Not yet

Pansy was miserable, wandering the corridors of Hogwarts having been shunned from her bedroom by her peers due to her seemingly intolerable flatulence. The last 24 hours had felt like a vivid nightmare, the absurdity of her circumstance seemed to sneak up on her as if conspiring to make her a laughingstock. This was underlined when, moments later, she tried to illuminate a dark passage with a “Lumosh!” only to be left staring beyond her dimly lit wand at another puddle of urine forming around her soaked slippers. She groaned in disbelief but had the choice between fury and self-pity and opted for the former.

As Pansy slunk further through the dark winding corridors, she was beyond irritable, even the way her hourglass physique shifted was annoyingly cumbersome. It was a foreign sensation as if her body wasn’t usually… this. Unwieldy curves that were her burden to carry.

Although her body fascinated most people, she felt like a piece of meat to be ogled or tutted. She was the only well-endowed woman in her family, let alone carrying monstrous f-cups. Her lower body was even more anomalous: her hips, thighs and rear might be record-breaking if Pansy had any desire to hold such records.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say the way her body had developed was the result of a curse, but no… the only curse she’d received was the one currently (she refused to give up hope of a counter-curse) desecrating her attempts at speech. The Ministry of Magic were baffled by it and, regrettably for Pansy, had dubbed it the “Babbla Buffoonus” curse.

As she angrily swung her hips around an abandoned corner of a long-forgotten passage, she was dismayed to see Romilda Vane on her knees in front of a blissed out Harry Potter, head rolled back in ecstasy with his hands on the back of her head.

“OH EMM GEEE, WOMILDA!” Pansy spluttered in shock.

This startled Harry into realising that his invisibility cloak must have slipped off. As Romilda reluctantly unlatched from his now semi-erect penis, Harry padded around on the ground before deciding that there were better uses of time than searching for invisible rags. He stood to face Pansy and took an opportunity to admire his handiwork. The proud pure-blood Slytherine looked like a fetish model even in her green and black robe, such were the obvious dimensions of her figure. Harry was about to ask what she was doing there, but smirked when he remembered/realised her night time issues.

“Hawwy Pottaw is a loosher, Womilda! Shtop being shuch a shlut.”

Harry was actually impressed how Pansy could still feel herself superior even after all he had done. He promptly decided to make it so that Pansy had a custom Slytherin uniform and mumbled to himself accordingly.

Pansy’s pyjamas and robe were swiftly replaced with an undersized thong and tube top in matching Slytherin green. The thong covered nothing but her vulva, her booty flailing freely, while the string in her crack managed to lock her in a painful wedgie sensation. The top was woefully inadequate in terms of preserving decency: it was flimsy spandex failing to contain her prodigious bosom, now exploring its greater freedom, opting to roam without constraint. Her nipples were plainly visible through the fabric.

“Be careful who you call a Slut, Pansy, I heard you’re paying Filch to fuck you up the arse!”

“What!? Shut up Pottaw!!”

“It is a bit rich that you’re dressed like that and calling me a slut, Pansy” Romilda chirped with derision.

Pansy was immediately embarrassed, standing self-consciously and trying to subtly hoist her tube top higher as if to convey some dignity despite also trying to casually pick her thong out of her crack without giving away that it hurt “Itsh shpecial unifawm, Womilda. Itsh faw shpecial shtudentsh” she felt utterly ridiculous but couldn’t let these peasants know that.

Romilda cocked an eyebrow “actually, why DO you have to wear that uniform?” Before Pansy could even join Romilda in confusion at the absurdity of her outfit, Harry conjured an explanation:

“Pansy was recently classified as a creature of magical interest, and as a …fantastic beast, she has to wear a uniform more suited to her …kind. You see, in order to think clearly, she needs to … err… flap her arse cheeks and shake her tits and normal clothing is too constricting.”

“No way!” Said an astonished Romilda

Pansy just stood there, slackjawed, gazing at Harry’s penis and how it belonged in her arsehole.

“Buuuhhh…. Duuuuuhhh” she groaned like a hungry farm animal before starting to wildly turn, squat, and flap her cheeks towards his crotch before her mind started returning to her slowly “uuughhh Hawwy put cock up Panshy’sh arrrrshe- No! No that’sh ewwww, Panshy no want Pottaw cock!”

She was mortified that she was caught yearning for anal sex from Harry Potter, but her recovery was undermined by her constant need to shake her fat arse and tits to keep her wits about her.

“God, you’re a mess Pansy. You must be the biggest idiot on campus calling me a slut!” Romilda laughed, secretly relieved (despite her own nocturnal blowjob parties) that there was a more obviously pathetic pervert than her at Hogwarts.

“Panshy shmart! A shpell makesh me shound like a poo-bwain.” To ensure she wasn’t lying she jumped higher on her tippy toes which led to her bosom slapping her hard across the mouth. It wasn’t what she intended but the momentum from the collision brought her enough clarity to become a little embarrassed at the display she was putting on.

Romilda was right, Pansy conceded, who was she to judge when the basic actions she had to routinely perform, in order to think clearly, would make a stripper blush. She didn’t want to embarrass herself any further in front of these two so she focused on shimmying her chest and clapping her cheeks as hard as she could to keep her wits about her. No matter how Potter condescendingly smirked and giggled, she was going to prove that she could hold her own.

Harry stared at the once stuck-up Slytherin, dressed like a shameless whore midway through a job, rigorously gyrating her body, her chest thrust forward, back arched, breasts bouncing up, down, side to side, her legs planted wide apart as her feet did a little dance to work her ass so wide that Harry could see it’s diameter from the front (even if he couldn’t plainly see it wobbling, he’d be able to hear it clapping). By far the most hilarious aspect of the image was Pansy’s face atop it all. Unchanged since he gained his power, she held a look of defiance, as if she was somehow winning this exchange, but her blushing cheeks betrayed her.

Even within the context of this supreme reality-warping magic, a part of Pansy knew that what was happening below her neck was a depraved fleshy farce, a parody of desperation. Her proud, pretty, spiteful, smug face was merely the tip of a wanton wobbly iceberg.

“Panshy’sh eyesh awe up here, Pottaw!” Pansy spat while hoisting her loose left tit back into her ‘top’, being careful to suppress the right’s attempts to escape via the same opening. Pansy was proud of herself being the first of her kind to study at Hogwarts and she’d come too far to let a little self-consciousness hold her back.

However, standing there in front of a giggling Harry and Romilda, she did wish she didn’t have to shake her tits in their smug faces, nor pick at her thong quite so often. She really needed to check the sizing of her uniform as the constant pressure deep in her anus merely reminded her how badly she needed to get fucked. She stole the occasional glance at Harry’s crotch, and started to pivot her twerk towards him wondering how she might get a spank out of him at the very least. Because of her lack of pockets, Filch could always tell when she didn’t have gold on her… she’d have to go back to the dorm just to get his payment and it would be basically morning by the time she got back to his storage cupboard. She needed a plan so, in order to better concentrate and despite the onlooking couple, she got on all fours to twerk as wildly as she could, seemingly oblivious to her flailing jugs escaping the exhausted spandex.

Harry was watching speechless. He’d created a masterpiece. Suddenly a devilish thought occurred to him: He considered making her aware of the changes to reality.