The silver and green pin sat in the bottom of her mahogany drawer, tucked beneath a stack of silk scarves and a heavy ledger. Draconia moved the fabric aside with a single, sharp finger, ensuring the metal remained hidden from sight. She did not need to see it to know it was there. The badge felt like a weight in her mind, a jagged thing that had carved a hollow space in her chest. She had spent weeks trying to reconcile the girl who loved him in the dark with the girl who wore the colours of the administration in the light. To love him was to be a traitor to her own name, and to use her name was to betray him.
Her robes felt stiff as she walked through the entrance to the Great Hall. She kept her chin high and her gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to look at the way the other students parted for her. The dining hall was loud with the sound of cutlery hitting plates and the constant murmur of a hundred voices. She found her place at the sixth-year table, sliding into the seat beside Pansy with a practiced, bored grace. The air in the hall felt cooler than the room where she had left her secrets, but the heat in her blood had not entirely faded.
Harry was already there, sitting a few feet away at the Gryffindor table. He looked tired, his hair a mess and his shoulders slumped as he stared into a bowl of porridge. He did not look up when she sat down, and she wondered if he was still holding onto the truth she had whispered in the Room of Requirement. She wanted to scream at him to look at her, to tell him that the "I love you" had been real, but the words felt too heavy to lift. Instead, she watched him, noting the way his hand shook slightly as he gripped his spoon.
A boy from Hufflepuff, a tall, unremarkable student named Cedric who had been staring a little too long at the way Harry’s collar was turned up, leaned toward the Gryffindor table. He was making a comment about Harry’s lack of focus, his voice loud enough to carry over the clatter of the hall. The boy was laughing, a sharp, mocking sound that felt like a needle under Draconia's skin. He was saying something about how the Boy Who Lived looked more like a boy who had lost his way.
"Nobody asked your opinion," Draconia said, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
The table went silent for a heartbeat. Pansy blinked at her, a slow, confused expression spreading across her face. The Hufflepuff boy froze, his mouth still open, looking offended and small all at once. Draconia did not look at Harry, but she felt his head snap up. She felt his eyes on her, wide and startled. She had thrown the line at the stranger, using her status to crush a meaningless insult, and in doing so, she had protected the boy she loved by making herself the villain. He saw the way her eyes flickered toward him, and he knew exactly what she was doing.
The sensation of his gaze was enough to drive her out of the hall. She could not sit there and pretend to eat when the taste of the truth was still in her mouth. She moved through the corridors with a frantic pace, her heart drumming against her ribs, until she found the door to the Room of Requirement. It opened for her as if it had been waiting for her to return to its sanctuary. She did not go to the center of the room, where the soft furniture waited, but to the far corner where the shadows were deepest.
She did not expect him to follow, but he did. The door had barely clicked shut behind him before Harry was there, his breathing heavy and ragged. The silence of the room was a lie; the tension between them was a physical thing that demanded to be broken. He did not wait for her to speak. He crossed the distance in two strides and gripped her waist, pulling her against the hard line of his body.
"You shouldn't have said it," he muttered, his voice a low growl against her ear.
"I said what needed to be said," she replied, her fingers digging into the wool of his robes.
He kissed her then, a hard, punishing kiss that tasted of desperation. He backed her against the stone wall, his hands sliding down to the swell of her hips. He hiked her skirts up, the fabric bunching around her waist as he searched for her skin. Her knickers were already damp, the heat between her legs a throbbing ache that demanded his weight. He tugged the silk down, exposing her wet, pink cunt to the cool air of the room.
"Tell me you didn't mean it," he commanded, his eyes dark and wild.
"I meant everything," she gasped, her head falling back against the stone.
He unfastened his trousers with trembling fingers, his cock springing free, thick and red and pulsing. It looked heavy in the dim light. He gripped his base and pushed forward, the head of his cock rubbing against her clitoris before he drove deep into her. Draconia let out a jagged cry as he filled her, the sensation of his thick shaft stretching her pussy wide. He began to fuck her with a brutal, rhythmic intensity, his hips slamming against hers with a wet, slapping sound.
He drove into her, his cock sliding in and out of her dripping cunt, dragging the heat of her with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting the ache to become a scream. He groaned, a low, animal sound, as he buried himself in her, his pubic bone bruising her skin with every thrust. She felt the friction of his cock against her most sensitive walls, a searing heat that made her vision blur. He was fucking her hard, his movements jagged and unpolished, and she loved the way he took her.
"Say it again," he hissed, his teeth grazing the curve of her neck.
"I love you," she sobbed, the words torn from her lungs as he hit her cervix.
He pulled out nearly all the way, the tip of his cock teasing the edge of her slit, before plunging back in with a force that made her hips jerk upward. He was fucking her like a man possessed, his cock sliding through her cream and her sweat. The sound of his skin hitting her arse was loud in the stillness of the room. She felt the buildup in her gut, a tightening coil of muscle that she could not control. He reached down, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing it hard as he continued to drive his cock into her.
"You're so tight," he gasped, his breath hot against her skin. "Fuck, Draconia, you're so fucking tight."
He accelerated, his thrusts becoming shorter and faster. He was a man starving, and she was the feast. The friction of his cock inside her was a delicious agony, a heat that felt like it would melt her bones. She felt her orgasm building, a frantic, pulsing rhythm that matched the pace of his hips. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying his cock to the hilt, and she felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum hitting her inner walls. He groaned her name, his body shuddering as he came, the white liquid filling her as he continued to pulse inside her.
She collapsed against him, her breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. The sensation of his warm cum leaking from her pussy was a grounding, heavy feeling. They stayed there for a long time, two people clinging to each other in a room that held their truths, while the rest of the world remained blissfully unaware of the mess they had made.