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“You done in there yet?” Draco’s muffled voice permeated the door of his ensuite bathroom, the sound thick with the impatience of someone whose anatomy had never betrayed him.
“Not quite. Sorry!” Hermione winced at herself. Why am I apologizing? It’s not my fault my body doesn’t cooperate after a shag.
“Perhaps I should go first next time,” Draco whinged back, “so I’m not left standing here with my cock out for no reason.”
“Perhaps,” Hermione snapped, “you ought to use one of the numerous other toilets in your absurdly large manor. You know I get UTI’s if I don’t pee first thing!”
“Wretched witch parts.”
Hermione heard the outer bedroom door shut with unnecessary force. She sighed to herself, willing her body to hurry up and pee already. Why do men have it so easy? she thought to herself as she waved her hand in a bit of wandless magic. She managed to coax the tap just enough to produce the sound of trickling water in the sink. At last, she felt her overly vigilant pelvic floor relent and her urine start to flow.
Ahh, that’s better…Honestly though. They don’t have to undress. They don’t have to sit. They can pee anywhere, anytime. They can even write their name in snow as they take a piss, she mused wistfully, bladder finally empty. I bet they can even draw ancient runes with it.
She sat there on the toilet longer than necessary, mind fully distracted with the possibilities of doing a spell with runes written in one’s own body fluids. Urine would be easiest, yes, but semen, that’d make a very powerful rune indeed, if one had enough control for proper penmanship. She pondered this as she dried herself off, wiping away the remnants of sex in her swollen wet folds as best she could. How did I end up here, yet again? she thought to herself. Oh right, his damn magical dick…
Hermione and Draco had been sleeping together on and off for months now. It was strictly a sex thing. ‘Acquaintances with benefits’ was more accurate than calling them friends. They both worked at the Ministry, although in different departments, so they weren’t really even coworkers. Just acquaintances… who shagged. Occasionally, their respective crowds of friends would mingle at the pub on Friday nights after work, their old rivalries between Gryffindor and Slytherin long forgotten in their ‘post-wizarding war’ adult lives. It was one of those Friday nights when Harry and Ginny had pressured Hermione into coming out to the Leaky Cauldron which started the whole arrangement.
They had all just taken their third round of Lemon Acid shots with Weasley’s Sour Bombs plunked into them when Hermione could practically feel her tooth enamel eroding away.
“I need to neutralize the pH in my mouth!” She shouted to Ginny as she made her way to the bar for a glass of water, ever the proper dentist’s daughter.
She felt the heat of his gaze first, then turned to see Draco leaning against the bar right next to her, close enough to smell his cologne and feel his shoulder brush against her arm as he leaned down.
“I’ve got something that’ll neutralize the pH in your mouth,” he said against the shell of her ear.
Hermione distinctly remembers the feeling of her ovaries jolting, flooding her system with hormones that were screaming through her bloodstream ‘You want him! You need him! His seed is strong!’ Perhaps it was the shots, perhaps it was that flash of a dare in his eyes as he noticed her body’s response, perhaps it was the lonely lioness within Hermione rearing its head. ‘Mmmmm,’ her lioness purred as she felt her pulse throb between her thick yet toned, womanly thighs. She grabbed Draco’s hand and led him through the crowd to the Floo, took him to her flat, and proceeded to give him the best blow job of both their lives. Her oral acidity was indeed neutralized by his slightly alkaline, salty, thick seed.
Hermione had thought back to that night often, wondering just what came over her. It was only after similar ‘events’ happened two more times with Draco that she was able to draw a hypothesis: Draco possessed some sort of secret sex magic. She ignored other more rational explanations- amortentia in his cologne, drugs in her drink- and instead trusted her intuition. She was a Gyffindor, not a Ravenclaw, afterall, and her intuition had never led her astray before.
It was sex magic, she concluded, and it was specifically tied to him hitting on her. The worse the pick-up line, the hotter he became and the more she felt compelled to take a ride on his wand: 10 inches, consistent, “reasonably springy”. They say ‘The wand chooses the wizard’... Well, this witch is going to choose Draco’s wand, every damn weekend, Hermione asserted to herself. His cock was glorious. His spunk was addicting. But it all came back to his pick-up lines. That’s where the magic originated.
She even asked him about it once, lying in his bed and catching her breath after having a particularly intense orgasm which left her underused abdominals burning.
“How are you so good at hitting on me?” she asked him. “Where does this… power come from?”
“I get my confidence from a big dick and a straight spine,” he replied with a shrug. “That’s life.”
And that was life, wasn’t it? A dick gave you power. A dick made it possible to get whatever you wanted: promotions, one-night stands, a lack of urinary tract infections.
If only I had a dick of my own, then I could pee standing up, Hermione wished to herself as she redressed into her romper-style ladies business one-piece suit (the latest style trend, yet most inconvenient for peeing… probably designed by a man as a cruel joke) and did her weekly walk of shame to the Malfoy Manor Floo.
Upon arriving home, Hermione did what any Muggleborn witch in the 21st century would do. She pulled out her mobile and googled. Turns out, she discovered that many women- witches and Muggles alike- have had the same envious thoughts as her. At a certain point in life, all women realize the benefits of having a penis and the struggles of lacking one. It’s literally a developmental stage, as she was informed by a handful of scholarly papers by a Dr. S. Freud. She agreed with the scholars. She could see it as clear as day across the internet. Hermione was suffering from penis envy…no, wand envy, since there was a magical essence at play. There was just something so desirable about the ability to take a piss while standing like a super hero, proud and strong. During her internet research session, her algorithm picked up on her female struggles, and up popped a very targeted ad, just for her: a quaint little funnel device called a ‘She-Wee’. “So women can finally pee on equal footing as men”, it claimed. Hermione eagerly ordered one online, hoping it would give her just a bit of a taste of this mysterious penis power which Draco, and all men really, seemed to possess in varying degrees.
She sat on the toilet, awaiting her complicated lady plumbing to figure itself out enough for her to pee after sex. How did it happen this time? I rarely even speak to Draco during the work week. Hermione thought back to their conversation in the lunch line that day…
“You’re looking extra happy today, Granger. Did you have that dream about taking your N.E.W.T.s nude again?”
“Hey! I told you that in confidence,” she whispered as she smacked his arm.
Draco laughed as the Ministry employee closest in line subtly edged away from Hermione.
“But to answer your question, I’m merely excited about the post. I have a package arriving tonight.” Hermione stood tall in feigned composure. She held her breath. She knew it was about to happen- one of Draco’s magical dick jokes. She could feel his pulsing penis power like the deep bass rumbles of a subwoofer rippling in the air between them.
“Correction,” he whispered under his breath so no one else could hear but her, “you have a package coming tonight…all over those magnificent tits.” His eyes roamed from her shirt where it stretched across her throbbing breasts, up to where she rolled her bottom lip between her front teeth, and finally to her cheeks which flushed against her will. “My place, eight o’clock.”
“Mmmhmm,” Hermione whimpered as she nodded, not trusting herself to speak any actual words without making a fool of herself. She took a step forward in line and felt a gush of fresh wetness pool into her knickers. Oh hell! I’m so screwed. Draco smiled at her as if he could read her thoughts.
After arriving home from her midweek sexcapade, Hermione was overjoyed to find the post had indeed arrived with her She-Wee. She took the strangely shaped funnel out of its packaging. To her delight, it was hot pink. Thank Godric it’s not flesh colored. She reviewed the instructional diagram several times over, then nodded to herself. I’ve got this.
Hermione wiggled the She-Wee down into her work trousers and immediately realized the first problem: while she could poke the ‘spout’ of the She-Wee through the zipper, her knickers got in the way. She reached down and awkwardly pushed them aside. Aha! There we go! she thought in triumph.
Hermione stood facing the toilet in her flat’s bathroom, She-Wee held against the apex of her crotch, hot pink spout protruding rather vulgarly from her trousers, and… nothing happened. She tried to pee, but her body refused. She closed her eyes and pushed with all the might of her still youthful Kegel muscles. She felt a slight sting, but nothing else. Her body was refusing to cooperate. After twenty-five years of peeing sitting down, or that last year of the war where she had to learn to squat in the woods, standing up was just too much of an ask. Her female body knew instinctually that this was a position meant only for the superior anatomy of men.
Frustrated but not willing to give up just yet, she eyed the empty bathtub next to her. Maybe I just need to get used to the She-Wee first? Then my body will start to cooperate? Hesitantly, she climbed into the tub and squatted, soon realizing her next problem. The She-Wee had shifted, her trousers were too restricting in this position. Resigned, she started over.
Pants now down to her ankles, one hand holding her She-Wee to her womanly mound, the other hand holding the side of the tub to keep herself from falling over, she tried to relax and pee. She felt a slight pulsing, and then finally she was peeing.
Success!
It was short lived as she realized her biggest problem yet.
Oh Merlin, no! The damn spout is too narrow!
As the funnel filled with her urine, she saw it would soon become too full. She tried to stop her stream midflow, but she could only hold it off for a few seconds. Her Kegels failed her, her stream renewed, and as the She-Wee backed up and overflowed, she felt urine spill out over her hand, onto her pants, and slowly seep to her bare feet. Swearing to never speak of this failed experiment to anyone, she tossed the She-Wee in the rubbish bin, stripped out of her soiled clothes, and showered.
Disheartened but not beaten, Hermione decided to do some light research in the Ministry library the next day. Honestly, this is where I should have started all along, she mentally scolded herself. Her wand envy was of the magical sort, afterall, so Muggle solutions just weren’t sufficient.
As she made her way through the stacks, she did indeed find some seemingly relevant books on the concept of ‘wand’ magic. She found Wand Lore for the Wandless Sex in the magical theory section, When Your Little Witch Wishes She Had a Wand in the children’s section, 100 Pick-Up Lines for the Phallically Inclined near Sociology, and The Fallacy of Phallic Magic in the back corner of the Witches’ Studies section. That last one seemed to be written by a very bitter prude of a witch, no doubt husbandless and suffering from wand envy herself. Hermione placed it back on the shelf after the briefest of perusals. She’d stick to the professional authors, thank you very much.
Hermione spent the rest of her work week devouring the books on penis magic. She glamored their covers to look like normal texts and read them at her desk. She stayed up late in bed and wrote down the most promising pick-up lines, meaning the worst pick-up lines, since magical strength seemed to have an inverse correlation with the quality of line spoken.
By Friday morning, an idea had begun to brew in Hermione’s head. I will never overcome my… wand envy… until I get the true experience of what it’s like to bear a penis. My very own cock. To actually pee standing up. It was a good thing she was Hermione Granger, and always had a flask of Polyjuice Potion on reserve. She hadn’t survived seven years of keeping Harry alive without being prepared, after all.
So, it was very convenient Friday afternoon when Hermione found herself sitting next to Draco during their interdepartmental training on non-dominant hand casting. The DMLE Head Auror lectured about the importance of being able to cast left-handed during an emergency and walked them all through several shield spells.
“It feels so strange to do the movements backwards,” she said aloud to no one in particular as she rolled her left wrist in an intricate pattern.
“I’ll show you what’s strange to do backwards,” Draco replied as he cast a perfect shield with his non-dominant hand. Hermione cleared her throat to hide the slight gasp that had escaped.
“Now on to Expecto Patronum!” called out the trainer.
“More like Expecto To Bone Him,” Draco smirked and arched an eyebrow at Hermione. She felt her resolve wither like the estrogen-depleted labia of a post-menopausal woman.
“My place. Directly after work.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” His dragon patronus circled her with a smug flap of its wings.
Hermione tried and tried to think clean thoughts but alas, she was too distracted by her hollow womb, which was quivering in anticipation, to cast her otter patronus properly.
Being a gracious host, and seeing as her flat only had one bathroom, she pretended to allow Draco the honor of peeing first after sex. Her motives were twofold: first, to listen in awe at how quickly and forcefully his stream hit the water, and second, to search the pillowcase for any short, blond, overly-gelled loose hairs. Aha! YES! She snatched the Dracoesque hair and shoved it into her bedside drawer just as he reentered her bedroom. She took a moment to admire his naked body, trying to see the source of his sex magic, but alas, it must be buried deep within. Perhaps near the prostate?
“If you like what you see that badly Granger, I can always commission a nude portrait for you. Call it making amends for all those years where I was a prat in school.”
“That won’t be necessary Draco,” she drawled as she reluctantly lifted her gaze from his still-engorged wand, “I’m absolutely positive no portrait could do it justice.”
“Indubitably.” He eyed her suspiciously as she conveyed both mischief and innocence, still eye-level with his crotch. “Feel free to owl me this weekend if you find yourself in need of some justice again. Some habeas corpus perhaps? It’s well within my jurisdiction.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
After Draco left and Hermione cleaned herself up, (she could just feel the UTI coming on, but it will have been worth it, she told herself) she pulled out the stray blond hair and dropped it into her waiting vial of Polyjuice. She chugged the thick Draco sludge down her throat without complaint. Despite her experience with morphing into another person’s body, she still marveled as she grew taller, her hair shrunk shorter, and the front of her trousers filled out in the most satisfying way.
Alright. Let’s see how this prick power really works.
With a few transfiguration adjustments to her clothes, and a quick once over in front of the mirror, Hermione-Draco left her flat. She made her way down the street to a nearby Muggle taco truck, always a popular place for the pub crowd on Friday evenings.
She reminded herself to stand tall and proud, like a pureblooded, inbred albino peacock. She strutted up to the truck and placed an order for two hard beef tacos. I guess everything comes out as an innuendo when you have a cock?
“Would you like sour cream with that?” the young woman in the window asked… And then it happened. Hermione-Draco began to feel a subtle stirring in her loins, a pulling sensation deep within, not unlike the feeling of casting wandless magic. Inspiration hit her, and she said the first thing that came to mind.
“I’ll give you some sour cream.”
The taco truck girl froze for a moment, then blushed and swept her hair behind her ear. Hermione-Draco registered the response with greedy interest. It could just be a fluke. I need to test it again.
After receiving her tacos, Hermione-Draco stood to the side and observed the females nearby.
“God, I’m soooo full now,” a brunette in her late 20’s groaned. Hermione-Draco’s Draco-dick twitched. That’s my cue.
“I’ll make you even fuller,” she said with a wink. The woman’s jaw dropped and her friend clutched at her own neckline as if she suddenly felt too hot. Two down. Hermione-Draco kept walking, meandering her way to the other side of the truck.
“I love burritos, but I hate when the tortilla sticks to the roof of my mouth!” she heard a curvy yet perfectly petite woman complain as she gripped the thick chode of a burrito with her two, tiny delicate hands. A strong twitch of the Draco-dick and Hermione-Draco knew exactly what to say.
“I’ll stick something else to the roof of your mouth,” Hermione-Draco replied to the tiny-handed stranger. She became so lost in Hermione-Draco’s grey flirting-with-danger eyes that she dropped her burrito entirely. Bingo! Hermione-Draco thought to herself right as she realized her Draco-dick was responding too strongly now, and she was starting to develop an erection.
Ahh! Nope! Absolutely not!
She turned and fled from the entranced women, hoping the penis magic wasn’t so strong that she’d be followed home.
Safely returned to her flat, Hermione had one more experiment to test out. This was what she had really been looking forward to all day. Sex with Draco was just a pit-stop along the way. Proving to herself that penis power was best expelled in poor pick-up lines was an added bonus. But this, THIS was her main objective.
Hermione-Draco made her way to her bathroom. She planted her feet firmly in front of the toilet, a wide stance that took up as much space as she wanted, far more than she needed. She reached down and freed her still semi-erect Draco-dick. What a beauty, her envious thoughts escaped her. She pointed the tip towards the water and pissed standing up.
Ahhhhh this is amazing!
Her thoughts reeled. The force behind her stream from such a height was impressive to behold. She was simply flabbergasted at the ease at which she could relieve herself without disrobing, without squatting, without having to coax her shy bladder into cooperating. This is what God intended when he created Man. Women’s anatomy was just an after-thought, she firmly decided.
Looking down to see the wonder of God’s finest creation in action, Hermione-Draco’s heart sank like a prolapsing uterus.
Whhhat? Nooooo!
What she saw was simply horrifying. Her powerful stream was actually erratic and sputtering, sometimes twisting into two streams, sometimes squirting off at an odd angle. She tried to adjust her aim, for by now there was urine ALL OVER the toilet seat, but it was useless. She couldn’t get the trajectory of the arcing stream correct without calculating a proper formula, and the darn velocity of her urine kept changing! She overcorrected, and pee got on the floor. She overcorrected again, and this time piss splashed on her foot.
Just as her stream began to wane, as if the collective male energy of the world was truly laughing at her now, the Polyjuice wore off. Her magical Draco-dick shrunk out of her hand and back into the tiny nub that was her uselessly feeble clit. Her Kegels spasmed as her body shifted from a fit Quidditch player-slash-Auror to that of a sedentary bookworm with a pelvic floor exhausted from holding in complex lady parts. She felt the last dribbles of urine soak into her knickers, which were still transfigured into men’s pants.
Wretched wizard parts. It’s all a lie!