Chapter Text
The Longbottom estate came into view as the car rolled up the gravel drive. Harrie leaned closer to the window, trying not to gape. It wasn’t huge like Malfoy Manor or noisy like the Burrow—but it was a nicely sized stone house with ivy creeping up the walls, smoke curling from the chimney, and a small garden out front dusted with snow. Augusta set off up the path with quick, no-nonsense strides, her cane tapping against the ground. Neville trudged after her with both trunks in tow, and Harrie couldn’t help wincing at the weight he was hauling.
The front door creaked open onto a wide entryway with stone floors and rugs. A few portraits blinked down at them from the walls, and the air carried the faint scent of rosemary and citrus. Harrie couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips as she imagined Neville's childhood here.
"Miss Potter, care for some tea?"
"Just Harrie is fine." She corrected. "And sure... that sounds lovely."
"Brillant. Neville?" Augusta looked at him expectantly.
He blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… right. I’ll go make some.” He shot Harrie a quick smile before disappearing down the hall toward the kitchen.
Now that they were alone, Harrie felt somewhat uneasy. Augusta’s presence filled the space as much as the portraits did, her sharp eyes steady on her.
“So…” Augusta began, leaning lightly on her cane. “What made you wish to spend the holiday with my grandson?”
Harrie shifted her weight, her cheeks warming. “Well, I’ve spent Christmas at the Weasley's before, but this year Neville asked if I wanted to come here. And… I thought it would be nice. Quieter.” She offered a small, honest smile. “And, truthfully, I like being around him.”
She didn’t mention their plan to illegally snoop through the guest logs at St. Mungo’s—that part of the trip was strictly off the record.
Augusta studied her for a long moment, then she gave a short nod. “Good answer. He could do with someone who appreciates quiet—and him."
Harrie ducked her head slightly, pretending to smooth her sleeve. "Well, thank you for welcoming me into your home. I hope it isn't too much trouble."
“It’s no trouble at all. Neville wrote to me about how much he wanted you to visit—about how you were his best friend.”
Harrie’s head snapped back up. Best friend. The words sank into her chest, equal parts comforting and startling. She swallowed, forcing her expression into something neutral as she tried to mask the sudden rush of warmth in her cheeks.
Augusta gave her another long look. “I see your name in the papers often enough. Most of it’s probably nonsense, but still… trouble follows you. I don’t say that to scold you, Harrie—I know you’ve had more than your share to carry. But understand this... my grandson has had more than his share as well. I won’t see him get hurt again if I can help it.”
Harrie met her eyes. “I would never hurt Neville."
“Good. Then we understand each other." Augusta’s mouth twitched like she might almost smile before she straightened. “I’ll be stepping out shortly... family business. I’ll trust you two to manage without me for a few hours.”
Just then, Neville returned balancing a tray with three mismatched mugs of tea. He looked between them, slightly out of breath. “Did I miss anything?”
“Not at all.” Augusta said smoothly, accepting her cup. “I was just telling Harrie that you’ll show her around the place while I’m gone.”
"Gone?"
She took a long sip. “Your great uncle Algernon has managed to misplace his wand again—Merlin knows how he gets himself into these scrapes—and if I don’t fetch a new one from Ollivander's before the shop closes, he’ll be useless until New Year’s. I expect the house to still be standing when I return."
Neville nodded. "Of course, Gran."
"I will be back in time for supper. Neville, be sure to show our guest to her room."
With that, she swept out the door, leaving Neville and Harrie sitting with their steaming cups of tea.
The house fell quiet.
Neville shot her a wary glance. “She didn’t, um… threaten you while I was gone, did she?”
Harrie laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “No. But she is intimidating.”
“Yeah, well… that’s sort of her thing. Keeps people on their toes.”
“It works.” Harrie said, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well. Guess it’s just us, then.”
Neville mirrored her smile, faint but genuine. “Looks that way.” He hesitated, then gestured down the hall. “I can give you the tour of the house, if you’d like.”
She lifted her cup, taking a slow sip, then nodded. “Please.”
He grinned, the tension easing from his shoulders, and led her through the estate. The sitting room came first—a cozy chamber with armchairs pulled close to a large stone fireplace. The shelves were crammed with gardening journals, and photographs lined the mantle, some of Neville as a boy in oversized sweaters, some of his parents smiling before everything changed. Harrie lingered on those a moment, her chest tight, before Neville gently guided her onward.
The kitchen was sturdy and practical, with copper pans hanging from hooks and an oak table worn smooth from years of use. The kettle on the stove still steamed faintly, filling the room with a soft hiss, and the window over the sink held a neat row of herbs in little clay pots—parsley, thyme, rosemary—all thriving despite the winter chill outside.
Up the stairs, Neville pushed open a door and nodded her inside. The room was modest but tidy, with a floral quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed and a small desk tucked beneath the window. Afternoon light spilled through lace curtains, giving the space a faint golden glow.
“This is our guest room.” Neville said as he set her trunk down with a soft thump. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as though making sure it met her approval. “It only ever gets used like twice a year, when Gran’s friend Griselda comes to visit.”
“It’s nice.” Harrie said with a genuine smile. She ran her hand across the quilt, the fabric cool under her fingers. For all its simplicity, the room felt warm and safe, a place untouched by the chaos that usually filled her holidays.
Neville shrugged modestly. “Gran likes everything in its place. Even the rooms no one really uses.”
Harrie turned to him, her lips curving. “So… where’s your room?”
“Down the hall.” His voice carried a trace of hesitation, like he hadn’t expected her to ask.
A flutter of excitement curled in Harrie’s belly. She couldn’t quite explain why the idea of seeing Neville’s room made her feel giddy, but she wanted to. Wanted to know what his world looked like when no one else was watching.
“Can I see?” She asked, her tone casual but her eyes betraying her eagerness.
Neville blinked at her, then gave a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. Sure.”
He motioned for her to follow, leading her toward the very end of the hall.
* * *
“So… this is it.” Neville said shyly as he pushed open the door to his bedroom. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of the space. If someone had told him at the start of term that Harrie Potter would be standing here now, in his house, about to see the most private corner of his life, he’d have laughed—and then panicked.
But it was too late. Harrie was already stepping inside.
Her green eyes roamed the room with curiosity, taking in the small bookcase, the stack of folded clothes, the potted plants lined up along the windowsill.
But the rest of the space was more boyish, more lived-in. A few Gryffindor banners hung crookedly on the wall, their edges curling. His desk was cluttered with parchment and ink stains, quills stuck into a chipped mug alongside a snapped one he had forgotten to throw out. On the shelf above the desk sat a little pile of Chocolate Frog cards and a toy wand from his childhood, forgotten but not discarded.
“It’s nice.” She said, smiling. “Very you.”
“Thanks. It’s not much.”
“It’s perfect.” Harrie replied, and the way she said it—without teasing, without judgment—made his chest ache.
She crossed the room and, without hesitation, plopped herself onto his bed. Neville’s stomach lurched. Heat curled low in his belly at the sight of her sprawled across his quilt, her wild hair fanning against his pillow like she belonged there.
“So… what time do you think your gran will be back?” She asked, glancing up at him.
“I don’t know." He admitted, his voice a little rough. “She hates Apparating, so if she uses the Floo in Diagon Alley to get to my great uncle, it could be a few hours.”
Harrie raised her brows. “A few hours, huh?”
Neville’s lips curved, though he tried to hide it. “Yeah. Why?”
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance though her eyes sparkled. “Just wondering what we’re supposed to do with all that time… want to lay with me?”
Neville’s breath caught, his ears turning pink almost instantly. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
Harrie smirked at his flustered tone and scooted back on the bed, patting the space beside her. “Well, come on then. Don’t make me beg.”
He crossed the space in three strides and took the spot beside her, careful not to bump her too hard as the mattress dipped beneath his weight.
“I like it here." She said wistfully, folding her hands over her stomach. “It’s nice being somewhere quiet for once.”
Neville turned his head to look at her, surprised by the softness in her voice. “Yeah. It is. I don’t think I really notice until someone else points it out.”
She tilted her head toward him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You grew up with it, so you probably take it for granted. But for me? Quiet feels like a luxury. No shouting, no chaos… just silence."
"It is nice... but sometimes I wish it could be loud. Especially on Christmas."
The words slipped out before he could stop them, and once they did, he felt that familiar tightness in his chest. Quiet was all he’d ever really known. Christmas at St. Mungo’s had never been more than silence broken by the occasional scream, his parents staring at him without recognition while Gran stood at his side. He’d never had the kind of noisy holiday Ron described, with a house stuffed full of people, warmth spilling from every corner. He wondered what that would even feel like.
“Christmas is my favorite holiday.” Harrie said quietly. “Even as a kid, I never got any presents, but I just loved it."
Neville turned his head, frowning slightly. “You loved it? Even without presents?”
“Yeah." She said, and her voice had that wistful edge to it that always made him pay closer attention. “Because it always felt different. Like the world was softer for a little while. The lights, the snow, the way people seemed kinder… I held onto that, even when everything else was awful.”
He studied her face, the faint glow from the window catching in her green eyes. It struck him how easily she could take something so painful—empty holidays, no gifts, no family—and still find something worth loving in it.
“What do you like best about it?”
She thought for a moment, a smile slowly growing on her face. “Probably the lights. I love the way everything glows this time of year. Makes even the cold feel warm, if that makes sense.”
“It does." He hesitated, then admitted, “For me, it’s always been the food. Not even the big meal—just the little things Gran insists on. Mince pies, mulled cider, the biscuits she makes every year without fail.” He chuckled. “She says traditions keep us rooted.”
“That sounds kind of perfect, actually.” Harrie said softly, rolling onto her side to face him.
Neville mirrored her without thinking, their noses almost brushing. The conversation ebbed for a moment, replaced by the simple warmth of being close.
“Mistletoes.” Harrie whispered, her lips curving into a faint smile. “That’s another tradition.”
He nodded, his breath mixing with hers. “Yeah.”
“Good thing we don’t need one.”
Neville’s answering chuckle was soft, almost swallowed by the space between them, and then he closed it entirely. Their lips met, slow at first, an unhurried press that spoke of comfort as much as wanting. Harrie sighed into him, her hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest.
He kissed her back just as gently, savoring the warmth of her mouth, the way her breath caught when he shifted closer. For a moment it was steady, measured, almost sweet.
But then Harrie tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her lips moving with more certainty. Neville’s heartbeat thundered beneath her palm as his hand found the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. She made a low sound in her throat—half laugh, half sigh—and it only urged him on. The kiss grew hungrier, their mouths parting, breath mingling in hot bursts. Neville’s hand slid up her spine, fingers tangling in her hair, and Harrie pressed into him, matching his urgency. It wasn’t careful anymore. It was messy, needy, the kind of snogging that left them both breathless.
“We should stop.” Neville panted against her mouth, forehead leaning on hers. Merlin, he didn’t want to. Every nerve in his body screamed at him not to, but if he didn’t stop now he would go too far.
Harrie’s eyes flicked up to his, wide, searching. “What if… we didn’t?”
Neville froze, his breath catching in his throat. Did she mean—? No... surely, he misheard that. His brain scrambled, trying to keep up, every rational thought locking up as heat surged through him.
The silence stretched too long, and Harrie’s bravado faltered. She licked her lips nervously, dropping her voice to a shy whisper. “Unless you don’t want to…”
“I want to.” The words burst out of him, no hesitation. “Harrie, I want to so badly… but only if you’re ready.”
Her lips curved into the smallest smile. “I think I am. Do you think you're ready?"
Neville’s heart nearly stopped. Ready? Fuck, yes.
He’d never been more ready for anything in his life. Every inch of him ached with the wanting, the needing—like he’d been holding his breath for years and she was finally letting him exhale. But even as the answer roared inside him, his brain scrambled, overthinking every angle.
What did this mean for them? Did saying yes mean they were something more now—official, committed? Would she regret it after? Would he ruin the best thing in his life by wanting too much, too fast?
Harrie’s hand brushed against his, silencing all of his thoughts in an instant.
"Hey...I trust you." She whispered. “So, stop overthinking.”
Trust. She trusted him. Of all the people she could’ve chosen, it was him she wanted, here, now. The weight of that nearly undid him more than the kiss they’d shared or the heat buzzing under his skin.
A cute laugh escaped her as she pulled him into a hard kiss, her lips hungry, daring.
His hands shoved under her shirt, rough with urgency, fingers splayed over the heat of her skin. When she yanked the shirt over her head herself, Neville nearly lost his mind.
He pulled back just enough to stare. Her bra was black, simple but somehow devastating, and for a second his brain just… stalled. She was beautiful—he knew that already—but seeing her like this knocked the air from his lungs.
“Bloody hell." He rasped. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Shut up and take yours off.” She shot back, though her face was pink.
He tore at his own shirt, tossing it aside. Her eyes flicked over him quickly, lingering on his chest, and the way she reached out—hesitant but wanting—made his veins flood with desire. Her fingers brushed his stomach, then lower, over the bulge straining his trousers.
“Can I…?” She asked softly, her hand pressing firmer.
“Fuck—yes.” The word broke out of him on a groan, his hips jerking helplessly into her palm. His head dropped forward, forehead resting against hers, as if that tiny point of contact could anchor him.
She gave him one slow squeeze, watching his mouth drop open with pleasure, before letting her hand slide away. “Let’s get these off...” Her fingers fumbled at the button of his trousers, tugging impatiently until it popped free. Neville swallowed hard, every nerve on fire as she dragged the zipper down. The sound of it seemed to echo in the room.
“Here..." He breathed, helping her shove the fabric down his hips. He kicked them away clumsily, leaving only the thin cotton of his boxers. The outline of his cock strained painfully against them, and Harrie’s eyes flicked down, a slow smirk on her mouth as she hooked her fingers into the waistband and tugged. Neville shifted his hips, letting her push the boxers down. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and for a heartbeat neither of them moved.
"Do you think it'll fit?" She asked softly.
“It might hurt at first but I’ll go slow.” He promised.
Harrie nodded, the crease between her brows easing. Her hands dropped to the button of her own jeans, fumbling as she opened it with a sharp little click. The zipper slid down, exposing the edge of her panties.
“Here, let me help.” His voice was low, almost reverent, as he brushed her hands aside. He tugged at the denim, rough fabric resisting against her hips. Harrie lifted herself just enough to let him work them down, wriggling free until he could peel them away completely. The jeans hit the floor with a dull thud, leaving her stretched out in just her bra and panties.
Neville’s breath hitched, his cock twitched at the sight, aching. He bent, kissing her once, before sliding his fingers under the waistband of her panties. He pulled them down slowly, savoring the sight of more skin revealed, until she lifted her hips to help him. He tossed them aside, and suddenly she was bare beneath him, flushed and beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.
He swallowed hard, drinking her in, fighting the urge to rush. “Merlin, Harrie…”
She squirmed, flustered but smiling. “Don’t just stare at me.”
That broke his daze. He kissed her again, deep and urgent, pressing their bare bodies flush together. Her warmth, her softness, the heat of her skin against his—he thought he might lose his mind.
“Bra...” She muttered against his mouth, fumbling at the straps herself. “Help me.”
His hands got there first, clumsy but determined, until the clasp finally gave way. The straps slid down her shoulders, and he eased the fabric away, baring her completely.
Neville froze, breath stolen. Her breasts, flushed and perfect, rose and fell with every nervous inhale. He reached out almost reverently, cupping her gently, his thumb brushing over the peak until she gasped and arched into him.
“Beautiful." He murmured again, almost to himself, before lowering his mouth to her skin. He paused just long enough to draw a shaky breath against before taking the soft peak of her nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly.
Harrie shuddered, her head tipping back as a high-pitched whine escaped her throat. Her fingers tightened in his hair, helpless to stop the way her body arched into him.
His tongue flicked gently, then circled, teasing until her thighs pressed together in search of relief.
“Neville…” She whispered, her voice broken and pleading.
The sound of his name like that—needy, desperate—shot straight through him. He released her breast with a soft pop, panting as he kissed up the line of her throat. His hand slid down her stomach, slow but purposeful, until his fingers brushed the soft heat between her legs.
She gasped, her whole body jolting, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she parted her thighs for him, breathless and trembling.
He pressed gently, feeling how wet she already was, and swallowed hard. Merlin, he’d never imagined anything like this. Harrie naked in his bed, trembling for him. He stroked slowly at first, careful, watching every shift of her face. Her lashes fluttered, her lips parted in a gasp, and when he circled her clit she let out a sharp cry that made his cock twitch painfully.
“Tell me what you want.” He murmured, his voice low, coaxing, almost daring.
“Your mouth. Please…” Harrie whispered, breath trembling.
Neville smiled, a flicker of hunger flashing in his eyes, and kissed down her stomach. Each brush of his lips made her shiver,
She opened for him, vulnerable and waiting, and he didn’t hesitate. His hands pressed firmly to her thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin as he spread her for him. Then his mouth found her.
The first flick of his tongue made her gasp, sharp and startled, her fingers instantly tangling in his hair. He groaned against her, the vibration sending a shudder straight through her body. Her hips jerked away instinctively, but Neville only tightened his hold, pinning her against the mattress to keep her from fighting the overwhelming sensation.
Harrie let out a choked cry, her head tipping back, her chest rising and falling wildly. When he licked her again, firmer this time, circling her clit, she writhed toward him.
“Fuck—” She gasped, biting her lip to keep the noise down, her thighs trembling against his grip.
He looked up at her from between her legs, his mouth glistening, hair mussed from her desperate fingers. “Louder… I want to hear you.”
He latched onto her clit, sucking firmly, and Harrie’s cry ripped out of her, unrestrained this time. Every shudder, every gasp, was his doing, and the thought made his head spin. He’d never imagined he could make someone feel like this—make her feel like this.
Her breath grew ragged, her cries higher pitched, and Neville knew she was getting close.
"Don't come yet, let me enjoy this a little longer."
“I—I can’t—Neville—”
“Yes, you can." He murmured roughly, dipping lower to thrust his tongue inside her, tasting her fully. The wet heat of her clenched around him and he groaned, rutting subtly against the mattress to ease the ache in his cock.
Her thighs clamped around his head, but he only held her tighter, relentless, circling her clit again with his tongue.
She tasted incredible—sweet and rich, a flavor that coated his tongue and made his whole body thrum with hunger. The slick heat of her spilled against his mouth, and he lapped it up greedily, nose brushing her mound as he buried himself deeper. Her skin was hot and damp beneath his hands, her scent thick in the air, and all he could think about was devouring every sound, every shiver, every drop she gave him.
Her body jolted, teetering at the edge, and her broken plea tore through the air. "Please let me come!" She begged.
He growled against her, eyes locking with her and he gave her a single nod.
The permission was all it took. Harrie shattered with a cry, her back arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through her. Neville held her steady, drinking in every sound, every spasm, every trembling pulse of heat against his mouth. It was overwhelming, intoxicating—better than any fantasy his mind had ever dared spin. The sound of her pleasure echoed in his room as she convulsed, rolling her hips helplessly against his mouth. He didn’t let up, holding her thighs open, his tongue unrelenting even as she writhed and shook beneath him.
When the shudders finally began to ebb, Neville pulled back just enough, his mouth glistening, his chest heaving. He looked up at her through tousled hair, lips wet, and smirked.
“You taste even better when you scream for me.”
Harrie’s whole body flushed at his words, her chest still rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. "Holy hell, where did you learn to do all that?"
Neville smirked faintly, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of her thigh. "You bring it out of me."
She chuckled, the sound soft and breathless, and sighed in bliss as her eyes fluttered closed.
Neville moved over her body, caging her in without crushing her. His lips brushed her temple, then the shell of her ear. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired… we’re barely starting.”
Harrie opened her thighs wider for him, biting her lip as she giggled. "Who knew all this foreplay would be so exhausting?"
"I guess I’ll just have to wake you up again.”
He rolled his hips into hers, letting her feel just how hard he was. His swollen tip rubbed along her slickness, coating himself in her heat. The sound that slipped from her throat made his head fall forward, his forehead resting against hers as he dragged along her again, slower this time, teasing.
“Not tired anymore, are you?” He breathed, his voice roughened by the effort it took to hold back.
She arched under him, laughter and breathless moans tangling together. "Oh, Merlin... just fuck me, please. I need you."
He pushed just enough to feel her stretch around him, not yet inside, only a promise. “Say it again.” He rasped. “Tell me you want this, Harrie.”
Her nails dug into his shoulders, her breath catching. “I want you. All of you, Neville.”
That was all it took for him to lose the last of his restraint.
He pushed forward, the head of his cock pressing past her slick entrance. Harrie gasped, her nails digging deeper into his shoulders, her body tensing at the stretch.
“Ah, fuck!” She winced in pain, her face scrunching as she sucked in a sharp breath.
“I know, I know…” Neville shushed her, his voice tender. He leaned down, brushing his lips against her temple. “I know it’s big, but you’re doing so good. Just breathe for me.”
Her thighs quivered around his hips, but she forced herself to exhale, to relax. Inch by inch, he sank deeper, the heat of her wrapping around him so tight he thought he could barely breathe.
When he pressed to the hilt, all the way inside of her, he froze.
Oh, fuck—he was going to come. He was going to come right fucking now and embarrass himself. She was so wet, so tight, her cunt gripping him like a vice, and then she whimpered—soft, needy—and the sound sent a brutal jolt straight to his balls.
Neville bit down on a curse, his hips stuttering as he buried his face in her neck. Not yet, not yet, please, Merlin, not yet. His whole body trembled with the effort of holding back, of not spilling into her like the helpless virgin he was. His fists clenched in the sheets on either side of her, nails biting into the fabric, every muscle screaming for release.
“Harrie…” His voice cracked against her skin, rough with strain. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose, trying to find some sliver of control. “Shit, you feel—Merlin, I don’t—”
Her hands slid up his back, nails raking gently down his spine, and he nearly lost it. But then she whispered against his ear, low and tender. “It’s okay. Just breathe. I want this… I want you.”
The words steadied him like nothing else could. He forced himself to still inside her, chest heaving, focusing on her warmth, her heartbeat beneath him, instead of the desperate pulse threatening to undo him. Slowly, carefully, he loosened his grip on the sheets and let his lips brush her collarbone, holding himself together by a thread.
“Fuck… you’re so tight.” He groaned. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”
She nodded quickly. “I’m ready, Neville."
He rolled his hips slowly, testing the rhythm.
Holy shit, the sensation was incredible. Nothing he’d ever done to himself compared. She was so hot, so snug, her body gripping him in a way that made his head spin. Every inch of his cock was enveloped, massaged, welcomed deeper. A desperate groan tore out of him before he could bite it back, muffled against her shoulder. He pulled back only slightly before sliding in again, keeping it slow, deliberate, savoring every second. Her walls fluttered around him, and he cursed again.
“That’s it, sweetheart.” He praised, low and husky, each thrust measured. “You’re taking me so well. Tell me how it feels.”
“So good…” Harrie whined, her voice breaking with each roll of his hips. Her head tipped back against the pillow, hair spilling out beneath her, mouth open in helpless moans. “Oh, Merlin, it’s amazing!”
“Yeah?” He rasped, hips stuttering as he fought to hold on. “Feels good?”
Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and desperate, locking on his. “Yes—Merlin, Neville, you feel incredible—I can’t—” Her voice broke on a cry, her thighs tightening around his hips. “You’re so deep. Please don't stop!"
Heat roared through him, burning hot in his veins. He hadn’t even realized he was snapping his hips harder until the bed creaked with the force of his thrusts, their bodies moving together in a desperate rhythm. Harrie’s cries grew louder, higher, each one spurring him on like fuel poured onto a fire he couldn’t control.
Every drag of her slick heat around him sent sparks shooting up his spine, his body wound so tight he thought he might break apart. Her nails scored down his back, her hips lifting to meet his with equal urgency, and it wrecked him—completely wrecked him—that she wanted him like this, needed him like this.
“That’s it…” He growled softly, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head against the mattress. “Take it. Take my cock like a good girl. Merlin, you’re perfect—so tight—like your cunt was made to be ruined by me.”
She whimpered, writhing under him, but his grip held her firm, his thrusts driving deeper, harder.
“Gods, say it!" He begged, hips slamming into hers, the words tumbling out without thought. “Tell me you love how I fuck you—tell me you want more.”
“I do!" Harrie gasped, her head tipping back against the pillow. “Neville, I want more—I want all of you!”
“Yeah? Then I’ll give you everything—every last drop.”
He let go of her wrists and pushed her thighs higher, spreading her open as he moved over her to fuck her harder into the mattress.
The new angle made her cry out, sharp and unrestrained, her head tipping back against the pillow. The sound went straight through him, setting his blood alight, and pride flared hot in his chest. He was the one pulling those sounds from her, the one making her fall apart.
“Merlin—listen to you..." He rasped, hips driving deeper, harder, the slap of skin against skin filling the room. “You love it, don’t you? Love me fucking you like this.”
“Yes, yes!—Oh, Neville—I’m gonna come!” She cried out.
Her whole body clenched around him, a sharp cry spilling from her lips as pleasure tore through her. She gripped him like a vice, every desperate contraction pulling him deeper, dragging him closer to the edge until his vision blurred.
“Fuck—Harrie—” He groaned, his hips stuttering as the tight waves of her orgasm milked him ruthlessly. He tried to hold out, tried to breathe, but the way she pulsed around him—hot, wet, relentless—ripped away the last of his control. “I can’t hold it—I’m coming—fuck…take it—take every drop!”
He slammed deep and stayed there, cock twitching hard as he spilled hot inside her, groaning through every pulse until there was nothing left.
It felt euphoric—like his body had been stripped bare, every nerve alight, his chest heaving against hers. For a moment, the world stilled, nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing filling the room.
Neville stayed buried inside her, trembling with the last echoes of release. He couldn’t bring himself to move yet—not when she was still wrapped around him, warm and soft, her arms looped lazily over his shoulders. Harrie tilted her head, brushing her lips against his ear in a tired, almost dazed kiss.
“Merlin...” She whispered, her voice raw, still shaky. “That was… that was insane.”
He let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead to hers. “Insane good, right? Not… insane terrible?”
She huffed out a giggle, the sound weak but genuine. “Definitely not terrible. That was amazing, Neville."
Relief broke over him in a wave so strong he couldn’t help but laugh again, softer this time, almost giddy. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth, unable to stop himself from dotting little touches wherever he could reach.
He pulled out slowly, his cock softening, and glanced down at the mess between her thighs. His stomach clenched—equal parts awe and embarrassment—as he watched his release spill out of her, slick and glistening against her flushed skin.
“Sorry…” He murmured, brushing his knuckles over her hip. “Here, let me get you something to clean up.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her stomach before rolling out of bed, tugging on his discarded boxers just long enough to fetch a cloth and some cold water. When he returned, she hadn’t moved much—hair mussed against the pillow, skin flushed, chest rising and falling with the aftershocks. The sight of her like that aroused him all over again.
“Lift up a bit.” He coaxed softly, his voice gentler now. She obeyed without complaint, and he took his time wiping her down, careful and tender in a way that contrasted the rough edge of minutes before.
When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and stretched out beside her again, watching her in pure adoration as she sipped the water.
"What?" Harrie smiled after a particularly long sip.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
“I…” he paused, his voice catching. For a terrifying heartbeat he thought he might actually blurt it out. Instead, he swallowed hard and forced a steadier smile. “I’m really glad we did that.”
"Me too." Her grin softened, her eyes glowing in the dim light. She shifted closer, curling against his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his skin. "You're my best friend."
The words hit him harder than he expected. Best friend. It should have been simple, ordinary—he’d called her that in his head for years—but hearing her say it now, here, while their bodies were still tangled and their skin still warm, made his chest tighten almost painfully.
He let out a shaky laugh, pressing his chin to the top of her head. “You’re mine too.”
She hummed softly at that, like the answer pleased her, and burrowed even closer, her breath fanning warm against his collarbone. Neville closed his eyes, one hand stroking slowly down her back, committing the weight and warmth of her to memory.
He wanted to tell her everything—that she was more than his best friend, that she was the only person who had ever made him feel this alive—but the words stuck stubbornly in his throat.
For now, he had Harrie in his bedroom, the two of them tangled together after giving each other their first time.
And that was enough.