Lavender was still at the front of the classroom, laughing softly at something Flitwick had said.
The sound curled through the air like warm honey, and Seamus felt it low in his gut.
His gaze traced the animated movement of her mouth, the sparkle in those indigo eyes, then dropped lower to where her summer blouse pulled tight across the full curve of her breasts.
Every breath she took made the fabric shift in the most distracting way possible.
He shifted in his seat, already half-hard and getting worse by the second.
Gods alive, she’s lovely.
The thought hit him with the same helpless force it always did.
Golden hair, pretty features, that flirty little bounce in her step when she was happy—she looked like something out of a storybook.
A fairy, maybe.
Wouldn’t that be something?
A real fairy walking around Hogwarts and he’d gone and mucked up his one chance with her two years ago.
When she stood and shook Flitwick’s hand, the happy little bounce in her movements made something tight and hopeful twist in his chest.
She moved like she’d finally grown into her body, like she knew exactly what it could do now.
Confidence suited her.
He wanted to see that same confidence when she was under him again—wanted it so badly his teeth ached.
Godric’s bollocks, let her be mine this weekend.
He’d waited long enough.
Lavender turned away from Professor Flitwick with a polite smile still fixed on her face.
The old wizard had been encouraging about her Charms scores and the possibility of applying to the Department of Mysteries.
She should have felt proud.
Instead, her eyes swept the nearly empty classroom and froze.
Seamus Finnigan was staring at her.
Not casually.
Not the way you looked at an old classmate.
He was sucking on that ridiculous Pixie Pop like it had personally offended him, spring-green eyes locked on her with enough heat to make her skin prickle.
Those ridiculous dark lashes framed them like they’d been designed specifically to ruin girls’ common sense.
Everyone knows his sex scorecard is a mile long, she reminded herself sharply.
And you’re on it.
Once.
A one-time mistake.
Be grateful it stayed that way.
But the universe clearly had a sick sense of humour, because there was a one in six chance that tomorrow night’s draw would pair them together for the game.
If that happened, “gawking” would be the least of her problems.
Oh no.
Please, no.
She had promised Hermione she would see the game through.
Gryffindor needed every advantage if they were going to rub another victory in Slytherin’s face, and apparently Lavender Brown’s participation counted as part of that strategy.
She owed the other witch more than she could ever repay.
This was supposed to be penance—quiet, private, and survivable.
Getting partnered with Seamus Finnigan did not feel survivable.
He’d already broken her once when she was fifteen.
Back then she’d been stupid enough to believe the way he looked at her meant something real.
She wasn’t that girl anymore.
She had Ron now—casual, comfortable, no messy feelings attached.
If the draw gave her Ron, nothing Saturday night could damage what they had.
Friends with benefits was safe.
Predictable.
Safe.
Seamus was none of those things.
She bent to retrieve her satchel from the floor, papers still in hand.
The moment she did, a single fingertip trailed slowly down the length of her spine.
Electricity shot through her so hard she jerked upright with a sharp gasp.
Her skin tingled in the wake of that touch like it had been waiting two years to remember how it felt.
Seamus was already walking past her toward the front of the room for his own interview, but he glanced back over his shoulder and gave her the filthiest wink she’d ever seen.
The finger that had just touched her waggled in a lazy backwards wave at his side, like he knew exactly what he’d done and was proud of it.
Lavender’s face burned.
She dropped into her chair and shoved her papers into her bag with shaking hands.
“Did Sea just pinch you?” Parvati whispered, scandalised and delighted.
“You jumped like he had.” Lavender forced a laugh that sounded thin even to her own ears.
“Oh, you know how he is.
He’s just trying to get a rise.” Parvati’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline.
“Looked to me like he succeeded.
His pants were tenting rather impressively just now.” She whistled low.
“I’d forgotten how big he is.
Yum.” Lavender’s stomach flipped.
Heat rushed down her body so fast she felt dizzy.
Ten to eleven inches.
Thicker than Parvati’s wrist.
She hadn’t looked that night.
Hadn’t touched him with her hands.
She’d been too nervous, too caught up in the moment she’d wanted for over a year.
The details she did remember were a messy blur of excitement and then pain.
She could still feel it if she let herself—the dim light of the empty dorm room, the cold sheets under her back, the way her unbuttoned shirt had fallen open and her bra had been tugged down.
Seamus’s mouth had been hot and eager on her breasts, sucking and licking until her nipples ached in the best way.
She’d arched into it, breathless, thinking this was everything she’d dreamed about.
Then his hand had slipped between her legs.
She hadn’t been wet.
Not really.
Nerves and inexperience had left her dry, and the first brush of his fingers had made her tense.
He hadn’t seemed bothered.
He’d licked his own fingers—once, twice—until they were slick with saliva and brought that wetness to her.
It had helped.
Her body had started to respond despite the fear fluttering in her chest.
The slide of his fingers had turned from strange to good, and she’d begun to relax into it.
That was the part she sometimes let herself remember when she was alone at night.
What came after was the part she tried to forget.
He’d been too eager.
Too fast.
When he finally pushed inside her it had burned, sharp and overwhelming, and she’d bitten her lip hard to keep from making a sound that would embarrass them both.
He’d groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt and started moving—short, urgent thrusts that didn’t give her time to adjust.
She’d held onto his shoulders and tried to breathe through it, telling herself it would get better, that this was normal for a first time.
It hadn’t gotten better.
He’d finished quickly, shuddering against her with a muffled curse, and then gone very still.
The silence after had been awful.
She’d felt raw and stretched and strangely empty even though he was still inside her.
When he’d pulled out, the sting had made her flinch.
He’d tried to cuddle her afterwards—awkward, sweet in a clumsy way—but she couldn’t stand the feel of his hands on her skin anymore.
Everything hurt.
Everything felt wrong.
She’d gone stiff and silent until he’d taken the hint and left.
She’d cried in the shower afterwards.
Not because it had been violent, but because it had been nothing like the gentle, magical first time she’d built up in her head.
And because the boy she’d wanted so badly had looked at her afterwards like he didn’t know what to do with the girl he’d just hurt.
She’d avoided him for the next year and a half.
Every time he tried to apologise she’d shut him down.
Pride and hurt had been easier to carry than the risk of letting him close enough to do it again.
Now here he was, two years later, with more practice and that same hungry look in his eyes, and the universe might hand her to him for an entire night.
Parvati was still waiting for an answer.
“He’s not that big,” Lavender said, proud that her voice only wobbled a little.
Her friend’s eyebrows achieved new heights.
“Don’t tell me you’ve had bigger, because I’m calling bullshit.
The boy is hung like a bloody hippogriff.” Lavender didn’t answer.
She kept her eyes on her satchel and tried to steady her breathing.
One in six.
That was all it was.
Manageable odds.
She could survive one in six.
She just had to hope the cosmos was feeling merciful and gave her Ron instead.
Because if it gave her Seamus Finnigan, she wasn’t sure her heart would survive the weekend intact.