The Room of Requirement had provided exactly what they needed, which was a single, heavy wooden table and two high-backed chairs in the middle of a vast, empty floor. Draconia stood by the edge of the light, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood. Harry was sitting in one of the chairs, his shoulders hunched as he stared at his hands. The silence between them was not comfortable, but it was no longer jagged like it had been in the tower. They had spent the last hour shouting, throwing the truth at one another until the air felt bruised. He had told her he did not want her protection, and she had told him that his pride was a ridiculous, lonely thing.
"You can stop looking at the floor now," Draconia said, her voice steady despite the way her pulse hammered in her throat. "The floor is not going to jump up and bite you."
Harry lifted his head, his green eyes dark and tired. "I am not afraid of the floor, Malfoy. I am just tired of pretending that everything is fine."
"Everything is never fine," she replied, moving toward the table. She sat opposite him, refusing to let him see the tremble in her hands. "We are seventeen, not children. We do not need to pretend to be fine. We can just be miserable if that is what the mood requires."
"It is not just misery," Harry said, leaning forward until he was nearly in her space. "It is the way you look at me, as if you are constantly calculating the cost of everything you do. Do you calculate the cost of this? The cost of being in a room with me?"
"The cost is high," she admitted, her voice dropping. "But you are the one who refuses to pay it. You want the help, but you want to pretend you did not ask for it."
"I did not ask for a Malfoy to save me," he snapped, the old heat returning to his eyes. "I did not ask for a badge to dictate who is right and who is wrong in a corridor."
"Nobody asked for your opinion on how to be saved," she countered, her jaw tightening. "But you are here, and you are angry, and you are the only person in this castle who is actually honest about how much it hurts to be alive right now."
Harry reached out, his hand skidding across the wood to grip the edge of the table. "You are being mean. You are being intentionally cruel because you know it is the only way to get a reaction out of me."
"It is not cruelty if it is the truth," she said, standing up to face him.
He stood too, his height forcing her to tilt her head back. The tension in the room changed, shifting from the sharp edges of an argument to the heavy, undeniable pull of skin and heat. He reached out, his fingers catching the fabric of her robes, pulling her flush against his chest. He did not kiss her with sweetness; he kissed her with a desperate, bruising hunger that tasted of frustration and long-held breaths.
Draconia gasped as his mouth moved to her neck, his stubble scraping against her skin. She reached down, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers, desperate to feel him. She pushed his clothes aside, her hands finding his cock, which was already hard and pulsing in her grip. She heard him groan, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her own chest.
"Fuck," Harry breathed, his voice a rough command. He lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he sat her on the edge of the wooden table.
He shoved her skirt up, the silk sliding over her thighs until her knickers were bunched around her hips. He moved his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her wetness. He pushed two fingers into her pussy, stretching the tight, aching entrance of her cunt. Draconia threw her head back, her eyes snapping shut as he began to fuck her with his fingers, his movements rhythmic and blunt.
"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice cracking as he drove his fingers deeper into her. "Tell me you are not just doing this to be kind."
"I am not being kind," she hissed, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I am being selfish. I want this fucking cunt, Harry. I want you."
He pulled his hand away and unfastened his own trousers, freeing his thick, heavy cock. He positioned the head of it against her clitoris, rubbing the tip against her wetness until she was shaking. Then, with one heavy lunge, he drove himself inside her. Draconia let out a sharp cry as he filled her, the sensation of his cock stretching her wide and deep.
"God, you are so tight," Harry groaned, his face burying in the crook of her neck. He began to thrust, his hips hitting her pubic bone with a loud, wet slap. He fucked her with a desperate intensity, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy, coating her thighs in her own moisture and his pre-cum.
He pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, the friction of his cock against her walls driving her toward the edge. Draconia felt the pressure building, a heavy, throbbing weight in her lower belly. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting the ache to break.
"Harder," she commanded, her voice a broken rasp. "Don't be soft. Not now."
Harry obeyed, his thrusts becoming faster and more violent. He gripped her hips, his thumbs bruising the skin as he drove his cock into her cunt over and over. He was fucking her with a raw, unpolished hunger, ignoring the way her breath hitched every time he hit her cervix. He was not a gentleman, and she did not want him to be.
"I love how much you want it," he gasped, his breath hot against her ear. "I love how much you need this."
He increased the pace, his cock sliding in and out of her with a rhythmic, squelching sound. Draconia felt her orgasm approaching, the tension in her muscles reaching a breaking point. She watched him, seeing the way his jaw was clenched and the way his eyes were blown wide with lust. He looked feral, stripped of the boy who carried the weight of the world.
"I'm close," she choked out, her voice trembling. "Harry, please."
He let out a roar, his body tensing as he drove himself into her one last time, staying deep inside her as his cock began to pulse. He came hard, his cum jetting into her, a hot, thick flood that filled her pussy to the brim. At the same moment, Draconia felt her own walls contract around him, her climax hitting her in a wave of intense, blinding heat that left her gasping for air.
They stayed there for a long time, the only sound the heavy, ragged rhythm of their breathing. He stayed inside her, his forehead resting against hers, as the warmth of his cum began to trickle down her thigh. The honesty of the moment was stripped of all pretenses; there was no way to hide the mess or the hunger.
She looked up at him, her eyes bright and glazed, and whispered the truth she would never admit to the rest of the world.
"I love you," she said.