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.
“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.”
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.
ATTEMPTS AT SUBVERTING THIS POLICY ARE GROUNDS FOR IMMEDIATE DISCINIPLINARY ACTION UP TO AND INCLUDING EXPULSION!
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.