24. Chapter 24

Hogwarts takes on a drowsy atmosphere with the majority of its student population gone for the holidays. It's as if the castle itself is bunkering down for the winter, its staircases at a standstill and its portraits seen napping within their frames more often than not. The corridors no longer echo with tons of footsteps and lively chatter, and the sprawling grounds are devoid of movement most of the time.

The drowsiness overtakes Rey as well. Her body has a mind of its own; lulled by the cold weather and with no more coursework that she's required to accomplish, she sleeps the weekend away, whether on her bed in her otherwise empty dorm room or on the couch in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. She wakes up only for meals, which she eats with other schoolmates at the singular long table that has replaced the four house tables now that there are less than fifty students trooping into the Great Hall at any given time.

Seff hadn't gone home for the holidays, either. Rey has fallen into an easy sort of friendship with him, although there are instances when it's difficult to look him in the eye as she remembers the things she'd said to Professor Solo in the empty classroom the night of the ball. During Sunday lunch, she finally asks him why he'd decided to stay over for winter break.

"Oh— well—" Seff lowers his voice so as not to be overheard by the other diners— "the thing is, my parents are in the middle of finalizing their divorce. Dad's leaving the house to Mum but he's not moved out yet, so it's a bit tense. I just didn't want to be there, y'know?"

"Right." It figures that she'd inadvertently stumbled upon such a sensitive topic on one of the few occasions she tries to make small talk. "I'm sorry."

Seff shrugs. "It was a long time coming. They've been making each other miserable for years." He changes the subject— or, well, he doesn't change it exactly, but he redirects the flow. "What about you? Why didn't you go home?"

"Things aren't so great there, either," Rey admits. Even that already feels like saying too much, but she doesn't know how else to respond to his honesty except to offer him some of her own.

Thankfully, he doesn't press the issue. He flashes her a commiserating smile and they move on to lighter topics as they finish their meal. Through it all, though, Rey silently questions why she didn't open up to Professor Solo when he asked— if she could tell a schoolmate a little bit of the truth, then surely she could be more forthcoming with her— her—

Dear God, she thinks, staring down into the depths of her onion soup, what is he? Calling Solo her boyfriend seems a tad too juvenile, considering that he's ten years older. Calling him her partner makes her think of taxes, for some reason. And calling him her lover makes her stomach cramp with embarrassment.

"Rey?" Seff waves a hand in front of her. "What's the matter? Your face is, like, glowing red."

She really needs to master her poker face. Maybe she can ask Solo for Occlumency lessons...

On Monday afternoon, Rey happens to glance out of her bedroom window at just the right moment. She sees the back of Solo's unmistakable tall, broad frame clad in a dark winter coat and a houndstooth-patterned scarf crossing the grounds with Chewbacca. The two men are making their way to the black carriages, which probably means that they're going to Hogsmeade. She hopes against hope that he'll look up and see her, but no such luck. She watches him and Chewie get into the carriage, watches the carriage drive away as if on its own. She wonders if Solo can see the thestrals— it's highly likely, considering that he used to be an Auror.

Considering the things that the First Order must have made him do under their thrall.

He eats dinner in the Great Hall that night. His presence comes as such a surprise that Rey almost chokes on a pumpkin pasty when he walks in and takes his seat at the head table with the other teachers.

Their eyes meet.

It's only for the briefest of moments, and the exchange is quite ruined by the fact that she's got half of a pumpkin pasty in her mouth, and he never looks her way again all throughout the meal, but there's no denying what the raw yet fleeting urgency in his gaze attempts to tell her.

He wants to see her tonight.

Rey can hardly concentrate on food after that.

Once she's back in Gryffindor Tower, she makes the effort to take a shower and brush her teeth. It's a way to pass the time, but she also wants to smell good for him— and it's not a stretch to assume that kissing would go a whole lot better if one didn't taste heavily of pumpkin and garlic. A girl can only be so thorough with her ablutions, though, and as a result— with thirty minutes to go before lights out, she's perched on the edge of her mattress, knee jiggling restlessly, all nerves and excitement and impatience. She can't stop thinking about Solo, can't stop fantasizing about all the things he'll do to her. The spot between her legs is already damp with anticipation. Her dorm room is so quiet, so dimly lit.

Might as well, Rey concedes.

She unbuttons her jeans and lies back on the bed, pushing her abominably colorful secondhand sweater up to her neckline so that she can play with her breasts. Her other hand snakes down, sliding beneath her underwear. She closes her eyes and thinks of Solo, thinks of his full lips wrapped around her clit and his large hands on her ass. She thinks of his hot breath on her neck as his cock splits her into two. She thinks about all the ways he's made her come since the end of November, and soon enough she's wringing a slow, gentle orgasm out of herself with a soft sigh.

It's truly quite alarming what has become of her, she reflects as she waits for her heart rate and her breathing to return to normal with two fingers still crammed inside her cunt. The man's turned her into some kind of horny little gremlin— and what's worse is that she can't seem to mind at all.

The— session— is enough to tide her over, though. It takes the edge off of her waiting, and once the clock strikes ten in the evening Rey dons the invisibility cloak and sneaks off to the Room of Requirement. She finds Solo already on the seventh floor, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets. Although he's dressed down now that there are no classes to teach, he somehow manages to still look so bloody proper in a black cashmere sweater, dark jeans, and trainers. Trainers. She hadn't even known that they were in his vocabulary.

As she approaches him, Rey's seized by a mischievous urge that she doesn't think twice about acceding to. There is a giddiness to being in an almost deserted castle in the middle of the night, with no exams or unfinished schoolwork hanging over her head, with someone so handsome and so tall whom she must keep secret, with two whole weeks stretching out before them. It makes her feel so strangely carefree.

"Knock, knock," Rey says, coming to a stop in front of Professor Solo.

He blinks in her general direction, at what he is seeing as nothing. Then he sighs, and says in the most put-upon tone she's ever heard, "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange who?" he drawls.

Rey takes off the cloak, dimpling at him. "Orange you going to kiss me?"

Solo leans in with a low, reluctant chuckle, pressing his lips to hers. He tastes a bit minty and he smells like soap and clean skin, like he's just gotten out of the shower. It really warms her heart that they'd been on the same page— and it's the height of foolishness to be doing this in plain sight, although admittedly it would have to be in plain sight of someone who'd randomly decided to head to this remote hallway on this little-used floor after curfew.

Still, they can't be too careful, and perhaps that's why Solo's so quick to pull away.

"There's something I've been wanting to try," he says.

Rey perks up. "Oh?"

He quirks an eyebrow at her. "Not like that."

"Oh," she says again, deflating.

He chucks her under the chin. "I mean, I have many, many ideas about that," he murmurs huskily, so huskily that she almost kisses him again and begs, yes, yes, show me all those ideas. "But this is with regards to the Room of Requirement. I'm curious about what will happen if you run its magic through different parameters. Wait here."

She watches him pace in front of the blank stone wall, his brow furrowed in concentration, until the door appears. They go inside, and—

Rey's eyes widen. The entrance creaks shut behind her and a gasp of delight escapes her lips as she takes off the invisibility cloak and steps further into the chamber, soaking it all up. The Room of Requirement's interior has transformed into a— well, it's a log cabin, one that wouldn't be out of place on some mountain, somewhere. Exposed beams, oak floors, and a brick fireplace crackling with bright orange flames lend a rustic feel; the centerpiece of the room is a king-sized bed draped in a mountain of pillows and thick, snowy white sheets strewn with red rose petals that perfume the air with their sweet scent. There's even a window situated high above the headboard, offering a view of the starry night sky.

"I asked for a cozy place with an actual bed. The room adapted better than I thought it would, but—" Solo grimaces— "I could have done without the rose petals."

Rey turns to him with a smile. "I think they're brilliant. Really posh."

Something in his expression wavers. He scoops her up into his arms and carries her over to the armchair by the fireplace, settling her into his lap once he's sat down.

"Rey," he whispers against her temple, and his next words make her freeze. "I know about your parents. Chewie told me earlier while we were at Hogsmeade. He bought a Christmas present for you because they sure as fuck aren't going to."

With her face buried in the front of Solo's sweater, she can feel the way he's all coiled up in rage, ready to leap to her defense in any way that he can. With his hands running soothingly over her curled form, she can sense protectiveness in his every touch. She can speak, then, when things are like this, when she's being held and surrounded by his gentleness and his strength.

"They weren't always terrible. When I was younger, they tried. I remember them trying," she croaked. "Mum would do my hair before school, things like that. Then it got worse and they weren't able to hold down steady jobs anymore and they— they started taking it out on me, in a way. Nothing physical but, like, they'd say I was worthless and... and stuff." She peeks up at Solo and he's staring off into the distance, his face drained of color and his jaw clenched. But he's got one hand in her hair, stroking it softly, and that gives her the courage to continue.

"So I learned how to cook and clean and just— just fend for myself, overall," Rey mumbles, nuzzling into Solo's chest once more, letting the steady beat of his heart calm her nerves enough for her to tell the story straight. "When I was— I think eight or nine years old, my magic began to express itself in earnest. Weird things had always happened around me, but they definitely picked up at around that time. Floating objects, vanishing glass, exploding pots— you know. The usual. I mean, it's usual for us— for the wizarding world— but it creeped my parents out. Sometimes I think that's what drove them to drink even more— because their daughter was a freak and—"

And here she breaks down, releasing sobs that have been held in for so, so long. Finn and Rose already know the bare bones of this story, but this is the first time Rey's ever filled in the details.

It's just— it's humiliating, for someone else to know that other people don't find you worthy of love.

Solo lets her cry, tightening his embrace, his lips moving against her temple in consoling phantom kisses, not at all seeming to care that she's getting snot all over his expensive cashmere sweater. Time passes— Rey doesn't know how long she sits there and weeps in his arms, but eventually her tears run dry and her sobs fade into occasional sniffles, and the heaviness in her chest abates.

She slumps against him, feeling wrung out but strangely at peace. He gives her a few minutes to gather herself, the only sound in the room that of the fire crackling in the hearth, then he tips her chin up so that she's looking into his eyes, his large fingers curling at her jaw.

"There are three things that I need you to know," he tells her solemnly. "First of all, it's taking every ounce of willpower that I have to not storm past the wards, Apparate to Muggle London, and hex your stupid parents. In case I am unsuccessful in controlling myself, would you prefer sardines to come out of their noses or for their toenails to grow alarmingly fast?"

Rey snorts. It's a wet, blubbery, unattractive sound, but it makes Solo crack a wry, affectionate smile. He tucks her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing away the lingering teardrops that stain her cheek. "Secondly, it's not your fault. It was never your fault. Your magic is— it's radiant. So alive and deadly at the same time. You're the girl who produced a corporeal Patronus on the first day of class, the girl who fended off and slew a manticore. You're one of the most talented witches of your age. No one can take that from you. Okay?"

She nods, her eyes stinging again. If she hadn't been all cried out, she would've shed tears of bittersweet relief. She hadn't counted on how good it would feel to hear someone say these things.

"The third and last thing is—" And here he rests his forehead against hers, his palm cradling the side of her face as tenderly as if she were made of glass— "thank you for telling me. I know it can't have been easy, and I am humbled that you chose to share."

"You're not mad that I didn't tell you before?" Rey asks in a small voice.

"No. God, no." A shudder wracks through him, like he can't even bear the thought of it. "If anything, I'm mad at myself for all those times I pushed you away. For all the times I hurt you. If I'd known—" The words splinter apart on the hitch in his throat. "Forgive me, Rey. I will be better, I swear."

She shakes her head and kisses him. It's all in the past now and she only wants to move forward, into a future where he is by her side. He responds immediately, with an achingly careful slowness, leaning into her and slanting his mouth over hers like he could do it forever, like there's nothing else that he wants to do for the rest of his life. His hands never stray from her waist and from the small of her back, markedly chaste, but the sheer deepness of their kiss— the mere sweeping, rolling flicks of his clever tongue alongside hers— it's enough to draw out shard after shard of yearning until she's burning brighter than the fire, too hot and uncomfortable in her scratchy sweater and tight jeans.

Unable to bear it any longer, Rey wrenches her mouth from his and shifts position so that she can straddle Solo's lap, yanking her sweater over her head and tossing it aside. She'd elected not to wear a bra tonight and it turns out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made— he damn near beams at her. Merlin. She'll literally never wear a bra ever again if that's what it takes for this boyish, ridiculously pleased expression to take up permanent residence on his face. Free the nipple, and all that.

But he doesn't immediately dive for her tits like she expected he would. Instead, he kisses her again, and it is so soft and sweet and slow, his left hand roving down her spine, his right hand thumbing gently at her nipple until it's a hardened peak and then switching to the other. It's not long before she's all shivery, all hypersensitive, all squirmy in her jeans as she grinds down onto him.

"Need you now," she mumbles against his lips. "Please."

She needs touch. She needs assurance. She needs to forget every bad thing that has happened before this night.

Solo carries her to bed, depositing her gingerly onto a mattress that immediately sinks to accommodate her weight, enveloping her in rose petals and Egyptian cotton. It's fucking amazing.

"Thanks for this," she breathes while he busies himself with taking off her shoes and her socks, with sliding her jeans and her underwear down her legs. "For thinking of this."

"Don't mention it," he says as he in turn disrobes. "You deserve only the best."

"I do have the best," Rey says without thinking, in a dreamy tone of voice that's brought about by the sight of his bare, sculpted form gleaming in the firelight. He's just so massive. So massive and so perfect and so hers, his thick, flushed cock pointing towards her the way a compass points to the North Star.

It's adorable, the blush that stains Solo's cheeks as he joins her on the bed, propping himself up with an elbow curled by her shoulder while he sucks on her breast and his hand drifts down to the spot between her legs, making her gasp with the swirling of his tongue, the skimming of his fingertips, the circling of the pad of his thumb, the hot weight of his erection against her thigh.

She can tell that he's a bit mystified by how wet and relaxed she already is down there, and even more so when he slides a finger into her with no resistance. There's a slick pop as he pulls his mouth off of her nipple, his dark gaze traveling to her face. "You came not too long ago, didn't you, sweetheart?" he rumbles, his eyes half-lidded. Smoldering. He adds another finger before she can even reply.

"Y-yes," she stammers while he thrusts languidly. "I— I got impatient, waiting for lights out— is— is that all right?"

He chuckles, a low, affectionate rasp that sends another ribbon of arousal spiraling through her abdomen. "It's more than all right, Rey. In fact—" His wrist picks up its pace, making her cry out— "I think that we should make a new rule."

It's so hard to hang on to the act of speech with his fingers working their own special brand of magic. But, somehow, she manages. "What— what sort of rule?"

"From now on, I think you should play with this pretty little pussy before we meet. Every— single—" he punctuates each word with a downward stroke, with the swipe of his thumb over her clit— "time. I want you to have come at least once before I've even laid eyes on you. Want you to get all nice and wet and stretched out for me."

"Bloody hell," Rey whimpers. There are still several months of school left to go. She's going to die."

"God, Rey—" Solo's voice breaks, and he surges up to kiss her, his teeth sinking into the swell of her bottom lip. He pulls away only infinitesimally, only enough so that he can mutter, "You have no idea what it does to me, the thought of you fucking yourself— I'd keep you in my office all the damn time if I could— just make you sit on my lap with your fingers busy under your tiny skirt while I do paperwork—" Her spine arches as his fingers find her G-spot and don't let up, their caresses light but relentless. "You deserve to always be coming, baby," he whispers, sprinkling haphazard, feather-soft kisses all over the side of her face. The bridge of her nose. The apple of her cheek. "You deserve only the sweet things in life. None of the bad would ever touch you if I could help it. You are so, so good— such a good girl—"

Rey comes with the quietest of screams, her mind a whirl of mental images of her masturbating on her teacher's lap while he works at his desk, her heart aglow with his praise, her entire body quivering with pleasure. Solo lavishes attention on her parted lips, kissing and nibbling, licking slowly into her mouth while the aftershocks course through her. She's too dazed to do anything, she can't even muster the energy to kiss him back, she just lets him have his way with her mouth, she just lets him pry her thighs apart a little wider and sink into her as they both groan.

He takes his time kissing her as she adjusts to his size, her inner walls stretching around his thick length, sucking him in deeper, inch by inch. He's still kissing her gently when he begins to move— slowly, so slowly, his hips rolling against hers instead of outright thrusting. His cock never leaves her, not for a second. She feels warm and safe even as she wheezes from the sheer breadth of him inside her.

It goes on for forever. A blissful eternity, painted in the firelight. He is pressing her down into the mattress, they are skin to skin, there are rose petals gliding against her bare limbs, there is another orgasm that is starting to build steadily within her core.

"I love how well you take me," he mumbles against the corner of her mouth. "You feel so good, Rey. You're so beautiful— so strong, so brave—" His words open her up like she's a flower blooming in the sun and she wraps her arms around him, moving her hips in time with his. "I can't believe you let me fuck you," he continues in a more ragged tone of voice. "I can't believe you let me make you come. Do you think you can come again? Just one more time. Just for me."

She nods limply, too awash in the sensations to speak. He lifts his head, peering down at her as he thrusts a little more forcefully yet still with that heart-wrenching slowness, his thumb tracing patterns on her clit. His face is all that she sees, a lock of dark hair falling over his pale forehead, his lips red and bruised from their kisses, his eyes rendered a tawny color in the glow of the fire. If I'd known that you were the one waiting for me at the end of my loneliness, it wouldn't have been so bad, she thinks. If I had to endure it all over again, I would. Because I'll find you on the other side.

Rey falls off the edge for the third time that evening. It is a rippling through rather than a wave crashing over; it is an unfurling rather than an explosion. She is as helpless to stop her spine from arching above the sheets and her eyelids from fluttering shut as she is to prevent the syllable that rolls off of her tongue in a surrendered sigh.

"Ben."

He all but jolts in her arms. His hips snap against hers and then he's coming, too, with an ineloquent "Shit" uttered through gritted teeth, the hot ropes of his spend bathing her core and dragging her into a smaller orgasm that curls in at the heels of the previous one. She's still whimpering from the sensory overload when he collapses on top of her, burying his face in the slope of her neck, emptying every last drop of come inside her with a few more sloppy thrusts.

And then he goes still, their hearts racing side by side through the winter night.

Once Rey comes back to herself, it's to the realization that the air smells like sex and roses— and that she is so happy. It's as though her soul is made of gold. It's as though—

— she's being crushed by a ton of bricks—

"Oi." She pokes his upper arm, subtly copping a feel of his bicep while she's at it. "Budge up."

There's no response.

He's asleep. Or he will be, very soon.

"Ben," Rey ventures. Saying his name is— delightful. There's no other word for it. Her mouth cradles it like it's a precious thing. She gently strokes the shell of his ear. "Ben..."

"Mmm." He rolls them both over so that she's the one on top, his spent cock slipping out of her as he does so. "Sorry," he slurs, his arms tight around her waist and back, keeping her inexorably pressed up against his broad torso. "Came so hard..."

He kisses the top of her head. Then he starts snoring.

Totally out for the count.

Rey stifles a laugh against his chest. Oh, she'd gotten him good. She closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep, and her last thought is that it doesn't matter whether she calls him her boyfriend or her lover or whatever else— as long as she can call him Ben.

✨✨✨

They are woken in the early morning of the twenty-fourth by an insistent scratching noise over their heads. She reluctantly untangles herself from the cocoon of his arms and sits up to frown at the window, squinting against the pale sunlight.

"What is it?" Professor Solo— Ben— asks drowsily, his eyes at half-mast, his big hand reaching out to idly caress her hip.

Bit by bit, Rey's consciousness shakes off the fog of sleep, gradually piecing images together to make sense of the blur of feathers and talons scrabbling at the glass.

"It's an owl," she says, mystified.

Ben climbs out of bed, grumbling under his breath as he pulls on his underwear and jeans. He grabs the blackthorn wand and aims it at the window, which creaks open in response to the nonverbal spell that he cast.

The owl sails into the room, dropping an envelope on the floor at Ben's feet. Then it blinks its huge golden eyes at Rey— who's as naked as the day she was born— and it makes a hasty exit, as if coming to the conclusion that it wants absolutely nothing to do with whatever's happening here.

Ben picks up the envelope and tears it open, extricating what looks like a Christmas card with a wall of text scribbled on the back of it. For several long moments, he stares silently at the message, uncomprehending, and then—

"Jesus fucking Christ. My parents are here." His eyes meet Rey's, and he looks slightly panicked. "They just checked into the inn at Hogsmeade."