The sun was long gone, leaving the classroom in a state of bruised stillness. Draconia watched the way the lamplight pooled on the dark wood of the desk, a single circle of yellow against the surrounding gloom. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn shut, cutting off the visibility of the world outside and keeping the darkness contained within the stone walls. There was no warmth from the afternoon sun to soften the edges of the room. Everything felt sharp and hard and permanent. Harry sat in the chair beside her, his presence a solid weight in the quiet. They did not need to speak or perform the loud, bright games of the afternoon. The pretence had fallen away with the light.
"Is it different when you aren't trying so hard?" Harry asked, his voice low.
Draconia leaned back against the desk, her spine pressing into the grain. "It is much easier when there is no one watching the clock."
He reached out to touch her hand, his fingers tracing the line of her knuckles. The lamp flickered slightly, casting his shadow long across the floor. He looked tired, the shadows under his eyes deep and dark in the artificial light. She felt a strange sense of relief that the brightness was gone. She did not have to be the sharpest version of herself when the room was this dark.
"You don't have to prove anything to me," he said.
"I know," she replied, though she wasn't sure if it was a lie.
She moved from the desk to the floor, the fabric of her robes rustling in the silence. The sensation of the cool air on her skin made her shiver, but she did not pull away. Harry moved with her, his movements heavy and unhurried. They were no longer the girl who owned the room and the boy who had survived it. They were just two bodies in a dark room, seeking a kind of stillness that the day had denied them.
Draconia reached for the fastening of his trousers, her fingers nimble in the dim light. She wanted the friction, the heat, the blunt reality of him. She pulled his cock from his underwear, the thick length of it standing firm in the lamplight. It was pale and warm, a stark contrast to the shadows of the classroom. She took him into her hand, her thumb stroking the underside of the head, feeling the pulse of him.
"Do you want me?" he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
"Don't ask stupid questions," she said, pulling him closer.
She leaned forward, sliding her tongue up the length of his cock, tasting the salty heat of him. She took the head of his cock into her mouth, sucking hard, feeling the way he jumped at the sensation. She used her hands to massage the base, her fingers kneading the heavy muscle. He groaned, a low sound that vibrated in the quiet air. She wanted to feel the weight of him, the way he could fill the void she felt inside.
Harry gripped her hair, not pulling hard, but guiding her as she moved her head up and down. Draconia pushed herself onto him, her knees scraping the floor as she positioned herself over his lap. She guided his cock to her cunt, the tip of him brushing against her wet, swollen lips. She felt the heat of him spreading through her, a blunt, physical ache that demanded to be satisfied.
"Fuck me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Just fuck me."
He lifted her, his hands sliding under her thighs to hoist her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his hips. He pushed into her, his cock sliding deep into her pussy with a heavy, rhythmic thud. The sensation was overwhelming, a thick, stretching fullness that made her eyes roll back. He began to fuck her, his thrusts long and deliberate. He drove himself into her, his pelvis slamming against her clitoris with every heavy stroke.
"You're so tight," Harry groaned, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
"Shut up and do it," she commanded, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
She felt the wetness of her own cunt coating his cock as he moved inside her. The sound of their bodies hitting was the only noise in the room, a rhythmic, fleshy slapping that echoed against the stone walls. Draconia arched her back, her breasts swaying with the force of his movements. She wanted the friction to burn. She wanted to feel every inch of him stretching her open.
He pulled out almost entirely before plunging back in, his cock hitting her cervix with a blunt force that made her gasp. He was fucking her hard now, his movements becoming more frantic as the tension built. She could feel the heat of his skin, the sweat slicking his chest where it pressed against hers. Her pussy gripped him, the muscles contracting around his thick shaft with every thrust.
"Look at me," he said, pulling back just enough to see her face.
She opened her eyes, her vision blurry in the dim light. He looked desperate, his expression raw and stripped of all the cleverness they usually traded. He drove his cock into her one more time, a deep, soul-shattering thrust that left her breathless. She felt the first wave of her orgasm hit, a tightening in her gut that radiated downward.
"Harry," she breathed, her voice a broken thing.
He felt her pulsing around him, the wetness of her cunt clenching around his cock. He let out a jagged breath, his pace quickening as he reached his own peak. He thrust one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and she felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum hitting the back of her womb. He came with a heavy, pulsing force, his body trembling as he emptied himself inside her.
Draconia held him tight, her legs locked around his waist as he collapsed against her. They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound their ragged breathing and the occasional pop of the dying lamp. The warmth of his cum felt heavy inside her, a secret weight that belonged only to this moment.
"Is that enough?" he asked after a long silence, his voice barely a murmur.
"It's enough," she said, her head resting on his shoulder.
The lamp flickered once more before the light began to fail. The room felt even darker now, the shadows pressing in on them from the corners. They did not move to fix their clothes or tidy the floor. There was no need for the performance of being composed. The bluntness of the act had left them hollow and quiet.
She watched the way the light hit the edge of the desk one last time. It was a simple, unadorned thing. They had stripped away the names and the legacies and the expectations. There was only the scent of skin and the lingering heat of the sex. The world outside the curtains did not exist.
The scene was explicit and quiet and the shortest version of the scene in the book, because by now there was nothing left to prove.