The dormitory was quiet, save for the rhythmic, heavy breathing of the girls sleeping in the bunks. Draconia sat on the edge of her bed, her hands resting on the cool linen of her sheets. The term was over, and the reality of the final night sat in her stomach like a stone. She looked across the room at the various silhouettes of her peers, feeling the strange, sharp isolation of being known. Everything felt fragile, as if the slightest movement might shatter the illusion of their childhood.
Harry moved in the bunk across from her, a shadow that seemed to shift even in sleep. He was not quite asleep, but rather in that shallow state of rest that preceded a dream. Draconia watched him, her heart beating a frantic, uneven rhythm against her ribs. She had spent the entire year learning the cost of things, and now the cost was the departure itself. The room felt smaller than it had in September, crowded by the weight of everything they had survived.
"Are you still awake?" Harry asked, his voice a low rasp that barely disturbed the air.
"I can't sleep," Draconia replied, sitting up straighter.
"It's the last night," he said, a small, tired smile evident in the tone of his voice. "Everything feels different when it's the end."
"It feels like a goodbye that hasn't happened yet," she murmured, standing up to walk toward him.
She reached his bed and sat on the edge, the mattress dipping under her weight. Harry sat up to face her, his hair a mess, his eyes bright in the dim light of the moon. They stayed like that for a long time, two adults who had grown up too fast in a world that demanded perfection. The silence was not uncomfortable; it was a shared understanding of the time they were losing.
"Say it once," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Say what?" he asked, leaning closer until their knees touched.
"My name," she commanded, her breath hitching.
Harry reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek before sliding down to the nape of her neck. "Draconia," he said, the name a soft, sacred thing in the quiet of the room.
She leaned into his touch, the warmth of him the only thing that felt real. They moved with a desperate, clumsy grace, shedding their robes until they were bare in the dark. The air was cool on her skin, but his body was a furnace where she touched him. Draconia pulled him down, her hands finding the hard planes of his chest, her fingers tracing the muscle of his shoulders.
Harry gripped her hips, pulling her onto his lap so her thighs straddled his waist. He leaned forward, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her neck, and Draconia let out a low moan that she tried to swallow. She wanted him inside her, wanted the blunt reality of him to drown out the looming-shadow of her father. He reached down, his hand sliding between their bodies to find her wetness.
"You are so ready," he muttered against her skin, his thumb rubbing circles over her clitoris.
"Fuck me," she breathed, her head falling back. "Just fuck me, Harry."
He lifted her slightly, guiding his cock into her hand. He was thick and hot, and she wrapped her fingers around his length, feeling the pulse of him. He guided himself toward her cunt, the slickness of her arousal making the entry easy. He pushed inside her with one long, heavy thrust, and Draconia gasped as he filled her. The sensation was overwhelming, a blunt, heavy fullness that made her eyes water.
He began to fuck her with a steady, driving rhythm. Each time he pushed forward, his cock hit her cervix, and she felt the impact in her very bones. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him. His skin was slick with sweat as he moved, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the small space between them.
"Harder," she whispered, her nails digging into his back. "Don't be gentle."
Harry groaned, his pace quickening as he drove himself into her. He gripped her thighs, tilting her pelvis up to meet his thrusts. He was fucking her fast now, his movements frantic and powerful. He hit the sensitive spot inside her again and again, and Draconia felt the tension building in her gut. Her pussy clutched at him, the muscles pulsing around his cock as she neared the edge.
"I'm close," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Harry, please."
He leaned up, his mouth crashing against hers, his tongue tangling with hers as he drove into her one last time with a violent, deep thrust. Draconia felt her orgasm shatter through her, a violent, rhythmic contraction of her cunt that gripped his cock tight. She cried out, her body arching as the heat flooded her. Harry followed her a moment later, his body stiffening as he came, his hot cum filling her as he gave a final, deep lunge. He collapsed against her, his breath coming in heavy, jagged gulps, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together in the dark.
They lay in the aftermath, the silence of the dormitory returning to claim them. The intimacy was a heavy, tangible thing, a secret kept in the dark. Draconia felt a profound sense of exhaustion, a beautiful, aching emptiness. She felt the weight of the year, the weight of her name, and for a moment, she felt entirely herself.
The morning came too quickly, the light of the sun a cruel reminder of the world outside. Draconia sat at the long table in the Great Hall, her movements stiff. She had worn a heavier cloak than usual to hide the slight ache in her hips. The chatter of the other students felt loud and intrusive, a frantic buzz of a world about to change.
Her father sat at the head of the table, his presence a cold, sharp point in the room. He looked impeccable, his robes perfectly pressed, his expression unreadable. He watched the room with the eyes of a man who expected to see exactly what he had cultivated. Draconia felt the gaze of the entire table, the unspoken scrutiny of her house.
She looked at Harry, who was sitting a few seats down, looking pale and tired but remarkably composed. He caught her eye and gave a small, nearly invisible nod. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and forced them back. She would not be the girl who crumbled under the weight of expectation.
"The breakfast is quite good today, is it not?" Lucius asked, his voice cutting through the morning din. He turned his gaze to her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You seem distracted, Draconia."
The table went quiet, the surrounding students tilting their heads to listen. Draconia felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but she kept her spine straight. She picked up her silver spoon, the metal cool and familiar in her hand.
"I am merely thinking of the journey, Father," she said, her voice clear and steady.
"A Malfoy does not dwell on the journey," he replied, a thin smile touching his lips. "A Malfoy focuses on the destination."
She looked down at her plate, the perfection of the setting feeling suffocating. She thought of the warmth of the dormitory, the blunt reality of him, and the way she had felt entirely unmoored and entirely whole. She raised her chin, meeting his gaze with a defiance she had spent a lifetime perfecting.
"My father will hear about this!" she said, the words coming out with a sharpness that startled her. She used the line on him at breakfast in front of everybody and the whole table heard her voice shake on *father*.