The stone of the Astronomy Tower felt cold against her palms, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Harry Potter. They had climbed the stairs in a silence that was not empty but full of everything they had not said since the Quidditch pitch. Red sparks still drifted through the air from their last argument, the remnants of a spell that had gone wide and jagged. The war was a looming, heavy thing, a pressure that sat on the castle walls, yet here they were, caught in the tension of the present. Harry stood a few feet away, his breathing heavy and visible in the chill night air.
"You are still angry," Harry said, stepping closer to her. He looked tired, his eyes dark and focused on her face.
"I am not angry, Harry, I am merely finished with the talking," she replied, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs.
He moved into her space, his presence a physical weight that she could not ignore. The wind whipped a strand of hair across her face, but she did not reach up to move it. Harry reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek as he tucked the hair behind her ear. His touch was hot, and she felt the prickle of sensation trail down her neck.
"You think you can just walk away from a wager," Harry muttered, his thumb catching on her jawline.
"I did not walk away, I simply finished the race," she countered, tilting her head back to meet his stare.
He leaned down, his lips hovering just above hers, and the friction of his skin against hers made her ache. He did not wait for her to bridge the gap. Harry shoved his mouth against hers, a hungry, desperate collision that tasted of salt and desperation. She gripped the front of his robes, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. The stone wall at her back was freezing, but her skin felt like it was burning.
Harry moved his hands down to her waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down her throat. He found the sensitive dip of her collarbone and bit down, and she let out a low, broken sound. He moved lower, his hands working at the fastenings of her clothes with a frantic, uncoordinated speed. He pulled her skirt up, his palms sliding over her thighs, and she felt the friction of his skin against her bare legs.
"Harry, here?" she whispered, her breath hitching as he pushed her skirt up to her waist.
"Yes, here, anywhere," Harry growled, his voice a low vibration against her skin.
He knelt before her, his hands gripping her hips to pull her to the edge of a stone plinth. He pushed her knickers down, his fingers tracing the wetness of her cunt. She was already slick, her pussy aching for the pressure of him. Harry watched her, his eyes intense and focused, as he used his thumbs to spread her lips. He leaned forward, his tongue lashing against her clitoris, and she cried out, her head falling back against the cold stone.
"Fuck, you are so wet," Harry breathed, looking up at her with a desperate sort of hunger.
He slid two fingers into her pussy, stretching her wide as he worked his way deeper. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him into the heat of her. He moved his fingers in a rhythm that drove her to the brink, his knuckles grazing her sensitive flesh. She could feel the way his cock throbbed in his trousers, a hard, heavy weight that she wanted to feel inside her.
Harry stood up, his movements frantic as he stripped his trousers and kicked them aside. His cock was thick and red-veined, springing free from his skin as he gripped himself. He guided the head of his cock to her opening, rubbing the tip of his member against her wet slit. She reached down, her fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft, feeling the heat and the pulse of him.
"Put it in," she commanded, her voice a ragged edge of a plea.
Harry thrust forward, his cock sliding into her pussy in one long, heavy motion. She gasped as he filled her, the girth of him stretching her tight. He began to fuck her, his hips slamming against hers with a blunt, rhythmic force. Each stroke was deep and punishing, driving the air from her lungs. He gripped her hips with bruising strength, his fingers sinking into her skin as he drove himself into her cunt.
"You like that, don't you?" Harry asked, his voice thick with lust. He pulled out almost entirely before plunging back in, the sound of their wet skin slapping together echoing in the high chamber.
"Yes, fuck, Harry, yes," she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.
The sensation was overwhelming, a blunt, heavy friction that made her feel as though she might break. He moved faster, his thrusts becoming shorter and more violent. He leaned forward, pinning her against the stone, his chest pressing against her breasts. She could feel the sweat on his skin, the heat of his body, and the way his cock felt as it slid in and out of her. He hit her deep, his cock bumping against her cervix, and she felt the first wave of her orgasm building in her gut.
"Tell me," Harry groaned, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he hammered into her. "Tell me who you are."
She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his muscles as the tension in her presses reached a breaking point. She felt the wetness of her own juices coating his shaft, the slickness of their combined sweat. He gave one final, massive thrust, his cock bottoming out in her pussy, and she felt the world shatter. Her walls clamped around him, pulsing in a desperate, rhythmic squeeze that pulled him deeper into her.
"Harry!" she screamed, her voice cracking as the orgasm tore through her.
He groaned her name, his entire body tensing as he reached his own peak. He thrust into her one last time, his hips shuddering as he came inside her. She felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum filling her, the warmth of it spreading through her cunt as he collapsed against her. They stayed there for a long time, the only sound the heavy, uneven beat of their breathing and the distant wind.
The red sparks from their earlier magic seemed to shimmer in the air above them, a dying glow against the dark sky. She felt the dampness of his cum leaking from her, a messy, perfect end to the tension of the term. She opened her eyes, looking at the man who had finally broken her composure.
"Harry," she whispered, the name a soft, final thing in the dark.