Marcus Flint was a happy and fulfilled man; there was just no other way to describe it. He was in the best health of his life, had a flourishing Quidditch career with the Tornadoes as their Captain, and had more money stored at various vault at Gringotts than his parents (and grandparents, and the ones before them even) had ever made in their lifetimes. He owned his own house and had several more summer and winter cottages in Britain and the European mainland. And even if his career were to fail for tomorrow, he’d still have his specialist broom making talents to fall back on.
So yes, Marcus Flint’s charmed life made him a happy and fulfilled man. Nevertheless, the main contributor to that happiness and fulfilment weren’t his material achievement or his flourishing career. If someone were to ask him straight-out, he’d say that he considered his greatest accomplishment of all his wife, Katie. Without her, he would have remained that moody sod who dreamt his days away and only talked in hypotheticals about playing Quidditch professionally without taking any action to do so.
People used to wonder how a sweet and lovely girl like her had ended up with a neither so sweet nor handsome man like him. During the first few years of their relationship, the wildest and craziest stories had popped up. From how he had dosed her with permanent love potions to how he had aggressively stalked and brainwashed her into submission. Her lack of denial (just shrugs and blank stares whenever mentioned because she cared that much about gossip) and his inability to conduct a proper discussion whenever riled up had only fuelled those rumours.
Until the Tutshill Tornadoes showed signs of wanting to sign him on, that is. To give team management the final push and make clear that Marcus wasn't a complete deranged psychopath, Katie had taken it upon herself to set the record straight and tell her side of the story in an open letter to the Daily Prophet. And so many years later, Marcus still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Deep down, he preferred the rumours about him being an innocent-maid-snatching-warlock instead of the truth.
You see, the truth was a bit…meh, and since he had a reputation of a being dangerous Quidditch player, it had made him look like a complete duffer once the Prophet had printed the story. It took some brutal, near-death fouls during his first season with the Tornadoes to rectify that situation. Nevertheless, it took months for his friends and teammates’ sniggers to die down or for random witches to stop harassing him whenever he went out without his wife. And just when he thought the worst was over; rinse and repeat.
Admittedly, from a very objective point of view, he could see why people reacted the way they did. However, that didn’t mean he had to like everyone sticking their big noses in his business.
In her letter to the Prophet, Katie had been more than candid about how she, fifteen-years-old at the time, had flown up to an almost nineteen-year-old Marcus after the Slytherin- Gryffindor match that year. After weeks of sharing longing stares and shy smiles, she had been fed up with his lack of interest in doing something more than gawk and had taken matters into her own hands. She had declared herself his girlfriend whether or not he wanted her to be and they had been inseparable since then.
It had taken Marcus several years to convince himself that he wasn’t dreaming and to wipe the perpetual look of shock off his face. By then, Katie had moved into his tiny flat after passing her N.E.W.T.s (in one go, unlike him) and was already in the midst of pre-planning their wedding before the subject of getting married had ever crossed his mind. To top it off, he’d never proposed, only showed up at the Ministry in his fanciest clothes when she told him to.
They’d tied the literal knot five years ago now, and if everything went according to plan, they’d start trying for one of them drooling ankle-biters by the end of the year. Life was good, and Marcus couldn’t think of one thing that’d be able to ruin their happiness. That’s why it was such a shock when one morning late May -just as he had taken a sip from his hot coffee, Katie asked an unexpected and frankly, a very disturbing question.
"How big is your cock, Marcus?"
It took all his strength not to spray his drink across the table. Although he wished he had; the dribble from his nose as he half-choked wasn’t the greatest sensation in the world. An unsettling feel began churning in the pit of his stomach as soon as he caught his breath, which also could have been some of the too hot coffee he had swallowed in reaction to Katie's question.
Marcus slowly cleaned his chin and nose with the napkin Katie shoved in his hands and stared at her for a long time, shocked by her once again and trying to gather his thoughts before he answered her. Eventually, having learnt a long time ago that the best defence was a good offence, he replied with a harsh,
"What kind of question is that?"
If she had picked up on his less than kind tone, she didn’t show it. Instead, she began rattling as if he was one of her girlfriends while she poured him another cuppa.
“I went shopping with Leanne and Angie yesterday and after, we went to the Leaky for some drinks where Alicia and Demelza were as well, yeah? Well, you know how it goes, yeah? We had some wine and then a few shots of Firewhisky, and somehow, the discussion turned to Alicia's new boyfriend and from there to you lads' cocks. That made us realise that none of us knew how large you blokes really are. I mean, I know how long yours is if I’d need to mime it, but not the actual measurement. It just made me wonder how long and -in inches, please, your cock is, s’all. No harm done."
“S’all? Cock sizes? In inches?”
Marcus wasn’t born yesterday, nor did he suffer from too many Bludgers to the head. Having had the misfortune of witnessing a few girls’ nights at their tiny flat back then, he knew exactly how crude those ‘ladies’ (a term which only loosely applied to Katie and her friends) could get after one drink too many. He also knew that they got honest to a fault when drunk; how they hadn’t killed each other yet was a mystery to him. It was a vast difference with how he and his friends interacted.
Sure, the extent of the girls’ foul mouths was nothing compared to how he and his friends talked to each other when no one was listening. And as friends, regardless of being male or female, the group could count on each other in good and bad times; a welcome remnant of surviving war together. But compared to the girls’ relationship, there was one huge difference. Simply put, where the girls found it necessary to point out every flaw in the other, he and the lads preferred to lie when it mattered.
They all did and had come to accept it without judgement. They lied about the dragon eggs they’d risked their lives to find, about the money in their vaults, the sex they had, and their cock size. Especially their cock size; even years of sharing dorms and locker rooms, and the showering together hadn’t deterred them from lying about that one. In fact, it had become a collective ego boosting, a confidence-building reinvention of what an inch was, and they had all agreed on because it made them feel good about themselves. Unlike the girls: those hags loved to rip each other apart.
Katie pulled him from his musings, studying him with that damned left brow raised and her lips curled up into a half-smile as if she knew something he didn’t. He hated it when she did that.
“Go on, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Inches, love, I need to know the inches so I can report back tonight. Don’t be shy.”
He swallowed hard as he tried to figure what to tell her. The truth or the truth he and his mates had created. Somehow it seemed better to err on the side of large, thus lie.
"I don’t know, never really measured it," he answered, which was one of the biggest lies he had told in his life. From the first time he had woken up to morning wood at the tender age of eleven up to the very morning Katie had moved in, a ruler and a piece of parchment to jolt down the ‘progress’ had been permanent fixtures under his pillow. "But if you want me to put a number on it, I would say about, I dunno, nine inches?”
Katie looked doubtful as she held her fingers in the air. “Nine inches, are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, nine, definitely,” Marcus said as he nodded. Fibbing about a few inches here and there had never hurt anyone.
It suddenly occurred to him that this was not something he wanted to be repeated in public. Before you knew it, someone would overhear and in a roundabout way would get back to his mates, and he’d never hear the end of it. “But, don’t tell your friends. I’d hate their husbands to feel, uh, insecure.”
“Don’t worry, love,” laughed Katie, “Do you honestly think I'm going to tell them how big your cock is? What if they start chasing you for a ride because they want to know what nine inches feels like? I don’t trust those bints.” Suddenly, her smile dropped from her face as she narrowed her eyes and added in a low voice, “I hope you haven’t forgotten that I don’t share, Marcus."
Marcus plastered a smile on his face, remembering what she had done to Samantha Greengrass when the girl had asked for his Potions notes after missing a class due to ‘witch problems’. He thought they had got that side of Katie under control since that day. It looked like he had to keep a better eye out on her. When she rapped on the table to get his attention, he remembered that they were in the middle of a conversation.
“Neither do I, darling. Who says you’re not going to chase one of the blokes when you find out theirs is bigger.” Although he sounded calm and collected, his heart drummed erratically inside his chest.
He had spent his fair share of time in and around changing rooms and unfortunately, he’d have to admit that he was probably average at best compared to other wizards. Katie leaving him had a greater potential of happening than the other way around. Who’d want him?
“Don’t be silly love. Who could top your nine inches?”
Marcus smiled sourly. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for. It was bad enough he already knew the answer to that particular question. “Yeah, who? So, uh, are there any bacon rolls left?”
Thankfully, Katie got the hint, and the conversation quickly moved away from cock sizes to the plans they had for the weekend and what time lunch would be ready. Still, as Marcus made sure he had his mouth filled with whatever he could get his hands until they parted ways for the morning, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that the whole nine-inches lie was going to bite him in the arse one of these days.