The Slytherin dormitory felt smaller than usual tonight because of the frantic energy vibrating in the air. Harry Malfoy was waiting for her, and the weight of that fact made the silk of her robes feel heavy against her skin. Pansy sat on the edge of her four-poster bed, braiding a piece of ribbon, while Greta lounged near the hearth. The green light from the lake filtered through the high windows, casting a sickly, verdian glow over the emerald-and-silver hangings.
Harry had sent his note through Pansy, a single word that felt like a challenge flung at her throat. *Fine.* It was so simple that it infuriated her, a word that lacked the nuance of his usual posturing. She stood before her tall mirror, staring at the reflection of a girl who was trying far too hard to look as though she did not care. One velvet dress was too heavy, a silk slip too revealing, and a heavy wool skirt too practical. She settled on a simple, dark silk chemise that clung to her curves, layering a loose robe over it so she could shed it easily.
Pansy looked up from her ribbon, her eyes tracking the way Greta’s hands trembled as she picked up a silver hairbrush. "You have been staring at that same lock of hair for ten minutes," Pansy said, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"It is a matter of precision, Pansy," Greta replied, trying to keep her voice level. She brushed the dark strands with more force than necessary. "One does not simply walk into a midnight duel looking as though they slept in a haystack."
"He is a Malfoy, not a judge at a beauty pageant," Pansy enough to say, though she knew that was a lie. "He is just a boy who wants to see if you can actually hit a target."
"He is a boy who thinks he is the centre of the universe," Greta muttered, lacing her boots tighter. She felt the heat in her cheeks and hoped the green light hid the flush.
The dormitory was a flurry of movement as the girls prepared for bed, but Greta felt isolated in her own skin. Every-one else seemed to be moving with an ease she had lost the moment she read his note. She had spent the last hour deciding which version of herself to present to him: the girl who was unimpressed, the girl who was slightly annoyed, or the girl who was completely indifferent. She chose the one that looked most bored, even if her heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She waited until the others had settled into their beds, the soft sounds of breathing filling the room. She did not want to be seen leaving, so she moved with practiced stealth. She slipped into her outer robes, pulling the hood up to hide the meticulous braid she had spent twenty minutes perfecting. She told herself she was leaving early so she could arrive before him, to claim the space and the power of being the first one there. She left early and told herself it was to be there first.
The corridors were cold, the stone floors leaching the warmth from her feet through her shoes. She reached the alcove near the library, a place where the shadows were deep and the corners were sharp. She heard him before she saw him. It was not a loud sound, just the rhythmic, purposeful stride of someone who knew exactly where they were going.
He stepped out from behind a heavy tapestry, his silver-blond hair catching the faint light of a single torch. He looked taller than he had in the Great Hall, his expression unreadable and sharp.
"You are early," Harry said, his voice cutting through the stillness.
"I do not like to be kept waiting," Greta replied, stepping closer until she was in his space.
He reached out, his fingers hooking into the collar of her robe and pulling her forward. He did not wait for a protest. He pressed her back against the cold stone wall, his body a solid, warm weight against her. His mouth crashed onto hers, tasting of mint and something darker, something hungry. He was not gentle; he kissed her with a desperate, bruising force that made her head swim.
He fumbled with the ties of her robes, pushing the fabric down her arms until it pooled at her waist. His hands were hot against her skin, moving up her thighs to find the silk of her knickers. He groaned into her mouth, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in her chest. He bunched the silk up, pushing it aside to reach her damp warmth.
"Harry," she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Shut up," he muttered, his voice thick. He slid two fingers into her pussy, finding her slick and ready. He began to pump his fingers inside her, stretching the tight walls of her cunt. Greta arched her back, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps as he worked her. He withdrew his hand and reached for his trousers, his movements frantic and clumsy. He freed his cock, the length of it heavy and pulsing in the dim light.
He knelt before her, parting her legs wide. He took his thumb and rubbed it over her clitoris, circling the sensitive nub of flesh before sliding a finger deep inside her wet, tight pussy. He watched her face, watching the way her eyes rolled back as he fucked her with his fingers. He leaned forward, burying his face in her stomach, his breath hot against her skin.
Then, he positioned the head of his cock at her opening. He pushed forward, the thick head of his member stretching her wide as he slid inside her. Greta let out a sharp cry, her hands clutching his hair as he drove himself into her. He was huge, filling her completely, the friction of his cock against her vaginal walls sending jolting shocks of pleasure through her entire body.
"Fuck, Greta," he hissed, his teeth grazing her neck. He began to thrust, his hips slamming against her pelvis with a rhythmic, wet sound. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy filled the alcove, a rhythmic slapping of skin on skin. He was hard and relentless, driving into her with a strength that made the stone wall feel like it was swaying.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. She wanted to feel every inch of him. She wanted the ache of him filling her. He reached down, his hand finding her clitoris again, rubbing the swollen bud as he fucked her. The sensation was too much; she felt the coil of pleasure tightening until it snapped. Her walls spasmed around his cock, milking him as she came, her orgasm a violent, pulsing thing that made her vision blur.
Harry felt her squeeze him, and his control broke. He thrust one last time, burying his cock to the base inside her pussy. He let out a low roar, his body stiffening as he came. She felt the hot, thick jets of his cum hitting the back of her cervix, filling her with his heat. He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, his chest heaving against hers, the scent of sex and heavy breathing the only thing in the world.
He pulled back slowly, the sensation of his cock sliding out of her wet, dripping cunt making her moan. He looked at her, his eyes dark and blown wide with lust. He reached up, brushing a stray hair from her face, his touch suddenly tender.
"You are a menace," he whispered, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"And you are late," she countered, though her voice was nothing but a breathless whisper.