The Great Hall was a cavern of hollowed echoes and floating light. Hundreds of candles drifted in the darkness above the long Slytherin table, casting a flickering glow over the silver plates and empty goblets. Greta sat alone at her house table, staring at the Slytherin Cup. It sat there, a heavy, gleaming weight of silver and emerald, looking far too bright for a room that felt so abandoned. The school had emptied for the war, leaving the castle to the ghosts and the silence. The silence was not a void, but a presence that seemed to press against her skin.
Harry Potter walked into the hall with the heavy, rhythmic tread of a man who knew he was being watched. He did not look like a hero in this light; he looked tired, his robes slightly rumpted and his hair a mess of dark tangles. He moved toward her table with a singular purpose, ignoring the empty seats where their classmates should have been. He reached the edge of the long table and stopped, his green eyes catching the light of the floating candles.
"You are still here," Harry said, his voice low and rough.
"I wanted to see it one last time," Greta replied, nodding toward the cup.
"The cup won't tell you anything new," Harry said, stepping closer until he was standing right beside her.
"It is a trophy, Harry. It is meant to be admired, not questioned."
Harry let out a short, dry laugh that did not reach his eyes. "Nothing in this castle is as simple as a trophy."
He sat on the edge of the table, the wood creaking under his weight. He was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. The Great Hall felt smaller with him in it, the vastness of the room shrinking down to the space between their breathing. Greta reached out and touched the base of the cup, her fingers tracing the cool, etched metal.
"It looks different when no one is cheering," Greta whispered.
"It looks like a piece of metal," Harry said. He reached out and took her hand, his skin warm and rough against her own. "Everything looks different when the shouting stops."
He pulled her up from her seat, his hands sliding down to her waist. There was no reason for this, no lingering tension from a conversation or a shared secret to justify the sudden gravity of his touch. He simply wanted her, and she wanted to be taken. He lifted her onto the table, moving the heavy silver cup aside so that it sat at her hip, a cold, unyielding shape against her thigh.
Harry unbuttoned her robes with efficient, hungry movements. He pushed the fabric aside, exposing her skin to the cool air of the hall. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to her throat, his breath hot against her neck. Greta tilted her head back, her eyes closing as he moved his hands to the fasten of her knickers. He pulled the fabric down, pushing it past her hips until her thighs were bare.
"Harry," she breathed, her voice a jagged edge in the quiet room.
"I want you," he said, his voice a command.
He moved his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her wetness. He found her cunt, his middle finger sliding into the heat of her. He began to fuck her with his fingers, moving in and out of her pussy with a steady, driving rhythm. Greta arched her back, her hands clutching at the edge of the table. She felt the slickness of her own juices coating his fingers as he worked. He leaned down and licked her, his tongue darting into her slit, tasting the salt and the heat.
Harry pulled his trousers down, his cock springing free from his underwear. It was thick and red, pulsing with the blood that rushed to it. He gripped his cock and rubbed the head of it against her clitoris, teasing her until she was whimpering. He positioned himself between her legs, the base of his shaft pressing against her soaking wet pussy. He pushed inside her in one long, heavy thrust.
"Fuck," Harry groaned, his eyes dark as he buried his cock deep inside her.
He began to fuck her, his hips slamming against her buttocks as he moved. Each thrust was deep and uncompromising, the sound of his cock hitting her p enough to echo in the empty hall. Greta wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting the fullness of him to stretch her. He moved his hands to her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh as he drove into her. He was fucking her with a desperate, frantic energy, his movements heavy and rhythmic.
"More," she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Harder, Harry."
He complied, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. He was hitting her cunt with a brutal force, his cock sliding through the slickness of her juices. The sensation was overwhelming, a bright, sharp tension building in her lower belly. She could feel the friction of his skin against hers, the way his pubic bone thudded against her every time he pushed forward. He was a force of nature, a heavy, warm weight that filled her entirely.
Harry leaned forward, pinning her against the table. He began to fuck her with a single-minded focus, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps. He reached down and grabbed her hips, tilting her pelvis to change the angle. He drove his cock into her at a new angle, hitting a spot deep inside her that made her vision blur. She felt the build of the orgasm, a tightening in her muscles that she could not control.
"Harry, please," she cried out, her voice a broken thing.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growx.
She opened her eyes to see him watching her, his face etched with a fierce, hungry expression. He gave one final, massive thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. He stayed there for a moment, his chest heaving, before he began to move with a frantic, driving pace. The friction of his cock in her pussy was almost too much to bear. She felt the orgasm break, a violent, pulsing wave of heat that started in her cunt and radiated through her entire body.
As she came, Harry groaned, his muscles tensing as he felt her walls squeeze him. He pushed himself into her one last time, his hips slamming against her as he began to cum. He felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum filling her, the sensation of his release a heavy, pulsing warmth inside her. He stayed buried inside her, his weight pressing her into the table, the silence of the hall returning around them like a shroud.
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the heavy breathing of two people in the dark. The silver cup sat at her hip, still and unmoving, a silent witness to the mess of their bodies. Harry pulled back slowly, the sound of his cock sliding out of her wet pussy loud in the cavernous room. He sat on the floor beside the table, his breathing gradually leveling out.
Greata reached down to pull her robes closed, her fingers trembling slightly. She looked at the cup, the silver gleaming under the candlelight, and then at the man who had just claimed her. A small, tired smile touched her lips.
"Slytherin's won the cup seven years running," she said, her voice a soft, melodic lilt in the dark. "I always finish on top."
The joke was a defense, a way to reclaim the air, and for the first time, the irony was entirely gone.