"Fuck, Daphne," Harry groaned, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arse as he spread her cheeks apart. "You really are perfect, aren't you?"
Daphne whimpered into the leather seat cushion, her face pressed against it as she knelt on the compartment bench, her skirt bunched up around her waist and her thong dangling from one ankle. The Hogwarts Express rattled along the tracks, the gentle swaying of the carriage making her bare arse sway hypnotically before Harry's hungry eyes.
"I hate you," she managed, though it came out muffled and unconvincing, especially given the way she was arching her back and presenting herself like an offering.
"You keep saying that." Harry kneaded her cheeks, watching the way her flesh dimpled under his grip. "And yet here you are."
Here she was indeed. Bent over in their private compartment, her gorgeous arse on full display, her pretty pink cunt glistening between her spread thighs. Harry could see everything. The delicate folds of her pussy, slick with arousal. The tiny pucker of her arsehole, clenching nervously as he spread her wider. The way her whole body trembled with anticipation even as she tried to pretend she wasn't desperate for his touch.
It had been barely twelve hours since he'd fucked her senseless in the Gryffindor common room, and she'd come crawling back for more.
Merlin, Harry thought, running his thumbs along the crease where her arse met her thighs, I knew she would.
He'd known it the moment he'd watched her stumble out of the portrait hole on shaky legs, his cum still leaking out of her and her expression somewhere between horrified and blissfully satisfied. He'd known it when she'd refused to meet his eyes at breakfast, her cheeks flushing every time she shifted in her seat and felt the soreness between her legs. He'd known it when she'd lingered on the platform at Hogsmeade, pretending to search for something in her bag while the other students boarded the train.
Hermione and Ron had been so surprised when Daphne had knocked on their compartment door, her aristocratic features schooled into careful neutrality, and asked to speak with Harry privately.
"About what?" Ron had demanded, ever suspicious of Slytherins.
"Academic matters," Daphne had replied smoothly, not a hint of the previous night's events in her voice. "Potter owes me a... consultation."
Hermione had raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and Harry had followed Daphne down the corridor to an empty compartment at the back of the train, his cock already hardening in his trousers at the way her hips swayed with each step.
The moment the door had clicked shut behind them, Daphne's composure had cracked.
"This is your fault," she'd hissed, rounding on him with fire in her eyes. "I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. I kept feeling you inside me, kept remembering the way you... the way I..."
"The way you begged?" Harry had offered helpfully.
Daphne's cheeks had flooded with colour. "I did not beg."
"You absolutely begged. 'Please, Potter, just fuck me already.' Those were your exact words, if I recall."
"I was... it was the heat of the moment. You'd worked me up deliberately, you manipulative—"
Harry had silenced her with a kiss. A deep, claiming kiss that had her melting against him despite her protests, her hands fisting in his shirt, her body pressing eagerly against his.
"You came here because you couldn't stop thinking about my cock," Harry had murmured against her lips. "Just admit it."
Daphne had made a noise of frustration. "Fine! Fine, you insufferable prat! I came because I couldn't stop thinking about it! Are you happy now?"
"Getting there," Harry had said, spinning her around and bending her over the bench. "Now lift your skirt."
And she had. Without hesitation, without argument, the proud Slytherin princess had lifted her skirt and presented her arse to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Now Harry found himself mesmerised by the view. Her cheeks were round and firm, the kind of arse that had haunted his dreams for years, and they parted perfectly under his hands to reveal her most intimate places. Her pussy was visibly wet, the outer lips puffy and swollen with arousal, her inner folds glistening as they caught the light filtering through the compartment window.
"You have no idea how many times I've imagined this," Harry said, dragging one finger through her wetness from clit to entrance. Daphne shuddered violently. "Every time you walked past me in the corridors with your skirts cut short and your nose in the air, all I could think about was bending you over and finding out what you looked like underneath."
"Pervert," Daphne gasped, but she pushed back against his finger.
"Says the girl who's dripping all over the seat." Harry slipped two fingers inside her with no resistance whatsoever, her cunt practically sucking them in. "Merlin, you're soaked. Did you spend all morning thinking about this? Fantasising about getting fucked again?"
"N-no!"
"Liar." Harry curled his fingers, finding that spot that had made her scream the night before. "I bet you woke up this morning with your hand between your legs, didn't you? Trying to recreate what I made you feel, but it wasn't enough. Your fingers aren't big enough. Not after you've had my cock stretching you open."
Daphne moaned, the sound loud in the small compartment. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, betraying her every denial.
Harry withdrew his fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting her arousal. Sweet and slightly tangy, the taste of surrender.
"I want to take my time with you today," Harry said, going back to spreading her cheeks, examining her like she was a particularly fascinating specimen. "Last night was about breaking you in. Today I want to appreciate what I've got."
"I'm not yours," Daphne protested weakly.
"You came back, didn't you?" Harry traced the curve of her arse with one finger, watching goosebumps rise across her skin. "The bet was for one night. The bet is over. You could have walked away this morning, gone back to pretending you're too good for the rest of us, and you didn't. You sought me out. You asked for this."
Daphne's only response was a soft whimper.
"So yes," Harry continued, leaning down to press a kiss to one perfect cheek, "you're mine. For now, at least. Until you decide you've had enough. And something tells me that won't be for a very long time."
He punctuated the statement by licking a long stripe up her pussy, from clit to entrance, and Daphne cried out so loudly that Harry was certain the next compartment must have heard.
"Potter!" she gasped, her thighs trembling. "We're on a train! Anyone could—"
"Better keep your voice down then." Harry licked her again, slower this time, savouring the taste. "Unless you want everyone to know what the ice queen sounds like when she's getting her cunt eaten."
Daphne buried her face in the seat cushion, muffling her moans as Harry set to work.
He'd been wanting to do this properly since the night before, but the frantic energy of their first encounter hadn't allowed for much finesse. Now he had time. Time to explore every fold and crease of her pussy, to learn what made her gasp and what made her shake. Time to worship her like she deserved.
Her clit was a swollen little pearl, peeking out from under its hood, and when Harry wrapped his lips around it and sucked gently, Daphne's whole body convulsed. He could feel her legs trembling on either side of him, could hear the desperate little sounds she was making into the leather, could taste the fresh wave of arousal that flooded his tongue.
"So responsive," Harry murmured against her flesh. "I wonder if anyone else has ever made you this wet. I wonder if any of those pure-blood twats you've strung along over the years even knew how to touch you properly."
"None of them," Daphne admitted, her voice cracking. "None of them ever... Merlin, Potter, right there!"
Harry obliged, focusing his attention on the spot that had made her cry out, alternating between soft licks and firm suction until Daphne was practically vibrating beneath him. Her arse was pushing back against his face, grinding her cunt against his mouth with shameless desperation, and Harry had to grip her hips to keep her still.
"Not yet," he said, pulling back just as her thighs started to tremble with the telltale signs of approaching orgasm. "Not until I say so."
"Potter!" Daphne's voice was a desperate whine. "You can't just—"
"I can do whatever I want." Harry sat back on his heels, admiring the sight before him. Her pussy was flushed and swollen, glistening with a mixture of her arousal and his saliva. Her arsehole clenched invitingly every time she squirmed. "You're the one who came back for more, remember? That means you play by my rules."
Daphne turned her head to glare at him over her shoulder, her blonde hair dishevelled and her face flushed with frustrated arousal. Even now, with her arse in the air and her cunt dripping, she managed to look imperious.
"Your rules are cruel," she said.
"My rules are designed to make you cum harder than you've ever cum in your life." Harry stood and began unfastening his trousers. "But if you'd rather I stop..."
"Don't you dare."
Harry laughed, freeing his cock from the confines of his trousers. It was achingly hard, had been since the moment she'd lifted her skirt, and it bobbed heavily as he positioned himself behind her.
"What was that?" he asked, rubbing the head through her slick folds. "Sounded almost like begging."
Daphne groaned as his cockhead nudged against her entrance. "I told you, I don't beg."
"We both know that's not true." Harry pushed forward, just enough to stretch her opening around the tip. "What did you say last night? 'Please, Potter, I need your cock inside me.' Something like that?"
"Shut up and fuck me already!"
"Hmm." Harry held still, savouring the way her cunt was clenching desperately, trying to pull him deeper. "That wasn't very polite."
Daphne made a sound of pure frustration. "You are the most infuriating person I have ever met!"
"And yet you keep coming back." Harry slid in another inch, watching her tight hole stretch around his girth. "I wonder what that says about you."
"It says I've lost my mind!" Daphne's hands were fisting in the leather cushion, her fingers digging so hard into the material that her arms were shaking. "I've gone completely, utterly mad! There's no other explanation for why I would seek out Potter, of all people, for—ah!"
Harry thrust home in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Daphne's cunt gripped him like a vice, hot and wet and so tight that Harry had to grit his teeth against the urge to just start pounding into her with abandon. She felt even better than she had the night before, which shouldn't have been possible.
"Fuck," Daphne breathed, her voice strained. "You're so... I don't..."
"Words, Greengrass." Harry pulled back slowly, feeling every inch of her pussy dragging against his cock. "Use them."
"Big," she managed. "So big. I can feel you everywhere."
"Good." Harry thrust back in, harder this time, and Daphne cried out. "That's exactly what I want. I want you to feel me for days. I want you to sit down at home and think of me. I want you to touch yourself every night and wish it was my cock filling you up instead of your fingers."
He set a steady rhythm, not as frantic as the night before but deep and deliberate, each thrust hitting her cervix and making her whole body jerk. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the compartment, obscene slaps of flesh against flesh punctuated by Daphne's increasingly desperate moans.
The countryside rushed past the window in a blur of green and gold, and Harry found himself almost laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, on the train ride home from Hogwarts, fucking Daphne Greengrass while she tried not to scream loud enough for the whole carriage to hear.
"Can you imagine," Harry said, gripping her hips and pulling her back to meet each thrust, "if someone walked in right now? What would they see?"
"Don't—ah!—don't even joke about—"
"The Slytherin ice queen," Harry continued, "bent over with her arse in the air, getting fucked stupid by Harry Potter. All that pure-blood dignity, gone in an instant." He reached down to rub her clit, and Daphne's rhythm stuttered. "They'd see how wet you are for me. They'd hear the sounds you're making. They'd know that underneath all that superiority, you're just another witch who can't resist my cock."
"I hate you," Daphne gasped, but her cunt was clenching around him in a way that said something very different.
"You really don't." Harry increased his pace, feeling his own orgasm building at the base of his spine. "You love this. You love being fucked like a common whore in a train compartment where anyone could catch you. You love being on your hands and knees for the Gryffindor golden boy."
"I do not—"
Harry pinched her clit, hard, and Daphne came with a scream that she barely managed to muffle against her forearm.
Her cunt spasmed around him, waves of contractions milking his cock, and it took every ounce of Harry's willpower not to follow her over the edge. He slowed his thrusts but didn't stop, working her through her orgasm until she was trembling and gasping.
"Beautiful," Harry said, watching her body shake. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
Daphne collapsed forward onto the bench, her arms giving out beneath her. She lay there panting, her cheek pressed against the leather, her arse still in the air with Harry's cock buried inside her.
"I can't," she whimpered. "I can't again, it's too much—"
"You can." Harry resumed his thrusts, slower now but no less deep. "You will. I'm not done with you yet."
He fucked her through another orgasm, then another, losing track of time as the train rattled onwards. Daphne stopped trying to protest somewhere around the third one, her body going limp and pliant beneath him, her cunt gripping him reflexively with each fresh wave of pleasure.
By the time Harry felt his own climax approaching in earnest, Daphne was practically incoherent, babbling strings of words that might have been pleas or curses or declarations of devotion. Her blonde hair was plastered to her face with sweat, tears streaming from her eyes, her whole body flushed and trembling.
"I'm going to cum," Harry growled, his hips snapping faster. "Going to fill you up again, just like last night. You want that? Want me to pump you full of my seed?"
"Yes!" Daphne's voice was hoarse from moaning. "Yes, please, Harry, please—"
It was the first time she'd used his first name. Something about that, the desperation of it, the surrender, pushed Harry over the edge.
He buried himself to the hilt and came, groaning as rope after rope of cum pulsed into her waiting cunt. Daphne keened beneath him, her pussy clenching rhythmically as if trying to milk every last drop, her own orgasm triggered by the sensation of being filled.
Harry collapsed on top of her, both of them breathing hard, the compartment air thick with the scent of sex. For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke.
Then the compartment door slid open.
"Harry, we've been looking everywhere for—"
Hermione's voice cut off abruptly. Behind her, Ron's jaw dropped.
For a frozen moment, nobody moved. Harry was still buried inside Daphne, his cock still hard and slick with their combined fluids. Daphne was beneath him, face-down and thoroughly wrecked, his cum already beginning to leak out around his shaft.
Then Harry pulled out, his cock glistening in the light from the corridor, and a fresh wave of his seed spilled from Daphne's well-used cunt.
"Oh my god," Hermione breathed, her face cycling through several shades of red.
"Blimey," Ron managed.
Daphne turned her head, her expression one of absolute mortification as she met Hermione's eyes. Her carefully cultivated reputation, seven years of Slytherin superiority and untouchable dignity, all of it crumbled to dust in that single moment.
"This isn't—" she started, but what was there to say? She was bent over with her skirt around her waist, Harry's cum dripping down her thighs, caught in the most compromising position imaginable.
"Right," Hermione said, her voice strangled. "We'll just... we'll give you two some privacy."
She grabbed Ron's arm and yanked him backwards, sliding the door shut with perhaps more force than necessary. Their footsteps retreated rapidly down the corridor.
Harry looked down at Daphne, who had buried her face in her hands.
"Well," he said, tucking himself back into his trousers, "I suppose your reputation won't be quite what it used to be."