The fire roared in the hearth, throwing orange light across the Slytherin common room. Draconia sat on the edge of the green rug, her skin flushed from the heat of the flames and the frantic pace of their walk from the corridor. Harry knelt before her, his trousers pooled around his ankles in a messy heap of wool. His shirt was unbuttoned, the white fabric hanging open to show the hard lines of his chest and the damp sweat on his skin. The warmth of the room was nothing compared to the heat radiating from his body as he pressed closer.
"Are you certain?" he asked, his voice a low rasp. He sounded breathless, as if the very act of speaking required a great deal of effort.
"I am certain," she replied. She reached out to grip his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscle. "Stay here. Do not move away."
Harry moved first, his hands sliding down to the waistband of her knickers. He pulled the thin fabric down her legs, exposing her thighs to the dry warmth of the fire. He leaned forward to press his mouth against her inner thigh, his tongue darting out to lick the sensitive skin. Draconia gasped, her head falling back as she felt the wetness of his tongue. She felt the friction of his stubble against her skin, a sharp contrast to the smoothness of her inner thighs.
"You are so wet," Harry muttered against her skin. He used his thumbs to part her lips, spreading her pussy wide so he could see the glistening pink flesh. He nudged his nose into her, inhaling the scent of her arousal. "Your cunt is dripping, Draconia."
"Then take it," she commanded, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered in her chest. "Do not just look at it. Take it."
He slid two fingers into her, pushing deep into her pussy to find the swell of her clitoris. He began to fuck her with his fingers, moving them in a rhythmic, driving motion. Drac-onia arched her back, her breath hitching as he hit the right spot. She felt the slickness of her own juices coating his fingers, making the sound of his entry wet and audible in the quiet room. The sixth-years' table was only a few feet away, a dark silhouette of onlookers in the periphery, but she ignored the feeling of their eyes.
Harry pulled his fingers out and gripped his cock, which was thick and pulsing in the firelight. He positioned the head of his cock at her opening, rubbing the tip against her clitoris before pushing inside. He slid into her with one long, heavy thrust that filled her completely. Draconia let out a sharp cry, her hands moving from his shoulders to his hair, pulling him closer as he drove into her.
"Fuck," Harry groaned, his eyes locked on hers. "You are so tight. Your pussy is squeezing my cock so hard."
He began to fuck her in earnest, his hips slamming against hers with a rhythmic thud. Every time he pushed forward, his pubic bone hit her, a blunt force that made her vision blur. He was not gentle; he drove into her with a desperate, hungry speed, his cock sliding in and out of her wet cunt. The sound of their bodies meeting, the wet slap of skin on skin, echoed in the hollow space of the common room. sHe felt the stretch of him, the way he filled every inch of her, making her feel both wrecked and entirely whole.
"Harder," she whispered, her eyes tight with pleasure. "Fuck me harder, Harry."
He obeyed, his thrusts becoming more frantic and deep. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her breasts as he hammered into her. The friction of his cock against her walls was intense, a constant, sliding heat that drove her closer to the edge. He reached down to grasp her hips, his fingers bruising the skin as he angled himself to hit her even deeper. She felt the pressure building in her lower belly, a mounting tension that demanded release.
"You feel incredible," he panted, his face slick with sweat. He thrust again, a deep, bruising movement that made her cry out. "Your cunt is so hot. It feels like it is swallowing my cock."
Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even tighter into her. She wanted no space between them, no air at all. She felt the way his cock throbbed inside her, the thick, hard length of him stretching her lacy warmth. She watched the fire, the way the flames licked the wood, but her focus remained on the sensation of him fucking her. The world was reduced to the friction, the heat, and the heavy weight of his body.
As she felt the first wave of her orgasm, she gripped his arms, her nails digging into his skin. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that started in her cunt and radiated through her entire body. She felt her walls clench around his cock, milking him as she shook. Harry was close too; she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles corded in his neck.
"Come for me," he hissed, his voice breaking. "Come, Draconia."
He gave three more heavy, punishing thrusts, driving his cock to the very hilt of her. The sensation was too much, and she felt her cunt convulse around him. She felt the heat of her orgasm, a pulsing release that felt like a physical weight lifting. Simultaneously, Harry groaned a low, guttural sound and thrust one last time, pinning her to the rug. He stayed deep inside her, his body shaking with the force of his own climax. She felt his cum erupt inside her, the hot, thick liquid flooding her pussy as he emptied himself into her.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing and the occasional pop of a log in the fire. They stayed there for a moment, joined together, the heat of the room and the heat of their bodies melding into one. Harry eventually pulled out of her, the sound of his cock sliding out of her wet cunt loud in the quiet room. He collapsed beside her, his head resting on the edge of the rug.
Draconia lay still, her skin damp and glowing in the firelight. She knew they were being watched. She knew the sixth-years' table was still there, a silent audience to her most private moment. She could almost feel the weight of their stares, the judgment or the awe that must be settling over the room. Yet, she did not move to cover herself. She did not pull her robes back over her shoulders or reach for her discarded knickers.
She remained perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the hearth. She did not look back at the sofas or the table behind them. She did not even glance toward the shadows where the other Slytherins sat in stunned silence. She held her head high, her spine straight even as she lay on the floor. She never looks behind her, not once, and that is the statement.