4.3 | Astoria ✓

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A/N

Merry Christmas, my loves! This is the FINAL chapter of Astoria — and yes, my biggest apologies, I totally forgot about this story, but let's just pretend that I saved a chapter about Christmas for Christmas.

Thank you all so much for sticking with me for so long. This closes the Draconian AU once and for all, so I really hope you enjoyed this story. It's been such a wonderful journey writing this series these past five years. And who knows? Maybe I'll return to fanfic again someday.

In the meantime, you can find me with my original fic SUGAR RUSH. If you have any questions, please direct them to my instagram (HEPBURNETTESWP)!

x Noelle

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HER EYES FLUTTER open as rays of sunlight stream in through the curtains. The first thing she's aware of is Ron's arm looped around her waist. He's curled himself against her, so that she can feel his chest pressed to her back, his hips cradling her arse and his erection between her thighs.

It's a position that reminds her of the night before: one hand on her breast, the other between her thighs, as he'd fucked her slow, hard, deliciously from behind. She blushes now, especially at the memory of how he'd bitten down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, and whispered all kinds of filthy things in her ear until she felt like she would combust. She'd come this close to begging, and Slytherins almost never beg. Ron might be the model Gryffindor, all chivalrous and honourable and innocent on the outside. But she's delighted to find that he lowers all his inhibitions in bed. He's mouthy and demanding and passionate, and she loves that. She loves...

No, not that.

With a determined breath, she summons her wand and casts a freshening charm on her mouth. Merlin forbid that she ruin their morning after with bad breath. As she runs a hand through her hair, she looks around Ron's room.

It's strange to see it in broad daylight. She's been to his flat on many occasions, but never ventured into his room. Somehow, this place seems off-limits when they stay within the definition of 'just friends'. Posters of the Chudley Canons and rock bands she's never heard of adorn the walls. A Muggle drum set in the corner that was her gift to him after he swore he'd learn how to play (but never did). Hideous red curtains and bedsheets that declare his Gryffindor pride. He's marginally neater than his friends claimed he'd been before, but still the occasional sock or shirt finds its way onto the floor.

Then she sees his nightstand.

It's sparse, unlike the rest of the room, and only three photographs adorn it. The first is of his immediate family, the second of the Golden Trio during Hogwarts days. The last one is of him and her. They'd taken it about three years ago. He'd brought a camera when he'd taken her out to lunch. Something about needing to take an official picture to solidify their friendship.

She's never seen it before though, until now. Had his arm always looked so tanned slung over her fair shoulder? He'd captured her startled expression, followed by the instinctive smile she'd given when he held the camera up. But what draws her attention is the split second where he'd looked at her before turning to the camera. The tiny quirk of his lips, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and the way his features completely soften as he stares at her.