The rain fell in heavy, grey sheets that turned the Quidditch pitch into a sodden mess of mud and grass. Draconia watched the water pool in the hollows of the ground, feeling the chill of the damp air seep through her thick woollen robes. She walked toward the small wooden structure at the edge of the pitch, her boots splashing through the muck. The broom shed stood lonely in the deluge, a dark shape against the blurred landscape of the Highlands. She reached the heavy timber door and found it lacked a proper latch, swinging slightly on its hinges in the wind.
Harry was already there, leaning against the interior wall of the shed. He looked up as she entered, his hair plastered to his forehead and his eyes bright with a frantic, restless energy. He was breathing hard, his lungs working to pull in the cold, wet air. His green eyes traced the line of her jaw as she stepped into his space. The smell of wet earth and damp wool filled the small room.
"You're late," Harry said, his voice a low rasp that cut through the sound of the rain drumming on the roof.
"I am exactly on time," Draconia replied, stepping closer until her chest nearly touched his. "You simply arrived too early."
He reached out to grab her waist, his hands rough and cold. Draconia did not pull away; instead, she leaned into him, her hands coming up to find the heavy fabric of his collar. She gripped the damp material of his robes, her knuckles white as she pulled him down toward her. The friction of their bodies was a sudden, sharp heat in the middle of the storm.
"You always have to be right," he muttered, his breath hot against her cheek.
"I am always right," she whispered back, her fingers tightening in his collar.
He groaned, a low sound in his throat, and shoved her back against the timber wall. The impact jarred her, but the sensation of his weight pressing against her pelvis made her breath hitch. He fumbled with the fastenings of her robes, his fingers clumsy from the cold. He pulled the heavy fabric aside, exposing her skin to the damp, unheated air of the shed.
Harry moved lower, his hands sliding down to the hem of her knickers. He stripped the damp fabric down her legs, leaving her naked and shivering in the dim light. He knelt on the muddy floor, his knees soaking up the wetness, and pressed his face against her thighs. Draconia gasped as his tongue found her, the warmth of his mouth a violent contrast to the chill of the room. He licked her cunt with long, wet strokes, his tongue circling her clitoris until she was arching her back against the wood.
"Harry, please," she breathed, her fingers tangaching in his wet hair.
He did not slow down. He pushed two fingers deep into her pussy, stretching her while his tongue worked the sensitive nub of her flesh. The sensation was an ache, a sharp, pulsing need that made her hips jerk rhythmly against his mouth. He sucked on her clit, and she felt her muscles clench around his fingers as she neared a peak. He pulled his fingers out and stood up, his trousers already discarded at his ankles.
His cock was thick and red, pulsing with his heartbeat as he leaned back in to find her mouth. Draconia reached for him, her hands wrapping around the warm, hard length of his shaft. She guided him toward her face, her eyes never leaving his. She took the head of his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the rim. She sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the length of him deep into her throat. He groaned, a gutted sound of pure want, and gripped her shoulders to steady himself.
She worked him with a desperate hunger, her teeth grazing the underside of his shaft as she moved her head up and down. The taste of him was salt and heat, a heady distraction from the rain crashing outside. He pulled her head back, his hands sliding to her hips to guide her rhythm. He wanted to be inside her, but he stayed on his knees, watching her mouth work his cock.
"Do it," he commanded, his voice breaking. "Draconia, fuck, just take it."
She pulled away, her lips glistening with his pre-cum, and stood up to face him. She didn't wait for him to move; she grabbed his cock and shoved it toward her entrance. She lowered herself onto him, her pussy stretching to accommodate the width of him. The sensation of his cock sliding into her was a blunt, heavy fullness that made her eyes roll back in her head. She began to ride him, her hips moving in wide, circular motions that forced him deeper into her womb.
The friction was intense. Every time she sank down, she felt the hard weight of his pubic bone hitting her. The sound of their skin slapping together was loud in the small shed, a rhythmic, wet thudding that competed with the rain. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the damp wool of his robes. He watched her, his expression one of intense, focused hunger, his eyes tracking the way her breasts bounced with every heavy thrust.
"You love this," she accused him, her voice a jagged edge of a moan. "You love being the one who gets to watch."
"I love you being the one who takes it," he countered, his hands sliding down to squeeze her ass.
He reached up, pulling her hips down harder so she would lunge onto him with more force. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through her spine. She felt the slickness of her own juices coating his shaft, making the friction even more intense. She leaned forward, her hair falling over her face in damp tangles, and began to grind herself against him. She wanted to feel every inch of his length, the way it pulsed against her inner walls.
He flipped her over, his hands moving to her waist to turn her around. He pushed her down toward the floor, her chest pressing against the damp wood. He entered her from behind, his cock sliding into her wet, gaping pussy with a heavy lunge. He began to fuck her with a frantic, driving pace, his hips hitting her hard. The sensation of him filling her from behind was a different kind of heat, a primal, driving force that made her vision blur.
"Harder, Harry," she hissed, her hands reaching back to grab at his thighs.
He obliged, his thrusts becoming shorter and more violent. He gripped her hips, his fingers bruising her skin as he drove himself into her. She felt the tip of his cock hitting her cervix, a blunt sensation that made her cry out. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of her was a wet, sliding noise that filled her ears. She felt the tension building in her lower belly, a coil of intense, sharp heat that demanded release.
"Don't stop," he groaned, his breath hot against the back of her neck. "Don't you dare stop."
She leaned back into him, her weight helping him drive deeper. She felt the first waves of her orgasm crashing through her, her pussy clenching around his cock in tight, rhythmic pulses. He felt her squeeze him, and he let out a low, guttural roar. He pushed one last time, burying himself as deep as he could, and his cock pulsed inside her. He felt the hot, thick jets of his cum hitting the walls of her vagina, filling her to the brim.
She felt the warmth of his seed spreading inside her, a heavy, flooding sensation. He slumped forward, his chest heaving against her back, his sweat mixing with the dampness of the shed. She turned in his arms, her face flushed and her eyes bright with the aftermath of the heat. She reached up, her fingers curling into the collar of his damp, ruined robes, pulling his face toward hers to bridge the final, aching gap.
"Don't flatter yourself, Potter" said