The sun sat heavy and bright above the Black Lake, turning the water into a sheet of hammered gold. Draconia watched the light dance across the surface from her position on the grass, her stomach still tight from the humiliation of the lunch hour. The crowd of students had drifted away toward the castle, leaving only the distant sounds of shouting and the occasional splash of a giant squid tentacle. Harry sat a few feet away, his back to her, looking like a man who had been thoroughly gutted and was waiting for the blood to dry. She felt the urge to say something sharp to mend the tear in her pride, but the silence was a wall she could not climb.
"You're staring," Harry said, not turning around.
"I am observing," Draconia replied, smoothing her skirts. "There is a difference."
"You're staring at the back of my head like you want to hex it."
"Perhaps the idea is appealing," she said, tilting her head back to look at the sky.
He turned then, moving to sit closer to her, his knees digging into the soft turf. His hair was a mess, damp with sweat from the heat, and his glasses were crooked on his face. He looked exhausted, not just physically, but in a way that seemed to settle in his bones. He did not look at her with the anger she expected; he looked at her with a tired sort of recognition.
"You were mean today," he said, his voice low and devoid of any heat.
"I was honest," she countered, though her heart gave a small, traitorous thud. "The truth is often unkind."
"It wasn't just the truth, Draconia. You laughed at me. You laughed like it was a joke to be a person."
"It was a joke. You looked ridiculous."
"I didn't even fight you. That's what's bothering me."
"Because you've run out of things to say," she said, leaning back on her elbows.
The grass felt cool against her skin despite the warmth of the afternoon. She closed her eyes, letting the sun bake her face, trying to pretend that the hollow feeling in her chest was just the wind. She heard him move, the rustle of his robes against the grass, and then the weight of him was beside her. He was breathing steadily, a rhythmic sound that seemed to anchor her to the earth.
"Are you going to do it again?" he asked. "The badge thing. Are you going to use it to make things easier for yourself?"
"It's a tool, Harry. One uses the tools they are given."
"It's a weapon. You're using it as a weapon."
"And you're acting like a victim."
"I am not a victim. I just don't want to be a project."
"Then stop being so easy to fix."
He reached out, his hand hovering near her waist before he pulled it back, as if he had changed his mind. The tension between them was not the sharp, stinging kind from the Great Hall, but something thicker and more suffocating. Draconia opened her eyes to find him watching her mouth. The sunlight caught the gold in his eyes, and for a moment, the silence felt like it was pressing against her lungs.
"You're being a prat," he whispered, leaning in closer until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"And you're being predictable," she said, her voice trembling just enough to betray her.
He moved suddenly, his hand sliding from the grass to the small of her back, pulling her toward him. Draconia let out a small gasp as his lips crashed against hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was hungry and desperate, tasting of salt and the sun. She reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until her chest pressed against his.
He groaned into her mouth, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her teeth. He shifted, his weight pressing her down into the grass, and Draconia felt the friction of his trousers against her thighs. He pulled back for a second, his eyes dark and wild.
"Is this a joke to you too?" he muttered, his hand sliding up under her shirt to find the bare skin of her ribs.
"Shut up," she breathed, pulling his head back down.
He fumbled with the fastening of her robes, his fingers clumsy in his haste. When his hand found the hem of her knickers, Draconia felt a jolt of electricity strike her spine. He pushed the fabric aside, his fingers searching for her cunt. He found her wet and ready, his middle finger sliding into her heat. She arched her back, her head hitting the turf as he began to fuck her with his fingers, driving deep into her pussy.
"Harry," she gasped, her eyes snapping shut.
"Look at me," he commanded, but she refused. She wanted the sun, the heat, and the feeling of him inside her.
He stripped his trousers down, his cock springing free, thick and pulsing in the bright daylight. He gripped her hips, lifting her slightly so he could guide himself to her opening. He pushed the head of his cock against her clitoris, rubbing the sensitive skin before sliding the length of him into her wet pussy. Draconia let out a jagged cry, her thighs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.
He began to fuck her in earnest, his thrusts heavy and blunt. The sound of skin hitting skin was loud in the open air, a wet, rhythmic slapping that made her blood boil. He moved with a primal rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of her cunt, stretching her wide. Every time he bottomed out, he hit her cervix, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body.
"You're so tight," he grunted, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
"Don't stop," she begged, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back.
He increased the pace, his hips slamming against hers with bruising force. He was fucking her hard, his cock sliding through her juices with a squelching sound that made her feel primal and unrefined. She felt the build of an orgasm, a tension in her lower belly that grew until it was unbearable. She felt his cock twitch inside her, the head of it rubbing against her most sensitive spots, and then he let out a choked sound. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as he could, and she felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum hitting the back of her womb.
The sensation of his cum filling her pussy made her lose control, her own orgasm crashing over her in waves of white heat. She clutched at him, her nails marking his skin as her muscles clamped tight around his cock. They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together in the grass, the sun still beating down on them.
"There," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Nobody is watching."
Draconia opened her eyes to the blinding sun, the grass staining her skin, and she knew she would spend three chapters claiming it didn't happen.