The summer he turned fifteen, he found a book in the Manor's extensive library called Magia Enim Voluntas Dai. He doesn't think he was supposed to find it—but then again, maybe Father didn't care if he did. Partly because he was too busy with things other than his son's behavior. And partly because, even if there was no Dark Lord, he would find it normal, even desired, for a healthy teen boy to take pleasure in a book like this—something Draco's not so sure about now, at twenty five.

The biggest appeal of Magia Enim Voluntas Dai for fifteen year old Draco was the illustrations—the magical, moving illustrations. He took the book to his bedroom and spent hours there, when his parents were otherwise engaged for the day, staring at looping illustrations of sex acts and body modifications and things he'd never thought to dream of, wanking himself raw under the covers.

Now he's older, he still has the book.

He shouldn't have the book. Most of what's in it is objectionable at best. Potions for bending and circumventing consent—brainwashing and mind control and insatiable, desperate, uncontrollable lust. Spells for body modification intended for men to use on women, expecting, in several instances, that the woman's thoughts on the matter were irrelevant. Accounts of incest, bestiality, bodily fluids where they decidedly shouldn't be, and other things that made Draco's skin crawl.

But there's one spell in the book…one set of pages Draco always returns to. The reason he still has the book. Something he's never found anywhere else.

Every time he wanks to it, he feels so ashamed, and it's stupid, probably, it's ridiculous, because compared to all the things he could be masturbating about in this book, this one's…well, it's not dangerous, or even all that taboo.

Straight men tend to like breasts. This is not unusual. Plenty of men touch themselves looking at and thinking about large, full breasts, about cleavage, about jiggling and bouncing, about groping and clutching and sucking.

It's just…well, Draco likes them big. Bigger than big. Huge.

And that feels so crass. So common.

That isn't all, either. This book isn't the only book—or magazine, or establishment—where Draco can see huge breasts. The reason Draco keeps this book, the reason he still takes it out from its secret, locked place in his bedside table and frantically jerks his cock as he stares at it, until he comes all over himself, is in this book, he can see big tits grow.

Not naturally—rapidly. Well, really he likes it to go a bit slow, but not a normal, over-time kind of slow. A slow build, breasts growing and growing in real time, until at the end—of maybe an hour or so—they're so big their owner can't even move. Bigger than her head. Bigger than the rest of her. So heavy she'd fall over if she stood up. That she'd be beached like a whale or wobbling like a turtle on its back, practically nothing anymore but massive, fat, round, jiggling tits.

In Magia Enim Voluntas Dai, Draco can watch this happen in five separate moving illustrations. Breasts ripping fabric, sending buttons pinging away from them, bursting out of bras, bouncing and round like only the breasts in the book are. The bigger they get in real life, the saggier they seem, but the ones in these illustrations aren't like that. Well, a couple of them are, and Draco likes those too, but the other three pictures have breasts that stay so perky they look stupid, like big, rippling balloons, and Draco loves that.

It's so embarrassing. It's undignified. It's something some horny teen Gryffindor would like, some newly sex crazed neanderthal pumping his dick and drooling and calling them "titties" and "sweater puppies."

And yet…Draco knows that when he's stroking his cock and playing with his balls and watching the women in the book rip through their clothes and get engulfed by the weight of their breasts, this is part of what makes him so hard over the whole thing. The crassness of it all. The…the embarrassment of it. The fact it makes him kind of pathetic, stupid with lust. Just…horny. In his head, he starts saying things like that, like "horny," like "tits" and "titties" and "melons" and whatever other stupid things he thinks lust-crazed neanderthal men say, and it makes him harder, it makes him jerk his dick faster.

Whenever he remembers these are real spells and potions, something he could do, could make happen, he comes hard.

But he can't really make it happen.

What woman in her right mind wants to look like that, to feel that? It's a male fantasy, entirely a stupid male fantasy, and when this book was written, nobody cared about that, but Draco, at twenty five, does care. Whenever he comes all over himself staring at a woman balancing on her enormous balloon tits, he is awash with shame.

But he doesn't get rid of the book.

Outside these fantasies, Draco tries to be respectful; his mother impressed upon him the importance of respecting women, and he does. He does not see them, as some men do, like some kind of separate species. But sometimes…sometimes he sees a pair of tits, and, well—God. He won't be able to stop thinking about them. He tries to keep his fantasies generic, or to keep them centered on those illustrated women he's been stroking to since he was fifteen, but…

The thing is, he works with Hermione Granger.

It's awful, and it's terrible, and it's shameful, but Granger grew such a pair of tits.

It isn't shameful because of her blood. Draco's not like that anymore. They are no longer antagonistic. In fact, they have a fairly good working relationship.

But it's Granger.

She doesn't exactly show them off. It isn't like her to do that. So for a long while, Draco didn't even quite realize—even with the way his body reacts to breasts. But a few months ago, she wore a low-cut dress to a Ministry event, more low-cut then Draco's ever seen on her, and he got an erection in public. He's twenty-five, and he got hard in public looking at Hermione Granger's cleavage.

Nobody noticed, he doesn't think. He excused himself and willed his cock into submission in the loo. He didn't wank, couldn't quite accept the shame of that, just thought hard about something else until it mostly went down. (It took a few tries to keep it there.)

Granger's tits are huge. He'd known, vaguely, they were large, but that cleavage, right there in front of him—God, he could bury his face in there and never find his way out. When she turned to laugh at something stupid Potter said, fuck—they jiggled a little. They moved.

He tried not to, but the moment he got home that night, he got in bed, screwed up his eyes, and furiously jacked off thinking of Granger's breasts. Thinking of grabbing and squeezing them, the way they'd spill out from his hands, too big for him to get a full grab, thinking of sucking on them, what her nipples might look like—and then—and then what would have happened if they'd grown, then and there. If they'd grown and spilled right out of her dress. He'd come then, come hard and gasping and thinking about Granger.

Thinking about her breasts spontaneously inflating, like a freak.

And now every time he sees her at work in her stuffy button-ups, his mouth goes dry, and try as he might to focus on the images in Magia Enim Voluntas Dai when he jerks off later, all of them end up wearing her face, and wearing her button-ups, and it's her breasts he's picturing breaking through the buttons and growing and growing and growing.

When summer arrives, Draco decides he can't go on like this.

He used to think of Granger occasionally when he wanked, and he'd try to keep it focused on the image of her tits in that dress, maybe pressed up against a button up. Now, she's wearing thinner clothes, and less of them, and she's still Granger, so it isn't anything inappropriate, but he's spent every night for the past week pumping his cock and letting his imagination go wild, because he can't stop himself anymore—picturing scenarios in which Granger's breasts overflow from the dress, grow until she stumbles, their weight dragging her to the floor—in which they pop all the buttons on her shirt and rip her bra and bounce out right in front of him—Draco kneading them and sucking on them in a frenzy until he suffocates.

But he can't do this. He can't do this and continue to work with Granger and continue to avoid being a horrible, predatory freak.

So he decides he needs to get this horrible fetish out of his system.

He can't do it with Granger—obviously. But these are real spells and potions. Surely there's a woman somewhere, anywhere, who might feel sexy about her tits growing. They don't even have to get as big as Draco really wants them. He can just watch and feel them grow a little. He is handsome, and he doesn't tend to have a hard time finding sex partners—usually with quite large breasts, and women like that usually expect men to like their tits. Surely there are clubs that might cater to…the sort of clientele that would like this. Needs must, he has money. There are sex workers who specialize in fetishes. He can find someone.

In the end, Blaise points him in the right direction.

He doesn't actually tell Blaise exactly what he's looking for—he thinks he'd die of humiliation. But he lets it slip that he's looking for maybe something a little…weird, and Blaise knows all about weird sex. He directs Draco to a service called—not so subtly—FetishMagic, but it's not as if Draco can be picky about the name of the thing, so he gets a form.

The form is meant to help him get anonymously matched with witches with similar…interests. On it he finds an alarmingly long list of potential fetishes and kinks for which he is meant to circle all caps YES, normal yes, maybe, or all caps NO. When he sees "breast expansion" right there on the list, his heart begins to race. He bites his lips. He licks them. He gnaws at one of his fingernails. And then he circles YES. After a brief moment of thought, he circles YES twice more, then feels embarrassed for having done it—too desperate.

He circles "yes" and "maybe" plenty, but the only things for which he circles "YES" are "breast expansion," "large breasts," and "abnormal sizes." (He manages to control himself and avoid multiple circles for the last two.) In for a penny, he thinks.

He gets a response a fortnight later.

The envelope contains the witch's own form, as well as some instructions about how they might contact one another, should they wish to.

Trembling, he unfolds the parchment and scans it for what he really wants.

Next to "breast expansion," she has circled, "YES."

Heart pounding, his eyes fly to her stats—breast size: 36J.

He sucks in a breath.

His cock is hardening already.

He doesn't think he's ever been with anyone past an E cup, and he thought that was a lot. 36J, and she wants them bigger—at least temporarily. She wants that.

A real woman wants that, and he can send her a message. He can make it happen.

His face is burning, but he's hard enough to find the bravery to write a note reading: 36J? Decent size, but they could be much bigger, couldn't they? If you're interested, I can help with that.

When he puts down his quill, it fully occurs to him that he's been massaging his cock through his trousers with his other hand as he writes. He's so hard.

After he sends the note out with his owl to the proper address (given on a magically redacted note), he takes out his cock and comes with just a few pumps.

God, what's it going to be like when he actually…when it actually happens?

Her response arrives that same night.

They could be MUCH bigger. Are you sure you can get them as big as I want? As long as I'm still able to walk around, they're too small.

Fuck.

She wants this.

Dizzy with lust, Draco writes, I can make you so big, darling. As big as you want. Bigger. You won't be able to sit up, let alone walk. But there's no need for you to move. I have plenty of ideas for you that don't require you moving at all.

He can't believe he's writing rubbish like this down, for another person to see—for a woman to see. But she responds, I like the sound of that. I don't need to move. I don't need to fit into clothes, either. If they're too big to fit into clothing without tearing right through it, I suppose I'll just have to accept it and keep them out.

Here's a question for you. Are you feeling like dominating me? Humiliating me by inflating my breasts until I'm only capable of getting used by your thick cock? Or do you want the opposite, "darling?" Do you want to be a slave to my fat tits? Smothered and drooling over them? Let me know. I'm quite happy to be a part of either.

Thousands of possibilities flood Draco's mind, keeping his cock at attention.

He doesn't know what he wants. If this is the only time this will ever happen, what does he need? What does he need to keep him from perving over Granger, to keep him satisfied with fantasies for the rest of forever?

What can he admit he wants?

In the end, he sends a response that results in a back and forth about plans—more detailed interests, hard limits, the bones of a scene. Eventually, they settle on this Saturday night to meet, at his flat. He is less likely, apparently, to have visitors turning up out of the blue.

He has no idea how he's going to wait until then. He thinks he might destroy his cock before he gets there, with the way he's undoubtedly going to go at it all week.

He should have known the whole thing was too good to be true.

Yes, a woman turns up at his flat Saturday night, exactly on time. And yes, she's the woman who has been writing him.

But she's also Hermione Granger.

They stare at each other, stunned.

"Is this a trick?" Granger demands. Draco doesn't know whether she's conscious of it or not, but she immediately crosses her arms over her chest, trying to hide her breasts, encased snugly in one of those damn button-ups—except this one seems tighter than her work tops, the buttons already straining.

She can't really hide them successfully. Draco can't quite stop himself from staring for a moment at her arms pressed tight against the flesh of her huge, encased breasts.

36J, he knows now. God.

He should be turning her away immediately. This is bad. Unprofessional. Inappropriate.

His cock has other ideas.

"I was going to ask the same question," Draco says faintly, trying to think of anything to keep the blood from rushing to his dick, but here Granger is, giant tits right in front of him, and she has been talking to him about them—about—growing. His mouth is dry.

"Why would I trick you?" Granger snaps. "Why would I admit to you I think about—" She snaps her mouth shut, as if it's too much to say. Draco understands. She hugs herself tighter, but this helps nothing—the flesh of her breasts is squeezed tighter. Draco can't tear his eyes away. He should. He needs to. But fuck.

"Why would I admit to you I…think about," he says, using her words. "Why would I, in my right mind, let anyone in my day to day life know I have the terrible, humiliating desires of a fifteen year old Gryffindor athlete?"

Granger, for once, doesn't seem to have anything to say in response. She just swallows. She loosens her arms a little.

Her breasts…God, they strain against the fabric of her shirt like something out of Draco's wildest, most private fantasies, but…

"You really do, don't you?"

"What?" Draco says distractedly, and Granger laughs.

He snaps his head up to make eye contact. She is smirking.

"You really are desperately horny for tits," she says, matter of factly, Hermione Granger, saying "horny" and "tits" right in front of him, with her big boobs so close. He told her this kind of crass talk turned him on—but that was before he knew who she was, before she knew about him.

"Merlin," says Draco.

"Am I allowed to come in?" says Granger.

Draco, knowing exactly how much he shouldn't, lets her in and shuts the door behind her.

"We shouldn't do this," he says, as if he hasn't just locked his door.

"Maybe not," Granger says, shrugging. "But do you want to?"

"We work together," says Draco. "And I…well, I'm…me."

"Yes," says Granger. She takes some vials out of her bag. He can't take his eyes off the straining buttons of her top. "You're you. Pathetic little Draco Malfoy, drooling over Hermione Granger's tits."

"Oh," says Draco.

"Is that okay?" says Granger.

It shouldn't be. It's a terrible idea. With the real dynamics of their past, enacting this kind of fantasy is…ill advised.

"It's okay," Draco says, and fuck, he's breathless, and it's obvious.

"You want to see them badly, don't you?" Granger asks.

Draco swallows hard. He doesn't know if he trusts himself to speak. All the blood from his brain is rapidly rerouting to his cock. He nods.

"I know you do," says Granger. "Look at you pitching a tent. Your cock started getting hard the moment I turned up."

Hermione Granger is saying "cock" to him.

"What would you like to say if you want to stop?" Granger asks.

"We can…colors," says Draco. He can't believe how incoherent he already is.

"Green, yellow, red? Red to stop?"

"Yes," says Draco.

"Be polite," says Granger. "I know you were raised to be polite."

Draco sucks in a breath. "Yes, please," he tries.

"Good boy," says Granger briskly. "Color?"

"Uh, um, green," Draco says, embarrassed but so, so hard.

"Good. Now, you don't get to choose when you see my tits. I do. But you can choose whether you want to use this." Granger picks up one of the vials. The other one, Draco knows, is a breast expansion potion—it's the exact shade of purple it should be. But the one Granger's holding—he's not sure. It's a brilliant magenta, brighter than Draco thinks he's seen in a potion. "Do you know what this is?"

"No," Draco admits.

"Really, such a dirty boy, and you don't know what this is?"

Draco's face heats, but…his cock likes it.

"It's a lust potion," says Granger. "It gets rid of your inhibitions and makes you last longer and for more rounds. And of course, it floods you with lust—like you've never felt before."

Draco stares at it.

He stares at Granger's breasts.

He already feels like a pathetic randy teenager, standing here hard in front of Hermione Granger, but—but what if he could get rid of his inhibitions, if he could…God, the thought of being as truly and utterly pathetic and horny as the back of his brain really is, in front of her and her huge tits…

"Do you like the thought of that, Malfoy?" says Granger.

Draco nods.

"Be polite," says Granger.

"Yes, yes, please, Ms. Granger," Draco stumbles out.

He doesn't even know where the "miss" came from, but Granger sucks in a little breath when she hears it. And then she smirks again.

"Okay, dirty boy," she says. "Are you ready to show me exactly what you really are?"

"Yes," Draco says. He doesn't know if he can bring himself to drop a "miss" again, but he scrambles to add, "Please."

"Here's the rules," says Granger. "I'm going to make these bigger." Slowly, gently, she grabs on to her own tits, gently kneading them through her shirt. Draco can't take his eyes off the motion. "You'll like that, won't you?"

"Yes," Draco says faintly.

"I know you will," says Granger. "But you are not to touch them until they come out of my shirt."

Draco just keeps staring at her long fingers kneading, kneading, kneading that flesh, that fat that looks so soft and warm.

"Do you understand, Malfoy? They're going to grow so much they're going to pop right out, and you're going to love that, but you are not to touch them until they're naked. Until they pop all my buttons and are fully exposed. Then, you can touch them. Color?"

"Green," Draco says quickly. "Green."

"Good," says Granger. She hands him the pink vial. "Drink half of it…darling."

He shudders at the "darling" without knowing he would, and before he can think better of it…he swigs half the bottle down.

Granger takes the other vial and drinks half of that.

For a moment, they wait, Draco trembling with a heady combination of lust and nerves. Granger settles herself in Draco's armchair, waiting with an air of authority that makes Draco feel dizzy.

And then he begins to feel…heat. Something hot, starting in the pit of his belly. He squirms.

"Are you feeling it, Malfoy?" Granger asks.

Draco takes in a shaky breath. "I—I think so."

"Yeah?" says Granger, staring at him…hungrily. She's looking at him hungrily.

He gasps as the heat spreads from his belly to his limbs, to his face, to his groin, and then fuck.

"Color?" Granger says.

"Green," Draco gasps. He scrambles to his knees. He doesn't know why. It's just instinct. It's where he wants to be, on his knees in front of her. His cock is hardening rapidly, and it was already hard, but now it's—it nearly hurts, how fucking stiff it is, how hot, his whole body is hot and there's a pair of full, fat breasts in front of him, 36J.

Draco grabs the bulge in his trousers.

"No hands," says Granger.

Draco whines.

"No hands, dirty boy," she says, leaning over to slap his hand away, and her tits graze his face.

He moans. He moans, like she's actually touched his cock, not simply briefly pressed the flesh of her huge breasts against his cheek.

He wants to grab them, to suck on them. But she said no. He said he understood. He can't, not yet. He groans.

She sits back. "You love these," she says, gripping her breasts, "Don't you?"

Draco thrusts his hips up, humping nothing, desperate to touch his cock but holding back by a thread. His cock throbs. His hands twitch. "Yes," he says. "Yes."

And then—and then they start growing.

Slowly, the flesh of her already enormous breasts extends, blooms outward, pushing against her top. The buttons strain further.

"Oh," Granger moans. "It feels good."

Draco lets out a horribly embarrassing, incoherent sound, something like a "guh."

He comes.

Right there, in his pants, without touching himself, just staring at Granger's large breasts as they begin to slowly fill her top further.

"Did you come?" Granger says. She's breathing heavily now, but she sounds delighted.

"Yes," Draco says. His brain's getting very fuzzy. He can no longer imagine why he shouldn't be honest in front of this woman with these brilliant tits, stretching and growing in front of him exactly like he wants. He can ask what he wants and get it. If his cock wants something, his cock wants something—he can't ignore it. There's no possible way to ignore his cock. Not right now. He makes another "guh" noise. His cock's getting hard again, rapidly, unnaturally, but he only knows that, the unnatural part, very faintly. Who cares, who cares about anything but how fucking horny he is? "I want to, to, I want them," he says stupidly.

"Be specific, Malfoy, darling."

"Oh," Draco gasps. "I want to see them, I want to see your giant, fat tits, please."

"They're right here, aren't they?"

God, they're growing. They're growing. Slowly, slowly, they stretch and strain against the fabric, spill out from over her bra, Draco can see it through the white of the shirt. He shoves his hands in his pants, groping for his hot, hard dick, and Granger says, "No, naughty boy—I didn't say touch yourself."

"Please, please," Malfoy whines. "I want to touch it, I want to feel good looking at your big, big titties, please…" His hand on his cock feels better than it's ever felt in his life. He moans loudly.

"I said no," Granger says firmly, and she leans over to wrench his hand out of his trousers.

Her breasts engulf his face.

He comes again.

Granger laughs. His face burns, but so does every other part of him. She leans back. Oh, they're straining so hard at the buttons. Oh, it's hanging on by a thread. They're still growing. Draco's pants are sticky and his cock is still hard.

He realizes he's drooling.

"Look at you," says Granger. "Pathetic little Malfoy…you want my tits so badly."

"Yes, yes," says Draco.

"You can't wait until they burst right out."

Draco makes another stupid sound, this one something like a grunt, thrusting his hips, getting the tiniest, barest, nothing-est friction, not nearly enough, as his rock hard cock rubs against his sticky wet pants.

"They're going to pop right out for you," says Granger. "And then you can touch them. Once every single button is popped, and my tits are free, then you can touch them, Malfoy. You can put your hands on them, and your mouth on them…"

Draco moans, willing those buttons to pop free. They're so close. Her tits are still growing. Those massive boobs are getting bigger and bigger, enormous, unreal, right in front of his eyes—

One of the buttons pops.

Draco groans. He thinks he might come again, but he doesn't.

"Ooh," Hermione sighs. "Oh, Malfoy, you have no idea, it feels so good."

"Want them," Draco manages, his words sounding thick and slurred. His dick hurts. He's desperate and throbbing and thrusting his hips at nothing, his erection straining hard against his wet, sticky pants, pitching a glaringly obvious tent.

"I know, dirty boy," says Hermione. "How about you rut on something while you watch? You shouldn't use your hands, but I don't want you to go too mad, do I? I want you to be able to see when these fat, round tits burst right out."

"Fuck," Draco gasps, and without even thinking further about it, without any head for the consequences or his reputation or his coworker in front of him, he grabs a pillow from the couch, tosses it on the floor, and gets down on all fours above it. He wastes no time beginning to hump it. He has to. His cock is so stiff, so hot, so desperate. He moans, uninhibited, as he humps the pillow, watching as another one of Granger's buttons pops. Her tits seem to expand even further, faster, in that moment, and Draco drives his hard, clothed cock against the pillow and comes for a third time, moaning and twitching his way through it.

By now, Granger seems overcome by the sensation of her expanding tits. "Oh," she says breathily, chest heaving as she grips the sides of the chair hard. "Oh, Malfoy, they're getting huge."

"Huge," Draco gasps, rutting right through his orgasm with his cock still stiff, desperate for more. Fuck, this potion.

"Feels so good, Malfoy."

"So good," Draco says throatily, pounding the pillow hard. "Big fucking—tits, fuck."

Granger's tits burst out of her shirt.

She gasps.

Buttons fly across the room and they spill right out, bare, naked, the flimsy bra she deliberately wore long since destroyed. They're huge. They're enormous. Rapidly approaching bigger than her head, like two big, fleshy beach balls, nipples erect. They're magnificent.

Draco's on them in a second. He doesn't even remember moving. One second, he's humping the pillow, the next, he's latched onto Granger's massive breasts, his hands absolutely dwarfed by their size, sucking desperately at her right tit, and they're still growing, he can feel it. In her lap, rubbing his cock desperately against her knee, sucking wetly on this big, soft, overwhelming breast, Draco comes again.

Granger is moaning. She pushes herself off the chair, no longer, it seems, capable of holding up the weight of her glorious titties. She lies down on her back, chest heaving, groaning and rubbing furiously at her clit as Draco buries himself in heaven like he never thought he'd be able to experience. He can feel the flesh expanding beneath him as he sucks and kneads and rubs and thrusts—eventually they're so fucking big he's rutting against one tit while he sucks it at the same time, his pants down, smearing come all over her soft, warm flesh.

They're so big she can't even titty fuck him—they miss that window. So he ruts against them and rubs his come all over them—so much come when his cock won't go down, when his body keeps on producing it like this, like never before—and a few times just stands over her, staring at her tits, now so massive they're both much bigger than her head, squashed by gravity yet still beautifully, wonderfully round, and he jerks off and comes on them, watching her moan and struggle to move in any way at all.

This is beyond his wildest fantasies. He humps desperately at a breast nearly as big as he is as Granger lies beneath him groaning in pleasure/pain. He's almost constantly coming at this point, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, the only thing in his brain a constant litany of boobs, giant, fat, soft, round boobs.

This goes on until he passes out.

When he comes to, he and Granger are covered in dried come, and Granger's tits have shrunk back to their—still ample, still magnificent—normal size.

Humiliation rushes to Draco's head. The things he said. The euphemisms. The humping. The drooling.

"Don't panic," says Granger.

He looks at her carefully. His cock hurts. Fuck. He doesn't think he'll get hard for another week at least, even if Granger's tits were to burst out like that in the middle of work, in front of everyone.

His cock twitches. It hurts, but it does. Okay, maybe he's a freak.

"That was incredibly hot, Malfoy," says Granger.

Draco doesn't know what to say.

"I promise you," she says. "I'll never tell anyone. Not another soul, ever. And if you'd like…next time, you could…dominate me. Let me take the potion."

Draco's stupid, pained cock twitches again.

"Fuck," he says. "I can't believe I did this with you."

"I can't really believe it, either," says Granger. "But it happened. And if it happened once—I don't see why it can't happen again."

Draco stares at her naked, brilliant, J cup tits, the way they move as she breathes. He swallows. "I guess," he says, "I don't see why not either."