The stairs in the Gryffindor tower creaked faintly under Harry's weight as he made his way down, lost in thought. That was, until he saw her—Romilda Vane, bouncing down the steps ahead of him like she didn't have a care in the world. Or like she knew he was watching.

And yeah, he was watching.

Romilda's yoga pants were doing the absolute most, clinging to her in a way that seemed almost magical—though Harry doubted Professor Flitwick would approve of such spellwork. Her hips had this hypnotic sway, her bubble butt jiggling just enough to send Harry's brain straight into overdrive. He tore his eyes away, feeling heat creep up his neck. But it was too late; the image was already burned into his mind.

"Harry," Hermione said from behind him, her voice way too amused. "You're staring."

"What? No, I wasn't," he lied, a little too quickly.

"Oh, please." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You looked like you were trying to solve an Arithmancy equation on her backside. Just admit it—she's got a great ass."

Harry choked on his own spit. "Hermione!"

She just smirked. "I'm not blind, Harry. And I'm also not deaf. Romilda's been talking about you nonstop lately. You'd have to be thicker than Crabbe not to realize she's into you."

Harry blinked. "She's into me?"

"Like, really into you," Hermione said, nudging him. "And, honestly, it's about time you did something about it. You're seventeen, Harry. You're allowed to have fun."

"Fun," Harry repeated, feeling like a particularly clueless barn owl.

Hermione groaned. "Yes, Harry. Fun. Ask her out, flirt a little, maybe even—oh, I don't know—snog her in a broom closet. I promise, it won't kill you."

Harry's face was on fire. "I can't just walk up to her and ask her to… to snog me."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, her tone painfully reasonable. "She's clearly interested, and you're… well, you're Harry Potter. Girls love that."

"I don't want her to like me just because I'm… me," Harry muttered.

"Oh, get over yourself," Hermione said, waving a hand. "She likes you, Harry. The least you can do is give her a chance."

That night, sitting by the common room fire, Harry finally made up his mind. He'd ask Romilda to Hogsmeade. Casual, no big deal. Just two classmates hanging out. And maybe, if things went well, he'd see where it led. As he planned it out in his head, he realized it didn't have to be complicated. Romilda seemed confident and fun—two things Harry felt like he needed more of in his life.

The next morning, Harry spotted Romilda by the Charms classroom, her dark curls catching the sunlight. She was leaning against the wall, chatting with a friend, and laughing at something that Harry couldn't hear. Her laugh was infectious, and before he could second-guess himself, he was walking toward her. His palms were sweaty, but he was determined not to back out now.

"Hey, Romilda," he said, trying not to sound like a complete idiot.

She turned, her face lighting up with a smile. "Oh, hi, Harry! What's up?"

"Uh, I was wondering," he began, scratching the back of his neck, "if you'd… maybe want to go to Hogsmeade with me this Saturday?"

Her smile widened, and Harry felt like he'd just won a Quidditch match. "I'd love to," she said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, nothing fancy," Harry said, his confidence growing. "Just, you know, a walk, maybe some ice cream…"

"Sounds perfect," Romilda said, leaning in a little closer. "And, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

She grinned, her voice dropping to a playful murmur. "I'll make sure to wear something you'll like."

Harry's brain short-circuited as she walked away, her hips swaying just enough to make his heart race. He stood there, grinning like an idiot, until Hermione walked by and smacked him on the back of the head.

"What?" he asked, rubbing his scalp.

"Nothing," Hermione said, smirking. "Just proud of you for finally growing a pair."

Saturday rolled around, and Harry waited by the castle gates, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. When Romilda appeared, his jaw nearly hit the ground. She was wearing a sundress—light, flowy, and cut just right to show off her curves, including her big tits that seemed to press perfectly against the fabric with every step. Her hair was loose, tumbling down her shoulders in silky waves, and her round, heart-shaped ass swayed with every movement, accentuated further by the way the dress hugged her hips. When she smiled at him, he was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat.

"Hey, Harry," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Ready to go?"

"Y-yeah," Harry stammered. "You look… great."

"Thanks," she said, her cheeks pinking slightly. "You don't look too bad yourself."

They walked to Hogsmeade together, their conversation flowing easily. Harry found himself relaxing as they talked about classes, Quidditch, and the weird things Peeves had been up to lately. He was surprised at how natural it felt—like they'd been friends for ages. By the time they reached Florean Fortescue's, he felt like he was just hanging out with a friend… a ridiculously gorgeous friend.

"Let's share a sundae," Romilda suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "The Lover's Delight looks fun."

Harry's cheeks burned. "Uh, sure."

When the sundae arrived, glittering with enchanted sprinkles, Romilda picked up a spoon and offered him a bite. Her eyes met his, and he couldn't help but lean in, their faces close enough that he caught a whiff of her floral perfume.

The sprinkles shifted to a deep red.

"Would you look at that," she said, her voice low and teasing. "Guess we've got chemistry, Potter."

There were moments when he couldn't help but glance at her chest, the curve of her big tits outlined perfectly by the sundress she wore. Once, when she leaned forward to scoop up some enchanted trinket from a display, Harry's eyes lingered a second too long. Romilda caught him. Instead of being annoyed, she smiled widely, her dark eyes full of mischief.

"See something you like, Harry?" she teased,

Harry's face turned bright red, but he couldn't bring himself to look away as she straightened up and winked at him.

They wandered through the village, stopping in shops and laughing at the ridiculous trinkets on display. As they passed a boutique with colorful dresses on display, Romilda grabbed Harry's arm and grinned mischievously. "Let's go in here! I've been meaning to get a new dress," she said, already pulling him through the door.

The shop was cozy, filled with racks of flowing fabrics and mannequins dressed in chic wizarding styles. Romilda's eyes sparkled as she darted from one rack to another, picking out dresses that ranged from playful sundresses to slinky, elegant robes.

"Alright, Potter," she said, holding up a few selections. "Sit there," she pointed to a plush armchair near the fitting rooms, "and prepare to be amazed."

Harry barely had time to process before she disappeared behind the curtain. The sound of fabric rustling and zippers sliding filled the air, and then—with a dramatic swish of the curtain—Romilda stepped out.

The first dress was short and flirty, a light pink number with a cinched waist that showed off her long legs. She twirled for him, the hem floating just enough to make his cheeks warm. "What do you think?" she asked, her hands on her hips, the fabric hugging her curves in all the right ways.

Harry swallowed hard. "Uh, you look great."

Romilda laughed. "You're so easy to fluster, Potter. Alright, wait until you see the next one." She disappeared back into the fitting room, leaving Harry with his heart pounding.

The next dress was deep green, made of silky fabric that clung to her body like a second skin. The neckline dipped just enough to draw his gaze, and when she turned, the open back revealed smooth, tanned skin. She walked up to him, her hips swaying with deliberate exaggeration. "This one's a bit daring, isn't it?" she teased, biting her lip.

Harry nodded, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat. "Yeah, daring," he managed.

Romilda's grin widened as she leaned down, her face inches from his. "I'll take that as a compliment." She tapped his nose lightly before retreating behind the curtain again.

By the time she came out in the third outfit—a black dress so tight it looked painted on—Harry felt his brain practically short-circuit. The neckline dipped low, showing off her big tits in a way that was impossible to ignore, and the skirt barely qualified as a skirt. It was short enough that, when she turned, he got an eyeful of her big juicy ass peeking out. Romilda struck a pose, one hand on her hip and the other resting against the doorway, a wicked smile on her lips as she caught his dumbstruck expression.

"Well?" she asked, giving him a playful wink. "Would you take me to Hogsmeade in this?"

Harry's mouth opened, but instead of freezing up, he decided to be bold for once. He leaned back in the chair, trying to look more confident than he felt. "I wouldn't take you to Hogsmeade in that," he said, his voice coming out steadier than expected. "I'd take you straight to a broom closet."

Romilda stopped mid-twirl, clearly caught off guard. Then, to Harry's surprise, her lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. "Well, well, Potter," she said, sauntering closer. "Didn't know you had it in you." She leaned down , her dark eyes sparkling. "Careful what you wish for."

Harry's cheeks burned, but he held her gaze, his heart pounding. For a second, he thought she might actually kiss him, but then she straightened up with a laugh, patting his shoulder. "You're full of surprises today, Harry. Maybe I'll hold you to that."

Harry's brain felt like it had short-circuited. "Whichever you like," he mumbled, his cheeks burning.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as they made their way back to Hogwarts. The chatter and bustle of Hogsmeade faded into the background, leaving a quiet hum of anticipation in the air. Harry walked beside Romilda, his thoughts racing with everything that had happened that day. He couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't want it to end just yet.

As they neared the castle steps, Romilda slowed her pace. Harry was about to say goodnight when she grabbed his hand.

"Come with me," she said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

Before Harry could question her, she pulled him toward a shadowy alcove. She glanced around to make sure the coast was clear, then opened the door to a small broom closet.

"What are you—" Harry started, but Romilda cut him off with a playful laugh.

"You're the one who brought up broom closets earlier, Potter," she said, stepping inside and tugging him in after her. The door shut behind them with a quiet click, leaving them bathed in dim light. "I figured it was time to see if you were all talk."

Harry swallowed hard, the small space suddenly feeling warmer.

"I'm not all talk," he said.

"Prove it," she challenged, her eyes gleaming.

Harry leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly at first, testing the waters. Romilda didn't pull away; instead, she met him halfway, her mouth moving against his with just enough heat to set his nerves alight. Encouraged, Harry kissed her deeper, his hands settling at her waist.

Then Romilda teased him, her tongue darting out to flick against his lips. That playful touch flipped a switch in him. He groaned softly and went to town, his lips moving against hers with fervor, his tongue tangling with hers as the kiss turned hot and messy. Her fingers gripped the back of his neck, tugging him closer until there was no space left between them.

Harry's hands started to wander, sliding down her waist and over her hips. He let one hand drift lower, cupping her ass and giving it a firm squeeze. Romilda gasped into his mouth, the sound shooting straight through him. He grinned against her lips, his other hand moving up to brush against the curve of her chest.

When his fingers grazed the soft swell of her breast, she let out a soft, breathy moan. It was enough to make Harry pull back, his chest heaving as he looked down at her.

"Show me,"

Romilda blinked, her cheeks flushed, then let out a laugh.

"Well, aren't you bold, Potter," she teased, but her hands moved to the straps of her top without hesitation.

She slipped them off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall and exposing her chest to him.

Harry's breath caught as he took her in. Her big, perfect tits rose and fell with her uneven breathing, her nipples tight and rosy in the dim light of the closet.

"Merlin," he muttered, stepping closer.

He bent down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her chest. Romilda's fingers slid into his hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp as he kissed his way to her nipple. When he finally took it into his mouth, she gasped sharply, arching into him.

Harry sucked gently at first, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, then more firmly as he got lost in the sound of her soft moans. She tugged at his hair, her breathing ragged as he moved to give her other breast the same attention, his free hand kneading the one he'd just left.

"Harry," Romilda breathed, her voice shaking slightly but filled with heat. "You're… really good at this."

Romilda pressed herself back against Harry, her bare chest brushing his arm as she moved. His hands gripped her hips tightly, steadying her as her soft, round ass ground against him in slow, deliberate circles. The friction, the heat, the way her body fit perfectly against his—it all had Harry completely undone.

He let one hand slide up from her waist, cupping her bare breast. His fingers teased the soft skin before catching her nipple between them, giving it a firm twist. Romilda gasped, her movements faltering for a second before she picked up the rhythm again, her grinding growing bolder, harder.

"Just like that, baby," Harry groaned into her ear, his voice rough with need. "Move that ass of yours."

Romilda moaned softly, her head falling back against his shoulder. Her hand reached behind her, gripping his thigh as she pushed back against him with deliberate force. Every roll of her hips sent a spark through him, and Harry couldn't hold back a low growl of satisfaction.

Feeling the growing tension between them, Harry moved his hand back down to her ass, his palm smoothing over the curve before landing a firm, loud smack. The sound echoed in the small space, followed by Romilda's sharp gasp that melted into a breathy laugh.

"God, Harry," she murmured, her voice shaking as she ground harder against him, her movements urgent now.

Harry grinned, his lips brushing against her ear as he squeezed her ass. "You like that, don't you?" he muttered, his voice thick with heat.

"You're so bad," she whispered, her tone teasing but breathless. She turned her head slightly, her lips brushing against his jaw. "And so hot."

Harry felt a surge of satisfaction flood through him, her words sparking something deeper. He smirked, his hand tightening on her hip before moving up to tangle in her hair. With a firm tug, he tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him as he leaned down to kiss the soft, flushed skin.

Romilda moaned at the pull, her body arching into him, her grinding slowing to a sensual roll. Harry's other hand moved with purpose, sliding under the hem of her skirt and trailing up her thigh.

Harry's fingers slid higher, teasing over her soaked center. The second he brushed her clit, Romilda let out a shaky gasp, her whole body trembling against him.

"Merlin," he muttered, smirking as he circled her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. "You're dripping, babe."

Romilda's head fell back onto his shoulder, her breaths coming out in short, desperate gasps. "Harry…" she moaned.

Grinning, he didn't stop. His fingers moved lower, slipping between her folds, slick with her arousal. When he finally plunged one finger inside her, Romilda cried out, her hips bucking against his hand.

"Fuck," she whimpered, her voice shaky as she started to move, grinding down on his hand, her body completely giving in. Her eyes were shut tight, her mouth open as moans spilled out, louder with every thrust of his finger.

Harry's free hand gripped her hip, holding her steady as she rode his hand. "Just like that," he growled into her ear, his voice rough and full of heat. "Work those hips, Romilda. You feel so good."

Her only response was a louder moan as her grinding grew frantic. Harry added another finger, twisting his hand slightly as he curled his fingers inside her, watching as her body tensed and shivered in his arms.

"Harry… don't stop," she moaned, her voice breaking as her hands clutched at his arm for balance.

But just as things were hitting their peak, a sharp cough from outside the door made them both freeze.

"Ehm-hem."

Romilda's eyes snapped open, wide with panic as she looked toward the door. Harry's stomach dropped as the handle turned and the door creaked open. Standing there, arms crossed and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else, was Penelope Clearwater.

The Gryffindor prefect raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between the two of them, clearly unimpressed. "Seriously?" she said, her tone flat. "A broom closet?"

Romilda let out a squeak, immediately pulling away from Harry. Her hands flew to her chest, trying to cover herself while her other hand grabbed at her dress, tugging it up to hide her bare breasts. Harry stumbled back, his face burning as if he'd been hexed, and barely managed to catch himself against the wall.

Penelope didn't move, her unimpressed glare drilling into them both. "I've caught my fair share of students sneaking around," she said, her voice dripping with irritation. "But you two win the award for most obvious."

"Uh… it's not what it looks like," Harry blurted, his voice cracking slightly.

Penelope's eyebrow climbed higher. "Oh? So she wasn't grinding on you while you had your hand up her skirt?"

Romilda groaned, still fumbling to fix her dress, her cheeks redder than a Gryffindor banner. "Okay, fine. Maybe it's exactly what it looks like," she muttered, glaring at Penelope like she was the one at fault for barging in.

Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "teenagers." She took a deep breath, lowering her hand to give them both a pointed look.

"Here's how this is going to go," she said sharply "You're going to leave this closet right now, return to the common room, and pretend this never happened. If I catch either of you pulling something like this again, I'll dock points so fast, Gryffindor will be in the negatives. Got it?"

Harry nodded quickly. "Got it."

Romilda sighed, adjusting her dress one last time before shooting Penelope a saccharine smile. "Sure, Clearwater. Whatever you say."

Penelope stepped aside, gesturing for them to leave. Romilda grabbed Harry's hand and tugged him out of the closet, her head held high despite her disheveled hair and rumpled clothes.

The second they turned the corner and were out of sight, Romilda let out a laugh, her grip on Harry's hand tightening. "Merlin's beard, that was close," she said, her voice still breathless.

"Close?" Harry hissed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Penelope wasn't following them. "She caught us!"

Romilda shrugged, her smirk returning. "Yeah, but she didn't take points. I'd say we got off easy."

Harry groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. "I think I'm going to die of embarrassment."

Romilda leaned in, brushing her lips against his ear. "Oh, come on, Potter. Don't tell me that wasn't worth it."

Harry's cheeks flushed again, but he couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face. "Maybe a little," he admitted.

Romilda laughed, pulling him closer. "Next time, though, let's pick a spot where we won't get caught."

"Next time?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Romilda winked, tugging him along toward the common room. "Of course. You didn't think I was done with you, did you?"

Harry chuckled, his cheeks still warm. "You're full of surprises."

She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Oh, Potter, next time I'll make sure you're the one begging. Maybe I'll even get to suck that big—"

"Romilda!" Harry hissed, his face going crimson.

She just laughed, giving him a playful tug. "What? Just something to think about for next time."


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