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Harrie was staring at the Marauder's Map.
That was nothing new. She'd done it a hundred times before, looking at the little footsteps moving around Hogwarts like ants, with their attached names floating above. She'd spent entire evenings, in fact, with her nose stuck to the Map, sometimes watching idly, sometimes possessed of a very particular intent, like in her sixth year when she had tried to find out what Draco had been up to.
And in all those years, she had never attempted to pierce the Map's last secret.
The little number that was showing above some people. Not all of them. Harrie didn't have a number. Hermione didn't either. Ron had one, and so did Neville, and Dean, and Seamus. The value of the number ranged approximately from 1 to 10, with most people around 5. There were one or two decimals, no zero, and no easy way to know what that was about.
Harrie had ignored it for years. She'd been too busy with classes, her own personal problems, and saving the world from Voldemort while trying to stay alive. Plus, it might have been nothing.
But now, she had time to investigate. Back at Hogwarts for a eighth year, it seemed like an excellent side project. She'd squeeze that in between her Potions essays and her Charm homework.
Find out the meaning of the numbers.
She shifted on her bed, chose a random person with a number, watched them for a while. Marcus Fawcett, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, currently in the library. 4.82, said the black ink above his name. As far as she had noticed, the numbers never change.
4.82.
4.82 what?
Hours of sleep he got at night, on average? That seemed unlikely, and why would the Map show that? Couldn't be years left to live either. And why didn't Harrie have a number?
"Hermione?" Harrie said, lifting her head toward her friend, who was lounging on her own bed, Crookshanks asleep in her lap.
"Yes?"
"D'you remember the numbers on the Map?"
Hermione put down her book, narrowing her eyes at Harrie.
"...yes," she said, slowly. "We never did figure out what they meant."
"Any theories?"
Hermione gently moved Crookshanks off her lap, and joined Harrie on her bed. They rubbed shoulders as they both leaned down to look at the Map. A moment passed.
"It seems to be only guys," Hermione said.
Harrie blinked, adjusted her glasses, her eyes sweeping over the parchment. Hermione was right. She couldn't find any girl with a number. Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, Ron was a 5.3, Dean a 6, Seamus a 4.1, and Neville a 8.8.
A thought struck Harrie.
Could it be...?
"You don't suppose it's inches... do you?"
"Inches? What do you mea—oooohhh."
Hermione went bright red. Stammered a bit more, then cleared her throat.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I think it might be just that."
They stared at the Map again.
"Might be something else," Harrie said, in a weak, unconvinced voice.
"The numbers of sexual partners," Hermione suggested.
They both looked at Ron's 5.3.
"Nope," they said in unison.
"And also, how would that work?" Harrie said. "How can you have slept with a third of a person?"
"Maybe it counts their hand."
Harrie snorted so loudly Crookshanks startled at the sound.
"Sorry, Crooks, sorry," Harrie said, while the cat gave her an offended look. "Go back to sleep, it's alright. Hermione and I are just..."
"Scheming. We're scheming." Hermione tapped a finger on the Map. "So, how do we test our theory?"
"Well..." Harrie said, and stared pointedly at Hermione. "Is Ron a 5.3?"
Hermione blushed redder.
"Bring a ruler next time you do it," Harrie said. "For science, Hermione. For science."
"We... we haven't slept together yet. I haven't... seen it, exactly. We're taking it slow. I love him, I do, but with the chaos of the war, and the rush of adrenaline, that kiss just happened, and—"
"It's alright," Harrie said quickly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. Of course you should go at the speed you're most comfortable with... We'll find another way to check our theory."
*
The other way was Neville.
Harrie found him the next morning, as he was tending alone to the Mandrakes in Greenhouse number three. He was taking additional Herbology classes, preparing for an apprenticeship in that domain, so he was spending a lot of time in the greenhouses, which was perfect since they were so isolated. Harrie had the Map on her anyway, and made sure they would be alone before she approached him.
So, Neville, how big is your dick?
No, she wouldn't open with that.
"So, Neville, how are things going?"
"Really great!" Neville said, beaming a bright smile. "I've got the Mandrakes in top shape here, and the Baneberries are looking good this year, we'll have a nice harvest come October. And you? Heard you clashed pretty severely with Snape in Potions the other day."
"Nah, just a standard clash."
She was always at odds with Snape. The war had ended, Voldemort was dead, Snape had survived Nagini's attack and was back to teaching Potions, and Harrie was butting heads with him regularly. He always found the pettiest reasons to criticize her work. Potter, your stirring rod is at an angle, five points from Gryffindor. Potter, you added your asphodel powder incorrectly. Five points from Gryffindor.
Potter this, Potter that, and Harrie was sick of it, and snapping back at him. He never gave her detention, though. He glowered at her, he barked, he spat venom, but he never punished her other than by taking points away.
Maybe one couldn't give detention to the Savior of the wizarding world. Maybe it was her aura that was sparing her. None of the other professors dared to breathe the word 'detention' in her direction, even though she'd done a couple of things in class already that should have warranted one. In fact, the other professors treated her with a high level of care, like she'd suddenly become fragile.
That annoyed her much more than the Snape situation.
"Did you want something?" Neville prompted.
"Yeah. I just have one tiny question for you."
Or well, not so tiny. A big question. 8.8 inches.
"Neville, we've faced a lot together, right? You killed Nagini. You saved the world as much as I did. You're a hero."
"Yes?" Neville said tentatively, sensing he was heading into a trap.
"So, um. How big is your penis?"
Neville's mouth opened. Then it stayed opened, and no sound came out of it.
"Is it 8.8 inches? Vital question. Really."
Still nothing. Well, his eyes were slightly bulging out, and his face was getting redder and redder, and... yeah, that wasn't working.
"I'm sorry for asking," Harrie said. "Forget it. Forget everything, let's pretend I just walked in. Hey, Neville, how are you? Nice Mandrakes you've got there. Please tell me about them."
Neville's mouth closed with a click. He swallowed, and Harrie saw him grapple for composure.
"Mandrakes," he said, clearing his throat. "Yes. Right. I'm taking care of nine of them at the moment, and Professor Sprout says we'll be able to add two more soon, when they've matured enough. Adult Mandrakes need to be pruned regularly, or they grow nasty little thorns that can really hurt. You should always wear dragonhide gloves when you handle them anyway..."
Harrie listened while making interested sounds at the appropriate moments, and did not think about Neville's 8-inch dick that he was (potentially) hiding in his trousers.
After five more minutes of botanical talk, she retreated, sparing them both further embarrassment.
"A complete failure," she reported to Hermione.
"Nothing? He didn't say anything one way or the other?"
"No. It was just really awkward for us both."
"Did you at least, you know, look?"
"No, Hermione, I didn't stare at Neville's crotch while I was talking to him."
"For science," Hermione said. "Just a little friendly staring."
"You go stare at this crotch, then!"
Hermione humphed.
"Alright," she said. "Plan C."
Plan C turned out to be Lavender.
"You want me to measure Dean's penis the next time I sleep with him?" she said, quirking her eyebrows at Harrie and Hermione.
"Yes," Harrie said.
"Okay, sure."
"Really? You'll do it?"
"Yeah, of course. That's nothing, Harrie. You once asked us to stand against Voldemort. I can measure my boyfriend's penis for you."
She snapped her fingers.
"Are we talking erect or flaccid?"
"Oh," Harrie said. She hadn't even considered the question.
"Both," Hermione said.
"No problem," Lavender said. "Alright, hold on."
She turned on her heels and left the dormitory.
"She's doing it now?" Harrie said, a little dazed.
"I told you she could be relied on."
It took fifteen minutes. Then Lavender was back, her hair a bit more frazzled, her face flushed.
"3.4 inches flaccid, and 6 inches when erect."
"Thank you," Harrie said, which were not words she had ever envisioned she'd say in response to that particular statement.
"Happy to help," Lavender said with a giggle. "And Dean didn't even mind. He thought all this doctor foreplay was very hot."
"So that's really it," Harrie said once Lavender had left again. "The Map shows penis size. Erect penis size."
Hermione was frowning.
"We need more data to be sure. It could be a coincidence."
"Come on. It's not a coincidence."
"It could be!" Hermione insisted. "Why would the Map even show that?"
"Because that's exactly the kind of thing the Marauders would have found funny."
There was a pause.
"5.3 inches is pretty good," Harrie said.
Hermione hid her face in her hands, ears going red.
"We can never tell him we figured out the meaning of the numbers," she said, all muffled. "Never, Harrie."
"Never telling him," Harrie agreed. "In fact, let's not tell anyone."
Hermione made another muffled sound, which Harrie took as assent.
*
That night, Harrie looked at the Map while in bed, her curtains drawn.
She was just curious. That was all, really. She'd look at it for five minutes, and then she'd stop, put the Map away, and feel satisfied that the mystery had been solved.
Five minutes.
She didn't even look at the names, because now that she knew what they meant, that felt like a violation of privacy. (And yes, it was the entire point of the Map, but this was different.)
So, numbers only.
4.43, 5.1, 2.2, 5.65, 7, 5, another 5, 4.86, 13.5, 6.65...
Hold on, what?
13.5
13.5?!
"What the hell."
Who on earth had a 13.5 inches penis?
She looked at the name underneath.
Severus Snape.
No way. That had to be a mistake. A penis couldn't be 13.5 inches. The decimal point must have been placed wrong, or... or something.
She looked again, closer.
13.5, and Snape was in his office, sitting at his desk. How could he even sit with a cock that big? Wouldn't it get in the way?
She closed the Map ("Mischief managed"), opened it ("I solemnly swear that I am up to no good"), found Snape again.
Still the same number.
Inconceivable.
Harrie stuck her head outside her curtains.
"Hermione," she whispered, unsure if she wanted her friend to actually hear her or not.
"Mmm?" came Hermione's response, muffled through her own curtains.
"Come see," Harrie hissed, low.
Hermione slipped out of her bed, joined Harrie in hers. She rubbed her eyes, yawning. It was getting rather late, but well, this was an emergency.
"Look," Harrie said, pointing at the offending number.
Hermione looked, and blinked, and looked again.
"Please tell me that's not physically possible," Harrie said.
"The Map is never wrong."
"I know it hasn't been wrong so far, but..."
Hermione sank her teeth into her lower lip, thinking.
"Maybe he's got some half-giant blood somewhere in his family," she said. "I hate to say this, but have you looked at Hagrid? If the Map also gives a plausible size for him..."
"I'm not gonna look at Hagrid."
"But you looked at Snape?" Hermione said, and she threw Harrie a suspicious look, like she thought Harrie had searched Snape on purpose just to see what he was packing in those black trousers.
"I didn't mean to! I was just looking at the numbers, and then I saw... this."
Hermione hummed.
"Have you tried turning it off and on again?"
"Yeah. That didn't change anything."
"Well, then... in all likelihood, Snape's got a big dick."
She blushed after she said that.
"Big," Harrie said. "That's an understatement. There's no way he actually uses it."
Hermione shut her eyes for a brief second.
"Please don't make me think about Snape having sex."
"Too late," Harrie said, deadpan.
Hermione groaned, rubbed her eyes again.
"How much exactly is 13.5 inches?" Harrie asked. "Wait, my wand is 11 inches..."
She held out her wand, and paled, because that was already quite a lot. And then there were two and a half more inches.
"No," she said, instinctively clenching her thighs together. "Oh, no."
"Look, let's just... let's forget about it. We didn't find out what the numbers were, and we don't know anything about anyone's size, alright?"
"Alright."
Hermione went back to her bed, and Harrie put the Map away. Then she tried to sleep.
And couldn't.
She was still thinking about Snape's dick.
She kept imagining it.
Was that why he was always wearing such voluminous robes? She tried remembering what his crotch looked like, but she had never paid it any particular kind of attention (obviously, why would she?), so all she could recall was Snape in his flowing robes, flapping about the classroom like an overgrown bat.
She'd seen him out of his robes a couple of times. Once in her fourth year, during the Egg incident. He'd been in a gray nightshirt, and she'd been much too preoccupied by the screaming Egg that threatened to give away her position, hidden under the cloak with her foot stuck in the trick step from that annoying staircase.
And she'd seen him in a white gown when she had stayed at his side in the infirmary while he recovered from Nagini's attack, much more recently. She hadn't looked at his crotch either, but surely she would have noticed if there was anything gigantic going on between his legs. The white gown hid way less than his black robes.
Thirteen. And a half. Inches.
Uuugh, why couldn't she stop thinking about it? She shouldn't care about the size of Snape's cock. It wasn't like she wanted to see it. Or touch it.
"Ridiculous," she muttered, pressing her face into the pillow.
When she did manage to sleep, she dreamed of Snape. She was in detention, alone with him, and he stood close, closer than he'd ever been, closer than what was appropriate.
"Is there something you want to see, Potter?" he asked her.
"No," she replied, keeping her gaze down, set on the desk in front of her.
"Are you sure?"
He stepped even closer, set his hands on the desk, half-looming over her. She could feel his breath on her cheek.
"You can look. I know you want to."
"No," Harrie repeated, and didn't look.
She woke up very frustrated. She managed to put the matter out of her mind until the first class of the day, which was double Potions, because of course it was.
They had to make a Fire Protection Potion, and she carefully dosed her ingredients, ten ounces of bursting mushrooms, one pint of salamander blood, and five ounces of wartcap powder. She didn't look at Snape's crotch.
Not at first.
She worked diligently on her potion, ignoring him. It was only when he approached her that her resolved was tested. He hovered on her right, watching her stir her potion, and from the corner of her eye, she could see his black robes, and she was tempted to look.
Just one quick little glance. Just to check.
"Your potion appears to be one shade lighter than it should be, Potter," he said, in a cold, cutting tone, as if brewing the potion correctly was a vital task and the consequences of failure would be catastrophic.
"It's nearly right," she said, and looked up at his face.
A nasty sneer played on his lips.
"Nearly right is worthless when it comes to potions. Would you drink a 'nearly right' Fire Protection Potion, and then walk through fire? You'd find yourself burned to a crisp."
She ground her teeth, knowing he was right.
"I'll correct it on the next phase," she said, though she was unsure she could manage it.
"See that you do, or I'll Vanish this mess before you can attempt to bottle it."
And there, she glanced down, and well. It wasn't staring. It was just a lingering look. He moved away in a flutter of robes before she could be sure of what she'd seen. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.
She needed to look again.
It was just science.
She added half of the salamander blood to her potion, stirred carefully, counting under her breath so she wouldn't mess it up. Then she sprinkled the mushrooms in, and set the fire to a high burn. Her potion turned from a light purple to a denser, darker one, which was exactly what was needed.
Snape came back at this moment, standing even closer. She looked where she needed to look, pretending she was checking the side of her cauldron. Mmmm. Maybe there was something there...
He didn't say anything, was gone as quickly as he'd arrived.
She poured the last of the salamander blood in her cauldron, stirred, lowered the strength of the fire. Her potion looked like the right color to her. She turned toward Hermione, who was brewing at the closest desk near her, aiming to ask her opinion, and instead found her eyes wandering toward Snape. He was examining Hermione's potion, ladling it to check its consistency.
Harrie looked again. She looked more. She looked... a lot.
Snape's black eyes snapped to her.
"Potter!" he barked. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Focus on your brewing, or don't bother showing up at all in my classes."
"Sorry," she squeaked.
Her cheeks flaming, she stirred her potion, her gaze set on the bubbling liquid. He had definitely noticed she was staring. Staring at his crotch.
Shit, shit.
The rest of the hour passed in a blur. She bottled her potion, brought it to Snape's desk without looking up.
She was nearly out of the room when his voice stopped her.
"Potter. Stay behind."
Shiiit.
She sent a miserable look toward Ron and Hermione, gestured at them to get going. The door closed, trapping her in with Snape. Very reluctantly, feeling her cheeks heat up again, she turned in his direction. She kept her eyes on the floor, not daring to look at him.
This had been such a stupid idea. What has been thinking, trying to ogle his—
"How many Galleons?"
The sentence was so unexpected she lifted her head, and met his gaze, and oh, it was dark, and furious, and she had never seen him like that, exuding such black rage. Never, except that one time he had caught her looking into his Pensieve.
"Wh—what?"
"Your bet, Potter. The one you made with Weasley, not doubt. Ten Galleons to stare at my groin in class without getting caught? Twenty?"
Every word out of his mouth was a cutting slash. A verbal Sectumsempra, slicing at her, and she bled incredulity, her face flushing with shameful heat.
"There's... there's no bet."
For one second she thought he was about to call her a liar. His jaw shifted, his coal-black eyes hardening further. Black diamonds now, and she was looking straight into the depths of hell.
"So you were simply staring at my groin for no reason?"
She flushed hotter.
"N-no."
"No, what? You think you can conduct yourself in this way and get away with it? Without even an explanation? The nerve of you, Potter. It continues to astound me."
She dropped her gaze, her face burning. Stared at her shoes.
The weight of his displeasure was nearly painful to endure. She could feel it on her nape, a hot, prickling pressure, and she bowed her head further, something cold twisting in her stomach. She wanted to apologize, couldn't make herself open her mouth. Her tongue was burdened with lead, her lips stuck together.
Snape didn't say anything for the longest time, and she didn't dare move. There was nothing she could have said anyway. It was indefensible.
"Detention," he said when he finally spoke up. "Tonight, 8 o'clock."
"Yes, sir," she said.
She left the classroom without looking at him, all but fleeing.
She sat in History of Magic, and didn't take a single note. All she did was think about Snape, and how stupid she'd been. He had sacrificed so much for her. He had helped to vanquish Voldemort, had almost lost his life doing so, and then he'd still came back to Hogwarts to teach, and... and she had stared at his crotch. Like a fool.
Had invaded his privacy, too. How she regretted figuring out what the numbers meant.
"Something wrong, Harrie?" Ron asked her at lunch, frowning at her from across the table.
She sighed.
"Snape gave me detention. Tonight."
"What?" Ron exclaimed, clearly very taken aback. "But... he can't give you detention!"
"He's our teacher, of course he can," Hermione said.
"But Harrie saved the world! The Girl-Who-Lived can't get detentions!"
"Snape doesn't care," Harrie said. "And anyway, I deserve it."
"No way," Ron said. "You didn't do anything."
Harrie blushed, and Hermione looked uncomfortable.
"Wait, did you?" Ron said, puzzled.
"It doesn't matter," Harrie muttered.
Hermione was quick to change the subject, asking Ron if he'd completed his Charm homework, and berating him when she predictably got a negative answer.
Harrie wasn't any more focused during her afternoon classes. She doodled on her parchment during Transfiguration, frowned when she realized she'd drawn two dark eyes, staring at her accusingly. She crumpled the paper, shoving it in her bag.
"Miss Potter?" McGonagall prompted her. "Have you had any success with the spell?"
"Yes," Harrie lied. "I changed my eyes."
She immediately regretted saying that last word. They were attempting Human Transfiguration on a single part of their bodies. She could have chosen anything. What had she said eyes?
McGonagall made an encouraging hand gesture. Harrie pointed her wand at her eyes, casting non-verbally. She didn't think of anything in particular, simply focusing on the spell, and the idea of change. Magic tingled in her eyeballs. She blinked, grabbed the handheld mirror lying on the desk, looked into it.
She had black eyes.
Snape's eyes, still accusatory, in her own face...
"Very well done," McGonagall said. "Five points to Gryffindor."
Harrie canceled the spell, and her eyes shifted back to green.
Before dinner, she went to the library with Hermione, to study. Ron declined to come, saying they were already working hard enough. It was just the two of them, in their usual corner near the back, tuckered away between the Magical Creatures books and the Divination ones.
"So, your detention... it's about, em..."
"Yeah. He noticed."
Hermione's cheeks went red.
"What are you going to do?" she whispered.
"Apologize, I guess. I... I don't know how I can even justify it."
"Maybe just blame... you know, hormones."
"Hormones?" Harrie said, confused.
She was about to add that it wasn't like that at all, that she hadn't been checking Snape out, and then didn't.
"He'll never believe I fancy him," she said instead.
"Do you?" Hermione asked, openly.
Did she? Why did she even care about the size of his penis? Why would she try to see it?
"I don't know," she said, hiding her face in her hands. "I think... he's always been so mysterious, you know? He kept everything so close to the vest, and we were never sure on whose side he was, and then he gave me his memories, and I saw everything... I saw his past, I saw who he was. And..."
She rubbed her face, groaned.
"I thought that would change things. But it hasn't. It's like sixth year all over again."
There was a short silence.
"Use the hormones excuse," Hermione said. "Tell him you heard a rumor about his, um, size. You know, in relation to his nose."
"Oh, Merlin," Harrie lamented. "I'll die of shame."
"You won't. And he'll be uncomfortable as well. It's not like he'll linger on the subject."
"I wouldn't put it past him. He likes to make me squirm."
"Harrie, he's a teacher. He won't be discussing anything sexual with you."
"Okay. Fine. Hormones."
She ate dinner without looking once toward the professors' table, and then it was time for her to humiliate herself. She didn't look at Snape either when she entered his office. She kept her gaze on the floor, and shuffled forward, stopping in the center of the room.
She heard him shift in his chair, setting down his quill.
"Potter. I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you wouldn't bother to show up."
He didn't sound as angry as he'd been earlier, though his words still held an edge.
"...you gave me detention, sir," she said, clasping her hands behind her back.
"Aren't you too famous for detention?"
She said nothing in the ensuing pause. She didn't know what to say.
"That's certainly what everyone seems to be thinking," he continued. "Minerva reprimanded me at dinner when she learned I had dared to give you detention. She told me I should go easier on you." He scoffed. "Why should the Girl-Who-Lived suffer the indignity of a detention? It's beneath you."
His tone had gotten more biting with each sentence.
Harrie shook her head.
"McGonagall's wrong. I'm not... I don't want any special treatment."
She looked him in the eyes.
"You know that."
His lips curled, a venomous sneer creeping onto his features.
"Why even come back for a eighth year, Potter? It isn't as if you need to properly graduate, or that any N.E.W.Ts results will change anything to your future career. All the doors are already open to you."
The conversation had taken a perplexing turn, but she felt it was the most honest Snape had been with her, perhaps ever, so she decided on honesty as well.
"Because it's all I've ever known. Hogwarts is my home. And I can't... there's nowhere else for me to go."
"Nonsense," he said, and she thought it was a bit softer, less bite and more rasp. "You'd be welcomed anywhere, and you're daft to think otherwise. Travel the world if it pleases you. Go to America, or to Japan. You could even live in the Muggle world if you wanted to escape your fame."
Yes. She could go anywhere. But she didn't want to.
"What about you?" she said. "Why did you come back?"
When he said nothing, she pressed on.
"You could have stayed in Cokeworth. You could have chosen the Muggle world as well, where no one would have known about your past. But you came back here, and you chose to teach Potions again. Why?"
He was looking at her with a frightening kind of intensity. She didn't lower her gaze.
"You answered that question yourself just now," he said. "Hogwarts is my home."
He leaned forward, steepled his fingers together.
"While we're having this touching little heart-to-heart, perhaps you're more inclined to give me an explanation about your behavior earlier."
Hormones, she thought. Hormones, I'm a horny girl, I was looking at your crotch because I heard you were packing down there, and I wanted to check.
"The Map," she said, and winced at how she'd sounded, so guilty.
He raised an eyebrow. Guilt squirmed like a snake in her stomach.
"The Marauder's Map. It shows, um, numbers above some people's head. I couldn't let it lie until I'd figured out what they stood for."
Snape was a smart man. He needed no further explanations.
"So you used your precious dark artifact for a laugh," he said, his crooked teeth bearing into his lower lip, anger back in his eyes, making them gleam blacker.
"It's not a dark artifact!"
"It thinks on its own. Its only purpose is to track people within the castle, with no care as to their privacy. It shows every corner of Hogwarts, including the dormitories and the private quarters of the staff."
"Yeah, but—"
"And did you not relish using it, Potter? Spying on everyone's size?"
He hissed the word at her, teeth bared. She flinched, looked down.
"It's not like that," she said weakly.
"What possible reason could there be?" he said, mocking. "Or is that the criteria you were looking for in your next boyfriend? You want one with the adequate equipment to satisfy you? Window-shopping, were you?"
The accusation left her speechless. Even the simple idea that she'd only care about that. That she'd choose a boyfriend based on the size of his—
"And of course, you saw me," Snape went on, acidly, "and wondered what that must look like. Was your curiosity satisfied, Potter? Or do you need another look?"
She stammered, mouth half-open, completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence.
"I see," Snape said, his mouth pursing. "Well, allow me to help you."
He got up. Harrie watched him approach like she was in a dream. He couldn't mean—He wouldn't—What was going on?
"There," he said, stopping much too close, and he parted his robes, revealing his trousers. "Take a good look, Potter."
And well, at this point, what could Harrie do but look?
She looked straight at his crotch, with the perfect vantage point, and... there was nothing there. His trousers seemed perfectly normal. Not the slightest hint of thirteen and a half inches.
"Disappointed?" Snape murmured, in a low, silky tone. "Wondering why you cannot see it, perhaps? Do you think the Map was wrong?"
"I—I don't know, sir."
He twitched, almost imperceptibly, when she said that last word. She bit her lips, wondering if—it was absurd to think about it, but—if he liked it.
"I use a charm to hide its size," he said, "because otherwise, it is simply too distracting for everyone."
What? Oh Merlin, how could it be too distracting?
"Would you like to see it?" he said, whisper-soft, the question settling like a secret between them.
Harrie knew she was crossing a line. She knew she should have said no, should have told him they couldn't do that, should have left the room.
But Snape was leading her across that line, and she wanted to follow him.
"Yes, sir."
He waved a hand in front of his groin, canceling the spell.
Harrie's eyes went wide.
It was... it was all there, suddenly. The biggest bulge she had ever seen, straining the fabric of his trousers, angled down along his left thigh.
Fuck.
She was looking at Snape's cock.
"Now that your curiosity has been satisfied, get out."
He said it so coldly she nearly flinched back. It felt like a bucked of ice water being upended over her head. And yet she didn't—she didn't want to get out.
Slowly, she reached one hand out. Giving him ample time to step back. To hex her, to push her away.
He didn't.
He didn't move at all, and her hand pressed against his cock, through his clothes. He made a very small noise, a little huff of a breath. She shifted her fingers, gripping him more firmly. He was so big. Not only was he long, but he was also thick, and she could feel that, his girth, and see it, as her action made the shape of him even more apparent.
She gulped when he twitched beneath her hand.
"What are you doing, Potter?" he said, half incredulous, half something else.
Was it desire, there, in the rumbling of his voice?
"Tell me to stop, sir," she said, and she squeezed him, gently.
No such words came. Emboldened, she stroked up his member, toward the base of it, where it thickened even more. His cock twitched again, reacting to her touch. The rest of him seemed like ice, a frozen statue, while under her hand, he grew harder. She watched, fascinated, as the already sizable bulge became bigger, until, yeah, it was very, very distracting.
So distracting her body was flushing with heat, her nipples pebbling, her knickers getting damp. Merlin, what was she doing? She had never thought she'd be stroking Snape's cock before this moment. Never thought she'd be touching it, or doing anything to it.
She couldn't remember how they'd gotten there. She was waiting for him to yell at her, to tell her to stop, any second now, he'd say it...
More seconds passed, and she kept stroking him. He stayed silent, stayed immobile, maybe as puzzled as she was by this strange turn of events. His cock was now straining visibly against the fabric, clearly eager to get free.
Her fingers danced up to the buttons of his trousers. She hesitated.
"Do it."
His voice startled her. She had never heard it like that, so deep, resonating with sharp need.
"If you want a proper look, Potter, go on."
She glanced up at his face, found a tense jaw, and clenched teeth, and wide pupils, where desire sparked like lightning in a thunderstorm.
He wanted this. He was pretending this was about her, when in truth, he wanted this as much as she did.
She popped the first button open, went down to the second one, worked this one open as well, and then the third one, and the fourth. His trousers sagged. She could see his underwear now, and the bulge of his cock was incredibly prominent. Gulping down her nervousness, she reached a hand in, wrapped her fingers around his erection.
The skin was warm against her palm, and soft, with a core of steel. A pulse of heat beat between her thighs. She shifted her wrist, and guided his cock out, until it sprang free.
All thirteen and a half inches of it.
His cock jutted up from his groin, much redder than his pale skin, so thick at the base her hand didn't encircle it completely. There was a large vein running down the length, from the tip to the root. The head was fat, nearly purple, and as she watched, a bead of clear liquid appeared at the very tip.
That was... really a lot.
Harrie had never seen an actual cock before. She'd never held one.
On anyone else, that would have been so intimidating she couldn't have coped. But this was Snape, and Snape's cock, and with apprehension came thrilling excitement.
Do you fancy him? Hermione had asked.
The answer was a big fat yes.
She moved her hand up and down his massive length, wondering how fast she should go, and how hard she should squeeze. She hadn't the slightest idea of how to give a handjob. All the girls talked about late at night were blowjobs. That, she had some thoughts about.
Snape still hadn't moved, though his breathing was much heavier now. His cock was sort of throbbing in her hand, and she liked that a lot. This part of his anatomy was very responsive to her. And it couldn't lie.
"If you don't tell me to stop, I'll do something else," she warned him, stroking him faster.
He heaved in a breath. His cockhead leaked more fluid. It dribbled down his shaft, slicking her palm, making it a wet handjob. Was that better? She promised herself to steer the conversation toward handjobs the next time there would be girl talk in the dormitories.
When Snape didn't emit any objection, she lowered herself to her knees, and ran her tongue across the tip of him. He groaned, very loudly, his hands flexing at his sides. Her eyes flitted between his erection and his face, seeking to take stock of his reaction, while she tongued the leaking slit of his cockhead. His nostrils flared, his eyes getting impossibly darker, a small spasm tugging at his left cheek.
She hummed close to his cock, and decided to try it. Putting it in her mouth.
Hermione must have been right. Hormones were definitely involved, on her side, and on his. There was no other explanation for Harrie Potter about to suck Severus Snape off during detention.
She covered her teeth with her lips, and engulfed his cockhead into her mouth. It tasted like skin, and salt. The liquid dripping from him was unpleasantly bitter. She licked it anyway, then took a few more inches in, frowned at how strained her jaw quickly became. Saliva flooded her mouth, her tongue flattened by his cock.
"Potter," he growled, which stoked the heat in her cunt, as if his voice by itself was an aphrodisiac.
She pumped his very thick shaft with both hands, sucking on what she could fit in her mouth. He was the wrong size for a blowjob. Still, he seemed to be enjoying it a lot. She stroked him, and sucked him, and he groaned, body vibrating with tension, his cock twitching in her mouth, constantly leaking pre-cum.
Her knees ached, in direct contact with the stone floor, and the blowjob was getting messy, spittle and drool dribbling from her mouth, but she persevered. With each passing second, Snape appeared to lose more of his composure, half-moans escaping him, his thighs trembling, his hands flexing. She held his gaze, relishing the way his pupils glowed with feral yearning.
"Stop," he suddenly gasped, one raw, ragged word.
She pulled her mouth off him, letting his cockhead rest on her tongue, still looking up at him.
"Stop, I'll... I'll come—"
That was fine. She tried to communicate it, with her gaze, no doubt swirling with need, and her hands, sliding faster on his cock.
He let out a snarl, hauled her up, hands gripping her robes.
"I said stop."
"Sorry... I—I wanted you to come in my mouth."
"Why, Potter," he said, smirking. "I never imagined you'd say such a filthy thing."
"You wanted to do it," she said, grasping his hard prick, twisting her hand over it. "Why did you stop me?"
"Because it's painfully obvious you've never done this before, and I wasn't about to make you choke on my cock for your first blowjob."
"Choke?"
"Yes," he all but hissed. "I would have buried myself deep in that pretty little throat until you couldn't breathe. That's how I would have come, Potter. Not in your mouth, but down your throat."
"Oh," she said, breathlessly, the muscles in her cunt spasming on their own.
He released her, stepping back. His mouth twisted in an angry line, and he breathed out noisily.
"You can see yourself out. I'll hand in my resignation to the Headmistress within the hour."
"What?"
He threw her an exasperated glare.
"Which part was unclear? The part where I told you to leave, or the one where I lost my job because I fraternized with a student?"
"But—but I want it!"
"That does not matter."
This time, she was the one sneering.
"Oh, please. As if anyone would ever believe you took advantage of me."
"As if anyone would ever believe you wanted me," he spat back.
She was stunned.
"What?" she said again. "Of course I want you. I just sucked your cock!"
"Yes, my cock. You were very curious about its size, and desperate to play with it. It's all about my cock, isn't it?"
Where the hell was this conversation going?
"I only care about your cock because it's attached to you," she said, confused by what he seemed to be implying.
He gave a derisive snort.
"I do," she insisted, taking a step toward him, grabbing his hands and stopping him from tucking his erect cock back in his trousers. "I... I didn't realize it before, because you made it seem as if nothing had changed, but it's not true. I like the way you treat me, like an adult, not a traumatized child who must be handled with care. And you're right, I could go anywhere in the world. But I came back to Hogwarts because you were there, too, and... I like—you. I like you."
The words all spilled from her mouth in a clumsy cascade.
"Are you confessing your love right now, Potter?"
He sounded bemused, though his tone retained some coldness.
"Well, I've never been in love before, so I don't know if that's it. But I'd like to try it, and see where it goes. And I know you care for me, too."
"What makes you think that?" he said, with an eyebrow twitch.
"For one, your cock is still hard."
"Merely a physical reaction."
"And two, you haven't thrown me out of your office yet. So yeah, you want me."
His lips twisted to the side.
"And if I do?" he said, guiding her hands over his cock in slow strokes. "There's still the problem of the School Board. Teachers are not supposed to let students give them handjobs."
"I'll tell them to fuck off, and that if they try to fire you, I'll go to the press and make a scandal about what a shit job they do at running Hogwarts."
A hard light glinted in his gaze. He took a heavy breath.
"You'd use your fame to blackmail them into ignoring such an egregious violation of ethics?"
"Yes."
His cock twitched, and he groaned, his eyelids fluttering.
"I'll use my fame however I can if it means I can keep doing that," she said, squeezing her fingers around his cock.
He groaned again, loudly.
"I want it, sir," she whispered, and she got on her tip toes to lick his jaw. "Would you put it inside me?"
"I assume you're a virgin," he said, catching her by the chin, giving her an appraising look.
"Yes."
"Then no, I won't be putting it inside you."
She made a noise of disappointment. He pushed her back, firmly.
"Get on the desk."
The order had desire rushing through her, lighting up her nerves with tight, hot need. She scrambled to obey, climbing on his desk, sitting there. When he approached, she spread her thighs, and grabbed the hem of her skirt to slowly lift it up. He watched as more and more of her thighs were revealed, until she was showing him her knickers.
"You're soaking wet, Miss Potter," he said, settling his hand over her clothed cunt, rubbing. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Mmm, please..."
She gasped when the pad of one finger located her clit through the tissue, pressing against it.
"I'll have to satisfy that little cunt, won't I?"
She nodded, eagerly grasping at his cock to stroke it. He clicked his tongue.
"Leave my cock alone. Grab the edges of the desk. You'll need it."
She did as instructed, her heart racing faster, her entire body taut in anticipation of what Snape would do. He tugged her knickers down her legs, removed them entirely, putting them in his pocket, then he spread her legs further. His fingers swirled in her slickness, spreading her own arousal up and down her sex. She clenched her hands on the edges of his desk, letting out a very lewd moan.
Snape smirked. One finger prodded at her entrance, and eased in. Long and bony, it slid inside, in a slow stroke. Her cunt immediately clenched around it, so fucking hungry for more. It felt like a filling, heated advance inside her, bringing new pressure, touching places she had never touched herself. That single finger stretched her, pushing all the way in, sending sharp pangs of arousal knocking around her belly, making everything tighten and want.
"Merlin," she gasped.
She decided she was very fine with just his fingers if that was how it felt. He was also still touching her clit, his thumb teasing it, and the double stimulation was a complete novelty as well. Whenever she pleasured herself, she only rubbed the outside of her sex, humping her hand or a pillow until she reached her peak.
"Yes, that's it," Snape murmured, moving his finger languidly inside her. "You want more, don't you? You want me to fuck that cunt until you gush all over my hand?"
She tried to say yes, got only as far as a stuttered groan, her nails digging into hard wood. He stepped closer, his firm, warm body pressing against her front, his cock touching her thigh, dripping pre-cum there, painting her skin with it.
"How many fingers do you use?"
"N-none."
He chuckled, low, the puff of air wafting over her cheek.
"Oh, Potter. And you wanted to take my cock? You incorrigible Gryffindor."
The pressure in her cunt increased on his next stroke, her entrance stretched further. He had added a second finger. She closed her eyes, bit down on her lips, the entirety of her focus mobilized on what he was doing.
She could only feel him. His fingers thrusting in, filling her, the hot friction on her inner walls, the way his digits hit that throbbing spot at the start of her cunt, rubbing over it with perfect precision. There were squelches on every inward drive, obscene noises, which increased in frequency as he sped up his motions.
Pleasure followed, assaulting her from the inside. She flailed, wracked by incredible, really impossible spasms—she couldn't feel like that, why had no one ever told her it felt like that, God—
He held her, one hand in her hair, pushing her into him, and her face pressed into the wool of his frock coat while between her thighs, he fucked her with two fingers, magnificently so. She huffed, grunting, rocking into the motions, faster, faster, chasing that high, that brilliant edge she could tell was approaching, and which had never felt so sharp, nor so strong.
"Ah, ah, nnnn-ah—"
The part of her that would have been ashamed of the noises she was making was nowhere to be found, annihilated by Snape's fingers.
"How tight you get when you're about to come," he said, softly, reverently. "Go on. I want to feel that pretty cunt contract hard on my fingers. I want you to try and milk them, as if that was my cock in there, as if you could get me to spill my cum in you."
She came in a blinding explosion of bliss, the sensations rocketing through her cunt, bursting up her spine and down her thighs, wrenching an actual shout from her throat. He held her tighter, and she clutched at him, moaning, gasping, soaring on the highest high of her life.
He kept moving his fingers until the last spasm of her cunt, and then gently pulled them out. She was leaning into him, rasping air in, her brain trying to come back from the edge of oblivion, where he'd just sent her.
"Snape..."
He responded with a rumble in his throat. A slick noise arose between them. She looked down, and moaned. He was stroking himself inches from her cunt, his glistening cock red with need, and still so hard. Her cunt gave a dizzying clench.
"Put it in," she rasped.
He didn't move, apart from his hand, sliding up and down his massive shaft in frenzied motions.
"Just the tip. Just... I wanna feel you come."
"You'll feel it," he said. "I'll come all over that pretty cunt."
She shuffled her hips forward, bringing her cunt closer to the tip of his cock.
"Fuck, Potter," he said, his knuckles brushing over her folds as he stroked himself.
"Come in me... Fill me up... Please..."
"Fuck—"
He pushed his hips forward, and the hot, flared cockhead pressed right where she needed it the most. Her resistant flesh gave a tremor, then yielded to the slow, constant pressure. The fat tip of his cock slipped inside her, much thicker than two of his fingers. She cried out, every muscle in her body contracting.
His cock twitched, and pulsed, hard and hot, as he came inside her with a low snarl. She felt the splatters of cum hitting her inner walls, felt the wet warmth of his release fill her needy cunt.
"Yesyesyes..."
"You wanted it, take it—ah—"
He pushed in an inch further, his advance slicked by his cum, and suddenly he was pressed right against her g-spot, and oh, she came again, this time gushing a rush of slickness around him, barely making any noise, simply panting desperately. She heard him groan, felt him pulse more heat into her, loving every spurt, wanting it to never stop.
Her orgasm left her limp and blissed out. She'd bitten down on Snape's shoulder, and her mouth tasted like wet wool. Grimacing, she lifted her head, swallowed her saliva.
Snape shifted slightly, pulling out of her. His soft cock flopped down his leg. It was still very impressive in size.
She smiled at him, happier than she'd been in years. Maybe ever. She was sure it was partly due to the sudden hormonal rush, her body flooded with endorphins, but she also knew her happiness would persist after the post-coital haze would have worn off.
"Thank you, for, uh. This."
Did that make sense? Should she have thanked him for this? Oh, whatever.
"For finishing inside you?" he said with a smug glint in his eyes.
"Yes. But also the sex."
"Mmm. I suppose it's a good thing you got so curious. That Map finally contributed something positive to my life."
"Yes," she agreed, and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Can I come back tomorrow for another detention?"
"I'll be expecting you."
Harrie was looking forward to many more detentions.