The wand remained a hard, unyielding point against his skin, a sliver of wood that felt far heavier than its size suggested. Draconia did not move her mouth from his jaw, though she pulled back just enough to let him breathe. Her eyes were dark and predatory, watching the way his pupils dilated in the dim light of the Room of Requirement. She looked as though she might strike him or kiss him, and the distinction between the two seemed to vanish in the heat of her gaze.
"You are shaking, Potter," she murmured, her voice a low scrape of velvet.
"It is not fear," he replied, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to maintain his composure.
"Is it not? You look like a man waiting for a sentence to be passed."
"Maybe I am."
She laughed, a sharp, melodic sound that had no warmth in it. She pressed the tip of her wand harder into his chest, forcing him to lean back against the stone wall. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the wood, and the tension in her arm was a palpable thing. She looked entirely too much like a duellist who had already won, yet her eyes betrayed a frantic sort-of hunger that had nothing to do with victory.
"A duel is a matter of precision," she said, her eyes tracking the movement of his throat as he swallowed. "You must be faster, sharper, and more ruthless than your opponent. If you hesitate, you lose everything."
"And what is the prize?" he asked, his hands reaching out to find her waist, though he did not quite touch her yet.
"The satisfaction of the kill," she said, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips.
She dropped the wand, but she did not let go of it. She kept it in her right hand, the tip still pointed toward his midsection, as she moved closer. The movement was fluid and aggressive. She reached up with her left hand to grab the front of his robes, pulling him downward so that her face was inches from his. The air between them was not thick, but the proximity was a physical weight.
"I am not using a spell, Harry," she whispered, using his name like a weapon. "The wand is just for show. To make you feel vulnerable."
"You have already made me feel vulnerable," he said, his breath hitching as she pressed her body against his.
"Good. A duellist must be stripped of all defences."
She took the wand and guided it down the length of his chest, the wood sliding over his skin before she tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. It was a calculated, deliberate motion. She watched his eyes darken as she moved her hand toward the fastening of his trousers. Her fingers were deft, working the leather fastenings with a practiced ease that suggested she had done this a thousand times in her head.
When his trousers were loosened, she dropped to her knees in front of him. She did not look up, her focus entirely on the hard, pulsing length of his cock that had sprung free from his underwear. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, her thumb stroking the sensitive skin of his glans. He let out a ragged groan, his head falling back against the stone.
"Is this part of the duel?" he asked, his voice strained.
"It is the part where you surrender," she replied, her voice muffled as she leaned forward.
She took the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip before she sucked him deep. The sensation was a violent shock to his system. She was not gentle; she used her teeth to graze the underside of his shaft, a sharp, stinging pressure that made him jerk his hips forward. She worked her mouth over him, her saliva coating the length of his cock as she slid her head up and down. She wanted to master him, to prove that her hunger was more disciplined than his.
She pulled back, the wet sound of her mouth leaving his skin echoing in the quiet room. She looked up at him, her lips glistening with his pre-cum.
"Do you feel defeated yet?" she asked, her eyes bright with a frantic sort of triumph.
"Not quite," he gasped, his hands finding her hair, pulling her back down.
She leaned forward again, her fingers reaching for the hem of her own silk robes. She pushed the fabric up, her hands sliding over her thighs until she reached the edge of her knickers. She pulled them down with a single, sharp tug, exposing her wet, swollen pussy to the cool air of the room. She was already dripping, her juices slicking the hair of her mound. She took his hand and guided it to her, pressing his fingers into her cunt.
"Touch me," she commanded, her voice a low growl. "Show me your magic, Potter."
He slid two fingers into her, his thumb rubbing against her clitoris as he pushed deep into her heat. She was tight and pulsing around him, the walls of her pussy gripping his fingers with desperate strength. He began to move his hand in a rhythmic, driving motion, his fingers curling into her to find the sensitive spot of her g-spot. She arched her back, her head tossing as she let out a sharp, jagged moan.
"Harder," she hissed, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck me with your hands, Harry."
He leaned down, his mouth finding hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue lashing against hers. He pushed his fingers deeper, stretching her wide as he worked his hand in and out of her soaking wet cunt. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of her was wet and rhythmic, a visceral, carnal noise that filled the space between them. She was a mess of heat and friction, her body reacting to every movement of his hand.
She reached for her wand again, her fingers curling around the wood. She did not use a spell; instead, she used the wand to scrape against her own clitoris, the hard wood a sharp, stimulating contrast to the softness of her flesh. She was playing a game of sensation, using the tool of her magic to drive herself toward a precipice.
"Look at me," she demanded, her voice breaking as she felt the pressure building in her lower belly.
He looked, his eyes fixed on her face as she worked the wand against her clitoris. He watched the way her eyes rolled back, the way her lips parted to let out small, broken gasps of air. He began to stroke his cock with his free hand, the friction of his palm against his length building a frantic tension. He was close, the heat in his groin becoming an unbearable ache.
"You are winning," he choked out, his hand moving faster, his thumb rubbing the head of his cock as he drove his fingers into her pussy.
"I am not finished with you," she said, her voice a ragged snarl.
She shoved the wand deep inside her, the wood sliding into her dripping cunt. She gripped the wand with both hands, using the length of it to stretch herself even wider, the hard wood a blunt instrument of pleasure. She began to move the wand in and out of herself, the friction of the wood against her internal walls sending jolts of electricity through her spine. She was a creature of sensation, and she wanted to feel every inch of the friction.
He watched her, his heart hammering against his ribs. He saw the way she used the wand to tease her own opening, the way she drove the wood into her heat until she was shaking. He could not hold back any longer. He gripped his cock, the skin tight and hot, and began to pump his hand with a desperate, driving force.
"Draconia," he breathed, her name a plea.
She didn't stop. She pushed the wand deeper, the wood slick with her juices, as she felt the first swell of her orgasm. She came with a violent shudder, her muscles cl