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“But what about Archie?” My voice was a high, tight wire of anxiety, my knuckles white where I gripped the edge of the pool table. I couldn’t look at Jughead, my gaze was fixed on the worn green felt between us. 

“What if he… I can’t… this could ruin everything.” 

Jughead’s own hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his usual slouch replaced by a rigid tension. 

“Y/N, I know. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is…” 

“No.” The voice came from the worn leather armchair in the corner of the rec room. Archie’s voice was low, a little rough, but utterly certain. Both of our heads snapped toward him. He leaned forward, the dim light catching the earnest intensity in his eyes. 

“It won’t ruin anything. It’s the opposite. Please, Y/N. Jug. I want this, more than anything.” 

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy, changing the chemistry of the room entirely. 

An hour earlier, the three of us had been laughing, the comfortable, easy dynamic of a couple and our oldest friend. We were all in our mid-twenties now, the dramas of high school a distant memory. Archie and I have been dating for two years, a solid, loving partnership that felt like a forever thing. Jughead was our constant, the bedrock of our shared history. 

We had been playing a lazy game of pool at the community center, the thwack of balls and our laughter echoing in the large room. Archie had been quiet for a while, just watching us, a strange, warm look in his eyes. He finally put his cue down and said he had something he needed to talk to us about. Something important. I assumed he was going to propose. My heart hammered against my ribs, a mix of terror and dizzying excitement. Jughead had straightened up, a supportive, best-man-ready smile already on his face. What came out of Archie’s mouth was nothing either of us could have predicted. 

He stumbled over the words at first, his cheeks flushed. A fantasy. A desiter. He looked at me with so much adoration it almost hurt, then at Jughead with complete trust. He told us about the secret thoughts he’d harbored, the images that filled his mind, and heated his blood more than anything else. The idea of watching. Of seeing the two most important people in his life together, like that. It wasn’t about jealousy. It was about… celebration. A sharing. The ultimate turn-on. 

The silence that followed was absolute. My proposal-day fantasy evaporated, replaced by a cold wave of confusion and fear. Jughead looked like he’d been physically struck. 

“Arch, man, you can’t be serious.” Jughead finally said, his voice uncharacteristically thin. 

“That’s… that’s a line. We don’t cross that.” 

“Why not?” Archie’s question was genuine, his gaze pleading. “I love Y/N. I trust you, Jug, more than anyone on the planet. This wouldn’t be betrayal. It would be a gift. For me.” 

He took my hand then, his grip firm and reassuring. 

“It’s just a fantasy. But… if you were both willing… God, baby. The thought of seeing you, so lost in pleasure, with my best friend giving it to you… it makes me crazy. In the best way.” 

That’s how we ended up here, in the suspended moment of my fearful question and Archie’s firm answer from the armchair. 

“I promise you,” Archie said again, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. 

“I won’t get jealous. I’ll be right here. Watching. Loving every second. For me.” 

Something in his tone, the raw, vulnerable need, broke through my hesitation. I looked at Jughead, really looked at him. I saw the conflict in his dark eyes, but also a dawning curiosity, a flicker of heat that mirrored the one slowly unfurling in my own stomach. The idea was alien, terrifying… and undeniable, electrifyingly arousing. I gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Jughead saw it. He let out a long, slow breath, then nodded back. 

“Okay…” He rasped. “For you, Archie.” 

Archie leaned back in his chair, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss spreading across his face. 

“Then don’t mind me.” He murmured, his eyes dark with desire. 

“Just… show me.” 

The permission was a catalyst. The air snapped with a new, charged energy. Jughead finally moved, closing the distance between him and me. He didn’t kiss me. He just lifted a hand and slowly, so slowly, traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. My breath hitched, a sharp, sweet sound in the quiet room. His touch was different. Not like Archie’s confident, sure caress. This was tentative, exploratory, sending a shiver of entirely new sensation across my skin. I leaned into it, my eyes fluttering closed for a second. 

When I opened them, I looked over at Archie. He was watching, rapt, his hand casually stroking the obvious, hard bulge in his jeans. The sight sent a jolt straight to my core. He really is enjoying this…

Jughead’s mouth found mine then, and any lingering thought evaporated. His kiss was hesitant at first, a soft question. I answered by parting my lips, my tongue meeting his. It was different- a little less practiced, more intense, a hunger held tightly in check. I moaned into his mouth, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders. He broke the kiss, his breath hot against my cheek. 

“Is this…” He started, but I silenced him with another kiss, more urgent this time. 

“Yes,” I breathed against his lips. “Don’t stop.” 

His control slipped. His hands slide down my back, over the curve of my ass, as he pulls me hard against him. I could feel him, hard and eager, pressing into my stomach. A thrill, wild and forbidden, shot through me. I gasped, arching into him. Archie let out a low groan from his chair. 

“Yeah…” He whispered, the sound full of awe. “Just like that.” 

Encouraged, Jughead’s hands found the hem of my top. He pulled it up and over my head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. I stood before them both in just my jeans and a simple lace bra. My skin prickled under their dual gaze- Jugehad’s hungry, Archie’s reverent. Jughead’s fingers, surprisingly deft, unsnapped my bra. It fell away, and his breath caught. 

“God, Y/N…” He palmed my breast, his thumb circling my nipple, making it peak into a hard nub under his touch. I cried out, the sensation sharper, more deliberate than I was used to. 

I heard the rustle of fabric from the corner and glanced over. Archie had freed his erection, his fist slowly pumping his length as he watched us, his eyes glued to Jughead’s hand on my breast. The raw, voyeuristic heat of the moment crashed over me. I was the center of everything, the object of a shared, intense desire. It was the most powerful I had ever felt. 

Jughead lowered his head, his mouth replacing his hand. His tongue flicked over my nipple, then drew it deep into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. My knees buckled. A guttural moan was torn from my throat. I tangled my hands in his dark hair, holding him to me. 

“Fuck, look at that…” Archie moaned, his own stroking movements becoming faster, more frantic. 

“Look how good he makes you feel…” 

Jughead’s free hand worked open the button of my jeans, then the zipper. He pushed them and my panties down my hips in one motion, his fingertips skimming the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I stepped out of the puddle of fabric, completely bare now, exposed to both of them. He guided me back until my legs hit the edge of the pool table. The gree felt was cool and slightly rough against my heated skin. Jughead knelt before me, his hands on my hips, holding me in place. He didn’t say a word. He just looked up at me, his gaze burning with intent, before he buried his face between my legs. 

The first flat stroke of his tongue made me jump. The second made me scream. It was relentless, focused. He wasn’t just pleasuring me, he was devouring me, learning my taste, my rhythm, with a single-minded intensity that left me mindless. I writhed on the table, my hips rolling against his mouth, my cries echoing in the room. I was awar of Archie, watching, groaning, but it was a distant thing. My world had narrowed to the dizzying, coiling tension building low in my belly and the expert mouth that was driving me there. 

I came apart with a shattered cry, my body seizing, waves of pleasure so intense they were almost painful crashing through me. Jughead held me through it, his grip firm on my hips, not letting me escape the overwhelming sensations. 

As the last tremors subsided, she lay panting on the felt, completely spent. Jughead rose to his feet, unbuckling his own jeans. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving. He looked from my splayed, trembling form to Archie, who gave him a single, fervent nod.

“Fuck her, Jug.” Archie said, his voice thick with need. “Fuck her now. Let me watch.” 

The raw command hung in the air, a permission slip for the chaos that followed. Jughead’s dark eyes, usually so guarded, were now pools of pure, unadulterated hunger. He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid, powerful motion, his hands gripped my hips, and he lifted me from the felt of the pool table, sliding me forward until the very edge of the wood bit into the backs of my thighs. My surprised gasp was muffled by his mouth crashing onto mine in a searing, possessive kiss. 

Archie’s breath hitched, his fist tightening around his own aching length. This… This was it. The sight of his best friend’s body looming over his girlfriend, of my pliant, willing form being positioned for his use… it was a fantasy made breathtakingly real. He could see the faint tremor in my smooth legs, the way my fingers dug into Jughead’s shoulders, not to push him away, but to hold on. With one hand, Jughead fumbled with his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself. He was thick and hard, and the sight of him made a fresh wave of heat flood my core. My earlier hesitation, the fear of ruining what we all had, evaporated under the sheer, animalistic need of the moment. This was for Archie. This was for me… 

“Jug,” I whispered, my voice a husky plea I barely recognized. 

That was all the encouragement he needed. He positioned himself, the head of his cock pressing against my wet, aching entrance. His intense eyes locked with mine, a silent question in their depth. I gave a tiny, frantic nod, and he thrust home in one deep, soul-shaking stroke. My head fell back, a choked cry tearing from my throat. It was an invasion, a claiming, a filling so complete ot stole the air from my lungs. The hard wood of the table, felt, Jughead’s musky scent engulfing me, it was a sensory overload centered entirely on the point where our bodies joined. 

Archie groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure appreciation. His hand was a blur on his own cock, his eyes wide and fixated on the place where Jughead disappeared inside me. 

“God, yes…” He breathed, his voice rough. “Look at that. Look how she takes you, Jug.” 

Jughead began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that was sheer torture. Each withdrawal was a sweet agony, each deep plunge a shock of electrifying pleasure. His lean muscle corded with the effort, a fine sheen of sweat already glistening on his skin. He was watching my face, studying every flinch, every gasp, leaning what made me moan. 

“She’s so tight…” Jughead grunted, the words seeming ripped from him. He was usually a man of few words, but this act was pulling raw, honest sounds from deep within him. 

“I know.” Archie responded, his voice laced with a pride that was as bizarre as it was intoxicating. 

“She loves it. But she can take more. Fuck her harder than that, Jug. She loves it rough. Show her.” 

The words, Archie’s explicit encouragement, acted like a trigger. Jughead’s controlled rhythm shattered. His thrusts became sharper, deeper, pistoning into me with a newfound ferocity that made the heavy pool table screech against the floor with every drive. The sound was obscene, a metallic accompaniment to our ragged breathing and the wet, slapping rhythm of our bodies. My cries turned into incoherent, high-pitched sounds. My nails scraped down Jughead’s back as I was pushed further up the table with every powerful thrust. The pleasure was a white-hot coil, winding tighter and tighter with every jolt of his hips. The initial fullness had blossomed into a devastating friction that lit every nerve ending on fire. 

“That’s it…” Archie urged, his own stroking matching Jughead’s punishing pace. 

“Look at her. Look how her tits bounce. God, Jug, you’re fucking her so good.” 

The vulgar praise from my boyfriend, the sheer voyeuristic thrill of it, sent another dizzying jolt through me. My eye, blurred with pleasure, found Archie’s. He was watching us with an expression of rapturous awe, his own need laid bare. He wasn’t jealous. He was worshiping this. He was getting off on our pleasure. The psychological barrier finally and completely dissolved. I gave myself over to it, to them. I met Jughead’s thrusts, rolling my hips to take him even deeper, urging him on with broken whimpers. 

“Yes… oh God, Juggie… right there…” 

Hearing his name on my lips like a prayer broke the last of Jughead’s restraint. He hooked his hands under my knees, pushing my legs back toward my shoulders, spreading me wider, opening me up completely for his devastating penetration. The change in angle was catastrophic. His cock now stroked directly over that exquisite, sensitive spot inside me with every single, brutal thrust. My world dissolved into a cyclone of sensation. The rough felt beneath me, the hard, unyielding table edge, the muscled weight of the man driving into me, and the intense, heated gaze of the man I loved watching it all… it was too much. The coil snapped. 

My orgasm ripped through me without warning, a silent, screaming vortex of pleasure that clenched around Jughead, pulling a ragged roar from his chest. My body arched off the table, suspended in a seemingly endless wave of convulsing ecstasy. Through the hazy, blissful aftermath, I heard Archie’s voice, thick with imminent release. 

“Don’t stop… Jug, don’t you dare stop… watch her cum all over your cock…” 

Jughead, spurred on by my clenching heat and Archie’s command, drove into me through my climax, his own control fraying. His rhythm became erratic, desperate. I could only lie there, utterly wrecked, as he chased his own peak inside my trembling body. 

“Arch…” Jughead grunted, a warning, a question. 

“Do it.” Archie commanded, his voice a harsh whisper. 

“Fill her up, jug. I want to see it.” 

If there was one thing Hogwarts students loved more than gossip, it was pretending they knew everything. And apparently, according to half the school, Neville Longbottom wasn’t actually my brother. 

I leaned against the doorway outside the Great Hall, lazily spinning my wand with one hand while listening to a group of second-years whisper just loudly enough for me to hear. 

“I swear he’s adopted.” 

“No way!” 

“Have you seen Y/N Longbottom?” 

“She’s captain material.” 

“Exactly! She’s brilliant at Quidditch, she’s like a total Gryffindor, she’s always hexing someone.” 

“And Neville melted his own cauldron.” 

I sighed. Same conversation, different idiots. This is like the thousandth time I’ve heard this. 

“Maybe she’s his cousin.” 

“Nah, they don’t even look alike.” 

“I heard Professor McGonagall took pity on him because-” 

I cleared my throat. Four terrified second-years slowly turned around. 

“...Continue.” I said pleasantly. 

Silence. 

Once boy actually squeaked. 

“I was just saying,” I smiled sweetly. “I’d love to hear another theory.” 

Nobody moved. 

“I-” 

“I-” 

“I think we should go.” 

“Excellent idea.” 

They scattered faster than Cornish pixies. I snorted and pushed into the Great Hall. 

“Another fan club?” Fred asked as I walked over to them. 

“They’re getting less creative.” George grinned from beside him. 

“Any new conspiracies?” 

“They’ve upgraded from ‘adopted’ to Professor Sprout grew Neville in a greenhouse.” 

Fred burst into laughter so hard pumpkin juice nearly came out his nose. George nearly fell off the bench. 

“I’d believe it.” Fred wheezed. 

George nodded solemnly. “He does like plants.”

I smacked both of them over the head. “You two aren’t helping.” 

“No.” Fred agreed. “But we’re entertained.” 

Across the hall, Neville walked in carrying an armful of Herbology books. Immediately, someone “accidentally” shoulder-checked him. Books exploded everywhere. My smile disappeared, George noticed instantly. 

“...Uh oh.” 

Fred followed my gaze. “Oh. The poor fool.” 

Neville immediately dropped to his knees. “S-Sorry…” 

Sorry? He got shoved! Before he could pick up even one book, I was already marching across the hall. The third-year who’d knocked him over laughed with his friends, didn’t see me coming. He turned just in time for me to grab him by the collar. 

“What,” I asked pleasantly. “exactly was funny?” 

His face went white. “I-I didn’t-” 

“You shoved my brother.” 

“It was an accident!” 

“You laughed.” 

“I-” 

“Interesting accident.” 

People nearby slowly backed away. They’d seen this before. Unfortunately for the boy… so had I. Neville looked up. 

“Y-Y/N…”

I ignored him. “Apologize.” 

“I-” 

“Now.” 

“...Sorry.” 

“To Neville.” 

The boy swallowed. “Sorry, Neville.” 

Neville immediately shook his head. “It’s okay.” 

“No.” I said without looking away from the idiot in my grip. “It isn’t.” 

Then I let him go, hard enough that he stumbled backward into his own friends. The Great Hall had gone almost silent, again. Professor McGonagall looked over her glasses, saw me, saw Neville collecting books, and saw the guilty third-year. She simply sighed. 

“Miss Longbottom.” 

“Professor?” 

“Kindly refrain from intimidating students before breakfast.” 

“After breakfast?” 

A tiny twitch appeared at the corner of her mouth. “No.” 

Worth asking. 

Neville caught up to me after Charms. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“They only laughed.” 

“They shoved you.” 

“It wasn’t-” 

“Nev.” 

He sighed. I hated when he sighed like that. He’d done it since we were kids. Ever since Gran convinced him he needed to be tougher. Ever since everyone decided he wasn’t magical enough. Even since people started treating him like he was broken. 

“They think I’m weak.” 

“They’re idiots.” 

“But-” 

“You know what I think?” 

He looked at me. 

“I think you’re the bravest person here.” 

His eyebrows furrowed. “...Me?” 

“You.” 

“But I’m scared of everything.” 

I smiled. 

“And yet you keep doing it anywhere.” 

He blinked. 

“That’s what bravery is.” 

He actually smiled. Then Seamus walked by. 

“Mornin’, Y/N.” 

“Morning.” 

He looked between us. “You know…” 

“Oh no…” I muttered. 

“You two really do look related when you smile.” 

Neville looked confused. I laughed. 

“See?” 

“Everyone says we’re different.” 

“They’re blind.” 

Practice that afternoon was freezing, perfect weather. I loved flying, everything made sense in the air. No whispers. No rumors. No worrying. Just wind, wood, and speed. Madam Hooch blew the whistle, I shot upward, someone below yelled. 

“There goes Longbottom!” 

“Which one?” 

“The good one!” 

My broom stopped so suddenly I nearly flew over the front. Excuse me? Fred, who flew over, immediately grabbed my arm. 

“No.” 

“I just want to talk.” 

“No.” 

“They called me-” 

“I know.” 

“They called Neville-” 

“I know.” 

“I’m going.” 

“No.” 

George appeared on my other side. 

“We literally have bets on how long it’ll take before McGonagall bans you from Quidditch.” 

“I can make it quick.” 

“No.” 

“I’ll use my fists, no magic.” 

“Even worse.” 

I crossed my arms. “They called him the bad Longbottom.” 

George’s expression softened. “I know.” 

I looked across the field. “They don’t even know him.” 

Fred’s usual grin faded. “They will.” 

I looked over. “What?” 

“They’ll know.” 

George nodded. “Your brother’s got something in him.” 

“You really think so?” 

“We know so.” They said in unison. I smiled despite myself. 

That evening, the common room buzzed with homework and chatter. Neville sat by the fire reading. Neville sat by the fire reading. I was halfway through polishing my wand when two fifth-years walked past. 

One whispered. “...don’t understand how she’s related to him.” 

The other laughed. “I’d be embarrassed.” 

Something snapped. I stood, Fred grabbed my sleeve. 

“No.” 

George grabbed the other one. “Definitely no.” 

“They called Neville embarrassing.” 

Fred looked tired. “Y/N.” 

“They’re right there.” 

“Y/N.” 

“I’m just going to-” 

“Last warning.” 

“They insulted my-” 

George sighed dramatically. “Fred.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Deploy emergency distraction.” 

Fred immediately jumped onto the table. “ATTENTION EVERYONE!” 

The common room turned. 

“I have invented exploding socks!” 

Everyone groaned. George dragged me toward the stairs while everyone gathered around Fred. 

“You two are unbelievable.” 

“We know.” 

“I still could’ve hit them.” 

George looked sideways at me. “I know.” 

“...Thanks.” 

His ears turned slightly pink. Weird. 

I didn’t notice, not then. If I had… maybe I’d have realized George had started looking at me differently. The lingering glances. The little smiles. The way he always somehow ended up beside me. I just thought… he was George. My best friend…. That I definitely didn’t have a crush on. Nothing More. 

*Neville’s POV*

People always assume I didn’t hear them. Maybe it was because I rarely said anything, maybe because I usually looked down when I walked, or maybe they just thought I wasn’t worth noticing. Whatever the reason, they talked more around me, like I wasn’t even there. Normally, I kept walking. Normally, I let it go. But today… Today it wasn’t about me. 

I was on my way back from the library with another Herbology book tucked under my arm, quietly rehearsing Professor Sprout’s notes in my head. Mandrakes… don’t overwater… dragon dung fertilizer… As I rounded the corner near the Quidditch trophy case, familiar green-and-sliver robes caught my eye. The Slytherin Quidditch team. I immediately slowed, not because I wanted to eavesdrop, but because there wasn’t really another way around them. Marcus Flint was leaning against the wall while two younger players laughed about something. 

“Honestly,” One of them scoffed. “Longbottom thinks she’s tough.” 

“The sister?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another snorted. “She’s all bark.” 

“Nah,” Someone else chimed in. “She’s just got Weasley protection.” 

They all laughed. 

“If she didn’t have those twins following her around, she’d get flattened.” 

Flint chuckled. 

“I’d love to see someone wipe that smug grin off her face.” 

The others laughed. My grip tightened on my books. Another voice joined in. 

“She’s not even that good.” 

“I heard she only made the team because McGonagall likes her.” 

“Bet she’d cry if someone actually hit her.” 

The laughter echoed down the corridor. Something hot twisted in my stomach. They weren’t talking about me this time. They were talking about Y/N. My sister. The one person who had spent our entire lives standing in front of me. The person who got detention constantly because she’d defend me. Who’d gotten bruises because she’d stepped between me and someone bigger. Who never once let anyone make me feel small. Before I could think, I spoke. 

“You’re wrong!” 

The hallway went silent. Every Slytherin turned toward me. One blinked. 

“Longbottom?” 

I swallowed. My heart hammered so loudly I was sure they could hear it. 

“You…” I started, my voice shaking. 

“You don’t know my sister.” 

Someone laughed. “Oh, this is rich!” 

Another stepped forward. “The little Longbottom found his voice!” 

My hands were trembling. “So what if I did?” 

Flint folded his arms. “You got something else to say?” 

Every instinct screamed at me to apologize. To leave. TO disappear. Instead… 

“You couldn’t beat her if you tried!” 

Silence. 

Then, the entire group burst into laughter. 

“You hear that?” 

“He’s threatening us!” 

“No…” I said, taking one shaky breath. “I’m telling the truth.” 

Their smiles disappeared. One of the Chasers slowly pulled out his wand. 

“Oh?”

Another followed. “You’ve got a lot of courage today.” 

My stomach dropped. 

Flint grinned. “I think someone needs reminding where he belongs.” 

Three wands pointed at me. 

I squeaked. “Oh no…” 

“Get him!” 

That was all it took. I turned and ran. Footsteps thundered behind me. 

“He’s getting away!” 

“Don’t let him!” 

A curse exploded against the wall beside my head, showering stone across the hallway. I ducked instinctively. Another spell barely missed my shoulder. 

“Oh Merlin…” 

I wasn’t fast. I knew I wasn’t fast, but fear did amazing things. I flew around corners, nearly crashed into a suit of armor, apologized to it out of habit, then kept running. Students jumped out of the way. 

“What’s happening?” 

“Why are they chasing Neville?” 

“LOOK OUT!” 

Another hex shattered a vase behind me. I didn’t look back. If I looked back, I’d trip. I was dead. Okay, maybe not dead… Probably. Hopefully. Definitely expelled if Y/N found out I’d started a fight. No… She’d be proud… Then she’d murder the Slytherins, and she’d be expelled. I rounded another corner, and nearly slammed into someone. 

“Nev?” 

Y/N. 

She caught my shoulders before I hit the floor. Her eyes widened. 

“Neville?” 

I couldn’t even catch my breath. 

“They’re-” 

A spell hit the wall inches from us. Y/N slowly looked over my shoulder. Then she saw them. Half the Slytherin Quidditch team charging down the corridor with their wands drawn. Her expression changed instantly from confusion… to fury. 

*Y/N’s POV*

“...Excuse me?” 

One of the Slytherins skidded to a stop. “Move, Longbottom!” 

I stepped in front of Neville. “No.” 

“He started this!” 

I laughed, actually laughed. “My brother?” 

“He insulted us!” 

“And somehow six of you decided that meant chasing one terrified third-year through the castle?” 

Flint rolled his eyes. “Last chance.” 

I glanced back. Neville looked absolutely horrified. “...Y/N…” 

“You stay behind me.” 

“But-” 

“Behind.” 

He obeyed immediately. Smart boy. I cracked my knuckles. 

“So…” I smiled. “Who’s first?” 

A curse flew toward me. I sidestepped it. Another. Blocked. A third. I ducked. 

“Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that.” 

One rushed forward, apparently forgetting I also had fists. Big mistake. I grabbed his wrist, twisted just enough to make him drop his wand, then shoved him into another Slytherin. They both hit the floor. Someone tried to hex me from behind, I spun. 

“Protego!” 

The spell rebounded into a nearby suit of armor, sending it crashing over with an earslitting clang. Students were gathering now, watching, and cheering. 

“Go, Longbottom!” 

“Merlin, she’s taking on all of them!” 

A Beater swung at me with his broom. Seriously? I snatched the handle, yanked it free, and tossed it down the hallway. He stared after it. 

“Oi!” 

A fist caught my shoulder. Pain exploded down my arm. I answered with an elbow to someone’s ribs. Then another shove. Then another block. Someone’s lip was bleeding. I wasn’t entirely sure whoes. A curse grazed my cheek. Warm blood trickled down toward my jaw, it didn’t matter. Nobody touched my little brother. Nobody. 

*George’s POV*

“Fred…” I slowed to a stop halfway down the corridor. 

“Is that…” 

Fred stared. “Yep…” 

We watched her shove another Slytherin backward. I winced. 

“She’s going to get expelled.” 

“Or arrested.” 

“Probably both…” We said together. 

Another spell narrowly missed her head. I sighed. 

“We should probably help.” 

Fred’s grin slowly appeared. “I’ve got an idea.” 

I reached into my bag. “Already there…” 

“Always.” 

Three seconds later, POP! A dungbomb exploded in the middle of the hallway. Then another. Then another. The corridor instantly filled with thick, choking, foul-smelling 

“UGH!” 

“WHAT IS THAT?” 

“I CAN’T SEE!” 

“WHO THREW THAT?” 

Fred’s voice echoed innocently from somewhere inside the cloud. “What a terrible accident!” 

I appeared beside her through the smoke like some mischievous guardian angel. 

“Come on!” 

“I’ve almost got them!” 

“You’ve definitely got them!” 

“They deserve another punch.” 

“They absolutely do.” 

I grabbed her wrist anyway. Fred seized Neville’s arm. 

“This way!” 

We disappeared into the smoke just as distant footsteps echoed through the corridor. 

“What’s all this commotion?” Professor McGonagall. 

Fred paled. “...Run.” 

By the time we reached Gryffindor Tower, we were all breathless. The Fat Lady blinked at us. 

“My word…” 

“Long story.” Fred puffed. 

The portrait sung open. We practically fell inside. The common room erupted. 

“What happened?” 

“Was it the Slytherins?” 

“Did Y/N fight all of them?”

Lee Jordan looked impressed. “Legend!” 

“I’m fine.” She insisted. 

“You’re bleeding.” Hermione said. 

“It’s just a scratch.” 

Neville looked ready to cry. “I’m sorry…” 

She immediately turned. “For what?” 

“They were talking about you.” 

“So?” 

“I…I told them to stop.” 

“...You what?” 

His ears turned bright red. “They… they said horrible things. So I… I couldn’t just….” 

I could see her heart was bursting. She walked over and wrapped him in a hug before he could finish. 

“You defended me?” 

“I tried.” 

“You absolute idiot.” 

“...I know.” 

She laughed into his hair. “No.” 

She squeezed him tighter. “You absolute hero.” 

He smiled, a real smile. One that reached his eyes. 

“Come on.” I said, gently touching her elbow. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’ve got blood on your face.” 

“I’ve had worse.” 

“I know.” My voice was quieter now. “But humor me.” 

She nodded. I led her upstairs to the boy’s staircase landing, where the older students often met between the staircases. There was a small sitting nook with a window and enough privacy away from the noise below. I pulled out my wand. 

“Hold still.” 

“I hate that sentence." 

“I know.” My lip twitched. “Episkey.” 

The cut on her cheek knitted itself closed. Another careful charm faded the bruise already blooming across her shoulder. My movements were surprisingly gentle. Nothing like the chaotic George everyone else knew. 

“You always do this.” I murmured. 

“What?” 

“Throw yourself between Neville and everyone else.” 

She shrugged. “Someone has to.” 

“You don’t.” 

“Of course I do, he’s my brother.” 

My eyes searched hers. “...Yeah.” 

Silence settled between us. For once, it wasn’t awkward, just… comfortable. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you someone.” I said softly. 

She tilted her head. “What?” 

I hesitated, which I could see made her nervous. 

“I think…” I laughed quietly at myself. “No, that’s a lie. I know.” 

“Know what?” 

“I like making you laugh.” 

“I noticed.” 

“I like watching you fly.” 

She blinked. 

“I like that you terrify people twice your size.” 

A smile tugged at her lips. 

“And…” I took a slow breath. “I think I’ve been in love with my best friend for a while now.” 

I could see everything in her brain stopped. “George…” 

“I know this is probably terrible timing.” 

“It really is.” 

“Yeah… You’ve got blood in your hair.” 

“I noticed.” 

Another heartbeat passed. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” 

“I-” 

I took a step back. Instead… she caught the front of my robes. I looked at her in surprise. 

“I never said I didn’t feel the same.” 

My expression softened into the most hopeful smile I’ve probably ever had. 

“Can I…?” 

She answered by closing the distance. The kiss was gentle, careful. Nothing rushed. Just warm, tentative, and full of everything we’d never managed to say out loud. When we finally pulled apart, we were both smiling like idiots. From downstairs came Fred’s unmistakable voice. 

“GEORGE! IF YOU’RE DONE HEROICALLY PATCHING HER UP< NEVILLE’S TELLING EVERYONE HOW HE STOOD UP TO THE SLYTHERINS!” 

I laughed against her forehead. “We should probably go celebrate your little brother.” 

She smiled. “Yeah.” 

For once, he’d been the brave one, and I knew she couldn’t have been prouder. 

“Harder, please, Y/N.” 

The words were a gasp, a fractured plea torn from Hermione’s lips. Her back arched, pressing her bare breasts against the cool silk of the sheets. Above her, my grin was a wicked, beautiful thing, my eyes dark with possession. 

“Like this?” I purred, my voice a low hum that vibrated through Hermione’s entire body. My fingers, already tightly woven into the dense, curly mass of Hermione’s hair, gave a sharp, insistent tug. It wasn’t just a pull; it was a claim. A jolt of pure, undiluted electricity shot from Hermione’s scalp straight down her spine, coalescing into a throbbing head between her legs. 

“Yes! Merlin, yes… just like that.” 

It started an hour ago, a simmering tension built over a quiet evening. We were in our shared flat in a magical quarter of London, a space that was both a library and a sanctuary. The scent of old books and my bergamot perfume hung in the air. Hermione, ever the intellectual, had been buried in a dense tome on arithmancy theory, her brow furrowed in concentration. I had watched her from the armchair, a silent predator appreciating her prey. I saw the way Hermine bit her lip, the way her fingers twitched when she solved a particularly complex equation. I saw not just a brilliant witch, but a woman coiled tight with intellectual energy that craved a more primal release. 

I finally rose, a study in casual power in my simple jeans and tight black top. I moved behind Hermione’s chair, my hands coming to rest on tense shoulders. 

“You’re thinking too much, love.” I murmured, my thumbs working a slow, firm circle into the knots of muscle there. Hermione leaned back into the touch with a soft sigh. 

“It’s this new variation. The numbers just won’t- Oh…” 

Her sentence ended in a sharp intake of breath as my fingers slid from her shoulders into her hair. Not grabbing, not yet. Just splaying through the curls, massaging her scalp, making every nerve ending stand at attention. Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut. The book was forgotten. 

“All this brilliance in here…” I whispered, my lips close to Hermione’s ear. 

“...needs to quiet down. Let me quiet it for you.” 

That was all the negotiation we ever needed. A shared look, a charged silence that spoke of deep, understood trust. I took her hand and led her to the bedroom, a silent command Hermione followed willingly, her heart already beginning to hammer against her ribs. 

Now, stripped bare of the bed, that hammering was a frantic drumbeat. I stood at the foot of the bed, attaching the harness, the dark leather a stark contrast against my skin. Hermione watched, her mouth dry, as I secured the silicone strap-on, a respectable, intimidating length that made a fresh wave of want crash over her. It was an extension of my will, and Hermione craved to submit to it utterly. 

I climbed onto the bed, crawling over her with a panther’s grace. I didn’t kiss her yet. I just looked, my gaze drinking in every detail of Hermione’s flushed skin, her heaving chest, the desperate need in her eyes. 

“You are so beautiful like this…” I said, my voice husky. 

“All that control, gone. Just for me.” 

I finally lowered my mouth to Hermione’s, the kiss anything but gentle. It was a conquest. A claiming. My tongue plunged into her mouth, and Hermione met it with her own, a moan trapped between us. And then my hand was in her hair again, fisting it, controlling the angle of the kiss, and the sharp, sweet pain made Hermione’s toes curl. 

I broke the kiss, trailing my lips down Hermione’s jaw, her neck, to her breasts. I lavished attention on one peaked nipple, sucking and nipping until Hermione was whimpering, her hips lifting off the bed seeking friction. All the while, my grip on Hermione’s hair remained, a constant, thrilling anchor. 

“Please, Y/N…” Hermione begged again, the words ragged. “I need you. I need to feel you.” 

“I know what you need.” I assured her, my voice dripping with dark promise. 

I guided Hermione onto her hands and knees. The new position was sure to make Hermione feel even more exposed, more vulnerable. More owned. I positioned myself behind her, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other gathering her hair again, pulling just enough to make Hermione’s head tilt back, a silent gasp on her lips. 

The first touch of the silicone against her soaked entrance was almost too much for her. It was cool and unyielding, a stark contrast to the burning head of her own body. I rubbed the head through her slick folds, coating it, teasing her, drawing out the moment until Hermione was trembling with anticipation. 

“Look at me.” I commanded softly. 

Hermione strained to look over her shoulder, meeting my intense gaze. In that moment, with my eyes locked on hers and her hair a taut leash in my fist, Hermione was sinking into that dizzying wave of submission and adoration. She was completely, blissfully lost. With my eyes still holding Hermione’s, I pushed forward. 

The stretch was exquisite, a perfect, filling pressure that stole the air from Hermione’s lungs. I didn’t rush. I pushed in with slow, inexorable intent, inch by glorious inch, until I was fully sheathed inside her. We both groaned, the sound a symphony of satisfaction. 

And then I began to move. 

My thrusts were deliberate and deep, each one punctuated by a slight, delicious tug on Hermione’s hair. He dual sensations were overwhelming. The deep, internal friction stroking a place inside her that made her see stars, and the sharp, grounding pull on her scalp that kept her rooted in the ecstasy of the moment. 

“Is this what you wanted?” I grunted, my own breath becoming ragged. My thrusts began to pick up pace, becoming harder, faster. 

“Yes! Don’t stop… Gods, don’t stop!” 

The slap of skin on skin, our mingled gasps, the creak of the bedsprings… it was a lewd, perfect music. My grip in her hair tightened, using it for leverage, pulling Hermione back onto the strap with every powerful thrust. The angel shifted, and the head of the toy began to brush against a spot deep inside her that made her cry out, her vision probably whiting at the edges. 

She was unraveling, coming apart at the seams. The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust, every pull of her hair. She was babbling, a stream of incoherent praise and pleading, her body slick with sweat, trembling with the force of the pleasure building within her. I leaned over her, my chest pressed against Hermione’s sweat-slicked back, my mouth at her ear. 

“Cum for me, Hermione. Let go, I’ve got you.” 

The combination of the command, the feeling of being completely surrounded by me, and the final, brutal tug on her hair was the final spark. The coil snapped. Her orgasm ripped through her with the force of a thunderclap, a blinding, convulsing wave of pleasure that seemed to last forever. Her inner muscles clenched around the strap-on, milking it as she cried out, her body shuddering violently under my firm grasp. 

Through the hazy, overwhelming bliss, she felt my thrusts become erratic, then slow as I rode out the last of Hermione’s contractions. Finally, I stilled, buried deep inside her, both of us panting and spent. I gently released her hair. I knew she loved the strange sensation of the sudden lack of tension. I peppered soft kisses along Hermione’s shoulder blade as I carefully pulled out, the action making Hermione twitch with oversensitivity. 

I lay down beside her, pulling Hermione into my arms, holding her closer as we both tried to catch our breath. Hermione nuzzled into my neck, her body humming with a deep contented satisfaction. My fingers, now gentle, combed through the very hair I had just pulled so ruthlessly. 

“Okay?” I whispered, my voice soft again. 

Hermione could only manage a drowsy, satiated hum in response. I smirked and kissed her nose, then her lips. 

“Rest now, love. There’s plenty more where that came from.”