26. Chapter 26

A seemingly endless barrage of snow covers the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch in heaps of white. Up in the air, visibility is almost zero, causing Rey to squint through her goggles as she leans forward on the Firebolt Supreme, scanning for any sign of Gandris or Bazel.

At eleven in the morning, her teammate had insisted that they take her new broom out for a spin. Rey hadn't needed much convincing; aside from it sounding like a good idea to work up an appetite for the Christmas feast at noon, she'd also been impatient to put the Firebolt Supreme to the test— and, so far, it is magnificent. She's never ridden anything finer. The broom is almost telepathic in the way it responds to her every touch.

And it's so... fast. She'd almost fallen off the first time it accelerated, only narrowly managing to lock her thighs around the handle at the last possible second. There's no question of it outflying Gandris' Cleansweep Eleven or Bazel's old Shooting Star, but they're not racing at the moment.

The real question is whether the Firebolt Supreme can outfly a Bludger.

Although Gandris is one of the Gryffindor team's Chasers, he has Beater experience from playing with neighbors in his hometown. It's not much fun tossing a Quaffle around when it's just the two of them, so he and Rey had signed out the necessary Beater equipment from a severely unimpressed Professor Dameron. As luck would have it, they'd bumped into Bazel Warv— an actual Beater, for the Hufflepuff team— on their way to the pitch. Bazel had nearly burst into tears of joy at the thought of getting to see a Firebolt Supreme in action.

And now both boys are... here, somewhere, using the falling snow as cover, waiting for the perfect opportunity—

There's a flicker of movement at the leftwards corner of Rey's vision. She slants her body to the right and for half a second is completely sideways in the air as a black ball made of pure iron whizzes past her cheek, all of Bazel's considerable arm strength behind it.

Gandris, speedy and agile as all Chasers are, swoops down to intercept the Bludger's trajectory with his bat, lobbing it at Rey again as she straightens up. Gritting her teeth, she dives, the scrape of her Firebolt Supreme's bristles against the cold iron sphere only faintly audible over the air rushing past and the blood pounding in her ears. It's a real mastery of spellwork that the annoying Father Christmas hat manages to stay on her head. She plummets until she's mere feet above the ground and then spins wide and pulls back up— only to immediately veer sharply to the right to avoid the Bludger smacking her in the face with another swing from Bazel. It's a series of maneuvers that she's able to execute as flawlessly as breathing.

Damn, this broom is beautiful.

"Jolly good show, Miss Niima!" yells a distant voice that she recognizes as belonging to the headmaster.

Rey's gaze darts to the stands— and, for the second time that day, she almost falls off of the Firebolt Supreme. Obi-Wan is watching the drill, and he's not alone.

He's with Chewie, Ben, Leia, and Han.

Rey's never been more self-conscious while on a broomstick her whole bloody life.

There's a dull thunk as, somewhere above her, the Bludger collides with Gandris' bat. Rey dodges in the nick of time; another volley from Bazel— who'd somehow crept below her without her noticing— has her doing a figure-eight to avoid it.

Or, well, she hadn't needed to, really. She could have just veered out of the way instead of risking such a complicated aerial maneuver in heavy snowfall, on a new broom.

But there's a part of her that wants to show off, because—

— because Ben is watching, and so are Han and Leia, and Ben needs to know that he hadn't wasted his money on someone who can't fly and Rey needs his parents to like her, and—

— and the first rule when a Bludger is in the vicinity is to never allow yourself to be distracted, because things can go south fast.

Unfortunately, Rey is distracted. As she closes the last loop in the figure-eight, she is unable to refrain from glancing at the stands to see Ben's reaction.

And that's when Gandris swings the iron ball at her again, and it crashes right into her broomstick, narrowly missing her leg.

The Firebolt Supreme careens through the snowy air at a downwards angle. It's not long before the handle slips from Rey's grasp and she is lurching, and then—

— falling—

She's too stunned to scream.

The ground rushes up to meet her.

Gandris and Bazel hurtle towards her on their brooms, but they're too far away. Neither of them will be able to catch her in time.

Everything is snow and wind, and a surrender to gravity, her life flashing before her wide, terrified eyes.

"Arresto Momentum!" someone shouts from down below.

There is a rush of static-tinged warmth as Rey is enveloped in magic. Suddenly she is— still falling, but more slowly now, her heart pounding in her ears like a measured drumbeat as she floats gently to the earth along with a whirl of powdery white snowflakes.

Rey is no stranger to people casting spells on her, but it's never felt like this before. The Slowing Charm wraps around her like an embrace. The magical signature woven into its core leaps out at her with an unusual vibrancy, protective and reassuring as it guides her prone body to earth.

And, finally, she is deposited into Ben Solo's arms, carried like a bride over the threshold of a new beginning, and he is staring down at her with his lips clamped together in a thin line, his pale jaw clenched and his dark gaze rife with a mixture of anger and worry before he locks it all away, retreating behind Occlumency walls.

Rey peers up at him, the adrenaline rush of the last several seconds tapering off into something that's soft and sweet. He looks kind of like an angel with his imperious features set against a silvery gray sky like this, clouds of white snow swirling all around them. She supposes that he is kind of an angel, saving her so very capably.

"Nice hat," is all Ben says.

"It's charmed," Rey mutters. "I can't get it off."

She's loath to leave the sandalwood-scented cradle of his strong, strong arms. Loath to be extricated from where she's currently tucked up against his broad chest that's solider than any mountain. She clasps her hands together so that she won't give in to the temptation to brush a light dusting of snowflakes from his thick hair.

"My goodness!" Obi-Wan is scrambling over to them, Chewie and Han and Leia in tow. "That was a close one! Are you all right, Miss Niima?"

"I— I'm fine, Professor Kenobi," Rey manages to tell him as Ben puts her down and then steps away from her as quickly as if she were on fire. Gandris and Bazel dismount from their brooms and cluster around her to make sure she's all right, spewing hasty apologies that Rey waves off. Close calls are nothing new in Quidditch.

"Oh, you brave, foolish girl, what were you thinking?" Leia fusses over her, clucking her tongue. "Two against one is hardly fair, especially with that iron ball of death in the mix! You could have broken every single bone!" The MACUSA president straightens Rey's sports attire and pats her windblown hair into a semblance of order, ignoring the fact that the Father Christmas hat has quite disrespectfully elected to Apparate onto her own head.

"Not a bad look on you, Your Worship," Han remarks. "Put anything nice in my stocking this year?"

"Just coal," Leia says airily, and her husband laughs before turning to Rey.

"I'm not even going to pretend to know anything about Quipple, kid," he says, smirking at her, "but that was some some great flying."

"It's called Quidditch," Ben automatically corrects.

"Bless you," Han replies.

The hollow under Ben's left eye twitches.

Rey giggles. It comes out a little shy, but Han looks gratified while Ben looks away.

"Nothing like a near-death experience to whet the appetite!" Obi-Wan says cheerfully. "Shall we head indoors? It's almost time for the feast."

Devoid of its rider, the Firebolt Supreme had circled to the ground and is now hovering at a convenient mounting height. Rey walks over to it and says the incantation to put it in what is basically sleep mode. She's thankful that Gandris and Bazel are united in the belief that it's awkward to walk with their teachers and their teacher's parents, and she and the two boys race ahead, saying that they have to put away their brooms, before it can occur to either Obi-Wan or Chewie to ask where her new one had come from.

✨✨✨

If there had ever been any doubt among the student populace as to who Professor Solo's mother is, those are soon laid to rest when Obi-Wan introduces her and Han in the Great Hall as "Leia Organa, the esteemed president of the Magical Congress of the United States, and her husband, Han Solo— Professor Solo's mother and father, and two of my oldest, dearest friends."

"Wonder how they all met," a fifth-year Slytherin boy muses to his friends within Rey's earshot, and she has to admit that it's a good question. How does Chewie fit into it as well? She'll have to ask Ben later.

Despite the traveling Zonko hats making a nuisance of themselves, the Christmas feast is nothing short of spectacular. If the house-elves had been instructed to impress the guests, it really shows. There are several roast geese and pheasants served with stuffing and cranberry sauce, mountains of chipolatas hot off the grill, buttered crumpets, creamy Welsh rarebit spooned over slices of freshly baked seedy wholemeal bread, brussels sprouts and parsnips in a balsamic honey glaze, pigs in a blanket, the usual assortment of potatoes, succulent baked hams, and— for dessert— treacly-rich Christmas puddings topped with sprigs of holly, sugar-dusted Yule logs, mince pies, jam tarts, and even a rather capable rendition of tiramisu.

Through it all, Rey keeps sneaking glances at the High Table, where extra places have been set for Han and Leia. She has to curb a fondly amused grin at the sight of the MACUSA president absolutely babying her only son, fixing his hair and heaping more food onto his plate before he can so much as protest.

Ben appears to endure all of this with a long-suffering expression, although Rey privately thinks that he shouldn't be annoyed or embarrassed at all— she would love to have a mother who cares. She remembers Leia's maternal touch on the Quidditch pitch and, all of a sudden, the grin battling to reveal itself is gone— replaced by the urge to tear up that she has to stuff more crumpets into her mouth to distract herself from.

Ben's parents are so nice. They seem to like her well enough— as his student. She can never be introduced as anything more to them without raising questions as to what exactly Ben had been doing during his stint at Hogwarts.

Me, Rey thinks glumly. He'd been doing me.

But she knows that she can't continue going down this mental road. It brings up a whole lot of other questions about the future that she's not ready to face just yet.

For now, Rey concentrates on the feast, and on small talk with her schoolmates. Once the plates have been cleared, she slips outdoors and puts her gift for Chewie on the doorstep of his hut, casting a simple charm on the parcel to shield it from the snow, and then she goes back to her room and promptly falls asleep, lulled by a full stomach and the cold weather.

When she wakes up, it's already dark. A glance at the clock reveals that it's almost time for lights out. Swearing under her breath, she hurriedly jumps into the shower, scrubbing away the dried sweat and the smell of broom polish from that morning's Quidditch drill, and she takes a minty toothbrush to the lingering traces of the feast and of sleep.

At a little past ten in the evening, Rey throws on a pink sweater and jeans, followed by the invisibility cloak. On her way to the seventh floor, she passes by Mr. Pancakes, who lets out the unholiest of shrieks when the Father Christmas hat chooses that moment to Apparate on top of his head. The chubby cat slips the hat off and then flies at it in a whirl of sharp claws and bristling fur; Rey's only too happy to leave the accursed object behind, but a few minutes later it's on her head again, wedged underneath the hood of the cloak.

Bugger this for a lark.

Ben's waiting outside the Room of Requirement, his leather book bag slung over one shoulder. The door has already appeared on the wall. He flashes Rey one of his trademark half smiles when she takes off the cloak and he wastes no time in grabbing her hand, leading her into the same chamber from yesterday that looks like the interior of a log cabin— but now there's a Christmas tree by the fireplace, draped in shiny silver garlands and sparkling ornaments.

Once the door has clicked shut behind them and Rey's tossed the invisibility cloak to the floor, a certain impulsiveness takes over. It's due to a combination of her gratitude both for the present and for him catching her when she fell, the affection she'd felt at seeing him with his parents, and the fears for the future that she's not ready to acknowledge just yet. She waits only until Ben's dropped his book bag before flinging herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she clambers up his wide frame as if she were the overly ardent koala to his stoic eucalyptus tree.

Although he instinctively slides one large palm under her buttocks to support her weight, he lets out a grunt of surprise that's soon muffled by her frenzy of kisses. "Thank you for my new broom," she says in between pecks to his lips, his nose, his jaw.

Ben scowls a little, like she's just reminded him of something unpleasant. "If I catch you doing tricks while people are swinging iron balls around ever again, I'm confiscating it."

"You got me a Firebolt Supreme. Of course I'm going to do tricks." She kisses him square on the mouth again, slipping him enough tongue that, by the time she finally pulls away, he seems slightly mollified.

But still cranky.

"Just be more careful," he grumps as he carries her to bed, setting her down amidst a slew of fresh rose petals. She remembers her gift for him that she'd shrunk and stuck into her pocket, but before she can say that she'd gotten him something, too, he pulls his sweater over his head and the words die on her tongue.

As a general rule, she'll never be over how he looks like one of those marble statues in them posh museums— but especially tonight, like this, with the Christmas tree glimmering behind him and the firelight spilling waves of gold and shadow over his sharp collarbones and his toned arms, his smooth, impeccably defined chest that's probably wide enough to land a plane on, and his sculpted abs that ripple with his every measured breath. Big man, she thinks happily as he helps her out of her own clothes, doling out soft, nibbling kisses in between. Big, big man.

When he's got her well and truly naked, save for the Father Christmas hat perched on her head, he kicks off his shoes and his socks, takes off his trousers and his underwear, and joins her on the mattress, kneeling between her spread legs. He's already half-hard, his flushed cock springing up from a thatch of wiry dark hair that's in stark contrast to his pale thighs.

Then he looks at... her cunt. Just studies it for several long moments. She should probably feel self-conscious but, somehow, she doesn't. There's a certain thrill to being examined like this, with such piercing focus. He licks his kiss-stung lips as he stares, and she swears that the inside of her stomach dissolves into a million butterflies.

Even more so when he skims a finger along her entrance almost experimentally, as if testing something.

"Miss Niima," he finally says, "you forgot to do something, didn't you?"

Oh.

Bollocks.

Heat floods her cheeks as she belatedly recalls the new rule that he'd set. "I think you should play with this pretty little pussy before we meet. Every single time," he'd purred, thumbing at her clit. "Want you to get all nice and wet and stretched out for me."

"Sorry," Rey whispers, squirming as Ben dips just the tip of his finger inside her, curling it back towards him in the shallowest of thrusts.

And then she's seized by a brilliant idea— something that she realizes she'd been entertaining in the back of her mind probably ever since November, but even more so now that he'd gotten her what's basically the sports car of broomsticks.

She hauls herself into a sitting position, so eagerly that her forehead almost knocks into his chin. "I know how to make it up to you, sir."

He lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "You do?"

Oh, he is in a mood tonight. She'll show him.

Rey nods fervently. "Sit down. On the edge of the bed."

Ben complies, looking curious and intrigued— only to frown when she drops to her knees on the floor between his legs.

"Rey." He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

She nods again.

What wouldn't she do for this man?

Reaching into the pile of discarded clothes to fish out her wand, Rey casts a lubrication charm, clear liquid oozing out from the aspen tip and smearing onto her palm. She grabs the base of Ben's shaft and slowly, carefully works him to full hardness, delighting in the way he twitches and swells in the circle of her fingers. He stares down at the sight as if mesmerized.

"Your hand's so small," he mutters huskily, sounding almost resentful at his own awe. "Look at that. You can't even get those tiny fingers all the way around my cock."

Her clit throbs. She puts her wand down and slips her now free hand between her thighs, rubbing gently to alleviate some of the pressure. Mustering all of her courage, she leans in closer, bringing her nose to his groin...

And that's when it happens.

The Father Christmas hat— the annoying, Apparating joke hat from Zonko's— the triangular red hat with the white fur trim that has been the bane of her existence since Christmas Eve— leaves her head—

— and materializes right on top of Ben's erection.

Rey jerks back with a startled cry.

Ben's mouth drops open in genteel horror.

For several long moments, there is only a stunned silence between them, during which the fire crackles merrily in the hearth.

Her lips quiver as the hat seems to wag on its own accord as his dick twitches.

She bursts out laughing.

No, that's too mild a term for it.

She's practically cackling with glee.

The thunderous expression on Ben's face only serves to send her into even greater fits of mirth, so much so that her sides ache.

"I am very glad that this is amusing to you, Miss Niima," Ben grits out.

"I— I'm sorry, p-p-professor," Rey says in between giggles. The longer she's at it, the more she notices that his lips are reluctantly quirking at the corners. "It's just that— well— H-h-happy Christmas to me—"

The hat vanishes again, this time materializing on top of the Christmas tree. Rey's still recovering from the last wave of giggles when Ben's hand cups the back of her head, coaxing her forward. The tip of his cock slips past her lips. It's instinct— Merlin help her, but it really is— to sort of purse them, giving an experimental little suck. His large fingers twist into the buns of her hair.

"Laughing at your poor old teacher," he grumbles, his deep voice strained. "Why don't you put that impertinent mouth to better use, hmm?"

Rey's eyes flutter shut. If she didn't have his considerable girth stretching out her lips, she'd be smiling right about now. There'd been no need to be nervous at all. Every new thing is fun when it's with Ben.

It's not perfect. She doesn't know how to cover her teeth at first, making him hiss a few times— and not in pleasure— but he encourages her with tenderly murmured words and light caresses to her face, and pretty soon she manages to fall into a semblance of rhythm. It's not that difficult, actually. Like going to town on one of her beloved sugar quills— and he tastes even better, all clean skin with a trace of salt and the slightest tang of precome. Over the years she's heard other girls complain about their partners tugging at their hair and thrusting forward, but Ben's very good at not doing any of that. Even though the way he pulses in her mouth and the strangled grunts that escape his lips indicate that he's losing control, he keeps perfectly still, like he's afraid she'll spook.

Eventually she takes the base of him in hand again, pillowing her cheek on his warm, solid thigh as she licks and sucks to her heart's content, methodically working on his cock as if it were a sugar quill that will soon melt on her tongue. She takes note of what makes him shudder and what makes his fingers fist into her hair a little tighter, because she is definitely doing this again. She's heard people say that this particular act isn't exactly a two-way street but, for her, it kind of is.

It's the feeling of having her mouth filled to the brim. It's how he's rendered incoherent by each swipe of her tongue.

She loves it. She's so wet that it's dripping down her thighs.

"Touch yourself, sweetheart," Ben growls the moment he notices her squirm. "Play with that cute pussy while you're sucking me off."

Rey's only too happy to oblige, slipping two fingers into her wetness, curling the flats of them against her clit. She moans around him and that is when his hips buck against her mouth.

Not too forcefully, but enough to show her that she can probably take more of him than she thought. It hadn't been that uncomfortable.

"Shit." The pad of Ben's thumb swipes along her cheek in an apologetic gesture. "Sorry."

She peeks up at him and he looks so stressed.

Her poor, darling professor.

Rey lifts her cheek from Ben's thigh, straightening up so that she can bob her head up and down his erection, trying her very best to keep on gazing into his dark eyes while she does so. His jaw goes slack with disbelief. She takes him deeper and deeper, inch by sloppy wet inch, her fingers pumping into her cunt with a slowly blossoming fervor. The Father Christmas hat Apparates on top of her head again, and for a moment Ben's eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull.

"Why does that look so fucking hot?" he wonders out loud, almost angrily, and her shoulders shake with yet another giggle that's stifled by his cock.

Rey's not mad at the Zonko's hat anymore. The Zonko's hat is her best friend. She sucks Ben harder, taking him as deep as she can into her mouth, and he moans.

"Jesus— holy shit..." He does pull at her hair then, just a little, guiding her forward enough that she comes close to gagging, and there's some wicked part of her that adores it, adores that he'd let primal instinct take over, and she's already teetering on the verge of orgasm when his grip on her hair suddenly tightens. A wordless command for her to stop.

"Come sit on my lap, baby." His gaze is feverish. His voice is like gravel. "Wanna fuck Santa's little helper."

Bloody hell, Rey thinks in a daze as she lets Ben haul her into his lap, her back pressed up against his chest. She's never going to look at the holidays the same way ever again.

They both groan as she sinks down onto his shaft. She's so wet and ready that he hilts inside her as quickly as anything, although it's still a tight fit that makes her cry out once he's all the way in. He palms at her stomach with one large hand. "So damn tiny," he mumbles into the crook of her neck. "I can practically feel my cock bulging inside you. Right—" he glides a finger up to her belly button— "here."

"Yes, sir," Rey gasps, swirling her hips. Closing her eyes against the firelight. "It's too big, sir."

"But you're going to take it." His hands circle her waist, lifting her up and down, bouncing her gently on his lap. Maneuvering her as effortlessly as if she were a rag doll. "You're going to take it because you're a naughty girl who got wet sucking her teacher's cock."

"I— aah—" Rey's spine arches as Ben slides one hand over her left breast, fingers flicking at her hard little nipple. "I think I've been very nice this year, actually."

She feels rather than sees him smile against her shoulder-blade. "No, Rey, you haven't."

He starts rutting into her in earnest, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. She's insensible now, twisting her bare body into the caresses of his wandering hands and onto each stroke of his length along her inner walls. The white puffball on the tip of the red hat that she's wearing jiggles festively with each thrust.

"Next time you suck me off, I'm going to come in your mouth," Ben promises, covering the round of her shoulder in bite marks. "You're going to let me fuck your pretty lips and then you're going to swallow my come."

"Yes, professor," Rey sighs dreamily as he rubs her clit. "Whatever you want, professor."

His pace falters. He leans forward to kiss her cheek, and then the corner of her mouth. Strangely enough, it's that sweet but relatively chaste gesture that brings her to her climax, her toes curling and a ragged little cry clawing its way out of her throat to echo through the room.

Ben continues sliding her up and down his cock while she writhes through her aftershocks. There's a frenzy to his movements, like he's trying to lose himself in her. She's gone all limp and sated by the time he finally comes, spending inside her cunt in a rush of warmth.

They collapse onto the sheets in a tangled heap. He wastes no time in rolling her over to one side, facing the Christmas tree, and then curling himself around her, burying his face in her sweaty hair. She's content to stay quiet and just breathe him in, luxuriating in their combined afterglow.

It takes several long, drowsy moments before her half-lidded eyes flicker to the book bag on the floor.

"What's in the bag?" she asks.

"Gingerbread yetis and a thermos full of eggnog." Ben yawns against the back of her neck. "I figured you would need the snacks, as I'm keeping you here all night."

Rey smiles, unseen by him. "Are you now?"

"Yes," he says in a tone that brooks no argument.

She wiggles her backside against his groin in what is almost an act of retaliation. He chuckles, resting a hand on her hip. "Give me a few minutes, then I'll eat you out."

Rey really likes the sound of that. She lets the silence unfold comfortably, safe and warm in this world of snow and firelight. In the cradle of Ben's arms.

"My parents went back to America today," he tells her all of a sudden, quiet and tentative like he's confessing to something. And perhaps he is— confessing to his vulnerability, to how much he misses them.

His bit of a mood at the start of the evening makes sense now— as well as the desperation with which he'd fucked into her earlier.

"You'll see them again before you know it." She rolls over to face him, nuzzling at the tip of his nose with hers. "They came all this way to spend Christmas with you, and the way the three of you are around one another after everything that happened— that's an amazing kind of love. The kind that can endure distance and a little more time."

Rey says this wistfully, and Ben presses his lips to hers in a lazy kiss just as the red Zonko's hat Apparates onto his head. He groans in a mixture of abashment and annoyance, and she smirks as she pulls him close.

"Happy Christmas, Ben," Rey whispers against his chest.

"You, too, Rey," he murmurs as he rubs soothing patterns on her back.

And then—

"By the way," he drawls, "we should probably work on your poker face, because my mom thinks you have a crush on me— Rey—" he calls in a tone tinged with mirth as she scrambles out of his arms and out of the bed— "Rey, sweetheart, where are you going?"

"I'm off to jump into the lake," she says, her face burning with embarrassment. "Bye, it was nice knowing you—"

"No," he manages to say in between rumblings of laughter, "come back—"

And he grabs her from behind and drags her back onto the mattress. She puts up a struggle that quickly turns half-hearted and then forgotten as he buries his head between her thighs, still chuckling softly to himself.