MAJOR SMUT WARNING

Breakfast in the Great Hall buzzed with the low murmur of early chatter, the scrape of silverware on plates, and the occasional hoot from owls swooping in and out through the enchanted windows. The Gryffindor table was unusually awake for a morning after such a long night — the atmosphere still carried a charge from the sleepover they'd all shared in the common room. Pillows and laughter, tired smiles and comfort. None of them had wanted it to end.

Lennon sat between Ginny and Oliver, her toast forgotten on her plate as she sipped pumpkin juice and watched the sunlight creep across the stone floor. Across from her, Mattheo sat with his arms loosely crossed, quietly sipping tea, dark curls still slightly unruly from sleep. Theodore and Lorenzo sat nearby, yawning between bites of eggs.

Oliver, bouncing his leg under the table like a motor, checked the time again. "Alright, team. We've got one day left before the final. Up. Now."

Groans rose all around.

"It's barely past seven," Ginny muttered, dragging her hands down her face.

"Exactly!" Oliver grinned, too full of nervous energy. "That means the pitch is ours and we get the sun at our backs. Let's go!"

Lennon stood, nudging Ginny and Harry up with her. "Might as well get it over with."

The rest of the Quidditch team rose and filed out of the hall. On the way out, Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Theodore fell in step with them, clearly not about to miss watching the last practice before the most important match of the year.

"Gryffindor versus Slytherin," Theodore said under his breath as they stepped out into the bright morning air. "No pressure or anything."

"Yeah," Lorenzo added. "Just the entire school watching. And bragging rights for the next decade."

The sky was cloudless and brilliant blue over the pitch as the team mounted their brooms. Lennon soared into the air with Harry and Ginny, Oliver right behind them barking out warm-up drills and maneuvers. From below, the others watched with scarves wrapped around their necks, cups of tea or coffee in hand.

Seamus and Dean cheered obnoxiously whenever Ron made a save, and Luna occasionally waved a tiny Gryffindor flag that glittered with gold stars. Mattheo's eyes never left Lennon, watching her fly like the sky itself belonged to her.

After almost two hours of intense practice, with sweat beading on foreheads and arms aching, Oliver finally blew his whistle. "That's it! You all look sharp. Tomorrow—game faces. Victory is ours!"

Groaning and panting, the team drifted down from the sky, shaking out tired limbs. Lennon touched down beside Mattheo and leaned on her broom, strands of hair sticking to her flushed face.

"I need a shower," she muttered, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist.

Mattheo, grinning like he'd been waiting the whole practice to say it, leaned just a little closer. "We should shower together."

Lennon choked on a laugh. Ginny made a face.

"Oh, gross," Seamus groaned, gagging dramatically.

Dean turned away like he'd seen something traumatic. "Why are you like this?"

Luna just blinked at Mattheo and said serenely, "That's very bold."

"Disgusting," Ron muttered under his breath.

Mattheo smirked, entirely unbothered. "It's not like I haven't seen her naked."

Lennon burst into laughter, cheeks turning pink. Ginny gave him a shove in the shoulder while Harry looked like he wanted to melt into the ground.

But before anyone could say anything else, a very distinct voice cut through the group.

"Ahem."

They turned in unison to see Professor McGonagall, standing with her arms crossed and a look of restrained dismay on her face.

Mattheo's smirk faltered slightly. Lennon stifled her laugh behind her hand.

McGonagall looked directly at Mattheo and said, "If such… activities are to occur, I recommend ensuring they happen somewhere private. Very private. Where no one else might accidentally walk in. Honestly, teenagers and their hormones."

Harry dropped his broom.

Ginny looked like she'd been Stupefied.

Ron simply turned and walked away.

Seamus's laughter echoed across the pitch.

Lennon had to clutch Mattheo's arm to stay upright from laughing, her face buried against his shoulder. "You're the worst," she said between wheezes.

"Hey," he murmured in her ear, still grinning. "She didn't say no."

The group began to peel away, groaning, blushing, muttering about trauma and lost innocence. Ginny dragged Harry with her toward the changing rooms. Ron stormed off, muttering about needing to rinse his ears out. Luna simply wandered along behind, humming.

Lennon tugged Mattheo toward the hallway that led back into the castle.

"You're unbelievable," she said.

"Confident," he corrected, letting her pull him by the hand. "There's a difference."

She threw him a look over her shoulder. "Well come on then, Mr. Confident. Before someone else hears you."

They darted quietly down the side corridors, heading for the upper floor where one of the rarely-used prefect showers sat tucked away behind a tapestry of a dancing unicorn. As Lennon pulled the tapestry aside and led him inside, the door clicked softly shut behind them.

Lennon and Mattheo slipped into the little-used shower, the warm spray instantly soothing their tired muscles after a long day of Quidditch practice. Mattheo stepped up behind Lennon, his strong hands kneading her shoulders as she leaned back into his chest with a sigh.

His touch felt electric on her skin, sending sparks through her nerves. She turned in his arms, looping hers around his neck. "I'm glad we could have this moment, just the two of us," she murmured.

Mattheo smiled, thumb brushing her cheek. "Me too, Lennon. It's been a crazy few weeks with everything going on."

She nodded, biting her lip. The heat of the shower, the steam rising around them, Mattheo's closeness - it all made her feel bold. „i love you, Mattheo"

He smiled. „I love you too, Lennon"

Heart fluttering, Lennon leaned up and pressed her lips to his. Mattheo responded eagerly, kissing her back with a hunger that sent her pulse racing.

His hands roamed down her back to cup her ass, pulling her flush against him. She could feel his hardness through his boxers, making her ache with need.

Breaking the kiss, Mattheo reached for the bottle of shower gel, pouring some into his hands. He started to massage the suds into her skin, fingertips tracing her curves. Lennon gasped and arched into his touch, nipples pebbling under his attentions.

"Mattheo," she breathed, pushing him back against the tile wall. "I want you."

His answer was a searing kiss as he hoisted her up, gripping her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, the heat of him pressing insistently against her core. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted this," he growled against her lips.

Lennon reached between them to shove his boxers down, freeing his throbbing erection. She guided him to her entrance, eyes locking with his as she slowly sank down.

They both groaned as he filled her completely. Mattheo thrust up into her, setting a deep, steady rhythm. The wet slap of their bodies echoed in the shower.

Lennon clung to him, fingernails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into her. Pleasure coiled tight in her core, building with each thrust.

"Fuck, Lennon," Mattheo grunted, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside her. "You feel incredible."

"Mattheo," she panted, head falling back. "Harder! Please!"

He complied, driving into her with bruising force. The headboard slammed against the wall as they lost themselves in pleasure. Lennon could feel her climax approaching fast, pressure coiling tighter and tighter.

"I'm close," she gasped. "Don't stop!"

Mattheo reached between them, rubbing tight circles over her clit. That was all it took to send Lennon flying over the edge. She cried out his name as she came undone, vision whiting out from the intensity.

Mattheo followed seconds later, hips jerking as he buried himself deep and pulsed inside her. They rode out their orgasms together, bodies moving in perfect sync.

When they finally stilled, Mattheo rested his forehead against hers, both panting for breath. Lennon smiled, fingers playing with the damp hair at his nape.

"That was amazing," she murmured.

"Mhmm," he agreed, brushing a kiss over her cheekbone. "And we're not even close to done yet."

She grinned wickedly. "Then what are you waiting for? Fuck me again."

And so they did, the shower steaming up around them as they made love over and over again until they collapsed together on the tiles, spent and sated.

Afterwards, they slowly cleaned up and redressed, exchanging heated glances and secret smiles.

The door to the Prefect bathroom clicked softly behind them, and Lennon and Mattheo stepped into the corridor, hand in hand. Steam still clung to their skin, their hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. Mattheo looked relaxed for once—his shoulders weren't so tight, his expression open. Lennon's eyes sparkled with warmth, and her smile was soft, real, and just for him.

Their fingers were intertwined, their pace slow. They didn't talk. They didn't need to.

As they turned the corner near the marble staircase, Lennon's steps faltered. Standing there—arms crossed and expression tight—was Pansy.

Lennon saw it instantly: the way Pansy's eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in a bitter line. She knew.

Lennon didn't say a word. She didn't have to. The smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth said it all. She knew Pansy knew. And she wasn't the least bit ashamed.

Pansy straightened as if about to say something—sharp, cruel, cutting—but Mattheo stepped in front of Lennon protectively, his voice low and firm.

"I told you," he said, not even raising his tone. "You don't get to look at her. You don't get to speak to her. Not after what you did in the courtyard."

Pansy froze, her mouth slightly open, but no sound came out.

Mattheo didn't give her another glance. He simply slid his arm around Lennon's waist, pulled her in closer, and kept walking—shoulders straight, head high. Lennon kept her chin up too, smiling smugly at Pansy as they passed.

They stepped out into the courtyard where sunlight bathed the grass in warm gold. Their friends were already sprawled out across the lawn beneath a cluster of trees, enjoying the rare quiet of a Friday afternoon.

The moment Lennon and Mattheo joined them, the energy shifted.

Dean sat up immediately. "Oh no."

"What?" Luna asked, blinking up at him from where she was threading a daisy chain.

"They've got that look again."

"You mean the 'we definitely didn't just do something scandalous' look?" Seamus added, raising an eyebrow.

Ginny groaned. "Please no."

Ron turned visibly red. "We just ate breakfast."

Mattheo didn't miss a beat. "We're glowing because we're hydrated. Don't be dramatic."

Dean pointed at them. "Hydrated doesn't look like that."

"Romantically saturated, maybe," Luna offered helpfully.

Lennon dropped onto the grass with a lazy smile, pulling Mattheo down with her. He collapsed beside her with a grunt, resting his head in her lap as she absentmindedly played with his hair.

"Disgusting," Ron muttered.

"They're in love," Hermione said calmly, but she kept her eyes on her book.

"Which is worse," Ron mumbled.

Across the lawn, Lorenzo and Theodore exchanged a look. Theodore gave a slow whistle. "I'll give it two days before people start submitting bets on when you two get caught in a broom closet."

Mattheo raised an eyebrow. "We're far more creative than broom closets."

"Oh my God," Ginny said, flopping backwards into the grass.

They stayed like that for a while—laughing, teasing, and soaking in the sun. It was one of those rare Hogwarts afternoons where everything felt calm, like the whole castle had taken a breath before the chaos of the next day.

Tomorrow was the Quidditch final.

The tension was real—but so was the joy. And for the first time in ages, they were holding onto the good moments.

As the clock struck midday and the breeze carried the scent of roasted chicken and warm bread from the castle, the courtyard slowly emptied.

"Alright, let's eat," Oliver finally said, standing and stretching. "Gotta fuel up before we crush Slytherin tomorrow."

Ginny stood with a sigh, brushing leaves off her robes. "You're going to make us practice again, aren't you?"

"Of course," Oliver said proudly. "Final review before game day. We'll hit the pitch again before dinner."

He looked at Lennon, Harry, and Ron in turn. "Don't even think about skipping."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry muttered, though his tone lacked enthusiasm.

Ron groaned.

"I'm so proud of us," Oliver said with a wink.

With stomachs grumbling and the warm sun now beginning to move west, the group made their way toward the castle. Lennon walked with her fingers lightly brushing Mattheo's, their steps in sync. Behind them, Ginny nudged Hermione and whispered something that made them both giggle.

Mattheo didn't even look back.

He didn't need the approval of the castle. He had everything he wanted right beside him—and the rest of the world could either get used to it, or look away.