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Ron Weasley lounged in the Slytherin common room, one arm draped over the back of a couch as he rolled a gold Galleon across his knuckles. The firelight caught the sharp angles of his face. His blue eyes narrowed in amusement at some private joke. His tie hung loose, dark green against his untucked shirt, and when Pansy Parkinson shot him a look from across the room, he just smirked and flipped the coin higher.
"Oi, Weasley," Draco drawled, tossing a crumpled parchment at him. "Stop looking so pleased with yourself. It’s disturbing."
Ron snatched the parchment midair without glancing away from the fire. "Disturbing’s your specialty, mate. I’m just enjoying the view." The coin vanished into his pocket as he stretched, muscles shifting under his sleeves.
Outside the common room, a faint tap sounded against the stone wall. Three quick, then two slow. Ron didn’t move, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"You’re insufferable," Daphne Greengrass muttered, gathering her books as she prepared to work.
"Yet here you all are," Ron said, standing smoothly, "suffering me anyway." He flicked the crumpled parchment into the fire and strode toward the door, ignoring Draco’s raised brow.
The corridor was empty except for the flickering torchlight and Helene Potter, who was leaning against the damp stone. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, her outer robe cinched tight at her waist. Her green eyes locked onto his, and for a heartbeat, neither spoke.
"You’re late again," said Ron, stepping close enough that his shadow swallowed hers.
Helene tilted her chin up. "Got held up."
"By what?" His fingers brushed the collar of her robe, tracing the edge where fabric met skin. "It's not like you had any clothes to worry about."
She swallowed. "None of your business."
Ron laughed low in his throat, crowding her against the wall. "Everything about you," he murmured, lips grazing her ear, "is my business when you show up here like this."
Her breath hitched, and he smirked.
Helene exhaled sharply as Ron’s fingers hooked into the belt of her robe, tugging just enough to make her stagger forward into him. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric separating them, could already imagine the way his calloused hands would grip her hips later, leaving marks she’d have to charm away before dawn.
“Still pretending you’re not here for it, Potter?” Ron’s thumb swept over the pulse point in her throat, pressing just shy of too hard. “All that Gryffindor pride, and yet—” He yanked the robe open in one smooth motion, revealing the smooth bare skin and blonde patch beneath, the flush already creeping down her large breasts. “Look at you. Not even knickers. Eager.”
You told me not to wear any! She wanted to say.
Helene’s retort died in her throat as he shoved her toward the common room door, his palm flat between her shoulder blades. The serpentine carvings slithered apart at his touch, and the murmurs from inside cut off abruptly as they stepped through.
Daphne’s quill snapped against her parchment. Blaise Zabini choked on his pumpkin juice.
Ron didn’t slow.
He guided Helene to the largest couch, the one by the hearth, where the green velvet was worn thin from centuries of Slytherins lounging like kings, and pushed her down face-first into the cushions. Her knees hit the edge, robes pooling at her waist.
The shocked silence shattered into hissed whispers.
"Is that Helene Potter?"
"Blimey, she's naked under there!"
"What did Weasley do to her?"
"Never knew her tits were that big..."
“Weasley—”
“Shut it, Nott.” Ron’s belt buckle clinked as he undid it, the sound obscenely loud in the sudden quiet. His fingers tangled in Helene’s hair, wrenching her head back so she could see the others staring as her robe came completely off. “She wants an audience. Don’t you, love?”
Helene’s nails dug into the couch cushions. The firelight licked over her skin, over the stretch of her spine, the swell of her arse, and the heave of her breasts all on display. She could feel Malfoy's gaze like a physical touch, could hear Parkinson's sharp inhale.
Ron leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Tell them,” he murmured, “how you begged for this.”
Her thighs trembled.
Behind them, someone dropped a book.
Ron laughed.
The sound was dark, rough, and Helene could feel the reverberation of it through his chest pressed against her back. His fingers tightened in her hair, forcing her to arch deeper into the couch cushions. The rough velvet scraped against her bare thighs, the scent of old leather and embers thick in her lungs.
"Tell them," he repeated, voice a low command, his free hand sliding down the curve of her spine until his palm smacked against her arse with a sharp crack that echoed off the stone walls. The sting bloomed hot, and Helene's breath shuddered out in a broken gasp.
"Fuck!"
"That," Ron drawled, trailing his fingers over the reddening skin, "is exactly what you came for, isn't it?" His other hand released her hair only to grip her hip, yanking her back against him. The hard line of his cock pressed against her, unmistakable even through his trousers, and Helene's pulse pounded in her throat.
The common room had gone utterly still save for the crackling fire and the ragged sound of her breathing.
She could see them now: Malfoy's pale fingers frozen around his goblet, Parkinson's lips parted in something between disgust and fascination, Zabini's knuckles white where they gripped the arm of his chair.
What had she gotten herself into?
Ron's teeth grazed her shoulder. "Say it."
Helene’s nails tore into the velvet.
"I—" The word was a whisper, but in the silence, it might as well have been a shout.
His fingers dug into her hip.
"I wanted it," she admitted, voice cracking.
The moment the words left her mouth, Ron shoved her forward again, his belt clattering to the floor.
The first thrust stole her breath.
Helene buried her face in the cushions to muffle the moan clawing its way up her throat, but Ron hauled her back up by her hair, forcing her to kneel upright, back pressed flush against his chest.
"Let them hear you," he growled, one hand splayed over her stomach, the other tightening in her hair as he drove into her again, deeper this time.
So many Slytherin, all fifth years and older, stared at her. Most of the girls with disgust, most of the boys with barely hidden longing. All of them watching intently. A whimper escaped her.
Ron smirked against her ear. "Good girl."
From the corner of the room, Malfoy set his goblet hit the table with a sharp clang. "Can’t believe you brought your whore into Slytherin territory, Weasley," he sneered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He sounded almost distracted. His gaze dragged over Helene’s hardened nipples, the way Ron’s fingers pressed bruises into her hips. "Disgusting."
Ron chuckled, teeth scraping Helene’s neck as he thrust up into her, slow and deliberate. "You say that," he rasped, "but your eyes haven’t left her tits once, Malfoy." He palmed one roughly, fingers digging in, and Helene arched back against him with a gasp. "Tell me now. What’s more disgusting? Me fucking her, or you getting hard watching?"
Draco’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing around his drink. Pansy’s laugh was sharp, brittle. "Oh, please. As if Potter’s anything special—"
Helene whimpered as Ron’s grip tightened in her hair as he forced her head back further. "Special?" he mused, dragging his tongue along her throat. "No. But she’s mine when I want her." His free hand slid down her stomach, fingers dipping between her thighs, and Helene jerked against him, her moan echoing off the stone walls. "Aren’t you, Potter?"
She couldn’t answer. Not with the way his fingers around her clit, not with the way Draco was staring, pupils blown wide, his lips parted just slightly. The air was thick with sweat and spice, the fire casting flickering shadows across their faces.
Ron’s laugh was dark, victorious. "Look at him," he murmured against her ear, thrusting deeper, harder. "Pathetic. All that pure-blood pride, and he’s jealous." His fingers sped up, circling ruthlessly, and Helene’s thighs trembled, her nails scrabbling against his forearm. "You like that? Knowing he wants what I have?"
"Yes. Oh fuck yes." Helene’s breath came in ragged pants. The heat in her stomach coiled tighter, the pressure building.
Then Ron’s fingers stilled abruptly, withdrawing completely.
She whined, hips twitching forward instinctively, chasing the sensation as she rode his cock.
"Ah-ah," Ron tutted, gripping her waist to hold her still. "Not yet." His voice dropped to a whisper, lips brushing her ear. "Let him watch you beg first."
Helene shuddered, the denial carving a hollow ache between her thighs. Behind her, Ron was still buried inside her, thick and unrelenting, but he hadn’t moved. He stayed still, letting her feel every inch while his fingers teased circles over her clit. She could hear Draco shift in his chair, the rustle of fabric as he adjusted his robes.
"Please," she gasped softly.
Ron’s chuckle vibrated against her spine. "Pathetic." But his fingers pressed harder, dragging a choked moan from her throat. "Louder."
Helene squeezed her eyes shut and looked away. The firelight painted streaks of gold across her vision, the heat of it prickling against her bare skin. "Fuck. Please, Weasley..." Her voice cracked, humiliation searing through her, but the ache was worse. "I need your cock, Weasley."
Ron’s free hand tangled in her hair again, yanking her head back to face Draco. "Tell him," he growled. "Tell him how bad you want it."
Draco’s fingers twitched around his goblet.
Helene’s breath hitched. "I—"
Ron thrust shallowly, just once, and her words dissolved into a whimper. "Ron..."
"Say it."
The pressure built again, unbearable, his fingers relentless between her thighs while his cock stayed still inside her, taunting her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "I-I need it," she forced out, voice trembling. "Please, Ron, just—"
Ron’s grip tightened. "Just what?"
"Fuck me," she begged, the words spilling out in a rush, her hips jerking against his hand. "Hard."
Behind her, Ron exhaled sharply...
...then slammed into her without warning.
"Oh Merlin! YES!" Helene cried out, her back arching, nails scrabbling at his arm as he set a brutal pace, each thrust punching the breath from her lungs. The wet slap of skin against skin drowned out the whispers around them, the creak of the couch, the sharp clink of Draco’s goblet hitting the floor.
"Good girl," Ron rasped, his breath hot against her neck. "Take it." His hand slid up to wrap around her throat. "Take every fucking inch."
Helene’s vision blurred. She could feel Malfoy's stare like a brand, could hear Parkinson's hissed "Disgusting," but all she could focus on was the coil of heat tightening in her stomach, Ron’s ragged breaths in her ear, the way his fingers dug bruises into her hips—
And then his thumb pressed down hard on her clit, and she shattered.
Helene’s entire body convulsed, a scream tearing from her throat as pleasure ripped through her, white-hot and merciless. Ron didn’t slow. If anything, his thrusts grew rougher, sharper, driving her through the crest of it until she was sobbing, her thighs slick and trembling, her fingers clawing uselessly at the couch cushions. The room spun, the firelight bleeding into streaks of gold and green, and distantly, she heard the sharp intake of breath from someone—Malfoy, maybe, or Zabini—but Ron’s grip on her throat tightened, forcing her to stay upright as he fucked her through the aftershocks.
"That’s it," he growled against her ear, his voice ragged with exertion. "Come all over my cock, you greedy little—" He cut off with a sharp groan, hips stuttering, and Helene felt him spill inside her, hot and thick, his fingers bruising her hips as he held her flush against him. For a heartbeat, they stayed like that before he finally pulled out with a wet drag that made her whimper.
Ron straightened with a lazy smirk. Around them, the silence in the common room was electric, broken only by the crackling fire and the shaky breaths escaping Helene’s swollen lips. Malfoy's gaze burned into the side of her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, or anyone else for that matter. Not with Ron’s release trickling down her thighs.
"Right," said Ron, clapping his hands together, as if his face wasn't red and he hadn’t just fucked The Girl-Who-Lived senseless in front of the upper year Slytherins. "Now that that’s sorted—" He turned toward the others, who were still frozen in various states of shock and fascination. "—who’s up for a round of Exploding Snap?"
Helene moved to reach for her discarded robe only for Ron’s hand to snap out and catch her wrist. "Did I say you could cover up?" His tone was light, almost conversational, but his grip was ironclad. "Keep it off. You’re not done."
Not done? But I did what he wanted!
A flush crawled up her neck as the weight of the room’s attention settled over her bare skin. The firelight flickered over the exposed curve of her back, the sweat-slicked dip of her spine, and she could feel the stares like physical touches: Draco’s gaze lingering on the bite marks Ron had left on her shoulders, Blaise’s eyes tracing the way her thighs trembled as she shifted. Even Goyle and Crabbe were watching as her breasts jiggle as she moved.
Ron sprawled back onto the couch, one arm draped over the back, the other tapping impatiently against his knee. His trousers were still undone, his cock still hard and glistening with her juices resting against his thigh. "Sit," he ordered. "Facing them."
Helene’s breath hitched. Her face burned with humiliation. "Ron—"
"Now."
Her legs shook as she straddled him, her back to his chest, the heat of him pressing against her from behind. She tried to keep her thighs closed together, but Ron’s hands slid around her hips and forced them apart so that her entire blonde bush and cum-covered pussy was visible.
"Better," he murmured.
Then, without warning, he lifted her slightly, just enough to angle himself beneath her, and pulled her down onto him in one sharp motion.
Helene gasped, her nails digging into his thighs as he filled her again, the stretch bordering on painful after how thoroughly he’d already used her. Ron’s chuckle vibrated against her back as he reached around her to snatch the deck of Exploding Snap from the side table. "Deal us in, Draco," he said, shuffling the cards one-handed, the other still splayed possessively over her stomach.
Malfoy took the deck with a sneer. "You’re revolting," he muttered, though his eyes flicked to Helene’s flushed face.
"Yet here you are," Ron said, dealing the cards with a flick of his wrist, "watching." His hips rolled up lazily, drawing a choked whimper from Helene’s throat. "Enjoying the show."
Nott's laugh was sharp. "As if Potter’s worth looking at."
Ron’s fingers tightened on Helene’s hip. "Then look away," he challenged, thrusting up harder, the movement jolting Helene forward. Her hands flew out to brace against the table, her tangled hair tumbling over her shoulders.
Malfoy's gaze dropped to where Ron’s cock stretched her pussy apart.
Ron smirked, dealing another card. "Your move, Malfoy."
Daphne Greengrass leaned forward on her elbow, her quill tapping against the parchment. Her blue eyes, cold and assessing, raked over Helene’s flushed skin. "Tell me, Potter," she said, voice smooth as ice. "Do you like being Weasley's little whore? Or does the shame make it better?"
Helene’s breath stuttered as Ron thrust up lazily, the movement just enough to remind her how full she was. How thick and long Ron's member was. She swallowed, throat dry. "I’m not—"
"Oh, please." Greengrass rolled her eyes, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "You’re dripping on the couch. You reek of him." Her gaze flicked to Ron’s hand, still curled around Helene’s hip. "Does she come harder when you humiliate her, Weasley? Is that why she keeps crawling back?"
Ron chuckled, his thumb tracing idle circles over Helene’s stomach. "Wouldn’t you like to know, Daphne?"
Greengrass' lips curled. "I already do." She tilted her head, studying Helene’s trembling lower lip. "Look at her. She’s desperate for it. For you. Pathetic."
Helene squeezed her eyes shut, but Ron’s grip tightened, forcing her to face Daphne. "Answer her," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "Do you like being my slut?"
The words coiled in her chest, thick and suffocating. She could feel the stares and sneers of the Slytherins around her. Her thighs twitched. "Y-yes."
Greengrass' smile was razor-thin. "Louder."
Helene’s nails dug into Ron’s thigh. "Yes."
Ron’s laugh was dark, triumphant. He nipped at her shoulder, his hips rolling up in a slow, deliberate grind that had her gasping. "Good girl." His fingers trailed lower, brushing over her clit, and Helene jerked against him, her moan bouncing off the stone walls.
Greengrass watched, unblinking, as Ron played Helene like an instrument. "Gross," she murmured, shaking her head.
"Are we playing or not?"
Ron smirked at Malfoy, flipping a card onto the pile. "Oh, we’re playing," he said, his fingers pressing harder between Helene’s thighs. "Just not Snap."
With a rough tug, he spread her legs wider, forcing her to splay her hands flat against the couch cushions. Helene gasped, her blonde bush glistening, her slick folds stretched taut around him, thick and flushed and visible. The wet smack of skin against skin echoed as Ron rocked into her lazily, the obscene stretch of her around him on full display. Draco’s knuckles whitened around his goblet.
"See that?" Ron murmured as he angled her hips higher. "How she takes it?" He thrust shallowly, dragging a choked whine from her throat. "Like she was made for it."
Pansy’s breath hitched. Blaise leaned forward, his dark eyes tracking the way Helene’s fingers scrabbled against the velvet, her thighs trembling with the effort to stay spread.
Ron chuckled, rolling his hips in a slow circle. "Bet you lot didn’t know Gryffindor’s golden girl could bend like this." His fingers dug into her flesh, forcing her to arch further. "Or that she likes it rough." He punctuated the last word with a sharp snap of his hips, making Helene cry out, her nails tearing into the fabric.
Greengrass' quill snapped in half.
Ron didn’t stop. He dragged Helene back onto him with a filthy groan, her body yielding too effortlessly. "Fuck," he rasped, his grip tightening. "You’re still sopping. Like you’re hungry for it." His thumb swiped over her clit, rough and quick.
Helene sobbed, her thighs jerking.
"Tell them," he growled. "Tell them how bad you need it."
Helene’s vision swam. The room was too hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex and burning cedar. She could feel all of them watching.
"Please," she gasped, the word cracking.
Ron laughed, low and dark. "Not good enough." He stilled abruptly, leaving her trembling. "Beg."
Helene’s breath came in ragged pants. The denial was a physical ache, sharp and throbbing. She could feel Draco’s gaze like a brand, could hear the wet sound of Ron spitting into his palm before slicking himself again, taunting her.
Her voice broke. "Fuck me."
Ron’s grin was vicious. "Since you asked so nicely." He slammed back into her, the force of it rattling the cards on the table, and Helene’s scream echoed off the walls. Ron lifted her legs up on both sides so that everyone could see just how well she took Weasley's cock.
Fuck I love this angle, she thought, throwing her head back with a moan as her tits bounced. If she ignored the fact that she was being watched by a bunch of Slytherins, it might have been the best fuck she'd ever had.
Zabini rolled his eyes, swirling his drink with exaggerated boredom. "Merlin, what is it with dumb blondes and their big tits?" He gestured lazily at Helene’s flushed, bouncing chest. "Always spreading their legs for anyone who looks at them twice. I bet Potter's taken half the castle in that cunt of her's."
I have not! Helene gasped, her fingers clawing at Ron’s thighs as he pistoned into her. "I—I haven’t—" Her breath hitched when Ron pinched her nipple quickly. "Fuck—Ron’s the only one—ah!—I’ve slept with!"
The entire room erupted into derisive snorts. Even Goyle chuckled into his meaty fist.
Pansy’s smirk was all teeth. "Even if that’s true," she drawled, leaning forward to flick Helene’s swollen nipple, "it won’t be for long." Her nails trailed down Helene’s stomach, stopping just above where Ron was relentlessly pounding into her. "Not with the way you moan. It's like you want the whole castle to hear."
Ron’s grip on Helene’s hips turned bruising. "Tell her she’s wrong," he taunted, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. "Tell Pansy you’re mine."
Helene’s thighs trembled, her toes curling against the rug. Her denial was a breathy, unconvincing whimper, half-drowned by the wet slap of skin and Ron’s ragged breathing.
Draco’s goblet hit the floor with a clang, wine splattering across the stone. His voice was rough, uneven. "Shut her up, Weasley. Before I do it myself."
Ron’s laugh was dark, his fingers tightening in Helene’s hair, yanking her head back. "Hear that, Potter?" He licked a stripe up her throat. "Malfoy’s offered." His hips snapped forward, ruthless. "Want me to share?"
That was enough to draw out the rest of the horny sods.
"I want a turn!"
"Pass that slut over here."
"That whore's arsehole is mine."
Helene’s moan pitched high, half in protest, half in pleasure, as Ron’s free hand slid between their bodies, his thumb circling her clit just right. The room blurred at the edges, the taunts and laughter fading beneath the roar of blood in her ears.
Blaise sighed, tossing his cards down. "Christ, just come already Potter. Put us all out of our misery."
Ron’s teeth sank into Helene’s shoulder. "You heard him," he growled against her skin. "Be a good little slut and finish." His fingers pressed harder, faster—
Helene shattered with a broken scream, her back arching, her walls clenching around Ron in pulsing waves.
Ron groaned, his hips stuttering. He yanked himself out of her without warning. "On your knees," he ordered. "Now."
Helene scrambled down onto the rug. Ron’s grip in her hair guided her head back, forcing her to stick out her tongue, pink and wet and waiting as he stroked himself roughly over her face. The first hot stripe landed across her cheek. The second spurt hit her tongue, thick and salty. The third splattered across her collarbone, dripping between her breasts.
She gasped, lashes fluttering, the taste bitter on her tongue as she swallowed, but she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Ron’s fingers stayed twisted in her hair, his cock still twitching against her bottom lip, his breath coming in sharp pants.
"Fuck," Ron muttered, staring down at her. His thumb swiped through the cum on her cheek, smearing it down to her chin before shoving two fingers into her mouth. "Clean them."
Helene sucked instinctively, her tongue swirling around his fingers, her lips closing around the digits. The taste was sharper and concentrated. It was musky and bitter and unmistakably him. Ron’s breath hitched, his gaze locked on her mouth, on the obscene way her cheeks hollowed. She then drew her attention to Ron's softening cock, much more manageable to fit in her mouth now that it was spent.
Malfoy's chair scraped back abruptly. "Enough," he snapped, though his voice was strained. "This is—"
"Fascinating?" Greengrass supplied, a new quill tapping against her parchment. "Or just pathetic?" Her gaze flicked to Helene’s flushed face, the sticky trails of white dripping down her chest as she sucked Ron's dick. "Honestly, Potter. I expected better from Gryffindor’s princess."
Ron chuckled as he pulled his cock free with a wet pop. "Princess?" He dragged his thumb over Helene’s lower lip, smearing the cum further. "Look at her. She’s nothing but a cheap fuck." His grip tightened, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Aren’t you?"
Helene’s breath hitched. This was so humiliating. She didn't know what possessed her to agree to Ron's request. As if getting seen by the boys in her year a few weeks ago wasn't bad enough, now the fifth-, sixth-, and seventh-years, boys and girls, had seen her debase herself for Weasley's dick. She swallowed, throat bobbing. "Yes."
The word was barely a whisper, but it hung in the air like a confession.
Ron grinned and wiped his thumb across her tongue one last time. "Good girl."