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Chapter 8 by VTheImpaler VTheImpaler

How does her drugging go?

They grow tired, return to the dorm, and turn

Hermione waits impatiently through breakfast, eager to slip her brew into her friends’ meals, but afraid that she might botch the plant. She finds a moment when both boys’ attentions are turned elsewhere, and darts her hand out from her sleeve. She lets a single drop fall into each of their morning pumpkin juices, and retracts her hand as fast as it appeared. Not a moment too soon, as Ron almost immediately returns to his food, scarfing it down like a pig. When you’re a girl, you’ll probably eat a lot more modestly, she thinks to herself.

Sure enough, eventually the boys take a gulp from their cups, and Hermione’s anxiety ebbs considerably. She’s far more confident in her potions work than she is in her two friends not to screw everything up. Gradually, Ron and Harry start to feel nauseous and fatigued, and they both retire to their dorm early. Hermione, of course, follows swiftly after them, making a vague excuse to the other Gryffindors about a forgotten homework.

Harry and Ron stumble back to their beds, groaning loudly about their stomachs, and the sudden wave of fatigue assaulting them. Harry chalks it up to a late game of quidditch the night before, and Ron agrees. They step behind the curtains around their beds and start changing back into their pajamas. For a while, neither of them notice the changes creeping over them.

Ron absentmindedly fumbles in his pants for his cock, which feels a little itchy. In his tired state, it takes him a solid ten seconds to notice the absence in his crotch. Confused, he stretches the waistband of his pants and peeks down at his freshly acquired set of girls’ privates, “What the fuck!? Where’d-?! Wha-?”

Harry yawns and asks through the curtain, “What’s wrong, Ron?”

Ron, blushing furiously across his quickly feminizing cheeks, stammers, “Um, uh… Nothing, it’s nothing! Just, uh, stubbed my toe…”

He tries to assuage Harry’s concern and peers witch shocked curiosity at his plump junk, but his voice has shifted up a few notes and Harry replies, “Okay, okay, no need to be all sarcastic, just trying to be polite.” He pulls his nightshirt over his head and tugs it down, but he meets some unexpected resistance and gets his head and arm stuck in the shirt. He clumsily yanks at the hem to get it on fully, not realizing that his breasts have become significantly fatter.

Ron, meanwhile, inches his finger down his pubic area towards his quivering folds, biting his lip with anxious excitement. As he approaches his target, however, he grows annoyed with something blocking his view. He focuses his eyes, and his jaw drops when he sees his boobs slowly inflating on his chest, gradually covering his new pussy from view. Abandoning his loins, Ron raises his hands to cup his new mounds, and their unexpected sensitivity makes him moan and moisten, curling his toes and bending one leg.

Harry is too distracted with his shirt to notice Ron’s gasp of pleasure. Instead, he finally pulls the shirt down over his chest, and comes to a revelation of his own. He stares in disbelief at the melons stuffed into his shirt, bouncing weightily under the tight fabric. He tentatively grazes his clothed nipple with one hand, and instantly his knees buckle from the stimulation, “Whhhoooaaohh!” He exclaims, instinctively burying his fist in his crotch to grab his dick. But instead of his flaccid cock, Harry grips a handful of pussy.

What's next?

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