Again, dangerous visions.

Harry saw Daphne Greengrass again, unexpectedly several weeks later, presenting at three am, with a broken nose and facial bruising. Her robes looked bedraggled, and her hair was down, and a bit messed up with blood and something.

Harry took her into a treatment room, and shut the door "Greengrass," said Harry. "File-box fell on you did it?"

Greengrass sighed, "my side job to make muggle money, to pay for the private specialist?"

Harry nodded.

"Is a muggle job, obviously," said Greengrass, "I've been beaten up, and I think I've got a broken rib."

Harry lifted his wand, "Nose first," he said, then warned her, "This will feel weird." Greengrass gave a determined nod, and Harry charmed her nose back together with an audible click. Greengrass grimaced.

"Does it look right?" she asked.

Harry eyed her nose from the side and front. It looked fine, if a bit on the large size. Harry cast a few charms to reduce inflammation, so he could get a good feel for the injury, another to check on the break — which was at least mostly mended, and then used partial transfiguration to make her nose straight again — it had been rather distinctive… and impulsively he made it just a teeny tiny bit smaller. It was hardly a big horrible change, and lowered her chances for a broken nose again later; it was practically preventative medicine. Besides; the first thing people saw when they met her was that her nose was too large; he was doing her a favour.

"Right. Rib?" asked Harry.

Greengrass nodded "Don't freak out," she said, and undid her robe, and lifted it off.

Under the robe she'd been wearing… a very tiny shiny black miniskirt and a white shirt, now ripped, that seemed, well, far too small for her breasts. Her bruised midriff was quite bare. Hell, the skirt barely covered her bum, let alone her knickers.

Harry felt disappointed in the world. She was working hard for her money. That probably explained the ridiculous high heels too. (Though you could say her legs exhibited good muscle tone.)

"Don't look at me like that," said Greengrass, "I'm just stripping, not… doing sex." she paused "The bouncers didn't get there in time, and apparently I was too rude to a git, so I got hit," she added. Harry postponed being judgemental about that till later.

He lifted his wand and cast an (actually quite difficult) diagnostic charm. Her lower right ribs; actually bare, which would make the spell easier on her. Harry cast the bone-mender on her rib, touching his wand gently to her side. She winced.

"That's the rib," said Harry.

"I really need to look perfect – not a mark," said Greengrass "Nobody pays to see beat-up strippers."

Harry felt that was optimistic. "Not at the club you're at," he added. And started episkey'ing all her cuts. Once he was done, he cast the inordinately complicated diagnostic charm to look for more damage. As a child Madam Pomfrey had wiggled her wand through it nonchalantly. It had taken Harry nearly a year to learn. A couple of healing charms on the sprains in her ankles, and fingers, and all she needed was dittany.

"Right, have you got dittany at home?" he asked.

"I can't reach my own back," she said.

"Fine," said Harry, feeling uncomfortable – she was very pretty and hardly clothed.

She turned her back and pulled off the small shirt, and wasn't wearing a bra. Harry eyed her shoulders. But there was bruising, so he got a swab and treated the patient. The good-looking tall, blonde, topless patient, who was repair-charming her shirt. Her implausibly small shirt.

"That's a tiny shirt," Harry couldn't help saying. He tried quite successfully not to perve her chest. But the tiny skirt and high heels were… she certainly was fit. In both senses, both intertwining senses of the word; also her legs wrapped around a pole. Twined around it.

"Honestly, I'm making loads less per hour on the muggle side. So much more competition," said Greengrass.

Harry froze, holding a swab soaked in dittany, "muggle side?"

"Well, the filing job's a fig-leaf for stripping at a club in Knockturn Alley at a club. No sex, but… there are so many more strippers in muggle London, and … well for a witch I'm well-endowed, but… the girls making prime money at the muggle club have whoppers."

"Implants," said Harry tiredly, "breast implants."

"Oh," said Greengrass, pulling her shirt back on – which barely covered her shoulders and upper arms, and not her waist. She had a long back, slim waist and broad hips – the general effect was an er…. hourglass like figure. And then Greengrass undid the hook and zipper on the tiny skirt and shimmied it off… it fell to the floor, and for a moment there Harry thought she wasn't wearing knickers, and could not breathe. He couldn't honestly help staring at her bum – there WAS a tiny nude thong splitting her arse. And she had some nasty purple finger-prints on her arse and hips. A very attractive arse, badly mauled.

"Bruises," said Harry, losing blood to his bits and feeling angry at the same time.

"Yeah – dittany me up please," said Greengrass, and Harry was as professional as he could be. His pants were extremely uncomfortable.

Greengrass turned to face Harry – and Harry um, tried not to ogle. The high heels were not helping his resolve. He would, he realized pay to see her dressed like this.

"Gimme the dittany," she said. "And get out for a bit."

"Get what?"

"I got kicked in the bits," said Greengrass, "They're not paying to see bruises, are they."

Harry turned his back, feeling sick, "Dittany is safe enough most places, but don't use it as a substitute for, for example, safe sex."

"Not having sex," said Greengrass from behind him, "A boot to the twat rather puts one off for days. Even if I had a boyfriend, which I obviously can't squeeze in round working every night. My sister's life and the family not being kicked out of our house come first." Harry felt horribly disappointed with whoever'd done this to her. Not that he'd hex them or otherwise engage in muggle-baiting. Well, maybe a knock-back jinx into to a wall. She really had a problem, and Harry wondered what she could do.

"You probably should use some protective charms to improve your chances in a rough muggle area," said Harry.

There was a grunt from Greengrass behind him.

"All right?"

"Stung a bit," said Greengrass.

A little later there was a zipping noise.

"Right" said Greengrass. "Got some ideas – I've got one."

Harry turned round, and thankfully she was wearing the miniskirt and small shirt at least.

"Idea?" asked Harry. He had one called 'asking her out.' She was stunning.

"Engorgement charms – take me up a couple of bra sizes… just till the sodding specialist's done treating my sister."

"Engorgement charms for cosmetic effects are dangerous and one of the most common cause of spell damage admissions in teenage witches," said Harry. After bulimia – puking pastilles had a lot to answer for, thought Harry guiltily, as he got paid dividends by George. Both the engorgement charms and puking pastilles were medically inadvisable.

"You're a healer. They need to be bigger, so I get bigger tips," said Greengrass. "I'm not headlining till they're," Greengrass held out her hands on front of her bust. Indicative of well, wanting very large breasts for work reasons.

"You'd look ridiculous, you're perfectly beautiful the way you are," said Harry judgementally.

"Thanks for the compliment," said Greengrass with a transitory sarcastic smile. "Headliners get five hundred pounds a night from the house. Other girls just get tips, and the headliners I've met make several thousand a night before you count lap dances and private shows – and less said about that the better."

Harry shook his head, "I don't feel comfortable enabling that," he said.

Greengrass ripped her shirt open with the sound of velco tearing, and a pair of perky breasts bobbed on her chest. "These aren't paying for my sister's blood-tests and the quote in the letter from the specialist suggests it'll cost about a hundred thousand pounds, all up for both of us." She pointed at her breasts with her right hand, "Make these bigger, and I'll only have to strip for another five months."

Harry closed his eyes. That was very expensive, but also.

"I need the money, Please help Potter!" she begged.

Harry took a deep breath, imagined Umbridge naked, and opened his eyes.

All thoughts of Umbridge fled.

"Please cover up," said Harry tiredly.

Greengrass did up the Velcro that held her shirt together. But Harry's imagination could easily subtract the shirt now. He tried, valiantly to clear his mind.

"Greengrass," Harry sighed. "Human transfiguration is the number one cause of body dysmorphia in witches. An illness that's damn near impossible to treat, and because you're a witch, it could easily have permanent physical effects."

"What?" she asked, frowning "can't you just make my breasts bigger for a bit?"

Harry sighed. Obviously she needed a practical demonstration.

"Pop them out, and I'll show you what the problem is," said Harry.

With a zip of Velcro, Greengrass was once again topless.

Harry tried not to have his hands shake and cast a partial human transfiguration very carefully – left first, then right, taking extra care to make sure they ended up identical, larger, and well, quite perky.

Greengrass hurriedly tied the shirt shut over them, which was an improvement, of a sort, though Harry's pants disagreed. And he suspected the memory of Greengrass topless with stripper-sized breasts might be… precious. He'd certainly be reviewing it… and using probably dittany.

"Right" said Harry "Now, I assume you can colour-change your nails?"

"'course," said Greengrass. "Course I can do nails, what's that got to do with my breasts?"

"Alright then, make a fingernail bigger, change the colour, and put it back to normal" said Harry.

"What?"

"Humour me," said Harry, channelling Snape. He really wished Hogwarts had better health lessons, but didn't want to end up giving lectures to thirteen-year-olds on his very few days off.

Greengrass took up her wand, and with some artistry, lengthened her middle fingernail on her left hand, and coloured it bright red. And then, obviously, gave Harry the finger. With an accompanying sarcastic smile.

"Right," said Harry. "Now put it back to normal."

Greengrass gave her fingernail a single, silent tap with her wand, and it went back to normal. And her chest slowly deflated back to its original proportions.

"What the fuck?" she said.

Harry nodded "you cancelled a transfiguration on yourself. Your self-image supplies the knowledge of what your fingernail looks like." Harry realized at this point that she had actually very neat, short fingernails.

"But my boobs. I left them out of it!" she protested.

"You end up basically doing an undirected transfiguration and relying on your self-image. You would for anything you were used to. But the longer you have anything altered on you, be it a prank potion, hair dye, anything, the greater the risk you get stuck like that." said Harry. "It's one of the few medical complaints witches get that muggle women can't. Well, not like this anyway." (And aiding or abetting body dysmorphia in a witch was cause for disciplinary proceedings at St Mungo's, for obvious reasons.)

"Hmh," Greengrass snorted, like the blood and magical supremacist bigot she doubtless was.

Harry smiled politely, "Of course, if you sit staring at a mirror all day, witches, well, and wizards can delay visible signs of aging. They will get Magically Assisted Narcsissism disorder, obviously. For reference, Gilderoy Lockheart, remember him? Probably in the early stages of it."

"MAN?" asked Greengrass. "He was one."

Harry rolled his eyes. That disease had a name his female classmates found hilarious; till they saw the epidemiology rates for it; witches were far more likely to get it.

"The problem," said Harry. "Is that MAD leads to MAN, which ends in sitting surrounded by mirrors at all times, and a self-image that slowly drifts away from reality. And leads, miss Greengrass, to going cackling mad."

"Cack – " she said, face frozen in horror. "Cackling mad?"

Harry nodded "The nearest a muggle can get is addicted to terrible cosmetic treatments,

which is why it's a terrible idea."

"So what you're saying" she said "Is that Midgen's nose is like that…"

"Because she didn't go to Madam Pomfrey in time, yes," said Harry.

"So… there's a risk… they'll be stuck big?" asked Greengrass, biting her lower lip.

"There's a risk you'll end up with one huge and one tiny," said Harry snidely.

"My sister's life is more important," said Greengrass.

Harry grudgingly made a pair of transfigurations that could get him fired… again.

She covered herself up hastily, which was a mercy.

And eyed her reflection in the mirror on the wall.

"No this simply won't do," she said. "They need to be bigger."

"They'd sag," said Harry.

"More – this isn't going to make me money."

Harry grudgingly made them bigger, which quite ruined her proportions, in his opinion. A bit more transfiguration trickery and they didn't sag too badly.

She covered back up. And now she did look like a Barbie – and if she mentioned wanting a nose-job he was going to lose his cool completely; it was slightly smaller, but still looked like Daphne's nose. He tried not to stare at her chest; and stared at her knees instead. Which had a few scratches – episkey fixed that. Hmm – he needed to practice his full-body diagnostic charm – it should have picked those up, even round the bruising. And at this rate, he could bollix up rounds with a consultant and look stupid.

"Now, what's going on with your erm… family illness that's so expensive?" said Harry.

"You are sworn to confidentiality, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes. I really would like to update you file, and your sisters for that matter." said Harry.

"It's some sort of cancer of the blood. And obviously it carries down the bloodline. The cure apparently will be to do some strange muggle ritual that changes our bloodline somehow" said Greengrass. Harry thought about that for a moment. Genetically linked lymphoma, on the female line. So on the X-chromosome. … Oh, a novel cancer, no wonder it was going to cost a lot. She … needed help. Practical help with her job.

"What's MAD?" asked Greengrass.

"Magically assisted Dysmorphia," said Harry tiredly.

Greengrass stared at him – clearly thinking that through. The disease she was basically going out of her way to catch. That ended in cackling.

"Now, the stone-skin charm will stop you getting cuts," said Harry, "It's incantation is duro, and it's in the back of the fifth year textbook."

"Not much help when I get thrown about," she griped.

"Look, short of a strength potion, there's nothing to be done about that. And they're medically inadvisable."

"Why?"

"With prolonged use, you will go blind from blood vessels rupturing on your retina," said Harry. "Potion to fix, but it takes all day."

"Ugh." said Greengrass "How long could I take that potion for, safely?"

"One vial every week, maybe two if you had checkups monthly." said Harry "you'd have to come in for an eye exam, and if we found evidence of damage, potion for it, unless you had complications, then we'd be talking head-injury potions, if you hadn't already given yourself a stroke."

"So, take both potions?" asked Greengrass.

"They're not compatible," said Harry. "You'd be sick at best, if not die."

"How strong does a strength potion make you?" asked Greengrass "I just need to push the odd big bloke."

"How much can you lift?" asked Harry.

"My own weight, obviously, one-handed for a little bit for some routines." said Greengrass.

"Which is?"

"Ten stone three." she said. Harry mentally added a few pounds for, well recent alterations.

He pondered human male weights – even big blokes were mostly under twenty-four stone, so… double. He accio'ed the potions compendium and looked up strength potions. It was possible. The potion notionally gave you the strength of five people, well, and strokes and eye damage, and heart attacks.

"Hmmm," he said in his best 'doctor doesn't like it' voice. "If you only take a third of a vial, and you get your eyes checked at St Mungo's every month, then… provisionally. Because you're only doing this for a few months to earn enough for your sister's muggle treatment." And that shouldn't be so long that she… got stuck like that, he thought to himself, and mentally admitted… or something worse; because body dysmorphia involved the mind, and minds were, in Harry's opinion, weird.

"Perish the thought that a woman might be able to stop a man," she said.

"More that I don't want you having a heart attack, stroke or going blind, but whatever," said Harry, "remember, one third."

Greengrass left with what Harry was sure were quite ridiculous breasts under her robe.

After work he did check Sirius's mouldering photos – he was right – the abominations she was lugging round were far too big. Though there had been larger in the magazines. He found his righteous indignation again after his bits got sore from over-use, an hour later. The dittany went well with the self-loathing. And what he'd done was less fake looking than the larger ones in the magazines.

He woke up awkwardly eight or nine hours later, from a discomforting dream about Greengrass that had ended abruptly and messily.

Harry decided that before breakfast, he was going to go have a run. Which, given his shifts made it a mid-morning run around Islington. A run that left his gasping and clutching his side. He had, he thought, walking back to Grimmauld place, not been exercising at all. Which was medically inadvisable.

And for no discernable reason, as he was on night shifts, he erm, well he went to a muggle club fairly late, but before work, paid his entry fee and watched the floor show – buying a few overpriced cokes.

By the time the headliner did her dance, Harry was erm, well uncomfortable. And after another three hours, had seen proof Greengrass hadn't been exaggerating. There was a lot of muggle cosmetic surgery on display. Harry left feeling proud that at least what he'd charmed up was 'competitive' and yet not ridiculous. And vaguely disappointed that he hadn't seen Greengrass stripping, but that was very unprofessional of him.

He volunteered to do bed sores when his shift started. He was a good person, after all. Several hours later, back to consults, someone barged into his consult room.

"You have to help me," complained Greengrass, in a baggy robe and over-cloak, "Nothing bloody fits, and they're heavy!"

Harry nodded. They weren't balloons full of air.

"Well, dispell them and do them again tomorrow," said Greengrass.

"No, that way lies complications," said Harry, "either keep for the few months, or get rid of them."

"They're too big to hide!" complained Greengrass. Harry nodded. Even under a cloak it was clear she had big breasts. Or a loaf of bread tucked into her shirt.

"Can you make some sort of disguise charm?" she asked.

"Not really my thing," said Harry. "Healer, not enchanter."

"I can hardly go to a respectable enchanter and say, oh, can you make my stripper tits undetectable!" complained Greengrass.

Harry's brain had an idea. "Undetectable expansion charm on a smaller bra" said his mouth impulsively. Harry considered it as Greengrass frowned, thinking about it. It was actually a good idea. (And might forestall the body dysmorphia.)

"Where would I find the spells to do that?" she asked.

Harry had an idea, and fired off a messenger patronus to Hermione – she never slept anyway. "Come back in two days with a small bra," said Harry. "Hermione did a really space-expanded bag once; same thing really." He'd tried talking to Hermione about the medical inadvisability of not sleeping and using carefully made potions to cover the gaps, but she'd blamed him for there being no time-turners left, and the argument had got quite heated. And he was the one that was a healer, he knew he was right.

The next day, when he got back from his run, without stitch, he was pleased to observe, he had a bundle of parchment from Hermione on the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place. He'd claimed it was for charming dresses to conceal pregnancy. Hermione had included a very judgemental letter, decrying judgemental people. Harry spent time that would have been wasted on cleaning or cooking reading the charm. He could get takeaway anyway. So he did. Chicken Tikka Masala went well with reading Hermione's notes, as it transpired.

Greengrass turned up near the end of shift. She closed the door behind her.

Harry waited patiently. Surprisingly she started by saying "Oh Harry Potter, you must save my sister, I'll do anything to get your help" rather breathily. And familiarly, and repetitively. She paused, one eyebrow raised, and Harry realized she was asking ironically. Or sarcastically, and… damn she had large breasts.

"Yes, quite," said Harry, and Greengrass gave a fleeting, tiny grin. So sarcastically, then.

"I thought if I asked with larger breasts?" she said, completely straight-faced.

Harry sighed, "A bra, Greengrass?" he asked.

"Trust me these bloody things are in a bra," she said, then took a bra out of her robe pocket. Harry cast the undetectable expansion charm on it, and started packing a folded towel into it. A bit more space-expansion and it looked about right. It wasn't like Harry didn't have a vivid memory of exactly how monstrous the breasts in question were, and they were propping up her robe front like a pair of, well, some sort of small melons. The brown-skinned ones, thought Harry, suddenly developing a deep interest in cantaloupes.

"Try it on," said Harry, turning and looking at the wall.

"It's not like you haven't seen them," said Greengrass, to the sound of rustling.

Harry kept his moral high ground. He merely imagined them instead, and felt like a terrible person for wanting to grope her. Well, and things.

"Oh yes," said Greengrass, "These are worth money," she said, Harry mentally agreed, and there was more rustling. "Turn round," she said.

Harry turned around and Daphne Greengrass was standing in a shirt and skirt, and… looked like she had a quite modest bust; smaller than her natural bra size, which Harry could still remember. She jumped up and down, and shook her head. "These" she said "Are the actual business. Most girls wouldn't mind a minimizing bra that really did minimize. Great for riding too."

She looked thoughtful, "I'll bring in something that'll fit mummy and you can make her one – it'll be a great Christmas present."

Harry shook his head, "no," said Harry "I'm a healer." he got the bundle of parchment from his bag, "Here's the notes. Get someone else to do it."

"Just like that, you're giving me all the notes to make space-expanded bras?" asked Greengrass.

"I told Hermione space expanded dresses for pregnancies, so I'd appreciate if those happened, I assume some people would want them" said Harry.

"But… this is a business" she said, hefting the notes. "And I don't have time, I need muggle money this month for Astoria's specialist."

"Well, get a friend to do it. Hell, get her to do it" said Harry.

"Well, I suppose," said Greengrass thoughtfully, "It is her bra."

She rolled the notes up and jammed them just barely fitting into a bulging robe pocket. "Should do the pockets too" she remarked.

"Shoo," said Harry, "actually sick people to treat."

"Can you check my eyes?"

Harry checked – they were okay. Well, cloudy blue and had a very dark band at the boundary of the sclera. Healthy, attractive… eyelids tilted up at the ends… Harry shook himself, and cast a retina diagnostic charm; her retinas… now he could see them, were still okay.

"Okay for now," said Harry, cancelling the charm, "Only take one third of a vial of the strengthening potion, and if you're not working in the muggle club that night, please take a day off the strengthening potion."

"I did work that out for myself," said Greengrass.

"Um," said Harry "Wear the space-expanded bra whenever possible"

"Trust me I'll be wearing one to sleep in," said Greengrass.

"Because it lowers your risk of MAD" said Harry. Greengrass nodded, quite seriously. Harry relaxed.

"So… I shouldn't stand topless in front of a mirror, rubbing baby oil into my skin?" she asked, and winked cheekily. She clearly knew quite well what he meant, and was… being a horrid, horrid tease. (It wasn't till later that Harry realized she basically tantalised men for money.)

"Shoo," said Harry again. And he only stared at the mouldering old pornography for a very short time after his shift. Greengrass's eyes haunted him… the way her eyelids turned up at the ends was, well it was unfair to a bloke. (At no point did Harry think that his green, almond-shaped eyes were at all attractive, because he was a bloke, and had completely ignored what Hermione said in sixth year out of a sense of revulsion that his female best friend found anything about him fanciable.)