The air in the paddock felt colder than the air in the castle, a damp chill that seeped through her robes and settled in her bones. Draconia moved through the tall grass with a frantic sort of grace, her boots catching on uneven ground as she hurried toward the structure at the edge of the grounds. The paddock shed stood like a dark, hulking shape against the twilight, a place of dirt and wood and the smell of dried hay. She did not care if she looked unseemly or if her hair had escaped its pins; the image of the blood on the grass was a stain on her vision that would not wash away.
Searching for him was a desperate, silent errand. She reached the door of the shed and paused, her hand hovering over the rough wood. It was quiet, save for the distant, muffled sounds of the castle, but she knew he was in there. He was alive, though the thought of him being alive was a sharp, jagged thing in her chest. Harry sat on a low wooden crate in the corner, his face pale and streaked with grime, his breathing shallow and uneven. He looked smaller than he had in the light of the afternoon, stripped of the bravado of a seeker and the heat of the game.
"You shouldn't be here," Harry said, his voice cracking as he looked up at her. He tried to straighten his spine, but the movement caused him to wince, a small groan escaping his lips.
"The others are making a fuss," Draconia replied, stepping into the dim light of the shed. She kept her voice level, though her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "They are all in the hospital wing, or talking about the accident, or pretending to be much more devastated than they actually are."
"Are you pretending?" he asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips before the pain took it away again.
"I am being a Malfoy," she said, moving closer until she was standing directly in front of him. "I am being perfectly composed."
"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Harry remarked, his eyes searching hers.
"I have seen something much worse than a ghost," she snapped, the words out before she could weigh them. She wanted to tell him that she had been terrified; she wanted to tell him that the sight of him falling, of the bird's talon striking him, had made her feel as though the world was tilting on its axis. She wanted to say that she loved the way he looked when he was winning, and that she hated the way he looked when he was broken.
"You came to tell me something," he said, his gaze intense and unwavering. "You've been staring at me for three days since the accident, and you haven't said a word. Just say it, Draconia."
"I came to say that you are a fool," she said, the lie sliding easily off her tongue. "A brave, reckless, absolute fool."
"Is that all?" he asked, his voice dropping an a lower register.
"That is all," she lied again, though the words felt heavy and useless in the air. She reached out, her fingers brushing the sleeve of his shirt, and the contact felt like a spark hitting dry tinder.
The tension snapped with a sudden, violent efficiency. Harry reached out, grabbing her waist and pulling her down toward him, and Draconia did not resist as he hauled her onto his lap. The movement was clumsy, a collision of limbs and heavy breathing, as he pressed her back against the wooden-ribbed wall of the shed. Her breath hitched when his mouth found hers, a hard, bruising kiss that tasted of salt and exertion.
"Draconia," he groaned against her lips, and the way he said her name made her stomach coil.
He fumbled with the fasten than her robes, his hands shaking as he worked the fastenings of her clothes. He pulled her tunic up, his palms hot against her skin, and then he unbuttoned his own shirt to expose his chest. The friction of their bodies was a frantic, desperate thing. He knelt between her thighs, pulling her knickers down past her hips with a single, forceful tug.
"Harry, wait," she whispered, though she was already arching her back to meet him.
"Don't tell me to wait," he muttered, his fingers finding her wetness. He pushed his thumb into her slit, rubbing the soft flesh of her cunt until she let out a sharp, jagged gasp. He leaned forward, his face dipping low to bury his nose in the curve of her neck, and his tongue licked at the sensitive skin there.
He pulled his trousers down, freeing his cock, which was already thick and pulsing with heat. Draconia reached down, her fingers wrapping around the length of him, feeling the velvet skin and the hard vein that ran up the shaft. She guided him to her opening, and as he pushed his head into her, she felt her walls stretch to accommodate him.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word a blunt, heavy sound in the small space. He drove himself deep into her pussy, his cock sliding through her juices with a wet, slapping sound. Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, wanting to feel the very base of him hitting her.
He began to fuck her with a rhythmic, desperate force, his hips slamming against her pelvis. The sound of their bodies meeting was loud in the quiet shed, a repetitive, fleshy thud that echoed against the wood. He was moving too fast, his thrusts jagged and unrefined, driven by a hunger that seemed to consume him. Draconia gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he drove his cock into her over and over.
"Harder," she gasped, her head tossing back against the wall. "Just fuck me, Harry."
He didn't slow down; he only grew more frantic. He pulled out nearly all the way, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance, before plunging back in with a heavy, gut-wrenching shove. Every time he hit her, she felt the sensation flare in the pit of her stomach, a white-hot heat that made her vision blur. He was sweating, his skin slick against hers, and the scent of him filled her senses. He leaned down to bite at her shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin, as he continued to hammer into her cunt.
The friction was intense, the blunt sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her making her muscles twitch and spasm. She felt her own climax building, a tension that was as sharp as the pain he had endured on the grass. She reached down, her fingers finding her clitoris, rubbing it vigorously as he continued to fuck her. He caught her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, and then he plunged himself into her one last time, a long, deep thrust that seemed to reach her very soul.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound of triumph and exhaustion, as he began to come. His cock pulsed inside her, and she felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum filling her pussy. She cried out, her body shaking with the force of her own release, as the two of them collapsed against one another in the dark. It was a collision of heat and friction, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between them through the only language they knew. It was explicit, fast, and over before either of them was ready.