Chapter 13: Second Attempt
The library’s silence after Hermione left was a ringing, deafening thing. Ron stared at the space where she’d been, his face ashen. Harry couldn’t find a single word. His mind was a riot of images: the strained button, the lace, the devastating collapse of her hope. He felt complicit and wildly, shamefully aroused.
Then she came back.
Her footsteps were quiet on the stone floor, but they echoed in the stagnant air of the alcove. She’d wiped her face, but her eyes were red-raw, her expression hollowed out. That frightening calm was back. She stopped at the edge of their table, not sitting. Her hands, clutching her books, were white-knuckled.
“One more time,” she said, her voice scraped thin but unwavering. “I’ll ask one more time.”
Ron looked up, bewildered. “Hermione, don’t—”
“What will it take?” she interrupted. Each word was precise, a surgical cut. “Name it, Ron. I am standing here, and I am telling you I will do anything. Anything. If you cancel with Lavender. If you choose, for one night, not to be with her. What is your price?”
Ron froze. His eyes widened, then darkened. The confusion melted away, replaced by a dawning, hungry understanding. This was power, pure and sudden, and it rushed to his head. He leaned back in his chair, a slow, considering movement. His gaze travelled over her, no longer furtive but deliberate, appraising.
“Anything?” Ron repeated, the word thick in his mouth.
“Anything.”
Harry’s breath caught. He saw the calculation in Ron’s face, the crude, opportunistic curiosity winning over loyalty or kindness. This was a Ron he rarely saw—one stripped of awkwardness, driven by a blunt, selfish want.
Ron let the silence stretch, punishing her with it. Then he shrugged, a false casualness in the gesture. “Well. I mean. Lavender’s… she’s not shy, you know? I’m meant to be seeing all of her tonight. If I don’t… I’d be missing out. Seems only fair.”
Hermione flinched as if struck. “Fair?”
“Yeah. If I give up seeing hers… I’d want to see something else. Equivalent.” He swallowed, his bravado flickering for a second before solidifying. “So. Show me yours.”
The request hung in the air, vulgar and immense.
Hermione’s lips parted. A small, shattered sound escaped. She took a half-step back. “My… what?”
“You know what,” Ron said, his ears flaming red but his gaze steady. “You asked what I want. I want to see your pussy, Hermione. Then maybe we talk.”
Fuck. The word exploded in Harry’s skull. This was spiraling into territory he’d only fantasized about in desperate, secret moments. His heart hammered against his ribs. He was rigid in his seat, a witness to a car crash he couldn’t look away from. His eyes were glued to Hermione, to the way her whole body trembled, to the way her chest rose and fell in frantic little breaths beneath that soft grey fabric.
Hermione looked from Ron’s defiant face to Harry’s frozen one. Mortification washed over her features. “Harry… you need to leave.”
No. The denial was primal, instantaneous. The thought of being exiled now, of missing this, was a physical agony. This was the culmination of a thousand guilty daydreams. He couldn’t be sent away.
He acted without thinking. He kicked Ron’s shin under the table.
Ron jerked, scowling at him. Harry leaned in, his voice a low, urgent hiss only Ron could hear. “You owe me. For the telescope. For telling you about her tits in the first place. You don’t get to send me out now. I stay.”
Ron’s scowl deepened into a glare. A silent argument passed between them—years of friendship weighed against this new, brutal currency. Ron’s greed won. He wanted his price, but part of him, Harry saw, was scared. He didn’t want to be alone with what he’d demanded.
Ron turned back to Hermione, who was watching this muted exchange with growing horror. He cleared his throat, trying to reclaim his brittle authority.
“He stays,” Ron said, jerking his thumb at Harry.
“What? No, Ron, absolutely not—”
“That’s the deal,” Ron snapped, finding his footing again. “You said anything. This is the anything. You show me. And Harry stays. Or you walk away right now, and I go meet Lavender in an hour. Your choice.”
Hermione looked utterly, completely trapped. Her eyes darted between them, two boys she’d trusted with her life, now forming a united front of predation. The library around them felt infinite and suffocating, a cavern of ancient knowledge about to witness this modern, intimate violation.