The Prefects' bathroom was a cavern of white marble and heat. Steam rose from the heated taps, curling around the heavy stone pillars that held up the vaulted ceiling. Draconia stood by the edge of the pool, her fingers tracing the rim of the basin. The water was clear, rippling slightly as the warmth seeped into the air. She felt the familiar tension in her shoulders, the weight of the performance she had maintained for months. Her hair was pinned tightly in its usual bun, a structural feat of neatness that kept every strand of blonde hair in its place. This was her armour, her way of ensuring no one saw the softness or the exhaustion.
Harry moved through the doorway, his footsteps muffled by the damp stone floor. He looked at her with an expression that was difficult to read; he was watching her with a gaze that felt too heavy. He did not look like a boy who was merely visiting a bathroom for a soak. He looked like a man who was waiting for a curtain to rise.
"The water is ready," Harry said, his voice echoing against the marble.
"I know," Draconia replied, turning to face him. "You did not need to tell me. I can see the steam."
He walked closer, stopping just outside the perimeter of her personal space. He was not wearing his robes anymore, and the sight of his bare chest made her stomach tighten in a way she refused to acknowledge. She was not supposed to feel this. She was supposed to be the one in control, the one who dictated the terms of their interaction.
"You look tired," he said, stepping into the light of the enchanted lamps.
"I am not tired. I am merely efficient with my energy," she lied, her chin tilting upward.
He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder before he actually touched her. His fingers brushed the edge of her silk slip, the fabric thin and nearly transparent under the weight of the humidity. He looked up at her bun, the tight, polished knot that sat at the crown of her head.
"You always have it so tight," he murmured.
"It stays in place," she said. "It is a controlled look."
"It looks like a cage," Harry said.
He reached for the pins, his movements slow and deliberate. Draconia held her breath, her heart thudding against her ribs as he began to pull the silver pins from her hair one by one. As each pin fell to the floor, she felt the pressure on her scalp ease. The hair began to spill down her neck, the blonde strands catching the light of the room. When the last pin was removed, she felt a terrifying sense of exposure. This was the moment the performance began to falter.
"Your hair is beautiful when it is not a weapon," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
He leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of her ear, and then he was pulling her toward the water. The transition from the dry, cool air of the corridor to the drowning warmth of the pool was a shock to her senses. Harry helped her into the basin, the water rising to her waist, then to her breasts, then to her chin. He did not wait for her to settle before he was stripping the rest of her clothes away, his eyes fixed on her skin.
"Do you want to go?" he asked, his hands moving to her hips.
"I do not know what you are asking," she said, though she was already pulling him down into the water with her.
He tumbled into the pool, his heavy, wet body pressing against hers. The sensation of his warm skin against her damp skin was overwhelming. His hands found her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they were hard and aching. He moved lower, his fingers sliding down her belly to the place between her thighs.
"Tell me the truth," Harry muttered, his face pressed against the crook of her neck. "Are you actually here, or are you just playing the part?"
"I am always here," she whispered, but her voice broke.
He slid his hand into her heat, his fingers finding her wet pussy. He pushed two fingers inside her, stretching her wide as he worked the entrance of her cunt. Draconia let out a sharp, ragged breath, her head falling back against the marble rim. He was not being gentle; he was being thorough. He used his thumb to rub her clitoris, circling the sensitive nub of flesh while his fingers curled deep inside her.
"Fuck, you are so wet," Harry said, his voice a low growl.
He pulled his hand away and reached for the waistband of his breeches, discarding them into the water. He freed his cock, which was thick and dark in the dim light of the bathroom. It was a heavy, pulsing thing that looked intimidatingly large as it brushed against her thigh. He gripped himself, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance.
"Is this part of the joke too?" she asked, her voice trembling as she felt him press against her.
"No joke," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "Just this."
He pushed forward, the head of his cock stretching her pusc pussy wide as he began to fuck her. Draconia gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. He drove himself into her, his hips slamming against hers with a wet, rhythmic sound. He was deep inside her, his cock filling her entirely, hitting her cervix with every heavy thrust.
"You feel so good," he groaned, his hands gripping her ass to pull her closer. "Your cunt is so tight, Draconia."
He fucked her harder, his movements becoming more frantic as the steam swirled around them. He pulled out nearly all the way, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance before he plunged back in, bottoming out against her. Draconia felt the build of a climax, a tension that started in her toes and raced up her spine. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he drove into her.
"Harder," she commanded, the old command in her voice returning even as she lost her composure. "Fuck me harder, Harry."
He obeyed, his thrusts becoming long and powerful. He was a force of nature, a weight that she could not push away. He began to fuck her with a singular focus, his cock sliding through her slick, wet walls. The sensation of him inside her was a blunt, visceral reality. He was not a metaphor; he was a man, and he was filling her with heat.
"I'm going to cum," he gasped, his pace quickening into a frantic, desperate rhythm.
He pushed deep one last time, his cock buried to the base within her. He groaned loudly as his seed erupted inside her, the hot cum filling her pussy in thick, pulsing waves. Draconia cried out, her body shaking as her own orgasm crashed over her, the sensation of his cum inside her making her feel utterly undone.
He slumped against her, his chest heaving as he rested his head on her shoulder. The silence of the bathroom returned, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing and the dripping of the taps. The mask of the perfect, poised girl was gone. Her hair, once a tight, golden bun, was now a wild, damp halo around her shoulders, clinging to her skin and the surface of the water.
She looked at him, her eyes wide and glassy. The moment her hair came down she stops performing, which scares them both.