The Wandmaker's Daughter
I want to get laid, thought Albus, concentrating hard on his desire. I want to get laid. I want to get laid. I want to get laid. He turned, and walked back down the seventh-floor corridor for the third time. She should be arriving any minute: this had to work. He glanced up, and saw that a large polished door had appeared in the wall. He smiled, and drew out a piece of yellowed parchment.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said with a smirk, tapping the parchment with his wand. Thin lines of ink appeared, and began tracing out a complete map of the school. His eyes flicked over the page. There she was, heading this way, but a few floors below: Olivia Ollivander, the wandmaker's daughter.
Olivia was part veela and a metamorphmagus, which made her the hottest girl in school practically by definition. He watched the spot of ink move slowly towards him: still a few minutes away. Albus ran over his mental checklist – was everything ready for the big night?
The trick with engorgement charms was not to go overboard. You had to make it realistic, or else the girl would suspect something. He'd applied this one at lunch, and figured it would stick around at least until morning. Plausibility was the key to pleasurability, as Albus was fond of telling his younger admirers.
He looked up at the polished door, still smiling to himself. The Room of Requirement: what a stroke of genius! Maybe he should go inside to give it a once over? He stepped forward, then heard soft footsteps approaching.
Olivia was walking towards him. She was blonde today, and her long hair rippled gently as she walked, like it was responding to a nonexistent breeze. Just Veela things, Al thought, shaking his head slowly at the sight of her. She had her robes tucked in that way girls did which left most of their legs exposed, and he couldn't help openly looking her up and down as she approached.
"Hey Al," she said in a whisper, leaning in to kiss him. They'd been seeing each other for a month, but so far kissing was as far as things had gone. "What was it you wanted to show me?"
Her eyes were wide with curiosity. Albus smiled the crooked smile he knew girls loved, and locked his eyes onto hers. Still holding her gaze, he swung open the door.
"After you," he said, ushering her inside. She stepped in, and he heard a sharp intake of breath. He followed her, wrapping his arms around her and nudging the door shut behind them with an elbow.
A huge, sumptuous bed occupied most of the room, strewn with - were those actual rose petals? There was a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice, and Albus could see an en suite bathroom off to one side. The lighting was dim and atmospheric. Candles flickered on wooden surfaces. A fresh, floral scent filled his nostrils, with just a hint of something sharp underneath it. Unless Albus was much mistaken, it smelled like a delicate combination of Olivia's favourite perfume and his own cologne. He smiled, and Olivia seemed to melt in his arms. She turned, her eyes aflame.
"Oh, Albus..." she said, breathless, as she leaned in to kiss him again. At last, thought Albus, how long have I waited for this? Olivia pulled back abruptly, breaking off the kiss. "Just one more thing," she said, flashing him a mischievous smile. She scrunched up her eyes, as if trying to remember something, and her t-shirt visibly tightened across her chest.
"That's their natural size, it just gets uncomfortable having them like this all the time, y'know?"
"You're incredible," Albus murmured, as he worked his hands underneath her t-shirt and started to lift it off.
"How did you even do all this?" she asked, her own hands busy with the top of his jeans. He shrugged and let her shirt fall to the ground.
"You know, when the right incentive is there…" He stepped back, his own robes falling to the floor. He was wearing a Gryffindor tank top underneath, but now he slipped it off, pulling it up from the bottom in the way he knew showed off his sculpted, quidditch-player's body. She was looking at him, eyes slightly foggy. Albus smiled to himself: may as well keep up the strip-show. He slipped off his jeans and underwear at the same time. Her eyes widened a fraction in surprise, then she frowned thoughtfully and leaned in:
"Nine-and-a-half inches, firm but slightly flexible: that should do the trick."