The Hufflepuff table was a stretch of heavy wood that smelled of dried herbs and old earth. It was a blunt, sturdy thing, unlike the sleek elegance of the Slytherin table or the lofty heights of the Gryffindor benches. Harry sat with his back against the edge of the wood, his legs spread wide to accommodate the weight of his body. Pansy sat on the table itself, her knickers bunched around her ankles as she leaned back on her elbows. The dare had started in the common room, a stupid, drunken thing about who could endure the most humiliation in the Great Hall, and now it had spiralled into something far more carnal.
"You look ridiculous," Harry said, his voice a low rasp in the hollow silence of the hall.
Pansy laughed, the sound bright and jagged. "You look like a man who is about a minute away from losing his mind."
"I am losing it," he admitted, watching the way her thighs twitched.
"Then lose it," she challenged, her eyes dancing with a cruel sort of mischief. "The dare is to see how much we can get away with before the first years start their breakfast."
"We are in the middle of the night, Pansy. There are no first years."
"Exactly. There is no one to see you being a coward."
Harry reached out, his fingers brushing the skin of her inner thigh. Her skin was warm and damp. He felt the tension in her muscles as he moved closer. He moved from the bench to the table, crawling up the length of the wood until he was positioned between her legs. He gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her pelvic bone.
"Are you going to fuck me or just talk about it?" Pansy been asked, her breath hitching as his hands slid higher.
Harry did not answer with words. He unfastened his trousers, his movements efficient and hungry. His cock sprang free, thick and pulsing in the cool air of the hall. He watched her eyes track the movement of his length. He took her hand and guided it to him, letting her feel the heat of his skin.
"God, Harry," she whispered, her fingers curling around the base of his cock.
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her breasts, and then he pushed. He drove his cock deep into her pussy, the sensation of her wet heat swallowing him whole. He let out a low groan, his head falling back as his pelvis slammed against hers. The friction was intense, the way her cunt gripped him, tight and pulsing around his shaft. He began to fuck her with a steady, rhythmic pace, his hips hitting her pubic bone with a dull, meaty sound.
"Harder," she commanded, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't be gentle. This isn't a Slytherin table. We don't do gentle."
Harry obliged, his thrusts becoming more violent as he sought the depth of her. He watched the way her pussy swallowed the length of him, the way the skin of her cunt glistened with her own juices. He reached down, his fingers finding her clitoris, rubbing it hard as he drove himself into her. She arched her back, her head tossing from side to side as he fucked her. The sensation was overwhelming, the heat of her interior wrapping around his cock like a vice. He could feel the friction of her walls sliding against his glans with every lunge.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Harry grunted, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. "Your pussy is so fucking tight."
"Don't stop," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "Just keep fucking me."
He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and faster. He was close, the pressure building in his groin, the sensation of her wet cunt rubbing against his cock driving him toward the edge. He felt the swell of his orgasm, the way his cock felt heavy and sensitive inside her. He gripped her thighs, pulling her even tighter against him, his movements primal and unrefined. He felt the first squeeze of her climax, her p lussy clenching around him in rhythmic, desperate pulses.
"I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice a guttural growl. "Pansy, I'm going to fucking cum."
"Do it," she cried, her voice echoing in the empty hall. "Fill me up."
He drove himself in one last time, deep and hard, and felt the warm explosion of his cum hitting the back of her womb. He emptied himself into her, his cock pulsing inside her as the seed sprayed against her internal walls. He groaned, his entire body shaking with the force of the release. He stayed inside her for a long time, his breath ragged, listening to the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears. He felt the slickness of her cunt and his cum mingling between them, a messy, visceral heat.
Eventually, he pulled out of her, the sound of his cock sliding out of her wet pussy loud in the silence. He sat back on his heels, watching the way her juices ran down her inner thigh. She looked disheveled and satisfied, her hair a mess and her lips swollen.
"That was... surprisingly honest," Pansy said, smoothing her hair back.
"It was filthy," Harry replied, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Which was the point."
"The point was to see if you could actually be a brute," she said, leaning back against the table again. "You passed."
"I don't do anything halfway," he told her, reaching for his trousers.
They sat in silence for a moment, the atmosphere of the hall returning to its usual, quiet grandeur. The heavy wood of the table felt solid beneath them, a grounding presence after the frantic, messy heat of their encounter. Harry felt the cool air hitting his skin, the contrast to the warmth of her body still lingering in his mind.
"We should probably head back before the portraits start staring," Pansy suggested, though she made no move to leave.
"Are we done then? The dare is over?"
"The dare is never truly over, Harry. It just changes shape."
He looked around the hall, at the long, empty stretches of tables and the flickering candles that seemed to watch them from a distance. He thought of the Slytherin table, with its sharp edges and its polished perfection. He thought of the Hufflepuff table, with its warmth and its unpretentious weight.
"You're always counting, aren't you?" Harry asked, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.
Pansy looked at him, her eyes bright with the remnants of their passion. "I have to. It's the only way to keep track of where we've been."
"Is that why you made us do this here?"
"I like the way the light hits the wood," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It makes everything feel a bit more real."
"You're a strange woman, Pansy Parkinson."
"And you're a predictable one, Harry Malfoy."
He laughed, a short, sharp sound that didn't travel far. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of having conquered the moment, even if the victory was hollow. He looked at the way the shadows stretched across the floor, long and dark.
"I suppose we've moved up the list," he mused.
"We have," she agreed, her gaze fixed on the empty space before them.
"The Slytherin table was for show," Harry said, his voice low. "The Hufflepuff table was for the heat."
"And the score?" she asked, tilting her head.
"The score is still climbing," Harry said, and he knew she kept score of the tables and said so.