The greenhouse was damp and smelled of wet earth and crushed mint. Draconia knelt on the stone floor, her fingers digging into the dark soil to extract the thick, fleshy roots of the moonleaf plant. Every movement required a specific pressure to avoid bruising the delicate fibres. A wicker basket sat beside her hip, half-filled with the pale, translucent leaves she had already harvested. The heat in the glass structure was constant, making her skin feel slick beneath her robes.
Harry moved beside her, his presence a heavy weight in the cramped space between the herbology benches. He reached for a jar of powdered dragon scale, his hands steady as he placed the container near her elbow. Draconia watched his fingers, noting the way the dirt stained his skin. She reached out and gripped his wrist, pulling his hand away from the shelf.
"Not yet," she said, her voice low. "The moonleaf must be plucked while the scent is still sharp."
"You are incredibly particular about these things," Harry remarked. He did not pull his hand away, but instead let her thumb trace the pulse in his wrist.
"Precision is the difference between a masterpiece and a mess," she replied. She leaned back on her heels, her robes bunching around her thighs.
The air felt heavy with the humidity of the greenhouse, though she did not mention the warmth. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she looked up at him. He was watching her, his eyes fixed on the way her fingers worked the soil. Draconia felt a sudden, sharp need to be touched, to be more than just a girl collecting roots. She reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down toward the low bench.
"The basket is the only thing on the floor," she whispered, her breath catching.
She pushed him back against the wooden worktable, and the sound of his breath became a jagged rhythm in the quiet room. Draconia climbed onto the bench, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulled his trousers down. She wanted the grit of the earth on her skin, the roughness of the moment. She reached into her knickers, her fingers finding her wet cunt, rubbing the swollen nub of her clitoris as she watched him.
"Draconia, the potion won't wait," Harry groaned, his hands sliding under her thighs to lift her.
"The potion is the excuse," she told him, her voice a command.
He pulled her trousers down to her ankles and shoved her hips forward. He unzipped his trousers, his cock springing free, thick and pulsing in the dim light of the greenhouse. She watched the way the veins stood out on his shaft. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, and pushed his cock into her cunt. She gasped, her head falling back as he began to fuck her. The sensation was blunt and visceral. He moved with a heavy, rhythmic force, his cock sliding through her juices with a wet, slapping sound.
"Fuck," he hissed, his teeth binged against the curve of her neck.
Draconia arched her back, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She wanted him to go deeper, to hit the very back of her womb. He thrust harder, his movements becoming frantic and uncoordinated. His cock felt enormous inside her, stretching her walls as he hammered into her. She watched his face, the way his jaw clenched with the effort of the friction. She wrapped her legs tighter around his arse, pulling him in until there was no space left between their bodies.
"More," she demanded, her voice a ragged edge. "Give it to me, Harry."
He obeyed, his pace accelerating into a brutal, driving rhythm. He fucked her with a desperate hunger, his cock rubbing against her sensitive walls with every lunge. She could feel the heat of him, the way his skin felt against her inner thighs. The sound of their bodies colliding was loud in the small space. He was driving into her cunt, his pubic bone thudding against hers with each heavy strike. Draconia felt the tension building in her lower belly, a tight knot of sensation that threatened to snap.
"You're so tight," Harry muttered, his eyes dark and unfocused.
He lifted her higher, pinning her against the edge of the workbench. He fucked her with a singular, driving force, his cock a hard, unyielding weight inside her. She felt the build of her orgasm, a sharp, stinging sensation that made her muscles quiver. She squeezed him, her cunt clenching around his shaft as she reached the peak. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and buried his face in her shoulder as he came. She felt his cum warm and thick inside her, a pulsing sensation that coincided with her own release.
She breathed through the tension, her eyes closed as the sensation washed over her. They stayed like that for a moment, the only sound the heavy, uneven rhythm of their breathing. Harry stayed buried inside her, his cock still twitching in the heat of her body. Draconia felt a sense of triumph. She had controlled the moment, just as she had controlled the timing of the potion.
"You're a menace," Harry said, his voice returning to its usual tone as he pulled back to straighten his clothes.
"I am a perfectionist," she corrected him, a small smile tugging at her lips.
She reached down to pick up a stray leaf that had fallen near her hand, her fingers still stained with the dark, rich soil. The texture of the earth was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the sex they had just finished. She stood up, smoothing her robes, though her hair remained a chaotic mess around her face.
"Do you think the professor will notice the delay?" Harry asked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement.
"He won't notice anything if we do it correctly," she replied.
She began to gather the moonleaf, her movements deliberate and practiced. She was not a girl who allowed for errors. Every leaf was placed in the basket with the same care she had used to position her body against the bench. The silence of the greenhouse was broken only by the distant sound of a dripping tap and the rustle of her skirt.
The sound of footsteps on the gravel path made her freeze. The heavy, rhythmic thud of boots against the stone was unmistakable. It was a measured, purposeful gait.
"The instructions were very specific, Draconia," a voice said, projecting through the glass doors.
She looked at Harry, her eyes wide, and then turned toward the entrance. Snape was walking toward them, his black robes sweeping the floor.
"I have arrived to ensure the volume is exactly as you described," he said, his eyes scanning the room before landing on her.
"The infusion is currently at the perfect volume for the first stage," she said, her voice steady and clear.