Fantastic Breasts & Where To Find Them

Cass

Things were surprisingly quiet for the next few weeks. Mildred's scars were deeply cursed and the poor girl would probably have a rotten Freshman year because of it. Sarah Jane made me buy her a new dress. I asked how she justified her involvement in the feeding of the Nutrisore, and she shrugged and said, "They were just Muggles." Additionally, she even bragged that she was now one of the foremost experts in Nutrisore domestication, now that her advisor was locked up in Longsong.

I came out of my room wearing a long-sleeve black dress and a droopy witch's hat. There was a girl in the common room I didn't recognize, as skinny as a stick. "What do you think?" she asked, posing for me.

"Croila?"

"Shane and I have been working round the clock, and we've finally perfected the antidote to my Engorgement Cream. He said we needed to find a cure, to help some Slow-Nimrod who'd also come in contact with the potion."

"So the Engorgement Cream is safe now?" I asked. "Perhaps I should borrow some... just a little, maybe."

I took the lift down to the lobby. "Miss Hitchens!" called Mr. Nelson. "That giant crate came for you!"

The wooden box was blocking most of the lobby. It was labeled "SOAP," in bright red stamped lettering. An owl swooped in and dropped me the accompanying letter.

"My dear Cass!" wrote my Aunt Isla in a hurried script.

"I've just seen the November Issue of Grey Cauldron Magazine, and I noticed that your Professor, Sarrow Forrest-Wood's article, 'The Roots of Crucio Curse Desire in House-Witches,' was co-authored by a Cass Hitchens. That's wonderful! But also, are you sure you want to take Bob's last name as your professional pseudonym? You may not want to have anything to do with your father, but the Black name carries a certain prestige. And it could help you get ahead in the wizarding world.

"Uncle Bob's Winter Butterale is his finest yet. I've sent you eleven cases, plus a keg. That should keep you Hilzegaard girls warm for the winter! It's already been distributed to the Hog's Head and the Leaky Cauldron, but the innkeeper at the Three Broomsticks doesn't believe an elite quality Butterbeer could be brewed by a Muggle. It's his loss.

"Now, I know you get a five-day holiday next week. If you haven't been invited to Thanksgiving there, we could do a version of the American Holiday here in London. I'm happy to pay for you plus one or two of your girlfriends to come home, and we'll have a big dinner or something. Let me know and I'll book passage for you on the Trans-Atlantis.

"Love from Bob and Isla.

"P.S. And if you haven't asked out Newton Scamander yet, you know, you're only young once."

I smiled and rolled the parchment up.

"What should I do with this crate?" asked Mr. Nelson. I conjured a crowbar and pried open one of the boards. I took out a six-pack of Butterbeer and handed it to the Squib.

"Happy Thanksgiving," I said. "Have the House-elves put the rest in the cellar." I took another six-pack for myself and walked through the wall into the secret elevator. At the thirteenth floor, instead of getting out into the common room, I climbed up through the lift's ceiling into the elevator shaft. I jumped off of the roof of the elevator onto a narrow ladder and ascended to a locked metal door. "Alohamora!"

The Manhattan skyline twinkled in the dirty air to the South. "What are you doing here?" I cried, not expecting to see the Nutrisore back on the rooftop of Hilzegaard. The huge, winged rat was levitating a few feet above the concrete and scratching its side with its sinewy back legs. I went up to it and gave it a rub behind the ear, just like Newt had done to appease it on the night we escaped the Dark Witch. Its huge, beady black eyes boggled. "Go on, scram. No one here's going to feed you anymore. You're just going to have to fend for yourself in the big city. Hopefully you'll find a healthier diet."

The giant rodent gave me a forlorn look. It started fluttering its two tiny wings and scurried off into the smoggy sky.

I sat down on the roof and popped the cork on a Butterbeer, taking out my quill and some fresh parchment.

"Dear Aunt Isla," I wrote.

"Thanks for the generous invitation, and I do hope to come home soon. I miss you both every day. But the truth is, Newt Scamander and I have been spending some time together. And he's invited me to take the Thanksgiving holiday with him and go on a bit of a safari, out to the Great Plains in Ohio! Isn't that exotic? He believes there's a community of Re'em living there amongst the buffalo and he wants to observe them in the wild. And we're going to be camping! You should see his tent. It's four-bedroom, but we'll probably only be needing one, wink wink.

"As for my pen-name, I knew you probably wouldn't like me using Hitchens. But I can't tell you the relief of studying in America and not having to bear the weight of being a Black. No one here cares that I didn't go to Hogwarts, or what family I come from, or that my mother was some Muggle prostitute. They just respect me as a witch, and a damned clever witch sometimes, too.

"I'm drinking Bob's Winter ale on the roof right now, looking out at New York City. It's very beautiful here, in its own way. I can't wait to show you around some day.

"Love always,

"Cass."

I wandered over to where the Hilzegaard owls were roosting and gave a spotted one the letter. It hooted and flew off.

"Cassie? Are you up here?" a girl's voice called from across the roof.

"I'm over here, Gabby," I called back. The stout witch with the shaved head came over to me and I handed her a Butterbeer. "You're late."

She laid a blanket on the concrete and we sat down next to each other. "You brought the stuff?" she asked.

"Sure did," I took my flask out of my cloak and passed it to Gabby. She took a swig and passed it to me. She looked queezy for a moment and then her lilac eyes changed into a light blue. Her bald head started growing long, white hair.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Hot," I said. "But it's not done yet. Take your robes off."

Gabby pulled off her top and I saw her breasts grow into Porpetina's ample proportions.

"Whoa, who is this girl?" Gabby asked, gawking at her new giant bosom. "Is she really some English actress? How did you get her hair?"

"I concocted it for a friend. But he doesn't need it anymore. I've still got plenty of back stock, so I figured, why let it go to waste?"

"You take some, too!" Gabby ordered. I drank some of the flask and within a few moments, my legs were growing longer and my chest was ripping the armpit seams of my long-sleeved dress. Beneath my witch's hat, my raven hair changed into alabaster. The other Porpetina reached over and started fondling me. "You make the best Polyjuices, Cassie," she told me.

I laughed and kissed her on her identical lips. "I love Bronxvitch," I said.

THE END.