Archive of Our Own

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Fall 1997

"I shouldn't be here, Draco," Pansy purred, her fingernails teasing the lace trim of those ridiculously tiny shorts—the ones that barely covered her arse, leaving just enough cheek to scandalize. They were the same shorts she wore when Draco, in all his reckless glory, would snort a line of cocaine off her navel during the late hours of a common room party. The fact that Pansy Parkinson hadn’t let him fuck her yet was a travesty."This is exactly where you should be, Parks. Theo’s in the library, Blaise is off snogging Tracey, and I told Crabbe and Goyle to stand guard outside. It’s just you and me,"Pansy had been dangling her cunt in front of him for years, teasing him mercilessly since the moment he knew what lust was. She had always just been out of reach—letting him finger her under the table during afternoon study sessions, giving him a dry, hurried handjob that left him aching for more, eventually wrapping those cherry-red lips around his cock on a few fleeting occasions. But tonight, he was finally going to fuck her.
Draco was going to lose his virginity. Theo had already bragged about losing his over the summer, and there was no way Blaise was going to beat him to it too. They were eighteen now, and the world outside was spiraling into chaos. The Carrows were running rampant through Hogwarts, Voldemort was living in his manor, and his father was slipping further into decay. Everything felt unstable, but this, this moment with Pansy, felt like something he could claim for himself.“I can’t keep doing this with you,” Pansy edged with simple manipulation. “My parents are going to marry me off to Theo, and I shouldn’t be defiled before my new husband even touches me”Pansy knew exactly what she was doing, throwing out a line like that. All he wanted was to defile her, to make sure Theo knew that Draco had been there first. It was petty, perhaps even cruel, but wasn’t everything in their world tainted with cruelty these days?Pansy had been his first crush, his first taste of something close to love—if you could even call it love. Maybe not, but he cared for her deeply in a way he hadn’t cared for anyone else. He knew their time was running out. His mother despised Pansy’s mother, and any marriage between their families, while logical, would never be agreed upon.He couldn’t help but wonder: how comfortable would Theo be with a wife who had already been shagged by his best mate? Although Theo didn’t seem to care much about the match, his eyes wandered to every skirt in the castle. And yet, the thought of Pansy belonging to someone else picked at Draco in a way he couldn’t quite name."If I can’t marry you, Pans, then at least let me have this. Let me have you first," Draco retorted with contriving desperation. He knew she could see right through him, just as he could see right through her. They were always two sides of the same coin, playing the same games.Pansy smirked, that feline curve of her lips that always told him he’d said just the right words to charm her. She moved to the edge of the bed where he sat, legs parted, silently inviting her in.Her hand found the contour of his jaw, delicate fingers trailing down its sharp line until her nail grazed over his lips. She pushed inward on the flesh just enough to feel the sting of her claws. "I want to leave this room satisfied," she huffed. "Do you think you can manage that? I’ve heard women don’t usually enjoy their first time, and I’d like to make sure that doesn’t happen to me."Her finger slipped past his lips, and Draco, unable to stop himself, sucked on it, moaning as his tongue swirled against her skin. He let it pop free, his hands already curling around the indent of her hips. With a hard tug, he wrenched her onto his lap, their bodies colliding."I can be gentle," he suggested. "Or I can be rough. Whatever you want—whatever will make you feel good." He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his nerves and desire warred within him.Pansy leaned in closer, her knees pressing into the bed on either side of his waist, her body settling deliciously into place. Her tone a whisper, her tongue brushing his ear. "How long can you last, Draco? How long before you lose control and cum?"She began to move, her hips rolling with excruciating slowness, pressing her heat against him through the thin silk of her shorts. Her cunt, plushy and warm, molded against the hardness straining in his trousers. Draco couldn’t stop the groan that bled from his throat."I could make you cum like this," Pansy continued, as she jutted back and forth on his length. "Just rubbing my pussy over your cock—I could make you lose it in your briefs, couldn’t I?"Her breath came faster now, and Draco’s eyes dropped to her collarbones, flexing as she grinded. He tightened his hold around her spine, his hands splayed against her, ensuring she couldn’t slip away even if she wanted to."Maybe," Draco grunted, "but I won’t."He flipped her onto her back, his body eclipsing hers into the mattress. His hands moved quickly to the buttons of her top, half ripping and half undoing . As the fabric pulled away, he palmed her bare breasts. Merlin, Pansy had incredible tits—full, bouncy, and practically begging for a cock to be pushed between them. His cock to be pushed between them.
Draco nuzzled his face in the valley of her breasts, dragging his tongue along her path of skin that separated left from right. His hips ground into the silk of her shorts that were already clinging to her dampening core. She was mewling, her nails tangling through his hair as he pressed her tits together, releasing them to let them jiggle naturally before taking a nipple into his mouth.He alternated between sucking and biting, while his other hand traced the bend of her neck, leaving blotchy red marks where he kissed and nipped. Pansy arched into him, beginning to pant."Let me lick you, Parks," Draco groaned. "Fucking please —let me taste your cunt." His lips trailed lower as he spoke, his words vibrating against her flesh. "I already know how you taste, love—like cinnamon and sin— I suck my fingers clean after you cum on them."His hands fastened on her hips, dragging her closer as he pressed his forehead against her stomach."Have you done this before?" Pansy gasped, her chest rising and falling as Draco’s tongue darted into her belly button then down to the trimmed hairs at her mound, pausing close to her slit."No," he rasped. "Tell me what’s good, and I’ll do it.""Gods, Draco," she moaned. “You’ve never been a good boy in your life, and now you’re trying to be one for me?""For your cunt." Draco chuckled darkly, flaring his nostrils as he bathed in her scent.
He lowered his mouth, his tongue dragging downward until it met her folds. The thick, oral muscle in his mouth easily slipped through the plushy muscles in her slit, exploring. When his tongue found her clit, he began flicking at the sensitive bud, testing her reactions. Pansy cried out, her arse bucking up."There—yes, yes, there ," she encouraged.Draco felt a surge of adrenaline at her response, surprised by how natural it felt to lose himself in her. Her taste was tangy, woody, and potent. It was a high unlike anything else—better than the burn of firewhisky or line of coke. He loved it . He’d decided he loved eating a woman’s cunt, despite what some men claimed about it being a chore. For Draco, it was an obsession in the making. The sound of her moans, the way her thighs trembled around his face, the way she grew wetter under his attention—it was all-consuming.Eager to push her further, he slipped a finger inside her. She was balmy, tight, and lush, and the way her walls clenched and her whine told him he was doing something right."How’s that? Good?" Draco murmured.Pansy whimpered her agreement, her nails spading into his shoulders."I’ll need to stretch you more," he warned. "Try to relax. I’ll make it as painless as I can."He pressed another finger inside—two this time—and felt the resistance immediately. Her walls constricted around him, pushing him out, her pussy clenching as if to reject the intrusion."Fucking hell," Pansy shouted, her head sinking back against the pillows as her body writhed. Draco froze for a moment, his heart hammering, watching the way her lips stretched around his fingers, pulling him in and trying to push him out all at once.He gulped hard, nearly bursting, he’d never seen anything so fucking hot before in his life. The pre-cum was soaking the inside of his briefs, staining the fine fabric—silk, woven to perfection—but he didn’t care. He’d ruin a thousand pairs of briefs for this. All he could think about was how it would feel to replace his fingers with his cock. To sink into her fully, to feel every inch of the pressure his fingers felt. The thought alone made him groan, his hips grinding involuntarily against the mattress as he tried to relieve some strain."Can you cum like this, Parks?" Draco prodded. He was holding on by a thread, determined not to ruin this."Yes, yes—just like that," Pansy shouted. "Keep doing that with your fingers, and put your tongue back on my clit."Draco dived back into her with a fervor he hadn’t known he possessed. His tongue twisted on her clit, his fingers pumping, and he couldn’t help but think that if he survived this war, anyone he shagged afterward would owe their pleasure to Pansy Parkinson.She kept trying to writhe away from the sensation so Draco held her down in place, as she began to come undone, her release striking like a match. She bellowed, and he nearly collapsed, ego swelling in his chest. The last shudders of her climax faded, and he kicked off the remaining scraps of fabric from his legs. His cock sprang free, hard, pulsing, and leaking. Her hands moved to unbutton his shirt, as she spread her legs wide open.Pansy had never been shy—something Draco had always admired about her."Want to put it in my mouth?" she asked. "Return the favour? That was a very well-executed job, Draco."She beamed at him, and Draco felt torn, the memory of her pouty lips wrapped around him nearly undoing him on the spot."If you even lick the tip, I’ll cum down your throat," he admitted with a groan, as he took himself in hand, positioning his cock at her entrance.Pansy’s big, doe-like eyes glazed up at him, batting playfully as if to say she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Draco could feel the heat radiating off her, the mess of her cunt beating against the tip of his length, and he knew he wouldn’t last long once he slipped inside her."Don’t you want to ruin me for Theo?" Pansy breathed. "Do you still have that lust potion in your drawer?"Merlin, this was why he loved her."Such a fucking snake, Parks," Draco rounded. "Gods, I love you."Draco leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her forehead, then turned toward the drawer by his bedside. Grabbing the small vial, he downed the lust potion like a shot.Almost immediately, he felt it blow through him. His heartbeat quickened, his blood roaring in his ears, and, impossibly, his cock swelled even harder. The intensity was dizzying, and he leaned over Pansy, running his fingers back through her folds to ensure she was just as wet as he’d left her.That’s when he felt it—the flick of her tongue darting out to the tip of his cock."Fuck," Draco grunted, his head falling back briefly before returning his focus to her. Pansy’s lips wrapped around him. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and she spluttered as he hit the back of her throat. He froze, his muscles taut as he hovered on the edge of emptying his bollocks.He was going to cum. He knew it—he could feel the pressure building, the tightening deep in his groin.Pansy laid back on the bed, mouth full of cock as Draco leaned over her, his fingers continuing their strumming. He wanted to keep her warmed up, keep her on the brink as he fucked her mouth. The wet, obscene sounds filled the confines of his dorm, and he knew he was pushing her limits, but she never faltered. Her throat tightened around him, and her hands gripped his thighs."Swallow," Draco rasped, his voice breaking as his bollocks tightened further. "Fuck—swallow."The first spurt hit the back of her gag, and she obeyed, her lips sealing around him like a vacuum. Draco let out a sound so primal, so animalistic, that for a fleeting moment, he wondered if the lust potion had stripped away some part of his humanity. His body shuddered violently, but it wasn’t over. Not even close. Thanks to the elixir, his cock was still rock-hard, pumping to go again. He looked down at Pansy, her mascara smudged and her face glistening with saliva, she met his stare as if she regretted suggesting the potion entirely."Gentle? Or rough?" Draco questioned, as he repositioned himself between her thighs. He slapped the head of his cock against her clit, as she wiped her mouth, smearing the remnants of her lipstick."Start gentle," she said, adjusting. Draco nodded back, his chest heaving as he lined himself up. Slowly, he pressed inward. Her body tensed, her breath paused as she winced under the stretch. For Draco, it was overwhelming—the bloody tightness—it was unlike anything he could have imagined, nothing he could replicate in thought or fantasy."Fucking… hell… bloody… fuck," he stammered. The pressure was too much, and he could feel her body gripping him, resisting and yielding all at once. Pansy took a ragged intake of breath betraying the sting she was feeling. Draco stopped immediately, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her."You alright?" he gasped with restraint as he held himself half in, half out of her, his cock throbbing against her pulsing lips. Each beat of blood in his veins begged him to slam forward, but he forced himself to wait, his palms fisting the sheets as he fought for control.Pansy exhaled slowly, her body relaxing by degrees as she nodded. "Yeah," she whispered. "Just… give me a second."Draco swallowed hard, his own breath shuddering as he stayed perfectly still, waiting for her signal. Every second stretching into an eternity as he held back the urge to move."Okay… deeper," Her voice was breathy but resolute.Draco didn’t hesitate, pushing forward until he was fully seated inside her, his balls pressing against her arse. He groaned loudly at the slide. Her fingernails dragged down his forearms, and he was fairly certain she’d drawn blood, but he didn’t care.
"Draco"
He spluttered for half a heartbeat, too far gone to tell if it was a praise or a plea."Clit? Clit?" he asked hastily, some small thread of clarity tugging at the edges of his lust-fueled daze. "You want something there?"Her eyes squeezed shut, and she bobbed rapidly.Draco dragged himself almost entirely out of her before thrusting back in, his eyes glued to the way her folds suctioned. It was mesmerizing. Fuck—her cunt was too good, and for a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he would beg his parents to let him marry Pansy.He pressed his thumb to the swollen bundle of nerves at her apex, rubbing circles as he picked up the pace of his drives. His chest beaded with sweat, as he pushed him to his limits, but all he could focus on was the way Pansy’s expression shifted—from a pained tension to a squishy satisfaction that was much more gratifying."Pans, tell me it’s good. Tell me I feel as good as you do. Fuck," he begged.
Pansy’s eyes fluttered open, her teeth catching on her bottom lip before she finally answered, "Of course you’d be good at this. Damn you." She managed just as her muscles clenched down around him, and she shook. Draco's head fell forward as her words—whether meant to stroke his ego or not— built his confidence brick by brick."Cum for me Parks, that’s my girl, cum for me," he growled, becoming more forceful, more insistent, as his thumb worked faster against her clit. "Draco, " she cooed."Potion? Charm? Can I—?" His words were garbled, half-formed, thankful Pansy had known him his whole life; she could read between the lines."Potion. Cum inside. Cum inside me,"
Draco grunted greedily, slamming his hips into hers with a roughness that had her whining and bucking in response. He shifted, lifting her leg to deepen his angle, and she screamed at the sudden depth. Without thinking, he spat on her clit, using the added slickness to rub even faster, trying to dull the ache he knew he was causing her.Draco was far too gone into frenzy—the way she moaned like a desperate little slut, the tight, unrelenting heat of her cunt, the breathless pants of pleasure and pain, the way her tits jiggled with every rough snap of his hips, her stiff nipples practically begging to be suckled. Pansy had done this to him; she’d unleashed a demon he’d never be able to cage."So good," Draco mumbled. "So fucking good. Making me cum—gods, you feel divine. You’re a fucking goddess, Pans. A goddess."Draco spilled an endless torrent of searing, white-hot cum into her depths until exhaustion crashed into him like the withdrawal of a lifetime. Filling two holes in one night—it was more than he’d dared to hope for.Draco moved onto his elbows, as his hands found her face, stroking her berry-coloured cheeks. Pansy was exhaling languidly, her body stretched and spent, her chest rising and falling in tandem with his."You did cum right… the second time?" he asked hesitantly."I did," Pansy gulped, her lips quirking into a tired smile. "You kept rolling my clit, so I just… didn’t say anything.”“You’re not lying to spare my feelings, are you?"Pansy laughed, and Draco felt her laughter undulate through her body, the sensation reaching his softening cock still nestled inside her. "Does that sound like something I’d do?""I meant it, Pans," he urged. "You’re a bloody goddess. Whatever happens—if you have to marry Nott, or if I…" He hesitated, the remembrance of reality creeping in as he tried to make light of it. "If I die—""Don’t," she interrupted."No, listen." He cupped her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. "I want you to know. Whatever happens between us, you’re a bloody goddess. Don’t let any man ever tell you otherwise."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Summer 1998

The pounding in his chest and the tightness in his throat were becoming secondary to the build in his trousers. Finally, he and Hermione were alone. For the past month, they'd been stealing kisses—messy, frantic, and all over the Burrow—but they were always interrupted.It was utter chaos—a madhouse of family and friends constantly checking in on them in the aftermath of the war. But bloody hell, Ron just wanted to get laid.They'd told his mum and dad they were spending the day at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ginny, helping to fix it up. In truth, Harry and Ginny were off in London, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the spare bedroom they used to stay in. They’d talked about this moment, Ron had been dreaming about it nightly—what it would be like, how she’d feel. And now, finally, it was going to happen.“You’re nervous,” she said quietly, glancing over at him. Her thighs were tucked neatly under her bum, her skirt blossoming around her knees. The top buttons of her cardigan were undone, and he swallowed hard.Was he trembling, or was he just blushing so furiously it felt like his skin was on fire? Of course, he was nervous. He was about to see her naked—completely naked—and she was going to touch him. Her hands, her bare hands, would be on his cock. The thought made him shudder, and he swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry.“Are you not?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.“I am,” she revealed. “It’s just… awkward, isn’t it?”
Fuck, this was what he’d been afraid of—that it would feel too familiar, too intimate for their usual dynamic.“It’s not awkward,” he said quickly, the words spilling out with a bit too much urgency. He couldn’t let that thought take root.“It’s sort of awkward,” she insisted, biting her lip. “That I’m going to feel pleasure in front of you. Pleasure that you’re giving me.”He swallowed, and he rubbed his chin as his cock jerked in response to her words.“Want to take it slower? Start with foreplay?” Ron asked. Hermione blushed at the suggestion, her eyes flitting away.“No, I want to do all of it,” she said with determined resolve.“It’s just…” He cleared his throat. “From what I’ve heard, it’s usually best to start with foreplay. You know, since this will be the first time anyone’s touched you there. Or me there.”Hermione’s face was as red as a garden tomato but she held her ground. “It’s alright,” she repeated, “I want all of it.”Her words lit a fire in him, but a flicker of doubt crept in. “It is, right?” he asked hesitantly. “The first time anyone’s… touched you there?” His thoughts unwillingly drifted to Viktor, and a pinch of insecurity nipped at his confidence.Hermione glanced away. “Yes,” she said softly after a pause. “It will be… the first.”There was something in her tone—just the faintest hesitation—that gave him pause. But he didn’t want to push her, not now, not when they were on the cusp of shagging.“What do you do to yourself? When you’re alone?” Ron asked. She looked up at him keenly, her teeth catching her bottom lip as she shifted closer on the bed, their faces almost level.“That’s private…” she hesitated.“It’s not. Not right now,” he countered. “I… I think about you often. At night,” he confessed, his stare dropping to her moistened lips. “The way you kiss me, the way your hands feel on my chest. Sometimes, I think about the night you curled into my bed back in the tent—how your body felt against mine. Picturing you… what you look like under this …” He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cotton collar of her shirt.“You do?” she whispered, gulping hard as a blush sprouted outward from her chest.“I do.” His voice was steady, somehow. “What works for you? Tell me, so I can try to replicate it. You’re always teaching me new things… think of it as a lesson,” he added with a teasing smirk, though he thought she could see the nervousness beneath it.She bit her lip again, glancing away. “Ron, this is embarrassing…”“I just told you I cum in my hand thinking about you cuddling me in a tent while we were being hunted by Voldemort. I think I can handle whatever you’re about to say.”Hermione let out a shaky breath. “A pillow,” she finally admitted. “Usually, if I… rock back and forth on it… it stimulates—”“Your clit,” he finished for her. She flashed crimson again, nodding.“Right. Let’s start there then,”Ron knew he’d need to take the lead, so he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it off. He felt Hermione’s eyes rake over his chest in the same way she analyzed her schoolwork.“Your scar,” she murmured, her eyes locking onto the jagged lines of healed, whitened skin that stretched across his armpit and shoulder where he’d been splinched. They’d faded into twisted tree roots against his freckled skin.“Sometimes it still aches,” he rasped as he reached out, tilting her chin up so their eyes met.“It does?” she asked, her curiosity unmistakable—likely academic, as always. He could see the wheels turning in her mind, and he knew he needed to shift the mood.“I think,” he started, his face forming a grin, “it might dull the ache if the witch who saved me… kissed it better.”Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding, and she swerved onto her knees to face him, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Her hands moved to his chest, searching his skin up and down, tracing the path they took over his shirt so many times before. Her nails brushed gently over the raised flesh, sending a spinal shiver to his groin. She lowered her head, her bottom lip parting as she pressed her mouth to his skin.“I was so frightened,” she whispered between kisses. “I’d never been that frightened. My mind didn’t know how to react…” Her lips moved down his chest. He tightened his clutch on her hips, his hands steadying her as his fingers dug in reflexively. “I thought I’d lose you.”“You’d never lose me, Hermione,” he finished. Tilting her chin back up to meet his eyes. He kissed her, their lips colliding in a way that felt different from all the times before. This wasn’t just a snog—something was about to change between them.His calloused fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, undoing them one by one while their mouths stayed fused together. When he reached the last button, he slipped the fabric from her shoulders, letting it glide down her arms until it was lost at the edge of the bed. Pulling back slightly, he took her in, his eyes appreciatively drinking in the bow of her breasts spilling from her bra.Without thinking, his palms began cupping her breasts as his thumbs brushed against the fabric. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the material down, freeing her. Her tits came into view, her nipples peaked and perfect. His hands moved inherently, his thumbs circling over the thin skin. He probably should have asked if it were okay to touch her like this, but he couldn’t stop himself. Their noses grazed against each other as Hermione’s eyes dropped, following the path of his hands.“Does that feel good?”“Yes,” she breathed. Ron slid his thigh between her parted legs, guiding her to settle over him, straddling both sides. She looked back up at him as his hands never left her chest.“Use my thigh like your pillow,” he murmured. “Rub back and forth.”One of her hands gripped his shoulder for balance, the other trailing down to rest against his stomach. He adjusted his leg, and she gasped. “It’s firmer,”
“I’d hope so,” he teased, grinning as she began to rock against it. He watched her intently, on the changes in her expression, her brows knitting together, her lips parting, her eyes squinting. Leaning in, he kissed her again, this time more urgent, her breasts pressing against his bare chest as he began helping guide her movements.“Oh… oh,” Hermione moaned, her head tipping back slightly. The sound was unlike anything he’d ever heard from her, and it set his body alight. His cock throbbed, begging to be let out as he struggled to keep his focus.“Fuck,” he swore into her mouth. The friction against his leg, combined with the heat of her body, was borderline cruel.Her movements faltered for a moment, and her delicate fingers slid down, brushing over the length of his erection through his trousers. He bucked at the touch, his head falling against her shoulder for a second before lifting to meet her stare again.“I’ve always wondered,” she questioned, her eyes daring. “If yours or Harry’s cock was bigger.”Ron paused, blinking at her in disbelief. “What? Why are you thinking about Harry’s cock?” He stilled her movements, pulling back to look at her incredulously.She laughed, the sound breaking the tension just enough. “Not like that… I just… I had this thought that maybe you two would compare, and it’d be something I’d feel left out of,” she explained.Ron rolled his eyes, resuming the steady rocking of her hips. “Mine’s bigger,” he growled into her ear.Hermione moaned before whispering, “Can I see it?”Her hands were already at his belt, deft and confident in a way that took him by surprise. The sight of her undoing his buckle was spirituous, and when her hand groped under the spandex, her palm felt like raw magic sparking.She gripped him tightly, her fingers squeezing along his base before freeing him from his zipper. Ron looked down, mesmerized by the sight of her hand wrapped around him, her fingers barely able to encircle his girth. Hermione started to move faster, grinding against his thigh with a newfound priority as she stroked him. He already felt himself on the brink.“Gods,” he grunted through gritted teeth, his cock twitching in her hand, pre-cum slicking her fingers as she continued.
“Ronald, I’m…” Hermione gasped, as he began moving her back and forth more forcefully. The pressure on his cock abated slightly as her focus wavered and Ron was entirely consumed by the way her body responded. Her face tightened, her mouth falling open, her eyes squeezing shut as her head rolled back onto her neck. Her breasts bounced, catching the light as she moaned—loudly, gloriously.“Oh, Ronald …” she cried.Ron had long since realized that when she used his full name, it usually meant she was angry with him, scolding him, or trying to make a point. But the way she said it now—so raw, so full of lust and surrender—he never wanted to hear it in any other tone again.“Are you cumming?” he asked, his voice husky and awestruck. “Fuck, is this what it looks like? You’re beautiful, Hermione. Bloody beautiful.”She stilled, her chest heaving as she panted wildly. Sliding off his thigh, Hermione shifted back, and Ron looked at the obvious wet spot on his khaki-colored trousers. The sight set his mind ablaze—he couldn’t wait to spread her wide and see her like that again.But before he could act on the thought, Hermione was on her elbows and knees, her fingers tugging at the waistband of his pants. His cock, already peeking out, sprang free, leaving him naked while she remained in that damn skirt. Without warning, Hermione dipped her head between his legs, and before he could even form a coherent thought, her lips sheathed his cock.“Gods… fuck … ’Mione,” he groaned. Her tongue darted out, swirling around the tip, and his body no longer belonged to him.
She pulled off suddenly, a string of saliva connecting the tip of his cock to her bottom lip as she looked up at him, concern flashing in her irises. “What? Is that okay? Am I doing something wrong?”“No, fuck no,” he rasped, his chest heaving. “Just… how do you—where did you…” He cringed, unsure how to finish the question.“You don’t want to know,”
“Ah, yes, I do,” he countered, a flame of jealousy sparking. “Especially if it was with—”“Your sister,” she interrupted quickly. “Sixth year. She showed me using engorged sugar quills.”Ron’s face twisting into a grimace. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.” Despite himself, the image wasn’t enough to deflate his arousal. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on her instead. “But ahh … I don’t think I’ll last…”“That’s alright,” she murmured. “I’d like to taste your cum, actually. I’ll swallow it and everything. I’ve been told men prefer that, and that way you can last longer when you’re inside me.”Ron’s world stopped. He patted at the sheets beneath him, half convinced he was dreaming. Hermione Granger, his best friend, had just told him she wanted to swallow his cum. He didn’t think anything could top this moment—except maybe the thought of her cunt, which, if it felt better than this, would undoubtedly kill him.Her lips returned to his cock, working him with combined suction and swallowing licks. She’d stroke the base with her hand when her gag reflex caught her, and Ron was certain he wouldn’t survive. The mouth on her— her determination — was driving him mental.He struggled not to grip her head too tightly, cautious not to hurt her, but his control was slipping. The telltale pulse began to build, the thrumming tension starting at the base of his spine and surging forward.“Hermione— fuck, fuck, fuck …” he swore, as the climax overtook him. His cock twitched, spilling into her throat, and she stilled, gulping around him as if she’d done this a thousand times before. The swallow of her throat sent aftershocks through his body, and all Ron could think was how Hermione Granger, brilliant and endlessly surprising, had just added blow-jobs to the ever-growing list of ways she could bring him to his knees.He was breathing uncontrollably as she pulled away, wiping her lips with the back of her hand and smiling up at him. He was grinning back, wide and unrestrained.“Do you want me to get on you now?” she asked, her tone casual, all awkwardness now gone. Her legs poised to straddle him again, but he stopped her with a gentle hand.“Not yet,” he croaked, still foggy with post-climax haze. “I’d like to eat you out.”Hermione hesitated, her hands nervously brushing against the mesh of her skirt. “Are you sure? I was told… that men find it a chore,” she said cautiously.He shook his head. “I’d like to learn that for myself,” he replied. “But unlike you, I haven’t been… practicing.”She rolled her eyes at his jab.“So, can you coach me?” he asked, as he flipped her onto her back.His hands moved down her sides, before settling at her stomach, coaxing her legs to part further.“Spread these—I want to look at you,” Ron mumbled, as he took her knees and pushed them wide. He was greeted with the sight of her white knickers, soaked through to the delicate string fabric that disappeared between her arse cheeks.With shaky hands, he reached out, running his fingers up her thighs before hooking one under the gusset of her underwear. He peeled it to the side, and the scent hit him immediately—earthy, lusty. It smelled oddly like home, though he decided to keep that thought to himself. But that wasn’t the best part, it was her cunt, glistening and flushed, with wetness clinging to every fleshy surface between her legs. Holy Merlin, help him. Ron had seen some Muggle pornography before, but nothing could have prepared him for this—her, open and real, the slight parting of her lips and the way they pulsed faintly with the rhythm of her need.Unable to resist, he slid a finger inside. Hermione let out a yelp, her body jerking at the intrusion, and he halted for a moment, unsure. The suction and compression around just one of his fingers was almost too much to comprehend. How is this going to work? he thought, his cock throbbing at the idea. Tentatively, he pressed another finger in, feeling her body stretch, but when she tensed again, he worried he’d hurt her. To soothe, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the soft mound of skin just above where his fingers disappeared.“I like the feel of your mouth with your fingers,” she urged. Ron nodded, his lips glistening as he continued to work. The taste of her coated his tongue, and he moved his fingers delicately in and out. He licked every part of her he could find, though he wasn’t entirely sure where her clit was.“A little to the left,” she breathed.He adapted, flattening his tongue to cover as much as he could.“Oh, that—yes,”His jaw ached, unused to the exertion he was keeping, but he didn’t stop. This would take practice—a lot of practice—but she was enjoying it, her moans growing louder. One of his hands kneaded her tits, while his other hand continued to pump into her. He could feel her opening up more, and his cock was already at full attention again, pulsing against his stomach. She was sopping wet, drenching his fingers and chin as he kept at it, determined to wring as much juices from her as possible. His tongue worked tirelessly until he heard her whisper his name.
“Ronald…”
That voice—fuck, she could ask him anything in that tone, and he’d do it without question.“ Mmhmm,” he hummed.“I want you inside me,”The words were a melody to his ears, church bells ringing or the sound of dinner being called—everything he’d been waiting to hear. He pulled back, withdrawing his hands and his mouth. His hands gripped her calves, pulling her down the bed until his cock was dripping against her entrance.Hermione Granger, stunningly beautiful, laid out before him. The woman she’d grown into, the woman who had caused him a lot of confusing emotions during his adolescence. Now, looking at her body— bloody fuck, the things he was going to do to it. Every chance he got.He wanted to see it—how her cunt would take him. He’d always been fascinated by it, ever since the fifth year when he’d watched porn Fred and George stole, unable to tear his eyes away from the moments when the camera zoomed in on the penetration. But this? This was different. This was real. This was him —his cock, slipping into Hermione.As his tip edged in, he felt a second of resistance, and Hermione grimaced.“All at once,” she mewled, despite the tension in her face. “Just put it in all at once.”Ron grunted, steeling himself before thrusting forward, pushing himself as deep and as fast as he could. A roaring groan bellowed from his chest as Hermione let out a pained yelp, her body clenching tightly around him.“Okay, okay—are you okay?” he asked quickly. The pleasure he felt was indescribable, but he couldn’t help the guilt, knowing the pain she was likely experiencing. He stayed still.“Gods, you’re… girthy, ” she muttered. Ron glanced down to where their bodies were joined. As he pulled back, he noticed a faint streak of blood on himself. Panic flared—he hoped she wouldn’t notice or feel embarrassed enough to ask him to stop.“You’re okay?” he asked again.“I’m okay,” she reassured him. “Keep going.”He pushed forward again, his hips flush with her thighs, her hot, tight cunt pulling him into a fog of pleasure.“This feels so bloody selfish,” he sighed, his head spinning as she continued to squirm. “You feel… fucking incredible.”“Are you going to cum?” Hermione’s voice shook, and worry instantly flooded him. He stopped moving, his heart pounding.“You aren’t enjoying it?”
She bit her lip, hesitating. “It… it hurts,”“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his tone frantic, pleading internally that she wouldn’t say yes, even though he hated how fucking self-serving that sounded.“Maybe a lubricating charm?” she suggested. Relieved to have a solution, Ron scrambled for his wand in the tangled sheets and muttered the incantation he typically used on his hands. A gel spread between them as the charm seeped into her slit, and he greedily moved back and forth, making sure it was pushed inside her.“Better?” he asked, his voice full of hope.She nodded, though her expression was unconvincing. “Your hand… maybe on…”“Right, your clit,” he said quickly, cursing himself. “Fuck, sorry—”He adjusted himself, fumbling to find the right angle as he slid back inside her, this time more carefully. He began circling her nub as his hips fell back into pace. Hermione’s body gradually relaxed beneath him, her breathing evening out.“Is that better?” he asked, his forehead damp with sweat as he focused on the motions of his hand.
“Yes,”

Although she occasionally guided his fingers back when they wandered too far left or right. Her body started responding, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts. Ron’s head tipped back, his chest heaving as he tried to keep steady. Her cunt felt like heaven—tight, wet, and impossibly warm. He didn’t think he’d ever want to stop. All he wanted was to keep her like this—naked, his cock buried inside her, her tits in his hands. Suddenly, he felt her constrict around him, and his eyes snapped back to hers.“Keep your hand there. Keep thrusting,” she gasped.Ron’s knees buckled as he obeyed. “I’m cumming… I’m cumming,” he pleaded, unable to hold back as she tightened even more, dragging everything out of him. He emptied into her with a growl. And then it hit him.“Wait—I shouldn’t…” he stammered, pulling out quickly, as he realized half his cum had spilled inside her, the rest pooling on her clit and dripping onto Harry’s sheets.“Shit—sorry. I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he spluttered, as he stared at the mess.“I cast the contraceptive charm as soon as we got to Grimmauld,” she panted.Of course, she had. He glanced down between her legs, taking in the sight. He reached out to run his hand through her messy folds, his fingers brushing her slit. Hermione flinched.“We’ll get to a point where it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he soothed.“I know,” Hermione replied. “Perhaps we will try again… tomorrow?” Her chocolatey eyes flicked from his face down to his half-hard cock.Ron beamed, leaning back and running a hand through his damp hair. “I think the kitchen still needs a lot of refurbishing,” he added, grinning. “I’m sure Mum and Dad would understand our need to come… daily.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Summer 1998 "I'm not just going to let you win. You're going to have to earn it,"
Harry tossed his broom over his shoulder as Ginny touched down beside him, holding the glinting Snitch he’d caught mid-flight.
"Yeah, well, you’ve got a bloody Firebolt, and I’m stuck on a Cleansweep. Trade me brooms, Potter, and we’ll see who wins," she retorted, rolling her eyes.Harry smirked, twirling the Snitch between his fingers. "It’s not about the broom, it’s about the player.""Oh, is it now?" Without warning, she jabbed the handle of her broom into his stomach, catching him off guard. Harry doubled over with a groan."Oops. My bad," she joked, as she spun and sauntered down the field, hips swaying.Harry straightened up, rubbing his stomach, but his leer followed her. Gods help him—he really did love the view of her arse in those snug Quidditch tights.Life at the Burrow had been hectic since the war. Molly and Arthur had insisted none of them stay at Grimmauld Place overnight, only allowing visits during the day. Harry respected their rules—after all, they’d been parents to him—and he wouldn’t dream of pushing those boundaries. Not that it made his increasingly inappropriate thoughts about their daughter any easier to manage.He sighed, running a hand through his hair. The Burrow was always bustling with people, and privacy was a rare commodity. Meanwhile, he was fairly certain Ron and Hermione were using the pretense of "refurbishing" the kitchen at Grimmauld as an excuse to shag in every corner of his house.That train of thought led to another unfortunate realization: he’d need to properly Scourgify the sheets in Regulus’s old room before he could ever sleep there again.Harry and Ginny had been trying to steal more moments alone since the battle. Time together felt as fleeting as a Snitch in the sky. They’d snog in the loo, hands roaming in desperation—his sliding up her thighs, hers teasing the front of his trousers—but things never got far enough. Harry’s nerves didn’t help.Ginny had been with someone before— Dean —and he hadn’t. He tried not to dwell on it, but sometimes the thought crept in. If he’d known before the war, he likely would have thought twice about helping Dean escape the dungeons at Malfoy Manor. That was an exaggeration, Dean was a decent bloke, and it wasn’t his fault Harry had been too blind to see what was right in front of him back then.Once, he’d tried asking Ginny how many times she and Dean had shagged. She’d answered vaguely, which was surprising. Ginny wasn’t usually one to skirt a topic. So many of her qualities reminded Harry of her family—kind and empathetic like Molly and Arthur, tough and bullheaded like Charlie or Bill. But when it came to her crass humour, her ability to say the filthiest things without a hint of embarrassment, that was pure Fred and George.It was maddening, really—how easily she could leave him flushed and tongue-tied with a well-timed remark, while she carried on without so much as a blink.Harry followed Ginny into the shed, the humid evening air clinging to their skin. Dinner would be soon, and they both hung their brooms side by side as the wind nudged the door closed with a loud
thud.Ginny turned at the noise, glancing through the small window at the Burrow in the distance, then back at him. Her hair swung as she moved, catching the fading sunlight.“We’ve got twenty minutes until dinner,” she said conspiratorial. “I know you’re waiting for the perfect moment, Harry, but I don’t think it’s coming.”Before he could reply, Ginny lunged forward, her lips crashing into his. The tang of sweat and salt filled his taste buds as she kissed him fiercely, catching him off guard. He kissed back, trying to keep up with her, but his mind scrambled to process her words—until her hand slid over the growing bulge in his trousers, and everything clicked.“Gin—Gin!” Harry stepped back, his hands landing on her shoulders. Her wide, determined eyes were heavy on his. “We can’t do this. Not here. Not now. Your parents could walk in any second!” he stammered.“If my mum walked in with you bollocks-deep in my quim, she’d probably hold you there to make sure she got your grandbabies,” Ginny said with a scoff, her tone entirely too casual.“Fucking Christ—that’s crass!” Harry blushed, feeling the heat crawl up his neck. Once again, he couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly Fred-and-George-ish she could be in such moments.Ginny’s expression softened, though her grin remained teetering in place. “If you want to keep waiting, that’s fine. I’m just saying, you’re putting way too much pressure on this.” She shrugged, and turned toward the door. It was clear she intended to head back to the house, leaving him alone to stew.But Harry’s hand shot out, grabbing hers before she could leave. “Gin—wait.”Didn’t she know how much he wanted her? Each night, lying in Ron’s room listening to his snores, Harry thought about sneaking into hers. He wanted her in ways that consumed him, but the thought of Arthur or Molly catching them always stopped him cold.“It’s just…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words. “Your parents have been—”Ginny cut him off. “Let’s just hope it’s Mum that catches us, not Dad. I am still his little girl, after all.” She twisted the lock on the shed door with a click, as she turned back to him.Harry gulped, his heart racing—but all the blood that had been pounding in his heart suddenly found another destination. Ginny raised an eyebrow, and he knew there was no turning back now."I want this to be good for you," Harry said, his voice shaky as Ginny sank to her knees. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. "I don’t want you to do this just for me."Ginny looked up at him. "It will be good for me. It’s not my first time, Harry. It won’t hurt." She added the last part with a reassuring smile, but it only made Harry's jealousy spike.He sighed, reaching down to grab her hand. "How many times have you… uh … done this?" The question burned on his tongue. He hated asking, but he needed to know.Ginny tilted her head thoughtfully, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. "A few dozen. The first four or five times weren’t great, but after that, it got better. A lot better. Dean—""Please, don’t mention him," Harry cut her off, wincing. The thought of her and Dean was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head.Ginny nodded, as she reached for the hem of her shirt. She pulled it over her head, her sports bra shifting as her movements pressed her breasts together. Harry’s focus faltered, his eyes helplessly drawn to the bust of her chest as she pushed the bra down to her ribs, tucking the straps beneath her tits. They were so perfectly framed that every lucid thought he had dissolved."You know," she teased. "I’d close my eyes and picture you. I’ve wanted this for far longer than you have.."Her breath ghosted against the fabric of his trousers as her hand began to rub him through the material. Harry let out a shaky exhale, his back pressing into the old workbench behind him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of her palm and the words she’d just spoken.Ginny Weasley was going to be the death of him. Not Crouch, not Umbridge, not Bellatrix, not Dolohov, not even Voldemort—no, after surviving all of that, it would be Ginny Weasley who finished him off."I won’t last," Harry gritted out."That’s alright," Ginny replied. "I’m going to suck your cock, you’re going to cum down my throat whenever you want to, and I’ll get so wet from the feel of your cum on my tongue that you’ll bend me over the tool bench and fuck me senseless."She rolled down the front of his pants, freeing him, and Harry groaned. Ginny’s fingers wrapped around his shaft, her touch far more confident than his, as she began to stroke. From his vantage point, Harry had a perfect view of the house, and he couldn’t help but glance toward the windows to make sure no one was coming to look for them.Ginny caught his hesitation. Her lips hovered close to the tip of his cock, her hands steady as she aimed him directly toward her mouth."Can you hold my hair back?" she asked, nudging his hands toward her head. Harry fumbled for a moment, gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail. The second her tongue touched him, tracing along the base with a wet stroke, he let out a groan so deep it seemed to rattle every Muggle contraption on Mr. Weasley’s workbench."Ahmmm," she moaned around him, the vibration sending punches up his spine. Her tongue worked as if he were a sugar quill, her movements were unapologetically messy. Drool slipped from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin and gathering at the swell of her freckly tits.Harry’s hand found its way to her chest, flicking her nipples as he guided her head. Her mouth was magic—no, angelic. Getting his cock sucked was already a revelation, but having Ginny be the one doing it made it transcend anything he could have imagined."Fuck, that’s good… you look so sexy," he groaned, the words spilling out without thought.And she did. Sweat slicked her skin, mingling with the dirt from their earlier Quidditch match. Her hands and knees were dusty, her face streaked, and she was still in those tight, goddamn Quidditch pants. Her arse arched high in the air as she bobbed her head back and forth, unrestrained, utterly intoxicating."If you like this, you’re going to die when you feel my cunt," she said, pulling off him with a pucker, still stroking him steadily. Saliva bubbled at the corners of her lips, her face completely debauched."Are you adding to the long list of attempts on my life?" Harry breathed. Ginny’s eyes went wild at his words, a mischievous wink flashing through them."Gods, I’m going to make sure you cum in every one of my holes," she purred before taking him back into her mouth, her lips sliding over him with a dangerous strength. She sucked like a bloody Dementor, her cheeks hollowing as she ran her tongue along his length, her hand squeezing his balls.Harry’s hips jerked, thrusting deeper into her mouth as his face contorted. It wasn’t pretty—he was grimacing, almost embarrassingly so—but the wet heat of her throat was undoing him. He could feel the build-up surging through him, molten and unstoppable until he hit the soft flesh at the back of her gag.“Gin… you're fucking filthy," he growled, the words poured out unbidden. He wasn’t sure he’d ever said anything like that in his life, but Ginny—panting, gagging, and snorting around his cock—was driving him to the brink. She swallowed his cum with a greed that made his knees weak, the thick, creamy load spilling past her lips and foaming down her neck. Ginny finally pulled off.
“Stand up,” Harry urged, hauling her upwards. She grabbed at his arms to steady herself, but he spun her around and slammed her against the workbench. The peeling paint pressed against her pretty face as Harry’s hand came down hard on her arse—a stinging, punishing slap that slashed through the shed. It was instinctive, an intrusive thought he’d harboured for a solid two years every time he saw her on a broom ahead of him, her perfect rear taunting him. He’d always wanted to spank her. And now, finally, he could.Ginny cried out as his hand met the tight spandex of her Quidditch pants again, her body jerking at the contact. His cock, still leaking, began to harden once more.“You like this, don’t you? How wet are you, Gin? Gods—I need to see your lovely cunt. I just know it’s going to be gorgeous. Every bit of you is gorgeous.”Without waiting for a reply, he hooked his fingers into her waistband and dragged her pants down to her ankles. She wasn’t wearing knickers—not that he was surprised. He’d always looked for the panty line, unable to find one, and now he knew why.Ginny was bent over the workbench, the elastic of her sports bra branding into her back, her spandex around her ankles as though binding her there. Her arse was toned and rounded, a masterpiece of Quidditch training. Harry couldn’t help himself; he spanked her again, his palm landing with a satisfying crack that left her skin blooming red.Ginny gasped, and when he spread her cheeks open, giving him a view he’d only dreamed of, Harry nearly came. Her cunt was everything he’d imagined: a few freckles dusting her lips, guarding a glistening pink slit, coated with arousal.
“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice reverent as he ran his fingers through her folds, marveling at their peachy feel.Ginny moaned, her arse wriggling back. “Yes, there…” she pleaded“That feels nice?” Harry asked, his voice shaky as he pushed two fingers inside her, her walls clenching around him like a velvet vice.“Harry” she whined, her head turning slightly, hot with lust as her hips rocked in time with his hand."GINNY, HARRY—DINNER!" Molly’s voice boomed magically through the air, reverberating in the evening like a thunderclap.Harry froze, whipping around to glance through the workshop windows. Sure enough, her parents were bustling in the kitchen. Fuck. “You better fuck me now—we don’t have much time,” Ginny keened, as she threw her hips back, pressing the tip of his cock against her cunt.Harry groaned, too horny to care about the precarious situation. They were separated by multiple walls, and Ginny’s heat was calling to him like a siren’s song. Straightening up, he grabbed her hips and pushed into her.Her walls strangled him, soaked and so warm it made his head spin. “Gods,” he gasped, dragging himself out just to thrust back in, spreading her arse cheeks apart to watch her lips stretch around him. The days of guilt that she was his best mate's little sister he was desperate to fuck were long gone.He slapped her arse again. Ginny whimpered, but her body bucked back. “You did tell me this cunt would be the death of me,” Harry grunted, feeling his ribcage rattling with the euphoria.“I’ve always been a slut for you, Harry. You’ve just never known how to use me.” Her tone stoked the fire in his chest.Harry didn’t reply; he couldn’t. His focus narrowed as he slammed into her, her arse cheeks clapping against his adonis belt. Ginny’s cries only fueled him, purring between gasps.“You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you? I should’ve known by the way you’ve drooled over me all these years,” he growled. He wasn’t sure he was good at dirty talk, but Ginny seemed to love it, squirming and mewling in response.“I’ve wanted you for ages,” Ginny moaned. “I hope that my cunt is good enough for the Chosen One.”Harry hated how that worked, as she spread her legs wider, letting him sink even deeper. He stilled for a moment. Then, he felt her hand slide between her legs, fingers working her clit.“Let me,” Harry rasped, as he leaned over her, his hand snaking around her side. “I’m usually pretty good at finding small things others can’t.”Ginny let out a giggle, but it dissolved into a whine as his fingers slid through her slick folds. She was so wet that his hand glided easily until he found it—that hardened nub at her center. Her walls beat around him the moment he touched it.“This your golden clit, Gin? Is this what I need to rub to make you cum for me?” he taunted, now darkly confident as he slammed into her again.“Yes! Spank me again—spank me again!”His hand came down hard, and at the same time, he twisted the bundle of nerves beneath his fingers. Ginny’s knees gave in, her body collapsing forward, and Harry caught her weight between his legs and the workbench, never stopping the relentless thrusting of his cock.Ginny wailed as she came, her body shuddering in his grasp. Harry felt the tight pull of his release barreling forward, and he let himself go."Gods-fucking-dammit,"
Harry was the luckiest man alive—his girlfriend was a cum slut and was proving to be every bit the insatiable minx he'd dreamed of."Fill me," Ginny gasped, spurring him on until the last ropes of cum spurted into her.Ginny reached down with a satisfied little sigh, tugging her spandex back up over her thighs as he trickled down her legs. "We should get inside," she finished casually.Before he could reply, she clasped his face between her hands and kissed him, her lips bruising into his. She adjusted her sports bra with a tug, her hair wild and her smile dazzling as she opened the door. Harry stood there for a moment, stunned, his chest still heaving.
"Kids, you're filthy!" Molly scolded as Ginny and Harry barged into the house, their disheveled appearance betraying their hasty attempts to look like they'd been playing a rough game in the air rather than sneaking off to shag in the shed. Behind them, Ron and Hermione descended the stairs, both looking equally guilty. A telltale love bite bloomed on Hermione's neck, her hair a tangle, while Ron's rosy face and half-zipped trousers said more than words ever could."We’ll shower after dinner. I’m starving," Ginny said breezily, her face so obviously freshly fucked that Harry was proudly determined to keep her glowing like that every day. They took their seats at the far end of the table, food began to appear on the creaking wooden surface. The usual lively chatter filled the room, and Ginny, with a sly glance to make sure no one was watching, slid Harry’s hand under the table. Guiding his fingers against her bare skin, slipping beneath the spandex fabric to find his release still sticky between her thighs. Harry’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with lust as he withdrew his hand, staring at her in stunned disbelief."Oh, Harry," Ginny said with an unholy grin, her cadence low enough to escape notice. "You’ve got a bit of cream on your finger." Before he could respond, she leaned forward and licked his fingers clean. Harry felt his stomach plummed, desire roaring through him as Hermione’s eyes darted disgustedly toward them.
Making it clear she’d realized what was happening, but thankfully, no one else had.Ginny whispered, "I may need a spanking later for that."Harry leaned closer, a groan only she could hear. "Your arse is about to be as red as your hair."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Spring 1999

She had three weeks left of classes before leaving Hogwarts behind. Ginny was set to join the Holyhead Harpies as a Chaser, aiming to earn the Seeker position within the year.

Her relationship with Harry had ended over a month ago—though, if she were honest, it should have ended at least four months earlier. Harry and Ron had opted not to return for the unofficial "Eighth Year" offered to those who felt the war had disrupted their education. Instead, they both dove straight into Auror training. With Harry and Ginny rarely seeing each other, their breakup had felt inevitable. They had tried—Ginny would give them that—but after years of life being so relentlessly hard, neither of them wanted their relationship to add to the list of challenges. These were meant to be the years of fun, after all.

Ginny had a sneaking suspicion that Ron and Hermione were heading down a similar path. Hermione had completed a half-year at Hogwarts to finish her NEWTs before jumping straight into an internship at the Ministry. According to Hermione’s increasingly exasperated letters, Ron’s jealousy over every man in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who so much as spoke to her was driving them both mad. Their relationship seemed to be teetering on the brink of collapse, and Ginny couldn’t say she was surprised.

She needed the prefects' bath more than ever after weeks of rigorous training that left every muscle in her body strained and aching. Pushing open the door hidden behind the statue of Boris the Bewildered, Ginny sighed in relief, grateful for the perks of being a prefect. The showers in Gryffindor Tower simply didn’t cut it.

The room greeted her with a dense fog of steam, the scent of eucalyptus, and—more aggravatingly—a soaking, smirking Theodore Nott. He was naked, his torso glistening, while the lower half of his body was hidden beneath a mountain of bubbles.

“Nott, what the fuck are you doing here? I had this bath reserved,” Ginny snapped, dropping her bag of toiletries onto the marble floor with a clatter.

“Lovely to see you too, Weasley,” Theo drawled, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “But last I checked, you’re ten minutes early for that reservation.”

Ginny glared. “And it’s common courtesy for the prior user to be finishing up in those ten minutes.”

Theo’s smirk widened. “Well, I haven’t even wanked yet. That’ll take me at least ten minutes, maybe five if you keep standing there.”

Ginny’s cheeks flushed, though she wasn’t sure if it was from annoyance or…

intrigue

. She’d heard all about Theodore Nott’s reputation: the incorrigible flirt who chased after anyone in a skirt and whose escapades were the stuff of whispered dormitory gossip. Rumours of his impressive…

attributes

and wicked tongue were enough to make her shift uncomfortably under his stare. And now, catching him nude soaking in the bath wasn’t helping matters. It had been too long since Harry, and if she was honest, her broomstick had started looking like a viable alternative these days.

“Disgusting,” Ginny said, pulling herself together. “I hope you at least Scourgify the tub when you’re done.”

Unwilling to leave, Ginny hung up her bag, determined to stand her ground. This was her scheduled time, and if Theo wanted to interfere, she’d make it as difficult as possible for him.

“I’m sure this bath has seen worse,” Theo replied. “I heard Diggory and Chang used to do anal in here.”

Ginny shot him a grimace, but before she could respond, Theo’s smug grin faltered as she reached for her skirt’s waistband. Without hesitation, she pulled it off, tossing it aside with purposeful nonchalance. She was down to her knickers, peeling off the last bit of her top. She stood there in her bra as Theo's throat bobbed noticeably.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in. Ever heard of sharing?” Ginny replied breezily, sliding out of her knickers before unclasping her bra.

Theo drank her in. Ginny felt a heady power in the way his posture stiffened, his shoulders rolling back as he tried—

and failed

—to look unaffected.

“There’s plenty of room for both of us,” he said, attempting his usual cocky tone. But the faint crack in his voice betrayed him.

Ginny grinned at his bravado, then stepped into the water, wading up to her calves. Theo’s eyes never left her body. She felt his stare on her breasts, then lower—bold and unflinching. Bending down to retrieve her toiletry bag hanging on the edge, she caught him tilting his head, shamelessly checking out her backside. The move reminded her all too much of Harry.

“Quit staring at my arse, Nott,” she said, straightening. “You’re giving me flashbacks to Harry.”

Theo stretched his arms along the edge of the tub as if he owned it. “It’s a fantastic arse, Weasley. Can’t blame a bloke.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and with a deep breath, she plunged under the water. The heat swallowed her whole, melting away the tension in her muscles like a massage. When she broke the surface, she spat out a mouthful of suds, standing tall as droplets ran in rivulets down her skin. She pushed her hands back through her wet hair, then trailed them over her tits.

Theo’s lips parted, and his eyes were now black and lust-fueled. He shifted where he sat, and Ginny couldn’t help but wonder if his cock was hard. Was it naughty to be curious? Was she turning him on?

The idea of Theo watching her—hungrily, shamelessly—was

definitely

turning her on.

“Gods, that feels good,” Ginny murmured, swimming to the opposite side of the bath. She leaned back against the side, tilting her head to bask in the moonlight. The water rippled in the stillness, and she was keenly aware that Theo, now sitting nine feet away, was at the perfect eyeline to her chest.

“I could make you feel even better,” he groveled. “Tongue or cock, Weasley—take your pick. I’m here to serve.”

Ginny’s laughed at his brashness. She had known Theo could only keep his composure for so long.

“I’ve heard delightful tales of both,” she sneered.

Theo quirked a brow. “From who?”

He stood, water cascading from his body, and Ginny’s eyes widened as she got a full frontal view of him. His cock was rigid, standing tall to his navel, water dripping from its length. Theo wrapped a hand around the base, stroking himself leisurely. Now it was her turn to stare.

“Parvati,”

“Ah, Patil,” Theo mused, continuing his motion. “She was a fan of my tongue—if I’m remembering the right sister.”

Ginny’s breathing grew unsteady. “Romilda.”

“Vane,” Theo added. “She’s a squirter. Definitely cock for her.” He pressed his thumb to the tip, teasing himself with a drag over the oozing slit, and Ginny’s pulse thundered in her ears.

It was her turn to strike back. Shifting onto the edge of the tub, she spread her legs, and Theo’s hand stopped mid-motion. She pinched her nipples on her way down her stomach and slipped her palms between her thighs. She gasped at her own touch, two fingers plunging inside as Theo swore under his breath.

“I’m going to get into trouble for this,” he muttered, sinking back into the tub.

He swam toward, his broad shoulders gliding through the water, steam rising around him. Theo’s hair clung to his forehead, and Ginny couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked—cheeky grin, dark eyes, chiseled jaw.

“Trouble?” she purred, her fingers circling her clit before dipping back into herself.

“One of my best mates has fancied you for ages,” Theo admitted, his voice tight as his hands slid to her knees, parting them further. “You’re off-limits, but you’re tempting as hell.”

“Salazar,” Ginny teased but her chest was heaving. “Don’t tell me it’s Malfoy.”

Theo huffed a laugh. “Another Gryffindor is off-limits in his case. No, you’re Zabini’s territory.” His tone turned serious, almost nervous. “So, maybe we keep this between us. I think he’d

‘Avada’

me if he knew what I was about to do to this gorgeous cunt.”

“And what makes you think I’d want anyone knowing I stooped so low?” Ginny scathed.

“Don’t get cocky,” Theo growled. “I’m about to have you whimpering my name.”

Without further warning, Theo leaned in, licking a languid, searing path from her knee up to her slit. Ginny hadn’t realized how starved she was for touch, her fingers gripped his hair as his mouth found her center.

Fucking hell, the rumours were true.

Harry had always been shy when he went down on her, his flicks tentative, like he didn’t want to sully himself. Theo, on the other hand, licked her as if she were a bowl of ice cream. His mouth left no part of her untouched, his tongue dragging over her folds with a force that had her toes curling. He pushed her legs farther apart, and Ginny swore he licked over her arsehole once or twice. Instead of pulling away, she bucked harder against his face, determined not to say his name—but it was becoming embarrassingly difficult.

“What do you like?” Theo pulled back just enough to speak. “Dirty talk? Do you want to be spanked? Or maybe you’d rather spank me?”

He replaced his mouth with his fingers, and Ginny let out a reluctant whine at the loss of his tongue.

“Dirty talk,” she admitted breathlessly, nodding. “I like dirty talk.”

Theo chuckled darkly. “Good. So do I. Who would’ve guessed you were such a slut?” He laved back over her clit, making her hips jolt. “Not that I hadn’t thought about it. Last year especially—I used to picture catching you doing something naughty. Then I’d bend you over a desk, yanking on that gorgeous auburn hair of yours while you tried to buck me off. Always been feisty, haven’t you?”

Heat pooled low in her belly. He punctuated the confession with drags of his tongue, his fingers stretching her as he kept rotating back and forth between two and three.

“You pictured that,” Ginny said, rolling her hips against his hand. She looked down, meeting his hooded eyes. “While your mate fancied me? You’re a terrible person, Nott.”

“I should feel worse,” Theo admitted. “But your cunt’s already suctioning around my fingers like it can’t wait for my cock. You’re going to milk the guilt right out of me, aren’t you?”

“Sit down,” Ginny commanded, her palms pressing against his chest. Theo’s glittering eyes startled, but he obeyed, shifting to sit back on the bench where he’d been kneeling.

Ginny cast a wandless Bubble-Head Charm around their midsection, shielding his cock and her cunt from the water. Straddling his thighs, she felt his hands curl up her spine, his lips licking at the beads of water on the underside of her tits. Her hand slid down between them, finding his cock already standing upwards and hard as steel.

“The charm?”

Ginny didn’t answer—she simply leaned forward, taking him to where their bodies were flush. His cock filled her in a way no one else had—not Harry, not Dean. Theodore Nott had a cock that demanded attention, each ridge dragging against the savoury spots inside her plushy cunt.

She licked a path from his jaw to his earlobe, before biting down. He groaned, and she soothed the sting with her tongue, sucking the lobe between her teeth.

“You’re going to feel how wet I am for you,” she whispered hotly into his ear. “Not from the bath.”

“

Godsfuckingdamnit

,” Theo growled, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust upward, trying to bury himself even deeper. “You’re going to get me into so much trouble,” he repeated.

“And why do I think you like the idea of it?” Ginny teased, rising on her knees before slamming back down, making him grunt in pleasure. “You’ll be able to describe my cunt perfectly to Zabini. I bet knowing that will give you a thrill every time you see him stare over at me.”

Theo's fingers dug into her thighs as she set a rhythm only years of Quidditch training could keep up with. Her hips rolled and roiled back down, riding him the way she rode her broom as if she were trying out for the Holyhead Harpies all over again. Making Theo blow his load in her was her equivalent of catching the Snitch.

Nott had been a menace to the girls in her year or the one above, and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to be the best fuck he’d ever had. If nothing else, Ginny Weasley was competitive.

“How the fuck do you move like that?” he choked out, his voice breaking as his eyes rolled back into his skull. Ginny smirked, watching him unravel beneath her as she bounced, her clit rubbing against his abs in a way that made her stomach lurch.

“Practice, Nott. You’re not going to cum for me already, are you? I thought you were going to have me screaming your name. Seems like it’s going to be the other way around.”

Theo let out a ravenous roar, wrapping his arms around Ginny’s waist as he used his legs to lift them together, his cock smashing against her cervix. Water sloshed, as his hands found a grip on her arse and thighs. Ginny wrapped her legs around his waist as he started bouncing her mid-air with nothing but pure strength behind it.

“You think you can make me come undone that easily, you fucking whore? You’re my hole to use, not the other way around.” Theo’s clasp tightened, his legs supporting all her weight as he used his arms to lift her entirely off his cock before bringing her back down. Ginny had never felt this buoyant in her life, her arms clinging to his shoulders as he used her like a fleshlight.

“Oh,

fuck

, Nott…” Ginny threw her head back, moaning like the whore he kept telling her she was.

“That’s it,” he growled, bruising her thighs as he bounced her harder. Somehow, Theo managed to rotate their bodies and throw her back against the marble floor—all without slipping in the suds. It was impressive. Why the hell was Ginny even thinking about his physicality right now? Something to ponder later—if she could think at all—because his cock was buried back to the hilt, punishing her with every brutal thrust. His hands found her neck, squeezing just enough to send delicious bursts of pressure through her.

“This,” Theo sneered, his latch constricting, “is how your cunt feels. How it strangles my cock. Do you want to cum, slut? Tell me you want to cum.”

Ginny tried to respond, but her voice was gone, stolen by the lack of air as he continued pounding into her.

“Make me cum,

Theo

—fuck, make me cum,” she finally gasped as his grip eased from her throat. His face was smug as hell, and Ginny wanted to slap him for it—or maybe kiss him, she wasn’t sure anymore—when he muttered an incantation.

The ring on his hand began to vibrate, and all sense of purpose left her. Theo pressed the enchanted metal against her clit, sending pleasure so intense she nearly kicked him off completely, just like he’d fantasized about.

“

Ugh

, fuck, that’s it. This is what I wanted. Squirm for me, love,” Theo drawled, pure devilry in his tone.

He didn’t stop. His hips drove into her tirelessly, the squelching of her back sliding against the tile punctuating every thrust. Ginny’s world narrowed to the demand building inside her, the way Theo’s body owned hers, and the cocky bastard grinning down at her as if he’d just won the goddamn Quidditch World Cup.

“Theo!”

she screamed, her voice booming off the bath’s acoustics—at least, she hoped it was the acoustics and not truly the high pitch of her cry—as she came, shattering around him. Theo lifted her legs onto his shoulders, folding her open like a rag doll before closing her again, his eyes glued on the sight of his cock disappearing into her swollen slit.

“Your face…” he growled with greed. “I want to cum on your face.”

Ginny, drunk on bliss, couldn’t care less where he came. She whined her agreement. Theo pulled out, fisting his cock, his hips jerking as the first searing-hot rope of cum splattered across her nose, then her cheeks, over her lips, and even into her lashes.

Theo moaned like bloody Myrtle as he painted her freckles with his spent, his body shuddering while he emptied.

“Gods… you know what?

Fuck Blaise.

I want to do that again,” Theo muttered, slumping to his knees. His muscles were still flexed and raw from exertion, his cock still resting in his hand, semi-hard.

Ginny wiped some of the cum from her eyes when he summoned a towel and began dabbing at her face. She batted his hand away with a huff, taking over to clean the remnants herself.

The temptation was real—it had been mind-blowing sex. Harry had never been that rough with her. Sure, he loved spanking her, but his dirty talk always felt forced. Theo, though? He fucked like he had something to prove.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ginny felt the satisfying ache in her abs as they stretched. Not quite as cut as Theo’s, but damn impressive nonetheless. She felt witty, alive, and fully in control of her sexuality in a way she hadn’t before. Her body was at its peak, her stamina unmatched—and clearly, so was Theo’s.

With a sly smirk, she let the words slip.

“Why not just invite him next time?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Summer 1999

“Oh gods, Nott is here,” Parvati blushed, glancing over her shoulder. Hermione raised an eyebrow and took another sip of her gin and tonic. She followed Parvati’s line to a booth where Malfoy and Nott sat in the corner, looking distinctly out of place. Their tailored jackets and polished shoes screamed “

posh

”.

“What’s wrong with that?” Hermione questioned.

Hermione shared a few post-war classes with Nott and Malfoy during her last semester at Hogwarts. They weren’t friends, not by any means, but they’d been cordial. Draco, surprisingly, had apologized to her on more than one occasion—not just the awkward blanket apology most Slytherins had given, but specific, pointed moments that showed he’d been thinking about his past behaviour. He’d been oddly friendly since then, though their interactions were limited. They both worked at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, their desks separated by just enough space to keep things professional. Too busy with their workloads, they rarely had time to chat, but every now and then she’d catch him looking at her.

It was one of the many reasons she and Ron had fought—and eventually broke up. Ron had always been a tad jealous, but after Hogwarts, his barking and biting grew worse. Any man who so much as smiled at her became a target of his suspicion. A coworker bringing her coffee? Grounds for a shouting match. It had been suffocating. Once they’d stepped outside the safety of their cozy Burrow bubble, reality had hit hard. By the time June rolled around, they’d decided to call it quits. They still cared about each other deeply, but as friends—anything more felt like trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

Hermione had tried to distract herself with work. But moving on wasn’t as simple as she’d hoped. Now it was August, and she’d decided to try something different:

going out

. Parvati and a few other Hogwarts alumni had invited her to join their weekly Ministry pub night. It was Hermione’s first time attending, a calculated decision. With Harry and Ron on assignment in Ireland, there was no chance of awkward encounters or strained small talk.

"Shagged him back before I left Hogwarts—wicked tongue on that man. You think he’ll say hello tonight?" Parvati asked curiously as she swirled the wine in her glass. Hermione glanced toward Hannah Abbott and Luna, silently hoping one of them would come up with a response.

"No, I don’t think he will, Parvati," Luna said dreamily, her tone as detached as ever, though not unkind.

"Why don’t

you

just say hello?" Hermione asked, genuinely puzzled.

"

Ugh

, I can’t just

say hello

—it’ll look desperate," Parvati grimaced, sinking further into her seat.

Hermione hesitated, unsure how to navigate the conversation. Offering advice on this kind of thing wasn’t exactly her forte—Hannah was far better at it. "I’ll get us another round," she finally said, rising to her feet.

The bar, however, was inconveniently located past Malfoy and Nott, who were deep in conversation. Hermione straightened her shoulders and made her way over, determined not to make eye contact.

“Granger—” Theo’s voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned to see both of them looking her way. Draco glanced up from his drink, his expression almost stony.

“Weasley with you?” Theo asked.

Hermione sighed. “No, we broke up. Didn’t you read about it in the

Prophet

like everyone else—”

“Don’t give a fuck about

that

one,” Theo interrupted with a dismissive wave. “I meant Ginny.”

Theo said Ginny’s name like he’d said it before—familiar, easy—and Hermione blinked, momentarily taken aback. She hadn’t realized they were friends.

“Ah, no. She’s in training. Holyhead Harpies,” Hermione replied, her voice cautious.

“

Fuck

,” Theo muttered, finishing his drink with a quick tilt of his head. “Figured I’d ask.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion creeping in, but she chose not to press further. Instead, she continued toward the bar, feeling Draco’s leer linger on her as she passed.

“

So, I’ve been playing this prank on Parkinson.

.” Nott quipped to Draco as she walked away.

Hermione found herself being jostled by the crowd of witches and wizards, her head buzzing pleasantly from the drinks she wasn’t quite used to. She reached for the tray of cocktails she’d ordered for the table—one too many to carry at once. Just as she was about to levitate the third glass, a hand darted out and grabbed it.

“Need a hand with that, Granger?”

It was Oliver Wood. Handsome, tall, broad-shouldered

Oliver Wood

. He still had that adorably boyish grin, and for a moment, Hermione was twelve years old again, watching him teach Harry how to ride a broom. He’d been her first crush—

oh

, how she’d thirsted after him for years. Even after he’d left Hogwarts, she’d always pause to reread his name when it appeared in the papers, reporting on another Puddlemere United victory. Time had only been kind to him, his body now that of a man, no doubt thanks to years of athletic training.

Hermione had reluctantly come to terms with the fact that she had a thing for Quidditch players—not that she’d ever admit it out loud or to Ron and Harry.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, blushing furiously as he picked up Parvati’s wine glass.

He flashed her that grin again and followed her to the table. She hadn’t seen him since May, at the ceremony marking the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

“How’s life at the Ministry been treating you, then?” Oliver called after her, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Ah, good, I suppose” Hermione glanced toward her friends catching Parvati and Hannah’s wide-eyed expressions as they clocked their new addition. She could only widen her eyes back and give a half-helpless, half-awkward smile as they made their way to the table.

“Patil, Lovegood, Abbott—good to see you all,” Oliver said warmly as he set the wine glass down. The girls scrambled for their drinks, their excitement obvious. Hannah shot to her feet.

“Great to see you too, Wood! Fantastic victory over the Falcons last week. But we were just heading to the loo, weren’t we, girls?” Hannah said abruptly, her voice an octave higher than usual. Parvati was nearly giggling as she followed suit, leaving Hermione staring at them in alarm.

“Wait—what?” Hermione spluttered, looking wildly between them as Luna stood as well.

“Oh, I don’t think we need to go to the loo,” Luna said airily. “They just want to leave you two to chat. Hermione hasn’t had sex since she and Ron broke up, and you seem like a suitable candidate.”

Hermione’s face flushed redder than their Gryffindor house colors. Oliver let out a hearty laugh, taking a sip of his pint as Parvati all but dragged Luna away.

“I like Lovegood,” he said with a smirk, his eyes focused on Hermione. There was a teasing shadow in his pupils, and she could tell he was enjoying her mortification far too much.

“I’d like to

Obliviate

you right now, will you let me” Hermione questioned, clapping both hands over her burning cheeks.

Oliver laughed again, an unbothered sound. “I’m enjoying watching you blush, I don’t think I want to forget it.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped, lechery settling in her bones. She swallowed hard, unsure whether to curse her friends or thank them.

“It’s really good to see you, Hermione. You look great,” Oliver said, his eyes sweeping over her which made her pulse quicken. He slid his chair closer, and Hermione felt an undeniable string tighten in her belly.

Bloody hell, he was handsome.

She used to dream of him when she was younger—her first crush. He had been the boy she pictured kissing, the one she’d practiced on her pillow at night, whispering his name like a secret. And now, here he was, all broad shoulders and fiery eyes.

Luna was right.

She hadn’t shagged since Ron, and

Merlin’s beard

, Oliver Wood

was

an incredibly suitable candidate to help her remedy that.

“It’s lovely to catch up with you as well,” Hermione managed, trying to keep her voice even. “I know we didn’t get a chance to talk much at the memorial, with, ahh…”

“Your overbearing boyfriend breathing down your neck?” Oliver finished for her.

“Yeah…” Hermione sighed.

“I did hear—though you never know if you can trust the

Prophet

—that you and Weasley were no longer together,” Oliver said, watching her closely. “But we all know Skeeter’s a snake.”

“More like a beetle,” Hermione rounded.

He was leaning in closer now, his smile pulling her in like gravity, and suddenly her gin was nearly gone, his pint almost empty, and her morals were loosening alarmingly fast. If he smiled at her like that one more time, she might straddle him right here in the middle of the pub.

“Another?” Oliver asked, nodding toward her glass.

Hermione stood abruptly as if jolted to her senses. “Let me come with you,” she said, a little too quickly.

Oliver’s grin widened, his eyes mirroring the same lusty look that had to be in hers. “Of course,” he replied smoothly, standing with her.

His hand settled on the small of her back, as they pushed through the crowd. Hermione was painfully aware of the heat in the room—almost 40 degrees, no amount of cooling charms helping as her thin black dress clung to her damp skin. She knew she must be sweaty, but she didn’t care anymore.

Suddenly, a thought gripped her—wild, reckless, and thrilling.

Take control of your youth, Hermione. Do something no one expects of you.

She grabbed Oliver’s wrist and tugged him toward the side hall leading to the loo. He let her pull him, bemused and half-laughing, his long strides eating up the space until they reached the tiny, dingy corridor. She pushed him through the door—though he hardly needed the shove, twice her size as he was— he let himself be led, still beaming that surprised, full-toothed grin.

Hermione’s chest heaved as she turned to latch the door behind her, her heart racing, the alcohol rampaging in her veins.

Don’t stop. Don’t regret it.

Oliver leaned back against the sink, one hand rubbing his jaw, watching her as if she were the most fascinating thing in the world.

“

Hermione Granger,

” he murmured as if testing if she were real.

Before he could say anything else, she moved. Her hands fisted in his shirt, his were tangling into her hair, as they crashed together. She was kissing Oliver

fucking

Wood in the loo of the Leaky Cauldron, and it was magnetic.

His mouth was eager, responding in thoughtful sync as his bulky, calloused hands roved down her back, over the thin silk of her dress. Hermione felt alive, her body burning in all the best ways. She arched into him, her fingers threading into the buttons at his collar, tugging slightly as he groaned against her lips.

This.

This was exactly what she needed—reckless, enthralling, and completely unexpected

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was a girl,” Hermione blurted before she could stop herself.

Oliver’s lips curled into a smile against her mouth. “The Brightest Witch of Her Age—the Golden Girl—wanting to kiss

me

?”

He pushed her back against the wall, his mouth streaming down her neck, where he’d no doubt taste the faint remnants of her melting cocoa butter lotion mixing with her perspiration.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know we

all

fancied you,”

Oliver groaned, hovering at her ear. “I want to hear more about how

you

did….” He gently took the pads of his fingers and slid them down toward her thighs.

Then came the knock. A loud, persistent

rap rap rap

on the loo door.

Hermione jolted, as Oliver pulled away with an annoyed huff.

“We haven’t been very courteous to the other patrons,” she gulped.

Oliver rolled his tongue in thought, clicking it before he spoke. “I’m sure we could find somewhere more comfortable. Somewhere I can properly prove to your friends just how good of a candidate I am for your rebound shag.”

Hermione shuddered—

rebound shag

—and then felt the indisputable dampness between her thighs.

Not from the August heat, but from him.

She was

really

going to do this.

She swung the door open, trying to shield Oliver from view in case there was a line. But instead of strangers, she came face-to-face with

Draco Malfoy

.

Malfoy blinked, visibly taken aback. “Ah—apologies. I didn’t realize it was you in there…” he said awkwardly, his voice uncharacteristically faint.

Hermione flamed as Oliver stepped out from behind her, his arm wrapping around her belly. Malfoy’s eyes lifted—first to the hand, then to Oliver’s rumpled shirt and messy hair—making it obvious what had just transpired.

Oliver dipped his head to Hermione’s ear. “Your place or mine?”

Hermione nearly choked on the heat of it, equal parts turned on and mortified. She’d have to see Malfoy on Monday—

they worked together

. And now he’d caught her sneaking out of a pub loo with Wood. He probably never thought of her as a sexual being before. Well, she supposed today would be the day.

She bit her lip and turned to Oliver, ignoring the weight of Malfoy’s horrified stare. “Mine.”

“Good choice,” he murmured, grinning as he used his body to move her out of the doorway, clearing the path for Draco.

“

Malfoy

,” Oliver said with a nod as they passed.

“See you Monday,” Hermione added shyly, unable to stop herself from glancing back. Malfoy’s expression was unreadable—cloudy eyes, clenched jaw, hands fisted at his sides.

Odd reaction for a bloke annoyed at someone hogging the loo.

Hermione tore her stare away and let Oliver guide her toward the alley door, determined to shove any thought of Malfoy out of her mind

.

Whatever his problem was, it didn’t concern her.

He spun her on the spot, and in a split second, they Disapparated into Grimmauld Place. Landing with a crack in the drawing room, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he weaved back through her curls. He cupped her face, leaning in to kiss her again. Breaking away only slightly, he glanced around, cautious eyes skimming the dark room littered with the strange pureblood artefacts the Black family had left behind. “You live here?” he asked warily.

“With Harry,” she clarified, catching her breath. “It’s his place, but he’s away for work.”

“You live with Potter?” Oliver said, curiosity lighting his features. “Is there something I sh—”

“We’re friends. Always have been.” She cut off his train of thought.

She grabbed back at the collar of his shirt to pull him in, feeling like she had to climb him to get closer. Oliver bent and wrapped his arms around her stomach, lifting her. Her legs circled his hips, and one of his hands slid down to support her, the other still in her hair.

“You’re going to have to tell me where to go, Hermione,” He ghosted his lips to her neck, teeth grazing her in a testing nip that made her shiver.

“First flight of stairs, second door,” she managed to get out. “I can get down—you don’t have to carry me.”

But she remained wrapped around him, clinging as though she were scaling a tree, and Oliver didn’t falter. He didn’t argue, didn’t say a word. He simply began walking, each step easy, as though she weighed nothing at all. Hermione could feel every muscle shifting beneath his shirt, the hulking strength of him steadying her as he climbed.
Her dress had ridden up around her ribs, leaving her knickers pressed against his torso, and she bit her lip to keep from making an ungodly sound.

They reached the door, and he pushed it open without ceremony. He strode inside and tossed her onto the bed.
A yelp escaped her as she landed, her curls fanning out across the sheets. She blinked up at him, stunned. She’d never been handled like that before—like she was something pliable—like he could do anything he wanted with her.

Ron had been… gentle. Their sex life had been good.

Nice.

They’d experimented—cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, legs over shoulders, missionary, side by side—but they’d never strayed far from familiar rhythms. No roughness, no dirty talk, no more than a breathy

“You feel so good”

or a muttered

“You like that?”

And at the time, she hadn’t minded. It had worked.

But Oliver…

The way he looked at her now made her forget Ron Weasley had ever existed.
He reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head. She took him in—the defined lines of his pecs, the faint sheen of sweat catching the street light fading in through the windows.
She followed suit, peeling off her dress and letting him stare. She hadn’t worn a bra—one would have ruined the look of the dress—so there she was, bare-chested, with only a too-small thong clinging to her flesh.

It was wash day.

Oliver rumbled a groan deep in his throat as if he’d been hit square in the chest with a
Quaffle.

“You’re a vision, aren’t you,”

Hermione flushed.

A vision

. The words stirred. All her teenage fantasies unfurling like old parchment brought back to life. Any lingering shyness evaporated, washed away by the stagnant effects of the gin. She fell back onto the bed, shimmying out of her thong, and tossed it to the floor. She was nude, the hesitation she once clung to gone as he absorbed every detail.

Oliver stood still, eyes owly, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he undid his belt buckle. Trousers and briefs puddled at his feet.

He wasn’t as girthy as Ron—

thank fuck

—but he was long, curved, veiny, and stunningly hard. The head was thick, broader than the shaft, and she could already picture it pressing against her g-spot, hitting that heavenly angle again and again. The image alone made her thighs twitch.
Oliver dropped to his knees, hands gripping around her ankles. He tugged her down the bed. But Hermione wasn’t thinking of his mouth. No, her need clawed at her. She wanted to be stuffed full, and her brashness flared before she could stop herself.

“Can we—can we do that after? I just need to be filled.”

Oliver tilted his head down, raking over her from toe to cunt, lingering there as if he were weighing his next move. Gods
, she thought, she was being too crude. She was ruining it. She should have offered to suck him off or something—men liked that. Ron had always liked that. Hell, he loved it.

He kissed her calves first, then up over her knees and into her thighs, pausing there to make her squirm. Her stomach tensed as his lips dragged higher, kissing, tasting, teasing. When he reached her breasts, he lapped at one nipple before catching it lightly between his teeth, pulling a gasp from her lips. Every nerve ending was humming, and then—

finally

—she felt the hot nudge of his shaft against her entrance.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been filled, hasn’t it?” His cadence was husky, words rolling over her like liquid sin. “You want to cum? How many times? Tell me how many times I can do that for you.”

Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back as she stared blindly at the ceiling.

“All night,” she gasped. “I want to shag you all night.”

Her words were honest and raw, torn from her as if by some invisible force. She wanted him tumbling in her sheets until his body was drenched in hers, slick with sweat and wrung dry.

“That…” Oliver murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he pushed forward, “…I can do.”

He sheathed himself inside her in one hefty thrust, and Hermione cried out. It had been so long since she’d felt this—

stretched

. She whimpered, her fingers digging into him as he held still for just a moment. The world narrowed to just the two of them, to the push and pull, the heat, the panting that kept building with every roll of his hips

“Fucking hell, you’re tight…”

The filthy words made her roll her hips up to take more of him.

“Can I… can I ride you?” she exhaled. It wasn’t perfect dirty talk, but the word

ride

slipped out, her craving too strong to second-guess. She’d always imagined what he’d look like underneath her, sprawled and at her mercy.

His answer was a gleeful nod as he twisted them, flipping her so she was straddling him. Her palms flattened against his chest for balance, the angle almost painfully deeper.

“Show me how to ride your broom, Oliver,” she teased, a giggle at how ridiculous it was slipping past her lips.

His face lit up, amusement and arousal coupling. “So it’s true—you’ve got a thing for Quidditch players? And here I thought I was special.” He bashed, grabbing her wrists and aligning her palms over his sternum. With a pull on her hips, he stretched her back, making her muscles taut, and drove her forward. The friction sent a tingle straight to her clit, her arse poised to bounce against him.

“Lift up,” he murmured. Hermione understood immediately, her hips tilting as she used the strength of her core to rise and drop back down.

“That’s it,” Oliver grunted. “Give me another.”

She did it again, sparks of pleasure igniting as her clit dragged against the base of his cock. She wasn’t one for gossip, but she’d

definitely

tell Parvati, Hannah, and Luna that Oliver Wood’s moans were nothing short of cataclysmic—the fervor sound of a man teetering on the edge of his orgasm. The brutish praise falling from his lips only spurred her on.

“Can you do that turned around?”

Hermione nodded, twisting herself without hesitation. She’d done this before, but something about

him

watching her so intently made it different. Oliver’s hands spread her cheeks apart. “What a fucking view. I swear I could conjure a Patronus just staring at the way you take my cock.”

Before she could respond, his hand came down in a light slap against her arse, a sting that blended with the heat curling in her abdomen. “Ride me, Hermione,” he growled, and Hermione obeyed, leaning forward as her hands pressed into the mattress.

She lifted herself, moaning at the delicious reach as she began to bounce, her ass slapping against his thighs. Behind her, Oliver swore, and when she looked over her shoulder, his face was a sight to behold—his grin long gone, replaced by slack-jawed awe. His eyes were chained to the place where they were joined, a crease in his brow as if he couldn’t believe how good she felt.

Suddenly, he sat up. Hermione’s body tipped back into him as he slipped out, and she whimpered at the loss. Before she could complain, he gathered her into his lap, shoving himself back into her, one arm securing her while his other slid between her legs. His thumb circled her clit, pressing with just the right amount of pressure to make her gasp, her head cradling back against his shoulder.

“Cum for me,” he rasped, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “That’s it—let go. Give me my first one.”

Her body was on fire, every nerve ending sparking like glass shattering under heat.

“Fuck—are you on the potion?” he panted.

Hermione nodded quickly, not able to form words.

“Are you okay if I…” His voice trailed off as he thrust up once, a silent question. She nodded again, grateful for his courtesy even as her body clenched with the answer.

His hips snapped up, each movement pushing her higher. “That’s it—cum on my cock,” he pressed as if he were coaching her through a match.

Hermione's orgasm blinded her. She moaned, high and breathy, a sound she barely recognized as her own. Her eye flitted up to the mirror at the edge of the room, catching a glimpse of herself—legs splayed wide, body flushed and writhing, Oliver’s cock sliding in and out of her soaked cunt. His face was buried in her neck, whispering praise, his hands gripping her hips to keep her steady.

She watched him—watched the veins along his shaft pulse and his body twitch as he lost control. With one last slam, he buried himself completely, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Fuck, Hermione.

Fuuuck

.”

They stilled together, as they came down from the high.
After a moment, she felt his lips against her skin. “Let me eat this sweet cunt of yours while I get hard again.”

Hermione bit her lip, her head lolling back against him, accepting his offer.

Oliver Wood was an impeccable rebound shag.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Summer 1999

Pansy Parkinson, post-war, was many things: rich, beautiful, successful, salacious, and most of all, unapologetically single. It was, without question, the most exquisite arrangement she could have ever imagined. After years of her parents trying to control every aspect of her life, breaking free from their influence and finally having the freedom to do whatever—

and whoever

—she wanted was a luxury she indulged daily.

She’d purchased her own flat, a lavish one in Muggle London, conveniently close to Diagon Alley. It was the perfect retreat, or so she thought—until her jewelry started mysteriously disappearing. Every time she went to her boudoir to retrieve a piece, it had vanished without explanation.

At first, she beefed up her wards, confident that stronger protections would do the trick. When that didn’t work, she set a few traps, convinced the thief must know who she was, and was targeting her to profit off her jewels. But when the thefts persisted, she was forced to do what she dreaded most—contact the Auror Office.

To her complete dismay, the case was assigned to Junior Auror Ronald Weasley. The man still seemed to hold a grudge against her for her wartime choices, and his apparent disdain made the situation all the more grisly. He came across as disengaged and unimpressed, barely pretending to care about her plight. Still, he dutifully set up wards that would alert him to any intruders.
So far, those efforts were proving as useless as the man himself.

“You think you could put some clothes on, Parkinson?” Ron gulped, and Pansy fumed.

“How dare you?!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I’m in my own home, which for the third time has been robbed. And for the third time, you’ve shown up here and done bloody nothing! And now—now you’re going to tell me to put more clothes on? I’m not going to feel ashamed in my own home, Weasley!”

She was getting ready to go out, dressed in lingerie carefully chosen to captivate whatever wizard might catch her attention—and end up in her bed. She

still

couldn’t understand how the burglar had slipped past her notice, perhaps Theo’s Patronus had distracted her when it relayed his message about their plans for the evening. Her wards flared again before she could fully take it in, and Weasley barreled through her Floo. There wasn’t time to throw something else on before he stood in her bedroom, looking harried as ever.

“I’m not trying to shame you,” Ron said quickly, shifting on his feet. “But your… your negligee is turning me on and it’s rather distracting for me to do my job when all the blood that is supposed to be going to my brain is going elsewhere.”

He glanced down to scribble something on his notepad, but Pansy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the front of his trousers.

Auror Weasley

… she mused.

“You seem in an interesting mood, Weasley.” Pansy teased, as she caught him sneaking a glance at her half-covered chest.

Ron sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m exhausted, Parkinson, which is making me delirious. I just got back from Ireland, and when I stopped in at Harry’s for a cup of tea before heading home, I saw Oliver bloody Wood walking out of my ex-girlfriend’s bedroom.” His voice rose slightly before he dragged in another breath and continued, “So if you could just cut me some slack and, I don’t know,

put on a robe

or something, that would be fantastic.”

Pansy eyed him for a moment, taking in every detail. Ron was tall, broad, and muscular, with a few scars tracing along his forearms that she could only imagine continued up to his shoulders. Hate sex was always exhilarating, and Ron looked like the type who could throw her around—a pastime Pansy enjoyed far more than she cared to admit. Why bother leaving the house to hunt for a man when there was one standing right in front of her, clearly affected by her presence and perhaps just bitter enough to fuck her silly?

Maybe she’d dine in tonight.

“Are you

sure

you want me to put on more clothes?” she purred.

Without waiting for a reply, Pansy rose onto her tiptoes and sauntered back to the bed she’d been leaning against. Slowly, she slid her viridian lace camisole down her arms, letting it fall to the wayside, leaving her in nothing but a lacy bralette, garters, stockings, and a string thong. She stretched out, reclining on the bed with her legs spread.

She caught the way Ron hesitated, his eyes tracing over every inch of her as her iniquitous smirk widened. “Well?” she drawled. “Is this better?”

“What are you doing?” he choked out, as his hand reflexively went to the zipper of his trousers, adjusting himself. Pansy’s flicked down, pleased by the bulge forming beneath his fingers.

“I was hoping to get shagged into this mattress tonight, Weasley,” she exhaled. “Preferably by some hulky handsy wizard—but apparently, fate had other plans and landed you here instead.” She tilted her head, examining her catch. “I know you don’t like me, but I think you’re handsome. And I have a feeling you’d very much enjoy fucking my tight cunt and spanking my arse for all those years I’ve been such a naughty little witch.”

Her sultry words were purposefully aimed at dismantling his self-control. She watched with satisfaction as his blood began to boil, his face blushing. His notepad slipped from his hand, landing on the floor with a thump.

“Well,” she purred, dragging her fingers along the edge of her garter, “what’s it going to be, Weasley?”

“Show me.” Ron swallowed hard.

Pansy bit her lip, teasing it between her teeth before releasing it. She held his stare as her hand slid down her body, hooking her fingers into the elastic of her knickers. She pulled the fabric to the side, exposing herself to the room's air and, more importantly, to his hungry eyes. Her clit throbbed—not just from his presence, but from her own daring. If there was one person who could turn Pansy Parkinson on, it was herself.

Her manicured nails spread her folds open, her confidence radiating as she displayed herself like the prize she knew she was.

“Finger yourself.”

The command slipped from him with sudden confidence, his earlier hesitation melting away. Watching her, it was as though he stepped back into his role as the commanding Auror. Pansy didn’t hesitate. She teased her slit before plunging one inside. Her head fell back, a moan abandoning her as her free hand circled her clit.

The clatter of his belt and the rustle of fabric pulled her attention. She glanced up at the sight of Ronald Weasley, now fully naked. His hand wrapped around his thick cock, the girthy length drawing her focus. The size and weight of him made her mouth salivate. His hand mirrored her rhythm. Each time her fingers thrust inside, his hand pulled back down his shaft, a mutual choreography.

“Spit on your clit,” he growled.

She obeyed, leaning forward to let a string of saliva fall on her, glistening as it landed between her thighs. The gold of her rings flashed as her hands circled the nub, the rounded almond shape of her nails skimming her skin without breaking the spell of pleasure.

“Tits out,” he directed, his strokes quickening as he stepped closer to the bed.

Pansy sat up to unhook her bra. The sight of her bare chest, flushed and heaving, drew a low groan from him as their eyes locked, their mutual lust fueling every charged action.

“Play with them,” he breathed.

One of Pansy’s hands groped her breasts. She spat back down her chin, the saliva landing on her pebbled nipples. Ron was on his knees now, his hands clapping around her calves.

“You’re going to be my slut tonight,” he asserted. “Do you understand me? You’re going to listen for once in your life, and if you act like a brat, I’ll fuck this pussy so raw you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

It was that voice again—the one she assumed he used during interrogations, rough and authoritative. The same voice that made her pulse race and her stomach clench, though she couldn’t quite rationalize why it was so bloody hot.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,”

The retort barely left her mouth before his hand came down, smacking her clit with a sting that had her hips jerking off the bed.

“Fuck,” she gasped.

“It’s like you want me to punish you,” he muttered.

His fingers found her slit. He began to curl them upward, the stretch of his thick digits was anything but gentle, and yet she welcomed the burn, her thighs trembling as he worked her over.

“I do,” Pansy hummed. “Punish me, Auror Weasley. I’ve been a bad girl.”

Her taunt lit a fire in him, and his pace quickened, his mouth descended on her clit, the warm pressure of his tongue flicking and sucking until she screamed, her nails scraping into his scalp. The scratch only seemed to spur him on, his growls vibrating through her body.

Just as she felt herself spiraling toward a well-earned orgasm, he pulled away, leaving her whining. Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he tore her ruined underwear from her body with a single fistful of fabric. Shredding the strings from her hips, before she could scold, his hands gripped her ass and flipped her onto her stomach like she weighed nothing. Pressing her down as he manhandled her into place. He pulled her arms behind her back and he secured her wrists together.
She barely registered the incantation whispered under his breath before she felt the unyielding bite of restraints binding her wrists and ankles. The manacles hog-tying her. The tension of the spell forced her body to arch, her tits flattened against the sheets as she panted, her arousal soaking down her legs.

“Are you going to be a good slut now?” Ron growled.

Pansy melted into the mattress, her body doll-like. “You’ll have to break me first,”

She wanted him to pin her down and fuck her without mercy. Ron slapped his cock against the flesh of her ass. With one hand, he spread her open as he lined himself up at her entrance. Her ankles were bound together, leaving her unable to widen her stance. The mass of his body against her was debilitating, she’d become a perfect, tight vacuum that she knew would grip him like a vice once he thrust in.

Just as the thought teased her mind, he plunged forward, his hips slamming against her with a force that sent her sprawling. Her ass cheeks collided with his groin, and the tearing stretch made her cry out.

“Fucking hell…” he groaned with satisfaction. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

He leaned forward, one hand fisting her dark hair, yanking her head back so her eyes were forced upward. She caught a glimpse of him in the dim light—his expression was ravenous.

“You’re going to take my cock,” he grunted. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

Pansy’s body fought to keep up with his relentless pace. This—this brutality, this raw, unapologetic use of her body—was exactly what she craved. No one at the Leaky Cauldron could ever fuck her like this. They were all too timid, too desperate to please. But Ron Weasley hated her just enough to treat her like nothing more than holes, and that was exactly what she wanted to be.

“I’m not thanking you for anything,” she bit out.“I haven’t even cum yet.”

His response was immediate—a punishing pound that had her screaming into the mattress.

“Don’t talk back to me,” he hissed, pulling out before slamming back in with even greater force.
Ron kept his hips crashing into her with enough force to make her toes curl. His hands gripped the dimples at the small of her back, using them as leverage. For a moment, she thought he might actually snap her back in half, the sheer strength of his movements leaving her writhing helplessly beneath him.
She was crying out, moaning incoherently, her body giving itself over completely. She knew she must look the part of a wanton whore. He pulled out fast, and the gape had her throbbing to welcome him back, but his feet hit the floor and before she could spin to see where he went he was at her face, cock drenched in her slick and poking at her lips.

“Open,”

Pansy did as she was told. He didn’t give her a chance to adjust. His cock pushed straight to the back of her throat, the suddenness had her jaw aching from the unfamiliar girth. Her teeth grazed him slightly as he thrust deeper, hitting her gag reflex, and leaving her spluttering and choking.

She couldn’t even reach for him to ease the vigor—her wrists were still tied behind her back. She was entirely at his mercy.
One large hand settled on the back of her head, as he began to snap into her mouth. Her throat relaxed instinctively, surrendering to his control, while her tongue laved over the leftover flavour of her arousal. Pansy loved the way she tasted, so she hollowed her cheeks and sucked him greedily.

“Good sluts get rewarded,” he muttered, punctuating his words with a slap to her cheek.

Pansy’s watery eyes blinked up at him, a single tear trailing down her face. She nodded weakly as he pulled out, leaving her gasping for air.
His thumb hooked under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his blue eyes. His expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of doubt breaking through the dominance.

“You still want this?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost wary. It was as if he feared he’d pushed her too far.

Pansy panted, her lips swollen and shining, her voice hoarse but resolute. “You still have one hole left to fuck, Auror Weasley.”

His expression tilted the brief crack in his demeanor sealing over with something darker—something hungrier. Ron moved back behind her, his muttered incantations breaking the spell binding her ankles. He spread her legs wide, placing both feet on the floor. Her knees trembled, grateful for the bed beneath her as it supported her weight.

“Can you cum if I put my cock in your ass?” he asked, the heat of his breath against her spine. She felt the drooling head of his cock resting against the tight pucker of her arse.

“If you rub my clit, I can cum whenever you want me to,” she added. His hand slid around her waist, fingers finding her clit and rubbing it lightly, up and down, as he began to push in. There was a moment of resistance—her arousal and her spit aiding his effort—but it had been almost three months since she’d been fucked in the ass, and Ron wasn’t exactly average-sized. She suddenly felt a gel leaking downward, and his momentum built, it started to feel less shocking.

The rhythm on her clit synced with the steady pressure of him easing into her—slow at first but as she began to push back, meeting him, he started pounding harder.

“Fuck... I’ve never... fucked anyone’s arse before,” he groaned. “Gods, yours is so tight... Oh, fuck, it feels... Parkinson, you slut, letting me fuck all your holes... A goddess...”

The word

goddess

was like a shot of adrenaline, a lust potion injected straight into her veins. It was her ultimate goal. For men to worship her cunt, her arse, her mouth—and for them to be putty in her hands. The fact that her assigned Auror was balls-deep in her arse right now was just the cherry on top.

A member of the Golden Trio, throwing the serpent princess around, fucking her into oblivion, and calling

her

a goddess. Her clit throbbed, her body tightening as the delightful clench built within her.

“That... oh, keep doing that... keep talking...” she gasped.

“You should see yourself,” Ron groaned. “It’s so bloody sexy from my angle. Your arse suctioned around my big cock... cum for me, Parkinson. You’ve been good—you can cum.”

He repeated the words like a mantra, and Pansy was launched into an entirely different plane of existence, starbursts exploding behind her eyelids as she screamed his name—or what she thought might’ve been his first name—while her orgasm tore through her. Her body convulsed, collapsing forward, trapping his hand beneath her so he couldn’t keep rubbing her oversensitive clit.

She felt his hips snap erratically, his grip on her cheeks loosening as his release overtook him. His cum poured into her—

thickly

— and she could feel the sheer amount of it—pent up, desperate, as if he’d needed this as much as she had. She stilled, rocking her hips weakly to draw out every last ounce of his seed, coaxing him into a soft, trembling finish.

Ron’s breathing was heavy, almost wheezing, as he softened inside her. When he finally pulled out, her arse clenched so tightly that no cum dripped out.

“Bloody hell…” he rasped.

The manacles on her wrists vanished, and Pansy flipped onto her back, wincing as she rubbed them. Her fingers traced over the raw, bruised skin, realizing for the first time how much she must have struggled.

“Oh shite. Shite... Parkinson, I’m...” Ron’s voice faltered as his hands moved to her wrists instinctively. Without thinking, he leaned down, almost absently pressing kisses over the tender marks before murmuring a spell. She watched as the raw flesh began to heal, a soothing salve spreading over the blisters.

“

Sorry

,” he said quickly, pulling back as if he’d just realized the intimacy of his actions.

“Thank you...

Auror Weas

—

,

” she said, her voice wavering as the awkwardness set in—not from him cumming in her arse, but from the gentle way he’d kissed her wrists.

“Ron,” he corrected. “You can just call me Ron. I liked the way you screamed it earlier.”

He smiled, wide and genuine, a pronounced difference from the dominating mask he’d worn minutes ago.

“Alright, Ron. Thank you for the orgasm. Now I can stay in and

wait

to be robbed again,” she joked.

“What did you say happened before the wards went off?” he asked, his eyeline flashing to her boudoir with a puzzled expression.

“Theo’s Patronus came in,” she replied, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Right.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I think you should have a chat with Nott about where your jewelry is.”

Still lounging naked on her bed, he flexed his arms behind his head, the scar on his shoulder straining like a noose. A teasing smirk played on his lips as he added, “Although, if you ever need someone to serve and protect, I’d be more than happy to offer my services.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Late Fall 1999

“Thank you, Harry. You know, many of our readers at The Quibbler are very interested in this story.” Luna stepped into his office, her presence as ethereal as ever. She smelled faintly of something sweet and exotic—lychee, maybe. The scent was so saccharine it teased at the edge of indulgence, making Harry absurdly wonder if tasting her skin would give him a cavity.

The thought was bizarre, and he shook it off immediately. Luna was Luna—peculiar, endearing. But she was his friend, and his brain had no business straying there. It had been months since he’d last had a proper shag, and apparently, his libido had decided to make up for lost time by fixating on anything vaguely appealing.

“Anytime, really,” Harry replied, forcing a casual smile. “Although I have to admit, this was probably the least interesting case I’ve worked on since becoming an Auror.” He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk, a modest leather wingback. His office wasn’t much to look at—just one large bureau, three chairs, and not a single window. Junior Aurors weren’t exactly swimming in perks, but he didn’t mind the lack of light.

Luna sat gracefully, her baby-blue dress catching his eye. It was sprinkled with tiny white flowers, a choice that felt oddly summery for this time of year. Her hair, usually wild, had been brushed into sleek submission, and

her

..Harry swallowed hard.

Bloody hell, Potter.

Her dress highlighted her tits in a way he had no business noticing. He needed to get his head out of the gutter.

You’re a damn Auror, not a randy teenager. Focus.

“Harry… your head is absolutely swarming with Wrackspurts. Are you alright?” Luna asked, leaning across his desk with a dreamy smile. Her hands fluttered above his head as though she were swatting at invisible insects, and Harry suddenly found himself face-to-face—or rather, face-to-chest—with Luna’s very prominent cleavage.

He gulped and leaned back so fast he almost toppled his chair. “Yeah, Luna, I’m fine,” he managed, his voice embarrassingly hoarse.

She tilted her head, unconvinced. “It’s a lack of sex, isn’t it? I can see it all over you—you’re so tense.”

Harry, unfortunately, had just taken a sip of tea. He choked so violently that it splattered across his desk. “What?! No, I’m—what?!”

“A lack of sex,” Luna repeated serenely, as though discussing the weather. “You must be pent up. How long has it been since you came inside a woman?”

Harry’s face turned a mortified shade of red. “Luna!”

“Since Ginny?” she pressed, undeterred. “You know, she’s been having

a lot

of sex. It’s almost as though she’s surrounded by Lust Pixies.”

Harry knew Ginny hadn’t exactly been living the life of a nun since their breakup. He’d heard the rumours—Merlin, he

couldn’t

avoid them.

Blaise Zabini, of all people

. That had been bad enough. But then there was the talk about her shagging both Zabini and Theodore Nott at the same time until Theo got jealous and made her choose. And she’d chosen Blaise.

It was all too much—way more detail than he’d ever wanted to know about his ex’s sex life. But he’d still heard it, in varying levels of outrage or reluctant amusement, from Justin, Seamus, Dean, Michael, and even Neville. It wasn’t like he’d asked, but the information seemed to chase him, sticking in his brain like some awful charm work.

Did he care? No. Not really. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. He’d moved on—well, mostly. Kind of.

Alright, maybe not entirely. But Blaise Zabini?

Really?

“Right, let’s get started with the interview, then?” Harry said, gesturing for her to take a seat.

Luna, however, stood instead, a thoughtful perk on her face. “I think I’ll help you clear your head first,” she said casually, stepping closer to his desk.

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Clear my head—”

Before he could finish, Luna dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands reaching for the straps of her dress. Harry’s brain short-circuited as the fabric began sliding off her shoulders.

“Luna!” he yelped, scrambling to push his chair back, his knees hitting the underside of his desk. “What are you doing?!”

She looked up at him, her face placid, as though she hadn’t just completely upended his grasp on reality. “Helping you, of course. You’re very pent-up, Harry. I thought a release might help you focus on our work.” Her hands drifted toward his legs

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” Harry spluttered, his face burning as he tried to figure out if he was in some kind of fever dream. “We can’t—this isn’t—”

Luna tilted her head, her smile patient, almost pitying as she pulled down the remainder of her dress until she was fully tits out, crouching behind his desk.

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t take long. And I’d hate for Wrackspurts to cloud your mind while we’re discussing something important— unless you’d prefer to cum in my pussy?”

“Oh, gods…” Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face as Luna's hands worked at his trousers, his body backstabbing him in the worst way. His cock was already painfully hard, straining against his zipper until she pulled it free, brushing against the hem of his Auror vest.

He

should

stop this. But instead, he heard himself mutter, “Pussy, Luna… I want to cum in your pussy—”

Harry immediately cringed. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He felt like the world’s biggest prick.

Luna, however, didn’t seem fazed. In fact, she positively beamed at him, her eyes alight. “Oh yes, I was hoping you’d say that,” she said as if they were simply discussing tea preferences.

Her hand wrapped around him, and the first stroke nearly had him cumming between her fingers. He groaned, sinking back into the leather. With shaking hands, he reached for his wand and cast a

Muffliato

, leaning forward just enough to mutter the spell before collapsing back again.

Her mouth was sucking at him in an instant, her lips moving with hypnotic motion. Her mouth gargled up and down, and her eyes rolled upwards, flicking between his ears and somewhere just above his head as if searching for something unseen. She hummed a fairy-like little tune, a sound so utterly

Luna

that it almost pulled him out of his daze—

almost

.

Then she popped off, a wet sound breaking the quiet, and her hands found his base, jerking him upwards with an ease that had his entire body clenching.

“Oh, it’s already working,” she mused.

Harry nodded. “Oh, it’s fucking

working

,” he groaned, his hand instinctively guiding her head back down. Her mouth closed over him again, her lips wrapping around his tip and then hollowed.

Damned those lips. Thank

Merlin

for Luna and her uncanny ability to know how to solve a problem. He felt the pressure building deep in his balls as her fingers cupped him, lifting and cradling with gentle insistence.

“Fuck…” he moaned. His head tipped back, one hand resting on the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her strands as she moved. Another pop as she lifted her head, still on her knees. Harry looked down, completely raptured, as she shimmied out of the remainder of her dress.

Bloody hell, Luna was

fit

. Perky, creamy tits with peach-colored nipples, a lickable, smooth plane of the stomach, and a trimmed patch of blonde hairs framing a delicate pink slit. Harry kept thinking about seeing those wet lips stretching around his width.

Luna straddled Harry. He didn’t move—he couldn’t. He just gulped as her hand found the base of him. Her knees slid slightly against the sides of the leather wingback, her body aligning with his as she began to sink. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, and before he realized it, his mouth was on her breasts, sucking on her nipples, desperate to stifle the grunts escaping him as her tight heat took him inch by inch.

“Harry… you feel amazing,” she gushed. “You have a very nice cock—has anyone told you?”

Harry’s lips popped off her nipple as a shudder ran through him. He thrust upward reflexively, groaning at the snug fit of Luna's cunt. “You can tell me anytime you’d like,” he managed.

He leaned back in, his mouth finding the supple skin at the edge of her nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She was too pristine—too ethereal—to be this filthy; he needed to bruise her just to know he could.

Luna hummed above him, and Harry tried to slide his hand between them, determined to find her clit—he needed her to feel as wrecked as he was about to be.

“It will be better for you to cum inside me as I cum,” she breathed, her voice lilting. “I’ll be tighter…”

Her body moved against him, not hard or fast but like a dance. She rolled her hips in a fluid, serpentine motion, taking him to the very tip before pumping back down in a way that had Harry gripping her thighs. Her forearms were draped on his shoulders, and when her gaze dropped to where his fingers were rubbing her clit, he finally saw it—that spark of pure pleasure. Luna leaned back, her head tipping as she gasped.

“Ohhh,

delightful

…” she sighed.

Harry was on the brink. The tight, pulsing pressure in his balls told him he couldn’t hold back much longer. He was about to explode, to fill Luna—

Luna

. She could ask him any bloody question about the Chimera poacher afterward. Hell, she could ask for his Wizarding Security Number if she kept riding him like this.

“I’m going to cum,” Harry panted. “

Oh fuck, Luna

…

get rid of my Wrackspurts…

”

He felt the first pulse, his cum surging upward as his bollocks released. Luna purred. The second, third, and fourth waves of his climax spilled into her. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back—

Gods, when was the last time he’d even wanked?

His face contorted in that shuddering grimace—just as the door to his office swung open.

A coiffed head of blond hair appeared in the doorway.

“Bloody hell Potter.” Draco Malfoy gaped, throwing his hands over his eyes. Luckily, Harry’s desk shielded the mess he had made, which was seeping out of Luna, but Malfoy had a clear view of her bare back, as she was still straddling him.

“Hi, Draco,” Luna said brightly, unfazed. “I’m just helping Harry with his Wrackspurt problem. You seem to have an awful lot of them too. Are all DMLE employees this sexually frustrated?” she asked, as though her estranged cousin hadn’t just walked in on her mid-ride.

“Apparently fucking so, Lovegood. How am I the only person not getting shagged around here?” Draco snapped, tossing a stack of papers onto Harry’s desk. He turned to leave, slamming the door behind him, muttering something about

‘priorities’

under his breath.

If Draco told Hermione… No, he couldn’t think about that. Draco’s desk was right next to hers, and if she caught wind of this, he’d

never

hear the end of it.

It still baffled him why Malfoy insisted on sitting at that desk, especially since he’d been offered an office of his own countless times. But Malfoy, in his typical infuriating way, always declined, using the excuse of

"better oversight"

or

"keeping an eye on things”.

Whatever his reasons, Harry didn’t have the mental bandwidth to unpack them now. He’d think on it another day—hopefully when he wasn’t still half inside Luna Lovegood.

She was smiling down at him, entirely unbothered, her hair cascading over her shoulders in that tangled way of hers. “So,” she said lightly, running a hand through his mess. “Are you ready to start the interview? Or would you like to have sex with me again? I quite enjoy being bent over.”

Harry let his head fall against her shoulder. “Luna…” he moaned, both exasperated and too entirely tempted by the proposal. She simply tilted her head, waiting for him to make the choice.

“Bend over my desk.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Winter 1999

Fleur was in France with Victoire and her parents. Bill had been working overtime through the holidays—it was prime season for curse breakers, as many families unwittingly re-gifted magical artefacts that were more cursed than curated. The distance between them wasn’t just physical; their relationship had been on rocky terrain for months. Both of them, part beast, found their animalistic emotions harder to rein in. Fleur’s Veela heritage made her irresistibly alluring yet fiercely independent—a combination that emboldened men who saw her as a challenge. He loved those things about her, yet jealousy gnawed at him when the first man who wasn’t him found his way into their marital bed.

The wolf in Bill, however, was no better. Once Fleur had opened that door, it was only a matter of time before his own instincts overpowered him. Sasha, the brunette intern at work, always carried a faint scent of rain and earth. The day after watching Fleur with that Romanian Quidditch player—her cries filling their home—he snapped. When Sasha brushed past him at the office, her shy smile and kind

“hello”

tipped the scales. He followed her into the supply closet and fucked her against the shelves, her nails raking his back until she was a puddle.

Fleur hadn’t been pleased when she found out, but they both knew the truth: they could only suppress their impulses for so long. That’s how their arrangement began.

He had worked late—much later than he had anticipated—but the idea of waking up to an empty house was less than ideal. It was that that led him to Apparate to the Burrow on Christmas Eve. He figured his family would likely be asleep when he arrived. The

crack

broke through the kitchen as he landed, only to be met with a startled shriek.

Despite being caught off guard, Bill chuckled as Hermione jumped back in surprise, her curls swaying. She wore a silk dress with a linen-white robe loosely tied over it. Gods, she always smelled so good—a fragrance that haunted him whenever they crossed paths. Myrrh, amber, vanilla. A scent he had tried to ignore while she was dating his kid brother.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, he was always hyperaware of her. He could always smell her after she’d been in bed with Ron. She’d be drenched in his brother’s sweat, her skin carrying the overpowering scent of his sibling’s release. And still, Bill found himself inhaling deeper, trying to sift out just her, wondering—craving to know—what she smelled like beneath it all. What her untouched arousal would truly be like.

“Gods, Bill, you scared me,” Hermione breathed, clutching a bottle of Firewhisky she had been putting away. “Everyone’s in bed. I’m just tidying up,” she added with a welcoming nod.

“Don’t tidy that up—I could use a drink,” he replied with a tired smile. Hermione hesitated but levitated the bottle over to him.

“Who’s here?” he asked, grimacing slightly at the burn of the first sip as he pulled out a chair at the dining table.

“Charlie, George, Ronald, Ginny, your parents, and Harry,” she listed, sitting across from him as he slid the bottle back toward her, motioning for her to join him. “Percy and Penelope went home after supper.”

Hermione uncorked the bottle with a squeak, pouring herself a matching glass. She glanced up at him, grinning as she raised it to her lips.

“And you’re sleeping…

in my brother’s room?

” Bill asked carefully. He knew Hermione and Ron had broken up but wasn’t entirely sure where they stood now.

“At the moment, I’m sleeping on the couch,” she chortled. “Harry was supposed to stay with Ron, and I was supposed to stay with Ginny, but we all had a bit too much Firewhisky. Somehow, Harry ended up with your sister.”

Bill let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Aren’t they broken up? I thought she was with that Zabini bloke?”

“She is,” Hermione confirmed. “Apparently, they’re… fluid. You know your sister—very spirited.”

“I guess fluidity runs in the family,” Bill quipped, taking another gulp before crossing his foot over his knee. He didn’t miss the way Hermione’s eyes followed the movement, her brow arching in a conspiratorial question. He smirked and shrugged as if to confirm her unspoken assumption. Her inebriated grin widened, an understanding gleam in her eyes.

“Interesting development,” Hermione murmured, taking a gulp of her drink.

“Not enough Firewhisky for you to end up back in bed with Ron, then?” he asked again.

Hermione answered quickly, almost too quickly. “I have a suspicion he might be seeing someone,” she said, her words clipped. Then, after a pause, she added, “And, well, my libido has been satisfied as of late.”

Bill didn’t miss the way the heat bloomed across her face in a guilty blush. She was feeling the effects of too many eggnogs and Firewhisky, her usual reserved nature absent.

“Good for you,” he said, nodding as he tipped his glass toward her in mock toast. "Are you going to tell me who the lucky bloke is?”

“Lucky?” Hermione repeated as if in disbelief.

Bill didn’t have time to explain himself before the scent hit him—subtle at first, then all-consuming. His blood ran hot, his nostrils flaring instinctively. Arousal. Womanly, heady, musky

.

It was rich and warm, like caramel and chardonnay. Hermione Granger was wet.

He glanced back at her, pools of saliva filling his cheeks. She was shifting in her seat, her legs subtly crossing and uncrossing. Her hands were now tucked behind her head, exposing the long line of her throat. Bill inhaled again, deeper this time, the primal part of him taking over.

“Who was it?” he coaxed, hoping that the more she thought about it, the wetter she’d become.

“Oliver Wood,” she gulped.

Bill leaned back, finally letting out a measured breath as he worked to maintain his composed demeanor. “Wood?

Really?

Nice bloke. I think we overlapped at school for a year, perhaps two.” His voice remained steady though his beast clawed furiously at its mental cage.

“It’s casual,” she added quickly as if trying to downplay her confession.

“Does it make you wet thinking about him?” he asked finally, his tone dropping an octave.

Her eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. “I’m… that’s—”

“It’s just you and me here, and the wolf in me can smell you.” He leaned forward, his eyeline never leaving hers. “It’s bloody lush. So, tell me—” his voice dipped even lower, nearly a growl, “—is it him, or is it the pleasure he gives you?”

“You can smell me?” Hermione’s face turned as red as the Christmas tinsel strung along the walls. Bill leaned over the table, nearly nose to nose with her.

“You used to smell of Ron,” he said. “Especially after he’d filled you with his cum. I always wondered what you’d smell like on your own…”

“You did?” she asked, trembling slightly. The robe was now draped around her arms, and Bill’s eyes dropped to the outline of her pert nipples beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress.

“I did,” he admitted. “It’s Christmas, Hermione. Do you think you could spread your legs a little more? Let me burn the scent into memory.”

He downed the last of his whisky, the empty tumbler spinning idly on the wooden table.

Hermione shifted on the chair, saying nothing. Bill watched as her toes tipped against the floor, her legs beginning to spread. Her fists gripped the fabric of her dress, which hung like a hammock over her upper thighs. Bill closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he sank lower in his chair, feeling his cock harden.

“No knickers,” he stated, his voice rough.

“How’d you know?” she whispered.

“I can just tell,” he moaned, and when he opened his eyes, Hermione’s legs were parted. Between her thighs was a shadowed space that drew his stare—a place he desperately wanted to explore.

Bill slid off his chair, falling to his knees with a quiet thud on the wood floor. He reached back, pulling his hair into a low bun with the elastic he always kept around his wrist. Two tousled strands fell loose. She pushed her chair back, and the air around them thickened with her scent. It was him now, he realized, liquefying her cunt with his presence.

“Let me taste you,” Bill huffed as he shifted onto all fours. His shoulders rolled forward, the predator in him fully unleashed. Hermione opened her legs. Finally, he caught the first glimpse of her—her cunt, throbbing and drenched with juices.

She glanced around wildly, her eyes betraying her awareness of their precarious situation. His tongue was about to trace the inside of her thighs, here and now, while her ex-boyfriend,

his brother

, and his entire family slept soundly upstairs.

“

Fuck

…” Bill groaned as his tongue traced a path to her slit, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She tasted as incredible as she smelled—better, even. Hermione, the know-it-all, his brother’s annoying little friend, was now a damned minx caught in his claws, tasting of fresh sex he couldn’t wait to sink into.

“Bill…” she keened as her hand tangled in his hair, pulling it loose from the elastic holding it back. He blew a stream of cool air over her clit and let instinct take over, flattening his tongue to lick her fully. He groaned against her as thoughts flooded his mind—of bending her over, filling her with his cum, and coating her body in his aroma. He wanted to bottle the mixture and bring it back to Fleur.

She’d like that.

“

Ohmygodsohmygods,

” Hermione chanted, her body already unraveling. Bill knew how to eat a woman’s cunt; it was an art form he’d mastered long before any of the boys she’d let touch her were old enough to ride a broom. One of his favourite pastimes back at Hogwarts had been getting girls naked and spread out like a feast. Later, it had been in the artefact room during his curse-breaking training. And now, his new favourite spot—right here, on a chair in his mother’s kitchen, with Hermione throttling her hips against his chin.

He grunted, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her open. Sweat gliding along her skin. He sucked her clit, feeling her pulse against his tongue, her body taut as a bowstring. Finally, he pulled back, his face still partially obscured by the dress now bunched around her waist. He licked his lips.

“Get on all fours.”

Hermione practically jumped off the chair. Her knees and elbows hit the floor with a dull thump as she presented herself—her arse high, her freshly licked cunt glistening in front of him. His hand moved to his belt as he unbuckled it, freeing his cock. He stroked himself slowly, taking in the view. Bill was a patient man, but as he stared at Hermione bowed before him, he knew he’d fulfill every fantasy that had plagued him during countless family dinners.

“Beautiful cunt,” Bill murmured, running his thumb down her slit, parting it slightly as her slick shined under the kitchen light.

“You can fuck it,” Hermione purred. “Tell me what I smell like when I’m filled with

you

.”

The dirty words rolling off her tongue took him by surprise. She was a quick learner—always had been—but this filthy, bold side of her was new. And gods, he liked it. His cock twitched as he positioned himself at her entrance, the swollen tip brushing against her puffy lips. The pink flesh near her opening gave way to olivey shades where she was juiciest. He notched forward, feeling her heat envelop him until the tip met resistance, her walls tight around him.

“Are all you Weasleys this

girthy

?” she huffed, looking back at him with a blown-out grin.

“Likely,” he admitted, snapping her hips to meet his groin. “But I actually know how to use it.”

He pulled back, then sank in again, taking his time to ensure she could accommodate him—fucking her cunt into submission. Each glide sent shudders through her body, her arsehole puckering and gaping as he pushed in and out. Adjusting, he lifted her hips, angling her arse downward. Hermione whimpered as her walls clenched around him, her fingers curling into the wood floor for purchase.

“You really don’t need to be told, do you?”

“No,” Bill growled, thrusting into her again. His hand slid up, twisting under her dress to cup her breasts in his palm. He kneaded them like dough through the silky fabric, his fingers teasing her nipples before smoothing down to her clit. His thumb rolled over the nub, circling it as he began to pick up speed. Her arse cheeks slapped against the bare skin of his thighs, his jeans bunched around his knees as he watched himself disappear inside her. Cream began to build up in a ring around his cock, and he swiped his thumb over it, bringing it up to his mouth and sucking.

“Shite, Hermione, already creaming around my cock,” he grunted, snapping his hips harder. He tugged his shirt higher, holding the fabric between his teeth to muffle his groans, biting down to keep himself from losing control.

Hermione was meeting his strokes, rucking back with each of his thrusts. Bill’s patience was fraying, his control hanging by a thread. One hand rounded over her arse to give it a squeeze.

“I’m going to fill you, ” he rasped. “Then I want you to stay open for me. I want to watch my cum drip out of you—and lick it clean. Can you do that?”

She moaned, her body quaking beneath him. “Yes, yes, yes, gods, yes, Bill!” she cried.

Bill’s cock pulsed, his bollocks tightening as he finally let go, spilling into her with a growl. Her warmth milked him as days of pent-up cum poured into her.

A glass shattered nearby, but he couldn’t stop—not now, not when her cunt was draining him dry, not when he was claiming her.

“

Bill…I’m cumming, my gods; I’m cumming

,” Hermione trembled as they finished.

He looked up through the cloud of his climax and stilled. A scar, glasses—Harry Potter, standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and pale. The broken glass lay at his feet, forgotten, while Hermione yelped, scrambling to grab her robe to cover her breasts.

Bill didn’t care. He stayed sheathed inside her, his cock still throbbing, his focus unwavering. He'd always viewed Potter as a little brother, and Bill was well-accustomed to telling his little brothers what to do.

“Can you give us some privacy, Harry? We’re not quite done,” Bill rasped.

Harry’s face turned crimson, his words fumbling out in a stammer. “Ah, right, ah, alright. I was… I was just getting water—but, um, guess I’ll go thirsty. Alright, then.” He backed away awkwardly, retreating up the stairs, his footsteps fading.

Bill pulled out slowly. His cum leaked out in creamy droplets, some dripping onto the floor as Hermione tried to shift away.

“Oh no…

Harry

—” Hermione began, panic creeping into her voice.

Bill pressed her down, his weight pinning her. His mouth hovered near her ear.
"He won't say a thing," he promised, brushing the words against her skin like a caress. He grazed her earlobe with his teeth and inhaled. "I'm biased," he whispered, "but you smell so much better covered in me."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Winter 2000

It was New Year's Eve at the Greengrass estate, an annual affair Draco begrudgingly attended. Each year, it was the same farce—a grand display of opulence where the pureblood families gathered to reminisce about the glory days of their tarnished legacies, all while putting on an elaborate and ostentatious show.

The Greengrass drawing room was a bastion of decorum, with its mahogany shelves, gilded tomes, and wrap-around White Statuario bar. Daphne, her sister Astoria, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo were gathered around the marble-topped counter, shooting firewhisky and cutting lines with the carelessness that could only come from too much money and too little accountability.

Draco leaned over a stool, a glass of something amber in hand, pointedly ignoring the small pile of illicit powder beside him. He should have been ashamed, really—being an Auror and all—but the Ministry didn’t give a damn about Muggle drugs. Still, it had been years since he’d touched anything stronger than alcohol. Seventh year, perhaps. But this New Year’s, he was determined to get absolutely, unapologetically obliterated. Mainly because he was harbouring the most ridiculous, egregious crush on Hermione Granger.

Of all people.

Granger

didn’t even realize he existed outside of work. Sure, she acknowledged him professionally, but it wasn’t the sort of acknowledgment that made him think she noticed him—

noticed

him. It was maddening. Especially since she’d been sneaking around with Oliver Wood lately. Draco had seen her slinking out of the Leaky Cauldron with the smug bastard, hair mussed and blushed. Then there was the argument she’d had with Potter about some unnamed Weasley brother—not her ex, thank Merlin, but still. As if Potter had any right to lecture her about relationships. Draco had caught him in a compromising position with Luna Lovegood not four weeks ago.

The truth was, the only person Hermione Granger should be with—was him—and it had been far too long since Draco had been with

anyone

.

Although Pansy looked particularly tempting tonight, she was usually down for a shag if he asked, but there was a distracted air about her as if her mind was elsewhere. Theo, meanwhile, was slicing another line, his eyes flicking to Draco as Pansy made to leave the room.

“You’re not joining us tonight?” Theo asked, arching a brow.

“Only if Parks lets me snort it off her arse,” Draco drawled. He wasn’t usually this bold, but tonight the firewhisky was hitting just right, and the words left his mouth before he could think better of them.

Theo chuckled, and Pansy, mid-step, paused to glance back at him. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely hide the grin.

“Those days are long past, darling,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a Pansy-esque flourish. “I’ve got more exciting plans. The man waiting for me downstairs has promised to tie me up and edge me until midnight, and I’m not one to miss an appointment.” With that, she swept out of the room, champagne flute in hand.

“I need to see who it is,” Theo muttered, abruptly abandoning his post at the bar. Blaise lunged after him, trying to grab his arm.

“I

told

you, I already know who it is,” Blaise shot back. “You just don’t want to believe me because you’re

still

sulking about Ginny choosing me. Trust me, mate, it’s exactly who I said it was—” His words cut off as the two of them barreled out of the room, leaving behind the faint sound of their bickering.

Draco exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ever since Blaise and Theo had their falling out over the Weasley girl, they’d been toxic to be around—always snapping and trading quips. The energy was exhausting, and frankly, Draco didn’t care to referee. Theo should’ve just shared; it wasn’t like him to be so territorial. Hypocritical, considering he’d shagged Ginny when she’d been very much

off-limits

. If Theo had pulled a stunt like that with Granger, Draco wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have snapped his neck.

Shaking off the thought, Draco bent down and snorted the line Theo had left behind. The acidic burn hit the back of his throat—

chemically

—he shook it off with a spitty hiss. When he looked up, Astoria and Daphne were watching him with matching beams that set his nerves firing on all accounts.

It wasn’t a secret—

nothing

was a secret in this crowd—that the Greengrass sisters had been trying to snag him into a marriage arrangement since the war ended. Their mother had been pushing the idea relentlessly, and it seemed both girls were more than willing to make themselves available.

“Want to do the next one off my tits?” Astoria quipped, her eyes sparkling with drunken lust as Daphne leaned down to do another line herself.

Draco’s eyes flashed over the younger Greengrass, assessing her. Petite, brunette, a fantastic rack, a narrow waist. Her hair was curly tonight, and if he bent her over, he might just be able to pretend it was Granger.

“Such a whore, Tori,” Daphne drawled, swirling her champagne as she leaned against the bar. “We both know he’d rather do one off my arse. Isn’t that right, Draco? You used to back in the common room. Remember? A little spank for being naughty... If it hadn’t been for Pansy, I’m sure I would’ve convinced you to do something far more daring than that.”
Draco shifted his weight, eyeing both sisters as his blood ran hot. His cock was beginning to harden, lechery coiling in his stomach. Which sister would he pick? He desperately needed to bury himself between the thighs of a witch, to fuck until his mind was blissfully blank. He needed release, to pull someone’s hair, to squeeze his eyes shut and mouth the name Hermione into something other than his own damn hand.
But why pick just one?

What he’d concocted in his head was bold, low-brow even—but wasn’t that the point? Maybe indulging in the forbidden delights of

both

Greengrass sisters would finally exorcise Granger from his mind. It couldn’t hurt to try.

“What if, Tori,” he began. “you pull your dress down, and Daph, you bend over my lap? I’ll snort a line off your perky tits”—he pointed lazily at Astoria—“and another off your tight arse,” he finished, nodding at Daphne. “That way, both my girls leave happy.”

He grinned as he tossed back another shot, the burn blurring the edges of his inhibitions. He half-expected a slap to the face for his audacity, but it never came.

“Oh, darling,” Daphne cooed, setting her glass aside. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Draco sat on the chaise beside the bar, sprawling listlessly as he widened his legs. Daphne, ever willing to take the lead, pulled her dress up to her ribs and bent over his lap, her arse wiggling against him. A black thong disappeared between the creases of her cheeks, leaving nothing to the imagination. Smirking, Draco gave each cheek a hardy slap, followed by a rough squeeze, kneading the weight of her flesh in his hands.

Astoria knelt before him, her demeanor more reserved but no less eager. She slid the straps of her dress from her shoulders. The fabric peeled away as her round tits came into vision. Draco, wandless, arranged two lines on the mounds of both sisters.
Draco studied Astoria—the docile, sweeter sister. The sight of her biting her lip, cleavage sprinkled with cocaine, sent a corrupt shudder through him. He imagined her lips wrapping around his cock, her innocent expression twisting with struggle as she took him deeper. The thought made his cock twitch, pressing insistently against Daphne’s stomach.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding up to push Astoria’s tits together, dragging his tongue over the bend of one, testing the edges of the powdered lines before tilting his head. Closing one nostril, he snorted a line straight from nipple to nipple. The sting hit his system immediately.

He licked away the remnants of the powder, and when he reached her left nipple and clamped down with his teeth, just hard enough to bruise. “Good girl, Tori,” he murmured, looking up at her through the messy fall of his platinum hair, his bloodshot eyes meeting hers.

“Ready, Daph?” Draco asked, as his hand trailed up and down her legs. His index and middle fingers hovered dangerously close to her core. Daphne’s thighs were soaked. Draco bent down; his other hand pressed to his nose as his elbow rested on the small of her back to stop her from moving too much, snorting another two lines off her arse. At the same moment, he slipped his fingers between her legs and pushed them deep into her cunt, leaving only his thumb visible from the squeeze.

“

Draco

,” she gasped.

He whipped his head back up, his vision clouding from the high, but his focus was razor-sharp on the pulsing heat gripping his hand.

Astoria stood and let the remainder of her dress fall to the floor. “I want to suck you off,”

Draco’s fingers curled inside her older sister, making her cry out and writhe even more. The corner of his mouth lifted in a wicked grin.

“What about you, love?” he pressed with an arrogant challenge as he turned his attention back down to Daphne. “Want to suck me off at the same time as your sweet sister?”

“Do you want me to teach you a thing or two, Tori?” Daphne giggled. Astoria flushed but dropped to her knees, as Daphne slid off Draco’s lap. His hands were already at his belt, undoing the buckle while Daphne’s dress hung around her waist like a hula hoop.

“I know what I’m doing,” Astoria snapped. She glanced up at Draco just as he freed his cock, stroking it once from hilt to tip, pre-cum dripping at the head. He silently hoped both girls could handle him, because in his drug- and booze-fueled state, he’d likely fuck them into the floor before cumming.

“Let her show me,” Draco said, nodding toward Astoria. He angled his cock toward her, and she latched onto it greedily, her lips wrapping around the head with a ferocity that made him groan. Younger siblings were always desperate to prove themselves, he surmised, especially by the way Astoria hollowed her cheeks, spat on him, and began jerking the base while humming against his shaft.

“Fuck, that’s it, Tori,” Draco growled, his hand sliding into her curls to guide her rhythm. “Suck my cock—show your sister how good you are at it.”

Astoria hummed again in response, the vibrations shooting up his spine. All Draco could see was the bobbing of her brown curls, and for a fleeting, maddening moment, he imagined it was Hermione sucking him into mush. Gods, if he just closed his eyes, it could be her—Granger, her brilliant, stubborn mouth finally put to proper use.

But he wouldn’t close his eyes. No, he’d keep them wide open and staunch on the sight of the Greengrass sisters. He’d bury himself in their gorgeous, willing cunts, fill them over and over again until Hermione Granger was nothing more than a fleeting memory, emptied from his mind like the seed he was determined to spill from his bollocks.

Astoria pulled off with a gasp, her breasts heaving as she gargled for air. Daphne took the cue immediately, her lips replacing her sisters and plunging him straight to the back of her throat. Theo had once told Draco that Daphne had practically no gag reflex, and Draco has now taken full advantage of that knowledge. Thrusting upward, he held her head down, pressing her until a lesser woman would have gagged.

Daphne spluttered slightly, her nostrils huffing against the hairs at his base, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she sucked harder. She was licking and swallowing, playing the part of the good slut he’d always heard whispers about in their social circles.

“Bloody fuck, Daph,” he grunted, his head falling back slightly as the pleasure coursed through him.

Astoria, kneeling beside her sister, looked pouty at the praise, her lips parting as if she were about to argue her case. Daphne’s lips were swollen as she finally pulled off, a string of drool hanging from her mouth. Both sisters stared up at him, their pretty faces demonic in their hunger. The heat in the room was brutal, and Draco felt suffocated in his clothes. Standing abruptly, he shrugged off his jacket. His too-warm button-up followed, and he stripped away the last remaining fabric that clung to his skin.

“On the chaise. Bend over—both of you,” Draco commanded. The sisters obeyed immediately, crawling onto the chaise as if they were cats. Their knees pressed into the middle cushion while their feet dangled over the edge of the lounger. Side by side, they arched their backs, cunts on full display.

Daphne’s was puffy and soaked, her rosy slit clenching. Astoria’s thighs were slick down to her knees. Her lips were smaller, a soft peach hue in contrast to Daphne’s rosy tone. Stunning, the both of them—Draco could barely wait to sink in, taking his time with each sister, fucking his cock in and out until the night bled into oblivion.

His palms glided down their spines, cupped an arse cheek in each hand before he traced their folds. In synchronization, Draco pressed three fingers from each hand inwards, sliding

so fucking

easily into their warmth.

“Oh gods…” Astoria whimpered.

“I want something harder,” Daphne demanded, pushing back against his forearm, her arse slapping against his skin.

Daphne had always been the more troublesome one. Even as kids, she’d been bratty—not in the Parkinson way, but in the way that she was never satisfied with anything. Always wanting more. Always pushing limits. Draco smirked to himself. He’d make sure that, by the end of the night, she wouldn’t have a single complaint about his cock.

“Selfish, Daph,” he chided, withdrawing his hand. “Tori’s not warmed up yet. For that, I’m licking her cunt first.”

Daphne scoffed, but Draco didn’t care. He dropped, gripping Astoria’s arse and spreading her cheeks. His tongue darted out, licking her from hole to hole. His nerves were dulled by the drugs, but the taste of her was buttery, sweet, and delicious nonetheless.

He rolled into her slit, pushing in and out, then shook his head back and forth while his tongue was rooted to her clit. Astoria's knees buckled beneath her. She melted onto the chaise, her cries of

“Draco,”

a worshipping chant.

He decided he liked Astoria. He liked the way she responded to him: pliant and wishful, her body an open invitation. He intended to make the most of it.

Astoria was turning to putty under his tongue, as her orgasm thrashed over her. The taste of her coated his chin, her cries echoing in his ears as he pulled away, satisfied with his work. Not bothering to wipe his mouth, he delivered a slap to Daphne’s arse. He spread her open next, diving into her cunt with the same focus he’d given her sister.

Daphne, ever the greedy one, pushed back against him, challenging for more. Draco obliged, his fingers pumping into her as his mouth suctioned around her clit. She was loud, and shameless, screaming out his name as his pace quickened. By the time he was four fingers deep, tongue working her over like a man possessed, Draco finally snapped back to reality as Daphne was limbless, sprawled across the chaise.

“I’m not done with either of you yet,” Draco rasped. He tapped Daphne’s left foot, signaling her to open up. She spread her legs again as she lay flush against the cushions.

Draco straightened, gripping his cock and aligning it with her entrance. Leaning forward, he braced himself on his elbows, hovering over her as he pushed inside her in one thick thrust. Her tits bounced as his cock filled her, hitting the back of her walls.

“Gods, I fucking needed this,” Draco growled.

“Fuck me as hard as you want, Draco,” Daphne moaned, her hips bucking up to meet his. That was all the invitation he needed. His speed turned punishing, his cock driving into her over and over until the floor beneath them creaked precariously under the force.

Astoria sat crossed-legged, her leer stayed on Draco as she worked herself, her free hand finger fucking her own cunt. The sight made Draco grunt, his eyes darting between the younger sister pleasuring herself and the older one taking him like a deranged cum-slut. The once-pristine grandeur of the estate drawing room was now tainted by debauched sounds of moans, wet skin, and the splintering of wood furniture.

“I need to feel Tori,” Draco ragged as he pulled out of Daphne. Rolling over, he reached for the younger Greengrass, dragging her into his lap. Her legs splayed open as he guided her down, impaling her on his cock in one dominating push.

Astoria was going to be a fucking problem. She moved like she was born for this, her hips jerking and rolling against him in a messy, frantic melody. Draco growled in the back of his throat, one hand gripping her waist while the other flicked her clit. She was so

willing

—so damned obedient. The epitome of a proper pureblood molded into submission.

“You’d make a good wife, wouldn’t you, Tori?” The words tumbled out before Draco could stop himself. “You’d be obedient to me, wouldn’t you? I’d come home, and you’d suck me dry, let me fuck you anyway I wanted, make sure all my needs were met.”

He groaned into her ear. Astoria whimpered, nodding frantically, her head rolling back against his chest as if his words were gospel.

“I would be; I’d be so good to you, Draco,” Astoria whined.

It had to be the drugs—there was no other explanation. There was no way he’d actually want this type of obedience in real life. No, that wasn’t what Draco craved. Granger would never be obedient. She’d ride him until his cock was raw, choking him while she did it, or slapping his balls just to hear him hiss.

Fuck.

That was the woman he truly wanted.

But here he was, buried in Astoria, and she was sweet, willing, malleable. It would have to do for now.

"Cum for me, Tori," Draco urged as he continued to fuck her senselessly in his lap, strumming a tune on her clit as her walls viced around him.

Across the chaise, Daphne’s eyes blackened as she watched, her fingers working feverishly between her thighs.
But just as Astoria’s climax hit its peak, a grating, unwelcome voice shattered the moment.

“Well,

well

… What do we have here?” Nott drawled as he sauntered into the room, hands in his pockets. His mask gleamed with amusement, and the obvious bulge in his trousers left no question about his thoughts on the scene before him. The narcotic-fueled, incestuous orgy had clearly piqued his interest.

Draco ground his jaw, his vision narrowing. For a brief, heated moment, he was tempted to send a

Crucio

straight at Nott’s face. Instead, he turned back to the sisters.

“I’m not sharing, Nott,” Draco bit out. To make his point, he grabbed Daphne by the ankle and dragged her closer to him, her body sliding across the velvet. All the while, he remained balls-deep in Astoria, his dominance obvious.

Theo grinned but stayed grounded in place, weighing whether pushing Draco further would be worth the risk. Draco’s attention was squarely on the Greengrass sisters, and he wasn’t about to let anyone else interfere.

“I’ll just watch, then,” he quipped, leaning back in a nearby chair.

Draco ignored him, driving his hips into Astoria with renewed fervor—perhaps to show off for Theo, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Daphne whined from behind him, her annoyance at being left unattended rebounding in the room. Astoria, meanwhile, was sucking on his neck. He could feel the drag of her teeth as she branded a love bite into his skin, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the euphoria coursing through him and the writhing whore he was fucking.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been pounding into Astoria when a sudden, keen, and masculine groan pulled him out of his fog. Daphne’s legs were thrown over Theo’s shoulders, and his cock was sliding between her thighs. Her head lolled to the side, her expression blissed out as Theo drove into her. She caught the annoyance in Draco’s glare and gave him an unbothered smile.

“I felt so empty,” Daphne teased in that petulant, bratty tone she wielded so well. “You’ve been giving all your attention to Tori…”

“Cheeky fucking whore, aren’t you, Daph?” Theo taunted. “You think Draco’s gonna let me have a taste of your sister next?”

Draco’s grip on Astoria fastened at the words. “Not a chance,” Draco growled, cold and final, though his plunges into Tori didn’t falter for a second.

“As if you’d give up the opportunity too—

oh fuck

…” Daphne began and was cut off when Theo spat onto her clit.

The sight of his best mate slamming into Daphne while she cried out only heightened Draco’s own arousal. His balls felt impossibly tight, the buildup surging as Astoria started cumming around him once again, her cries matching her sister’s in volume.

“Give up the opportunity to cum in your cunt, Daph?” Theo grunted. “You’re not wrong. I do

fucking

love it.”

Draco nodded at his friend but didn’t respond, focusing instead on the way Astoria’s body moved with his. Both men set a feral, animalistic pace that must have shaken the entire wing.

“You want me to fill your cunt, or do you want it somewhere else?” Draco strained as he felt himself teetering. Astoria froze for a moment, and then she whimpered with submission. “Whatever you want, Draco. I just want to please you.”

Those words were his undoing. Draco’s entire body spasmed. He threw his head back, groaning loudly as he came, thick spurts of cum coating her wall to wall.

His perception pixelated, but he caught sight of Theo, his thrusts stuttering to a halt as he bottomed out, grunting through his release. The synchronicity of it all—Astoria shaking in his lap, Daphne mewling in Theo’s grasp—sent a final jolt of satisfaction through Draco’s already-wracked nervous system as he caved into the chaise, completely spent.

The coffee on New Year’s Day wasn’t enough. Draco knew he looked like absolute shite. He’d woken up in a tangle of limbs, drugs, and booze in some warded corner of the Greengrass estate. Slipping out quickly to make it to the office on time, he’d ignored the thumping in his skull and the stiffness in his muscles. Now, sitting at his desk, he could feel Granger’s leer on him.

Gods, she looked so fucking sexy. Every damned day, she managed to make those tight skirts look like they were tailored just to tempt him. It was the reason he’d never accept an office with walls—he loved having an unobstructed view of her.

“Have a good New Year's Eve, Malfoy?” Granger pointed as she eyed his rumpled appearance.

“Brilliant,” he replied, holding up a vial of hangover potion before downing it in one go. The bitter taste caused bile to brew as he felt her stare lingering, though now it wasn’t on his face.

She was staring at his neck.

Draco’s stomach twisted as he remembered Astoria’s lips, her teeth.

Fuck. The love bite.

Just as Draco reached for his wand to glamour it, the sound of a man’s yell froze him in place. The noise was followed by the shuffling of several Aurors.

“Where is he?! Where is that bloody Malfoy boy?”

Draco groaned as Malcolm Greengrass’s booming voice raged through the bullpen. A moment later, Harry appeared, trying to intercept the man.

“Calm down, sir. What seems to be the problem?” Potter said in his usual calm, diplomatic tone.

“There he is!” Greengrass bellowed as he spotted Draco.

Draco sighed and stood, attempting to defuse the situation before it spiraled further. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted, though his voice carried a note of forced cheerfulness. “Fantastic party last night, as always.”

“Don’t you dare pull that shite with me, boy!” Malcolm roared. “After

defiling

both my daughters?

BOTH MY DAUGHTERS?!

I hexed that prick Nott, and he told me

everything!

”

Draco winced as a collective gasp rippled through the office. Every single one of his colleagues had stopped what they were doing to stare, including Hermione Granger.

Gods damn it. Nott was a real fucking twat sometimes.

“Everything?” Draco grimaced.

“

Everything!

You spoiled entitled cunt! If your father was—” Greengrass began, but Draco didn’t let him finish. At the mention of his father, something inside Draco broke. The bile rose in his throat, and rage overtook reason.

“My father?” Draco interrupted. “He’d likely have told me it was a

great choice

—to ensure I sampled them both. To make sure I knew which one I liked better.”

The room went silent. For a moment, everything hung in the air—until Malcolm lunged at him, roaring with fury. Draco didn’t flinch. He sipped his coffee casually as Potter and Weasley grabbed the man, holding him in a death grip while other Aurors rushed to help drag him out of the bullpen. Greengrass thrashed and shouted obscenities until someone finally silenced him with a stunning jinx.

Draco watched the chaos, knowing full well that this stunt would earn him a reprimand in Robards’s office. He sighed, drained the rest of his coffee, and slid back into his chair, pretending not to notice Hermione’s stare on him.

But, of course, she wasn’t going to let it go.

“

Both sisters,

Malfoy?” she asked, with mock incredulity as she crossed her arms over her chest. The movement only emphasized her amazing rack and Draco’s gaze flicked there for the briefest second before meeting her face. “How does one even

accomplish

that?”

Her lips tugged into a quirk, the tiniest drop of amusement making his heart skip. For the first time in years, he felt the flash of the arrogance he used to wield so effortlessly when talking to her. Returning her smirk with a wink, he replied.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Granger.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Spring 2000“

Oh my gods

…” Hannah mewled, as Blaise notched his cock at her entrance. Ginny stood beside them, licking the pads of her index and middle fingers. She ran them in a

‘V’

along Hannah’s folds, splaying them open to give Blaise an unobstructed view of his push.

Sharing to this extent wasn’t a frequent occurrence for Ginny. She’d always been a little selfish in that regard, preferring to keep Blaise—and, at one point, Theo—all to herself. Theo’s possessiveness had eventually driven her away, but Blaise was different. He understood her and gave her space to explore her desires without judgment. He never chastised her for straying, recognizing how she craved the release only a man’s rigorous pounding could provide after grueling days of training.

When Ginny and Hannah had gone out for drinks a week earlier, the blonde had let slip her frustrations: her and Neville’s sex life had gone stale. Ginny, always bold, couldn’t resist imagining what it might feel like to have Neville’s girth stretching her. The idea ignited before she knew it, and she’d invited Neville and Hannah over for dinner.

Dinner had been lovely, but dessert was the real treat. Neville’s pupils had blown when she licked whipped cream off Hannah’s finger, an intensity in his stare when she sauntered around the table to slide Hannah’s blouse off her arms. Fondling the blonde’s tits, pinching her nipples, Ginny watched as Neville’s cock twitched under his trousers.

Now, the four of them were naked in the dining room, their half-eaten meal long forgotten.

“Blaise will take care of you, Hannah,” she murmured, her fingers circling the blonde’s clit. “Let him slide into that precious cunt.”

Hannah whimpered, her hips lifting to meet Zabini’s. Ginny’s eyes went to Neville, who was panting a few feet away.

“Let Nev watch,” Ginny continued. “Let him see how well you can take another man’s cock.”

Blaise began to sink into Hannah, his head lolling back on the spring of his neck. The girl wriggled, and Ginny bit her lip, the sight of Blaise’s extraordinary cock gaping open another woman sent a flood of wet to her own cunt.

She loved Blaise—loved the weight of him on her tongue, the way he vanished between her thighs. Watching someone else enjoy him, seeing his size and skill unravel Hannah, made Ginny want something of her own.

She lowered her head, her tongue snaking just above where Blaise’s cock slid sloppily in and out of Abbott. His strong hands gripped the sides of Hannah’s hips, holding her taunt as he fucked her like a doll.

Ginny let a trail of spit snail from her lips, dripping down her chin before she leaned closer to slurp up the taste of them. Just as her tongue laved over their sex, she felt the ghost of a breath behind her, followed by a tongue running up the inside of her thigh.

She reached back to find the thick veined curve of Neville’s neck. Behind her, crouched low, his face stuck between her cheeks. Rough, calloused hands exposed her as his tongue licked up the juices pooling where her thighs and arse met.

“Fuck, Nev…” Ginny rutted back against his eager mouth. Her eyes darted up to catch Hannah’s blissed scrunch. “Do you see your boyfriend, Hannah? He’s so good—eating my cunt while I eat yours.”

Ginny bent her spine to give Neville better access while her tongue slid back between his girlfriend's clit.

“I like the feel of Blaise.” Hannah purred in a high pitch.

Ginny glanced up at Blaise through hooded eyes. “Do you like the feel of Hannah, love?”

Blaise’s mouth hung open, his focus on the way his cock was disappearing into Hannah’s pink plush. A ring of cream built up around his dark shaft. He gave a nod, his voice coming out in a grunt. “Tight. Lovely fucking tits.”

Ginny smiled as Blaise’s hands slid upward to grip Hannah’s breasts, squeezing them mercilessly. She knew how much he loved tits—it was one of his greatest weaknesses. Ginny’s athletic build meant she didn’t have the kind of bouncy, fleshy breasts he could lose himself in, but she loved letting him indulge himself in someone like Hannah. Creamy and squishy, her breasts were topped with gumdrop nipples, and while they hung slightly from the pull of gravity, they felt pillowy in the handfuls beneath Blaise’s palms.

Behind her, Neville’s tongue dipped into her slit, and Ginny’s fingers found their way to the scratch at the shaved hairs on his nape, as she glanced back over her shoulder. His mouth latched onto her clit, sucking with fervor, drinking her like nectar.

“Cock, Blaise…” Ginny begged. She wanted to be filled, to have something to suck on. Blaise, catching her tone, pulled out of Hannah with an obscene squelch and guided his cock directly into Ginny’s open mouth. He slapped against her lips before she took it into her throat. Drool spilled from the corners of her mouth, dripping down onto Hannah’s slit, her chin brushing against the blonde’s empty throbbing cunt as she bobbed.

Ginny didn’t care about the mess—she needed to be pacified, she needed to know Blaise and Hannah's taste on her tongue.

“How do you even take all

that

?” Hannah gasped in awe as she watched.

Ginny hummed around Blaise’s length. She let him slip free from her mouth for a moment, her lips shiny and red, her voice husky. “You should try,” she offered, her words punctuated by an

‘nrgh’

as Neville pumped his thick fingers into her from below. Ginny’s head fell forward, Blaise’s cock brushing her cheek. She choked on a breath.

“You two…” she managed between pants. “You taste so good together.”

Neville’s pace quickened, his fingers curling to hit the gooey spot inside her, and Ginny whimpered, her mouth parting again to take Blaise back in. Her tongue danced over him, salivating over the taste of Hannah’s sweetness—flowery and acidic—and Blaise’s salty musk.

The room was a symphony of her favourite music: wet, messy slaps, low groans, and breathy moans blending into a crescendo of shared want.

“I want to try…” Hannah whined.
Blaise glanced down at Ginny for approval, and she gave a nod before letting him pull from her mouth. She shifted away, watching as Blaise guided his cock to Hannah’s lips, encouraging her to take him.

Ginny turned her attention to Neville, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him down into the nearest chair. The man looked slightly terrified, his face still glistening from where it had been buried between her core, but he also looked on the verge of rapture.

“Now for you,” she panted, her chest heaving as she crawled onto his lap. “Gods, you almost had me cumming on your tongue…”

Her hand reached down to wrap soundly around the base of his cock, squeezing. Neville let out a whimper, his knuckles gripping the arms of the chair.

“Gin. Fuck, go easy on me,” he pleaded.

Ginny grinned up at him, her expression predatory. “Of course, Nev,” she replied sweetly. But instead of taking it easy, she fell to her knees and enveloped him in her warmed mouth. Sliding her lips down until she was nuzzling her nose to the base of his length, letting the tip press against her uvula. She began swallowing around him, her throat contracting in gulps.

“

Ginnnny

,” Neville groaned, his head falling back as his fingers yanked at the roots of her hair.

From behind them, Ginny could hear Blaise's groans joining with Hannah's sloppy suction of lips. Knowing Blasie was getting head only spurred her on. She swirled her tongue around Neville as she set a pace purposeful to outdo Abbott.

“The first time really changes your life, mate,” Blaise chimed in. There was a pause, and then he added with a chuckle, “Not that you aren’t doing a brilliant job, love,” clearly directing the last bit to Hannah.

Ginny couldn’t help but gleam at Blaise’s commentary, though she didn’t slow her movements. She thrived on this—the power she held over men. Harry had been putty in her hands at Christmas. They’d been broken up for ages, but half a bottle of Firewhisky, the blush on his cheeks, and the way he’d scratched at the shaved rawness of his beard had her soaked through her knickers. She’d ridden him until her bed broke. Blaise hadn’t been too happy about that one, though. She’d made it up to him by sucking him into oblivion before letting him take her arse—usually Theo’s preferred territory, but after he’d left their arrangement, it had become Blaise’s domain.

Releasing Neville from her lips, Ginny sat back with a satisfied sigh, her lips undoubtedly plumper from the suction. She wrapped one leg around his thighs and straddled him, her hands running through his hair as she locked eyes with him. He was gorgeous, his chest hauling for air, his mouth hanging open as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

Her fingers barely fit around his width. He wasn’t overly long, but gods, the girth.

Ginny loved girth

. She slid him through her folds once, then twice, teasing herself as she adjusted to the pull. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Blaise repositioning Hannah. His cock, slick and glistening, was no longer in her mouth but back between her thighs. He hoisted one of her skinny legs over his shoulders, her delicate frame looking breakable against the power of his muscular form as he flexed and pushed back into her.

“Blaise! Oh my gods,

Blaise—there!

Right there!” Hannah screamed through the dining room.

Ginny sat down onto Neville with a gasp, burying him inside. She leaned in close, pressing her lips to his ear. “Seems like your girlfriend is enjoying my boyfriend,”

Neville groaned, his hands gripping her ribs as his lips found hers, swallowing her laughter. Ginny began bouncing on him.

“She can,” Neville panted. “I’ve thought about this for years…” His words were so soft she almost missed them.

“What?”

Ginny froze for a fraction of a second. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did you say?”

Neville’s hands strengthened lifting her body before slamming her back down. A rumbly groan as he thrust upward. “I’ve thought about your cunt for years, Gin,” he murmured. “About shagging you. And now… now Han gets to enjoy herself, and I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting this.

Ginny’s heart stuttered at his confession, his words slamming into her harder than any thrust could. For a moment, her rhythm faltered as she stared at him.

A panicked ache twisted in her gut. Had she made a mistake?

Fuck.

She’d thought this was about pleasure, about mutual release—but this?

“Squeeze my cock,” Neville coached. His hand slid down to roll her clit between his fingers, and Ginny instantly forgot his earlier words. She obeyed, clenching her inner muscles around his shaft. Neville’s control over her was absolute now; Ginny was too stunned by the sensations to resist, letting him guide her every movement.

“Cum for me. That’s it, sweet girl, cream all over me,” Blaise growled. That husky lilt—it was his tell, the sound he made when about to fill a hole with cum. A moment later, Hannah’s cry deafened the room, as the table beneath them shook.

Still perched atop Neville, Ginny could feel every ridge of his cock inside her, yet his eyes weren’t on anything else—not on Hannah’s orgasm, not on Blaise. They stayed on her, watching the way her lips parted, the slow grind of her clit on his lap, her every shuddered breath. Just as she was about to take his tongue back into her mouth, she felt Blaise’s sweat-sheened torso press against her back.

“Can you lift her up for me, Longbottom? It’ll benefit you,” Blaise murmured.

Neville looked up to Ginny, searching her face. She leaned forward in silent consent, as Blaise positioned himself behind her. One strong hand gripped her hip, and she felt the blunt, head of his cock press against her pucker.

“

Hannah—

” Ginny started.

“I want to watch,” Hannah interrupted. “I want to watch you take them both.”

Hannah was heavily lidded with lust, and Ginny knew that tone well—the way a woman spoke when she’d been fucked so thoroughly her mind could barely form coherent thoughts.

Blaise pushed forward, stealing the air from her lungs. Neville groaned, and Ginny let out a shaky yelp, her head falling forward, her fingers fastening on Neville’s shoulders as she adjusted to the fullness.

“Fucking hell, so tight,” Neville strained. Ginny let out a needy whine.

“When I thrust down, you thrust up,” Blaise instructed Neville. Ginny could only nod weakly, her head lolling back as their hands grazed her body, claiming her in unison. She felt like she was falling apart—until something softer, gentler, broke through.

Hannah’s lips.

Soft, angelic, pressing kisses along Ginny’s face and neck. The contrast was jarring and grounding all at once, Hannah’s touch a counterbalance to the force of Blaise and Neville. Ginny was drooling over herself, her body shaking as the rope pulled tighter in her core. She was moments away—she could feel it building, unstoppable.

“I can feel it,” Neville roared. “I’m not—”

“A little longer,” Blaise cut him off. “It’ll feel fucking fantastic to fill her while she cums.”

“Hold onto it, Nev,” Hannah whispered. Her kind blue eyes filled with encouragement. “I know you’ve always wanted this. Give it to her. Give it to Ginny.”

Neville bruised Ginny’s ribs as he fought to hold himself back. Ginny’s entire body was shaking now, as she stared into Hannah’s eyes. The room spun around her, a chaos of heat, touch, and breath.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah,

” Ginny couldn’t form a word, her body was aflame, Blasie's cock in her arse while Neville’s filled her pussy, and at the same time, all three of them crashed together, Ginny screamed and she felt cum shoot up into the depth of her holes, both men grunting and growling and roaring filth as Hannah, wiped Ginny’s tear-filled cheeks.

Long after the intensity had subsided, Neville and Hannah lay nestled in Ginny’s bed alongside her and Blaise. The four of them were naked, exchanging kisses and lazy touches throughout the night. Ginny felt an ache in her body, but it was a good ache, one that left her sedated. At least three times before sunrise, Ginny went down on Hannah, her tongue coaxing cries from the blonde as Blaise re-filled her cunt. Across the bed, Neville had his cock in Hannah’s mouth, the intimacy between them sizzling as they all sought connection.

Despite the satisfaction coursing through her, Ginny’s heart whispered what her mind refused to fully process: this would be the last time.

As the first light of morning filtered through the windows, Neville and Hannah dressed sheepishly, sipping their coffees and offering quiet goodbyes. At the door, Hannah turned, catching Ginny’s face in her hands for one last kiss, her tongue brushing against hers. Blaise stood nearby, slapping a hearty hand on Neville’s shoulder. Ginny watched as the pair vanished into the Floo, the green flames crackling and taking them home.

The house fell quiet. Blaise came up behind her, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and pulling her back into his chest. His lips found the base of her neck, planting his mouth there.

“I think that was the last time I want to share,” Ginny acknowledged.

Blaise chuckled. “You said that last time,” he teased, his hand brushing over her arms.

Ginny turned, cupping his face with both hands, her eyes searching his. “I mean it this time. I think… it’ll get too messy. And, well…” She hesitated before she pressed on. “I love you, Blaise. I don’t want

us

to get messy.”

Blaise’s teasing grin faded into affection as he met her head-on. “Whatever you want, love, as long as I get to keep you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Spring 2000

Pansy was perched on her pedestal, legs spread, the balls of her feet pressed into the sofa. Across from her, Ron and Harry lounged in two velvet wingbacks, stroking their cocks in as she slid two fingers in and out of her wet cunt, putting on the show she’d promised them.

It hadn’t taken much to convince Weasley to fulfill this particular fantasy—perhaps it was her way of atoning for her wicked behaviour during their teenage years? She offered her body as a willing sacrifice, eager to be fucked relentlessly by both the Chosen One and the Golden Boy. Convincing Potter, however, had been a different story. Ron said Harry worried it would be awkward, perhaps even shameful, to fuck his mate’s pseudo-girlfriend. But Ron always gave Pansy whatever she wanted, and in return, she let him do whatever he pleased to her body.

“I fucking love it when her nails spread her cunt lips like that. Open them up for us—let him see you,” Ron’s voice was already husky. His hand squeezed toward the thick head of his shaft. His mouth had been hanging slightly open ever since she stripped and climbed onto her makeshift stage.

Pansy purred as Harry gulped; his hand worked himself faster. Pansy was quite pleased with Potter’s cock, thick, long, with an upward curve to it. Somehow, she’d managed to ensnare not just one lion but two.

“She does whatever you tell her to do. Don’t you, Pans?” Ron added with authority. She nodded, biting down on her tongue.

“Squeeze your tits together for me.” Potter finally chimed in.

Keeping two fingers rocking steadily in and out of her dripping slit, she brought her other hand back to her chest, lifting one breast and then the other, letting them bounce. She leaned down, her tongue darting out to tease her own nipple, her stare bound to Harry’s. His cheeks blushed, and Pansy watched as pre-cum oozed from his tip.

“Fucking hell, what a nice rack, Parkinson,” Harry murmured, his eyes glued to her chest.

“When she’s on top, they smother your face—it’s so bloody hot,” Ron added appreciatively. He had always been vocal about what he liked, never hesitating to admire her body or tell her exactly what he wanted her to do to him.

He especially loved her tits—loved sucking on them. Anytime he was inside her, and her breasts were near his face, his mouth found them. Sometimes, even after they’d both finished, he’d stay there, suckling lazily for what felt like half an hour, his fingers idly pushing his cum back into her. Ron was a deviant, she’d discovered. And, much to her surprise, he was the kind of deviant she thoroughly enjoyed.

“Will you show him how I like it?” Pansy asked, batting her lashes at her boyfriend. Ron’s face lit up as he stepped out of what remained of his trousers on the floor.

He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her roughly from the sofa and forcing her to kneel on the floor. Pansy bent forward, her hands clasped obediently behind her back, her eyes wide as she looked up at the burly Auror towering above her.

“She likes to be used as a hole,” Ron said bluntly. “She only cums when we tell her to. She only speaks when spoken to. She’s our whore to use as we please.”

Pansy snapped her gaze at Harry, who froze mid-motion. His throat bobbled audibly as he swallowed. His knuckles whitened, blanching, as he gave a tense nod of understanding.

“Open,” Ron commanded, and Pansy immediately parted her lips and stuck out her tongue. He slapped his cock against it three times, the salty tang of his pre-cum already coating her taste buds and making drool spill down her chin.

“She’ll take whatever you give her,” Ron said as he thrust his entire cock into her mouth. She gagged and spluttered, as she always did, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. He gripped the back of her head, holding her in place as he pushed deeper until streaks of mascara ran down her cheeks in dark rivers.

“Fucking Christ,” Harry swore under his breath as he watched Ron buck his hips, refusing to pull back. Spit bubbled at the base of Pansy’s lips, her mouth suctioned around his width. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ron pulled out, leaving her gasping for air.

“You ready for more?” Ron pushed with amused dominance. Pansy’s chest swelled, nodding, playing the part of the obedient slut. Ron motioned for Harry to step forward, and he scrambled to his feet, his cock now bouncing just at her nose. She could hear his nervous breathing as he looked down at her.

“Tell her what you want,” Ron encouraged.

“Open for me, Parkinson,” Harry said, his voice strained with nerves. Pansy remained silent, parting her lips and holding his line.

Unlike Ron, Harry was patient. He rested the tip on her tongue, allowing her a moment to adjust, giving her time to grow accustomed to his size. With measured movements, he eased further into her mouth. She hummed, her tongue tracing the veins on his underside, pausing occasionally to hollow her cheeks before letting him glide back once more.

“Choke on it,” Harry finally muttered. Pansy took her direction, relaxing her throat and sending him to the back of her gag. She squeezed her eyes shut, her body accommodating his request.

Harry’s hands came down, cupping her tits in his palms as he groaned, “This is so damned good, mate. Bloody hell, what a mouth.” He voiced to Weasley, who grunted as Harry continued to fuck her lips.

Pansy cast a sidelong glance at Ron. His eyes burned with pride and that dark, smoldering lust she adored. Ron moved out of view, but Pansy could feel the energy of his body close behind her.

A hand dragged through her drenched folds, the rough texture sending sparks of pleasure to her brain, knowing those callouses came from gripping his wand, hexing dark wizards, and roughing them up. Two thick fingers plunged into her cunt, curling and thrusting, as Ron worked her slit open.

Harry’s panting grew ragged, and she felt the shift of his weight as he began to kneel, guiding her down with him until she was on her hands and knees. Her thighs quivered as her anticipation grew, knowing her boyfriend would take care of her. She felt the taunting slide of his rounded head peeking at her entrance.

“She’s so wet already. What a good whore,” Ron teased as he slapped her ass hard enough to make her gasp around Potter’s cock, spit bubbling out. Harry’s eyes darted back, suddenly intrigued.

“Can you do that again? Spank her arse?” Harry asked.

Ron’s hand must have been already moving before the words fully left Harry's mouth. The crack of his palm meeting her flesh rang in the room, followed by her muffled gasp as her body jerked from the sting.

“Fuck,” Harry hissed. “I’m going to spank that arse red.” His hips moved slowly as if he were torturing himself to hold back, unwilling to cum just yet.

Behind her, Ron pressed forward, and Pansy let out a whine; her body fluttered as she focused on keeping her lips sealed tightly around Potter. They were both fucking in and out of her holes in a matching rhythm so one wouldn’t overpower the other, keeping her in pace. She was shuddering, feeling so beautifully full. She clenched, and Ron slapped her arse again.

“You aren’t allowed to cum yet,” he gruffed, and Harry moaned, “Can I try her cunt?” He pulled back, leaving her mouth empty and the ache in her jaw finally set in.

Ron started thrusting harder, her tits jiggling as her hands tensed on the floor.

Pansy knew how easily he could get lost in her body. Sometimes, even during their games, he had to be reminded of how to play.

“Gods,

fuck

, yeah alright..,” Ron finally relented, pulling out. Before she could catch her breath, Harry’s hands were on her, pushing her back onto the cold floor. He laid down beneath her, his cock standing upright, his arms flexed behind his head in a display of dominance.

“I want you to smother me with those gorgeous tits while you ride me,” Potter demanded. The shyness he’d shown earlier was gone, replaced by a confident command. She was finally getting a glimpse of the Chosen One she’d hoped for—the tag-team Aurors, Potter, and Weasley, she’d already read about in the

Prophet

.

Pansy mewled, delighted by the shift, and
enthusiastically
straddled him. Leaning forward, she pressed her chest to his face, allowing his tongue to lapped at her nipples, sucking and biting as she wrapped her hand around the root of his cock and stemmed it with her slit, as she allowed her hips to take over.

Harry growled. “After all the bitchy things you’ve said and done to me, I deserve to fuck this cunt—

I should fuck all your holes.

”

He slammed his hips upward, forcing her down to meet his pounds. Pansy squealed as his teeth grazed her nipple before biting down; his hand struck her ass hard—a spank, then another, each one more vicious than the last. The rawness spread across her skin; Pansy cried out, her voice breaking with each strike.

“How red is her arse,” Harry popped, his lips unlatching from her nipple as he tried to catch his breath.

She felt Ron move behind her, straddling her rear. He lifted her, Harry’s cock sliding halfway out as Ron examined.

“Gryffindor Red,” Ron chuckled. “Just needs to be stretched now.”

Pansy was pushed forward again. She whimpered, knowing she was the luckiest woman in the world. She knew Ron wouldn’t forget to make use of all of her.

“She’s going to be so tight on you, mate,” Ron growled, his fingers digging into the sides. “I

love

fucking her arse.”

He used some of the juices that Harry had fucked out of her to coat his cock. His head seared against her tight ring, gradually breaching her.

“Oh gods…” Pansy choked.

Ron thrust into her from behind while Harry bucked upward, testing the new angle. Curving her spine, Pansy dipped forward, bringing her face inches from Harry’s. Potter’s hand fisted in her hair, reeling her in, their mouths so close she could feel the heat of his lips. Their panting synchronized, his green eyes, fused onto hers—bursts of white flickering like lightning in a storm.

“You can’t kiss her,” Ron grunted from behind. Pansy’s lips brushed against Harry’s in the barest tease. He was almost whimpering, thrusting into her with pleading need.

“You can’t kiss me,” she huffed her words a taunt that made Harry’s jaw clench. He groaned and let his head thunk against the floor in frustration.

“She’s so—

nrgh

—tight with your cock—fucking hell. I want to feel her cum, Ron. Fuck, I

need

to feel her cum,” Harry was practically begging.

“Can you get to her clit?” Ron asked. Harry nodded, his face still tantalizingly near hers. She could see the conflict in his expression as he looked away, as though avoiding her eyes was the only way to resist the urge to kiss her. The bratty part of her wanted him to cave, to shatter the rules. She stayed close, hovering near his lips.

Harry’s hand snaked through the narrow space between their bodies as if he’d found the damned Snitch; his fingers sought out her clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“I want to cum.

Please

let me cum,” Pansy pleaded. Ron gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks.

“Not yet. Not until we’re done with you,”

Pansy whined, her body spasming as Harry’s thumb slid in circles around her nub.

“I’m going to fucking cum, mate. I’m going to cum in your girlfriend’s cunt,” Harry rasped; she felt his cock pulsing inside her, and she clenched deliberately, wanting to feel the heat of his seed.

Both men groaned in unison. “

Fuck

, fill her,” Ron commanded. Harry couldn’t hold back any longer. With a final growl, he let go, his hand faltering on her clit as his hips rucked. Pansy felt the rush of his release pooling low in her belly.

“Make her cum.

Make her cum

,” Ron ordered again, his Auror-like authority slicing through the moans. His cock drove into her ass with fury as Harry, still half-hard inside her, worked his fingers against her clit in a finality that sent her shattering. Pansy’s entire body fell into Harry’s chest as her climax punched through her.

Ron lifted her arse higher, fucking himself into her practically lifeless form until he came. “Gods, Parkinson, you’re a…” Harry stuttered into her ear.

“

Goddess

.” Ron finished, his hips snapping forward in four final thrusts as he spilled himself into her, cum dripping from both her entrances.

Pansy gulped in the stuffy air, her body heavy and sated as if filled with sand. She was deliciously spent.

Ron’s cock slipped out of her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see his freckled chest rising and falling; his skin flushed that endearing shade of red that always followed when he’d fucked her senseless. Pansy turned her attention back to Harry. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a long, languid kiss, her tongue sliding against his with enough intensity to draw a possessive growl from Ron behind her.

Sliding off Harry, Pansy eased back, planting herself on the floor with her legs spread wide, unabashed, and inviting. Their eyes followed as she let them watch the slow, lewd trail of their combined cum drip from her holes and onto the hardwood of Grimmauld Place, the heat between them far from dissipating. She reached for Ron’s face, cupping his cheek as his eyes rolled in mock annoyance at the kiss she’d given Potter.

“He was right,” she said with a teasing smile. “I had been an awful brat to him in the past. The least I could do was kiss it better.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Spring 2000 It was nearly half past six, and Hermione knew she had to leave soon. She’d told Oliver she’d meet him at Grimmauld by eight. They weren’t seeing each other —it was just casual shags whenever he was in town. But ever since Christmas at the Burrow— Hermione on all fours for Bill Weasley —she had been grappling with the realization that she might need someone... differen t. Someone more dominant. She could barely look Ron in the eyes these days, let alone Harry.Harry had kept quiet, just as Bill promised he would, but at Easter, Fleur had winked at her, and Bill—Bill had stared . It had left Hermione so flustered that… well. .. she ended up between them both in their marital bed later that night. She shook her head. It couldn’t happen again.Most of the office had long since cleared out, yet she stayed, steadily chipping away at the files scattered across her desk. Harry and Ron had been hovering earlier, whispering in hushed tones like conspirators, Harry’s cheeks suspiciously pink. He’d asked her at least three times what time she’d be home, and every time she answered "eight," he re-confirmed it like he didn’t believe her. Odd. With a sigh, Hermione scrawled the last line on the parchment in front of her. She was so focused she didn’t hear him approach.“Granger.”She looked up, startled, to see Draco Malfoy standing over her desk. He was dressed in the sleek, all-black Auror uniform that hugged his toned torso. Except for the white button-up shirt beneath, and the leather holster strapped across his chest. Draco Malfoy had become immensely attractive. Well, he’d always been attractive if she was being honest with herself, but Hermione had never wanted to admit it before. Now, every time he spoke to her, there was a telltale tingle sitting in her stomach. The man was sex incarnate, and she hated that she knew it. Hell, the entire office knew it after the Greengrass outburst.“Malfoy,” she replied, as she dropped her focus back to the papers on her desk. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a real conversation. If she let herself engage, she was afraid she might spend too long staring at the way his lips curled when he pronounced his R’s.“Did you want to go to dinner with me?” His tone was suddenly hoarse, the usual bravado vanquished.Hermione didn’t look up, her quill scratching across the parchment as she worked. “I don’t think I have time for takeaway right now. I’m trying to finish this before eight.” Her tone was almost dismissive, but she was truly determined to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the idea of sharing Chinese over their side-by-side desks.“Takeaway?” he repeated, his brows knitting together. Then he exhaled like he had to convince himself. “Granger, I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m asking.”That got her attention. Hermione’s hand stilled as she glanced up at him.“I’m asking you out to dinner. With me. A date,” he clarified, as if laying out a puzzle piece by piece.“A… date?” Hermione echoed, her eyes darting around the office as if she expected this to be some kind of elaborate prank orchestrated by the junior Aurors.“A date,” Draco repeated. “Dinner, or drinks, or coffee—whatever you prefer. With me.” He finished with a small shrug, but the vulnerability in his expression was unmistakable.Hermione blinked, the earnestness in his stormy grey eyes making it clear this wasn’t a joke. If she were being honest with herself, she’d figured something like this would happen eventually. They could only skirt around the flirtatious banter, the quips, and the teasing eye rolls for so long before one too many after-work drinks turned into a snog outside in some dimly lit alley.But this—him standing here, asking her out with such directness—she hadn’t expected this. It threw her off balance“Oh,” she said, her cadence softer. “Oh, I… uh, alright.” She fumbled with her words, completely unsure of what else to say. Draco exhaled a breath he’d clearly been holding, running a hand through his hair as though trying to play it cool.“Right,” he said, a faint, genuine smile spreading across his face. “Does tomorrow night work for you?”Hermione found herself smiling back before she could think twice. Draco Malfoy’s smile—it was surprisingly disarming, and she realized with a twist of guilt that she wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about her planned rendezvous with Oliver now.“Yes, tomorrow works. What time?”
“Seven?” he suggested. “I can pick you up at Potter’s place.”“Sounds great,” she beamed, surprising herself with how much she meant it.Draco seemed relieved, his knuckles tapping lightly on her desk as he nodded. “Alright then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”He turned to leave, but Hermione’s brain caught up to her just in time. “Oh, Malfoy—actually, do you have a moment?” she called after him. “Could you let me into the Containment Room? Harry’s managed to lose his pass again, and I lent him mine, but he’s taken it home.”Draco stopped in his tracks, already reaching into his pocket as he turned back to her. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said with a few nods.Hermione grabbed her wand and stood, falling into step beside him as they headed toward the Containment Room. The double doors were reinforced with layers of spells and a Muggle-inspired ID scanner. Hermione always thought it was an oddly modern touch for the Ministry.Draco scanned his ID, and the door unlocked with a short mechanical hum. Inside, the room was vast and meticulously organized, rows upon rows of shelves lined with dangerous fungi, volatile potions, and cursed objects—all things that shouldn’t see the light of day. The air inside was cool, with a tang of something metallic sticking in it.“Here we are,” Draco said, holding the door open for her. Hermione stepped through, her eyes briefly meeting his as she muttered a soft, “Thanks.”Draco followed her in as she’d need his pass to leave.“What are you looking for?” Draco poked, his presence suddenly much closer than before.“Spattergroit Acid,” Hermione replied, trying to sound casual despite her awareness of how near he was. “Remember that homemade concoction Ron found when he busted that illegal brewing house in Knockturn Alley? I think I’ve found a replica in the Colchester case.”She kept her tone even, but the room felt far smaller than its actual size. His chest was almost brushing her back, and the decadent scent of his cologne filled her nose. Hermione focused on her breathing,
struggling not to let him see the effect he was having on her.“ Mhmm, ” he murmured, his voice dipping as if the sound itself were brushing against her skin. “I could look at the file if you’d like. I’m quite skilled with potions,” he added.Hermione gulped, the heat of him making it impossible to think clearly. She spun around, needing space, needing air—but her movement was too quick.“Watch it!” Draco shouted, his hand darting out in an attempt to steady her.Her arm hit the edge of a glass vial sitting on the shelf. Time seemed to slow as the container tipped and shattered on the floor. Almost instantly, an ominous greenish gas began billowing out, filling the room in seconds.“Fucking hell!” Draco cursed, pulling his wand from his holster.
But it was too late. The gas enveloped them both, and Hermione felt the effects immediately. A fire spread through her limbs, and her vision blurred vaguely. “Activate the shower!” Hermione screamed as she waved her wand. Together, she and Draco stumbled toward the glass-enclosed emergency shower. She yanked the pull handle, and the walls slid down around them with a hiss, sealing them off from the gas cloud outside. A cascade of water began pouring over them, drenching them instantly.Hermione knew they needed to act fast. The acidic gas might not be as dangerous as the liquid form, but it was still potent enough to seep into their skin if left saturated. Without hesitation, she started tearing off her jeans, her fingers fumbling with the drenched fabric.“What— what are you doing?!” Draco nearly fell over.“We need to rinse the gas off! It’s going to soak into our clothes and then into us . You need to strip!” Hermione said, as she kicked her jeans off and reached for the buttons on her blouse.Draco’s eyes darted around the enclosure, his jaw locked as he took in the situation. “Granger—uh…” His gaze lingered for half a second too long on her now-bare legs before he snapped his head to the side, blinking hard. “This is not how I pictured today going.”Hermione rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Get a grip, Malfoy, and take off your clothes! We don’t have time for modesty.” She stepped closer, her fingers hurriedly undoing the buttons of his shirt as water poured between them.Draco flinched as her hands brushed his chest, his head falling back with a held-up groan. “Don’t— fuck —don’t, I’ll do it,” he muttered, backing away slightly. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.“Fine, but hurry,” she snapped, tossing her blouse onto the tiles of the shower basin. She reached behind her, unhooking her bra, aware of the heat creeping up her neck. She refused to feel self-conscious—it was a matter of survival, after all—but the way Draco yanked his shirt off and revealed the defined, scarred expanse of his chest had her swallowing back drool.Hermione stared a moment too long, water streaming over her face as she took in the planes of his muscles and the way his damp blond hair clung to his forehead. She quickly looked away, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the gas.Draco caught her glance and huffed out a breath, pushing his fingers through his wet hair. “Stop ogling me and get on with it,” he said, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed his attempt at being pompous.“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hermione shot back, though the blush in her own face gave away the lie. Hermione let her bra slip off and hit the wet floor with a splat. She didn’t make eye contact with Draco as she bent down, shimmying her knickers past her knees until they joined the pile of fabric at her feet. Completely bare now, she focused on the soap dispenser, squeezing a dollop into her hand. It was easier to fixate on the mundane task than to dwell on the fact that she was standing stark naked in a very confined space with a wet, shirtless Draco Malfoy.She could feel the burn of his gaze even before she dared to look up. When she finally did, Draco stood completely still, his eyes roaming over her body with the intensity of a physical touch. She also couldn’t ignore the very obvious bulge outlining his briefs.“Now who’s the one ogling?” Hermione quipped, her tone taunting, though her pulse raced wildly in her wrist. “Those need to come off.” She tilted her head downward pointedly. “Oh, and I’m flattered.”Draco’s lips quirked, though his eyes stayed tracing her curves. “Considering I asked you to dinner just minutes ago, you really shouldn’t be surprised by my reaction, Granger.” His voice was leathery. “Though I admit, I’d hoped the first time I saw you naked wouldn’t be in a Ministry-issued shower while at risk of being covered in boils.”Hermione laughed despite herself. “Stop stalling,”
Draco sighed theatrically. “As you wish,” he said as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs.Draco’s cock sprang free, the water streaming over it in rivulets, glistening in a way that drew Hermione’s stare despite her best efforts to resist. It seemed to dominate, to command her attention with its pulsing, veined authority. She tried to shake the thoughts creeping into her mind—the curiosity, the inexplicable wonder of what it might taste like. Snap out of it, Hermione. She blinked, forcing her focus back to the soap dispenser. Pumping more soap into her hands, her ears caught the ragged sound of Draco’s breathing over the rush of water.“You need some?” she asked tightly. She glanced up and found him heavy-lidded, he nodded, wordless. Hermione reached out, offering him her soapy hands. Before she knew it, his fingers met hers, palms sliding together as they worked the suds into a shared lather.
The simple act felt impossibly intimate—erotically charged that had her pulse pounding in her ears. The water sprayed around them, but the gravity between them pulled with every passing second as suds slipped down their arms.“Did you want me to get your back?” Draco finally rasped.Hermione hesitated for a moment, then hummed her assent, biting her lip as she turned to face the wall. The change of view was a relief, though she stopped breathing when his hands settled on her shoulders. The first touch was reverent, as his fingers spread the soap across her skin. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed as he worked, his thumbs massaging down her cartilage.
Draco’s palms advanced lower, brushing along the dip of her waist, and Hermione had to grip the edge of the wall to keep from melting entirely down the drain. His hands never ventured too far but skimmed dangerously close to forbidden territory. The pads of his fingers skated along the underside of her breasts then ghosted over the mound of her arse.She was wet—and not just from the shower. Her clit throbbed, crying out for attention, and before she could think better of it, she turned her head to glance at him over her shoulder.“Do you want me to do yours?” she asked softly.“What?” Draco’s voice cracked as if he had been woken from a trance.
“Your back,” she clarified.“Oh—yeah,” he muttered, his touch reluctantly leaving her skin.
Hermione positioned behind him, her hands tentatively coming to rest against the solid blade of his traps. Her face hovered near the flex of his blades, the soap slicking her palms as she began to trail them down his spine. She couldn’t help but marvel at the way his muscles rippled beneath her fingers. When she looked lower, she couldn’t resist taking a peek at his arse—firm, sculpted, all muscle. She bit her lip, feeling a wave of self-consciousness as she thought of her own softer flesh, but the way Draco had looked at her earlier told her he wasn’t thinking of comparisons.Trying to mimic his earlier motions, she stayed along his shoulders and then down, but she stumbled forward, and her bare breasts ended up flush against him. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his torso as though not to fall onto the ground, she ended up holding him in a loose, almost intimate embrace.“Oh my gods, sorry,” she blurted, scrambling to pull away, but his hand clasped over her forearm, keeping her there. His fingers skimmed along her wrist. “Don’t,” Draco choked. His head tilted back as if surrendering, and Hermione’s hands began to move again, this time of their own volition. She let herself glaze down the ridges of his abs, then traced down the “V” at his hips.Before she could second-guess herself, her hand found him—his cock, hard and heavy, fitting awkwardly into her grasp. She couldn’t fully close her fingers around him. She stroked him tentatively, her ministrations spurred on by the l groan that tore from his throat.“Fuck—this isn’t how this is supposed to happen,” Draco gritted out, but he made no effort to stop her. His breathing was raggedy, as he allowed her to explore the pressure points of his length.“How was it supposed to happen?” Hermione pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.“This,” he said. “your hand around on my cock. It wasn’t meant to happen like this. I was supposed to take you to dinner first. You were supposed to think I was charming. Then, after a few dates, perhaps you’d let me kiss you properly, and then perhaps
you’d
be convinced to let me ravish you. ” Hermione’s hand stroked faster at his omission, each detail sparking her want. “Ravish me, huh?” she teased, her lips nipping at his skin.Draco groaned. “Yes. Ravish you. Slowly. Thoroughly. Not like this—not in a Ministry shower, covered in emergency soap.”“It seems I’m the one doing the ravishing,” Hermione teased.Before she could say another word, Draco turned, hoisting her up by the back of her thighs and lifting her with ease into his arms. She allowed herself to wrap herself around his waist, her back flattening against the glass of the shower. Their lips were so close they hovered on the brink of collision.“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” Draco murmured.Hermione nodded. “If it’s good,” she replied with a sly smile, “then maybe it won’t be.”His pupils blackened with animalistic hunger. In an instant, his lips were on hers, seizing her in a wildly hypnotic kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, licking and tasting her, while his teeth bit her bottom lip. They moved like caged animals finally set free.When Draco pulled back, Hermione’s head lolled against the glass. The room spun, and the intensity of snogging Draco Malfoy left her lightheaded.“You want to feel good, Granger?”.“Yes,” she breathed, barely recognizing her own voice.One of his arms braced her back while the other dropped down between them. He aligned himself, the tip of his head breaking her entrance, and Hermione’s body tensed with wanton.Draco’s eyes drank her in like a man dying from thirst. “Gods, you’re gorgeous. You, in those tight skirts, parading around the office, and those blouses that make your tits look…” His thought trailed off as he groaned, his free hand brushing along her nipples. “Stunning.”Hermione wanted to keep him talking, to hear every filthy thought that crossed his mind, but her needy cunt demanded his cock. “Draco…”
she whimperedDraco grinned, his forehead pressing against hers as he teased her entrance with just the tip, his cock dragging torturously slow against her clit. Hermione’s body was fraying apart—until he thrust forward.
“Fucking tight,” Draco grunted. “Just like I imagined.”Hermione’s hips rocked. He had her folded up as if she were a damned pretzel. His length stroked her g-spot with thick strides, pulling back until just the head remained before slamming into her again, filling her to the base. The force of his slams shook the glass keeping them upright.“So fit,” she managed to grit. And it was true—Draco Malfoy was a masterpiece of stamina.
“I could say the same about you, love,” he chuckled. Pumping into her again, her still sudsy breasts bouncing against his chest. It was clear this wasn’t just lust for him—it was something he’d wanted for years, and he was claiming it now with every stroke. Hermione let herself surrender, let herself be spread open and taken.“ I need more of you. Please —.”Her plea was pitiful, and Draco already had her adrenaline shaking. She’d thought she’d known satisfaction—Oliver had made her feel desired, and Bill had shown her what it meant to be lusted for—but this was something else entirely. Draco Malfoy was fucking her like no man ever had before, allowing her to turn her brain off and let her body take over. He demanded her surrender, and she gave it willingly.“Don’t worry, love,” Draco growled as he angled his hips to hit a spot inside her that made her cry out. “I’ll give you everything you need. You’re not leaving this shower until you’ve screamed my name.”He adjusted his stance, one arm gripping her arse to keep her bouncing while his other hand slid between them. His fingers strummed her clit. Hermione saw stars. Her cries turned to screeching pleas of ‘ Draco’ “Hermione… ” Draco whined as if his name was his undoing. Hermione’s walls clenched and unclenched, constricting as sparks of light burst in her brain—an orgasm so fierce she knew only Draco could replicate it, that she’d never feel so taken care of again by any other sexual exploit.“I’m cumming inside you… fuck, let me,” It was half a plea, half a command. His hips faltered, fucking deep as his beg hung in the steamy air. Hermione could only nod. Draco bit down on her shoulder and emptied, the ropes of his cum stuffing her full. She felt his seed spreading through her, flooding her veins with euphoria.They stayed like that for a moment, tangled and breathless, their foreheads touching as they struggled to come down. The patter of water, grounded them as reality slowly seeped back in.“Can you stand?” Draco asked softly, as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyeline.Hermione rolled her eyes. “Very full of yourself, aren’t you?”He grinned, the smug expression entirely unrepentant as he set her down. Hermione’s feet touched the wet floor, and she wobbled. His arm shot out to catch her just as the shower sputtered and turned off.“And very correct in my assumptions” he added.Hermione exhaled, her mind whirring. The fog of lust was lifting, and— Oliver. A glance at the clock on the wall told her it was well past eight, and the gas outside the chamber had dissipated. They could leave now, but how could she go to Oliver like this? Filled with another man’s cum, still reeling from the way Draco Malfoy just fucked her. Draco’s hand lingered at her waist, and when she glanced up, the look in his eyes made her heart twist. Reverence. Care.
“Fuck… Oliver,” she muttered aloud before she could stop herself.Draco darkened instantly, his handsome boyish features tightening in the scowl of a man. “Excuse me?”.Hermione spluttered as she realized what she’d said. “Oh—Gods—this is embarrassing.” She winced. “I… sort of had plans with him tonight. And I guess…” She hesitated. “Well, I don’t anymore.”Draco’s arms crossed over his chest,
as he stared her down. “You guess you don’t anymore?” he repeated incredulously.“I don’t,” she said firmly this time, meeting his eyes. “I’m not going. Not after… us .” Her hand gestured vaguely between them. “I don’t want to share you, Granger,” Draco growled. “Not with Wood, not with any Weasley—no one.”Hermione found it oddly amusing how quickly he’d become possessive, and a smile was found on her face. It only seemed to irritate him more, his jaw clenched as if he thought she wasn’t taking him seriously. Before he could say more, she broke the moment.“What about dinner? Are you hungry now?”
Draco’s lips twitched, his irritation dissipating. “Starving,”
“Should we get out of here, grab some takeaway, and head back to yours?” she suggested, already gathering their scattered clothes from the floor and casting drying charms over them.“You want to come back to mine?” he questioned.“If that’s alright. Like a date. With me,” she teased, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “Perhaps you’ll find me charming, let me kiss you properly, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll be convinced to let me ravish you.”Draco’s smile was the biggest she’d ever seen, lighting up his face as he handed her the last of her clothes.“I’ve wanted this for so long, Hermione,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically unabashed. “It’s why I never got one of those damned offices. I liked being around you—joking with you, watching you, seeing the way you bite your quill when you’re deep in thought. This, it’s all I want”Before she could respond, his hands were tangled in her curls again, pulling her in for a kiss. It wasn’t hurried or needy like before—it was as though this kiss was meant to be their first, the start of something new.