Nine and Three Quarters

Draco had always assumed that Harry Potter's cock was either monstrous or the size of a small pickle. That's the way it worked with Potter: he had to be different. There was nothing normal about the Boy Who Lived.

For years, Draco had amused himself with the thought that Potter had a tiny willy. (It would have explained many things – like why Potter always needed to be the hero.) But a conversation Draco overheard on King's Cross the day he left for his eighth year at Hogwarts changed everything.

"Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" Ginny Weasley sniggered. "I can think of something else with exactly the same measurements."

Potter, who was standing next to her, responded only with a faint blush and a twitch of his lips.

That brief exchange turned Draco's world upside-down. He spent a great portion of the trip to Hogwarts in the boys' toilet, wanking to thoughts of Potter's nine-and-three-quarter-inch cock splitting him in two. And, as soon as Draco got his fill at the welcoming feast that evening, he retired to his dormitory, shut the curtains around his bed, and wanked some more.

He hadn't tossed off as many times in one day since he'd heard about the Seven Potters. (Okay, so he hadn't always pictured Potter with a puny willy.)


Draco continued in this manner for the next couple of days – going to class, eating, staring at Potter, and rubbing one off whenever he could get away with it. Only two things bothered him: his cock, which had started to feel raw, and the fact that Potter and the Weaselette weren't behaving like a couple.

The former, Draco solved by telling Madam Pomfrey his skin was chafed from spending to much time on the broom. She gave him a jar of healing ointment, which he used for wanking sessions from then on. A bit of investigation into the latter, and Draco learned that Potter and the Weaselette were no longer dating, and hadn't been for months.

How they'd managed to keep that news out of the papers, he had no idea. But that wasn't important. Draco's top priority was to find a way to get that monster cock in his arse, and soon.

And he did.

One night, while doing his prefect rounds, Draco found Potter strolling unevenly down a little-used corridor after curfew.

"Potter, just because you saved the world doesn't mean you get to amble around the castle after curfew," said Draco. "That's a detention."

"Whatever." Potter's breath ticked Draco's cheek. It stank of alcohol.

"So you've been drinking? Do you realise that, even for adult students, the punishment for the consumption of alcohol on school grounds is – severe?"

"Piss off."

"I'm willing to let it slide, though," said Draco, stepping closer to Harry. "You see, there's something I want from you. Give it to me, and no one will know about this."

Potter sighed. "Is it my cock?"

At Draco's look of surprise, Potter explained, "You've been eyeing my crotch since the first day of school. One time, I could have sworn I saw you drool."

Well this certainly does simplify things, thought Draco. He looked around to make certain they were alone, then pulled Potter into a nearby alcove. He pushed the jar of ointment he'd received from Madam Pomfrey into Potter's hand and turned around. "Fuck me."

"What, just like that?" Potter sounded confused.

"Yes," Draco hissed, and began unbuckling his belt. "You are familiar with the procedure, are you not?"

Draco heard Potter turn the metal lid on the jar. A moment later, two fingers pushed inside his arse. The ointment was warm and slick. Draco's cock oozed a bit of precome as Potter's fingers glided effortlessly in and out.

Potter's preparation wasn't the most thorough Draco could imagine for a nine-and-three-quarter-inch cock, but it would have to do. Draco held his breath when the fingers were pulled out of him and he heard the sound of Potter's zip going down.

The next ten minutes were a blur. The only thing Draco remembered clearly was the feeling of the blunt head of a thick cock nudging his entrance. After that there was only a mind-numbing fullness, the rapid smacking of Potter's pelvis against his arse, and hot puffs of breath on the back of Draco's neck. It was the best sex he'd ever had.

They came simultaneously, grunting and holding back moans. When Draco turned around, he could not stop the look of horror that crossed his face.

"What?" Potter asked.

Draco pointed at the glistening cock still sticking out from Potter's open trousers. "That is not nine and three quarter inches!"

"I never said it was."

"But Ginny Weasley said at King's Cross – "

A sudden look of understanding crossed Potter's face, and he laughed heartily. "She wasn't talking about my cock. Is that why – ?" He laughed again.

"What was she talking about, then?" Draco demanded.

"Nothing you need to know about." Potter finally tucked his cock back into his boxers. "Are you disappointed? You didn't sound it."

"Disappointed? I'm horrified!"

"Horrified you weren't disappointed, you mean?" Potter's lips twitched. "Why?"

"Because I accosted a bloke with an average-sized penis!"

Now Potter looked even more amused. He swayed a little and rested his hand on the wall for support. "But that isn't a crime if he didn't use it in an average way, is it?"

Draco thought about it. The sex really had been incredible. "No, I suppose it isn't."

Potter grinned. "Good. Wanna do it again?"

Draco wanted to insist that Potter first tell him what the Weaselette had been talking about, but instead he led him to the Slytherin dungeon, where he once more got an arseful of very average cock.

The End.