The corridor was a long, dark stretch of stone that felt much narrower than the one leading to her own dormitory. Draconia moved through the shadows with a heavy heart, her footsteps making almost no sound on the cold floor. She had reached the door to the boys' dormitory after a long time of hesitation, standing before the heavy wood and wondering if she should turn back. Harry was in there, likely asleep or staring at the ceiling, and the thought of him being an innocent man made her stomach ache. The room was far from the clean, ordered lines of her own quarters. When she finally pushed the door open, the air felt different; it was warmer and smelled of old parchment, broomstick wax, and the salt of skin.
The dormitory was a mess of brown and dark wood. It lacked the refined grace of her house, replaced instead by the chaotic reality of a boy's life. There were discarded robes thrown over a chair, a stack of books leaning precariously on a small table, and the general clutter of a person who lived in the moment rather than in the future. Draconia stepped inside, feeling like a trespasser in a space that was never meant for her. She saw the silhouette of Harry near the foot of his bed, his back to her as he sat hunched over a piece of scrap parchment. He looked smaller in the dim light, his shoulders curved forward in a way that suggested a heavy burden.
"Harry?" she whispered, her voice catching in the quiet room.
Harry turned around, his eyes wide and blinking as they adjusted to her presence. "Draconia? What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep," she said, walking closer to the bed. "Everything feels wrong, and the silence in my room was too loud."
Harry stood up, his feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. "You shouldn't be in the boys' dormitory this late. If someone finds you, the scandal will be even worse than the complaint."
"Let them talk," Draconia replied, reaching the edge of his bed. She looked down at her feet, noting how out of place she felt. She was wearing her leather walking boots, the laces tied tight and the soles sturdy. She did not want to take them off yet because the moment she did, the illusion of being a visitor would vanish. She wanted to stay armored against the mess of this room and the mess of her feelings.
Harry moved toward her, his hands reaching out to steady her as she stumbled slightly on a stray piece of clothing. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Harry said, his voice low and rough.
"I feel like one," she said, looking up at him.
He pulled her closer, his hands sliding down to her waist. The proximity was a physical weight. She could see the freckles on his nose and the way his hair was a mess of dark tangles. Harry leaned down, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that tasted of desperation. Draconia groaned into his mouth, her hands finding the front of his shirt and pulling it upward. She needed the heat of him to drown out the coldness of the silver cure that had failed her.
Harry pushed her backward toward the bed, his movements urgent and uncoordinated. He lifted her easily, laying her down onto the thick, heavy blankets. The bed felt too soft, too much like a boy's bed, and she felt the absurdity of the situation with every breath. She kept her boots on, the heavy leather pressing into the fabric of the duvet as he moved over her. Harry pulled his shirt over his head, his skin pale and warm in the moonlight. He moved his hands down to the fastening of her robes, his fingers clumsy with haste.
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, his breath hot against her ear. "Everything is so complicated right is the middle of an investigation."
"Just fuck me, Harry," she commanded, her voice breaking. "Don't talk about the investigation. Just fuck me."
Harry let out a low sound and stripped her of her outer layers until she lay in her chemise and knickers. He moved between her legs, his knees pushing the fabric of her skirts aside. Harry gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he guided his cock against her slit. She felt the blunt pressure of him, the hard, thick length of his cock rubbing against her wet cunt. He pushed inside her with one long, heavy thrust, making her gasp as he filled her.
"You're so tight," Harry groaned, his face contorted with the effort of controlling his pace.
He began to fuck her, his hips moving in a rhythmic, heavy motion. Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back. The friction of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy was intense. She could feel the slickness of her own arousal coating him as he drove himself into her. Every time he hit her cervix, a jolt of pleasure shot through her, making her back arch off the mattress.
"God, Harry," she cried out, her fingers clutching at the sheets.
Harry leaned down, his chest heaving as he worked. He was fucking her with a frantic energy, his movements becoming faster and more violent. He reached down to grab her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples as he thrust deep inside her. The sensation of his cock sliding through her wet pussy was all she could think about. The smell of him, the heat of him, the way his weight pressed her into the bed was the only thing that felt real.
He pushed harder, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the quiet room. Harry's cock was thick and hard, stretching her open with every lunge. Draconia felt the tension building in her lower belly, a coil of sensation that she could not control. She watched his face, the way his eyes drifted shut and his jaw tightened as he drove himself into her cunt.
"Look at me," she whispered, her voice a ragged plea.
Harry opened his eyes, his gaze intense and dark. He plunged into her one last time, a deep, punishing thrust that sent her over the edge. Draconia felt her pussy clench around him as her orgasm hit, the waves of heat radiating through her entire body. Harry followed her a second later, his body tensing as he came inside her. She felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum filling her, the sensation of his ejaculation making her hips buck against him.
They lay there for a long moment, both of them breathless and sweating. The room felt smaller now, more intimate and less strange. Harry collapsed against her, his skin damp and warm against hers. Draconia felt the weight of the moment, the sheer, unadulterated reality of him. She felt the heavy pressure of his cock still inside her, softening but still present.
She looked down at her feet, realizing that the movement had shifted her. She was still wearing her boots, the heavy leather still clutched against the bedsheets. She felt the ridiculousness of it, the way she was clinging to her composure even as she lay naked and spent in a boy's bed. She kept her boots on for a page and then doesn't.