The trophy room felt smaller than it had the night before. Harry stood by the display cases, his fingers tracing the edge of a silver goblet, but his eyes were fixed on the door. He was waiting for her to arrive, waiting to see if she would actually show up after the wreckage of their last encounter. The air in the room was not heavy, but the stillness felt intentional, as if the very objects were holding their breath. When the door finally swung open, Harry did not turn immediately. He listened to the rhythmic click of her heels against the stone floor.
Harry turned to see her standing there, looking far too composed for a woman who had just surrendered a truth she could never take back. She wore her robes with a sharp, defensive precision. Her face was a mask of marble, and he knew she was attempting to rebuild the walls she had allowed him to scale. She walked toward him, her movements stiff, and stopped just short of his personal space.
"I have decided the terms for this term," she said, her voice level and devoid of the tremor he expected. "We will not speak of the previous night. We will not speak of the truth. We will treat this as a transaction of convenience. You will come to my room, we will perform the drills, and we will leave without a word of sentiment."
Harry let out a short, huffing sound that was almost a laugh. "You are trying to rewrite the ending before the chapter is even finished."
"It is not a rewrite if it is the new rule," she countered, her chin lifting. "I am setting the boundaries. You are to be a guest, not a permanent fixture in my thoughts."
"You think you can dictate the way we exist together," he said, stepping closer to her. "You think you can make this a transaction again, as if you can simply bill me for the time we spend in bed."
"Is it not a transaction?" she asked, and the question was a blade. "You provide the distraction, and I provide the company. It is efficient."
"It is a lie," he said, his voice dropping. "You are trying to end it on your terms, but you are doing it badly, Draconia."
She did not flinch at the use of her name. "I am not ending anything. I am simply revising the contract. We will see each other tonight, and we will keep the conversation strictly to the physical."
"And if I refuse to follow your revised contract?" he asked, watching her eyes.
"Then you are a poor student of the lesson," she said, and turned to leave.
The meeting in her dormitory was a desperate, clumsy thing. She had intended to be cold, to be the mistress of her own skin, but the moment he crossed the threshold of her room, the facade crumbled. She did not even have time to finish her sentence about the necessity of silence before he had her pushed back against the heavy oak of her bedpost. Her hands went to his wrists, a familiar habit, but there was no discipline in her touch this time.
"You said we would be efficient," Harry murmured, his mouth hovering just above hers.
"I was wrong," she breathed, the admission escaping her before she could catch it.
He did not wait for her to correct herself. He reached down and bunched the fabric of her skirts, pulling them up until her knickers were a discarded heap on the floor. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and drove his cock into her with a single, punishing thrust. She gasped, her head falling back as his cock filled her pussy. The sensation was too much, too blunt to be polite. He was not being a gentleman, and she was not being a statue.
"Fuck," she hissed, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.
Harry groaned, his teeth grazing her earlobe as he began to pump into her. He pulled out almost entirely before driving back in, his cock sliding against the wet walls of her cunt. He was thick and hot, and the friction was driving her to the brink of madness. He moved with a frantic, hungry rhythm, his pelvis slapping against her arse with a wet, rhythmic sound. Every time he thrust, her vision blurred, and the "transaction" she had promised felt like a heavy, golden weight in her chest.
"Is this efficient enough for you?" he asked, his breath hot against her neck.
He shifted his weight, pinning her more firmly against the wood. He reached down, his hand finding her clitoris, rubbing the sensitive nub with his thumb as he continued to fuck her. The sensation was exquisite and brutal. She felt her muscles clench around his cock, trying to pull more of him inside. He was a solid, unyielding force, and she felt small beneath him, though she refused to feel diminished.
"Don't stop," she commanded, her voice breaking. "Just... keep fucking me."
He obeyed, his movements becoming more violent as he approached his climax. He pulled his hand away from her p itself to grab her hair, tilting her head back so he could see the way her eyes rolled back in her head. He plunged into her, his cock hitting the back of her cervix with enough force to make her cry out. He was relentless, his thrusts long and deep, filling her entirely. He watched the way her skin flushed, the way her pussy gripped his cock with every frantic lunge.
"Tell me the truth," he demanded, his voice a low grow enough to vibrate in her bones. "Tell me this is just a drill."
"It is a drill," she lied, her hips rising to meet him as she felt the first waves of an orgasm beginning to roll through her. "It is... oh, god, Harry, fuck me harder."
He obliged, his pace becoming a blur of motion. He was fucking her with a desperate hunger, his cock sliding in and out of her soaking wet cunt, the sound of their joining filling the room. He felt her walls pulse around him, the rhythmic contractions of her orgasm squeezing his cock. He felt himself reaching the edge, the tension in his lower abdomen tightening until it was an ache. He drove into her one last time, a deep, bruising thrust that seemed to reach the very bottom of her.
"I'm coming," she gasped, her body shaking as she came, the heat of it flooding her insides.
He followed her almost immediately, his cock twitching inside her as he spilled his cum into her. He felt the hot, thick liquid erupting from him, filling her pussy and spilling out onto the sheets. He stayed inside her, his chest heaving as he leaned his forehead against her shoulder. They stayed there for a long time, the only sound the ragged, uneven rhythm of their breathing. The silence that followed was not the polite silence she had demanded; it was the heavy, messy silence of two people who had said too much without speaking a word.
She waited for the moment to pass. She waited for the feeling of vulnerability to recede so she could reclaim her dignity. She looked at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the carved wood, waiting for the strength to stand up and tell him that the session was over.
"That was... acceptable," she said, her voice regaining its edge, though it was still shaky. "The terms are set. We will continue like this. No more talking about the... the feelings. Just the act."
She looked at him, her eyes searching his for a sign of victory or perhaps a sign of pity. She wanted him to agree, to accept the new, safer boundaries she had laid out for them.
Harry looked up at her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light of the dormitory. He did not move to cover himself, and he did not move to leave.
"No," he said.
She stayed anyway, and did not explain.