, they began to gain house points at a greatly accelerated rate, inversely proportional to how many other houses have lost them. For seven out of his ten years of employment, Slytherin has won the House Cup by a huge margin as a direct result of his preferential treatment.”

Professor Snape, Harry,” Albus corrected him, and Harry shook his head.

“I refuse to give that man an ounce of respect that he hasn’t earned,” he declared.

“The world is full of Professor Snapes, my boy,” Albus told him, trying for a worldly approach. “People in positions of relative power whose skills are commendable and are yet in possession of personality traits you’ll deem…lacking. Professor Snape is a skilled potion-maker and deserving of respect. While he has his shortcomings, so do many you will meet in your life.”

“So, the world is garbage and you might as well get used to it instead of taking a stand and trying to change it?” Harry asked, and despite his words, his tone remained matter-of-fact and almost detached. “That’s your justification for subjecting hundreds of children to seven years of emotional and psychological abuse? Have you once bothered to tell him to go easier on his students, to treat them with at least a shred of dignity?”

“I have a few times suggested that he ‘lighten up’, so to speak,” Albus told him, “but he has always stated this his teaching methods are his own.”

“…I see,” Harry said after a moment.

“In any case, if you continue not to attend Potions lessons, you will also continue to receive no marks, flunk the course, and have to retake it next year,” Albus explained. “And then you’ll be right back where you began.”

“It would seem,” Harry said after a pause, “you have me cornered.”

“I would prefer not to think of it that way,” Albus told him. “Hopefully, when you’re older, you’ll understand. Now, may I tell Professor Snape to expect you in his next lesson?”

He once again met Harry’s eyes, finding them the same glimmering green as his mother’s (a wonderful color), though there was an almost empty flatness to them, a reflection of his impenetrable mind. If the eyes were indeed the windows to the soul, Harry’s had been boarded up and bricked over, barricaded against any and all attempts at intrusion.

“If that’s how it has to be,” he said. “Pass along that I politely ask that he be a little more welcoming, please.”

“If you wish,” Albus said, though he expected nothing more than for Severus to laugh at such a notion. “Now, that concludes the business for which I called you here. If I may, Harry, I did receive a rather curious letter from a goblin by the name of Tuglotar. He claimed to be acting as your solicitor and quite sternly requested that I turn over your father’s old invisibility cloak, as it was the rightful property of the Potter Family.”

“Yes, thank you for your prompt response,” Harry said with a nod. “It was nice to have a family heirloom like that back in my possession.”

“You’re only too welcome,” Albus said in courtly tones. The boy was almost too shrewd, not letting a single bit of information slip. “Mind you don’t spend too much of the gold in your vault on his fees, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Harry said. “He’s being compensated fairly for the work he’s providing. Professor, might I ask a question in turn?”

“Why, it would only be polite,” Albus said. “I will answer as best as I am able.”

“Who was it, sir, that saw to my being placed in the Dursleys’ custody?” he asked. “Who made that happen?”

“Me, Harry,” Albus said, watching for any betrayal of emotion in the mask of his face. He was impassive as ever, though, as Albus went on. “I sent Hagrid to fetch you from the ruins of your home, and I myself placed you on their doorstep. As your last living family, it was only right that you remain with the Dursleys, even if it would be a bit…tumultuous for you.”

“Tumultuous,” Harry repeated. He was silent for a moment before nodding and slowly getting to his feet. “If you’ve nothing more, sir, I’ve a History essay I need to work on.”

“Absolutely,” Albus said, standing as well. “Diligence in your homework and study habits is important. You’re quite the Ravenclaw.”

“Good day, then, sir,” Harry said with a nod, turning and making for Albus’s office door.

“Good day to you as well, Harry,” Albus said to the boy’s back, and he left with a quiet click of Albus’s office door shutting behind him. Once he was gone, one of the former headmasters spoke up from his portrait among the collection around Albus’s office.

“Something genuinely disquieting about that boy.”

“I’ve known politicians that weren’t as tight-lipped as that one,” another observed. “How old is he?”

“Eleven, Fortescue,” Albus said, and a murmur went along the other portraits.

“That is disturbing behavior from such a little one,” Quentin Trimble observed. “He has been forced to mature far beyond his years. I suspect he’s being abused at home.”

“Of course he is,” Phineas Nigellus Black chuckled. “Dumbledore signed him up for it, sold the little piggy to market for his Greater Good.”

“That will do, Phineas,” Albus said, perhaps a little crossly. He slowly lowered himself back to his seat and peered down at his desk, where an opened envelope sat atop a letter from Tuglotar the goblin. Harry’s solicitor had made it abundantly clear in the correspondence that the details of his association with his client were absolutely confidential and that he ought to “nose out unless you want it even more crooked”. Albus had no desire to lean on a goblin in an attempt to gain information; they were an extremely fraternal sort and quite happy to band together to defend one of their own, which would only draw undue attention to Albus himself.

Still, for now he would simply watch and wait. After all, Harry Potter was simply an eccentric boy of eleven.

How much trouble could he possibly cause?

My version of Harry is a lot of fun for me to write, which I suppose is a bit narcissistic to say? It took me a while to find him, but once I did, he flowed so easily that I couldn’t resist giving him a bit of screen time even if it meant a section of the chapter that had no mention of diapers.

Hopefully that doesn’t detract from anyone’s enjoyment of the story!


great chapter I look forward to the rest and your harry is more like what a muggle child discovering a new world would do to know how to explore and learn everything like hermione

OK, I’m not sure if I can swallow this new version of Harry… By the way, what does he think of all the girls wearing diapers? Missed Hermionie also. But in whole, you’ve got me hooked. Hard not to watch a Harry Potter movie without visualizing all the girls in diapers, hehe! Keep it up!

This is a very different Harry Potter, and I understand if he’s not everyone’s cuppa tea. Hermione will return soon, so don’t you worry about her. And I’m glad I’ve got you imagining the cast of the movies all diapered up! It sounds quite cute!


Sorry about the delay on this one, but I had a Thanksgiving get-together over the weekend, and that pushed my writing schedule back a bit. The plot thickens almost as much as the padding in this one!

Chapter Six: Moaning Myrtle

Padma found the whole concept of a public restroom rather ridiculous. Here was a room full of toilets just stuck into a building, where someone had to drop everything that they were doing and deviate from their day to empty their bladder or void their bowels into a bowl of water that would whisk it away. Only once they were done dealing with this cumbersome method of disposal could they get back to the task at hand, after having spent however much time they needed to devote to their bathroom break.

Honestly, given how long Dad often spent on the toilet, it seemed a tremendous waste of time.

And so, as she and Lisa made their way into the boys’ lavatory on the second floor, she was not only anxious about the possibility of being caught in a place they were technically not allowed, she was also rather perplexed on the draw of such a concept in the first place. This room offended every sensibility she held, and in her opinion, the less time she spent here, the better.

It was a mark of just how much she liked Lisa that she had even agreed to this venture in the first place.

“How do we know she’s even in here?” Padma asked her friend as they strode along a row of wooden stalls. Tiny cubicles to house a toilet that so many other bums had come into contact with. It took two seconds to use a diaper, people!

“She’s been pestering the boys all week,” Lisa said. “Flitwick’s tried talking to her a few times, but she is dead set on the fact this used to be a girls’ lavatory.”

“And why do you care if some ghost has gone ‘round the twist?”

“Well, don’t you think there might be something to it?” Lisa asked. “I mean, why would she suddenly start freaking out like this?”

“She’s a ghost, Lisa,” Padma told her. “And from what I’ve heard, she wasn’t exactly stable when she was alive.”

“You’d be unstable yourself if Olive Hornby wouldn’t stop making fun of your glasses and calling you speck-face,” another voice said, and the two girls jolted before turning to see the translucent figure of a girl no older than them slumped on one of the toilet seats. Moaning Myrtle was an unfortunate thing to Padma, bearing great big round glasses that magnified her eyes and gave her a permanent sad sort of look. Her skin was marred by the beginnings of a breakout of acne, and her hair was pulled into a pair of unflattering braids that were unevenly-done.

“Oh,” Lisa said in a voice of feigned politeness. “Hello, Myrtle.”

“Are you going to try to chase me out of here, too?” the ghost asked them. “Are they trying to…send a couple of girls in so I might listen to them?”

“Actually, I was hoping to ask you about the girls’ lavatory,” Lisa said, and Padma saw Myrtle perk up a bit.

“You believe me?” she asked, standing and floating toward them with a fervent expression. “It seems like everyone’s gone mad. All the girls are walking around in nappies, and all the boys are using my bathroom, acting like it’s always been this way.”

“Well, it has,” Padma said, unable to keep a defensive note out of her voice. “Girls have always worn diapers. And we haven’t called them ‘nappies’ in ages.”

“Then why aren’t I?” Myrtle asked. “I’m wearing knickers, I even died while hiding in the girls’ lavatory from a bully.”

“Maybe she was bullying you because you weren’t properly attired,” Padma said, using the phrase most did when referring to a girl or woman wearing knickers instead of a diaper.

“She wasn’t!” Myrtle insisted, seeming to teleport in a wisp right in front of Padma’s face. She radiated a cool wash of air, like a block of ice left out on a hot summer day. “She was picking on me over my glasses, making fun of my…my acne with her perfect alabaster skin!” she mock-simpered. “I’m not mad, I’m not ‘ going ‘round the twist ’, and I’m not the only ghost that’s noticed something’s off. I’m just the only one who seems to care!”

“Wait, Myrtle,” Lisa said, and Padma saw through the ghost girl as her friend leaned against a nearby sink. “Other ghosts have noticed something’s up?”

“Well, the Oldies don’t generally include me in their discussions,” Myrtle said in faux-haughty tones, “but I sometimes run across Duncan Ashe. Dreamy Slytherin boy. He died in the eighties, and he says he doesn’t remember any girl ever wearing nappies when he went to Hogwarts. And , he was a pureblood, so he’d know most of all.”

Okay, that was…unusual, Padma had to admit to herself. Still, what did it mean? Either the ghosts were sharing some sort of altered perception of reality, or the entirety of wizard society had been hoodwinked into believing that they had always worn diapers. Both prospects seemed impossible, but one had to be true, didn’t it? Padma didn’t feel hoodwinked or like her memories were fake. Diapers felt right to her, natural. She was sure if she asked any of the pureblood or half-blood girls, they would say the same.

“You two about done in there?” Mike’s voice came from the doorway. “I’d rather not miss lunch because you’re having a girls’ chat in the lavatory.”

“We should get going,” Padma said, and Lisa sighed. “Lisa, it’s not like we can do anything about…whatever this is.”

“We might be able to,” Lisa said, though she hurried after Padma as the pair departed the bathroom, leaving Moaning Myrtle to her strange circumstances. “There has to be some sort of answer in the library, right?”

“Where would we even start?” Padma asked. “And what would we even look for?”

“What did Myrtle have to say?” Terry asked when the pair emerged into the second-floor corridor. The foursome made their way toward the stairs, and Lisa quickly regaled the two boys with Myrtle’s tale.

“That’s…very odd,” Mike said. “You don’t usually hear about a ghost’s memories being mucked with.”

“Because you can’t muck with them,” Terry said. “The only thing a wizard can really do with a ghost is stop it from haunting a particular place or keep it confined to a specific area, and that’s only using very powerful magic. I think you have be one of the Ministry’s Unspeakables to even learn the spells.”

“So there’s no way to tamper with their memories?” Lisa asked, and Terry shook his head.

“It’d be like trying to using a Memory Charm on your shadow,” he said with a shrug. “A ghost isn’t made of the same stuff, they’re not really made of anything .”

“So Myrtle’s not had her memories tampered with,” Lisa concluded. They made their way down to the first floor, and soon the noise of the Great Hall grew around them, the smells of lunch filling the air and causing Padma’s stomach to give a hungry growl.

“This all doesn’t count out the possibility that this could be some elaborate prank on her part,” she said.

“Is Moaning Myrtle the pranking type?” Mike asked, and Padma gave a shrug as she sat, releasing a stream of urine into her rather soaked diaper as she grabbed for a roast beef sandwich. Their little excursion had cut into time that could have been spent running to the Hospital Wing for a change. At least it was Charms next; Flitwick was usually fairly good about giving the girls a few extra minutes to get to class.

“I don’t really know her all that well,” Padma said. “We could ask someone?”

“Oi, Cho!” Mike said, and Padma jumped as he directed his shout over her shoulder. Turning to look back, she saw Cho Chang staring wide-eyed at Mike on her way toward the door. No one else seemed that bothered by Mike’s outburst; only a week and half into a term, he’d already established himself as a bit of a loudmouth.

“Mike?” Cho asked. “Yeh need something?”

When Padma had first met Cho, she was embarrassed to admit that she’d been a little taken aback by her thick Scottish lilt. A Chinese girl with a Scottish accent was, after all, no more unusual than an Indian girl with an English accent. Still, the combination of Cho’s sleek black hair, fetching appearance, and her (in Padma’s opinion) adorable accent had put her squarely in the sights of most of Ravenclaw’s male population fourth-year and below. She seemed rather discomforted by the attention, however, and often tended to keep to herself.

“Has Moaning Myrtle ever been known to prank people or make up stories?” Mike asked, and Cho gave him an odd look.

“This some kinda interview for a news story?” she asked with a smirk.

“An investigation,” Padma said jokingly, and Lisa stuck her tongue out at her. “Lisa thinks we’ve all been tricked into thinking we wear diapers.”

Cho quirked an eyebrow at that, fixing Lisa with a dubious look, and Lisa shot a little glare at Padma.

“Well, it’s not like there isn’t at least a bit of evidence to support the theory,” she huffed. “You make it sound like I just made it up on the spot.”

“And Moaning Myrtle is this evidence?” Cho asked.

Lisa quickly summarized their trip to the restroom, Myrtle’s conflicting memories, and the apparent inability for magic to alter a ghost on any level except where they were allowed to go. Padma had to admit, when she laid all the facts out in order, there was a compelling case to at least investigate a bit further.

“Well, that’s definitely weird,” Cho admitted. “Far as I know, Myrtle’s not the type to make things up. She’s just too mopey to go and get up to any mischief.”

“Still, what could have possibly gone and messed with the memory of every single witch and wizard in our world?” Terry asked. “That’d be a hell of a spell.”

“A super-secret cabal of wizards that exists in shadow and enacts their dark schemes in an attempt to subjugate us without us even knowing about it?” Mike asked.

“You’re actually insane,” Padma said. “I bet you believe in those stories of the Cursed Vaults, too.”

“If there can be a Chamber of Secrets and whatever’s going on with that great big three-headed dog, why can’t there be five rooms full of deadly treasure?” Mike pointed out.

“I can’t even argue that,” Padma said with a shrug. “It’s an excellent point.”

“Terry does have a point,” Padma said as the two girls made their way to Charms class, now powder-scented and freshly-diapered. “What could have altered our entire world’s memories? Including mine? It doesn’t feel like my mind’s been tampered with.”

“Well, would you even know?” Lisa countered. “It’s just…interesting. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I just wish we knew someone who could help us.”

“We could ask Professor Flitwick,” Padma suggested. “Maybe don’t mention exactly what we’re asking about, but if this is some sort of huge Memory Charm, I bet he’d have a guess as to how it was done.”

“So, are you buying into this theory, then?” Lisa asked with a hopeful little smile, and Padma smirked at her.

“If it means that much to you, I’ll at least help you get to the bottom of this,” she said. “I can’t very well leave my friend to figure out this big mystery all on her own.”

Lisa’s smile only widened, and she gave Padma a gentle bump with her shoulder.

“You’re pretty great, Padma,” she said.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Padma told her.

They met Terry and Mike near the back of the room, taking their seats and watching Professor Flitwick as he called out attendance. Despite only coming up to the average person’s waist, Professor Filius Flitwick commanded nothing but respect from the magical community. His grasp of charms magic was unparalleled, and he was apparently a frighteningly-skilled duelist. Students had been pestering him for years to publish an autobiography, and rumor had it that he had taken a few steps to working toward one.

“Now, since every day cannot be action-packed and…charming,” Flitwick said, and the class went up in a collective groan (both from the implied bookwork and his pun), “I don’t want to hear anyone complaining as we read from chapter four of Magical Theory and learn about the difference between practical charms and illusory charms. I ask that everyone volunteer to read, and we will occasionally stop to discuss a passage. Any volunteers?”

In front of Padma, Mike raised his hand, to everyone’s shock. Michael Corner was not the type to willingly participate in classwork.

“Well, Mr. Corner,” Flitwick said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Actually, I had a question, Professor,” Mike said. “About Memory Charms.”

“Memory Charms,” Professor Flitwick repeated thoughtfully. “That’s quite a bit more advanced than a first-year should be even attempting to learn.”

“I more just wanted a few clarifications about them,” Mike went on. “So…say I wanted everyone in the wizarding world to think something like…a man has always been allowed to have two wives instead of just one.”

A collective chuckle went up at this from the boys in the room, though the girls fixed Mike with a cluster of scathing looks that Padma was surprised didn’t vaporize him on the spot. Still, she recognized what Mike was getting at; he was thinking the same thing she and Lisa had been. Flitwick would obviously know a thing or two that would be pertinent to his theory. All that was left was to probe for information without getting labeled as mad or conspiracy theorists.

Of course, Mike was the best option, as he was already believed to be mad.

“Well, a spell like that would be highly unethical, Mr. Corner, and I would not recommend attempting such a thing,” Professor Flitwick said. “However, I do encourage thought exercises, so in only a hypothetical sense, that would require a two-part spell. A Memory Charm to erase the previous knowledge and a Memory Fabrication Charm to implant the new. Both are extremely tricky spells and disastrous to get wrong, though, and to use them on such a large scale would be simply impossible for even the most skilled wizards.”

“But what could do such a thing?” Terry asked.

“Believe it or not, very few beings possess the power to affect change on such a large scale,” Professor Flitwick said, and though his lesson plan was being vastly derailed, it was clear he was enjoying the rapt attention of his students, who had apparently become quite invested in the discussion. “Otherwise, the rise of several dark lords might have gone quite differently. Societal change like the one you’re talking about, Mr. Corner, must be made using words and by stirring the hearts of the people. So, if you’re trying to pick which girl to woo right now, I suggest you pick one and don’t try for both at once.”

The class chuckled at that, and a few of the girls tossed crumpled paper balls or old quills at Mike, who grinned roguishly in a way that told Padma a few of them might not mind sharing him someday.

For her part, Padma saw Lisa visibly slump in her seat. Well, that was one avenue of investigation that would yield no results, not without raising a few questions from their Head of House on why they were so invested in this. That would only draw suspicion to Lisa, who had already kicked up a fuss upon arriving at Hogwarts and did not need more of a target painted on her back.

They needed someone else that knew the bizarrely obscure ins-and-outs of the magical world, someone who would be sympathetic to Lisa’s plight or at least invested enough in a good conundrum such as this to help.

And there was only one place to look for such a person.

Gaelic Spells Of The Twelfth Century…Gadrak’s Guide to Goblin Cuisine…Gadzooks! You’ve Grown A Tail!..

“Ah, there you are,” Hermione said with a smile, standing on her tip-toes to reach Gallywook’s Compendium . Tugging the book carefully from the shelf, she let it fall into her arms and spent a few seconds taking in the sheer age of this tome. It was probably older than her grandfather, than her great grandfather. Magic made it all too easy to preserve a book from the normal hazards of wear-and-tear (even in a school full of irresponsible children), so Hermione had spent the last week and half poring over pages and contemplating covers generations-old despite the fact that they looked freshly-printed. The inside cover of this one—a collection of spells that had been indispensable in the day-to-day life of a semi-famous wizard named Gredrick Gallywook—claimed it to have been published sometime in the early seventeenth century. Apparently, all of the pertinent information had found its way into the various editions of The Standard Book of Spells , but there had to be some fascinating tidbits that hadn’t , and that was the sort of thing Hermione was after today.

She had missed out on so many little nuggets of knowledge by being born to muggles, and she had a lot of catching up to do.

Carting the book back to the table where she’d set up shop for the afternoon, Hermione found herself walking a bit bow-legged; her diaper had grown positively sodden after hours among the shelves, and she had to admit that they were handy in transforming a library trip into a proper book safari. She might have lost her study flow or even given up altogether on reaching the farthest corners of this place if she hadn’t had a convenient bathroom solution strapped to her hips.

Speaking of which…

Placing her newfound book on top of several others that she had procured during her trip, Hermione took a little breath, shifting her feet apart and pushing.

“Oi, there you are,” a voice said, and Hermione inwardly groaned. George had such impeccable timing.

“Ngh, here I am,” Hermione said with the tiniest of grunts, and George seemed to realize he’d caught her at a delicate time. A week ago, the prospect of soiling herself in front of anyone would have had her dying of humiliation, but it was treated as so commonplace among the student body that Hermione almost found it a little silly to bother being embarrassed over it when on one else seemed fussed.

The is included George, who she was beginning to realize she was nursing a real crush on.

“Someone about ready for a change?” George asked once Hermione had finished filling her padding with quite a sizeable load of mush. Unable to help a small blush (he was talking so openly about it!), she simply nodded, and George wordlessly moved to scoop up her books. “Blimey. Planning on doing a bit of reading this weekend?”

“You should know the answer to that, we’ve been acquainted for longer than five minutes,” Hermione told him.

“Miss Proper, here,” George chuckled as they made their way to the exit. “We’ve ‘been acquainted’ when I thought I was friends with you.”

“Well…that, too,” Hermione huffed, feeling her mess shifting and sliding along her swollen padding as she walked. She’d done quite a number on this diaper.

“Quite a waddle you’ve got there,” George observed, in tune with her own thoughts. “Wanna stop by the Hospital Wing or see if you can make it back to Moira?”

“The Hospital Wing is on the way back to the common room,” Hermione said with a small sigh. Comfortable as she was beginning to get in diapers, getting changed by anyone other than Moira was still not exactly preferable. This was apparently quite normal among the girls of Hogwarts, though; most ended up bonding with a nurse in particular and wound up going back to that one most often.

Still, Hermione didn’t fancy walking all the way down to the dungeons with a fully-loaded diaper.

“Hospital Wing it is,” George said, and Hermione felt the familiar (and somewhat comforting) touch of his hand on her back, guiding her along.

“Where’s Fred?” she asked, blushing at the rustling noise her diaper made as she walked.

“He took a pretty nasty spill at practice,” George said. “Banged his arm up real good. We’ll likely see him at the Hospital Wing.”

Fred and George were both on the Slytherin quidditch team, a sport that apparently was played on broomsticks and operated like a weird mix between football and basketball. Hermione had gathered that the twins played a position called beater, which involved hitting a sentient flying ball around with a club while it tried its level best to smash into other players.

It still didn’t sound quite as violent as rugby.

The distant sounds of a distressed Fred Weasley could be heard as the pair approached the Hospital Wing, followed by the chiding voice of Daphne, who Hermione spotted sitting next to one of the many beds arranged in neat rows throughout the massive room. High windows let in plenty of sunlight over the distant mountains, illuminating a green-clad figure in the bed. Still wearing his emerald green quidditch robes, Fred Weasley was being seen to by the white-haired matron of the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey.

“…broken in six places, and I have to mend each one separately or it won’t sit right,” the old woman was saying in the stern but caring voice of a woman that had obviously seen to a lot of injured children in her time. “You signed up for that wretched sport, you’d best be willing to handle the aftermath.”

“C’mon, I’m the one in diapers, and you’re being a big baby,” Daphne said, and Fred glared at her.

“If my hand wasn’t completely numb right now, it would be making quite a rude gesture at you,” he said.

“Wouldn’t Mother be scandalized,” George said as he approached with Hermione in tow, and Fred grinned at him while Daphne shot Hermione a wave.

“I think she’s reached the scandal threshold with us two,” he said. “Anything new just doesn’t register anymore.”

“That just means we need to try harder,” George nodded. Daphne climbed to her feet with a roll of her eyes, deciding that Fred was in good hands as she made her way over to Hermione. Without a word, she lifted up Hermione’s skirt, and she felt heat rising in her face as Daphne oh so casually checked the state of her diaper.

“Infirmary,” she pronounced, taking Hermione’s hand and leading her toward the room in question.

“I could have just told you I needed a change,” Hermione huffed, and Daphne giggled a bit, pulling Hermione’s arm into a squeeze.

“Sometimes it’s cute to just see the look on your face,” she admitted. “C’mon, it was only Fred and George. They’re so used to it from their little sister, they probably didn’t even care.”

As they passed through to the Infirmary, Hermione saw a couple of Gryffindor girls she recognized from Potions class, which the Slytherins shared with the house. One of them was one of the Indian girls she’d seen during her first change at Hogwarts (Parvati, who had the longer hair, she recalled), and her friend was a pretty girl with light brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes that fixed on Hermione as they passed each other.

“Hello,” she said in polite tones, and Hermione managed a small wave before Daphne pulled her along.

“Mind what you say to Lavender Brown,” she said in a low voice. “She’s a massive gossip.”

“I thought Slytherins loved gossip,” Hermione said as they made their way over to the nurses on duty.

“Slytherins don’t spread gossip, but we’re happy to listen to it,” Daphne said. “Daddy always says information is useful, and the spread of it can be even more useful when it’s controlled.”

“What does he do?” Hermione asked.

“He owns the Cleansweep Broom Company,” Daphne told her, amending herself as the pair climbed onto a couple of changing tables. “Well…he owns the controlling interest and makes sure Benford Ollerton doesn’t do anything foolish that’ll lose him money.”

“Do all pureblood families just have a bunch of money that they put places that’ll make them even more?” Hermione asked, and Daphne looked over at her with plain expression.

“Yeah,” she said simply.

Life as a Slytherin was surprisingly fun for Hermione, who had managed to keep her blood status under wraps and was quite able to pose as a pureblood due to her extensive research and resultant ability to display a categoric knowledge of the wizarding world. More than once, she had had to pass off her “scarily thorough” knowledge (as Daphne had put it) as a wish to someday be involved in wizarding law.

The more Hermione thought about it, the more such a thing honestly sounded like a good idea.

More than fitting in, though, for the first time in years, Hermione had friends. Daphne, Fred, George, even Bella Zabini often joined them for study sessions. Daphne was proving to be a wonderful friend (though she toed the line from sassy to mean-spirited once in a while), and Fred and George were absolutely amazing. If they weren’t rendering Hermione speechless from a snorting fit of giggles, they were surprising her at their capacity for the occasional nugget of wisdom or deep observation.

The only caveat in her perfect school life was one singularly annoying bint of a girl.

“Granger,” Pansy Parkinson said as Hermione sat on her bed, scribbling the last few lines of a diary entry for the day. She had just gotten a fresh diaper and onesie put on after a bath and was feeling ready for a good sleep. “Did you get the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay done?”

“…I did,” Hermione said. Was Pansy about to ask for help?

“Good, give it here,” Pansy said, snapping her fingers and holding a hand out like she actually expected Hermione to just hand over the essay.


“Give it here, Granger,” Pansy said warningly, “or I make you regret the day you were born.”

“How about you climb down from your high horse, or I make you regret the day I was born?” Hermione shot back.

“Solid comeback, Hermione,” Bella said admiringly as she emerged from the bath, wrapped once again in a fluffy-looking bathrobe and toweling her hair dry. “I got chills off that one.”

“Sod off, bimbo,” Pansy spat at her. “This is between the two of us.”

“You’re really picking a fight with Granger?” Bella asked. “That’s your power play?”

“I said sod off!” Pansy shot, and Bella quirked an eyebrow, fixing Hermione with a curious look.

“It’s alright,” Hermione said with a wave of her hand. “Go get a diaper on.”

Smirking at Hermione, Bella made her way from the dormitory, leaving Pansy to once again snap her fingers in a “hurry-up” manner that had Hermione suppressing the urge to hex her nose from her face.

“Goodnight, Pansy,” Hermione said, and Pansy sneered at her.

“You don’t want to make me your enemy,” she said.

“No, I don’t want to make you my friend ,” Hermione said. “Because I find you to be rather unpleasant. Having you as an enemy is a complete nonissue to me.”

“…You were warned,” Pansy said archly, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She sounded like she was hoping to be the villain in some pulp radio drama, but she was coming across more like a Saturday morning cartoon character, a bully that was all bluster and completely ineffective at more than schoolyard insults. Hermione had learned long ago how to brush off even the most caustic and scathing remarks and come to terms with her untamable curls and somewhat larger-than-average front teeth.

George had even called them “kinda cute” once, which had made her glow for days afterward.

And if Pansy felt like things needed to come to blows, Hermione knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she could handle the girl in a magical confrontation. She had enough support that her friends could attest to her acting in self-defense if and when a teacher became involved, and she would most definitely leave Pansy thinking twice about tangling with her again.

No, the only real worry on Hermione’s mind as she went to sleep that night was how easily she had settled into a life that involved replacing toilet-training and panties with the wearing and use of diapers. She had taken much too quickly to the notion, in all honesty. The simple fact was, her life was simply made easier when the impetus to make it to the restroom was removed and replaced with the thick and padded buffer of diapers. She could find absolutely no pressing reason to push back against the wizarding world’s insistence on saving potty-training for later, and indeed, the muggle world and their policy of toilet-training at the tender age of two seemed more and more ill-advised as she observed the conveniences offered by the alternative (albeit with a number of quality-of-life hacks added by means of magic).

In short, she was going native, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Still, there was little that could be done about it now, and she was having far too much fun learning and experiencing the magical world to want to make a fuss over trifles like their underwear policy. No one around her was belittling her for it, and every other girl she knew was in the same boat. Indeed, the worst part of Pansy’s little power-play attempt was trying not to laugh as her would-be bully had stood there in a sodden diaper.

The only reason she hadn’t was the fact it would give away her status as a muggle-born.

And so, in the wee hours of the morning, when Hermione found herself blearily waking, feeling a rather insistent push in her bladder (she had had a great big glass of lemonade with dinner), she released a warm stream of urine into her padding with barely a second thought, feeling it swell between her legs. Evidently, the average muggle-born girl needed only a month or so before she started wetting in her sleep, and after a year or two, some even voided their bowels without waking.

That would be…daunting.

Speaking of daunting, as Hermione was getting situated under covers and ready to doze off again, she heard a rustling on the other side of her four-poster’s hangings. Was someone going to get a midnight change? No, the noise was right on the other side of her hangings, like someone was fiddling around with her things. A metallic rattling told Hermione that this stranger was trying to access her trunk, and even sight unseen, she was positive that it was Pansy attempting to swipe the much-coveted essay.

That was rather foolish.


“Oi, what the hell !?”

Stifling a laugh, Hermione lit the lantern on her bedside table with a wave of her wand and peeked out from behind her curtains to check out the commotion, spotting Daphne across from her with a matching impish smile.

“Something wrong, Pansy?” she asked in her sweetest tone.

“Did you get mixed up and try to open the wrong trunk?” Hermione asked. “Only I’ve got some warding charms on mine to keep people from stealing from it is all.”

“You…you absolute scum !” Pansy shrieked, advancing on Hermione before the dormitory door flew open.

“What the blazes is going on in here?” the voice of Gemma Farley carried into the room, and she stood in the doorway with a dressing gown hanging open over her onesie, which was straining slightly against how loaded her diaper looked to be. Hermione wondered if she’d been on her way to the nursery for a change and heard the commotion. The Prefect’s eyes shot wide when she saw Pansy in the light spilling in from the hallway outside, and Hermione saw her trying to stifle laughter. This of course only made it harder for Hermione and Daphne to keep their own giggles from breaking through.

“Granger attacked me!” Pansy insisted, her face red, though Hermione wasn’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment or a mingling of both. She suspected both. Pansy had no idea what had been done to her, but from the laughter sounding around her, she could tell it was hilarious.

And, oh, it was.

Pansy’s hair was now a vibrant shade of greenish-yellow that reminded Hermione of the safety vests worn by construction workers, and it had been styled into a mullet, a short flat-top complimented by a long mane that spilled over her shoulders. Worse still, her eyebrows had been changed to match, making her look somehow even more ridiculous as they nearly disappeared into her pallor. Fred had been the one to suggest the warding spell array (citing that many would-be thieves had been deterred after only two successful triggerings), and Hermione had meticulously set it up on both hers and Daphne’s trunks.

She would have to remember to reapply them.

“Oh, she attacked you?” Gemma asked in a voice laced with skepticism. “From her bed? Looks to me like you tried to be a sneak, but Hermione had a surprise set for you. That looks like the Weasley boys’ trademark, isn’t it, Hermione?”

“Yes, Fred showed it to me,” Hermione said, and Gemma smirked at her.

“That’s advanced stuff for a first-year,” she said. “Very impressive.”

“Gemma!” Pansy huffed. “What about me?”

“What about you?” Gemma asked, her tone switching instantly to that of utter exasperation. “Pansy, I dunno what sort of power trip you think you’re on, but if you’re thick enough to try to pick a fight with the absolute brightest girl I’ve ever met, you’ll continue to get what’s coming to you. Would you like me to inform Professor Snape about this? After you’re little episode last week?”

Pansy glared at the Prefect, but there was little she could do without digging herself deeper. Huffing, she turned and flounced away toward the bathroom with a slammed door, likely to attempt to fix her hair. She would find it quite a chore; apparently the wards Fred had told her about had come from a thick old tome he’d found in the Weasley family library. There was a very trickily-worded counter-spell, but nothing Pansy would likely know.

Of course, there were ways around such things for a more-learned magic-user, but if Pansy was trying to plagiarize homework, how learned could she be?

“Back to bed, you two,” Gemma said much more warmly to Hermione and Daphne. “Hermione, if she keeps being a bother, come and talk to me, okay?”

“Oh, she hasn’t bothered me at all,” Hermione insisted, and Gemma winked at her.

“You are just a little ball of sass, and I love that about you,” she said. She shot them one last little smile before ducking back out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Hermione heard the telltale shuffling of Daphne leaving her bed, and seconds later, she was joining Hermione in hers.

“Boy, she’s really digging herself deep, isn’t she?” the blonde asked, and Hermione snickered, tugging the hangings shut and lighting her wand. Daphne’s diaper rustled and crinkled as she settled to sit on her heels, smirking at Hermione. “What’s it like to be the Queen Bee of the Slytherin first-years?”

“I am not the Queen Bee,” Hermione huffed.

“I think Gemma Farley is going to propose to you at some point,” Daphne said, and Hermione snorted. “At the very least, you’ve caught Draco Malfoy’s attention. He’s been asking about you.”

“That blond prat with the pointed face?” Hermione asked distastefully. “Ew.”

“You say that, but he’s rich and the son of an old pureblood family,” Daphne cautioned her. “That means he’s influential and someone you want to at least pretend to get along with.”

“Bleh,” Hermione grumbled, flumping back onto her mattress. Daphne smiled down and nestled down alongside her. Hogwarts beds were king-sized, allowing plenty of room for both girls, and Daphne had even simply spent the night sleeping next to Hermione a few times. This was apparently typical behavior for girls in the magical world, once they’d become close-enough friends, at least.

“Slytherin politics are bollocks sometimes, aren’t they?” Daphne asked, and Hermione shrugged.

“I guess if what I’m reading is right, pureblood money controls a lot of how our government runs,” she said, and Daphne nodded. “So the more I learn to get along with them, the less hassle they’ll be causing me.”

“Exactly,” Daphne said proudly, reaching over to gently pinch Hermione’s cheek. “Look at you, thinking like a proper snake.”

“That would be your corruptive influence,” Hermione said wryly.

“Oh, I can’t take all the credit,” Daphne said with a shake of her head. “It was always there, you just needed a good solid nudge. I mean, look at you. You booby-trapped your chest and all but invited Pansy to go rifling through your things. That’s devious.”

“Oh, you’ll make me blush,” Hermione said, crawling up and moving to the end of her bed. “I do need to reapply that charm, though.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Pansy to try again,” Daphne agreed. “She really is just the worst sort of Slytherin. She’s mean for the sake of it. It’s like she goes out of her way to be an arse in the stupidest way possible.”

Waving her wand at her trunk a last few times and muttering the spells Fred had told her, Hermione crawled back under the warmth of her blankets, giggling a bit when Daphne snuggled into her side. For all her talk of the politics of school life and playing the part of Slytherin’s “Ice Princess”, she was an unrepentant snuggle-bug, and the nights where she joined Hermione in her bed usually ended with mornings wrapped in a tangle of Daphne’s limbs. Not that Hermione minded.

It was nice, she mused, to have friends.

Pansy is a lot of fun to write because she’s what I call Stupid-Evil. It’s like Chaotic-Evil but worse.

After this chapter, I reached a small conundrum. The next chapter is all Harry antics, and try as I might, I simply cannot get his end of events to meet up with the Big Secret of this one (and there is a Big Secret). As such, most of Harry’s stuff contains little to no diaper content. Given the aim of this site, I understand that that sort of content would be in low demand. I’ve toyed with (and am warming to) the notion of writing an alternate version of this story free of diaper content and posting it through other channels, but such a thing would cut into the time spent on this one.

I just came up with some a compelling Harry Potter that I really want to write and explore him more.

Anyway, that’s simply what I’m dealing with at the moment, as well as a resurging interest in a few other projects I was working on. I will not be abandoning this story, however, so long as it continues to attract interest.