Chapter Three

As the minutes dragged on, Ron's breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers still buried within her. The room around him seemed to grow heavier, the silence oppressive, and the weight of his actions began to press down on him. He withdrew his hand slowly, the slickness of his fingers catching the dim light. His eyes, wild and guilty, darted around the room, taking in the frozen forms of their fellow Gryffindors. Neville's mouth was parted in mid-sentence, his eyes wide with excitement. Ginny's hand was paused mid-gesture, her expression animated. And there, just across the room, was Harry, his best mate, his brother in all but blood, frozen in a laugh, oblivious to the betrayal that had just occurred.

Ron's gaze lingered on Harry before snapping back to Hermione, who lay exposed, her body **** and still.

His eyes lingered on Harry, the familiar sight of his best mate's oblivious grin twisting something sharp in his chest. "After all, Harry gets everything," Ron muttered under his breath, the words bitter on his tongue. The room seemed to close in around him, the warmth of the fire and the hum of frozen conversations fading into the background as his gaze returned to Hermione. She was still there, perfectly still, her body exposed and ****. The flush on her cheeks deepened under his scrutiny, and for a moment, he could almost convince himself that she wanted this, that she had been waiting for him all along.

The jealousy flared hotter, burning away the edges of his guilt. Why should Harry have everything? The fame, the adoration, the girl? Ron's hands, still trembling, found her again, his touch rougher now, driven by a mix of anger and desire. He didn't care anymore about the consequences, about who might find out, about how this would shatter their friendship. All that mattered was this moment, this stolen, forbidden moment where he could take what he wanted, what he felt he deserved.

With a surge of desperation, Ron swept his arm across the table, sending books, parchment, and empty butterbeers crashing to the floor. The noise was muffled in the heavy silence of the frozen room, but it startled him nonetheless. He hesitated for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before he reached for Hermione. His hands trembled as he lifted her, her body limp and unresponsive, yet somehow still inviting. He laid her on the table with a gentleness that belied the turmoil in his chest, her brown hair fanning out like a halo against the dark wood. The sight of her there, **** and still, sent a pang of guilt through him, but it was quickly drowned out by the burning jealousy that had been festering for so long. He couldn't let Harry have everything, not this, not her. With shaking hands, he began to strip off his own clothes, the fabric catching against his frantic fingers. His shirt came off first, tossed carelessly aside, followed by his trousers, until he stood there, exposed and trembling, the warmth of the fire licking at his bare skin. His eyes never left hers, his heart pounding in his ears as he climbed onto the table, his body aligning with hers.

Ron hovered above Hermione, his freckled shoulders trembling as he drank in the sight of her. The firelight painted golden patterns across her skin, making her look like something out of a dream—Harry's dream, his mind whispered bitterly. But not anymore. His breath hitched as he traced the curve of her collarbone with a shaking finger, marveling at how warm she felt despite time being frozen. This was really happening. After years of stolen glances and buried longing, he was about to lose his virginity to the girl who'd haunted his thoughts, the girl who should have been his.

His throat tightened as he positioned himself between her legs, the reality of what he was doing crashing over him in waves. Hermione's chest rose and fell in that impossible, frozen breath she shouldn't have been taking, her lips slightly parted as if waiting. The sight made his stomach twist with guilt and something darker, something possessive. He leaned down, close enough that his unruly red hair brushed her forehead, and inhaled the familiar scent of parchment and vanilla shampoo. For a heartbeat, he hesitated—then crushed his mouth against hers in a clumsy, **** kiss, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

When he pulled back, her lips were redder than before, swollen from his roughness. The proof of his violation sent a jolt through him, equal parts shame and exhilaration.

His hips jerked forward before he could stop himself, the aching heat of his cock dragging against her damp folds. A choked groan tore from his throat at the contact, the sensation so overwhelming that his vision blurred for a second. He did it again, slower this time, grinding himself against her with deliberate, **** strokes, the friction maddening.

Hermione’s body didn’t move, didn’t arch into him like he imagined she would if she were awake, but her warmth was real, the softness of her thighs parting just enough to let him rut against her like an animal. His fingers dug into her hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks in her skin as he rocked against her, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Fuck,” he hissed, the word trembling on his lips. His cock throbbed, the tip catching against her clit with each uneven thrust, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine. He couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—not when she felt this good, not when every slide of his length against her made his stomach tighten with need.

He dragged his fingers down her stomach, trembling as they slipped between her legs again, spreading her open for him. The sight alone nearly undid him—her pink, glistening flesh, the way her body yielded beneath his touch.

Ron's head snapped up, his wild gaze darting around the frozen common room once more. The sight of Dean and Seamus locked in mid-conversation, Lavender's hand frozen as she reached for a chocolate frog, Harry's glasses glinting in the firelight—all of it should have stopped him. But the forbidden thrill burned too hot in his veins. His fingers twitched against Hermione's thighs as he dragged his hips back, the swollen head of his cock catching at her entrance with a slick, shameful sound that made his stomach clench.

He couldn't believe this was happening. That no one could see him. That he could do this—take her like this—and walk away without consequence. The thought sent a shudder through him, his cock jerking against her as he pressed forward, just enough to feel the impossible tightness of her body resisting him.

A ragged breath tore from his throat. She was warm, so much warmer than he'd imagined, her body yielding just slightly under the slow, insistent pressure of his hips. He rocked forward again, harder this time, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs as he watched himself disappear into her, inch by torturous inch. His vision blurred at the edges, his entire world narrowing to the slick, suffocating heat of her around him.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, broken. He shouldn't be doing this.

His hips stuttered, the tight heat of her nearly too much to bear. Ron bit down hard on his lip, the sharp pain the only thing keeping him from spilling into her right then. He was shaking—actually shaking—his knees threatening to buckle as he tried to steady himself.

"Merlin," he gasped, voice cracking. His fingers tightened around her thighs, nails digging in as he fought to slow down, to think, but his body wasn’t listening. Every shallow thrust sent sparks of pleasure shooting through him, his cock throbbing desperately inside her. He’d never felt anything like this—had never been this close to the edge so fast.

He tried to pull back, to give himself a second to breathe, but the moment he moved, the slick drag of her around him wrenched a broken groan from his chest. His hips jerked forward instinctively, burying himself deeper, and he nearly sobbed at the sensation. Too much. Too good.

Ron’s breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, his forehead pressing against Hermione’s shoulder as he struggled to keep control. He could feel himself losing it—his rhythm faltering, his thrusts growing sloppy and uneven. He was pathetic, rutting into her like some **** first-year who’d never touched a girl before.

His hips jerked forward again, harder this time, a ****, broken noise tearing from his throat as the slick heat of her swallowed him deeper. He couldn’t stop—couldn’t think—not when every shallow thrust sent fire licking up his spine, his cock throbbing inside her with a need that bordered on agony.

“Fuck—Hermione—” His voice was ragged, barely more than a whisper, but the sound of her name on his lips sent another jolt of heat through him. His fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise, his entire body trembling as he rocked into her, each movement dragging a choked gasp from his own throat.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew he shouldn’t. But the way her body clenched around him, tight and wet and perfect, was too much to resist. His breath came in sharp, uneven pants, his forehead pressing against her shoulder as he fought to keep himself from losing control entirely.

It was useless.

A strangled groan escaped him as his hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering. He was close—so close—his cock twitching inside her as pleasure coiled tight in his gut.

Ron's breath hitched, his entire body tensing as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. His hips jerked erratically, losing all rhythm as his cock pulsed deep inside her. A strangled cry tore from his throat as the first wave of pleasure crashed over him, his fingers digging into Hermione's thighs hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks.

The sensation was overwhelming—hot, all-consuming—as he spilled into her with shuddering thrusts, his vision whiting out at the edges. His cock twitched helplessly, still buried inside her, as ropes of his release painted her walls, the warmth of it sending another jolt of pleasure through his oversensitive nerves.

For a moment, he couldn't move. Couldn't think. His body trembled violently, his forehead pressed against her shoulder as he panted against her skin, the scent of her hair filling his lungs. The reality of what he'd just done settled over him in a suffocating wave—his stomach twisting with guilt even as the aftershocks of pleasure still wracked his body.

Slowly, he pulled back, hissing at the oversensitive drag of his softening cock slipping free of her. His release glistened between her thighs, undeniable proof of his violation, and his breath caught at the sight. His fingers shook as he reached down, tracing the mess he'd made, smearing it across her skin in a dazed, possessive motion.

As he pulled back, the sight before him was like a punch to the gut, stealing what little breath he had left. Hermione lay there, her body exposed and ****, her chest rising and falling with each slow, controlled breath. But it wasn't just her naked form that caught his attention—it was the undeniable evidence of what he'd done. His cum glistened between her thighs, a stark reminder of his violation. Yet, instead of the overwhelming guilt he expected to feel, a twisted sense of pride and possessiveness swirled in his chest. He couldn't look away, his eyes fixated on the sight as a sickening thrill coursed through him. It was wrong, so wrong, but seeing her like this—marked by him, claimed by him—sent a shiver down his spine. His cock, still sensitive from the last climax, twitched at the sight, a spark of arousal reigniting within him.

The Gryffindor common room was bathed in the dim glow of the setting sun, the fire crackling softly in the corner. Ron's hands were relentless, roaming over Hermione's body with a possessive fervor that bordered on desperation. He couldn't get enough of her, each touch igniting a fire that only she could quench. The room around them faded into obscurity as he pulled her closer, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that was both savage and tender. The world outside didn't matter—not Harry, not the war, not the guilt that gnawed at his conscience. All that mattered was this, the feel of her beneath him, the sound of her breathless gasps, the warmth of her body as it yielded to his every demand.