She can't hear the sloppy wet sound that his fingers must be making as he shoves them into her again and again — but she can feel how easy it is, how easy her arousal makes it, and maybe there's not much finesse in getting off like this, but she doesn't really give a damn either. It doesn't matter, because she's half way there already, tight around his fingers and rocking back against his hand so shamelessly that she's barely even sitting in her chair anymore.

Their sleeping professor has been completely forgotten. There's only Poe, for her — Poe's silent words uttered against her lips, Poe's stupidly handsome face as she stares at him, eyes dark and half-mast — Poe's fingers, slamming into her obscenely, driving her towards the edge of her orgasm, working her there almost too fast —

Fuck. Fuck. Thank Merlin that Poe can cast a competent charm. Because the noise she makes would have been loud enough to wake the entirety of Gryffindor house without it. Her head falls back when she starts to shake, twitching around his fingers inside her as the motion of her hips becomes rhythmless and jerky.