# Gryffindor Boys' NEWT Reward
## Chapter 1
The Common Room fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the scattered parchment and overturned ink bottles. Hermione's quill scratched against her notes with increasing agitation as she watched each of them fail—again—to grasp the finer points of Advanced Transfiguration Theory.
Neville had his nose buried in a Herbology text, utterly useless. Dean and Seamus were passing notes like first-years. Harry kept staring at the flames with that distant look he got when thinking about quidditch formations. And Ron—her Ron—was attempting to charm his quill to write for him.
"Focus," she snapped, slapping her palm against the table. "NEWTs are six weeks away. Six. Weeks."
Seamus stretched, his shirt riding up. "Relax, Hermione. We've got time."
"You don't have time. You have nothing resembling time. Neville, what's the Principle of Gamp's Law?"
Neville's face flushed. "Erm... elemental... transfiguration?"
"That's the exception, not the principle." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't—you're all going to fail. Every single one of you."
Harry set down his quill. "Then help us."
"I am helping you. I'm here every evening, sacrificing my own revision time—"
"Not like that." His voice had an edge she rarely heard. "You're treating us like students. We're not. We fought a war. We killed people. We watched our friends die."
The crackling fire filled the silence.
"So what do you suggest, Harry? That I wave a magic wand and make the knowledge appear in your heads?"
Dean snorted. "If anyone could, it'd be you."
Something shifted in the air between them. Hermione felt it—a tension that had been building for months, unspoken, hovering at the edge of every study session, every accidental touch, every shared glance.
"Maybe," Seamus said slowly, "we need better motivation."
Ron frowned. "What are you on about?"
"Think about it. Hermione's brilliant. Top of our year. And she's spent all year trying to drag us across the finish line." He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "But we're not schoolboys anymore. We're men. We need... adult motivation."
Hermione's stomach tightened. "What exactly are you proposing, Seamus?"
"Let's make a deal," Dean said, catching on. "We all get Outstandings. Every single one of us. Every subject we're sitting."
"And if you don't?"
"Then we shut up and let you tutor us without complaint for the rest of term."
The fire popped. Hermione's pulse drummed in her ears. She knew where this was going. Knew it with the same certainty she knew the incantation for a Summoning Charm. And yet—
"And if we do?" Harry's question hung in the air. "What do we get?"
She should have said no. Should have laughed it off, packed her books, returned to the common room she shared with Ginny and Lavender. Should have kissed Ron goodnight and forgotten this conversation entirely.
Instead, she heard herself speak.
"Then I'm yours. All of yours. For one night."
Ron's chair scraped backward. "Hermione—"
"It's a joke, Ron. A motivator. They'd never—" She looked at their faces. Harry's steady gaze. Neville's startled flush. Dean and Seamus exchanging grins. "They'd never actually achieve it. All Outstandings? Across seven subjects? It's statistically impossible."
"Almost impossible," Harry said softly. "Not quite."
"Harry, don't be ridiculous. You got Exceeds Expectations on your Charms O.W.L. You'd need to improve by two full grades—"
"Then I'll improve."
She gathered her parchment with trembling fingers. "This is stupid. I'm going to bed."
But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just signed something. That the words, once spoken, had weight. That the boys were watching her with new eyes—hungrier eyes—and nothing would ever quite be the same.
---
The six weeks passed in a blur of flashcards, practice exams, and sleepless nights. Hermione poured herself into their revision with obsessive intensity—partly because she genuinely wanted them to succeed, partly because she needed to prove that success was impossible.
But Harry studied like a man possessed. Neville found a confidence she'd never seen in him. Dean and Seamus stopped joking and started working. And Ron—Ron threw himself into the material with a determination that made her chest ache.
The exams came. The exams went.
Results day arrived on a grey Tuesday morning, and Hermione's hands shook as she opened her envelope.
Potions: Outstanding. Charms: Outstanding. Transfiguration: Outstanding. Defense: Outstanding. Herbology: Outstanding. Ancient Runes: Outstanding. Arithmancy: Outstanding.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Perfect. She had been perfect.
Now for the others.
Neville's cry of joy echoed across the courtyard. Dean was laughing, Seamus pumping his fist. Harry's face was unreadable as he scanned his parchment, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Ron found her in the crowd. His expression was strange—excited, guilty, wanting.
"We did it," he said.
"Did what?"
"All Outstandings. Every one of us. Every subject."
The world tilted. "That's—that's not possible."
"Apparently it is." He swallowed. "Hermione... about what you said..."
"It was a joke. It was obviously a joke."
"Was it?"
She looked at him—really looked. At the tension in his shoulders, the way he couldn't quite meet her eyes. At the bulge in his trousers that he wasn't even trying to hide.
"Ron. We're together. You and me. You can't seriously want to—"
"I want whatever you want." His voice cracked. "And I think... I think you want this too. I've seen the way you look at Harry. At all of them."
Her face burned. "That's not—"
"It's okay." He took her hand. "It's more than okay. I've been thinking about it. For weeks. Every time you bent over to help Neville with his diagrams. Every time Seamus made that joke about tutoring positions. I got hard thinking about you... sharing you."
The word hit her like a hex. Sharing.
"You're not jealous?"
"No." A strange light entered his eyes. "I'm proud. That they'd want you. That you'd let them. That I'd get to watch."
Hermione's legs felt weak. "Ron, this is insane. We're talking about—"
"The Gryffindor boys' NEWT reward." He squeezed her fingers. "You promised. And now we're collecting."
Behind him, she saw them gathering. Harry at the center. Neville flanking his left. Dean and Seamus on either side. All of them watching. All of them waiting.
Harry stepped forward.
"Common Room," he said. "Twenty minutes. Bring your boyfriend."
It wasn't a request.
"Harry—"
"You made a deal, Hermione." His eyes traveled down her body, slow and deliberate, like he was already undressing her. "We earned this. Every single Outstanding. Every single hour you spent driving us. Every single word of that promise."
She should run. Should laugh it off. Should grab Ron's hand and disappear into the castle, pretend this conversation never happened.
But her feet carried her toward the portrait hole.
Ron's hand found the small of her back, guiding her.
The fat lady swung open.
And they stepped inside.