What if Ginny is the only girl at Hogwarts?

CH.3 - The midnight touches

Later, under the cloak of darkness, Ginny lay sprawled in the center of the bed, deep in slumber. Her breaths were slow, her lips slightly parted, unaware of the hungry eyes tracking her every curve.

Seamus was the first to move—fingers trailing along her bare thigh, exposed beneath the hem of her sleepshirt.

Dean followed, slipping a hand beneath the fabric to palm her breast, his thumb brushing lightly over her nipple.

Ron watched, his pulse uneven, before finally reaching out and squeezing her other breast—his fingers kneading the soft flesh with more confidence than he expected.

Harry swallowed. He knew he shouldn’t—knew this was wrong—but Ginny’s lips suddenly parted with a soft sigh, and before he could stop himself, his hand slid down her stomach, dipping below the waistband of her knickers.

Neville, ever patient, waited. But when Ginny shifted, her arse pressing back against him, he couldn’t resist—his palm cupping the round curve through thin cotton.

Ginny murmured something incoherent, nuzzling deeper into the pillows, completely oblivious to the hands exploring her body.

Seamus grinned against her neck. "She’s perfect."

The others didn’t disagree.

Dean pinched her nipple playfully. "Think she’ll ever figure it out?"

Ron huffed. "Not if she keeps sleeping like the dead."

Harry’s fingers stilled between her thighs—just for a moment—before withdrawing reluctantly. "We should stop."

Seamus scoffed. "Speak for yourself." But even he pulled away when Ginny shifted again, her knee brushing against Dean’s hip.

Eventually, they settled back into the pillows, bodies humming with satisfaction.

Ginny remained undisturbed—her dreams untroubled by the secret pact made in her name.
__

Dawn crept in lazily, painting the dormitory in pale gold.

Ginny yawned, blinking against the light, and stretched—only to freeze when she realized Seamus was pressed against her back, Dean was tucked against her front, and Harry’s arm was draped possessively over her waist.

Her face burned.

Did we... cuddle?

But before she could panic, Neville sat up on her other side, rubbing his eyes. "Morning, Ginny."

She squeaked. "Morning."

Ron grunted from somewhere near her feet, flipping over with an incoherent mumble.

Ginny exhaled shakily, gathering the blankets around herself.

Totally normal dorm behavior. Right.

__

The Great Hall was buzzing louder than usual that morning, and Ginny would be lying if she said she didn’t know why.

She could feel the stares burning into her from all sides—Hufflepuffs leaning too far over their porridge to gawk, Ravenclaws pretending not to peer over their books, and Slytherins making no effort to hide their snickering glances. But it wasn’t just the usual mix of leering and whispering that set this morning apart.

No, this time, they were louder.

"Merlin’s beard, look at the way her tits bounce when she walks," hissed a fourth-year Slytherin, loud enough that Ginny nearly tripped over her own feet.

"Bet the Weasel and his friends are having a field day sharing that every night," Crabbe snorted, earning raucous laughter from his gang.

Ginny’s face burned, but she forced herself to keep walking, chin high, though her grip on her book bag tightened until her knuckles turned white.

She should hex them.
She should snap back.

But then another voice chimed in—a Gryffindor this time—and her breath hitched.

"I don’t blame them. If I got to wake up next to that arse every morning, I’d never leave the dorm."

Was that… Cormac McLaggen?

She risked a glance to the side and nearly choked when she met the smirks of a dozen older students, all openly undressing her with their eyes.

Ginny wasn’t an idiot—she knew she had some appeal. But this? This was different.

This was hunger in their gazes.

And worse—she liked it.