Services Rendered

Days later, having righteously gone for a run every day, Daphne Greengrass came once again to see him, this time he was on a day-shift, which made him suspect she had asked someone about his schedule. Because otherwise she'd have gone to a night-shift, and he'd have been asleep.

"You're not sick, go away," said Harry.

Greengrass closed the consult room door behind her.

"Oh Healer Potter," she said breathily, "There's some things I really must share with you , and they're huge."

Harry rolled his eyes – at this point he would have not cared if she'd rubbed her bloody breasts in his face, as sleep was a distant memory, and he'd had easily a dozen complicated cases so far this shift.

Greengrass gave a quick smirk and reached into a – that had to be an undetectably expanded robe-pocket. And pulled out a bundle of clothes tied up with white cloth tapes, putting it on the exam table. Because the bundle could never have fit, and the robe had not bulged like it had such a large bundle in it. Undetectably expanded, if you will. Much like someone's bra.

"Dresses," said Greengrass firmly, "We started with ordinary dresses, then my sister thought of Hogwarts uniforms." Harry really didn't want to think about that, but she got out a second bundle, this time of black school robes thumped onto the table. "The pockets are all space-expanded to at least a book-bag in size, and we used a large pillow to check the dress. Any poor girl at Hogwarts could hide a pregnancy under one, and of course casual clothes for teenagers too. And out of her pocket came another bundle of, this time of jumpers and jeans and things. And… she reached into her robe pocket and pulled out yet another bundle, that looked like a pillowcase tied shut.

"Space expanded bras," said Greengrass, "They're not set up for… well, stripper tits, but some witches, like poor Susan might like the option of not getting perved every day."

"How's the getting perved every night business going," asked Harry snidely.

"Profitable… but I loathe rubbing ice-cubes on my breasts before going on stage," said Daphne Greengrass. Harry frowned; why the hell?

"Makes one's nipples stick out Potter," said Greengrass "The impression – however specious is that one is sexually aroused." Harry grimaced in indignation. It wasn't medically inadvisable but it couldn't be pleasant.

"Oh please, as a healer you try to be calm, polite and formal," said Greengrass "A work persona. Stripping's just … like that, but one must pretend to be massively into it."

"And?"

"I'd like you to enlarge my nipples," said Greengrass, blushing. Harry held his tongue as some suggestions as to how that could be done came to mind. His tongue, for starters.

Harry wondered what new sex-work related hell his life might enter tomorrow, and cursed his uncomfortable pants. "I'm not really comfortable doing that," said Harry. He hardly knew the girl.

"Can you do it or not?" asked Greengrass sharply. "You're trustworthy and discreet, and I hardly want to tell every healer at St Mungo's what I do for a job."

"Fine," muttered Harry.

Greengrass took off her robe, and removed her shirt briskly, then undid her bra.

They were bigger than he remembered, and she sat on the edge of the bench "Get on with it" she said crossly, and folded her arms under her breasts… which was probably for support, he realized.

His first try on the right got a "They don't look like THAT!" from Greengrass; and she pinched her left, which … well it did things. Harry eyed the 'reference' nipple, and cleared his mind, then ruined it all by having to visualize what he was transfiguring.

Ten exceedingly awkward minutes later, he'd managed it, and Greengrass pulled her bra back on, the breasts disappearing into expanded space, and pulled on her shirt. She looked at him with her lips pressed shut. Looking really annoyed… which was probably to be expected. Then she sighed.

"Lip plumpening," she said.

Harry got confused. She didn't have particularly plump lips.

"What?" he asked.

"I've been checking the ingredients in lip-plumpening creams, and according to the reaction chart in Advanced potion making, they might be reacting with my strengthening potion," she said.

Harry wondered about that.

"They're using jobberknoll livers, which apparently – " started Greengrass.

"Will be haemo-toxic when combined with boomslang skin. That shouldn't be a problem unless you're taking other potions." said Harry. His head was aching, probably sleep deprivation. There was a potion you could take, but it was medically inadvisable as it was habit-forming, and having to take potions to stay alive instead of just sleeping was, well, the definition of medically inadvisable, pretty much.

Greengrass looked at him in evident surprise – her eyes widening. "You know that off the top of your head?"

"Uh… healer?" said Harry. "It's literally my job." He paused, "Are you?"

"Well, I use bruise paste, headache potions, and the occasional hangover remedy," said Greengrass. She paused and the lip-pursing thinned her lips, "And potions for preventing pregnancy and reducing the discomfort of menses."

"So you're sexually active?" asked Harry, she'd said she wasn't. Maybe her 'I just strip' story was just that.

"No, but I'm not taking any chances," said Greengrass. "So I'd like for you to plumpen my lips up a little. I have a perfectly reasonable idea – my mother has far nicer lips than I do."

And with that, she got a framed photo out of her other robe pocket. Harry thought suddenly that it would be exceedingly useful to have a potions rack in the right pocket of his work robes.

"Healers robes – pockets big enough for potion racks" said Harry.

Greengrass nodded "Can you make me a note?" she asked.

Harry wrote out a note on his memo pad, and she pocketed it into her left pocket, then held the photo of her mother up. It was a head-and shoulders photo of a handsome middle-aged witch, who frankly could pass for late thirties in the photo. Greengrass did look quite like her mother, though having missed out on the lips her mother had, she did look a lot less pretty and more … pissy. And her mother's nose was smaller also. Though the photo was black-and-white like many wizarding photos, so maybe her eye colour was different to her mothers too. After sitting still for a remarkably long time, the photo of Greengrass's mother smiled, and stopped looking so, well, pureblood formal, and had dimples, and a warm smile. Greengrass, thought Harry, didn't smile as much, and had well, thin lips. So this was practically therapy, he justified to himself.

Still, after a little very delicate transfiguration, she looked a lot more like her mother, and Daphne Greengrass pulled a hand-mirror out of her space-expanded pocket and checked her lips. She pouted, checking her reflection from many angles and Harry felt that that was quite enough of cosmetic work for bloody Greengrass. Whose lips alone looked quite eye-catching enough to cause a bloke to have thoughts now. And given she had remarkable eyes that tilted up at the outside, very dramatic dark rings on her irises, cheekbones that held up lean cheeks that swept down to a strong jaw, and aforementioned rather eye-catching lips, she was frankly, quite pretty. Still had a big-ish nose, and frowned and glared a lot, but … quite pretty. Certainly distinctive enough to be an actress or something. She was, of course, an 'or something' with breasts transfigured far too large, and stuff. Harry shifted in pants-related discomfort.

She put her mirror away and sat up primly. "Now, Potter, with more dread than you can possibly imagine, I wish to discuss medical matters."

"Oddly, am actually a healer," said Harry. He felt that was possibly sarcastic enough. But if not, he could manage more later.

"I… have observed the other dancers at the club using… certain devices." she said, and if she wasn't blushing down her neck, he was a Slytherin Quidditch team beater, or other lower primate.

"To do what?" asked Harry.

"To erm… engorge their lady parts," said Greengrass, who was definitely blushing. "It creates the impression, you see, of erm… intense sexual arousal."

Harry felt his face, neck, ears and scalp heating up, and had to step backwards hurriedly, and lean back against his desk in horror. "Quite," he croaked. His imagination suggested something… truly horrendously embarrassing. And medically inadvisable.

"Now, I completely understand that you are… not the right person for the job," said Greengrass. Harry nodded, feeling easily as awkward as when he was fourteen, questing fruitlessly for a date to the Yule ball.

"But if you could… brief a female healer, who could… perform a … another purely temporary transfiguration… it would hugely increase the amount of money I could make a night," said Greengrass, "And thus make our family finances secure, and ensure my sister's treatment was paid for rapidly, even if… there were complications for her, or me for that matter."

"But you'd be stopping within a few months," said Harry, and he trotted out a speech he'd learnt three years ago, "Long-term use of cosmetic transfiguration can lead to body dysmorphia, then leading, in the worst case, to disordered eating, use of medically inadvisable potions, and… permanent injuries."

"Which is why I'm getting out as soon as there's a safety net in my vault," said Daphne Greengrass "And getting back to normal… though to be blunt, I'll keep the lip job, Potter, I've always hated my thin lips."

"They were, are quite normal, attractive lips," said Harry, and he winced at saying that. It didn't even sound convincing to himself.

"You say that, but every boy that met my mum mentioned it." said Greengrass. Harry mentally chalked one up to 'existing body dysmorphia.' At least she'd committed to getting rid of the ridiculous bust.

Harry pondered who, of all the female healers on staff on shift now, he thought would do something like Greengrass wanted, whatever that actually was. Not that he had no idea about girl bits… he'd felt Ginny up several times, and hypothetically had gone to the odd Muggle Club and picked up women once… or twice. Having to go back to their place, lie so much about himself, and leave without leaving a phone number would have, he thought, been a cad's ideal life… he on the other hand, had gone months of hating himself before going out again. Once or twice a year… He had seen strippers the other night, and they hadn't had… inflamed parts. He looked back at Greengrass.

"Potter?" she asked, "you're aren't fantasizing about my naked body, I'm fairly sure. What's going on?"

"You read minds?" asked Harry tiredly. While he could remember what she looked like topless, his bits were thankfully, smothered in self-loathing right now.

"I know what blokes getting off looks like. On-the-job learning," she said.

"Um," said Harry, wondering if Healer Hazelgrove would do it – she was a grown witch with, he suspected children. She was certainly married and at least the age of Greengrass's mum.

"Healer Hazelgrove," said Harry. "I'll um… see what' she's doing?"

Harry took Hazelgrove's nasty case of potions poisoning and directed Hazelgrove to his consult room to see to Greengrass… and only got vomited on twice by her patient, and an hour later, had the patient – an elderly sorcerer – Elsworth McGinty, who might be getting a bit old to make tricky potions, moved off to Potions injuries to recover. He'd need bezoars for a day and potions – non-poisonous ones – to rehydrate him.

"Thank you, Potter," croaked the elderly man.

"Well it's my job," said Harry, trying to smile professionally. 'Healer making human contact with patient after treatment.' And ignoring the being projectile vomited on part.

"Why'd you take the nice gel away?" asked Mr McGinty, clearly referring to Hazelgrove.

"Had a young witch who needed treatment I'm not comfortable giving," said Harry.

"But you like witches, why would a healthy young wizard pass up seeing a witch in her knickers?" asked Mr McGinty.

"The problem was under her knickers," said Harry blandly, and Mr McGinty wheezed in laughter.

"I still say, when you're too old to want to see a kittycat, you're too old to live," said Mr McGinty. Harry nodded mechanically, and let the hover charm slide the old sorcerer off down the hall to the lift. Harry really wondered if his life could get worse, he supposed he could do all the pus-filled sores for a month or so, to clear his mind.

As he'd sort-of expected, Healer Hazelgrove came to see him around end of shift. Well, end of her shift – Harry had another maybe eight hours to go as a Registrar.

She closed the door.

"Potter," she said, crossing her arms, "The depravity of the girl!" she said firmly. Harry tried very hard not to think about the depravity of the girl.

"That's why I sent her to you," said Harry.

"Do you want to report that as harassment?" asked Hazelgrove softly. Harry sighed.

"I know her from school, and … her sister has a file a foot thick. She's paying for muggle treatment of the condition – which is, from the notes, untreatable by magic, and runs in her family. I'm not looped in on her muggle case notes, but from what she's implied, the endocrinologist she took her sister to has found a treatment that will at least prolong the sister's life." said Harry.

Hazelgrove tilted her head "That's…. I suppose that's the benefit of being raised muggle," she said.

"I think we could learn a lot from their research," said Harry politely "Their medicine has progressed a lot in the last few years… they can treat most conditions now… well, they're not great at cancer, but they can treat it now."

"Cancer?"

"We don't get it, it's like… a dark curse on a small piece of tissue that encourages growth till it kills or disables the patient" said Harry "They can treat it … most kinds anyway."

"But not actually magic?"

"A disorder of growth," said Harry, and he thought about it, "Like a burl in a tree. I suppose people's magic just kills it, if you've got magic."

"So like a polyjuice potion going wrong," said Hazelgrove, and Harry had a sudden, awful thought.

"Bugger," he said, and blushed at swearing in front of one of his superiors.

"What?"

"One of my friends had an incident with polyjuice. Felix Domesticus not Homo Sapiens," said Harry. "Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts got her back to normal, but I wonder if we should screen her for unwanted growths."

"Surely she'd see them?" asked Hazelgrove.

"If they were on the outside," said Harry. "Blood cancers – I suspect that the Greengrasses have a magical variation on a blood cancer … or deep inside the torso.. even a small one in the brain would be…"

"Oh dear," said Hazelgrove, "Are you going to write her a letter?"

"I'd better," said Harry, and he used his note pad to write a quick memo to Hermione, folded it up, and charmed it to fly to the St Mungo's mail office, where it would be owled off to Hermione. And hopefully she'd be fine, and if not, well maybe she could use muggle treatments for it… not that she had anything wrong with her. Harry's skin itched, and he wanted to scratch his own forearms. He was, however, fine.

"That's… not the greatest way to end a shift," said Hazelgrove.

"I'm on till eight am," said Harry.

"Ah, the romantic life of the Registrar" said Hazelgrove "It's only for three more years."

There was, the next day, at least going for a run to actually clear the fug from his mind.