Luna Lovegood and the Trouser Snake by IronChefOR

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 20/05/2008
Last Updated: 12/06/2008
Status: In Progress

What happens when Luna Lovegood hears about a most unusual magical creature? H/Hr, R/L, N/G.
Short story, three chapters, my first R-rated story. Please be kind. :-)




1. Chapter 1
------------


*Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Just borrowing.*

*Hello everyone! I’m BACK!*

*First things first: I want to apologize for my extended absence. I won’t bore or depress you
with the details, but let me just say, Real Life has been something of a bitch since about
November. For those of you following* Their
Way*, let me assure you the story is NOT dead. I hope to have new chapters in time for my
birthday in June.*

*In the meantime, as sort of an exercise to help get the ink flowing (or at least, fingers
typing), I am posting this short little story, which is completely unrelated to* Their Way*.
This was inspired by a completely random discussion on one of the numerous Harry Potter Yahoo
groups. A while back, some people were jokingly discussing the special abilities of a certain
“magical creature.” And then I thought of Luna’s fondness for magical creatures.*

*In many of the R or NC-17 stories I’ve read, Luna is often portrayed as an uninhibited, kinky
wild-child. While I can believe that, I can also envision her as a pure innocent, almost to the
point of being naïve. With that in mind, I give you this.*

*For anyone over here on Portkey who already read this on Caer Azkaban, I just wanted to say
that this version is different than the one I originally posted over there. This version has a
different ending to ensure there are no questions about Portkey-compliance. Many of the “upgrades”
that went into this Portkey version will be added to the Azkaban version shortly, so enjoy this
now, and a new and improved Caer Azkaban version is coming shortly.*

*I hope you enjoy this. This is my first publishing foray into the “adult” HP world.*

*Special thanks to my beta, MapleMountain.*



Luna Lovegood sat on a quiet shoreline on the edge of the lake near Hogwarts. She came out here
sometimes when she wanted to escape all of the noise and activity of the castle... when she wanted
to draw.

Recently, she’d discovered she had the ability to “see” things remotely. She wasn’t sure exactly
when this ability developed, but if she had asked Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse would have
suggested it was triggered by her having recently completed puberty: she was now sexually mature...
*and* fully fertile.

But Luna hadn’t asked, so all she did know was that it might have been related to the fact her
maternal grandmother was a Seer. At first that worried her, because although her mother was not a
Seer, she did on occasion have visions. And it was one of those visions that gave her mother the
inspiration for that last fateful experiment.

But Luna soon realized that it might not be such a bad thing because her interests lay in a
different direction than her mother’s. There were so many wonderful creatures that she knew
existed... despite what books (and certain people) said... but she had never seen them. This might
prove to be the answer to everything.

Luna didn’t care what people thought or said about her, but she did want to prove that these
animals were real. It wasn’t about proving other people wrong, but rather to simply be able add to
the sum of the knowledge of the world.

But she quickly ran into a problem. Her visions were so weak, so limited that once they ended
she could no longer recall what the object of her vision looked like. Her Ravenclaw cleverness was
able to discern a pattern and craft a theory: she could remember *active* details (how
something moved or acted, things that could be described by verbs and adverbs), but she could not
remember *passive* details (color, shape, location... nouns and adjectives).

What was the point of seeing a Nargle if she couldn’t remember what it looked like? Of course,
knowing that it floated—not flew—was significant, she supposed.

And then one day after much trial and error, quite by accident she discovered that if while
still in the vision she tried to draw what she saw, the end result was nearly photographic in
quality.

This surprised her more than anyone else, as the last time she drew for fun, it took ten minutes
to convince her ever-believing father that, yes, that WAS a tree.

As it turned out, the only limiting factors in the quality of her drawings were the amount of
time she spent inside the vision, and the drawing materials themselves. Drawing paper and art
pencils worked so much better than standard quills and parchment.

No matter how long she spent inside the vision, she could still not recall what her subject
looked like. But now, with a good graphite pencil and a half hour of solitude or more, she could at
least depart the vision with what was tantamount to a black and white photograph. (She of course
saw in color, but color drawings always ended up *really* weird.)

And so it was that today found Luna Lovegood sitting on the shore of the lake, leaning back
against a tree, hoping to get for the first time proof that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks were real. So
far, most of her drawings had been limited to known objects to verify that her ability was
working.

Forty-five minutes into her planned hour-long vision, Luna found herself being torn out by the
sounds of approaching voices. While in her trance-like state, her other senses became heightened to
compensate for being so distracted.

*“Hey! There’s someone over there on the other side of the lake! Up against the tree.”*

*“Let’s go see who it is and bug them.”*

Luna opened her eyes and the voices faded away into the distance as her hearing returned to
normal. She looked down at the drawing in her lap. She never remembered the details, so she was
often surprised by what she drew. But this time she was doubly so. This was nothing like what she
expected.

For some reason, she’d expected that the Snorkack was a cat-sized, pig-like creature with horns
that curled around like a ram’s. But what she drew, although obviously incomplete, was much
smaller... more kitten-sized than cat.

As it turned out, that was good because if it had been cat-sized, it wouldn’t have fit onto her
imported, A4-sized Muggle drawing paper. Because they were drawn whilst in her visions, Luna’s
drawings were always life-size.

Looking closely at the kitten-like creature, she noticed that instead of fur, it had fine
feathers, even all the way down to the bottom of its four legs. Most noticeably, large prominent
feathers, not unlike that of a Great Horned Owl, lined the ears. That they flattened out to the
sides gave them the appearance of being, well, *crumpled*.

The owners of the earlier voices were now crashing through the forest undergrowth to intrude
upon Luna’s solitude; she shook her head to clear the last remaining wisps of mental fog created by
her visions. She took one last look at her proof that the Snorkack was real.

Luna was very happy.

But not for very long.

“Well, well, well. Look at who we have here. Loony Lovegood!” Draco Malfoy drawled in a voice
that dripped with undeserved self-confidence. His ever-present gaggle of goons guffawed
giddily.

Knowing it was best to simply ignore the Slytherin, Luna moved to put away her sketchbook. But
unfortunately she was not fast enough, as Malfoy had torn it out of her hands with a quick
Summoning charm.

“What do we have here?” he cooed happily. “Widdle Woony’s been dwawing!” he mocked.

His voice wasn’t so amused after a moment of silence.

“What the hell *is* this?” he asked in irritated confusion. It was hard to ridicule her if
he didn’t know what he was looking at.

“It’s a Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” Luna said, finally speaking. “Even *you* should be able
to recognize that.”

Any retort Malfoy might’ve had for what he thought was sarcasm was instantly drowned by laughter
when he realized she was serious.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin, you’re serious!” Malfoy choked out as he struggled to regain his
breath. “She- she’s serious!” he repeated to Crabbe and Goyle, which set those two laughing
again.

“Oh, oh, wait, oh wait!” he told them, trying to catch his breath and quiet the other two. “I
know. I know.” He started laughing again. “I’ll give you something to draw. You’ve been hanging
around Scarhead and his Mudblood lately, right? You want something imaginary to draw, why don’t you
draw Potter’s Trouser Snake?”

Crabbe and Goyle burst out laughing.

“If you’re going to draw things that don’t exist, start with that!”

As Malfoy succumbed to his laughter again, he threw Luna’s sketchbook into the lake as far as he
could. (It didn’t go very far.) The three Slytherins then starting walking back towards the castle,
laughing so hard they began wheezing.

Once they were gone, Luna summoned her sketchbook back to her. A couple of quick spells and it
was dry and as good as new. Looking at her Snorkack drawing again, she let out a tiny sigh of
disappointment. She would have start over; she couldn’t resume drawing in the middle of a
vision.

Luna flipped to the next blank page and stared blankly at the drawing paper’s finely textured
surface.

“That’s a brilliant idea!” she suddenly exclaimed aloud. *Why didn’t I think of it
sooner?*

She’d never seen Harry’s Trouser Snake before. Of course, she’d never seen *any* Trouser
Snake before, neither in person nor in any of the books in her house.

With a happy smile, Luna got herself comfortable again and leaned up against the tree. Pencil in
hand, she allowed her mind to go blank and closed her eyes. As was habit by now, her grip tightened
slightly as the whirlwind of images slowly began to clear and focus into one.

** * * One Week Later * * **

“Hello, Hermione,” Luna greeted. The brunette witch jumped in her seat as her quill went flying,
ink splattering over her parchment. The studious Gryffindor was a bit unnerved at how the Ravenclaw
could always do that.

Even when deeply immersed in her reading or studying, Hermione Granger was always
ultra-sensitive to even the slightest of distractions; anyone who interrupted her peace was at risk
of imminent harm, depending on who or why. Contrary to what some would suspect, it was impossible
to sneak up on her while she was “in the zone.”

Nearly impossible.

Somehow, Luna always managed to do it. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she might have
suspected the blonde of silently Apparating.

“Hello, Luna,” she replied in a friendly tone after regaining her composure. “How are you
today?” she asked out of habit.

“Oh, fine. Just finishing up my menstrual cycle today,” Luna replied unimportantly. “Nothing
special. And you?”

Hermione blinked a moment. No matter how well she’d gotten to know the Ravenclaw over the last
couple of years, she never got used to her literal answers to figurative questions. And in all
honesty, she never wanted to. That was part of what made Luna, Luna.

Hermione also knew that Luna’s *“And you?”* was not figurative either. And she knew Luna
would not accept any answer that was not to the question she asked.

“Not for another two weeks,” she replied after first making sure there was no one else around to
hear her answer. Luna nodded in acknowledgement. She then just stood there, staring at the spilled
inkblots.

Sensing that Luna was done talking for the moment, Hermione drew her wand and quickly cleaned up
the spilled ink. Just as she was about to pick up her quill again, Luna sat down in the seat next
to her.

“Where’s Harry?”

“In the Prefect’s Bath,” Hermione replied. “He was completely soaked and covered in mud after
today’s Quidditch practice. He said that after a quick shower in the changing rooms, he would head
up for a hot soak to help relive some tension.”

“I’m sure he will,” Luna replied airily. Hermione looked up. Anyone else, any other tone of
voice, and that statement would have been sarcastic, or suggestive. But this was Luna; Hermione
smiled.

“Yep,” she confirmed, returning to her notes.

“Do you have a moment?” the blonde witch asked.

“For you, always,” Hermione replied as she set down her quill. Ever since that fateful night in
the Department of Mysteries, the legendary Terrific Trio of Harry, Hermione, and Ron was fast
becoming the Super Sextet, also including Luna, Neville, and Ginny.

Despite whatever fundamental differences there might have been between how she and Luna viewed
the world, Hermione could not deny that the blonde witch was becoming a good friend.

And, Hermione had to admit, it didn’t hurt that she knew Luna fancied Ron. It had taken one very
frank discussion (some might call it an intervention), but Hermione had finally convinced her
red-headed male friend that he really didn’t fancy her the way he thought he did.

He fancied the *idea* of fancying her, she patiently explained. But once it came down to
the nitty-gritty details of actually spending time together, finding activities they could
*both* enjoy doing together, Ron quickly realized Hermione wasn’t the kind of person he was
looking for.

That said, she knew that she was Ron’s first crush; she was always on the lookout for someone
new to come along and catch his eye. She just wanted to be absolutely sure he had moved on.

And Luna was exactly the person Hermione was looking for. The hard part was to get Ron to notice
her as anything other than Loony Lovegood.

“I made some new drawings this past week, and I wanted to get your opinion on them,” Luna
explained.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her feelings for the quirky blonde may have warmed
considerably in the past two years, so much so it even surprised her sometimes. But she was still
Luna.

Ever since she discovered her supposed gift, Luna always brought her drawings to Hermione as
proof that the unique things the unique witch claimed actually existed. Predictably, Hermione was
still unconvinced. Luna’s drawings of her imaginary creatures were either completely unprovable, or
were of everyday, ordinary items... things she could have simply just looked at and drawn.

They were amazingly detailed and quite lifelike though, Hermione had to admit.

Luna pulled her drawing book out of her bag and set it in front of Hermione. She opened to her
most recent set of drawings.

Nearly done with her homework anyway, Hermione put away her books and took the sketchbook,
looking at the first picture. Luna began to narrate.

“This is another Nargle. I’m sorry for the lack of detail. That’s all I could see of it this
time. They’re not very active. They seem to just lie around for most of the year, except around
Christmas.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hermione confirmed, her enthusiasm fading quickly. A sleeping Nargle wasn’t all that
interesting to watch.

*They’re not even real!* she had to remind herself. One side effect of seeing Luna’s
pictures again and again was that Hermione was beginning to recognize the creatures. Every drawing
was completely different, exactly as if Luna *had* been observing different specimens of the
same animal.

And yet for all the differences, the drawings themselves were consistent, as if she was looking
at the same species. It was almost as if Luna actually *was* observing these animals... that
were completely imaginary and didn’t actually exist.

But regardless of that, the one thing that Hermione could not, and would not, refute was that
the drawings were amazing. The detail, the clarity... it really was just short of a black and white
photograph. Luna always claimed that she was a horrible artist, but Hermione knew that was simply a
case of modesty... something that she and Harry could relate to fully.

*If only she used her powers for good...* Hermione thought to herself jokingly, in regards
to Luna’s insistence upon drawing imaginary creatures.

“And this,” Luna proclaimed dramatically, “is my first drawing of one of two new subjects. Do
you recognize it?” she asked excitedly. She was about five seconds away from bouncing in her
seat.

Hermione looked and stared dumbly at the drawing. *A feathered hamster?* was the witty
comeback that she knew better than to say. Oh, she wasn’t worried about Luna being offended.
Rather, she was worried about fueling her imagination.

The prominent tufts of feathers where the ears should be on the not-a-gerbil quickly drew the
Gryffindor’s attention. Well familiar with the numerous breeds of school owls, the first thing to
pop into Hermione’s mind was a Great Horned Owl. After another second or two of inspection, she
realized the tufts were pointing out sideways, as if flattened.

*It isn’t?* Hermione asked herself. *She didn’t....*

“A Crumple-Horned Snorkack?” Hermione asked dryly. Luna’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh, I’m so happy you recognized it,” she said, bouncing in her seat. “I was ever so worried
that you wouldn’t. I must confess that even I was surprised at what it actually looks like. I had
something else entirely in mind. As you can see, it’s obviously unfinished, but you get the general
idea. Draco Malfoy interrupted me while I was drawing, so I wasn’t able to finish it,” she said all
in one breath.

“Erm,” Hermione said less-than-eloquently, a bit taken aback by the exuberant response. “Any-
any problems with Malfoy?” she stuttered.

“Oh, Draco was just his normal self,” Luna said dismissively, as if it were trivial. “He got
bored after a while and wandered off with his friends.” She turned her attention back to her
drawing.

“So what do you think?” Luna asked excitedly.

“Um, well...” Hermione hesitated, trying to be diplomatic. “It’s hard to say anything for
sure... I mean, with only one drawing... and one that’s incomplete I might add. Per- perhaps with a
few more drawings... you know, for comparison purposes, I could provide a better opinion.”

Luna thought about this for a moment.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, I agree. Like I said, this was simply the first one. I had planned
to draw more, but Draco interrupted me.

“Speaking of which, this next set of drawings I think you’ll find extremely interesting. Believe
it or not, it was actually Draco’s idea. I’ll have to remember to thank him sometime for suggesting
it. I spent all week working on these. I have four different drawings, so you’ll see quite a wide
range with these.”

Luna picked up her sketchbook again and gave one last longing gaze at the Snorkack. She then
flipped the page and set it down on the table in front of Hermione. With her usual skeptical face,
the Gryffindor witch looked down.

Luna Lovegood watched with fascination as Hermione looked at the drawing. There was a brief
moment of incomprehension, then a slow blink as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. Luna smiled.
She felt that way too when she first saw it.

Hermione’s eyes then widened and her jaw dropped opened in stunned shock. To Luna’s surprise,
Hermione’s hand suddenly slammed down upon the drawing, covering it up as her face began to turn
red.

“Luna Lovegood! What in the *hell* are you playing at?!” Hermione whispered as she looked
around franticly to see if her slam had drawn Madam Pince’s attention. Deciding she was safe, she
grabbed hold of the sketchbook and quickly flipped it over.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I playing at?’” Luna asked in confusion. “I told you. I see things
and then I draw them.”

Hermione sputtered a little. “I didn’t mean what you were doing,” she hissed, “I meant what you
were drawing. Specifically, *this* drawing!”

Luna was amazed at how loud a person could talk and yet still be whispering.

“What? I thought you knew what it was. You certainly looked like you recognized it.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed several times as though she was trying to speak.

“But if not, I apologize,” Luna continued, sounding truly regretful. “It’s a Trouser Snake!” she
then proclaimed proudly.

“Tr- tr- *trouser* snake???” Hermione asked. The multiple question marks were perfectly
audible.

“Yes, of course. A Trouser Snake. Harry’s Trouser Snake. What did you think it was?” Luna
asked.

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock even further. Without even thinking, she quickly picked up the
sketchbook to look at it again, as if to verify Luna’s answer. After another few seconds of vacant
stare, Hermione dropped it again, and again put her hand down to cover the drawing.

After a few moments of hyperventilating, Hermione finally regained her composure. Some of it, at
least. After looking down at her hand and arm which were shielding the drawing, she slowly looked
back up at Luna again.

“What... whe.. why did you draw this again?” the brunette asked weakly.

“I told you. I was sitting beside the lake last week, in the middle of drawing the Snorkack.
Draco Malfoy and his friends came along and interrupted me. After seeing the drawing, he made fun
of it, and then suggested that if I wanted to draw something imaginary, I should draw Harry’s
Trouser Snake,” Luna explained simply, as if this sort of thing happened every day.

“Which is totally absurd,” she said with a laugh. “As you can see, it’s perfectly real.”

“I’ll say...” Hermione muttered absently as she lifted her hand away to look at the drawing
again. Realizing what she’d just said, she looked extremely embarrassed and clamped that same hand
over her mouth. She then looked even more surprised and pulled it away and looked at her hand as if
she had touched something she shouldn’t have.

Luna took the opportunity to pull the sketchbook away from Hermione. She flipped the page and
started showing her the other drawings. All Hermione could do, in those brief instants when she
could tear her eyes away from the drawings, was to look around to see if their little corner of the
library was still undisturbed.

“I must confess, drawing Harry’s Trouser Snake has been most fascinating. I’ve rarely seen such
a wide variation in the appearance of a single animal. I mean, different Nargles look differently.
But Harry’s Trouser Snake seems to change shape and size so many times, it’s quite amazing!” Luna
explained excitedly.

“I’ll say....”

Seeing that Hermione now appeared as interested as she was, Luna started showing off the rest of
the drawings.

“This one here, this was the first one I drew,” the blonde explained. “It seems to look rather
ordinary. I didn’t know where Harry or his snake were, or what they were doing at the time, so it’s
hard to describe it as anything other than ordinary, so I just consider it like a control
sample.”

Hermione nodded vacantly. She might have been a little transfixed by the drawing, but somewhere
in her mind the idea of a control sample resonated.

“This one,” Luna said, flipping the page again, “this one I drew last Friday during my free
period. I think you have Charms during that time, right?” Hermione nodded meekly, eyes still
fixated upon the drawing.

“It certainly seems a bit bigger in this drawing. Since he was in class then, I assume that
maybe he let it out for a little air. Maybe released it in the dorm so it slither around while he
was in class? I know how some people feel about snakes, so I can imagine his roommates wouldn’t be
too happy if he had his snake out while they were there.”

Hermione suppressed a snort of laughter.

*Last Friday Charms?* she suddenly remembered. *I spent half the class with my hand stuck
to the back of Harry’s hand thanks to* RONALD *not doing his Sticking Charm reading properly.
The charm was itchy... my hand kept wriggling around trying to scratch. I joked to myself that it
felt like I was stroking the top of his hand seductively...*

Hermione’s blush returned. Unfazed, Luna continued on with her show and tell, turning to the
third drawing.

“This one I don’t like very much. I don’t think it’s very good.” Luna nodded in unspoken
agreement when she saw the look of disappointment on Hermione’s face. “It was just so small this
time. It looks like it’s all shriveled up and scrunched up in a hiding place somewhere.

“I drew this last Monday evening, during Harry’s Quidditch practice. That was the day I came up
to your room to return your Runes book. I remember seeing him come into the Gryffindor common room
just as I was leaving. Poor Harry. It was so cold and rainy that day. He was so wet and looked
chilled to the bone.”

Luna paused for a moment as Hermione coughed several times.

“But this one,” Luna said importantly, getting ready to turn the page to the fourth drawing,
“this one I think is my most favorite of them all.” She turned the page.

Hermione’s eyes widened so far, Luna was worried they might actually fall out of her head. The
Gryffindor witch’s mouth fell open quite slowly and her lower lip began to tremble.

“First of all, there’s something about it that when I look at it, it just feels right, you
know?” Hermione could not speak, but she did manage a weak nod.

“But more than that, what I like most is that it’s the best of all the drawings. I was able to
spend the most time on it and you can see the most detail here.”

Hermione squeaked.

“I’ve seen lots of different kinds of snakes before, but none quite like this one. It’s nice in
this drawing that you can see more details because it’s bigger the way it’s stretched out. Of
course, here you can clearly see the head. I wasn’t sure what to call those two things. In the end,
I decided to call them pods.”

“Pods?” Hermione asked faintly. “Like... seeds? Or....... nuts?” she asked, almost afraid.

“Oh no, silly,” Luna laughed. “Pods, like feet. After all, they’re on the opposite side as the
head.

“You know, I was wondering what it eats. Because it has such a small mouth for a snake. And it
must be blind too, because I’ve never seen any eyes. But that’s okay, because I know Harry takes
very good care of his snake.”

“Wha- What?” Hermione asked suddenly, snapping out of her trance. “H- how do you know that?”

“Oh, well, if you look carefully and try to imagine, do you see how the snake’s mouth could be
misinterpreted as an eye?” Again, all Hermione could do was nod. She appeared almost afraid to look
at the drawing again.

“It’s related to how I know it’s his mouth and why I know Harry takes such good care of him. I
drew this one two days ago after dinner.

“I went up in my room and got comfortable on my bed and tried to get ready to draw. When I first
saw his snake, it didn’t look very well... kinda shriveled and squished up like that other
drawing.

“But then Harry started petting his snake. You are aware that you’re biting your lip?” Luna
suddenly asked.

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah. I was... it... yeah, I knew. Thanks for noticing,” Hermione replied, the
slightest tint of sarcasm discernable.

“You’re welcome,” Luna replied happily. Whether Luna understood the concept of sarcasm, Hermione
still didn’t know.

“As I was saying, Harry was being oh so considerate, petting his snake. And it must have been
very unhappy before, all scrunched up like that. Because it quickly decided to stretch all the way
out. It was just like how Crookshanks stretches out when you scratch his back.”

Luna noticed that Hermione was now staring at the “stretched out” drawing again... staring very
intently.

After a few moments, Hermione closed her eyes briefly and then looked back up at Luna. With what
appeared to be a dry mouth, she spoke again.

“Uh... where was this?”

“Oh, well, mostly around the snake’s head, but all along its body too,” Luna explained. Hermione
closed her eyes again and let out a groan; Luna was certain she didn’t need that pointed out.
However...

“But he was being very nice, and his other hand was petting around the pods too.”

Hermione groaned again. “No, no,” she corrected after a few difficult moments. “I meant, where
was he when this was happening?”

“Oh, well, I can’t say for certain,” Luna replied. “I assume he was in the Prefect’s Bath. It
was Wednesday night, and he did say he was going to head up after dinner, didn’t he? Snakes are
cold-blooded, so I thought maybe it would enjoy hanging out in the heat while Harry bathed.

“As I told you before, when I ‘see,’ I can only see the object of my vision, and not its
surroundings. The only reason I could see Harry’s hands was because he was petting the Trouser
Snake. His hands disappeared from my sight whenever he let go of it.

“Are you feeling well, Hermione?” Luna asked, concerned. “You seem to have forgotten in the past
few minutes many of the things I’ve already told you about how my visions worked, like about not
seeing the surroundings.

“Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey,” she encouraged. “You might have an inner ear infection.
I wasn’t sure if you noticed, but for the last minute, you’ve been rocking back and forth slowly in
your seat.”

Hermione’s attention seemed to refocus a little, but it was accompanied by another blush.

“No, I’m fine. It’s nothing she can help me with.” Hermione’s eyes were quickly drawn back to
the drawing.

Luna forged ahead. “Now, at first I thought maybe it *was* his eye... the snake’s. Because
when Harry started petting him, the snake started crying. I could see a few tears. If the snake was
unhappy when it was all squished up, then I assume they were tears of joy... because Harry would
never do anything mean.”

“Erm, I do have a question,” Hermione interrupted, turning a darker shade of red. “The, um, the
drawing... it’s, er, very nice and... detailed. But is it... I mean... is the drawing... does it...
is it...?” Hermione seemed lost for words so she simply held her hands up, just short of eight
inches apart.

“Is it drawn to scale?” Luna offered. “Oh yes, of course it is. All of my drawings are life
size. I can’t draw them any other way.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione whimpered as rested her head in one of her hands. After a few moments,
she sat up and grabbed the top of her shirt, fanning herself as if she was getting warm. Luna was
about to ask again, but Hermione beat her to it.

“Yes, I promise you I’m all right. I know you told me about how you draw. I’ve just been a
little distracted by the drawings.”

“That’s good to know. I’d hate it if you got sick. Which reminds me, we need to keep an eye on
Harry and make sure he doesn’t get sick either. Remember how I said his snake didn’t look very good
before he started petting it?

“Well, his snake must be sick. And this is how I know it wasn’t his eye, because after about ten
minutes, his snake started vomiting all over the place. The poor thing, it must have vomited eight
or nine times in just ten or fifteen seconds.

“But Harry was so sweet and kind, like he always is. He just kept petting it and petting it the
entire time, trying to make it feel better.”

Luna noticed that by now, Hermione’s eyes were so dilated they were almost black. She was
breathing heavily and her earlier dry mouth must have returned because she was now licking her
lips.

“You know... now that I think about it, I don’t think he was in the bath. While Harry held his
snake as it left big splashes of sick all over his hand, I could hear him calling your name over
and over again. Maybe he was in the common room and calling for you to help him?”

Hermione’s attention suddenly became as focused as a laser.

“Harry... he- he was calling out MY name?”

“Yes,” Luna replied, appearing a little confused by Hermione’s surprise.

“He was calling out my name?” Hermione asked again, a large smile beginning to grow on her
face.

“Yes,” the blonde confirmed. “As I said, his snake was sick and he was probably calling for you
to help him with it. That, or he named his snake after you, but that would be awkward, don’t you
think?” Luna asked, crinkling her nose to reflect that.

Hermione looked at the drawing one last time, now with renewed enthusiasm. She turned back to
Luna, smiling guardedly.

“Luna, could you do me a favor, please?”

“Well, that depends on what it is,” the Ravenclaw replied cautiously but friendly. She wasn’t
going to get tricked into *that* again.

“Until I can talk to Harry and then get back to you, could you please not tell anyone about show
those drawings to anyone else?”

“Oh, of course,” Luna agreed, closing her drawing book. Hermione looked at her watch. It was
Friday, just after six o’clock.

“Quidditch practice just ended,” she said, mostly to herself.

“It’s been cold and rainy all day. He’ll probably go for another hot bath tonight,” Luna
confirmed Hermione’s line of reasoning. “You should probably hurry. If you don’t get there in time,
he’ll probably already be in the bath.”

Hermione smiled an evil grin, something Luna didn’t see all that often. “My thoughts exactly.”
She packed up her books and then started stand up.

“See you later, Hermione,” Luna said. “Let me know what happens.”

Hermione chuckled, but did not reply. “Good night, Luna.” She then started to head for the
library door, walking very slowly.

Once Hermione had left the library, Luna smiled and let out a satisfied sigh.

“Considering it was Hermione Granger, that was way too easy,” she whispered to herself.

*. . . to be continued . . .*



2. Chapter 2
------------


*Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Just borrowing.*

*Special thanks to my beta, MapleMountain.*

*OK, I was wrong originally. I said this would be a two-chapter story. It’s now a
three-chapter story. When I posted Chapter 1, I thought Chapter 2 was pretty much done. And then I
thought of something else. Which led to something else. Which led to something else. I figured
since it’s possible this might be the only adult story I ever write, I decided I wanted to include
everything, even if it meant taking longer to write it all out. But I promise you, the new Chapter
3 is WAY better than what I had originally planned when I posted Chapter 1.*

*And so while the end of the story keeps getting longer and longer... like perhaps a certain
kind of snake... I also realized that the first half of the chapter was very different from the
second, so I decided to split it into two parts, the first of which was mostly done anyway. The
first part is this chapter, and is mainly to just hold you over while I finish the “good
parts.”*

*I also realized that a lot of what is now this chapter is based on ideas that I originally
had for Their Way. So while you all wait for the steamy goodness of Chapter 3, think of this
chapter as R-rated back-story for Their Way. I NEVER intended to write these scenes originally;
they were merely vague ideas (2-3 sentences) that helped me define my versions of Neville and Ron.
But here, they actually fit in as we learn what makes those two tick... in an R-rated sense. And so
those 2-3 sentence ideas got fleshed out to their fullest, so to speak... several pages worth in
fact.*

*Since almost everything in here is based on unwritten ideas/themes from Their Way, it should
all fit into that story as background as well (aside from a few tiny details, like Ron being
prefect.) The only exception to that though is Luna. The Luna of Their Way is NOT the same Luna of
Trouser Snake, for important reasons. But everything else should jive though. For example, if in
the future we ever hear about some embarrassing broom cupboard incident involving Neville and Ginny
in Their Way, well, now you’ll know what happened since I could never say it in a PG-13
story.*

*And finally, let me assure everyone that this chapter is not a lead in to any sort of male
slash, nor am I obsessed with the male anatomy. Rather, my intent is to take a source of great
teenage male anxiety (heck, even adult male anxiety, if the amount of spam in my email is any
indication) and use it to inject a little humor, as well as provide some character
development.*

*Oh, and yeah, I borrowed a line from* A Few Good Men*. Just admitting it up front... not
trying to pretend it’s my own. :-)*



Chapter 2.

*Once Hermione had left the library, Luna smiled and let out a satisfied sigh.*

*“Considering it was Hermione Granger, that was way too easy,” she whispered to
herself.*

Luna Lovegood was rather proud of herself. True, it *had* been Draco’s idea to use her
ability to draw Harry’s manhood—very generously proportioned, she’d discovered. She knew though
that if she had spied on him for her own personal enjoyment, he would be very upset, no, worse...
disappointed.

But this wasn’t spying for the sake of her *own* gratification. No, this was for a far more
noble purpose.

She knew Harry and Hermione were both secretly in love with each other. She also knew both were
very guarded about their respective feelings. Worse, they were as stubborn as Hippogriffs when it
came to admitting their feelings for fear of rejection and ruining their friendship.

Luna knew that direct interference in their (non-existent) love lives would be
counterproductive, and in fact probably destroy what pathetic little progress the two had made on
their own.

So she had to be subtle. She had to let Hermione “discover for herself” that Harry desired her.
The drawings that normally contained proof that her so-called imaginary creatures existed now
contained proof that his so-called imaginary feelings did as well. Well, Hermione always said she
was just imagining things when she saw him casting shy glances in her direction.

Yes, Luna’s job here was done. Now, as for spying on Harry during a very private moment....

Although it had been for a very noble cause, Luna still felt she owed a penance. Perhaps she
would do ten good deeds. That sounded reasonable.

But was it enough? She would have to check. But when?

Luna calculated that if Hermione walked slowly enough toward the Prefect’s Bath to allow Harry
to get there first from after his Quidditch practice, then it would take the Gryffindor witch four
minutes to get there.

After that, Luna estimated Hermione would allow one minute for Harry to undress and for the bath
to fill, after which she would wait an additional five minutes to permit Harry enough time to get
in the bath and begin a half-hearted attempt to bathe... before finally he gave up and decided to
*really enjoy* the bath.

Luna factored in one more minute for Hermione to stand at the door and debate whether or not to
barge in on him before she actually did, and then one final minute of some sort of awkward
confrontation before the real magic began.

And so, twelve minutes after Hermione left the library, Luna invaded Harry’s privacy one last
time, just to make sure things were going well. A few seconds later, Luna left the vision with a
triumphant smile. As usual, she couldn’t remember the appearance of what she’d seen. But she did
remember verbs and adverbs.

And the very enthusiastic game of ‘Hide the Snake’ she’d witnessed Harry and Hermione playing
was *full* of verbs and adverbs.

“Okay, maybe just five good deeds,” Luna mused quietly. She returned to her sketchbook and tore
out the four drawings of Harry. Focusing all of her attention, she called up a clear mental image
of each of them, casting successive Remember-Me-Not charms, one at a time.

In a world of forgetfulness potions and Obliviations, on occasion there was need for something a
little less heavy-handed, a little more delicate. Sometimes, things were seen that no human should
ever have to see, whether it be a horrendous magical mishap, or, even worse, walking in on one’s
parents mid-shag.

Some people *never* get over the trauma of accidentally seeing their mum and dad riding
each other like the most seasoned of porn stars.

But self-Obliviation was inherently dangerous and a forgetfulness potion was like curing a wart
by amputating an arm. And besides, complete memory removal was often *not* the ideal solution.
Sometimes, remembering the circumstances of the original incident was beneficial as it could help
prevent a repeat offense.

And so fortunately, at some point someone developed the Remember-Me-Not charm. It wasn’t a
replacement for Obliviation; it didn’t remove memories. Rather it simply erased disturbing mental
images burned into a person’s mind. A person still remembered that they saw something, but at least
they could no longer “see” it in their minds.

And sometimes, that was more than enough to save their sanity.

Satisfied Harry’s privacy would be restored as the images faded from her mind in the next sixty
seconds, Luna quickly charmed the drawings blank and then turned them into paper airplanes that
only Hermione would be able to open and reveal. She then sent them on their way up to the
Gryffindor witch’s room.

She trusted Hermione would make *good* use of them. Luna smiled. Good Deed #1
completed.

And with that done, Luna immediately set out to work on Good Deed #2. She packed up her books
and skipped out of library. Out in the corridor, she summoned one of the castle’s House Elves,
hoping it could help her.

* * *

Ten minutes later, a very sweaty and weary Ronald Weasley decided to call it quits for the
night. He’d locked himself into the Room of Requirement earlier that evening, determined to not let
himself out until after one solid hour of additional hexing practice. Neville was still beating him
in their DA dueling sessions.

Ron wasn’t sure which annoyed him more: the fact he was losing to Neville, or that Neville was
dating Ginny, which had caused a tremendous boost in the previously shy and timid Gryffindor’s
confidence.

Actually, the worst part was *how* he’d learned the two were dating: while on Prefect
rounds, he had caught them in a broom cupboard. Instead of finding some troublemaking Slytherins
out of bounds (as he’d hoped), he found his pure, innocent, sister Ginny on her knees, having just
finished giving Neville a blowjob.

Ron shuddered as he tried to clear the mental image of Neville’s slick-and-slobbed knob hanging
out of his trousers while Ginny was busy wiping something off her chin that he *wished* was
saliva. He shook his head as he headed over to a table. Grabbing a towel, he jumped when he heard
someone clapping politely behind him.

“Luna!” Ron gasped in shock. “You about gave me a heart attack.” He wiped the sweat off his face
and from around his neck.

“I would never do that,” Luna replied simply. *“At least, not by scaring you,”* she added
under her breath as she considered other ways of making him sweat.

Ron looked at the blonde witch suspiciously. “How did you get in here?”

Luna just smiled her usual vacant smile. “You’re doing very well, Ronald,” she encouraged the
redhead. “A few more extra practice sessions, and you’ll be among the best in the DA.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” Ron quipped, still a little defensive after having been
knocked on his arse in the last DA meeting by the guy who was thoroughly shagging his sister...
*according to her!*

*No, correct that earlier statement,* Ron complained. *The WORST part was when she told
me about it, in great detail!*

On the *one* occasion that Ron had truly enraged his sister earlier this year (in regards
to her dating Neville, of course), she waited until the two of them were alone in the Common Room
late one night and then cornered him. After freezing him to one of the squashy armchairs, Ginny
then proceeded to sit on her brother’s lap and tell him all about how amazing Neville was in bed,
about how she loved to be on top, riding him... about how he loved it when she dominated him.

And then, when Ron looked like he was ready to start crying, Ginny told him about how every once
in a while, Neville would just get really horny and he became the dominant and would relentlessly
drive her into the mattress again and again, or—and she lied about this—into the very chair Ron was
sitting on. Now, Ginny might have had her kinks (which Neville was more than happy to indulge) but
exhibition was not one of them (yet). After that first accident in the broom closet, all further
encounters were kept much more discreet.

Ron never complained about Neville, ever again. Verbally, at least.

* * * Flashback to sometime last year, Sixth Year * * *

It was a cold and dreary Sunday. Hogwarts’ sixth years had just finished mid-term examinations
for all of their classes that Friday, so for once there was no homework assigned over the weekend.
All four houses of sixth years, already weary of their heavy N.E.W.T. schedules, were greatly
anticipating a perfect weekend.

And then, first thing Saturday morning, it started raining... pouring. And it didn’t stop all
weekend. By Sunday afternoon, they were all bored out of their minds. They’d all exhausted their
sweets and WWW prank supplies; played every game they could think of... even Ron was sick of chess.
About all there was to do was go and read a book for entertainment, like Hermione, or sit on their
beds and stare at the ceiling.

And so it was that Harry, Ron, and Dean were lying on their beds, staring at the ceiling.
Currently, they were verbally comparing notes as they ranked various females, classmates and
adults, on a hotness scale of negative ten to positive ten, zero being no positive or negative
reaction. Both Harry and Ron, for differing reasons though, insisted upon keeping Ginny and
Hermione off the list. And Dean knew better than to object.

After a dozen or so witches, Harry threw a name out just to be evil.

“Dolores Umbridge.”

“MINUS TEN!” came a simultaneous chorus from the three of them.

They then moved on to Professor Vector who averaged a three (pretty good for a professor), to
Daphne Greengrass, eight (all three were surprised they’d admitted it for a Slytherin, but none was
surprised by the score itself), to Cho Chang, who only garnered a three thanks to Harry’s -1
offsetting Ron and Dean’s five and six. No credit was given for partial points; score averages were
always rounded down.

They were now debating the merits of the Spellotape advertisement witch (and how much Spellotape
it would take to provide support for her merits) when Seamus returned to their dormitory.

“Hello all! The *man*, the *myth*, the *legend* has returned!”

They were all teenage boys who lived and grew up together while going through puberty, so at
several points over the years the question of “male adequacy” had popped up on more than one
occasion. Unfortunately there weren’t many resources to help them... none of them really wanted to
ask their parents, or Madam Pomfrey, or any of their teachers for that matter.

All of the books that might have helped answer their questions were tightly locked away in the
Restricted Section. And none of them dared consider the “entertainment” magazines that could be
found hidden in trunks or under mattresses. The males depicted there were so disproportionate to
reality that they would give even the most confident of men cause for concern.

But then came the Internet, along with one or two very interesting statistical studies that
Muggle-born Dean Thomas had found a few months ago during the summer before sixth year.

And so with that Kneazle out of the bag, in typical teenage male fashion, Dean and Seamus had
been making smug, off-handed comments to each other for over a month now about the details of the
study, more specifically about the implications for themselves. It was like they were trying to see
how they measured up to each other without actually asking outright.

“For the love of Merlin!” Ron shouted out in exasperation upon hearing Seamus’s worn-out
introduction. “The two of you should just whip your dicks out right now, compare them, and be done
with the damned thing!”

Considering how much verbal posturing lately both of them had been doing publicly (within the
confines of their dorm room), both Dean and Seamus knew it was kind of hard to tell Ron, or Harry
or Neville for that matter, to stay out of it at this point. They stared at each other in a silent
game of chicken, trying to see if either would back down.

“Fine! I’m in!” Seamus said first, since in all honesty he’d been the one to drop the first
innuendo over a month ago.

“I’m game,” Dean agreed, since there really was no way to back down now.

“Er...” he stuttered as he glanced at Harry and Ron. What, were they supposed to do it *here,
now*, in front of them? They really, obviously, hadn’t thought this all the way out. The only
other option was to take it somewhere private, but that would have been even weirder.

Ron really hadn’t been paying attention to them anymore; he had been wondering if
double-strength tape would be needed for the Spellotape ad witch. So when he realized they were
silent and staring in his direction, he misinterpreted the reason.

Honestly, he just wanted them to *shut up about it!*

“Fine, I’ll do it too... Merlin, if you two will just SHUT UP about it afterwards and just LET
IT DIE!!”

“Erm, okay?” Seamus agreed hesitantly. That certainly hadn’t been their intent, but at this
point, Ron was so irritated that it was probably better to leave that unsaid.

“But if I’m going to do it, Harry has to too!”

“What???” The multiple question marks were perfectly audible.

“Come on, Harry. It’ll just take a minute, and then we don’t have to listen to another smartass
comment about broom handles or bludger bats or anything else, ever again.”

Now, Harry had no desire to “share himself” like this. But then again, he had nothing to be
embarrassed about either. If he could eat his bangers and mash in peace again, it was well worth
it. So he quickly got up and went to join the other three guys standing in the center of their
dormitory room. Dean and Seamus were still a bit stunned that things had gone this way, but again,
at this point, best not to rock the boat.

The four of them stood in a circle, looking at each other.

“Erm, so... how do we do this?” Harry finally asked. The other three looked uncertain. Again, no
one really thought this far ahead. “Do we, um...” he blushed furiously, “have to... get it out...
and up?”

Ron’s ears turned pink.

“When I said compare, I didn’t really think about it,” he clarified. “I mean, ‘compare’ just
sounded so simple. But it would be pretty weird if we all had to wank in front of each other.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be doing THAT,” Seamus interjected quickly. “We’re just... it’s just for
practical purposes... to measure. There’s no... *intent* in that, right?”

“And besides, this is nowhere near weird,” Dean added, trying to sound reassuring. “If you want
weird, just be glad we’re keeping our hands to ourselves, or that we’re not playing Soggy
Biscuit!”

A collective “Oh, yeah,” went around the room. There were rumors that by tradition, a game of
Soggy Biscuit was used in each of the boy’s dormitory rooms as initiation into Ravenclaw male
adolescence. And those familiar with British lore knew that it was equally infamous in Muggle male
boarding schools as well.

“So...” Harry said, still uncertain of what they were going to do, thankful at least that they
weren’t going to be doing *that*.

“Well, we could just *tell* each other...” Ron began hopefully.

“NO!” Dean and Seamus objected simultaneously.

“Every guy lies!” Dean said. “If we’re going to let this die, like you demanded, it has to be
for real. There can’t be any doubts.”

“So we’re back to dropping trou’ and letting it all hang—”

“I’ve got it!” Seamus cut in, sounding relieved, as he ran over to his trunk and started digging
thought it. “I forgot all about it... then again I wasn’t really paying much attention to the
articles,” he said as he pulled out an old, beat up *Playwizard* that was hidden in the very
bottom of his trunk.

“But when you mentioned guys lying, I remembered.” He started thumbing through the magazine,
stopping every few seconds to reacquaint himself with one of the pictorials.

“Ah! Here it is!” Seamus exclaimed. “The ‘Size Me’ spell. ‘The official standard used by the
magical adult entertainment industry worldwide,’” he quoted from the article. “‘Guaranteed no
cheating by questionable ruler placement. Guaranteed no lying with certifiable results that can be
summoned upon demand. Don’t trust your reputation to anyone else’s measure.’”

“Seems fair,” Dean decided, still uncertain.

“How does it work?” Ron asked, still uncertain.

“Just, um, get yourself out, hold your wand to... *yourself*, and then cast the spell,”
Seamus said, scanning the article. “It’ll, erm, get you ready to measure, then you’ll see numbers
appear, we’ll all see them.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Harry said, still uncertain.

“Yeah, and since the spell does all the work and produces numbers we all can see, if anyone is
weirded out, they can just turn around and do it with their back turned.” Seamus paused for a few
seconds. “So, who’s first?”

“You are!” came three simultaneous replies.

“Fine!” he said in a huff, muttering something under his breath that the others could not hear.
He studied the article closely for a few seconds.

“Okay, the spell’s a little unusual, so pay attention.” Seamus went to reach for his zipper and
stopped suddenly. For the first time, he looked a bit embarrassed as he realized how bad the timing
of that sounded. Since the numbers of the spell would be visible, he decided that was *all*
that would be seen, especially considering he wasn’t entirely sure what would happen anyway.

Harry and the others watched as Seamus turned around. They heard a *ZIP!* and could see his
trousers slacken a little as he pulled them and his boxers down, just enough to extract himself.
They then watched as he brought his wand down towards himself, but they (thankfully) were unable to
see exactly what was happening.

Most spells were based on Latin (inspired by, probably more accurately), derived from what the
spell did. Some spells though were based on other languages, even English, such as the ‘Point Me’
spell. But in actuality, the incantation for a spell could be anything its creator wanted.

And so, it probably would come as no surprise then that a spell designed for wizards, by
wizards, for measuring their most important part was no eloquent Latin encapsulation. It was, in
fact, a limerick.

*“Measure me long, don’t fudge an inch. Measure me round; careful, don’t pinch.”*

After hearing the limerick, the other three guys laughed, but then they heard Seamus chuckle a
little too late. Harry wondered if the spell tickled, but this whole thing was still just a bit too
weird to not voice *that* thought.

A few moments later, what looked like a piece of parchment measuring tape, similar to what Madam
Malkin might use, floated up into the air above Seamus’s head. The tape tore into multiple pieces
and then twisted themselves into numbers.



Another *ZIP* could be heard and Seamus turned around, quite pleased with himself
(mostly).

“Ha!” he said triumphantly, but carefully, in Dean’s direction.

“Remind me again what this was all about,” Ron said to the two dueling dorm mates.

“I told him...” Seamus started.

“Don’t try to backpedal now!” Dean interrupted. “Oh, you never said it outright, but you hinted
and implied. Two-and-a-half feet, my arse! I *knew* you were lying!”

“I wasn’t *lying*. My earlier measurement was just... off... slightly.”

“Convenient error.”

“Okay, I’m pretty sure I get what one of the numbers is, but what’s the other one?” Ron
asked.

“The first one’s length, obviously,” Seamus explained. “The second one is circumference.”

“It says whether you really *are* a pencil-dick or not,” Dean added. He and Seamus
snickered.

Ron asked the million Galleon question. “So what *is* supposed to be normal?”

“For an adult male, average is considered between five and six inches long, and around five
inches in circumference,” Dean said.

“So, see? Five-point-eight inches, *upper* half of five... almost six! Time to put your
money where your pants are. Your turn!” Seamus challenged Dean.

“Fine!” Dean replied defiantly.

Turning around and using the Size Me spell seemed to be a much easier (i.e. less weird) way to
do this, so Dean repeated his Irish mate’s actions. About twenty seconds later, his numbers floated
up for all to see.



“Oh yeah! Average but *thick!*” Dean crowed.

“You’re still shor...” Seamus started.

“Who cares?!” Dean laughed. “Thicker is better! Everyone knows all the magic spots are within
the first couple of inches anyway!”

“Okay, now. Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Ron said rapidly, annoyed. “Where are you getting this,
*all of this*, from anyway?”

Dean just smirked. “One word, my friend: Internet. After his hand, it’s the second best friend a
bloke can have.” Everyone there had to bite their lips to suppress their smirks. It was hard to
argue against the truth about a teenager’s *first* best friend. And living in such close
quarters, they all knew they would be lying if anyone said otherwise.

“For the measurements, there are plenty of scientific studies out there... even some by condom
makers... which you figure that’s got to be important for them,” Dean explained.

“And the female insights?” Seamus asked skeptically. They were roommates; they all knew none of
them had *firsthand* information of that caliber.

“Well,” Dean said hesitantly, a blush visible even on his dark skin, “besides the scientific,
the Internet has lots of other wondrous sites as well. *Very* wondrous sites... almost
anything you could possibly want. I *did* say it was a bloke’s second best friend, after all.
Sometimes,” he paused, chuckling, “you learn something educational by accident as well.”

Harry remembered that Dudley had, this past summer, finally gotten Internet access on the
computer locked away in his room. He would bet his life there was nothing *educational* about
that.

“Ron, you’re up!” Harry reminded him. Everyone snickered at the lame pun.



“Weasley pride!” Ron practically sang. “Weasley pride!”

“Damn, Ron,” Seamus exclaimed. “If you get it from your dad, no wonder your mum has seven
kids!”

“Hey now!” Six of Seven warned. “You can talk all you want about how *lucky* I am, but
let’s stay away from the whole ‘parents having sex’ thing!”

There was a brief moment of silence as everyone undoubtedly tried to quash the thoughts of their
own parents having sex that Ron’s comment naturally invoked.

“Harry’s turn!” Dean said. “Time to find out what the Chosen One’s packing.”

Like the others before him, the Chosen One turned around and lowered the front of trousers and
pants enough to safely extract himself, without mooning his friends. Thinking of the DA and all the
destructive things a wand could do, it was with some hesitation that Harry touched his
shop-provided wand to his nature-provided wand.

*“Measure me long; don’t fudge an inch. Measure me round; careful, don’t pinch.”*

By now, everyone was used to the limerick, so it really wasn’t all that funny anymore. And yet,
each person performing the spell had still laughed at it. And now Harry knew why.

Upon casting the spell, Harry quickly swelled up to full attention within two seconds. He was as
hard as he’d ever been, and yet there was absolutely nothing pleasurable about it. It was purely a
matter of spell-induced hydraulics. It was just so funny to see it like that, his nearly instant
up. And so he too chuckled.

Now that he was good and ready to be measured, *really* ready, the paper measuring tape
he’d seen for all of his friends now slithered out of one wand and started to wrap snugly but
gently around the other... a paper snake for his Trouser Snake.

Once it had done its job measuring length and circumference, it unwrapped itself and began to
float upwards. Harry removed his wand, and just as quickly as he rose he quite literally deflated
back to his normal, unexcited size. Buttoning himself up, he turned around to watch the tape... and
to see if he’d made any previous “measurement errors” himself.

*Wow!* Harry thought to himself. *I must have been a little too eager that last time and
let the ruler slip down... either that or I GAINED a quarter-inch since September first.*



“Bloody...” Seamus started.

“Hell!” Dean finished.

“I’ll say!” Ron agreed, as his line had been stolen.

“The Boy Who Lived is the Boy Who’s *Bloody Hung!*” Seamus exclaimed.

“Damn, Harry! You just can’t be normal in anything, can you?” Ron teased.

Harry’s best friend was grinning as though he was just taking the mickey out of him, but Harry
knew his ginger friend well enough to see that the smile didn’t entirely reach into his eyes.

There were a lot of things about him that Ron was jealous of. And Harry knew it. And he tried to
put up with it for the most part because Ron *was* one of his two best friends.

But... for all of the crap with Voldemort that Harry had been forced to endure, if as a small
token of apology the universe had decided to grant him a big dick, then by the gods he was
*not* going to apologize for that... and least of all, not to Ronald Weasley who by his own
question already knew he himself was above average.

But Harry had to do it in a way that Ron would accept. He knew from his other best friend—the
bushy-haired one who had recently starting arousing the interest of the aforementioned big
dick—that if he just yelled at him, it would just go in one ear and out the other.

“Make you a deal, Ron,” Harry said in what he hoped was a joking voice. “I’ll give you my extra
inches if you take Voldemort too.”

Ron seemed to pause and consider this for a moment. Harry hoped Ron was simply getting over his
penis envy. He worried for his friend if he was actually debating the pros and cons of a bigger
boner versus being the focus of attention of a psychopathic Dark Lord.

Finally, Ron seemed to make up his mind.

“No, mate, that’s all right,” Ron laughed nervously. That really didn’t reassure Harry too
terribly much since that response would work for either possibility. Ron then turned and faced more
toward Seamus and Dean.

“’Sides, my brother Bill really didn’t stop growing until he was about nineteen,” he said,
holding his hand about a foot above his head.

“Maybe I’ll keep growing until I’m nineteen too!” Ron said with a smirk. He then moved that same
hand down and held it out about a foot in front of his trousers.

Dean and Seamus started laughing at Ron, like teenage males were apt to do.

“Yeah, Ron! You go right on thinking that!”

“Hey, a bloke can dream, right?” Ron confirmed, now with a genuine, (temporarily)
insecurity-free smile.

“So... uh, how do we get rid of these numbers?” Dean finally asked Seamus.

“Think about Umbridge again!” Ron suggested.

Their riotous laughter was broken up by the sound of the dormitory door opening and Neville
walking in. All four of them shared a brief look of panic followed by relief. The door had been
closed, but only now did they realize that no one had locked it. If someone had walked in while
they were in the middle of that....

Neville paused in the open doorway as he looked up in confusion at all of the paper numerals
still floating about his dorm mates’ heads.

“Uh, hey guys. What’s going on?”

Since they had all done the deed with their backs turned, everyone realized that their game of
don’t-show-and-tell hadn’t been as awkward as feared. Plus, they had all gotten some laughs out of
it, so they (now) felt much more comfortable talking about it.

So Ron just blurted it out.

“Just comparing the size of our wands!” Ron said cheerfully; he didn’t come in last place, after
all.

“Seamus was crowing about himself again, so we called him on it,” Dean said.

“And in the spirit of camaraderie, we all decided to step up and help show him what a
*tool* he’s been,” Harry finished.

Neville began to feel a bit nervous... more than usual. He knew what they were talking about in
regards to Seamus. It was hard to not know. He wasn’t entirely sure what those numbers were, but if
they were what he feared they were, it made him feel that much worse. His numbers didn’t look
anything like theirs... well, a couple were close, but still... he really didn’t want them to
know.

“Erm, okay... I’ll, uh, just leave then....” he said shakily, trying to sound humorous.

“No, wait!” Dean stopped him. “Get in here! Harry, close the door. Lock it this time.” While
Harry did that, Dean grabbed Neville by the strap of his book bag over his shoulder and dragged him
into the center of the room.

“Your turn now!” Dean said.

“What?!”

“C’mon Neville!” Ron added. “We all did it. You have to too!”

“No,” the timid Gryffindor replied, not very forcefully. “You guys are just being stupid.”

Seamus laughed. “Of course we are! We’re teenaged blokes. Stupid is our middle name!”

“It’ll only take a minute!” Ron cajoled him. “A quick spell and it’ll all be over. It’s no big
deal.” Harry noticed Neville tense slightly.

“Or maybe it *will* be,” Seamus said, smirking, not noticing Neville’s reaction.

“What’s the matter, Neville?” Harry asked encouragingly. “It’s just the four of us. We’ve all
done far stupider things than this before. Besides, we all live within ten feet of each other. It’s
not like we all haven’t already seen each other starkers before.”

Well, actually, that was only partially true. They had all seen each other in varying stages of
undress during the previous five years in both their dorm room and the communal bathroom. But none
of them had ever seen Neville fully nude from the front... not that they tried to. He was always
just very good at hiding himself with a well-placed towel or turning around at just the right
moment.

Now that Harry had noticed Neville’s hesitancy, everyone else pretty much realized it as well:
Neville was always diligent about covering himself up. And it wasn’t just because he was a bit
rounder in his earlier years... “boy boobs” the Slytherins occasionally teased. No, there was only
*one* part of him that was *always* hidden.

Harry began to suspect that Neville was simply embarrassed that he didn’t measure up to everyone
else.

“You know what? It’s okay, Neville. It’s just the five of us. We would never make fun of you.
But if you really don’t want to do it, then we’ll respect that.”

Ron, Dean, and Seamus all wore looks of outrage that clearly indicated they were *not*
going to respect that. Again, each of them felt that since they had all done it, then Neville
should as well. But a quick glare from Harry warned them that they *would* respect Neville’s
decision.

However, unfortunately for the scared Gryffindor, Harry’s noble attempt to spare him
embarrassment backfired. Neville was grateful Harry had offered an escape, but he knew that if he
backed out now, the teasing in the long run would only be worse. It was better to just get the
laughs over with now, and then hold them to Harry’s promise.

“Okay, fine,” Neville agreed, resigned. He went over to his bed, put down his bag, and rejoined
the other four standing in the middle of the room. “You all promise you won’t make fun of me?”

They all nodded honestly this time. They all suspected the cause for his embarrassment, but if
their normally shy and timid roommate could summon the bravery to put himself out there, *like
this*, then today they would be proud to call him a Gryffindor.

After all, for a teenage male, fear of inadequacy could be debilitating.

Seamus explained how the spell worked, and Dean reminded Neville that the numbers would float up
for them to see, so he could turn around and face away if he wanted.

While Neville performed the spell with his back turned, Ron waved and caught everyone else’s
attention, holding his thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. Harry punched him on the
shoulder, light enough to still be “between friends,” but hard enough to remind Ron he wasn’t being
all that friendly.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was really only about thirty seconds, they could
all hear rustling as the tape unwrapped itself and began to rise. Neville stood there, still
frozen. No one had remembered to mention that he could button up after the tape unwrapped. Those
not directly behind him could see enough of the sides of his face to realize that he had his eyes
shut tightly.

Silence filled the room. The paper-tape numbers floated above Neville’s head for all to see. The
four other guys stared in disbelief.



It was a reflex, instinct, the irresistible urge to look at the forbidden. They all ran around
to Neville’s front side to see with their own eyes what their minds (and prides) did not
believe.

The four friends stared in shock at Neville’s *very big* secret; the numbers were true!

Every guy knew there was an unwritten rule that said it was okay to peek at another guy,
*solely* for the purpose of sizing up the competition. Every guy did it. But all four of them
now stared blatantly, hoping there was another unwritten rule somewhere that said it was okay to
stare as long as it was in amazement and envy, and *not* lust.

Indeed, all four of them did stare in amazement and envy, even Harry, each of them wondering
what it would be like if they awoke one day to find *that* hanging from between their legs.
Dreams of how they’d use such a magnificent piece of equipment, if it were their own, were
interrupted when it nearly instantaneously returned to normal size... a *very normal*
size.

“You’re definitely a grower and not a show-er!” Dean said with a laugh as Neville fumbled to
pull his trousers back up. Now that the shock and awe part of the show was over, staring was
forbidden so they all quickly looked back up.

They were all surprised to see Neville’s eyes shiny and red; he looked near tears.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” he accused, his voice crackling.

“Why would we laugh at you?” Dean asked, confused. Honestly, they were all boggled by his
reaction.

“Because I’m so big! I’m just a freak!”

“Why would you think that, Neville?” Harry asked gently.

“Because Gran always says that’s... that that’s my dirty place. That... that getting... getting
excited is wrong. That it’s only for mummies and daddies.” The four other roommates shared an
understanding look. Neville certainly didn’t talk like that, so they knew that was definitely his
grandmother talking.

“That t- touching... *down there*... was a sin,” Neville continued, struggling to keep it
together. “I just figured that since it was bad, then bigger was worse. And it’s true! I’ve always
been... been *fat*, so it just figures I’d be fat there too!

“Everyone makes fun of me for it,” he cast them an apologetic look meaning he didn’t mean them,
“so I just knew if they were going to make fun of it up here,” he said, indicating his chest and
stomach, “they’d make fun of me being fat down there too!”

Again, Neville’s four roommates shared a disbelieving look. To the average teenage guy, the
thought of being ashamed of such an amazing blessing was totally incomprehensible. And yet on the
other hand, they all also knew Neville and his grandmother. If it *were possible* that a guy
could be made to feel ashamed of being so well endowed, then they knew that Augusta Longbottom was
the one witch capable of doing that.

They also remembered that Neville’s grandmother always kept him rather sheltered. She’d even
refused to sign his permission form to attend the special “Personal Health for Wizards” class back
in second year. Though it was never spoken of, even Vernon Dursley had signed Harry’s form...
anything to *“keep you freaks from reproducing!”* (Granted, it had been before Harry was
locked up after the Dobby incident.)

Since Ron had been the one most likely to make fun of Neville (and he still had the sore
shoulder to prove it), he stepped forward to give him a friendly pat on the back.

“Let me tell you something, Neville. Well, several. First, *that*,” Ron said, pointing at
the numbers, “has nothing to do being fat or not. And second, you *need* to ignore what your
grandmother has been telling you about this. She’s just not equipped to talk about it. I’m willing
to bet you that every guy in this room... well, maybe not the Boy Who’s Hung, because he’s already
well off, but I’m willing to bet that all the rest of us would give our left nuts to trade with
you!”

Neville looked around and saw that both Dean and Seamus were nodding in agreement with Ron’s
offer of trade... and Harry looked ready to trade another punch for the new title.

“So if bigger is better... OH!” Neville interrupted himself, finally making *that*
connection for the first time (honestly, he had been a *very* sheltered child), “then why are
you guys always making fun of Draco Malfoy for being so... well, so *big*?”

Dean and Seamus started laughing. “Oh no, we don’t make fun of him for *being* big, we make
fun of him for trying to *imply* that he is.”

“He’s not?” Neville asked, looking happier for the first time. Finally, he might be better than
Draco Malfoy at something.

“Merlin, no! He’s tiny!” Ron said with great relish.

“How do you all know that?”

Harry was about to start to explain, but decided to cut his answer short. “It’s a bit
complicated, but let’s just say a very reliable source told me about a conversation overheard where
Pansy Parkinson was complaining about just how ill-equipped Malfoy was.”

All five Gryffindors allowed a moment to enjoy the woes of Draco Malfoy, but then Neville turned
serious again.

“So, you still won’t say anything about this to anyone else, right?” he asked after a few
moments of thought.

“Are you kidding?!” Ron asked, nearly shouting. “If I was almost nine inches, I’d be shouting it
from the top of the Astronomy Tower. Better start making a list of the girls you fancy, Nev. Once
word of that monster of yours gets out, half the girls at this school will be lined up to help you
break it in.

“You just be sure to...” Ron trailed off. He almost warned him to *“keep that thing away from
my sister,”* but he stopped himself at the last second. The last thing he wanted was to give
Neville, who had taken Ginny to the Yule Ball almost two years earlier, any ideas.

All four of the other boys were looking at Ron expectantly, waiting for him to finish the
sentence.

“You just be sure to save a girl or two for the rest of us!”

“Well, you needn’t worry about that, as I’m not going to be telling anyone.”

“Are you kidding?!” Ron repeated himself identically. “Once...”

“Half the girls will be lined up, yeah, you said that. But who are they going to be? The sluts
of the school?” Neville might as well have just slapped them, because they’d never heard him speak
like that before.

“Look, I don’t know about you guys, and maybe I’m not a ‘real guy,’ but I don’t want my... my
first time with a girl to be with just *anyone*. I want it to be special. I want *her* to
be special,” he said forcefully but politely.

“If you are right, if... *this*,” he said, gesturing his hand downwards, “makes girls look
at me differently, then I don’t want them to know. I’m still a shy, scared, chubby, clumsy idiot.
If a girl’s going to look at me, then that’s *all* I want her to see.”

Ron was totally unconvinced; Dean and Seamus seemed hesitant, but Harry looked very proud of his
friend.

“We promise, Neville. We won’t say a word to anyone.”

Reluctantly, the other three nodded in agreement. They couldn’t very well say otherwise now.

Satisfied with their promises, a much more confident Neville Longbottom allowed a sly smile to
appear on his face... probably for the first time in his life.

“And later, if a girl does become interested in me... well, if at some point she wants to see
more, let’s just say I’ll give her a *whole lot more* to look at then!”

“Now you’re talking!” Ron exclaimed as all five of them began laughing. “I knew you had it in
you!”

“And if you’re really lucky, you’ll have it in her too!” Dean added.

Again, Ron resisted the urge to warn Neville away from Ginny for fear of giving him ideas. As
their laughter died down, he noticed it was almost time for dinner. Seamus went back to his
*Playwizard* to figure out how to make the numbers go away, as well as take one last look at
some of the pictorials.

Before heading down to see if Hermione had returned from the library yet, Ron pulled Harry aside
for a moment as the other three left the dormitory.

“Sorry, Harry, maybe I’m an idiot and missed something, but Dean said that Seamus said he was
two-and-a-half feet. Surely he wasn’t implying he was *that* big, was he?”

Harry started laughing. “Well Ron, you *are* an idiot!” he teased. “But no, that’s not what
he was saying. Two-and-a-half feet. Don’t you get it? Two feet,” Harry pointed at his trainers,
“plus a half,” he said, holding his hand out six inches in front of his groin.

Ron thought about it for a second before he started laughing. “Oh, okay!”

“Oh, and Ron?” Harry added seriously. “Don’t call me Shirley.”

Ron just stared.

*Damn! Hermione would have laughed,* Harry complained to himself seeing the blank look on
his friend’s face. No matter how many times Harry or Hermione explained the joke Ron still didn’t
get it.

Harry could not help but be reminded about how during the summer previous, Hermione had invited
both him and Ron over to her house for a weekend. Ron declined, saying that Molly had volunteered
him to help de-gnome the garden that weekend. While probably true, Harry also suspected Ron wasn’t
too eager to spend an entire weekend living as a Muggle in a Muggle house... a house, no less, that
he had once referred to as Libraryland.

As Ron started down the stairs, Harry just stood for moment with a goofy grin on his face as he
thought back to that weekend. One evening, they had all watched a movie that was on television.
Despite his appearance as a well-educated, mild-mannered dentist, Mr. Granger loved campy comedies,
and thought *Airplane!* was the funniest movie in the world.

Harry recalled that it had been especially hot that weekend. He recalled quite clearly—memorized
one might say—that Hermione had been wearing an especially short pair of shorts, as well as a very
lightweight green blouse. He could not help but stare at her arse every time she got up or sat down
next to him on the sofa.

And if short shorts were the greatest things in the world (since Harry was definitely an arse
man), then air conditioning was a close second. Not only did it cut through the stifling heat, but
also Hermione must have been especially sensitive to it.

The Grangers’ telephone was near one the ceiling ventilation registers. Earlier that afternoon
she had been tied up on the phone with a telemarketer, waiting for him to shut up long enough for
her to tell him to never call again. After standing under that constant blast of cold air for
several minutes, when she finally hung up and turned around, Merlin help him, he could see her that
her nipples were poking through her bra and blouse.

Obviously Hermione knew that this had happened for once she was off the phone, she immediately
hurried out into the heat of the back yard under the pretense of letting Crookshanks out. She stood
out there for a minute while certain parts of her—two to be exact—warmed up a bit. She had tried to
hide herself, and had turned quickly, but Harry had still seen.

And it had been *glorious!*

*And moving on to think about something OTHER than Hermione’s bum and boobs,* Harry added
to himself as he felt a lurch in his trousers that had nothing to do with the Size Me spell, except
for the results. He hurried to catch up with Ron and the other guys.

He wondered if all this rainy weather would make Hermione feel cold.

* * *

Back in the present, Ron was still shuddering from the memory of Ginny freezing him and telling
him about hers and Neville’s exploits.

*Merlin’s balls! How on earth did Neville manage THAT?* he complained to himself.
*Neville... of all people! Why couldn’t I be the one hung like a centaur?*

No, even after all this time, Ron wasn’t at all bitter about his sister dating Neville. Or other
things.

Yeah, right.

After all, if someone were to condense the entire female ethos down to an exaggerated and
stereotypical *“Does this make my butt look big?”*, then an equally condensed synopsis of the
male psyche would be, *“Is my dick too small?”*

Now, in all honesty Ron *knew* his own six and-a-third inches (he’d gained a little more
since last year) meant he was still in the “above average” category. But all he could think of (in
worry) was how Harry and Neville were still so much bigger than he was.

It didn’t matter that according to the statistics, Ron was still larger than more than half of
the men on the planet. He was a guy. The grass was always greener... the cock was always bigger in
someone else’s pants.

*Well, except for Malfoy’s,* Ron thought with a grin. Okay, he did feel a little better
about *that*.

“I believe it, Ronald,” Luna said earnestly, recapturing his attention. “You *could* be one
of the best in class. Practice makes better. Why do you think your sister and Neville are
practicing so much lately?”

Ron bit back his first response.

“They’re some of the best in the DA,” she reminded him as she turned and looked at the remnants
of the blasted training dummies.

At this point, Ron either didn’t hear or wasn’t paying attention to the last part of what she
was saying. He just wanted to get out of there. Even now, a few months into his seventh year, he
was still a little unnerved to be alone with Luna Lovegood.

It wasn’t that he disliked her. It was weird... she was pretty, and yet she wasn’t, at least,
not the way normal girls were. It was like there was just something... different about her...
something he couldn’t identify... and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. In short, he just
didn’t understand her.

And just then at that exact moment, Ron figured out now why he hadn’t been paying attention. At
some point before she came into the room, one of the buttons on her white uniform shirt had come
undone. With her looking at the training dummy, at this side angle, Ron could see inside her
shirt... her pale, creamy, milky-white skin... her lacy white bra.

Lace?

*TIME TO GO!*

“Erm, right. Well, think I’m going to head down to the prefect’s bath. A bit dirty, you know...”
he stuttered, trying to think of a way to leave politely as he waved his now-sweaty towel.

Luna turned back to face him. Ron was actually a bit disappointed by the loss of the peep show.
Luna might have been Luna, but a bra-covered boob was still a bra-covered boob. Might even be worth
a wank.

“Oh, don’t bother,” Luna said off-handedly, “Harry and Hermione are in there right now.”

Ron was confused. “They’re in there, *together?*”

“Shagging,” Luna replied, answering the *“Why together?*” question he hadn’t yet thought to
ask.

“How do you know that?” Ron asked suddenly, in shock. Luna started to answer, but he cut her
off.

“About bloody time!” he exclaimed, relieved. “If I had to sit and watch those two dance around
each other for one more day, I’d lock them in the bath and banish their clothes myself!”

Luna just smiled and nodded patiently. Ron had already threatened something similar six times
previously.

“So how’d it finally happen?” he wondered.

Looking a bit proud of herself, Luna told Ron all about what had happened... sitting by the
lake, Draco’s suggestion, and her tricking Hermione. She left nothing out. By the time she was
done, Ron was laughing hard.

“A Trouser Snake? Oh, Luna, that’s absolutely *brilliant!*” After a very satisfied sigh, he
could not help but chuckle.

And then suddenly, Ron realized something.

Luna had said that she’d charmed herself to forget the sight of Harry’s... erm, Trouser Snake.
But the only reason (in Ron’s opinion) she would’ve done that was if she didn’t care about how big
Harry was. Still feeling lost in the immense shadows of Neville and Harry’s oversized members, he
was still convinced that the only thing girls cared about was how well-hung a bloke was.

So with that assumption in mind, if Luna (or any other girl, because she was still just ‘Loony’)
didn’t care about Harry’s size, then it *had* to be because he was now with Hermione, no
longer single.

And just like that, Ron no longer cared that Harry and Neville were packing prodigious peckers.
If Hermione and Ginny, respectively, were servicing the two of them, then that meant they were now
both off the meat market. He was no longer in competition with them!

But... honestly, did that *really* matter anymore?

A few years ago when he first discovered the joys of wanking, Ron fantasized about having sex
with any girl he wanted, at any time he wanted. He was thirteen; times were simpler, fantasies were
simpler. And at that age, he was so easily excitable it literally *was* that vague... “any
girl” at “any time.” He wasn’t even focused enough to think about... didn’t even *need* to
think about details... who, where, when, how.

But as the years went by and he watched his classmates pair off (even if only temporarily), his
desires became more refined. Now, he might fantasize about one specific witch in a certain
situation. It still always varied, his fantasy *du jour*, based whatever caught his eye that
day, but at least it was specific.

One day it might be visualizing Susan Bones spread-eagle after he saw her tightly-clinging
knickers when she slipped on some ice and landed with her legs splayed out.

Fleur Delacour... enough said.

A different day, it might be the thought of bending Daphne Greengrass over the Slytherin lunch
table and taking her from behind, after he watched her lean across that very same table to grab
something from the other side.

Actually, *that* was a lot more than just one day....

Daphne Greengrass might have been a Slytherin, but she was one of the most moderate of her
house, and she didn’t seem to interact with Malfoy all that much. That allowed Ron to realize that
she was totally, effing *HOT!* In an evil, kinky, forbidden sort of way, of course. He always
kept that particular fantasy on reserve backup, just in case he went a couple days without seeing
anything particularly naughty.

Like Luna Lovegood’s creamy pale skin and her lacy white bra, for example.

*STOP IT!*

But despite all that, though his fantasies might have been rather varied, deep down in places
boys didn’t talk about at parties, all Ron *really* wanted was to simply find a girl, *one
girl*, who liked him for who he was.

And if she was willing to do any of several naughty things with him, well, so much the
better.

If Ron truly intended to have sex with half the girls at Hogwarts like the man-whore that he
knew he wasn’t... like in his thirteen year-old dreams... then being hugely hung like Harry or
Neville was a tremendous advantage: he had little to worry about when all those random girls
compared him to all the other random guys *they* slept with.

*Eww! That’s a bit gross...* Ron realized, now that he thought about it. Sure, the fantasy
was fun, but in reality? Even with protective spells.... *No wonder Neville didn’t want half the
girls at the school lined up for him.*

But if Ron *could* find that one special someone—someone for whom he didn’t have to hide
his love of Quidditch, or pretend that he liked to do his homework, someone who would like him no
matter what stupid things he said or did—then he knew that if she was going to put up with all of
*that*, then surely she wasn’t going to quibble over an extra inch or two.

He could be who he was, and his manhood could be what it was, and he didn’t need to worry about
comparing himself to Harry or Neville, or anyone else anymore.

Also, now that he thought about it, he supposed if he *did* find someone, if he tried just
a little harder to maybe not say or do quite so many stupid and thoughtless things, then maybe she,
whoever she was, might be a little willing to do any of those several naughty things with him.

And so finally, with Ron’s John Thomas-jealously *finally* put to rest, he suddenly
remembered that, hey, six-and-a-third inches was still firmly above average... even if it did curve
a little to the left. Without any change in blood flow, his trousers suddenly felt that much more
snug.

Speaking of snug trousers, because there were no blood flow issues at the moment, the reason
they were feeling a bit tight was because they were still sweaty and sticky from his hexing
practice. Satisfied that he was no longer as small as he used to think he was, and also that his
two best friends were in good hands... *each other’s*... Ron turned his attention to a more
pressing matter. His nose wrinkled now that he could smell himself better... or *worse*.

“Well, I probably should head back up to the tower then and take a shower.” He threw the towel
back over to the table. “Good ni...” he started to say, but stopped when he realized Luna had moved
to block his path.

“They should be done in the bath in about an hour or so. If you really wanted to go down for a
bath, we could wait and pass the time here,” she suggested casually.

“How...?” Ron started to ask. *Oh, bloody hell!* he complained to himself as he rolled his
eyes when he noticed Luna taking her sketchbook out of her bag.

Okay, this time he was just going to have to tell her ‘no.’ He really had no desire to look at
another Flippering Wingding, or whatever the hell it was.

“Luna...” he started to object.

“Could I draw your Trouser Snake?” she asked plainly. In one hand, he noticed she was holding
her sketchbook and drawing pencil. Her other hand was clearly playing with that one unfastened
shirt button.

Luna knew Ronald didn’t respond too well to subtlety.


*A/N: Although the stats on our five male roommates are perfectly plausible for seventeen
year-old males, I do confess to, erm, “stacking the deck” in Gryffindor’s favor. But that’s okay.
There are plenty of Slytherins out there to help bring the Hogwarts average back down to normal!
LOL*

*Coming soon (faster than chapter 2 did): the final chapter... Hermione makes her way to the
Prefect’s Bath. What happens inside? We’ll find out! Well, partially... this is rated R, after all,
not NC-17.*