The glass of the greenhouse panes felt brittle under the weight of the winter frost. Hermione stood amongst the potting soil and the damp scent of sodden earth, her fingers numbing as the temperature dropped. It was a miserable evening for Herbology, and the humidity of the plants did nothing to combat the creeping chill of the stone floor. Her hands were pale and stiff, the tips of her fingers aching with a dull, persistent throb. She gripped the handle of her trowel tighter, but the cold seeped through the wood and into her skin.
Harry Malfoy stood beside her, his movements precise and unhurried as he tended to the Mandrakes. He looked far too comfortable in the biting air, his black robes heavy and insulating. He did not seem to notice the way her breath hitched when a particularly sharp draft cut through the doorway. He was focused on his work, his long fingers moving with a grace that she found deeply irritating. The silence between them was not a void, but a physical thing that occupied the space between his shoulder and her hip.
"You are holding that far too tightly," Harry said, his voice cutting through the quiet. He did not look up from the plant he was pruning.
"The temperature is simply lower than the textbook predicted," Hermione replied, her voice clipped. She hated how her teeth rattled when she spoke.
"It is not the temperature, Granger. You are just stubborn." He finally turned his head to look at her. His eyes traveled down to her hands, which were currently a frantic, flushed red against the dark soil.
"My hands are fine," she lied, even as she felt a sharp pang of pain in her knuckles. "They are just adjusting to the transition."
He stepped closer, invading her personal space with the casual arrogance of a man who knew he was welcome. He reached out, his fingers hovering near her wrist. "They look frozen. They look like they might snap if you hit something."
"Do not be ridiculous. A little cold is not a catastrophe." She pulled her hands back, tucking them into the sleeves of her robes, but the movement was clumsy.
"You always do that. You pretend you aren't uncomfortable until you are practically shivering." Harry reached out again, and this time he did not wait for permission. He grabbed her hands in his, pulling them out of her sleeves.
His palms were searingly hot against her numb skin. Hermione gasped, the sensation of the heat hitting her frozen fingers feeling almost violent. She wanted to pull away, to maintain the distance of her pride, but the warmth was too seductive to resist.
"See? They are freezing," he murmured. He began to rub her hands between his own, his thumbs tracing the lines of her palms with a slow, deliberate pressure.
"It is unnecessary," she said, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "The heat is actually quite startling. It is almost painful."
"Is it?" He leaned in, his face close enough that she could see the pale flecks in his grey eyes. "Tell me when it stops hurting."
He did not stop at her hands. He led her toward the small, secluded alcove behind the Venomous Tentacula, where the foliage was thick enough to hide them from the wandering eyes of any stray students. The light in the greenhouse was dim, cast by the moonlight filtering through the frosted glass. Harry pushed her back against a wooden workbench, his hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders.
"I am not a delicate thing, Malfoy," she whispered, her breath hitching as he pressed his body against hers.
"I know you aren't," he said, his voice dropping an octave. He reached for the hem of her jumper, pulling the heavy knit fabric upward. "But you are cold. You need to be warm."
He knelt before her, his movements efficient as he pushed her knickers down past her hips. Hermione watched him, her heart hammering against her ribs as he moved between her thighs. The air in the greenhouse was freezing, but the heat radiating from his body was immense. He reached out, his fingers brushing her inner thigh, and she nearly jumped at the contact.
"Your skin is so cold," he muttered, his eyes fixed on her. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her thigh, his warm tongue darting out to lick the underside of her leg.
"Malfoy," she gasped, her head falling back against the workbench. "The plants... someone might..."
"No one is coming here, Granger. Stop worrying about the etiquette of the greenhouse." He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pushed two fingers into her pussy.
The sensation was a shock of heat in the middle of the frost. She was already wet, her body betraying her desire despite the chill of the room. He slid his fingers deeper, stretching her, and Hermione felt the tension in her lower stomach coil tight. He moved with a rhythmic, punishing pace, his fingers working her cunt with a precision that made her vision blur.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick. He withdrew his fingers and reached for the fastening of his trousers, freeing his cock. It was thick and heavy, the head a dark, bruised colour in the dim light.
He guided himself to her entrance, the tip of his cock teasing the entrance of her pussy before he pushed inward. Hermione let out a jagged moan, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. He entered her in one long, heavy thrust, filling her completely. The sensation of him stretching her wide was almost too much to bear.
"God, you're tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against hers. He began to fuck her, his hips driving forward with a steady, unrelenting force. Each stroke sent a jolt of heat through her entire frame.
He moved her to the edge of the table, lifting her hips so he could drive even deeper. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of her pured, wet cunt filled the small space. He was fucking her hard, his movements primal and unrefined. Hermione reached down, her fingers finding his muscular arse as she tried to pull him even closer.
"Harder," she whispered, the word escaping before she could stop it. "Do not stop."
He obliged, his thrusts becoming more violent, the sound of his skin slapping against hers echoing in the quiet greenhouse. He leaned down and bit at the junction of her neck and shoulder, his breath hot against her skin. He was fucking her with a desperate sort of hunger, his cock sliding through her juices until she was slick and dripping.
He pulled out almost entirely, teasing the opening of her pussy with the head of his cock before plunging back in. The friction was immense. She could feel the stretch of him, the way he filled every inch of her. She felt the build of a climax, a pressure that was both terrifying and wonderful.
"Malfoy—" she started, but the word died in her throat as he hit her cervix with a particularly heavy thrust.
"Take it," he commanded, his voice a low growl. He gripped her waist, his knuckles white, and drove himself into her one last time. He began to pump faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was fucking her with a single-minded focus, his cock sliding through the wetness of her pussy until he reached the point of no return.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he began to cum. She felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum hitting the back of her throat as he pushed deeper into her. She felt her own release crashing over her, her muscles clamping down on his cock in a series of rhythmic contractions. He emptied himself into her, his body trembling with the effort, his semen filling her until she felt heavy and satiated.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, letting the heat of their bodies settle the chill of the greenhouse. He eventually pulled out, the sound of his wetness a soft, sticky parting. He looked