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"You're late," Ron Weasley drawled, leaning against the doorframe of the disused Charms classroom. His fingers drummed against the wood, nails bitten down to the quick. Helene Potter didn't bother looking at him as she shoved past, her schoolbag hitting his ribs with a dull thud.
"Unlike some people, I don’t spend my free time lurking in abandoned corridors." Her voice dripped with disdain, but her pulse was already racing.
Ron smirked, kicking the door shut behind them. "Funny," he said, stepping closer, crowding her against a dusty desk. "Because you keep showing up." His breath was warm against her neck, smelling faintly of mint and something sharper, like firewhiskey stolen from the Slytherin common room.
She shoved at his chest, but her hands lingered, fingers curling into his robes. "Fuck off, Weasley." She was supposed to sound venomous, but it came out breathless.
"That's the plan," he murmured, gripping her hips and lifting her onto the desk. Old parchment crinkled beneath her thighs. "Unless you’ve got a better idea?" His thumb brushed the inside of her knee, slow, deliberate.
Helene hated him. Hated the way her body reacted, hated how he knew exactly where to touch her, hated that stupid, smug look he got when she gasped as his teeth grazed her collarbone. "You’re insufferable," she muttered, but her legs were already parting as she laid back.
Ron laughed against her skin. "And yet here you are." His hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirt, fingers pressing into where she was already embarrassingly wet under her knickers. "Christ, Potter. You’re fucking soaked."
"Shut up."
Weasley laughed. His fingers curled inside her, rough and knowing, and Helene's back arched off the desk with a gasp.
Ron watched the way her blonde hair fanned out across the scattered ink pots and crumpled homework assignments. How the overhead candlelight caught the gold in it, how her prefect badge glinted mockingly against her rumpled robes. He twisted his wrist just so, relishing the choked noise she made, the way her thighs trembled either side of his hips. "You love this," he murmured, dragging his free hand up her stomach to palm her breast through her shirt. His thumb circled her nipple, pressing hard enough to make her squirm. "Love getting fucked by a Slytherin. Bet your precious Gryffindors would scream if they knew."
Helene's breath hitched. She opened her mouth to protest, but he added another finger, crooking them just right, and whatever she'd meant to say dissolved into a moan.
Ron whispered into her ear. "You gonna come for me, slag?" His voice was all lazy cruelty, but his own breathing was uneven now, his cock straining against his trousers. "Gonna drip all over my hand like the desperate little—"
The door creaked. They froze. Somewhere beyond the classroom, footsteps echoed. Prefect patrols.
Helene went rigid beneath him as panic flickered across her face.
Ron withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching her mouth fall open at the loss.
"Fuck," she breathed, scrambling upright, her skirt tangled around her thighs. Ron adjusted himself with a wince.
The footsteps paused outside the door. Helene's wand was already in her hand.
Ron caught her wrist. "Wait," he murmured, thumb stroking her pulse point. His grin was all teeth. "Let them hear."
She recoiled like he'd burned her. "Are you fucking insane?" she hissed.
Outside, the footsteps stopped, then continued walking away.
Ron's expression darkened with something hungry. He leaned in, pressing her back against the desk again, his mouth hovering over hers. "You would have liked that, wouldn't you?" His voice was barely a breath. "Someone catching you like this, spread out for me. Gryffindor's perfect little whore." His hand slid between her thighs again, fingers slick with her, and Helene's stomach clenched.
She hated him. Hated how her body arched into his touch like it belonged there. "Let's make things interesting, shall we?" Ron took out his wand and with a wave, Helene was completely naked.
"Weasley!" she shouted, completely mortified.
Ron smirked. "What? You like it when I take control."
Helene glared at him, but her nipples were already hard and her breath was coming in short gasps. She was impossibly wet, her cunt clenching around nothing.
"You're such a fucking bastard," she whispered.
"But you still want me," Ron murmured, stepping forward and pressing his clothed erection against her bare stomach. "You always fucking want me."
Helene bit her lip, her body trembling with need. She couldn't deny it. She did want him. She wanted him so badly it hurt.
Ron's smirk deepened. "Say it," he murmured, tracing a finger down her chest, circling one nipple. "Say you want me to fuck you."
Helene gasped as his fingers pinched her nipple lightly. "F-fuck you."
Ron chuckled darkly. "That's not what I asked, Potter."
Helene whimpered, her body arching into his touch. "I-I want you to fuck me," she finally admitted, her face burning with shame and arousal.
Ron grinned triumphantly and wasted no time in shoving his trousers down just enough to free his cock. He gripped himself, stroking lazily as he watched Helene squirm beneath him.
"Tell me how much you want it," he murmured, teasing the head of his cock against her soaked entrance.
Helene gasped. "Please," she whispered. "Please fuck me."
Ron smirked and slammed into her in one swift thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Helene cried out, her walls clamping down around him tightly.
"Fuck, you're so fucking tight," Ron groaned. His hands gripped her hips. "You love this, don't you? Love taking my cock like the little slut you are."
Helene couldn't even deny it. She was completely lost in the sensation of him filling her so perfectly. "Y-yes," she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Your cock...it's so big. It fills me so well. I'm a slut for it. Fuck!"
Ron laughed darkly and started fucking her in earnest, his hips snapping against hers with brutal efficiency. "That's right," he panted. "Admit it. You're fucking obsessed with my cock."
Helene could only moan in response, her body rapidly hurtling towards her climax.
Ron felt her walls fluttering around him and grinned. "You gonna come, Potter?" he taunted, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Gonna come all over my cock like the desperate little bitch you are?"
Helene sobbed as her orgasm crashed over her, her back arching off the desk as she screamed his name.
Ron wasn't far behind. With a guttural groan, he pulled out and came all over her breasts and face, painting her skin with thick, white streaks.
Helene panted. Her body was limp and sated, her mind foggy with pleasure after a good fuck.
Ron chuckled and wiped himself off with a conjured cloth before tucking himself back into his trousers. "You're a mess," he murmured, admiring his handiwork.
Helene didn't even have the energy to glare at him. She just lay there, boneless and spent.
A slow clap echoed through the room.
Helene's blood ran cold.
Ron turned, his smirk never fading.
Standing in the back of the classroom was Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, Goyle, and Crabbe, all grinning like Cheshire cats.
"Bravo, Weasley," Malfoy drawled, his icy eyes raking over Helene's naked, cum-covered form. "Didn't take you for such a romantic."
Helene's stomach dropped to her feet. Oh god. Oh god.
Ron just smirked and shrugged. "What can I say? Gryffindor girls can't resist me."
Draco chuckled and stepped forward, his gaze lingering on Helene's large, heaving breasts. "Clearly." He tilted his head. "Mind if we have a turn?"
Helene's heart pounded in her chest. This couldn't be happening. How could he?
Ron crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "She's my fuck toy. Get your own."
Helene's breath hitched. At least Weasley wasn't that big of a complete arsehole. It was a small mercy.
Draco's smirk widened as he sauntered closer, trailing a finger along the edge of the desk where her thighs still trembled. "Oh, I don't think so," he purred. "Not when she's already warmed up for us." His gaze dropped to the mess Ron had left on her skin, and Helene instinctively tried to cover herself, but Zabini slapped her wrist away with a laugh.
"Look at her," Nott murmured. "Golden Girl, spread out like a common whore." His fingers brushed her knee, making her flinch. "Bet she's still dripping."
"With my cum," said Ron firmly. "Do you really want my sloppy seconds? The deal was you got to watch. So back off."
Helene whimpered. Part of her was praying Ron wouldn’t just hand her over. But another part already thrumming with a sick, shameful thrill. Draco rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were flushed, his gaze lingering on the way Helene’s chest still heaved.
"I always clean up my messes," Ron added casually, reaching for his wand. The Slytherins stiffened as he muttered a spell.
Helene gasped, feeling the sticky warmth vanish from her skin, replaced by a cool tingle. Then Ron’s fingers were back between her thighs, circling her swollen clit with mocking precision. "Look at her," he murmured, watching her hips jerk. "Still dripping for me. Isn’t that right, Potter?"
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think past the buzz of humiliation and the electric jolts of his touch. She hated that she was already wet again in front of these awful boys.
Draco adjusted his robes. "You’re such a fucking prick, Weasley."
Ron grinned and pressed two fingers inside her again, twisting them just to hear Helene’s strangled moan. "And yet you’re still here," he said mildly. "Enjoying the show."
Zabini swore under his breath, his gaze fixed on Ron’s fingers moving in and out of Helene’s cunt, the obscenely slick sound filling the room. Nott’s knuckles were white where he gripped his wand.
"Tell them," Ron murmured against Helene’s ear. His fingers curled. "Tell them whose cock you’re addicted to."
I hate you, Weasley. Helene choked back a sob. Her stomach was twisting in shame, but it didn't stop her hips from bucking shamelessly into his hand.
"Yours," she gasped. "Only - ah! - only yours."
Ron hummed, satisfied, and withdrew his fingers, holding them up to the light so the Slytherins could see them glisten. "See? She knows her place." His thumb smeared wetness over her bottom lip. "Now. Unless you lot want detention for lurking where you shouldn’t—"
Goyle growled, but Malfoy caught his arm, clearly annoyed. "This isn’t over," he muttered, backing toward the door.
Ron laughed. "Sure it is." He waited until the door clicked shut behind the departing boys before turning back to Helene, his expression unreadable.
She expected him to gloat. To shove her off the desk. Instead, he traced the curve of her waist with something almost reverent.
"You're shaking," he murmured, oddly soft. His thumb brushed her thigh like he was wiping away fingerprints.
He let others watch. Something that was meant for the two of them, the way she begged, the way she moaned, the way she screamed...all of that was meant for Weasley. Not anyone else. Now five other boys knew exactly what she looked like under her robes, had seen her moan and spread her legs like a cheap slut for Weasley. They has seen her eagerly take his cum all over her face and tits. They knew about their enemies-with-benefits arrangement.
Her stomach twisted with humiliation, but the wetness between her thighs betrayed her. She was still turned on. The exposed vulnerability of being seen like this by people she hated should have completely revolted her. And a large part of her did find it revolting. But a very small part of her couldn't deny the thought of being passed around had definite appeal.
Helene sat upright on the desk, trying to regain some shred of dignity, but Ron's gaze pinned her in place. His fingers lingered at her hip, tracing idle circles that made her shiver.
"Why do you hate me?" The words slipped out before she could stop them. It was far more honest than she wanted to be, too raw of a question for whatever twisted game they'd been playing for years.
Ron stilled, his smirk faltering for half a second before he schooled his features back into something mocking.
"Is that what you think?" He leaned in, close enough that his lips brushed hers when he spoke. "That I hate you?" His laughter was low and cruel. "Hate doesn’t make you come that hard, Potter."
Helene shoved at his chest, her nails digging in. "Don’t fucking dodge the question. You’ve treated me like dirt since first year." Her voice wavered - Merlin she was so fucking stupid - but she couldn’t stop. "You mock me. Humiliate me. And yet—" She gestured wildly at her body, at her bare skin still flushed from his touch.
Ron caught her wrist, pressing it against his chest where she could feel his uneven heartbeat. "Because you’re you," he spat, like it was an accusation. "Perfect fucking Potter. Prefect. Quidditch star." His grip tightened. "You walked into Hogwarts like you owned the place, and everyone let you. Meanwhile, I—" He cut himself off, jaw clenched.
Helene stared at him. The bitterness in his voice wasn’t performative. It was something that had festered for ages. And suddenly, she saw it: the red-haired boy trailing behind Draco Malfoy, the sharp edges he’d honed to keep from being overlooked. The way he’d needed her to flinch when he called her a slut, like it proved something.
Ron exhaled sharply, dragging her closer until their foreheads nearly touched. "You still don’t get it," he muttered. "I don’t hate you. I hate that I want you." His thumb brushed her lower lip, smearing the dampness he’d left there earlier. "And you...fuck, you let me. Every time."
Helene’s breath hitched. The confession hung between them, fragile as the candlelight flickering against the walls.
Down the hall, a door slammed. It was far enough away to be safe, but close enough to remind them time was running out. Ron stepped back, tossing her robes at her chest with deliberate roughness. "Put those on before I change my mind."
She caught the fabric, fingers trembling. His gaze burned through her, hungry and conflicted.
Neither of them mentioned the Slytherins. Neither of them needed to.