The dungeon air felt colder than the night before, or perhaps Draconia was simply more sensitive to the chill of the stone. She stood by the heavy oak door, her fingers curled around the iron latch, watching Harry as he moved through the familiar motions of setting up the cauldron. He was efficient, his movements practiced and silent, as he laid out the ingredients they would use for this final session of the term. The routine was a comfort, a structural skeleton that held her upright when the rest of her world felt unmoored. She knew exactly what he was doing, every placement of a vial and every scrape of a spoon, yet she pretended to observe with the focused intensity of a student.
"You are late," Harry said without turning around. He did not need to look at her to know she had been standing there for several minutes.
"The corridors were crowded with people leaving for the holidays," Draconia replied, her voice smooth and unaffected. She walked toward the central bench, her robes sweeping against the floor as she approached the warmth of the hearth. "I had to ensure my trunk was properly secured before coming down."
Harry turned then, his dark eyes searching hers for the lie she had so carefully crafted. He knew her excuses were often hollow, yet he never called her on them. He simply accepted the fiction because it allowed her to keep her dignity.
"The term is ending, Draconia," he said, stepping closer to her. "You do not need to pretend so hard tonight."
"I am not pretending," she lied, her heart tripping against her ribs. "I am simply being thorough."
He reached out, his hand hovering near her waist before he tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. The contact was brief, a fleeting moment of contact that felt like a brand. He looked at her with an expression that was neither judging nor forgiving, merely observant.
"The instructions for the final lesson," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "Are we following the old parameters, or are there new ones?"
Harry leaned back against the edge of the stone table, his arms crossing over his chest. "You wrote the terms, Draconia. You always do. You tell me what you want, and I do it."
"Then the term is over," she said, her eyes fixed on the brass latch of the door. "Unless you have something else to teach me."
"I think we have covered everything," Harry said. He walked toward her, his boots thudding softly on the stone. He stopped inches from her, his heat radiating through the thin fabric of her robes. "But if you want to stay, you can stay. The door is not locked yet."
Draconia felt the familiar ache in her chest, the one she had spent the entire term trying to suppress. She wanted to tell him to lock it, to throw the key into the depths of the Black Lake and never look for it again. She wanted to tell him that her terms were a lie and that she was starving for him. Instead, she reached out and touched the cold metal of the door latch, her thumb tracing the edge of the iron.
"Stay then," she whispered. "Stay until the last drop is brewed."
Harry did not wait for her to finish the sentence. He reached out, gripped her waist, and pulled her into the center of the room. He sat her down on the edge of the wooden bench, the same bench where they had lost themselves a dozen times before. He knelt between her thighs, his hands sliding up the silk of her skirts.
"No more pretending," he muttered against her skin. He pushed her robes up, exposing her pale thighs to the cool air of the dungeon.
He unfastened his trousers with a frantic, clumsy grace, his breath hitching in his throat. Draconia watched him, her hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. She felt the weight of the moment, the finality of it. This was the end of the term, the end of their secret, the end of the way she had managed to control him.
"Fuck me, Harry," she commanded, her voice a low, jagged rasp. "Fuck me like it is the last time."
Harry leaned forward, his mouth finding her neck as he worked his trousers down. He reached for her, his fingers finding the damp heat of her cunt through her knickers. He pushed the fabric aside and slid two fingers into her, his thumb rubbing against her clit as he moved. Draconia arched her back, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as she felt him fill her. He was thick and hard, his fingers stretching her wide.
"You are so wet for me," Harry said, his voice thick with want. He pulled her knickers down to her ankles, leaving her completely bare. He leaned in, his face disappearing between her legs, and began to lick her. His tongue was long and hot, laving at her clit with rhythmic, punishing strokes. Draconia gripped the edge of the bench, her knuckles white. She felt the sensation building, a pressure in her lower belly that felt like it might shatter her.
Harry pulled back, his eyes dark and focused. He gripped his cock, which was red and pulsing in the light of the cauldron. He guided the head of his cock against her slit, rubbing the slick moisture of her pussy over the length of his shaft. He looked up at her, his expression raw and honest.
"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a growl.
"Yes," she breathed, her legs trembling. "More. Give me more."
He lunged forward, driving his cock deep into her. Draconia let out a choked cry as he filled her, his shaft sliding into her tight, wet cunt. He began to fuck her with a fierce, unrelenting pace. Every thrust was long and heavy, the sound of his pelvis slapping against her arse echoing in the quiet room. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he drove himself into her.
"Fuck, Draconia," he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder. "You feel so good. You feel perfect."
He moved with a violent grace, his cock sliding in and out of her, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. She felt the stretch of him, the way he seemed to reach the very back of her womb with every heavy thrust. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him. He was so thick, his cock a solid, pulsing weight inside her.
"Harder," she pleaded, her eyes fluttering shut. "Don't be gentle. Not tonight."
Harry obeyed, his thrusts becoming faster and more brutal. He was fucking her with a desperate hunger, his movements jagged and unrefined. He pulled her off the bench and onto her knees, her hands gripping the edge of the table as he entered her from behind. He drove his cock into her arse, the skin of her opening stretching to accommodate him. She felt the sharp, stinging pleasure of him stretching her, the sensation of being filled and conquered.
He gripped her hair, pulling her head back so he could see her face. He was fucking her hard, his cock sliding in and out of her cunt and arse with a wet, slapping sound. She felt the heat of him, the way his sweat dripped onto her back. He was a force of nature, and she was being unmade by him.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She opened her eyes, her vision blurred by tears of pleasure. He was leaning over her, his chest heaving, his cock a relentless engine of heat inside her. He thrust one last time, a deep, soul-shattering shove that sent her over the edge. Dr mancia felt her orgasm hit her like a physical blow, her muscles clenching around his cock in a series of tight, rhythmic pulses.
Harry groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he felt her