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The Door slammed behind him, and Harry Potter was finally free. Starting college a few years late wasn't ideal, but after his aunt and uncle refused to pay for a creative writing degree, he had to handle things himself.
Years of slogging through crappy jobs, saving every knut, and living in the cheapest dumps possible had finally paid off. Harry was now a student at Magical University.

His dorm room was as thrilling as a prison cell, but it was his. A window let in a cool September breeze, rustling the thin, patchy sheets on his mattress. He'd hurled his duffel bag of secondhand clothes into the tiny wardrobe and dumped his laptop on the desk.

Harry stepped back, inhaling deeply.

Small. Cramped. Just the way he wanted it. Three lousy pieces of furniture squeezed into the room, but at least it was his own. No way in hell was he risking a roommate. Too many stories about assholes who microwaved fish or blared Call of Duty at 3 AM.

Nope. Hard pass.

Harry preferred solitude, reading, and getting his writing in without some dick breathing down his neck. He'd dealt with enough of that growing up.

A rush of relief washed over him. Finally, no nosy Dursleys to question his every move.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him.

Harry yanked it open to find some guy his age, glasses slightly crooked, clipboard in hand. The dude peered at him with the enthusiasm of someone forced to do this shit every year.

"Harry Potte?"

Harry nodded.

"Cool. Hall's meeting up for orientation. I'm Stan, your RA. Residential advisor. You get lost, have problems, I'm your guy. Now, come on."

Stan didn't wait for a response, already striding down the hall like Harry had no other choice. Harry followed reluctantly, trailing behind as they reached the staircase, where about fifteen other students loitered, leaning against the walls, just as thrilled to be there as Harry was.

"Alright, Daphne!" Stan barked suddenly. "I'm not doing this twice."

Across the hall, a door cracked open, and a soft voice called, "O-okay! Sorry!"

Out stepped Daphne, a girl drowning in a sweatshirt three sizes too big and sweatpants that could double as parachutes. Black sandals slapped softly against the floor. Her dark eyes flickered nervously as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Despite the baggy clothes, Harry caught glimpses of something... more. A nervous smile twitched across her face before she quickly looked away.

Stan didn't care for any awkwardness, launching straight into his speech about dorm rules. Harry tuned most of it out. Stan seemed like the type to enforce rules as much as Filch enforced fun.

When Stan finally passed around his clipboard, Harry scribbled his name without bothering to read the fine print.

"One last thing," Stan announced, grinning like he was about to drop the worst news yet. "Introductions. Name, major, and one fun fact. I'll start. Stan, runic engineering, Warhammer 40k fanatic. Next!"

Harry groaned internally as the circle began. Most people rattled off boring facts with all the enthusiasm of a funeral procession.

When it was Daphne's turn, her voice wavered.

"Um, I'm Daphne Greengrass. My major is... uh, undecided. I love cats. But not, like, seeing them hurt or anything. So, no vet school."

Harry smiled faintly. At least someone wasn't spewing clichéd shit.

Then it was his turn.

Harry lifted a hand half-heartedly. "Harry. Creative writing. Already working on some novels. Not publishable yet, but I'm here to learn."

Across the hall, some asshole snorted. "You're paying fifty grand a year just to write love stories? Good fucking luck."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He'd heard that shit before. Too many times.

"Yeah? Not all of us have rich dads handing us finance jobs, Nott."

Nott's designer shirt and shiny watch told Harry everything he needed to know. Rich. Entitled. A waste of air.

Stan stepped in before things could escalate. "Alright, alright. Play nice. Everyone's studying what they like. If you don't vibe, just avoid each other."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He was out of there before the clipboard even finished circling.

Daphne was already ahead, fiddling with the keypad on her door. Harry caught up, snorting. "Yeah, those codes suck. I'd stay in my room all day if I could."

Daphne smiled faintly, and Harry decided maybe, just maybe, this wasn't going to be as miserable as he thought.

Harry closed his mouth and pursed his lips. "Oh, well. Cute and shy. He could've done a lot worse for a neighbor. Nice meeting you, anyway," he muttered.

The semester was fresh, and everyone was on edge. There would be plenty more chances to get to know each other over the course of the year. You never knew what might happen. But something about her gave the impression that once she did open up, she would be a handful any man would be glad to carry.

Daphne glanced back, then shuffled in and hid most of her body behind her door. As he turned his doorknob, he heard her quiet voice.

"I think your major is interesting. I'd rather hear about books than the stock market any day. It's nice to see someone chasing a dream, rather than just playing it safe."

As Harry turned around to thank her, Daphne's door clicked shut.

Harry had a few days before classes started, and he used them to familiarize himself with the campus. There were a few dining halls, so he ate somewhere different every day, only to realize that the best one was also the farthest away.

"Oh well," Harry thought. A little extra walking would help him avoid the "freshman fifteen." Every dining hall was basically a buffet, so gaining weight would be all too easy.

He found his classes, the gym, the library, and a few shops and restaurants on the edge of campus. Some of them were hiring, but there was also a lot of work within the school for students. Sadly, the positions were hotly competitive: only a few hundred jobs for thousands of students. It seemed like a shot in the dark, but he filled out an application for a library assistant position and hoped for the best. Maybe his major would give him a leg up on the competition, but even if it didn't, he wasn't struggling for cash. Yet. Some grants helped bridge the gap between his savings and tuition, but his bank account wouldn't last forever without new money coming in.

On his way home the day before classes started, Harry spotted a familiar girl with a baseball cap pulled low over her face, grumbling to herself as she walked down the paved pathway. The campus was covered in lush green lawns and tall trees with wide canopies that students loved to sit beneath. Most of the buildings were made of stone or red brick, and it could be tough to tell them apart.

As they were about to pass each other, Harry leaned in. "Hey Daphne! Having some trouble?"

Her entire body flinched, and she dropped the book she was holding. The campus map that sat on top of it drifted slowly to the ground. Daphne's wide eyes calmed slightly when she saw him, but her breathing was fast. "Oh... It was Harry, right?"

"Yeah, sorry I surprised you. Didn't realize you were so focused." As he spoke, the wind picked up and whipped Daphne's map into the air. Harry reached for it and missed, so he chased after it while she picked up her book.

When he returned with the map in hand, she uttered a polite, "Thank you. This place is driving me crazy already."

"Do you need help finding anything? I already gave myself the tour, so I might be able to help."

Daphne stared at him for a few seconds, and Harry wondered what she was thinking. Then she nodded slowly. "Yes, please." Her eyebrows pulled together in a cute expression of frustration. "I can't figure this map out. Every building looks the same, and half of them aren't even labeled!"

Once she pulled her schedule up on her phone, Harry led her around the school. They even stepped into each building to find her specific classroom, just to make sure the first day would be as seamless as possible.

They reached the last on her list, and Harry realized they had it in common. It was an elective he was honestly a little embarrassed to be taking: Women's Sexuality. It fulfilled a psychology requirement, and he was interested in it anyway.

Daphne seemed skeptical when he told her he was in that class, too. "What made you want to take it?" she asked, giving him a side eye.

Harry gave an awkward laugh. "Well, I want to be a romance writer, remember? I've obviously met plenty of women, but I haven't had many serious relationships. I figured this class would help me understand women well enough to write books for, and about them."

That seemed to placate her suspicion. "Oh. That makes sense. Sorry, I just got worried you were one of those pervs who thought Women's Sexuality would be a great place to pick up girls."

"Right," he laughed. "Of course not."

It wasn't his first reason, but he'd be lying if that possibility hadn't crossed his mind. At the very least, the gender makeup of the class would probably be skewed toward the feminine side, but he wasn't about to mention that.

They started heading back to their dorms, and a quiet minute passed while they admired the campus. At the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Daphne's hidden figure and couldn't help wondering what she was hiding under that consistently conservative style. While most girls wore tight leggings that left little to the imagination, Daphne's loose outfit made his mind do some exercise of its own.

"Were you telling the truth a minute ago?" she asked suddenly. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to accuse him of being a perv again, but then she added, "About your relationships. You haven't had many?"

He let out a sigh. "No, I was pretty quiet growing up. I never played any sports either, so I was always a little skim. Between that and staying to myself most of the time, I didn't have many chances with girls."

She looked him up and down like she was inspecting him for flaws. "I have a hard time believing that. If you're quiet, I'm downright silent."

He had to laugh at that. She had a good point. "Well, I've come out of my shell a bit since graduating Hogwart. I spent a few years going to the gym and working odd jobs. All it took was a year at Walmart helping strangers find all kinds of products, and I found I don't mind talking to people so much. I'm still far from an extrovert, but I can carry a conversation well enough," he shrugged.

Daphne didn't respond, other than to look over Harry's body once again. She pursed her lips and gripped her backpack's straps as they reached the front door.

A minute later, she was punching in the code to her room again. This time, she wasn't so quick to slither behind the door. Daphne paused to wave, and Harry caught a glimpse into her dorm.

Immediately, Harry felt like he'd been neglecting his own room. It had only been a few days, but Daphne had strings of pink lights running along the corners of her ceiling and some Japanese artwork of a crashing wave hanging on the wall. Her bed must have had extra pads laid over it because it looked twice as thick as his, and there was a fluffy pink comforter laying across it.

His eyes widened as he saw what lay on the desk next to her bed. Its long, cylindrical shape was unmistakable, and there was even a smaller, oval-shaped companion right next to it.

Yup. That was a dildo and a vibrator. A matching set, judging by the similar shade of pink, which he guessed was her favorite color.

Harry froze when he saw them and couldn't stop himself from picturing Daphne's disrobed figure, laying back with a soft blanket coveting her wonderful curves while her face contorted with pleasure. He felt blood rushing to his waistband and his eyes roaming Daphne's body as the fantasy became more and more detailed.

Then she glanced behind herself and realized what he'd seen. Daphne gave a loud yelp and looked back at Harry with eyes full of embarrassed fright as she slammed the door shut.

When he was finally able to pick up his jaw, Harry started kicking himself for handling that situation so stupidly. He could have made a joke, a flirty comment, or even just warned her of what he'd seen. Instead, he froze and let his mind run wild—exactly like the kind of pervert who would take a Women's Sexuality class expecting to hook up with all the girls.

"Ugh," he grumbled to himself. "I'm such an idiot."

It was the first day of classes, and the weather could not have been worse. Harry woke up to the sound of a strong gust of wind turning the neat pile of papers on his desk into a white tornado.

He'd printed out an old manuscript so he could edit it by hand, but his dumbass hadn't had the forethought to clip it together or at least weigh it down with a book. Now, the pages lay out of order all over his room.

Not a great start to the day. A writing exercise turned into a test of his temper as he shut the window, threw the papers into a new pile, and decided to leave it for another day. He had enough to deal with at the moment.

As he was getting ready, Harry heard the telltale slam of a door across the hall. It was Daphne, heading to class. He thought about rushing to catch up with her, but decided to leave it.

He could still see her eyes flaring and her cheeks turning a deep crimson as she realized what he had seen. Of course, a moment later, Harry pictured a similar expression as she used those toys in the comfort of her fluffy mattress, but he tried to quell those images as soon as they appeared.

"Well…okay," he muttered. He let them linger a bit, but by the time he walked out the door, they were gone.

Students were sprinting across campus to avoid the rain, but it came down so hard that most of them looked drenched anyway. Harry was one of the lucky few who brought an umbrella, but the strong winds rendered it almost useless. It was a task just keeping the canopy over his head, and water pelted him from the front no matter what he did.

The first day was expectantly slow and boring. Most of the professors simply went through the syllabus, telling everyone what to expect and when to expect it. Even the professors seemed to be in a bad mood due to the weather, so some of the classes started late, while others left early.

At last, Harry reached Women's Sexuality. The topic interested him, like it would most young men, but he knew he would run into Daphne at some point and worried about how she would react.

When he entered the classroom, though, she wasn't there. He was a little early, so he took a seat in a corner of the front row—close enough to show the teacher he cared, but not right in front of her face so that he'd be the first one she called on.

As the students filed in, Harry kept an eye on the door, but Daphne still didn't show. If he hadn't heard her door that morning, he might have thought she took the day off. She was a timid girl, so he would have understood the desire to skip what would obviously be a tough day.

Then someone walked in—not Daphne, but an older woman who stole his attention entirely.

She carried the class's assigned book and a stack of papers, handing them to the first student she saw and telling that student to take one and pass the rest around. Even as the stack reached Harry Potter, he barely glanced at it. He took a paper from the top and passed it along without really looking.

All he could see was their professor. She had the sort of beauty that filled a room like a palpable aura. Harry was shocked that the other students' chattering didn't quiet down. Somehow, they all seemed capable of focusing on their friends or phones.

The syllabus listed her name as Professor Malfoy. She had gorgeous tan skin and dirty-blonde hair tied into a messy bun. Her loose white blouse was buttoned as high as it could manage—which was about four buttons shy—and that last one was straining for dear life. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it popped halfway through her lecture, revealing the smooth tan bra underneath. There was already a sliver of that fabric peeking out around her cleavage.

He tore his eyes away when she looked toward him, hoping she hadn't noticed how long he'd been staring. Her gaze lingered for a moment, then she turned around and started writing something on the board.

Even out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the black skirt hugging her hips. She turned and gave a view of all the curves of her profile, ample both above the waist and below.

A welcome distraction arrived in the form of a girl bursting through the door, dripping water and breathing heavily.

This time, it was Daphne. She wore a heavy grey sweatshirt that was a few shades darker than usual, and her hair stuck to the side of her head. After looking for an open seat—probably somewhere with as few people around as possible—her eyes landed on Harry Potter.

You might have guessed she'd seen a nude picture of herself plastered on the wall. Daphne's eyes flared, and her face flushed faster than Harry would have thought possible. Then she rushed toward the back of the room and chose a lonesome seat as far away from him as she could get.

He gritted his teeth. Just a few days in, and the cute girl next door already wanted nothing to do with him.
As professor Malfoy's lecture began, Harry kept a firm grip on his mind to make sure it wouldn't go rogue.
It worked. For a while.
But every time she turned around, his eyes drifted lower. Every time she leaned over to look at something on her desk, he saw the sliver of a tan bra that kept teasing him. Its large cups left a vague outline in the front of her blouse.
It only got worse when she started talking about her area of study. Apparently, the world still had a lot to learn about female orgasm.

The professor walked in front of her desk and sat upon it, crossing her legs. "We're not as simple as the men out there. For most of you, a bit of friction and lube is all you need to get off." She shook her head. "But not women. Oh, there are some who only need a bit of attention paid to the clitoris, but others don't care for that at all. There are even women who can orgasm simply from playing with their nipples."
Her eyes landed on Harry, and he did everything possible to avoid squirming in his seat. Did she know what this speech was doing to the men in this class? To him? There was no way she could see the tent in his pants.
Right?
Her eyes flicked downward and then returned to his face.
"It's rare, but some women have even been known to orgasm through fellatio. And nothing else. You can look it up if you don't believe me. There is something about the head of a cock in one's throat that can cause extreme pleasure."
Then her eyes moved on to the next student, and Harry felt like his face was as red as a Weasley's hair. If anyone was born to study the psychology of sexuality, it was this goddess in human form. She turned her lecture into the artform of teasing, and Harry prayed that he wouldn't get called up to the board. Would every session with her be like this?
Despite its interesting contents, Harry was beyond relieved when class finally ended. He took his time putting his notebook away, then pretended to check something on his phone. He started reading „Curse Breaker Vlad" as he waited for the bulge in his pants to fade.
Anything to distract himself.

Then he heard his name spoken as if he'd gotten in trouble. "Harry Potter. Taking your time, are you? There's a class after we get out, you know. I don't think they appreciate stragglers."
When he looked up, he realized the rest of the class was already gone. Professor Malfoy stood a few feet away from him with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, putting the top button to the test. She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.
"Shit, sorry. I lost track of time." For the moment, Harry was safe to leave, but if she kept looking at him that way, things might change.
As he pushed to his feet and slung his backpack over his shoulders, she was still watching. "Creative Writing, huh? Erotica?"
Harry looked down at himself, wondering if he was wearing some kind of sticker with his major on it, then realized she probably had access to that information. Something about her expression made him feel the need to be honest.
"Well, I've dabbled in it, but I think I'll stick to romance."
She barked a melodious laugh. "Really? I was just joking, but now I'm curious. Do you think you could send me a copy of one of your stories? My email is on the syllabus."
Harry struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. She wanted to read his erotica? A woman of her knowledge would probably howl with laughter at all the mistakes he didn't know he was making. But what was he supposed to do, say no? He'd already let the cat out of the bag.
"S-sure. I'll, uh, pick my best one."
She shot him a wink. "Looking forward to it. My class tends to fill up with horny young men who want to waste an afternoon pretending to care about a woman's mind, but when I saw that Creative Writing major, I thought you may have looked me up and decided to learn from the best."
"Hold on... do you write erotica too?"
She laughed again, and as she threw her head back, her cleavage trembled. "I don't, but some old farts who read my research papers accuse me of it. I've read a bit, though, so maybe I can teach you a few things. In fact," she stepped closer until Harry could feel the heat of her breath on his lips, "I'm sure of it."

CHAPTER 5

After promising to send her a story later that day, Professor Malfoy and Harry parted ways. Her office was in the building, which saved her from the walk through pouring rain. And in that white blouse...
She wasn't avoiding him because he'd creeped her out. She was just so embarrassed that she didn't even want to show her face. Even now, her cheeks were as pink as the lights in her room.
"Not at all," Harry answered as soon as he recovered. Then he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Remember what Professor Malfoy said? Women need to, um, enjoy themselves just as badly as men."
She stared behind them and nodded. "Good point. I wouldn't mind being that confident, one day. Not to mention gorgeous."
As Daphne pouted, Harry thought of a distraction. "And you know what? We're actually even. You've seen my sex toys as well."
She looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
When he wiggled the fingers gripping his umbrella, she burst into a fit of giggles and all the tension between them faded away.
Harry shook his head again as he headed for the door. She was at least ten years older than him, and a successful professor at a prestigious university. Those fantasies would need to stay in his head, ideally, in the privacy of his dorm room.
When he pushed open the door, he found a girl standing with her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes pointed apprehensively upward. Daphne's lips were pursed into a frown. She looked over at him and an expression of panic crossed her face.
Then she saw the umbrella in his hand, and it turned to relief.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."
Harry waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. Of course, you can walk home with me. I don't mind sharing a bit of shelter."
She smiled slightly as she crept in close enough so they could huddle beneath his umbrella. The smell of her perfume wafted over him; it was fruity and light, but he couldn't identify the scent.
"It's not that," she sighed as they started walking. "For yesterday... I'm sure you must have been mortified to see my... well, you know. I shouldn't have slammed the door in your face, but I can't believe I forgot I'd left them out on my desk! Ugh, you must think I'm such a pervert."
That last sentence left Harry speechless. After leering into her bedroom like some Hogwart boy, he'd been worried she thought that exact same thing of him.
"It's just so easy for men, isn't it?"
"I hate to admit it, but Professor Malfoy was right. We're simple creatures. A bit of lotion and a hand are all we really need."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh, you use lotion, do you?"
Harry winced. "I'm gonna shut up now."
Despite the conversation dwindling, there was a cheerful lilt to Daphne's steps for the rest of their walk. She kept looking over at him and snorting laughter and he even noticed her eyes lingering on his hand, then venturing downward, a few times.
At last, they made it to their rooms only slightly wet. Their feet and the edges of their sleeves were damp, but their heads were perfectly dry.
Just as they entered their hallway, though, someone else was heading out. Despite their doors being the closest to the south entrance, he reached them before they could get inside.
Nott, the son of some rich asshole, flashed a smile at Daphne and completely ignored Harry. "Why don't I come in there and help you out of those wet clothes? Better yet, I'll buy you a new outfit, no! An entire fucking wardrobe so you can throw out all those baggy clothes. You can do better," he added, and Harry could tell he referred to more than fashion.
"Just leave her alone you fucking douche," Harry said, shaking his head. "Don't you have somewhere to be? A class to fail? A paper to pay someone else to write?"
Nott rounded on him and scowled. "You're the Creative fucking Writing major. Maybe I'll pay you! How's that sound? A hundred galleons to write my papers for the semester, but you need to apologize to me first."
Harry snorted. Is that how little he thought other people's time was worth? He stuck up his middle finger. "See, I'd love to take you up on that offer, but I injured my finger last night writing. Can't use it for a month."
"Get that out of my face or you really won't be able to use it," Nott shot back, lowering his voice. He took a step toward Harry, and Harry grinned down at him. This was the type of idiot who never fought his own battles, so Harry had no doubt their fight would be quick.
But then Daphne opened her door and latched onto Harry's wrist. She put on a large, fake smile and chimed out, "He didn't hurt it writing. He sprained it fingering me!" Then she tugged Harry into her dorm and slammed the door shut, leaving Nott's defeated expression behind.

Once Harry and Daphne managed to stop laughing, Daphne pulled her hand away from her face, her expression shifting. "Was that too much? I sounded stupid, didn't I?"

"No," Harry started, then corrected himself. "Okay, maybe a little, but that should at least keep him away."

"Perfect." Daphne's smile faltered for a moment, and she groaned. "Ugh, guys like that are exactly the reason I dress like this! Do you think I want to walk around getting hit on and leered at all day? No, thank you. These clothes usually help me fly under the radar."

"You just can't win with some people. They just want to judge others and haven't faced enough consequences in their lives to realize they should stop."

She nodded, then looked down at her wet sweatshirt. "Oh well. I don't need this anymore. Not until I need to leave for dinner, anyway." With that, she swept the shirt up over her head, revealing a thin pink sports bra covering an expanse of creamy skin.

Harry quickly regained control of his expression, considering Daphne's comments about leering men, but it was challenging. Those baggy clothes did an exceptional job of hiding her perfect body. Full breasts strained against the top's neckline, tapering to a slim waist. Under the sweatshirt, it wouldn't have been visible, but after a walk through the rain, her nipples formed small tents beneath the pink fabric.

To distract himself, Harry took a long look around the rest of her room. For a girl that seemed so shy and conservative, he was surprised by the extravagance of her decor. Bright pink comforters, glowing lights, and artwork covering the walls, even her keyboard radiated a bright teal glow. "Sailor Moon," she said, noticing his gaze. "Have you seen it?"

"No. I'm more of a reader, to be honest. Hence the choice of major." As Harry turned toward her bed, he noticed something tucked into a small toiletry bag underneath. "You know, after the way you reacted the first time, I thought you'd put a lot more effort into hiding that stuff," he grinned.

When Daphne realized what he meant, her hand flew to her mouth. She took a step toward the bag, then paused and shook her head. "You know what? Go ahead and look. Our professor was right. Women need to embrace their sexuality and the men who can't handle that can fuck off! You know what?" With a determined step, she pulled the bag out and dumped its contents onto her desk. Along with the dildo and vibrator Harry had already seen, there was a second dildo of a slightly larger size.

Her face darkened, but Daphne tried to stay strong. She put her hands on her hips and nodded toward the display as if it were her most recent artwork. "Not bad, huh?"

"A little small," Harry teased, "but everyone's gotta start somewhere."

Her jaw fell open and she shot him a scandalized look. "Harry! Here I am, opening up to a boy for the first time in years and he makes fun of my toys?" Her eyes turned devilish. "If you think those are small, why don't you prove it?"

Harry frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

She glanced down at his crotch and arched an eyebrow. "Show me. If those are small, what does Harry consider big?" Her eyes lingered for a moment before returning to his face, holding a tight smirk, her eyes gleaming with sexy curiosity.

Daphne was not at all what Harry had been expecting when they first met. She was like a tightly wound spring, ready to release all her pent-up energy at once.

Getting a glimpse of her body, even covered by thin fabric, already had him aroused, but Daphne's invitation started a throbbing beneath his jeans. He had hoped to take this step with her one day, but who knew it would be today?

"Well?" She said as he hesitated. "Are you all talk, or what? I'm opening up to you. The least you can do is reciprocate." As she spoke, she fell back onto her bed, and as the mattress caught her body, her breasts bounced with the motion.

Harry reached to unzip his jeans, and Daphne shook her head. She pointed at the floor just in front of her. "Come here. I want to see you in all your glory." Oh!" she reached back and flicked on a lamp, emitting a dim, warm light. "Okay. Now I'm ready."

Chuckling, Harry stepped in front of her and lowered everything to the floor, jeans and boxers in one smooth motion.

His erection sprung free, waving before Daphne's face with only a few inches of air between them. Her jaw dropped as her eyes latched onto his length.

"Wow," she said breathlessly. "Yeah. That's much bigger."

She craned her head to get a good look from all angles and one finger reached up to run along his shaft. It was just a fingertip, but that small touch was enough to send his heart racing.

"Look at this vein! And your head! It just pops, you know? The texture is completely different."

Suddenly, she seemed to realize what she was doing, and she pulled her hand back as if she'd stuck it in a fire. "Oh my god! I didn't even ask! I'm so sorry, Harry, I got a little carried away."

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Have you, uh, never seen one before?"

She blushed. "Only in anatomy books. But they were nothing like this."

"Well, I'll be your model. Touch all you want."

She nodded and stared a bit longer. Then her hand came forward gingerly. She cupped it around his cock, not quite touching it yet. When she glanced at his face, he nodded, and she took him into a firm grip.

The soft warmth of her hand felt amazing. Her lips were parted from insatiable curiosity, and he longed for her to lean forward, covering those few inches between them until her plump lips ran down his shaft.

But she didn't move. Her head didn't, anyway. The hand that gripped him started moving up and down slowly. "Is this good?" she asked. When he nodded, she went a little faster. "I've heard about blue balls," she explained. "If I kick you out now, you'll be in pain. Or so I've heard."

He'd never experienced the sensation himself, but he didn't say a word as she stroked him. His breathing grew heavier, and Daphne's rapt attention flicked between his face and his cock. It was like she'd discovered a new toy. Nothing could tear her attention away until she'd had her fill. Her hand moved fast, then slow, as her eyes ran up and down his length like she was an artist planning to draw him from memory.

Eventually, her other hand reached up to gently cup his balls. He had already been getting close, and the extra sensation was just the push he needed.

"Fuck. You're going to make me come, Daphne."

Her eyebrows shot up, but her hand kept moving. "Oh! Right. Um, what do I do? Should I grab a—"

But it was too late. In the middle of her sentence, he erupted. Rope after rope of cum shot out onto her face and then dripped down to cover her breasts. Daphne's mouth fell open and by pure chance, he missed that target. Still, her hand didn't stop moving until the last bit of cum oozed out of his tip.

When she pulled away, she sniffed and then licked her hand. "Wow. It's so warm. I thought it would taste worse, to be honest." As she reached for a tissue and started wiping her breasts clean, she giggled to herself. "I guess I should have been ready for that. Ugh, that's what I get for not knowing what I was doing. I hope you don't mind!"

As she stared up at him with cum on her face and a sorrowful expression, as if she'd done even the slightest thing wrong, Harry could only burst into a tired laugh. "Oh, no. Not at all. That was entirely perfect."
While Daphne headed for the showers, Harry Potter returned to his room with a grin that wouldn't quit. He didn't even want to do anything; he just lay on his bed for a while, reliving the moment when Daphne decided to take their relationship further.

The image of Harry's cum on her face and tits would live on in his mind forever. And the year was just getting started.

Eventually, he remembered that he had a promise to keep to Professor Malfoy, and a bundle of nerves rose in his stomach.

Over the last few years, Harry had tried his hand at writing all kinds of different stories. For a lot of them, he started strong and then fizzled out, always getting distracted by a shiny new idea before he could get anywhere close to writing a full novel. A hundred thousand words felt like a monumental task when he was starting with a blank page.

So, he turned to erotica. He didn't know what the fuck he was doing, and those stories didn't earn much money, but he had a damn good time writing them. They were the first stories he'd actually finished, and he was still pretty proud of that.

But submitting them to an intelligent, gorgeous professor of Women's Sexuality? That sounded like a fucking nightmare.

She probably spent her time reading old classics or academic articles written by her peers. One of Harry's stories would either lower her IQ for a few days or make her feel like an utter genius by comparison.

But he'd made a promise. He regretted it immediately, but he still had to follow through. He couldn't just avoid her for the rest of the semester, and he didn't want to drop the class, so he decided to honor his word.

Harry poured over all his old works, trying to figure out which story to share. He ended up going with the ever-popular MILF fetish. He'd played out a few of his own fantasies while dressing them up with a bit of exaggeration and flair.

Maybe it was just his strange mood, but the writing seemed horrible now. He couldn't read a single paragraph without cringing.

Rather than force himself to suffer through them again, he went with a far simpler tactic: he looked up which story had sold the most copies and sent it over. He couldn't even remember what it was about. Other than the title *Getting It Up, he knew almost nothing about it.

He figured the best-case scenario would be that she'd read a few paragraphs, have a good laugh, and move on.

Once he sent the email, Harry stepped away from his laptop. His heart pounded as he pictured his sophisticated professor, maybe with an expensive glass of wine in one hand, reading his trashy story.

He couldn't focus enough to read or write anything else, so he decided to look up the anime Daphne had mentioned: *Sailor Moon.* It was a lighthearted show that he immediately recognized was made for girls half his age, but all he wanted was a distraction.

And it worked perfectly.

When he woke up the next morning, the end credits of a *Sailor Moon* the episode had frozen under a button that read, "Are you still watching?" He shut his laptop, and his day began.

His professor was still on his mind, but she was more like an afterthought now. He'd sent his story, and if she didn't like it, so what? That just meant he had a lot to learn, and it was her job to clear up his misunderstandings.

He didn't have her class today anyway—it was a Monday, Wednesday, Friday class, and this was Tuesday—so he let another day of syllabuses pull him along.

By the time he returned to his room, Harry was in a bad mood. Who the hell gives homework on the first day of class?

When he heard someone knocking at his door, he already had a frown on his face. If Stan wanted another boring, scripted meeting where they all talked about their classes, Harry was probably going to drop out.

The tired words, "What is it?" left his mouth before he even realized who was there.

Daphne stood at his door, looking cute in her usual thick clothing, light eyeshadow, and a long ponytail, but she also looked like she thought she was making a mistake.

"S-sorry. I'll just…" She gestured back toward her room like she was about to leave, but Harry grabbed her hand.

"Please don't! I didn't realize it was you. I'm sorry. I just had a shitty day, but it's already a little better now."

She perked up at that and asked if he wanted to head to dinner together. It was about that time, so of course he went with her. Eating all his meals alone was starting to feel pretty fucking sad anyway.

As they sat across from each other with plates full of food, Harry told her about last night.

Not about the erotica story, of course. Just *Sailor Moon.* A part of him wondered what this sheltered girl would think of such a sexual narrative, considering she'd never even seen a cock before, but that could wait for another time.
Harry sat in the middle of the dining hall, pretty damn sure a dozen other students could hear his conversation.

Daphne lit up when he mentioned her favorite show. "You watched it?" she squealed.

"Well, yeah," Harry chuckled. "Your screensaver piqued my curiosity, and I had such a good time with that I knew you must have good taste."

Her cheeks reddened, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You really had a good time?"

"Hell yeah! If I could have a good time like that every night, I would." He wouldn't mind going a bit further with her, but for now, he settled for the image of her full tits pressing against her sports bra like beasts desperate to break free of their chains.

She giggled. "Good. I did too. I'm Facetiming with my parents tonight, but we'll definitely have to hang out again soon."

"Definitely," he grinned.

As much as Harry would like to relive that experience every night, life was about to get busy. Both of them had a full schedule of six classes, and the endless homework and studying would swallow most of their nights.

The next day, Harry grew more nervous by the hour. Professors droned on, but he barely heard a word. He just copied whatever they scribbled on the whiteboards and hoped it would be enough. There were chapters to read and online homework piling up, but all he could think about was Professor Malfoy.

By the time he reached her class and sat down in the front corner, his heart was thumping so hard it might leap out of his chest. In a moment, he'd know exactly where he stood. She would walk in, and her expression would tell him everything.

Daphne beat the professor to class this time, but instead of sitting with him, she slipped into a seat at the back. No surprise there—she hated attention. Harry figured he'd have her to himself later, back at the dorm.

Then Professor Malfoy walked in, glanced at him...

And strode right up to his desk with a wide smile. For a second, her grin eased his nerves, but as she got closer, his anxiety swelled right back up.

Was she really going to talk about his story in front of everyone?

She leaned against his desk, the dip of her blouse giving him a clear view of the valley between her breasts. Blouses and skirts seemed to be her usual outfit, just varying in color and cut. Stockings stretched over her long legs, and today, black-framed glasses perched on her nose.

Her voice dropped low, barely above a whisper. "Loved your story. Interesting choice of topic, I must say. Did you write it last night?"

Harry tried and failed to remember what the hell that story was even about. After churning out dozens of these things, they all blurred together. He shook his head. "No, that was from a couple of years ago."

She pouted playfully. "What a shame. Thought I might have inspired you," she winked. "Why don't you stay after class so we can talk about it?"

Harry's mouth went dry. He nodded, feeling like his whole body was light as air and lead-heavy at the same time. One of his stories finally came to mind.

They were all about MILFs: different setups, same theme. There was one about a friend's hot mom, another about a stern boss who liked younger men... and one about a student hooking up with his teacher.

Harry's face went beet red as the memory of that plot slammed into him. Did he really send her that story?

To make sure, he quickly checked his phone under the desk.

Yup.

His stomach dropped as nerves crashed over him. At least she'd liked it...

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