Year Two: Alexandra Potter's Junk

"…anyway, my junk. For details, it's about seven inches long, at the moment, but once everything gets fully erect, it should be at least eight and a half…"

Draco choked mid-stride. He thought he heard that wrong. He really, really hoped he heard that wrong. He tuned in once more.

"…oh, definitely. Firm and smooth, and hard if you grip it just right…"

Draco found himself having a slight eye-twitch. He strode over to the damned Potter girl.

"Potter."

She turned from the girl she was conversing – Greengrass, Draco noted – and gasped in delight. "Drakey, darling! So nice to see you!"

Draco found it very hard to keep his composure.

"I was just telling Daphne here about my junk! She's very… excited to see it."

There was that damned vulpine grin again.

"We were just about to go upstairs to take a look, darling, was there anything you wanted?" She gasped again. "Oh, I know! You want to come with, right? You want to see my junk, too?"

Where the hell was that other Potter, Draco thought. Gallivanting with his little blood traitor friends, no doubt. He was sure that if Potter – Harry – had been there, he wouldn't have to deal with her all on his own…

"No, Potter," he ground out. "I don't want to see your 'junk,' and I never will." He lowered his voice. "Besides, it's your own fault for talking about things like… that-" he shuddered "-in public."

Her grin grew even wider. "Oh, come now, Draco. Pleeeeeeease?" Her eyes grew big, and slightly watery. Draco drew his breath in. Damn her, he thought. Damn her.

When he later found out she'd been talking about a model ship, he really felt like punching her.