Chapter 2: The Reward
The note was slipped into his potions text during lunch, a folded square of parchment that smelled faintly of broomstick handle and something floral. His heart did a strange, double-beat against his ribs when he recognized the looping handwriting. Charms corridor, third floor. The empty classroom past the tapestry of the dancing trolls. Sunset.
He couldn’t focus for the rest of the day. The words from the common room whispered in his head on a loop. Heroes deserve rewards. Every glance at Ginny across the Great Hall or in the halls sent a jolt through him. She’d smile, quick and private, before turning away, leaving him burning.
The appointed hour found him climbing the stairs to the third floor, the castle quiet, most students sequestered in common rooms or the library. The sunset painted the stone corridors in washes of orange and deep violet. He found the tapestry, pushed past it, and saw the old classroom door slightly ajar.
He stepped inside.
The room was bathed in the dying, glorious light of the sun. Long shadows from desks and chairs stretched like fingers across the dusty floor. The air was still and warm, thick with the smell of chalk and forgotten things. And in the center of it all, leaning against a teacher’s desk, was Ginny.
She was out of her school robes, wearing just a simple, thin white cotton shirt and jeans. The low, golden light coming through the tall windows set her hair on fire, a crimson halo around her face. She watched him enter, her expression unreadable.
“You came,” she said. Her voice was calm, but it held an electric charge.
“Your note was a bit cryptic,” Harry managed, shutting the door softly behind him. The click of the latch sounded final.
“I thought heroes liked a bit of mystery.” She pushed off the desk and took a step toward him. The movement made the soft fabric of her shirt shift, and Harry’s eyes, as if pulled by a magnet, dropped to the gentle, perfect swell of her breasts beneath it. The cotton was worn, almost translucent in the incendiary light, and he could just make out the darker shadow of her nipples, the scattering of faint freckles across the upper curves. His mouth went completely dry. A thick, urgent heat pooled in his groin, his cock already stiffening uncomfortably against the zip of his jeans.
“See something you like, Potter?” Her question was a soft challenge.
He forced his gaze up, his face flaming. “I—sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She was closer now, close enough he could see the flecks of amber in her brown eyes, the faint smile playing on her lips. “You’ve been looking for weeks. Months, maybe. Ever since I grew into these, really.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, not accusatory. She glanced down at her own chest, then back at him. “It’s okay. I’ve noticed.”
Harry couldn’t speak. The blood was pounding in his ears, a roaring tide of want and sheer, naked embarrassment. All his hidden glances, the stolen moments in the common room, by the lake, after Quidditch practice—she’d known. She’d seen him.
“After the Chamber,” she said quietly, her voice losing its teasing edge for a moment. “You saw me at my absolute worst. Broken. You carried me out of there.” She took another step, now within arm’s reach. The scent of her, clean skin and that faint ginger warmth, enveloped him. “I think you deserve to see me at my best, too. Or at least… a part of me you seem very interested in.”
Her hands went to the bottom hem of her shirt. Harry stopped breathing.
She didn’t pull it up. Not yet. She hooked her thumbs in the fabric, watching his face, watching his eyes darken with a hunger he could no longer conceal. The ache in his jeans was a painful, throbbing demand. He had dreamed of this, feverishly, guiltily, for what felt like an eternity. The shape of her under sweaters and robes had been a torturous mystery. Now, the answer was inches away.
“Is this the reward you meant?” he heard himself ask, his voice rough.
“A preview,” she corrected, a sly smile returning. “If you want it.”
He nodded, a jerky, desperate motion.
Slowly, she drew the shirt up. An inch of flat, freckled stomach was revealed, then the gentle curve of her waist. Higher. The lower slopes of her breasts appeared, paler skin, a delicate line of more freckles. Harry’s heart hammered against his sternum. Then, in one smooth motion, she pulled the shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor.
She stood before him, the sunset gilding her skin in gold and rose. Her breasts were exactly as he’d imagined and yet beyond any fantasy—firm, beautifully shaped, perfectly sized to fill his hands. They were high and round, with pert, pink nipples that peaked in the cool air of the classroom. A constellation of faint, cinnamon-colored freckles danced across the upper curves, disappearing into the shadowed valley between them. They were utterly breathtaking.
A low groan escaped him. He couldn’t help it. His erection was a solid, aching bar of pressure against his fly, every heartbeat sending a pulse of desperate need through him.
Ginny’s confidence didn’t waver, but he saw a faint blush rise on her own chest, staining her skin pink. “Well?” she breathed. “Was it worth the wait?”
“God, yes,” he choked out. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch.
She looked down at the obvious bulge in his trousers, then back up to his face, her eyes gleaming. “You look like you’re in pain, Harry.”
He was. It was a sweet, agonizing torture.
“You can touch yourself, you know,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “While you look. I don’t mind. Consider it part of the reward. For saving me.”
The words were like a spark to tinder. His control, already frayed to a thread, snapped. His fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, the clink of it loud in the silent room. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way her breasts moved faintly with her breath, the way the dying light caressed every curve. He pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock, which sprang out, fully hard and dripping.
The cool air on his heated flesh was a shock. He wrapped his hand around himself, a strangled sigh escaping his lips as he began to stroke, his gaze locked on her body. It was surreal, obscene, unbelievably hot. Ginny watching him, her breasts bare, her expression a mix of power and fascination.
“That’s it,” she murmured, her own breath coming quicker now. She subtly arched her back, pushing her chest forward slightly, offering herself to his gaze. The sight of her like that, combined with the friction of his own hand, was too much. His movements grew faster, more frantic.
“Ginny,” he gasped, a warning, a plea.
“It’s okay,” she said softly, taking a step closer. “Look at me. Come for me, Harry.”
Her permission, her command, shattered the last of his restraint. With a raw, choked cry, his eyes glued to the perfect freckled swell of her breasts, he came, stripes of release painting the dusty floorboards between them. He shuddered through it, his legs weak, supported only by the desk he stumbled back against.
Silence fell, broken only by their ragged breathing. The sun dipped finally below the horizon, leaving the room in deep twilight.
Harry, spent and trembling, hastily righted his clothes. Shame began to creep in at the edges of the incredible release. But when he looked at Ginny, she was pulling her shirt back on, her face soft, her smile genuine.
“Feel better?” she asked, as if she’d just handed him a Pepperup Potion.
He let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah. I… yeah.”
She walked to him, reached up, and kissed him softly on the cheek. Her lips were warm. “Good,” she whispered. “That was just the preview, remember?”
Then she turned and walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. She looked back over her shoulder, her profile outlined in the dim blue light. “The next time you save the world, Potter, the rewards get a lot more hands-on.”
She slipped out, leaving him alone in the darkening room, the scent of her and of sex hanging in the air, the promise of her words echoing in the sudden, immense quiet.