The heavy door of the dungeon study clicked shut, sealing the room against the damp chill of the corridors. Draconia stood by the mahogany desk, her fingers tracing the smooth grain of the wood while the sound of the lock settling into place echoed in the small space. Behind them, the cauldron simmered, a low, rhythmic bubbling that provided the only percussion to the stillness. The steam rose in a thin, white ribbon, curling toward the ceiling without ever quite reaching the rafters. A single bench sat in the centre of the room, a long, hard thing of dark oak that felt far too exposed for the modesty she pretended to maintain.
"You were late by three minutes," Draconia said, her voice steady despite the way her pulse hammered against her throat. She did not look up from the desk as she straightened a stack of parchment. "I expected more discipline from someone trying to prove a point."
Harry moved toward the bench, his footsteps heavy on the stone floor. He looked tired, his hair a chaotic mess that even the darkness of the dungeons could not tame. He did not offer an excuse, which was a change from the earlier weeks when he had offered frantic explanations for his tardiness. He simply stood near the edge of the bench, his eyes fixed on her, watching the way she moved with a calculated, liquid grace.
"The corridors were crowded," Harry said. He reached out to touch the edge of the table, his knuckles white. "I had to avoid a group of third years near the entrance."
"Excuses are for those who lack the will to be on time," she replied, finally meeting his gaze. She walked toward him, her robes sweeping against the floor with a soft, hushing sound. "We agreed on the terms of these lessons. There is no room for error, and there is no room for distraction. We are here for the sake of the potion, nothing more."
"Is that what we are doing?" Harry asked, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped closer, invading the space she usually guarded so fiercely. "Are we just making a potion?"
Draconia felt the heat of him even before he touched her. She reached out, her hand hovering near his chest, feeling the warmth radiating through his shirt. She wanted to pull back, to reclaim the distance that served as her armour, but the lure of the game was too strong. She needed to feel the power of her own rules, the way she could dictate the pace of her own descent.
"We are doing exactly what we discussed," she said, her voice a sharp, controlled thing. "You provide the assistance, and I provide the direction. There are no feelings involved in this arrangement. It is a transaction, Potter. A favour of sorts."
Harry reached out and gripped her waist, his fingers digging into the silk of her robes. He pulled her toward the bench, forcing her to sit on the edge of the hard wood. The wood pressed into the backs of her thighs, a blunt reminder of the lack of comfort in this room. He followed her down, his weight pressing her back against the oak, and for a moment, they simply breathed together in the dark.
"A favour," Harry repeated, his breath hot against her ear. "You keep saying that, as if you can convince yourself it is true."
Draconia reached for the buckle of her belt, her movements efficient and devoid of the trembling she felt inside. She unfastened the leather, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with a defiance that masked her hunger.
"It is a favour," she insisted, her voice a low hiss. "Nothing more. We are simply passing the time."
She pushed his trousers down, her hands working with a practiced, clinical-looking speed that betrayed the heat in her blood. She moved her hand down, finding the thick, heavy length of his cock. It was already hard, a rigid weight in her palm that felt like a promise. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, feeling the velvet smoothness of the skin and the pulse thrumming beneath it. She began to stroke him, her thumb rubbing the glans of his cock as he let out a jagged breath.
"Is it a favour to feel you like this?" Harry asked, his voice breaking. He reached down, his fingers finding the damp heat of her pussy through her thin knickers. He pushed the fabric aside, his middle finger sliding into her cunt, finding the slick, swollen folds of her sex.
Draconia gasped, her head falling back against the bench. She watched him, her eyes wide and dark, as he worked his finger deeper into her. The sensation was sharp and sweet, a direct line of heat that made her hips jerk upward. She gripped his cock tighter, her nails scraping against the length of him as she slid her hand up and down. She wanted to see him lose control, to see the moment his composure shattered under the weight of her touch.
"It is a favour because you allow it," she whispered, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. "You are simply a tool for my pleasure."
"A tool," Harry muttered, his eyes dark with a desperate, focused lust. He moved his hand from her pussy to her thigh, squeezing the soft flesh there as he leaned over her. He began to fuck her with his fingers, his hand moving in a rhythmic, punishing motion that sent jolts of electricity through her abdomen. He pulled his fingers out of her wet cunt and replaced them with the blunt, heavy head of his cock.
He pushed into her, the sensation of him stretching her wide and deep making her cry out. He entered her with a single, forceful thrust, burying his cock deep inside her until his pelvis slammed against her pubic bone. Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting the friction to be absolute. He began to fuck her in earnest, his thrusts long and heavy, driving into her p-ussy with a relentless, driving force.
"Tell me again," Harry groaned, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he hammered into her. "Tell me what this is."
"It is... a favour," she gasped, her hands clawing at his shoulders. She felt the wetness of her own cunt coating his thighs, the slickness of her arousal making every movement louder and more visceral. "You are... just a distraction."
He increased the pace, his movements becoming faster and more frantic. The sound of his cock slapping against her pussy filled the small room, a wet, rhythmic thudding that coincided with the bubbling of the cauldron behind them. He was fucking her hard, his body a solid, unyielding weight that pinned her to the bench. She felt the build of the tension in her gut, a tightening of her muscles that promised a release.
"You're lying," Harry said, his voice a guttically low growl. He reached down, his thumb finding her clitoris, rubbing the sensitive nub as he continued to drive his cock into her. "You're lying to everyone, but you can't lie to me."
Draconia bit her lip, her eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure peaked. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her, the friction of his skin against her sensitive walls, was too much to bear. She felt the orgasm beginning to swell, a violent, pulsing wave that started in her womb and radiated outward to her fingertips. She gripped his arms, her knuckles white, as she felt the first contractions of her pussy tightening around his length.
"No feelings," she choked out, her voice a ragged, broken thing. She opened her eyes to look at him, her gaze fierce and desperate. "No feelings, Potter. This is a favour." — said with her belt undone.