The door to the potions store cupboard was heavy oak, a slab of wood that seemed to press the very breath from her lungs. Draconia pressed her back against the frame, feeling the rough grain through her robes, while Harry stood close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. They were trapped in the narrowest gap in the castle, a space filled with the scent of dried herbs, old dust, and the sharp, metallic tang of copper. Every movement in the small room felt monumental. Harry moved closer, his chest brushing against her shoulder, and the contact made her skin prickle.
Harry reached out to steady her as she stumbled slightly in the darkness. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, and the friction of his trousers against her skirt was a sudden, grounding reality. He did not say a word, because the silence was a requirement of their survival. If they spoke, the sounds of the school would intrude, and the voices of the students passing in the corridor would strip them of the secrecy they had built. Harry leaned down, his mouth finding the curve of her neck, and she felt the roughness of his jaw against her skin.
His hands slid down to the small of her back, urging her toward the shelf of jars. The jars were cold and hard against her hips, but Harry was a furnace. He lifted her up, and Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, her knickers dampening against the fabric of his trousers. Harry moved her backward until her arse hit the edge of a low wooden table. He set her down, and the wood groaned under their weight, but the sound was swallowed by the heavy stillness of the cupboard.
Harry’s hands were busy with the fastenings of her robes. He worked with a frantic, silent efficiency, pulling the fabric aside to expose her skin to the cool air. He knelt before her, his fingers finding the waistband of her knickers. Draconia felt the sting of a tear in her eye as he pulled the silk down, exposing her wet, swollen cunt to the dim light. Harry watched her, his eyes dark and hungry, as he pushed his fingers into her pussy. He was deep inside her, his fingers slick with her own juices, and the sensation made her head fall back.
Harry stood up and fumbled with his own clothes, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches. He stripped his trousers down, and his cock sprang free, thick and pulsing in the shadows. Draconia reached out, her fingers curling around his shaft, feeling the heat and the hard, veiny length of him. She wanted him inside her so badly that it felt like a physical ache in her bones. Harry gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge of the table, and guided his cock to her opening.
He pushed inside her with a single, heavy thrust. Draconia gasped, the sound caught in her throat, as his cock filled her pussy. He felt massive and hot, a blunt force that stretched her until she thought she might break. Harry did not wait; he began to fuck her, his hips driving forward in a rhythmic, punishing pace. Each time his pelvis hit her, the sound of skin on skin was a wet, slapping noise in the small space. He drove himself into her, his cock sliding through her moisture, and the sensation was almost too much to bear.
Harry grabbed her thighs, pulling them wider to allow him deeper access. He was fucking her hard now, his movements uncoordinated and desperate. Draconia arched her back, her hands clutching at his shoulders, as he buried his cock deep inside her cunt. The friction was intense, a searing heat that seemed to radiate from where they joined. Harry leaned forward, his chest pressing against her breasts, and he began to fuck her with more speed. His cock rubbed against her clitoris with every heavy lunge, and she felt the tension building in her lower belly.
He pushed himself in until he was buried to the hilt, and then he pulled back, only to drive in again. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy was a heavy, rhythmic thudding. Draconia felt her orgasm approaching, a tight, pulsing sensation that gripped his shaft. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down so she could bite at his shoulder. Harry groaned, a low vibration that she felt in her own chest, and he increased the pace of his fucking. He was relentless, his cock a thick, hard weight that kept hitting her cervix.
The heat in the cupboard was stiftened by the lack of air, but the warmth of Harry was all she could focus on. He pulled out nearly all the way before plunging back in, and the sensation of his cock sliding through her wetness made her cry out silently. She felt the first waves of her climax hit her, a series of contractions that squeezed his cock tightly. Harry felt it too; his movements became frantic and jagged. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying his cock as far as it could go, and then he began to cum.
She felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum filling her pussy, the liquid warmth spreading deep inside her. Harry held her tight, his muscles trembling as he emptied himself into her. He stayed buried deep within her, his breath hot against her ear, as the pulsing of his cum slowed. They stayed like that for a long moment, the only sound being the heavy, synchronized thud of their hearts.
Draconia eventually pulled away, her limbs feeling heavy and weak. She sat on the edge of the table, smoothing her skirts and pulling her knickers back into place. Harry stood before her, breathing hard, and began to dress himself in the shadows. He looked tired, his hair a mess and his eyes bright. He did not look like a man who had committed a crime, but a man who had simply been hungry.
The silence of the cupboard was broken by a sudden, distant sound. It was the muffled sound of footsteps in the corridor, a rhythmic tapping that felt far too close. Draconia froze, her heart racing as she looked at the heavy door. They were so close to being caught, a single misplaced word or a loud moan away from total ruin. The space felt even tighter now, the jars and the shelves crowding them in as if to punish their secrecy.
A voice drifted through the wood, clear and jovial, cutting through the tension of the room. It was a voice she recognized, a voice that belonged to the man who had often watched them from the sidelines of the Great Hall.
Two feet away, Slughorn is lecturing a first-year about moonstone.