The steam from the cauldron rose in a thick, silver-white cloud that obscured the copper-bottomed pot. Draconia watched the liquid settle into a translucent shade of violet, her quill poised over a scrap of parchment. Severus Snape stood at the front of the classroom, his black robes sweeping the stone floor as he paced between the long, wooden tables. He spoke with a precision that left no room for error, his voice low and rhythmic as he lectured the class on the volatile properties of crushed moonstone. Draconia kept her eyes fixed on her notebook, recording every instruction with a neat, disciplined hand.
A few feet away, Harry Potter sat with his shoulders hunched, his quill moving with a frantic, jagged energy. He wrote everything down, his eyes darting from the blackboard to his parchment as if he were afraid the words might vanish if he blinked. Draconia felt a sharp prickle of irritation at the sound of his scratching. It was a messy, loud way to take notes, and it lacked the grace of her own silent, fluid movements. She knew she should look away, yet her gaze kept drifting toward the side of his face.
"The properties of a Draught of Living Death are not merely to be memorised, but understood," Snape said, his dark eyes scanning the room for a sign of weakness. "One wrong movement, one misplaced grain of ingredient, and the entire batch is ruined."
Greta Bulstrode leaned toward Draconia, whispering something about the texture of the potion, but Draconia did not turn her head. The classroom felt smaller than it had the previous day, the air holding the scent of damp stone and dried herbs. She watched Harry as he dipped his quill into the ink, his fingers stained dark. He looked focused, yet there was a certain clumsiness to his motions that felt entirely out of place in a room governed by such strict rules.
"Who can tell me the secondary effect of adding powdered valerian root to a base of wormwood?" Snape asked, his voice slicing through the quiet.
The room fell into a sudden, expectant stillness. Draconia held her breath, her heart performing a strange, unbidden skip in her chest. Harry did not move, his eyes fixed on the table, his jaw tight. A moment passed, and the silence stretched until it felt like a physical weight against her skin.
"Potter," Snape said, his tone almost a challenge. "Since you are so busy scribbling, perhaps you can provide the answer."
Harry looked up, his gaze lifting from his desk to meet the professor's. He did not hesitate, and the answer came from him with a clarity that seemed to catch the room by surprise. He answered a question right, and she was furious at how much she noticed.
The tension of the lesson dissolved into a heated, desperate reality an hour later, when the heavy oak door of the unused classroom at the end of the corridor creaked shut. The transition from the cold, academic discipline of the Potions classroom to the frantic heat of the third floor was a blur of motion. Harry’s hand gripped her waist, pulling her into the shadows of the alcove where the sunlight hit the stone floor in jagged patches.
He pressed her back against the wall, the rough stone biting into her skin through her robes. Draconia gasped as his mouth found hers, his kiss tasting of ink and iron. His hands were no as gentle as her father’s hands, but they were certain. He fumbled with the fastenings of her skirt, his breath hot against her ear as he moved lower.
"Harry, someone will hear," she breathed, though she made no move to push him away.
"Let them," he muttered against her neck, his teeth grazing her skin.
He bunched the fabric of her knickers to the side, his fingers sliding into the damp heat of her pussy. Draconia let out a low moan, her head thumping against the stone as he found her clitoris. He was hard and demanding, his cock pressing against the front of his trousers, a thick bulge that she could feel against her thigh. He reached into his trousers, freeing his thick, aching cock, and the sight of it made her breath hitch.
He guided the head of his cock to her opening, rubbing the wetness of her cunt against the tip of his member. Draconia arched her back, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed inside. He slid into her with one long, brutal thrust, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a blunt, heavy fullness that made her eyes water.
"Fuck," he hissed, his voice a low growl in the quiet room.
He began to fuck her with a rhythmic, driving force, his hips striking hers with a dull thud. Every time he drove his cock deep into her pussy, she felt the breath leave her lungs. He moved with a desperate hunger, his thrusts growing faster and shallower as he chased the peak. Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, wanting to feel every inch of his cock stretching her.
The friction of his skin against hers, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of her cunt, filled her senses. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her breasts, his sweat dripping onto her collarbone. He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head, and the movement allowed him to drive even harder into her.
"More," she whispered, the word a command and a plea.
He complied, his movements becoming more frantic. His cock felt huge inside her, a pulsing, hot weight that seemed to reach her very core. He thrusts were no longer controlled; they were wild and heavy, his hips slamming against her pelvis with a violent grace. Draconia felt the build-up in her own body, a tightening of her muscles as her pussy clamped around him.
He let out a guttural sound, his muscles cording in his arms as he drove himself into her one last time. He buried his cock to the hilt, his breath hitching as he reached his limit. He began to cum, the hot, thick jets of his seed hitting the back of her throat-deep inside her. Draconia cried out, her body shaking with the force of her own orgasm, her insides squeezing his cock as he emptied himself into her.
They stayed there for a moment, tangled and gasping, the heat of the room settling around them like a shroud. The silence of the corridor felt heavy, but the frantic pulse in her veins was the only thing that mattered. She felt the slickness of his cum dripping from her, a warm, messy evidence of what had just passed between them.