Second Round

As soon as Jack cheerfully announced the break, Ginny darted toward the far corner of the stage. But her new body refused to obey: her short, thick legs barely shuffled across the floor, and her enormous, firm ass jiggled with every step, throwing off her balance. With **** effort, she made it to a decorative pink screen that smelled of cheap perfume and sweat, and hid behind it.

Behind the screen stood a small, round pouf of bright pink color, upholstered in glossy leather that reflected the stage lights. It was clearly designed for future bimbos—low, soft, with a concave center, as if specifically made for sinking into. Ginny heavily plopped onto it, and her huge, firm ass spread across the surface, causing her body to sway slightly. The pouf creaked dully under her weight, and the fabric of her blouse stretched over her rounded belly. She immediately covered her face with her hands, feeling her plump, perpetually parted lips tremble with suppressed sobs. Hot tears already streamed down her cheeks, and saliva, flowing abundantly from her mouth, trickled between her fingers and dripped onto the taut fabric of her blouse, forming dark stains. She tried to hold back the sobs, but the tears still broke through—hot, angry, full of despair and shame.

— Sht… fool… what a fool I am… — she said bitterly through her tears, her voice wet and slurred, each word accompanied by a soft smack of her plump lips. — How could I believe I could outthmart them…

Memories of the past few weeks spun through her mind like a kaleidoscope—vivid, painful, inescapable. She had spent countless hours with Hermione at the old kitchen table in the Burrow, surrounded by scattered parchments and half-empty tea cups. The air was thick with the scent of ink and tea leaves, and the table was covered in stacks of charts filled with Hermione’s neat handwriting. They had meticulously analyzed every episode of the show, searching for patterns. Hermione, adjusting her glasses, had enthusiastically outlined her plan:

— "Ginny, if you strictly follow this sequence, you’ll have roughly a sixty-eight percent chance of getting through the first round with minimal changes." Her fingers glided over the parchment, pointing at complex diagrams. — "But remember: the main thing is not to take risks after the fourth bimbo case. After that, the probability drops sharply."

And she had nodded with confident smile, her strong, old hands gripping the edge of the table.

— "I’ll manage. I’m not Mum. I’m stronger. I won’t make mistakes."

She couldn’t forget that evening on the hill near the Burrow. The wind blew from the west, carrying the scent of damp grass and the distant sea. The moon illuminated their figures, casting long shadows on the ground. Harry had been furious—his green eyes burned like an enraged dragon’s, and his fingers dug into her shoulders.

— "Ginny, don’t do this. Please." His voice trembled with tension. — "I’ve already started the process through the Auror Office. We can shut this damn show down. I’ll get Molly out of Goyle’s studio. We’ll find another way. But you… you can’t go in there. I won’t be able to bear it if the same thing happens to you."

She had pulled away from him, her strong, old hands pushing him back, filled with stubborn confidence.

— "Harry, I have to. It’s my mum. I can’t just sit and wait while you ‘try.’ I’ll win that money. I’ll bring her back. I won’t lose. I promise you."

Harry had looked at her with indescribable pain, his face pale in the moonlight.

— "You don’t understand… This isn’t a fair game." He stepped closer, his hands trembling. — "I love you. Please, don’t do this."

And she had smiled then—that same confident, youthful smile that always made him give in—and gently kissed his lips.

— "I’ll come back. I promise."

Now she sat on this ridiculous pink pouf, short and plump, with an enormous, jiggling ass that barely fit on the seat. Her perpetually wet, plump lips were slightly parted, and tiny pink hearts occasionally flickered in her eyes. Her clothes hung on her like on a child: the blouse stretched over her rounded belly, the skirt barely covered her huge thighs. She was no longer the lean Quidditch athlete who could reach incredible speeds on a broom. Now even walking normally was difficult for her—the huge ass and short, thick legs shifted her center of gravity, making her waddle with every step like a duck.

The tears finally broke through, pouring down her cheeks in a hot stream. Ginny quietly sobbed, pressing her palms to her face so hard that her nails dug into her skin.

— Thorry… Harry… — she whispered through her tears, her voice trembling. — I couldn’t… do otherwithe. I had to try!

She remembered the last time she had seen her mother—giggling stupidly, with a vacuous smile on her face, covered in glistening traces of cum, cheerfully swaying her enormous, firm ass in front of the cameras. And she understood that she couldn’t stop. Even now, after everything that had already been done to her—after her body had begun to change, after her mind had grown foggy, after she had started losing herself. Even knowing that it would only get worse.

Her voice trembled, but a steely note of determination began to cut through it.

— I can’t… thtop… — she repeated in a whisper, clenching her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white. — If I leave now… Mum will thtay like that forever. I have to thee it through to the end.

Saliva continued to flow down her chin, forming glistening threads that dripped onto her hands. Ginny didn’t wipe it away. She just sat there, hunched over, feeling the pouf’s fabric soak up her tears and saliva. Inside her, a brutal battle raged: on one side, a deep, gnawing sorrow over the loss of everything she had once loved—Quidditch, her strong body, her pride, her future with Harry. All of it was slipping away, melting like snow under the spring sun. On the other side, an iron, almost insane determination to continue. She couldn’t give up. Not after coming this far. Not after promising her mother, Harry, Hermione, and herself.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms until crescents of blood appeared on her skin.

— I’ll endure! — she quietly repeated, as if it were a mantra, each syllable **** out with effort.

From behind the screen, Jack’s cheerful, ringing voice already announced the imminent start of the second round. Ginny took a deep breath, wiped her face with her sleeve, and slowly stood up. Her short legs trembled slightly under the weight of her enormous, jiggling ass, which swayed with every movement. She took a deep breath, straightened her back—or at least tried to—and stepped forward, toward the uncertain future that awaited her beyond the screen.

Jack glided to the center of the stage amid loud, almost hysterical applause that echoed off the studio walls. Bright flashes of pink spotlights bathed his figure in shimmering light, making his snow-white suit appear even more dazzling. His smile today was particularly predatory—wide, with perfectly even teeth gleaming under the stage lights like the fangs of a satisfied predator.

— "Ladies and gentlemen!" His voice boomed through the hall, silencing the last of the dissenters. — "The second round begins!" He made a dramatic pause, savoring the tension in the room. — "And returning to our arena is… our stubborn, short-legged, and already very, very seductive Ginny Weasley!"

From behind the screen, Ginny appeared. She was doing her best to keep her back straight, but her new shortstack body clearly resisted every movement. Her enormous, round ass swayed from side to side with each step like a jelly dessert, and her short, thick legs waddled slightly, causing her to lose her balance. The oversized blouse had slipped off one shoulder, exposing delicate skin and the thin strap of her bra, while the long skirt dragged across the floor, gathering dust. Her plump, perpetually parted lips glistened with saliva that continuously dripped down her chin in glistening threads. Her hypnotic, pink-tinted eyes stared ahead with grim determination, but tiny pink hearts flickered in their depths.

She stopped behind the podium, feeling her short legs tremble from the effort. She quickly wiped her saliva with the sleeve of her blouse, but it didn’t help—within a second, a new stream began trickling down her chin. Jack patiently waited for the applause to die down, enjoying the moment.

— "Before we begin the second round…" He made another pause, heightening the intrigue. — "We have a special message for our dear Ginny…" His smile widened even more. — "Direct from Gregory Goyle Studio!"

The main screen above the stage flared to life, blinding the audience with bright light. On it appeared Gregory Goyle—fat, greasy, with a disgusting self-satisfied smirk on his thick lips. His double chin trembled with pleasure, and his tiny piggish eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. He sat in an enormous leather chair upholstered in red velvet, holding a crystal goblet of red wine in his chubby hand. Behind him, luxurious curtains and golden decorations screamed of vulgar opulence.

— "Hello, Ginny…" Goyle drawled in an oily, sticky voice that sent shivers down the spines of many in the audience. — "I just wanted to… wish you luck in the game." He took a sip of wine, never breaking eye contact with the camera. — "Your mum… oh, she was so worried about you. So I decided… to let her send you a personal greeting."

The camera abruptly switched, and the scene that appeared on the screen made many in the audience gasp. On a wide bed in a luxuriously furnished studio set, Molly Weasley was on all fours. Her enormous, ultra-plump body glistened with sweat, her skin shining under the bright spotlights. Bright pink curls, once a neat hairstyle, were now wild and tangled down her back, interwoven with sweaty strands. A sheer apron, barely covering her body, was hitched up to her lower back, exposing her huge, firm ass, raised high in the air. Behind her stood a muscular actor with a perfectly sculpted torso, his powerful thighs slapping against her ass with dull thwacks, thrusting into her hard and deep with powerful, rhythmic strokes.

— "Aaaaaahhh! Yesss! Harder!" Molly moaned loudly in her high-pitched, squeaky bimbo voice. — "Fuck Mummy’s fat little asshole! Hit me harder!" Her massive breasts swayed in time with the thrusts, her swollen nipples rubbing against the silk sheets, leaving damp trails. Molly’s face was completely relaxed, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, and drool dripped from her parted lips. — "Oooohhh! Molly loves getting fucked in the ass! Deeper! Molly’s a dirty bimbo slut! Hee-hee-hee!"

Ginny froze in place, as if nailed to the floor. Her face suddenly paled, her skin becoming almost translucent. Saliva flowed abundantly down her chin, forming thick droplets that fell to the floor with a dull sound, but she didn’t even think to wipe it away. Her plump lips trembled, and her hypnotic, pink-tinted eyes were wide open, filled with shock, pain, and disbelief. She just stood there, paralyzed, watching as her mother—the very same Molly who had once been the backbone of the family—ecstatically accepted rough anal sex on camera.

— M-mum… — she rasped, her voice trembling with shock, and tiny pink hearts flickered in her eyes for a second.

Goyle reappeared on the screen, his fat face glowing with self-satisfaction, his eyes barely visible through the folds of fat. He smirked, taking another sip of wine.

— "Sorry, Ginny… I’m afraid she’s a little… busy right now." He smirked even wider. — "But I’m sure she definitely wishes you luck. Don’t you, Molly?"

The camera switched back to Molly. At that moment, she arched her back deeply, her enormous breasts swinging forward, and her head tilted back. She rolled her eyes, her mouth wide open, and high-pitched cries of pleasure tore from her throat.

— "Yeeeees! Molly’s cumming!" Her voice became even higher and squeakier. — "Fuck Mummy harder! Hee-hee-heeee!" Her body convulsed, but the muscular actor didn’t stop, continuing to pound her hard.

Goyle returned to the frame, his disgusting smile widening further, revealing yellowed teeth. He took another sip of wine and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, satisfied.

— "See, Ginny? She’s very happy you’re in the game too." He smirked. — "Maybe soon you two can be together. Family…" He paused. — "…is always profitable. I mean—" He fake-coughed. — "—important and sacred, of course." His smile became even more repulsive. — "Good luck, little Weasley. Try not to turn into the same stupid, always-dripping hole as your mummy."

The screen went dark. For a few seconds, the hall was silent, broken only by the sound of Ginny’s dripping saliva and her heavy breathing. Then someone in the front rows couldn’t hold back and burst into laughter, and the audience erupted into loud, almost hysterical laughter. The applause drowned out everything else, with some spectators whistling and catcalling.

Ginny stood completely still, like a statue. Her hypnotic eyes were wide open, her pupils dilated with shock, and tiny pink hearts flickered briefly in their depths. Saliva streamed down her chin and dripped onto the floor, but she didn’t even notice. Her short legs trembled, and her enormous ass quivered slightly from the tension. Inside, she felt like she was being torn apart. This isn’t her… This isn’t Mum… She would never… But the image on the screen had been too real, too vivid.

Ginny felt nausea rise in her throat, hot and acidic. Tears welled up in her eyes, burning and bitter, but she fiercely clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms until it hurt, and held them back. Not now. Not here.

Jack turned to her, his face feigning sympathy, but his eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.

— "How touching, isn’t it?" His voice was full of false tenderness. — "Family should stick together." He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. — "Ready to continue, Ginny?"

Ginny was silent for a long time, her mind paralyzed by shock and pain. Saliva continued to drip onto her oversized blouse, leaving dark stains on the fabric. Finally, she slowly lifted her head, her chin trembling with effort. Her voice was hoarse, wet, and shaking, but there was still steel in it.

— Yeth… — she managed to say, each syllable **** out with effort. — I’m… ready. — She swallowed her saliva. — Let’th continue.

Jack smiled wider than ever, his teeth gleaming in the spotlight like a predator who had just caught its prey.

— "Now that’s character!" His voice was full of mockery, but he quickly hid it behind a mask of professionalism. — "The second round begins!" He spread his arms wide. — "Choose your first number, Ginny. We have many interesting options for you."

Ginny stood behind the podium, still shaken by what she had seen on the screen. Her plump, perpetually parted lips trembled, and saliva continuously dripped down her chin, falling onto the oversized blouse that hung on her like a coat hanger. Her enormous round ass swayed slightly even from the smallest movement, causing her short, thick legs to tremble even more. But she **** herself to pull it together, clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white.

— N-number… — she swallowed her saliva — th-thir… thirteen… Her voice was wet, each word accompanied by a soft smack of her plump lips and a slight slurp.

Chrissy dramatically flung open chest #13. A golden symbol flashed on the screen. Cash. The audience groaned in disappointment—they had clearly been hoping for something more spectacular. But Ginny felt a warm wave of relief wash over her, as if someone had lifted an invisible weight from her shoulders. A new step lit up on the giant cash board, glowing with bright golden light—10,000 Galleons. The amount seemed laughable compared to what she needed, but it was a first step.

She exhaled loudly, and her hypnotic eyes flickered with tiny pink hearts for a second from the surge of relief and hope. Ginny quickly wiped the saliva from her chin with her sleeve, leaving a wet mark on the fabric, and allowed herself a weak but confident smile. For the first time in a long while, she felt like things might actually work out.

— Good… — she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with emotion. — This is already… theriouth… She stumbled over the difficult word but quickly corrected herself.

She remembered those long evenings at the Burrow, sitting at the kitchen table with Hermione, surrounded by stacks of parchment and cups of cold tea. Hermione carefully traced graphs with her quill, explaining: "Look, Ginny, there’s a pattern here. Don’t rush at the beginning of the second round. The first three or four cases often give money if you don’t take too many risks." Her confident voice, her glasses sliding over the parchment, the warm lamplight… These memories now gave Ginny strength, reminding her that she wasn’t just lucky—she was following a clear plan.

Jack smiled, slightly raising his perfect eyebrow, and a shadow of disappointment flickered in his eyes—he had clearly been expecting a more dramatic outcome.

— Ten thousand Galleons! His voice was full of false enthusiasm. — Not bad, Ginny. You’re starting the second round strong. He paused. — Shall we continue?

— Yeth… — she replied, swallowing another mouthful of saliva that had already soaked the collar of her blouse. — Number… — she hesitated for a second — twenty… two…

Chrissy, with the same theatrical flair, threw open chest #22. The golden symbol flashed on the screen again. Cash—50,000 Galleons. This time, the audience groaned even louder, and someone even whistled in disappointment. Now, the cash board displayed an impressive sum—60,000 Galleons. But Ginny felt a real surge of confidence. Her short body straightened slightly, her huge ass swayed with the movement, and tiny pink hearts flickered in her hypnotic eyes again—this time from genuine hope.

— Fifty… fifty thouthand… — she whispered with a wet but joyful intonation, her voice trembling with excitement. — This is already… theriouth money… She stumbled over the difficult word again, but this time she didn’t pay it any mind. — I can… I can do this…

She remembered Hermione’s words, which she had repeated like a mantra: "If you get through the first three cases of the second round with cash, that’s a great sign. Keep up the pace." Now that two out of three were already cash, Ginny allowed herself to believe that the strategy was working. That she really could win enough to pull her mother out of this hell without losing herself completely. For the first time in a long while, a spark of hope ignited in her chest.

Jack stepped closer, his smile widening, but a predatory spark flickered in his eyes—he clearly hadn’t expected things to go this way.

— Fifty thousand! His voice was full of false excitement. — You’re on a roll today, Ginny. Two cash cases in a row at the start of the second round—that’s rare. He leaned in a little closer. — Can you taste victory?

— Yeth… I feel… I feel it… — she replied, wiping saliva with her sleeve but unable to keep up with the flow. — I th… thaid… I won’t… give up…

— Then choose the next one, — Jack said, and a predatory spark flickered in his eyes, as if he were already savoring her defeat. — Luck can’t last forever.

Ginny swallowed, feeling the saliva fill her mouth again. She knew he was right. But she couldn’t allow herself to doubt.

— N-number… — she paused — eight…

Chrissy, with her usual theatrical flair, threw open chest #8. A silvery bimbo silhouette flashed brightly on the screen, exaggerated in form and wearing a stupid smile. The audience erupted in delighted cheers—finally, the spectators got what they had been craving. Some whistled, others clapped, and a few even stood up from their seats.

Ginny froze, as if she had been slapped in the face. Her short, thick legs buckled, and her enormous ass swayed from the sudden tension. She closed her eyes for a second, feeling a new wave of despair wash over her. Her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.

— Th… no… — she moaned in a wet, trembling voice. Saliva flowed abundantly down her chin, dripping onto the floor. — Again… not now…

Jack laughed delightedly, his laughter full of cruel satisfaction.

— Oh, Ginny… — he wiped away tears of laughter — the third case of the second round—and already a bimbo! It seems your luck has run out after all. — His smile widened even more. — The category is… Vocabulary!

Ginny stared at the screen with heavy, wet breaths, her chest rising and falling in convulsive gasps. Her hypnotic eyes flickered slightly with pink hearts from the strain, as if her mind was already beginning to surrender under the pressure of what she saw.

The big screen lit up, and five options appeared, each worse than the last. Ginny read them with growing horror:

1. Third Person Bimbo – She would only be able to speak about herself in the third person. "Ginny wants a drink," "Ginny is tired," "Ginny has to choose a number"—as if she were observing herself from the outside, like a stranger.

2. Valley Girl – Extremely airheaded, drawn-out slang with constant "like," "as if," and "oh my God," along with that annoying upward inflection at the end of every sentence, as if she were perpetually unsure.

3. Simply Sweet – A sickeningly sweet, simple, and naive vocabulary filled with diminutives. "Little number," "sweet prize," "good Ginny"—like a child who doesn’t understand what she’s saying.

4. Dirty Talk Only – She would only be able to speak normally when using extremely vulgar, crude language. Any phrase that didn’t contain swearing or lewd expressions would come out as incomprehensible mumbling.

5. Giggly Bimbo – She would end every sentence with a stupid giggle or laugh, as if her constant state were hysterical laughter.

Ginny understood that any of these changes would severely impact her ability to communicate normally and maintain her dignity. But the worst part was that she could already feel something inside her beginning to change—her speech was becoming more slurred, and her thoughts more clouded.

Jack turned to the audience with a wide, self-satisfied smile, spreading his arms like a showman revealing a trick.

— Voting is open, dear viewers! His voice was full of triumph. — Decide how our Ginny Weasley will speak from now on. He shot her a quick glance. — I’m sure you’ll choose something… interesting!