The trophy room felt smaller than it had the night before. The music from the Great Hall was a distant, muffled pulse behind the thick stone walls, but there was no melody here to guide them. Harry did not lead her through the waltz. He did not even suggest the movement. He simply stood in the centre of the room, his back to the gleaming silver of the house cups, looking as though he had forgotten the very purpose of their late-night meetings. The silence of the room was not heavy, but it was present. It sat between them like a physical object.
"You are late," Harry said. He did not move to greet her. He stayed rooted to the spot, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers.
"I am exactly on time," Draconia replied. She walked toward him, her footsteps soft on the stone floor. "The counting is the point, isn't it? You wanted to perfect the tempo."
"The tempo is fine. The numbers are fine." He looked at her, his eyes tracking the way she moved. "The numbers are the only thing that are fine."
Draconia stopped a foot away from him. She could see the fine lines of his jaw and the way his breath caught as she stepped into his space. She did not reach for his hands this time. She did not offer him the rhythm of her voice to anchor him. She waited for him to initiate the movement, but he only watched her with a look of concentrated frustration.
"Are we going to dance?" she asked.
"There is no music, Draconia. We are just standing in a room full of old metal."
"You told me the practice was essential for the ball."
"The practice is a way to pass the time." He stepped closer, closing the gap until her chest nearly brushed his. "It is a way to pretend we are doing something productive while we actually just stand in the dark."
"Is that what this is? A way to pass the time?"
"It is a way to keep you close without having to say why."
"You are being difficult."
"I am being honest."
The lack of music made his voice sound deeper, more resonant in the small space. Draconia reached out and placed her palm against his chest. She felt the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was not a tentative gesture. She pressed her hand flat, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart beneath her skin.
"The practice is abandoned, then," she said.
"It is abandoned."
He did not wait for her to respond. He reached out and gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. The friction of his hands on her skin made her breath hitch. He moved her backward until her hips hit the edge of a display case, the glass clinking softly against the wood. He did not stop there. He lifted her, her thighs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted her onto the edge of the table.
"This is not a waltz," she whispered.
"It is a demonstration," he muttered.
He moved his hands to the hem of her skirt, bunching the fabric upward. He did not use grace or finesse; he used the blunt force of a man who had been starving. He shoved her skirt up to her waist, exposing her knickers. He reached into his trousers and freed his cock, the thick, rigid length of it pulsing in the dim light of the room. He did not tease her. He grabbed her thigh and spread her legs wide, shoving his cock against the wet heat of her cunt.
"Do you want this?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Do you want to feel it?"
"Yes," she said, the word escaping her before she could think.
He drove himself into her with a single, heavy thrust. Draconia gasped, her head falling back as his cock filled her. The sensation was overwhelming, the blunt stretch of him hitting her cervix. He began to fuck her with a rhythmic, punishing pace. He was not dancing a waltz anymore; he was driving into her, his hips slamming against her hips with a wet, slapping sound.
"Tell me," he demanded, leaning forward to bite at the skin of her shoulder. "Tell me what it feels like."
"It is too much," she groaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "It is too big."
"It is exactly the right size." He pulled back nearly all the way, the tip of his cock dragging against her clit before he plunged back inside. He fucked her harder, his movements jagged and hungry. He reached down and found her clitoris, rubbing the swollen nub with his thumb while his cock continued to hammer into her pussy.
The friction was intense. Draconia felt the heat of her own moisture coating his shaft as he moved. Every time he thrust, she felt the weight of him, the way his pubic bone bruised her as he sought to go deeper. He was not being gentle. He was a man claiming a territory he had spent weeks circling.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She opened her eyes to see him watching her, his expression tight with the effort of his own pleasure. His cock was slick with her cunt, the dark hair at the base of his shaft damp with sweat. He pushed deeper, his thumb working her clit into a frenzy of sensation. She felt the tension building in her lower abdomen, a sharp, bright ache that demanded release.
"Faster," she breathed. "Don't stop."
He obliged, his pace becoming frantic. He gripped her hips with bruising strength, tilting her pelvis to meet every thrust. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy was loud in the silent room, a rhythmic, visceral sound of skin hitting skin. He shoved his thumb harder against her, and the sensation broke her. Draconia cried out, her muscles clamping tight around his shaft as her orgasm tore through her.
He did not let up as she shook. He drove into her one last time, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He buried his cock deep inside her, his length pulsing as he reached his own peak. A thick spurt of cum erupted from him, filling her, and he groaned her name against her neck. He felt the hot, viscous fluid pumping into her womb, a heavy warmth that seemed to go on forever.
He stayed inside her, his chest heaving against hers as he waited for the tremors to subside. The sweat from his forehead dripped onto her collarbone. The room was still quiet, the absence of music making the sound of their breathing even more prominent. He pulled out slowly, the suction of his cock leaving her dripping and empty.
"Is that enough of a lesson?" he asked, his voice rough.
Draconia looked at the way his cock glistened in the light, the white streaks of cum trailing down her thigh. She felt the ache in her hips and the heavy, satisfied weight in her belly.
"It was a good demonstration," she said.