The corridor was a narrow, stone throat that seemed to tighten around her as she walked. Harry walked at her side, his footsteps rhythmic and heavy against the floor. They had finished the official patrol, and the silence of the castle felt far more aggressive than the talking had been. A single torch flickered in a wall bracket, casting a long, jagged shape across the floor. Harry did not speak, but he did not pull away from her as they approached the heavy oak door of the small storage room.
"It is too quiet," she murmured, her voice barely a breath.
"It is exactly as quiet as it should be," he answered her.
He reached out to touch the handle, but the door remained stubbornly shut. It was a small, windowless room used for storing old broomsticks and cleaning supplies, a room that had no exit other than this single entrance. They stood in the narrow passage, the stone walls damp and cold. Somewhere in the distance, the heavy, dragging footsteps of Mrs Norris echoed through the stone. Filch was close, perhaps only one corridor away, patrolling the bend in the hallway with his lantern.
"We should go," Harry whispered, his hand hovering near her waist.
"The door is locked," she noted, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood.
"It is a simple charm," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
A sudden sound from the end of the hall made her heart jump. It was the rhythmic *scritch-scratch* of a cat's claws and the heavy, uneven tread of a man. They froze. Harry moved with a sudden, fluid grace, pulling her into the shadow of the doorframe. He pressed his palm over her mouth, his skin warm and slightly rough against her lips. She could feel the heat of his body through his robes. The footsteps passed, the light from his lantern sweeping across the floor a few yards away before fading into the darkness of the next turn.
"He is gone," Harry breathed, his lips brushing against her ear.
"He was not gone," she hissed, though she did not move his hand. "He was merely passing."
He stepped closer, pinning her against the door. The wood was hard against her back, but his body was softer, warmer. He leaned in, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of her neck. She felt the sharp pull of desire in her gut. He moved his hand from her mouth to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. The friction of his trousers against her thighs sent a jolt through her.
"Do you want to be caught?" he asked, his voice a low vibration against her skin.
"I want to be ruined," she whispered back.
He unbuttoned her robes with practiced, frantic fingers. The fabric fell to her waist, leaving her in her thin chemise. Harry reached for the fastening of his trousers, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. He pulled his cock free, the thick, heavy length of it pulsing in the dim light. It was dark and veined, and the sight of it made her pussy ache with a sudden, wet heat. He guided the head of his cock against her slit, rubbing the blunt tip against her clitoris.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She looked up, her eyes wide and bright in the darkness. He pushed inside her, the thick head of his cock stretching her tight, wet entrance. She gasped, a sound she caught in her hand to keep it silent. He drove himself deep into her, his hips hitting hers with a dull thud. He began to fuck her, his movements long and heavy. The sensation of his cock filling her was overwhelming, a blunt, stretching pressure that made her want to scream. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting the fullness of him to reach her cervix.
"Fuck, you are so tight," he groaned, the sound muffled by the stone walls.
He pulled back until he was almost out, then plunged back in, the friction of his cock against her p lumpy, wet walls creating a rhythmic, slapping sound. He was fucking her hard, his movements primal and unrefined. He reached down, his fingers finding her clitoris and rubbing it with a bruising pressure. The sensation was too much. She felt the build of a climax, a tightening in her abdomen that demanded release. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he drove into her again and again.
"More," she mout least, her voice a ghost of a sound. "Harder, Harry."
He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster and more violent. The blunt force of his cock hitting her womb made her vision blur. He was fucking her with a desperate, silent intensity, his breath hot against her neck. She felt the wetness of her own juices coating his shaft, making the movement slick and loud. Her pussy clamped around him, the muscles twitching in an attempt to draw him even deeper. The pressure built until she could bear no more, her body convulsing as she came, the heat of her orgasm radiating through her entire frame.
He felt her walls pulsing around him and let out a low, gutted sound. He drove himself in one last time, his cock buried deep in her, and released his cum. She felt the hot, thick liquid filling her, the sensation of his semen pulsing inside her as he finished. He held her there, his body trembling from the exertion, as they both waited for the sound of the patrol to return. The silence of the corridor was absolute, save for the sound of their ragged breathing.
The distant sound of a lantern clinking against a wall-bracket signaled his return. The footsteps were moving away, heading toward the stairs. They stood in the dark, still joined, the heat of their bodies the only warmth in the cold corridor. She felt the sting of a sharp thought, a desire to punish him for the way he had taken her. As he pulled back, his hand lingering on her thigh to steady himself, she reached out and bit his hand, hard and on purpose.