Greta held the parchment between two fingers, feeling the slight grain of the expensive paper. It was a smaller scrap than the first one, but the weight of the words felt heavier. She had not used a name, for names were dangerous things that could be used against a person, and to sign it would be to admit she was waiting for him. She folded the paper once, her movements precise and controlled. The ink was dry, the handwriting a sharp, elegant script that mirrored the jagged edges of her own thoughts.
Pansy sat across from her in the Slytherin common room, watching the way Greta moved. The girl was too still, a stillness that suggested a coiled spring rather than a relaxed body.
"Are you going to send it or just stare at it until the ink fades?" Pansy asked, leaning back in her velvet armchair.
"It is ready," Greta said, tucking the note into a small, plain envelope.
"You are being ridiculous," Pansy said, a small smirk playing on her lips. "You don't even need to sign it. He knows it is you. Only you are this dramatic about a midnight duel."
"It is not drama to be precise," Greta replied, her voice even.
"It is drama to send an unsigned note to a boy who is already halfway convinced you are obsessed with him," Pansy countered.
Greta stood up and walked toward the corner where a prefect was waiting to take the outgoing messages to the owlery. She did not want to look back, but she felt the pull of the room, the way the green light from the lake shimmered through the glass. She handed the note to the prefect, her fingers brushing the boy's sleeve, and felt a sudden, sharp pang of vulnerability. She was not a girl who felt vulnerable; she was a girl who won duels and rewrote histories.
The note arrived in the Gryffindor dormitory, a silent ghost in the night, and by the time the moon reached its zenith, Greta was alone in her own space. The Slytherin dormitory was quiet, the heavy breathing of her housemates a rhythmic, dull sound in the dark. She lay on her back, staring at the canopy of her bed, feeling the ache in her muscles. The memory of the first note, the one he had sent, still sat in her stomach like a stone.
She did not sleep. She could not. The anticipation was a physical thing, a tightness in her chest that refused to loosen. She had sent the second note as a provocation, a test to see if he would actually come to her, or if he was merely a boy who enjoyed the sound of his own footsteps.
The door to the dormitory creaked, a sound so slight that any other girl would have slept through it, but Greta was wide awake. A shadow moved across the floor, a silhouette that did not belong to the girls in the room. It was a shape she knew. She sat up, her breath catching in her throat, and watched as the figure approached her bed.
"You are late," she whispered into the dark.
Harry did not answer immediately. He sat on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He was breathing hard, as if he had run the entire length of the castle to get here.
"You sent a note," he said, his voice a low rasp.
"I sent a message," Greta corrected, reaching out to touch his hand. His skin was warm and slightly damp. "There is a difference."
"The difference is that you are a menace," he said, leaning closer.
He moved with a sudden, hungry grace, pulling her toward him. His mouth found hers, a hard, searching kiss that tasted of salt and heat. Greta gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. She wanted him to be as rough as the world felt. She wanted the bluntness of him to drown out the complicated things she had been telling Pansy.
He pulled her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he stood, carrying her toward the small, shadowed alcove of her bed. He pushed her back against the pillows, his hands sliding under her silk nightgown.
"Fuck, Greta," he groaned, his voice thick. He reached down and fumbled with the waistband of his trousers, his fingers trembling. He pulled his cock out, the length of it dark and heavy in the dim light. He was already hard, the head of his cock glistening with pre-cum.
Greta reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his shaft. The skin was hot and smooth, and she squeezed him, feeling the pulse of his blood beneath her palm. She wanted to feel the weight of him, the reality of him.
"Do you want it?" he asked, his eyes dark and focused on her.
"I want you to fuck me," she said, her voice a command. "Don't be gentle. Don't be polite."
He moved between her thighs, pushing her skirt up to her waist. He found her pussy, his fingers sliding into her wet, swollen cunt. She gasped, her hips jerking upward to meet his touch. He was rubbing his thumb against her clitoris, circling the sensitive nub until she felt a frantic, stinging heat.
"You are so wet," he muttered, leaning down to kiss her neck. He pushed two fingers deep inside her, stretching her tight walls.
"More," she pleaded, her head tossing back. "Put it in."
He guided his cock to her opening, the broad head of him rubbing against her soaking wet slit. He pushed inward, a slow, heavy intrusion that made her breath hitch. He slid the whole length of himself into her, filling her cunt until she felt stretched to the absolute limit.
"God, you're so tight," Harry breathed, his hips starting a rhythmic, driving motion. He began to fuck her, his cock sliding in and out of her with blunt, heavy thuds. Each stroke was a sharp, delicious ache that traveled from her womb to her throat.
Greta wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down so she could feel the friction of his chest against her breasts. He was moving faster now, his thrusts becoming more violent and uncoordinated. He was fucking her hard, his cock hitting her cervix with every deep, lunge. She could hear the wet, slapping sound of his pubic bone hitting her clitoris, a rhythmic, fleshy percussion.
"Harder," she choked out, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Fuck me harder, Harry."
He obliged, his hips snapping forward with a ferocity that made her vision blur. He was a solid, driving force, his cock sliding through her juices with a squelching sound. He felt massive inside her, a hot, pulsing rod that seemed to touch every part of her. She felt the tension building in her lower belly, a tight, aching knot that grew with every one of his thrusts.
He reached down, his hand finding her clitoris even as he continued to pump his cock into her. The double sensation was too much. She felt her cunt clench around him, the walls of her pussy pulsing in rhythmic waves.
"I'm going to cum," she cried, her voice breaking. "Harry, I'm cumming!"
"Do it," he growled, his teeth grazing her shoulder. He gave one last, deep, devastating thrust, burying his cock to the base in her wet, tight cunt.
A massive wave of pleasure crashed over her, her muscles squeezing his cock in a frantic, milking motion. She felt the orgasm tear through her, a violent, beautiful release. A second later, Harry groaned, his body stiffening as he reached his own peak. He thrust into her one last time, a deep, bruising movement, and she felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum filling her. It felt like a warm flood inside her, the liquid heat of him coating the