18. Chapter 18

Rey wakes up from the best and deepest sleep of her life, every inch of her body pleasantly heavy with contentment save for the inside of her chest, which is as light as air.

Glimpsing the tartan pattern of a familiar couch and the wooden grain of a familiar floor awash in morning sunlight, she surmises that she'd fallen asleep in the Room of Requirement— on her stomach, with her head turned to the side.

Oh, bother— she has a wicked stiff neck, doesn't she? It doesn't hurt yet, but it will once she moves. The telltale dull pinch between her chin and her shoulder promises that.

Planning to drop by the hospital wing for a salve before heading back to Gryffindor Tower, Rey attempts to peel herself off of the couch as gingerly as possible.

Only to find that she can't.

A grip like steel is clamped around her waist, locking her in place.

Awareness of the real world gradually filters in through the fog of sleep still clouding her brain. She's not laying directly on the couch. There is nothing cushiony about the vast expanse of sculpted form beneath her, although she will grant that Solo's bare skin is unexpectedly smooth and soft. There's nothing at all that's coarse about this man.

Except the things he says. When they're having sex.

Merlin. She'd had sex.

With her professor.

Heat suffuses Rey's face as she blushes against the impressive swell of Solo's pecs. She feels his heartbeat alongside her cheek, as slow and as steady as the even pattern of his breathing on the crown of her hair. She lifts her head, eager to commit what he looks like when he's sleeping to memory, but a sharp pain lances upwards and she yelps out loud.

Right. The stiff neck. She'd forgotten...

Solo rouses at once. His dark eyes snap open to meet hers, fully alert. An Auror's style of waking, she thinks.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and something in the pit of her stomach flutters at the way his voice is slightly raspy from sleep.

"My neck," she mutters, grimacing.

He relaxes. What had he thought she was going to say? Surely not that she regretted last night— although, granted, her scrunched-up expression probably hadn't boded well for him.

Large, thick fingers gently press into the side of her neck, slowly rubbing a soothing trail all the way down to her shoulder, then back up. She closes her eyes, slumping over his chest. Fuck, his very touch is magic. She moans when he applies careful pressure to the spot that needs it most.

Something semi-hard twitches against her abdomen.

"Oi," Rey blurts out.

Solo is... abashed, but only a little bit. "Well, don't make noises like that if you don't want my cock in you again," he grumbles.

Her pulse quickens. The casual crudeness of his words, that gravely tone... like he won't be able to help himself, like she can drive him mad enough to just take her...

"I didn't say I didn't want—" She shifts her thighs and yelps once more as an ache throbs through her nether regions. "All right, maybe I don't. Not this morning, at least."

"Sore?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

Even as he apologizes, his half-erect length gives another twitch.

Ooh, he is a nasty man.

But she thinks she can forgive him for that, because he patiently rubs her neck and shoulder until she's feeling much improved. It's the first time someone's done something like this for her— touched her with such caring. With no motive other than to ease her pain.

It feels really nice.

Solo's hand falls back onto the cushions when Rey decides to give sitting up a go. She almost doesn't succeed, groaning in a decidedly unsexy fashion when she parks her bare bottom on the couch and has to bring her legs together.

"This is all your fault," she complains, twisting stiffly to one side so that she can glare at him. "You're— stupidly big."

He's biting back a smug grin. She can see it playing at the corners of his mouth. And when she twists awkwardly to the other side to level her glare on the offending... appendage, she gets the same smug vibe from it. It's almost fully erect now, flushed a rather charming shade of pink.

It's mocking her.

Rey glances at a nearby grandfather clock that she and Finn and Rose had discovered still keeps accurate time after all these years. It's nine in the morning. Her roommates definitely know by now that she was out all night. Finn usually sleeps in on Saturdays but Rose will wonder why Rey's not at the Great Hall for breakfast.

Anxiety spikes through Rey's system. "I have to go before someone starts looking for me."

Solo's jaw tightens, but he eventually nods with a somewhat resigned air. "That would be wise." He hauls himself into a sitting position, and then—

— and then he presses his lips to the cluster of freckles dotting her shoulder-blade. The one that Rose had prodded in the fitting room one time they went shopping and said looked like a constellation.

Rey's so startled that she nearly elbows Solo away. That instinct soon fades, however, and she learns to enjoy his ministrations. Learns to enjoy the glide of his full, satiny lips over her skin.

Learns to let him lavish tender kisses on her freckled back while she sits there with her breasts all marked up with love bites and his dried come on the inside of her thigh. A few drops had trickled out of her during the night— he'd come in her a lot.

And there's apparently more where that came from, she muses to herself as she sneaks another glance at his lap.

Her cunt twinges again, as if to say, Don't even think about it.

"Is there anything I can do?" Solo murmurs against her shoulder. "For the soreness?"

He sounds genuinely contrite. And Rey's a sucker, she truly is, for she melts instantly, glancing at the grandfather clock again.

Maybe a few more minutes won't hurt...

"It's fine," she says. "I'll ask Madame Kalonia for some analgesic. For my stiff neck, y'know." She takes a deep breath. "But there's probably something I can do for you, isn't there, professor?"

And, with that, she wraps her fingers around the base of his shaft.

His reaction is immediate. Extraordinary. He makes a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat as he leans into her, one big hand clutching at her hip as if for support. His thumb tracing the jut of the bone like it's an anchor.

In all honesty, Rey doesn't know what the hell she's doing, but she'd seen how he handled himself in his office right before coming all over her stomach. She might as well copy that. Brow furrowed in concentration, her fist moves up his length and then back down in a tentative, experimental pump.

Solo sucks in a sharp hiss of air through his teeth.

Encouraged, Rey does it again. And again.

It's sort of fun. She likes how he feels in her hand, the delicate skin of his cock as soft as silk but encasing a hardness as solid as any rock. He's so thick that her fingers can barely encircle him as he pulses and swells in the curve of her palm.

"Do you— er— like this?" She cringes as soon as the question leaves her lips. What the fuck was she on, thinking she'd be any good at dirty talk? Rey braces herself for a show of contempt. For his derision.

"I like it very much," Solo replies in a solemn tone that is low and husky in her ear. "Love your little hand on my cock. Love how those pretty fingers can't even wrap around it all the way but you're still trying—" His breath hitches— "still being so good—"

Rey squirms. And the way it aches when she squirms is the only thing that stops her from doing anything other than focusing on the task at hand.

"I always want to be good for you, sir," she whispers, her wrist moving a little faster, a little more earnestly now.

He angles his torso so that she can rest against his chest while her hand continues working on his length. His own hand peels away from her hip, starts to drift lower...

"Not yet, I don't think," Rey says quickly.

Solo's hand changes course at once, snaking up her body until it closes over her left breast. "Poor Miss Niima," he teases, nipping at her earlobe. "So sore from her teacher's cock."

"Yeah," she mumbles, slightly breathless, completely falling into the spell of the moment. "You big old brute. Fucking ruined me's what you did."

"You're so cute when you cuss," he hums, toying with her nipple until it's a tight bead between his fingertips and, God, no one's ever called her cute before. Or any of the things he calls her, for that matter. "You're so cute when— when you're whimpering and panting and— and maybe even crying a bit when you're taking me," he continues, his words threadbare and slurred. His hot breath on her skin eliciting goosebumps everywhere it touches. "Your clit is cute, too, shit, so naughty and so pink. I like the way you shake when I put my tongue on it." He kisses the sensitive spot where her ear meets her jaw. "Let me play with your cute little clit, sweet girl," he murmurs huskily, and Rey is so tempted, but—

But she still feels raw down there, despite her gathering wetness. And she's kind of enjoying having the upper hand, as it were.

"This morning's all about you, professor," she says. "Just enjoy it."

She really, really needs to make him come now. Needs to make him feel as good as he never fails to make her feel. But this isn't the most conducive of positions and she's starting to get a cramp in her arm and wrist— not to mention that she's probably soaking through the couch again and this helpless piece of antique furniture doesn't deserve that—

What could very nearly be a whine of protest escapes from Solo's lips when she lets go of his cock. It's a sound that's music to Rey's ears, but she doesn't leave him hanging for long, getting down on her knees on the floor. He's not quick on the uptake, goggling at her in something like disbelief for several drawn-out seconds, but— when it finally clicks for him— she's never seen anyone move so fast. So eagerly. Repositioning himself on the couch so that his feet are planted on the floor with his legs on either side of her.

This time, she wraps both hands around his cock, one on top of the other, gripping him firmly. His eyes are soft and dark and hazy with lust as he stares down at her like she's his whole world and, oh, she could get used to this. Could get used to having all the power even though she's the one who's down on her knees. As she jacks him off, she tries to keep her eyes on his face. Tries to savor the wrinkle between dark brows drawn tightly together and the way his lips are parted and how he's making no attempt at all to mask the desperate need in his expression, huffing and snarling like an animal, teeth bared to the sun.

He is magnificent. Her lion. Her lionheart.

"I'm close," he warns her.

"Where do you want to come?" she asks quietly.

He hesitates.

Could it be that the man is discovering some latent sense of shyness?

"My tits?" Rey prompts. This newfound reluctance on his part makes her bold. "My mouth?"

The way he reacts to that— Merlin. Who's shaking now, sir, she's kind of tempted to jibe.

"Both," he finally gasps. "Want to come all over your face and your tits— fucking Christ, Rey—"

He clamps his fingers over hers, coaxing her to adopt the exact rhythm that he needs to push him over the edge. She leans in close, and—

— and to say that she'd been prepared for it would be an overstatement, if not an outright lie.

The first spurt of hot come hits her on the cheek. Her mouth drops open in surprise and his free hand cups the back of her neck, gently urging her closer so that the tip of his cock twitches under her nose as it spills all over her parted lips. It is instinct— devil take her but it truly is— to stick her tongue out, catching the warm, sticky mess, her nerves buzzing at the mild yet strange flavor of it. It is metallic and slightly sweet, shockingly addictive because it's his and she had been the one to draw it out. Then— remembering what else he'd requested— she pulls back, her hands working in tandem with his to aim his cock lower. To pump until the last trickles of his come paint the tops of her breasts and the valley between them in thick splatters of white.

He's breathing heavily and so is she as her hands fall to her sides. As she closes her mouth and swallows. As he gazes down at her like she's both damnation and religious experience.

"I..." Solo sounds broken. His palm curves at her jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing the edges of the wetness that's smeared across her cheek. "My come's all over your freckles—"

Rey doesn't blink, doesn't shy away from his burning eyes as her tongue pokes out, slowly licking up all traces of the spend on her lips.

After she's gulped it all down, he hauls her into his lap, enfolding her in a tight embrace and strewing kisses all over her temple and her hair. "Good girl," he says again and again and again, and she smiles against the column of his throat and believes him.

✨✨✨

A few minutes and several creative uses of the Scourgify incantation later, they've both dressed and fixed themselves up as best as they can. He'd fished her knickers out of his pocket and helped her put them on, and now he's looking her over as he fiddles with the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve.

He doesn't say anything, so Rey takes it upon herself to ask the so far unspoken question that's hanging in the air. "Tonight?"

"You have exams in the majority of your courses next week," he states. "Defense Against the Dark Arts included. Are you done reviewing?"

"Well..." she starts to hedge.

"Then, no. Not tonight." He softens the refusal by stopping to press a quick, chaste kiss to her lips. "Come by my office on Wednesday afternoon and we'll discuss when we can meet next."

"Can't we just send messages to each other via Patronus?"

"It's too risky. A Patronus will manifest to its intended recipient no matter where they are and what they're doing."

Rey has a horrid vision of a glowing stag popping up in the middle of the Gryffindor common room and telling her in front of all her friends, "Miss Niima, I am available to copulate tonight."

This is followed by a different and yet just as horrid mental image of her own silver doe bounding into the headmaster's office while Solo's in a meeting with Obi-Wan and chirping, "Wotcher, Professor Solo, fancy a shag?"

"Rey?" A hand is waved in front of her face, bringing her back to reality. "Are you all right?"

She contemplates telling Solo what she'd just imagined. Maybe it would make him laugh. But she's not a funny person in general— not intentionally funny, anyway— and he would probably just find her silly.

"Quite all right," she says instead.

He tilts his head in the direction of the exit. "You should probably leave first."

Makes sense. They can't be seen exiting the Room of Requirement together. Rey nods, and then—

— and then they just look at each other. Standing awkwardly, inches apart.

She wants to kiss him goodbye. She really does. But she can't help remembering what happened the first and only time she'd initiated a kiss, in the greenhouse. He had recoiled from her. Granted, he'd had more than acceptable reasons and the situation is vastly different now, but a shadow of the sting she'd felt back then falls over her heart.

"Er— see you on Wednesday, then." She turns to make herself scarce.

Her retreat is not as graceful as she would have hoped. She's tender between her legs and there's also the oddest feeling of still being a bit stretched down there and her thighs ache from having been spread for so long, so she has to sort of... limp.

"Rey," Solo calls after her. He sounds equal parts amused and concerned. " Please go see Madame Kalonia. An analgesic and an anti-inflammatory, I think."

"I will," Rey sniffs without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "Bugger off, you— you giant."

His low bark of startled laughter echoes through the room, resonant and deep, following her down the aisles of so many hidden things.

✨✨✨

"This," says Madame Kalonia, showing Rey a wooden flask as the latter sits in a chair in the otherwise empty hospital wing, "is Butterfly Weed Balm. I will now apply it to your neck. The stiffness should subside after thirty seconds."

Rey nods and immediately regrets it, sucking in a sharp breath at the dull stab of pain that results. Madame Kalonia clucks her tongue as she uncorks the flask. "One should always observe the proper sleeping position, Miss Niima," she lectures, the movements of the wand in her other hand coaxing out a few drops of a thick, unctuous magenta potion that the flick of her wrist then guides to the side of Rey's neck. "You're not going to be young forever, you know. Twenty years from now you'll be complaining of a bad back and aching joints..."

Rey suppresses a sigh as Madame Kalonia rants on. She'd brought this upon herself for telling the healer that she'd fallen asleep while studying at her desk. In any case, being scolded like a child is a small price to pay for the relief that the Butterfly Weed Balm brings after it has sunk into her skin with a cooling sensation. Soon enough, the muscles of Rey's neck are as good as new.

But there's something else that she needs to take care off.

"Madame Kalonia, I'm still feeling a bit— under the weather," Rey says carefully, haltingly. "Is there something— an anti-inflammatory potion I could take, or..."

The healer shoots her a piercing look. She trails off, the rest of the sentence stuck halfway up her throat.

Does she know? Rey wonders in a sudden burst of panic. Can she tell?

Without saying a word, Madame Kalonia walks over to the shelves where she'd plucked the flask of butterfly weed balm from. After puttering around for a while, she returns holding a clear, tiny vial that's filled with a sparkling cerulean liquid.

"A decoction of bruisewort, to be taken orally," she explains. "Drink all of this and it should heal any soreness or minor internal abrasions."

Rey's poker face has always been utter rubbish, but she makes a valiant effort. The potion tastes overwhelmingly herbal and it is an arduous task to drain the vial. Nothing at all like drinking Professor Solo's—

— and here she turns as red as a beet. It's a miracle she doesn't choke on the bruisewort decoction.

When Rey's all done, Madame Kalonia vanishes the empty vial. She folds her hands in front of her, giving Rey another one of those penetrating stares.

Rey is unable to meet the older woman's eyes. She blinks down at her shoes.

"Miss Niima," Madame Kalonia says, "we healers have a code of ethics, and as the only healer in this castle I am privy to more of your schoolmates' affairs than you might think. I do not go around gossiping about these affairs to the other staff. You may rest assured that your health and wellbeing is my only concern and whatever business of yours directly related to these will not reach your teachers and you will not get into any trouble. Now— do you require a contraceptive potion?"

"N-no," Rey stammers. There are morning-after brews that one can take, but Solo had cast a charm that eliminated the need for it.

Also, Madame Kalonia would be singing a different tune if she knew that Rey's affair was literally that— and with a teacher, to boot.

"You may wish to start taking a monthly contraceptive, anyway. Better safe than sorry." The healer's tone is brisk and professional. "It has to be precisely every thirty days. I can have the first dose ready for you on Tuesday and you can drop by once a month for each subsequent dosage, as quite a few of the other girls do."

Rey nods.

✨✨✨

She leaves the hospital wing with the oddest feeling. A jumble of emotions that she can't quite parse. There is a sense of... having grown up without actually growing older. And all of the thrill and nervousness that it brings. The halls of Hogwarts, weekend-quiet and morning-lit, seem different— familiar, but removed.

Or perhaps she's the one who's changed.

Not at all eager to be spotted walking around in her rumpled school uniform on a Saturday, she had donned the invisibility cloak after meeting with Madame Kalonia. There are a few students and teachers milling about in the halls and she moves among them unseen, more of a phantom than the castle ghosts who are at least translucent as they drift through the wood and stone of Hogwarts.

Everyone looks and acts so... normally. Chatting with their friends. Going about the day's agenda. Oblivious to her and oblivious to how she'll never be the same again.

Rey enters the Gryffindor common room at eleven in the morning. Finn's stretched out on the couch, poring over a textbook with a long-suffering expression that clearly states he would rather be doing practically anything else. There's a plate laden with crispy bacon and marmalade-smeared toast on the coffee table.

Rey slips off the cloak. "Hey."

Finn jumps. "Blimey. Where've you been?"

She'd had the whole journey from the hospital wing to Gryffindor Tower to come up with a plausible excuse. "Fell asleep in the library."

He snorts. "Sad."

"Okay, Mr. Gobstones Player of the Year."

Finn puts down the book and reaches for the plate. "Well, if that's how it is, I'll just eat all of the food that Rose dropped off for us, then."

"Not on your life!" Rey shrieks, charging at him.

And all of her newfound worldly concerns are soon forgotten. There is only a lazy Saturday morning in the common room, her best friend, and fighting over the last slice of toast.

✨✨✨

As the second-to-the-last week of school for the calendar year rolls around, it becomes apparent that not even the stress of pre-holiday break exams can dampen the student body's excitement for the Celestial Ball. It's all anyone in Rey's year can talk about— who's taking whom as their date, what people are going to wear, what the Great Hall will look like, whether the Shag Kava Band will be giving out autographs.

Rey wishes she can share in the enthusiasm, but she only feels unease. She really does have to go, doesn't she, after the Ticos had been nice enough to send her Paige's old dress and everything... Rose insists that there's no pressure but Rey can tell that her friend really wants her there. But, Rey also feels like throwing up every time she pictures herself attending the ball and sitting on the sidelines while her schoolmates dance with their dates and sneak away to snog in the bushes.

Maybe Professor Solo will be up for them sneaking away to snog in the bushes. Although she highly doubts it.

On Tuesday, Rey furtively makes her way to the hospital wing after class and takes her first contraceptive potion. It tastes like mud. Madame Kalonia reminds her to come back in January.

On Wednesday morning, the upcoming Celestial Ball hasn't crossed Rey's mind even once. She and the other seventh-years sit their Charms exam and, as she joins the stream of students trickling out of Professor Erso-Andor's classroom afterwards, she's already mentally revising for her next test while also trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of going to Solo's office later in the afternoon. It'll be the first time they'll see each other after— well, after their first time.

"Rey!"

She stops walking and looks around. It doesn't escape her notice that Rose grabs Finn by the arm, pulling him away. Before she can tell her friends to wait up, though, Seff Hellin has come up to her, his usual friendly smile a little anxious at the edges for some reason.

"Good show on that Atmospheric Charm," she congratulates him. "Did Jyn deduct points for the surprise lightning or give extra?"

"She deducted," Seff sighs ruefully. "It wasn't supposed to be there, after all, I was just trying to enchant the snowflakes to fall a little faster— should've practiced beforehand, really, but it's not the kind of thing you'd consider, is it, a simple movement spell reacting negatively with the Atmospheric Charm—"

He is interrupted by a chorus of groans from his friends behind him... and also from Finn and Rose, who've stopped within earshot further up the hall.

Rey is very confused.

"Right." Seff's blushing now. "We, ah, we seem to have gone off-topic."

"We had a different topic?" Rey quips.

"We're about to." He squares his shoulders. His next words emerge in a rush. "Rey— d'you want to go to the Celestial Ball with me?"