Harry Potter and the Serpent of Gryffindor: Ch. 1, P. 1

[pre-story]The start of a new commission series, thanks to a very persistent anonymous commissioner! This story's been in the works since 2016, when they first asked about commissioning me, but I've been booked solid every time it's come up, until just a couple weeks ago. I'm definitely looking forward to writing out the rest of what we've got planned! I hope it was worth the wait, and I hope you all enjoy![/pre-story]

Harry Potter and the Serpent of Gryffindor, Ch. 1, P. 1 

“Harry! Your turn!” Hermione called as she walked back into the clearing with the tent, holding a bag of her toiletries in one hand while the other was on her head, holding the towel wrapped around her still-damp hair in place. It had been too long since she’d last had the chance to get clean, they had to stay moving, after all, and not every campsite had a stream suitable for a proper wash nearby. She would have loved a proper shower with hot water and everything, but after what felt like months of wandering the forest, she was at least starting to get used to washing up in cold streams. It was better than just staying dirty, at least.

Suddenly, Hermione paused, just a few feet from the tent. The tent remained silent, there was no answer from Harry. “Harry?” She called again, but there was still no answer. That was… odd. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. For a moment, she wondered if she might be overthinking it, but then shook her head. It’s not paranoia if someone’s actually out to get you. She untwisted the towel on her head and tucked it under her arm, before using her now-free hand to grab for her wand as she silently reviewed her defense against the dark arts lessons in her mind. Slowly, she crept forward, as silent as possible, using her wand to lift the tent flap out of the way as she ducked under it and peered into the impossibly spacious interior of the magical tent.



There didn’t seem to be anything out of place, no death eaters lurking in ambush behind the brown upholstered chairs in the sitting area, no dementors hovering ominously by the vaulted beige-and-yellow canvas ceiling, no wild creatures ransacking the kitchen area… But once she was inside, she did hear something, it was quiet, but it seemed to be coming from the bunks. Hermione remained vigilant as she slowly tiptoed her way into the tent, setting down her towel and bag as she circled around to get an angle on the bunks. The sound grew clearer as she did, it sounded like… labored breathing, punctuated with quiet grunts. Maybe Harry was being attacked by a lethifold? She crept along faster, her concern growing.

That was when she spotted him, and her eyes widened. He was wrestling with a fantastic beast, alright, but not a lethifold, more like a trouser snake! Hermione’s jaw dropped. He was ENORMOUS! He was still wearing his usual pajamas, nothing more than a well-worn pair of baggy plaid pants, but the waistband was pulled down sharply in the front, held in place by a pair of heavy balls that had to be almost the size of oranges. His shaft thrust from a dense, curly bush of dark hair at his crotch, a massive marble pillar that arched over his prone form as he lay on the bed, furiously pumping his hands along the shaft. Both hands couldn’t even cover half its fearsome length, it looked almost half a meter long, and it was incredibly thick, too, thicker than his wrist, his fingers only able to wrap around a little more than half its girth! With every stroke, the swollen head peeked out from under his foreskin, a gleaming red-purple crown the size of a fist.

Hermione was too stunned to move, frozen in a crouch as she peeked around the couch, but her mind was racing, her eyes locked on the towering pillar of Harry’s manhood. He was just so huge… yet it somehow seemed… fitting. A few years ago, it would have been ridiculous, such a monstrous thing attached to a scrawny, awkward boy, but he’d had a frankly incredible growth spurt since then. In little more than a year, he’d gone from 175cm to just shy of 200, and he’d gotten significantly broader, too. To top it off, determined to be ready to fight any death eater that came after them, he’d launched on a rather aggressive exercise program over the break, layering muscle onto his rapidly-expanding frame. All together, Hermione almost hadn’t recognized him when they met up once more. He’d been an awkward, gangly boy when they’d parted ways and now, he was a towering, muscle-bound man with broad shoulders and six-pack abs... and a bloody enormous cock, apparently!

It was clear enough, what was going on. While Hermione had gone to wash up, and now that Ron had... left, Harry had the tent to himself for a little while, and decided to capitalize on the privacy by… releasing some tension. Which was fine. It was natural for a boy to have… urges, and it wasn’t healthy to just ignore them. Thinking about it, Hermione felt a little sorry for him, this must have been the first real privacy he’d had in… months! He had to be so pent up… She’d heard that was painful for boys. She shouldn’t interrupt... she should just… stay quiet and let him… work it out…

Hermione couldn’t look away. The sight of that towering shaft burned itself into her mind, her brain memorizing its shape, its curve, the winding veins that crawled along its length like vines, the throbbing cockhead that gleamed like a jewel at its tip… She realized her mouth was watering. This was wrong. She should be giving him his privacy, not watching him. She shouldn’t be staring as he pumped his hands up and down his length. She shouldn’t be wondering what it would taste like if she dragged her tongue from the base to the crown. They were friends. Just friends. She shouldn’t be thinking about him like… this…

Hermione watched as Harry slid one hand up to his cockhead, working his palm over the sensitive knob while the other continued to pump his shaft. He let out a groan as that monolithic cock throbbed in his grasp, letting out a spurt of clear precum. There was so much... it completely soaked his palm, and even began to run down his length, tracing along the bulging veins in clear, glistening rivulets. He moved his now-soaked hand, smearing the slick, sticky liquid along his shaft, returning it to the tip just in time to catch another copious spurt. He repeated the process a few times before Hermione realized he wasn’t just wiping his hand off each time, he was slowly coating his entire shaft in a glistening sheen of precum. Once the monumental member was thoroughly covered, his hand rejoined its brother and the two began to pump faster, now gliding smoothly over his lubricated length, the sounds of his half-restrained groans of pleasure filling the tent.

Hermione suddenly realized her hand had unconsciously drifted up to her chest, softly cupping one generous mound through her clothes. She’d been rather impressed with her own growth over the break, before seeing how Harry had developed. She’d gone from having perky, palm-filling breasts just slightly too big for a B-cup at the start of the break to generously filling out a D-cup bra with full, soft breasts the size of grapefruit. Without thinking, she gave an experimental squeeze, and had to bite her lip to stifle a gasp. They’d been sensitive ever since her growth spurt, but not THAT sensitive! Bracing herself, she gave another squeeze, and bit her lip once more as a shiver danced up her spine. Her nipples were hard, she could feel the little gumdrop-sized nubs pressing firmly against the cups of her bra, begging for attention. The tent was never all that warm, magical or not it was still a tent, and yet Hermione was starting to feel… hot.

Harry’s groans grew louder as his strokes grew faster, his hands almost a blur as they pistoned up and down his shaft. Hermione watched, entranced, one hand kneading her breast through her shirt, the other still holding her wand. She could feel the heat inside her grow more and more intense as the seconds ticked past, feel it spread through her core and down between her legs. She bit her lip as the heat between her thighs became a need, an itch that demanded to be scratched, and cursed inwardly. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. But the need grew stronger and stronger as she watched Harry’s shaft throb in his grip, watched him stroke and pump that monstrous member with a desperate lust… Her wand fell to the floor with a quiet clatter, drowned out by another of Harry’s pleasured groans.

Hermione’s knees parted slightly to make room as she slid her hand between her thighs, grinding the heel of her palm against her needy slit through her jeans, trying to give herself some relief. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. She groaned inwardly in frustration, her hand blindly fumbling with her fly for a moment before she managed to undo the button and work the zipper down. Impatiently, her hand dove into the gap, her fingertips sliding over her panties only to find they were already starting to get wet. How was she already soaking through her panties? She had barely even started! The question was forgotten almost as soon as it came to her, however, pushed out of her mind as her fingers slid over her outer lips and she shuddered. Again, the unexpected sensitivity caught her off guard, like an electric shock that shot up her spine and electrified her brain.

Hermione couldn’t stop herself. Her fingers began to move, grinding the soaking wet material of her panties against her sensitive pussy. She stifled a moan as she knelt there behind the couch, masturbating like a pervert and kneading at her breast as she watched her best friend stroke his massive cock. She’d never been all that interested in a man’s… size. Some of the bigger cocks she’d seen in porn made her wince in sympathy for their partners, she didn’t understand the whole ‘size queen’ mentality, but Harry’s… She’d never been this turned on before. Nothing had ever excited her like this, not even her wildest fantasies. As wrong as it was, she… she wanted it. She wanted to touch it, taste it, to pleasure it, to feel it fill and stretch her! The sight of it had changed her, or perhaps simply awakened something deep inside her, but either way, she’d never be the same.

Harry’s groans suddenly grew louder, his hands pistoning faster and faster over his length as his swollen, orange-sized balls began to tighten. His powerful muscles pulled tight, straining against one-another, his back arching up off the bed. His towering shaft began to buck and throb violently in his grasp, every winding vein bulging as it swelled even larger, looking ready to burst. Hermione’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat in anticipation. Was he going to…?

Her unspoken question was answered when Harry rolled his head back and let out a deep, throaty groan. Hermione watched as his enormous balls tightened in his sack, as his shaft throbbed once, twice, three times, then finally erupted, a finger-thick rope of pearly white cum blasting from the tip. It fired with such force that it arced nearly a meter into the air, hanging there for a moment at the top of its arc, a meter-long snake of white-hot cum, before gravity overpowered it and brought it down onto Harry’s rugged chest with a heavy splat.

But that wasn’t the end of it, not by a long shot. Again and again that towering pillar of manhood throbbed, firing off another rope of molten seed that arced through the air only to come splattering down again. Hermione was so entranced by the sight of Harry’s fountaining cum she almost forgot to breathe, though her hands continued their efforts unfazed, one pinching her diamond-hard nipple through her clothes while the other parted her lips and started to rub her clit directly.

Slowly, Harry’s shot began to lose strength, each blast of cum arcing not quite as high as the last, until eventually they just ran down his glorious length in thick, pearly-white rivers. His hands began to slow, his muscles, relax, until the arch of his back collapsed and he sank into the bed fully, hands slowly milking the last of the cum from his shaft before falling to the bed at his sides. Even the leftover spunk that lingered in the fat cum-tube running along the underside of his shaft was more than any normal man could have produced in a week. His chest, hands, and cock were all covered in thick cum, as were the sheets he laid on. Hermione shuddered, she could smell the musky, masculine scent of his cum even from across the room, and it made her mouth water.

Wordlessly, Harry stirred from his post-orgasmic stupor, and with a heavy sigh, began to clean up, climbing out of the bed before balling up the sheets. He’d clearly had practice cleaning up after himself, using parts of the sheets that weren’t already soaked in cum to wipe off his hands and chest. As he found a dry corner and lowered it to his shaft to wipe it off, he heard a voice.

“W-wait!” The voice called. Harry whipped his head around, startled, looking for the source, and found Hermione slowly standing up from behind the couch. He froze, eyes wide as saucers as panic gripped him, unable to even think to cover himself.

“Hermione! I- Wha-” He stammered, his still-boyish face flushing brightly. Hermione didn’t answer, her expression unreadable as she walked over toward Harry, drawing closer until she was just an arm’s length away. He gasped as he felt something touch his slowly-softening cock, glancing down to see her delicate hand gripping his cum-soaked cock.

“Let… let me.” Hermione breathed, her voice almost pleading. She didn’t wait for a reply, swiftly sinking to her knees in front of Harry, staring in awe and reverence at the cum-covered cock swaying in front of her.

Harry had no idea what was happening, he couldn’t even process the sight in front of him. Was this really happening? As he looked down at Hermione, kneeling at his feet, however, he felt something stir inside him. It felt… right. A shiver ran down his spine as his cock twitched in her grasp, slowly starting to stiffen once more...