Work Header

The List

Work Text:

Ginny bit her lip, eyeing the ring.

“Aren’t we a little - young?” she asked faintly.

Harry blinked at her, beginning to sweat from his position on his knee. “We’re the same age my parents were when they got married,” he explained slowly.

“Well, you are,” Ginny amended tentatively. “I’m not - but, even still.” She shifted uneasily. “There was a war then,” she reminded him. “You know?”

“Yes, I’m aware,” he agreed tightly, swallowing uncomfortably. “Can I, er - ” he sighed. “Can I stand?”

“Yes, yes, stand,” she urged him, reaching down to grip his wrists and pulling him to her. “It’s lovely, Harry, it really is - but I just - ”

She sighed. “Can’t we just, I don’t know - be?”

His head swam with uncertainty. Get the stone, Harry, find the chamber, save the hippogriff, win the tournament, slay the dragon, save the prophecy, find the horcruxes! Stab the diary! Stab the cup! Stab the snake!

Can’t we just, I don’t know, be?

“I don’t know how,” he confessed quietly, wondering where he’d gone wrong. 

“Daph, look!” Astoria squealed, unleashing her hand from her glove and brandishing the ring in her face. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“It is,” Daphne agreed, eyeing the somewhat gaudy diamond that she knew to be a Flint heirloom and smiling her - mostly false - approval. “I’m so happy for you, Astoria, truly.”

“You just wish we were a little older, I’m sure,” Astoria sighed. “But I keep telling you, Daph. I know what I want.”

“I know,” Daphne said, her voice a pitch too high to be fully genuine. “I know, and I know I worry about you too much, but - ”

“It’s not your job to worry about me anymore,” Astoria reminded her, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “That’s Lucas’ job now, Daph.”

Right, Daphne lamented to herself with an inward sigh, wondering when her little sister had gotten so . . . adult.

So attached to someone who wasn’t me, Daphne amended sadly.

“Anyway,” Daphne continued, forcing a smile. “I’ll get everything together,” she said brightly, “and the two of you won’t have to worry about a thing - ”

“Actually,” Astoria cut in, looking a tad sheepish, “Mother’s said she’ll take care of everything, and Lady Flint has offered to help with the planning, so - ”

So you don’t need me, Daphne realized, wilting a little. After years of responsibility for her sister - mind Astoria, Daphne; take care of Astoria, keep Astoria safe, get Astoria out of the castle! - it came down to this.

“I think it’s time to focus on you, Daph,” Astoria attempted comfortingly, slipping an arm around her waist. “Isn’t it time you start, you know,” she paused, “living your own life, instead of making everything about me?”

Daphne leaned her cheek against her sister’s silky dark hair. I don’t know how, she thought, even as she smiled her feigned agreement.

Harry was on his third drink when he saw her.

He didn’t fully recognize her at first; they hadn’t exactly run in the same circles, after all, but there was no forgetting her entirely. She was extraordinarily attractive - even more now than he remembered, particularly as he was finally seeing her out of the emerald green robes he’d tended to generally dismiss - and was wearing a Muggle dress, some little silk number with an appealing swipe of berry-red across her lips, and he realized he was staring only as her eyes met his from across the bar.

He supposed it said a lot about him (and his intoxication level) that he didn’t stop to wonder if she’d recognized him, too.

“Hi,” he said uncertainly, walking over to join her. “I, um - wasn’t expecting to see anyone I knew here.”

“And I wasn’t expecting to speak for the next several hours, but here we are,” Daphne Greengrass muttered back, glancing up at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, running a finger along the lip of her glass.

He shrugged. “Needed to get away,” he explained. “Muggle bars are usually good for that.”

“Usually,” she sniffed, shaking her head. “But I suppose there are worse people you could be.”

She leaned back, squinting at him.

“You look upset, Potter,” she commented offhandedly.

“Ah,” he said. About that. “Well, I proposed to my girlfriend this evening - ”

“Fucking of course you did,” Daphne muttered into her glass. “Because matrimony is contagious.”

“ - and she, very politely, declined,” Harry finished with a grimace, holding up his drink. “Cheers.”

To his surprise, Daphne’s expression softened. “Oh no,” she murmured, biting lightly on her lip. “And I assume you’ve - ”

“Broken up? Yes,” he confirmed curtly. “But it’s fine. I’ve a new love affair,” he said cheerily, gesturing to his glass. “Perhaps this is what she meant by telling me to ‘just, I don’t know, be,’ or something,” he muttered, bringing his glass to his lips.

“Oh, what a dreadfully inane thing to say,” Daphne determined, making a face as she watched him swallow a gulp of whiskey. “Doesn’t she know you’ve been busy?”

“That was my thought!” Harry huffed, coughing as the liquid went down. “Nevermind the whole Chosen One thing,” he mumbled. “That was very fun and entertaining, and not at all damaging to my later life.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m not exactly loving my life at the moment either,” Daphne sighed. “My sister’s getting married - ”

“Marriage,” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “What tit-witted fool would possibly want such a thing.”

“ - and now, it seems, I’m to find myself some other purpose,” Daphne concluded, staring moodily at the bottom of her glass. “Find a life of my own, she says - ”

“What, has she forgotten that we’ve all lived through hell and it’s a tad difficult to adjust?” Harry demanded stiffly. “Or,” he amended, eyeing her, “is it that you protected her from all that, and so she barely even knows what you’ve done?”

“That!” Daphne proclaimed loudly, setting her glass down on the wooden counter. “That, Potter, is it -

“How can they say those things?” Harry protested indignantly, leaning against the bar and permitting himself to mope. “They insist that we behave young and irresponsibly, and somehow can’t fathom that we don’t know how - ”

“Yes,” Daphne trumpeted, her hazel eyes widening in agreement. “Yes, they want us to be reckless and selfish - despite telling us our entire lives not to be that way,” she added sulkily, “and then are surprised to discover it’s really rather difficult for us - ”

“ - and now how are we supposed to learn?” they exclaimed in unison, and stopped abruptly.

They locked eyes for a moment, both faces flushed; he watched Daphne swallow, her gaze traveling momentarily to his lips and then hastily back up, measuring him with a look.

“In fairness to them,” she offered slowly, considering him, “I have always been a quick study, I think.”

Harry, who had never been particularly good at reading people, managed - for once - to grasp her intent quite clearly. “I’m certainly open to trying,” he agreed, and a smile spread across her lips.

“Well, then,” she said, with a brush of finality. “I suppose we should start with a drink.” 

“You know what I’ve never done?” Daphne said, and Harry swallowed his gulp of whiskey.

“What?” he asked, shaking off the burn as it went down.

“Shots,” Daphne said, pointing to the rowdy group of businessmen beside them. “It’s undignified, you know,” she explained, “and despite Pansy’s best efforts, I was always trying to behave myself in front of Astoria.”

“Easy enough to rectify,” Harry declared, waving to the bartender. “Two shots, please.”

“Of what?” the bartender prompted impatiently.

Harry glanced at Daphne, who shrugged. “Alcohol,” she said, and the bartender rolled his eyes.

“Here,” he said, sloppily pouring two shot glasses worth of the vodka he held in his hand. “Have these.”

“Lovely,” Daphne said, slurping at the lip of the glass as the liquid sloshed onto her hand. “Cheers, I suppose,” she offered.

“Cheers,” Harry agreed, clinking his glass against hers and bringing it to his lips.

Daphne shut her eyes as she tossed it back, feeling a moment of victory that rapidly devolved to disgust as the vodka settled roughly into her stomach. “Yuck,” she ruled, laughing as she met Harry’s eye, his nose wrinkled in displeasure.

“Yuck,” he agreed, “but at least you can cross that off the list now.”

“List,” Daphne echoed brightly, an idea clanging in her head. “A list!” she exclaimed, reaching out to grip Harry’s arm. “Potter, what if we made a list of stupid things and then” - she paused, leaning in - “we did them?”

“Greengrass,” Harry said solemnly, “I think that is a thing.” He finished his glass of whiskey, setting it triumphantly on the bar. “A marvelous thing,” he clarified grandly.

“Tremendous,” she proclaimed, and then grabbed a napkin from behind the bar, scribbling shots and sketching a hard line through it. “What else?”

Harry sobered for a moment, pursing his lips. He eyed her carefully, and she, feeling bold, offered him a particularly suggestive smirk she’d learned from Pansy.

“Hm,” he murmured appreciatively, and then smiled. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

“Should we get out of here?” she suggested innocently, and he paused, glancing around.

“Just one thing before we go,” Harry murmured, and before she could ask - in the moment that the bartender’s back was turned - he snuck his wand from his pocket, flicking it surreptitiously to cast an Accio on the bottle of whiskey.

Run,” he whispered, and Daphne giggled as she jumped down from the barstool, reminding herself to add petty theft to the list.

“Oh, stop whinging, Potter,” Daphne said, making a face at him as he winced. “You’re fine.

“It hurts,” he said, flinching a little as the tattoo artist dug the needle in further. “And I’m practically sober again - ”

“You said you weren’t drunk,” the tattoo artist admonished him, pausing his work, and Harry sighed.

“I say a lot of things,” he muttered, and Daphne giggled.

“Come on, mine’s finished and I hardly complained at all,” she reminded him, slipping the strap of her dress down her arm and turning to look at it in the mirror. “You like it, right?”

Harry eyed the rose on her bare shoulder and swallowed, the abrupt twitch of his cock combated by the punishing buzz of the needle.

“I do,” Harry said carefully, as the tattooist gave a final jab.

“Done,” he said. “The, uh - ”

“Hungarian Horntail,” Daphne informed him, coming over to look at it. “We love dragons,” she explained, winking at Harry.

“Nerds,” the tattooist muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he walked away.

Daphne looked around for a moment - waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps - before pulling her wand from her purse, flicking it against Harry’s back.

Tergeo,” she murmured, running her finger over his shoulder as it healed. Harry shuddered under her light touch, holding his breath.

“Do you like it?” he forced out, turning onto his side to look up at her.

Her gaze slid to his bare chest for a moment, her tongue slipping between her lips and passing quickly over them before she bit down, considering her answer. “Let me see it again,” she suggested, and he sat up, turning so she could see it.

“Well?” he asked, shutting his eyes as she brought her fingers to his shoulder again.

She was quiet for a moment.

“I want to bite it,” she whispered, and he nearly choked, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

“Ah,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “Perhaps we might, um - consider making some additions to the list, then?” he suggested faintly.

“Perhaps we might,” she agreed, a smile spreading across her lips.

“Say it,” she instructed him primly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just do it, Potter.”

“You fought a dragon once,” she watched him mutter to himself, “you beat a maniacal serial killer, and you just got a tattoo.” He shook himself briefly. “I can do this,” he announced to her, and she fought a smile.

“Would you like me to start?” she ventured. “Penis,” she began, and then made a face. “No. Cock.” She licked her lips, starting over. “Show me your thick, hard cock, Potter - ”

“Okay, okay,” he said hurriedly, pressing a finger to her lips. “I get it, you’re filthy, but it’s my turn - overachiever,” he muttered under his breath, and she grinned.

“Ooh, so close,” she teased, holding back a laugh. “Tell me I’m filthy again,” she advised primly, “but this time, say - ”

“Pussy,” Harry attempted forcefully, before wrinkling his nose. “I don’t like it.”

She made a face, nodding her agreement. “Try the other one,” she suggested, and he sighed, closing his eyes.

“Cunt,” he announced, swallowing comically. “I - um.” He sighed. “Cunt.”

“Yeeees?” she prodded, nudging him. He opened his mouth to continue but seemed to think better of it, pausing, and she sighed in exasperation. “Do it,” she insisted, swatting at his shoulder, “or I’m not crossing dirty talk off the list!”

“It’s just,” he began, hesitating, “isn’t it sort of . . . not a nice word?”

She threw her head back, groaning. “I’m not a nice girl, Potter - that’s the point of dirty talk!” Daphne said, waving her hands about. “I’m filthy, remember?”

“Fine,” he grumbled, “I want to see your cunt, then - ”

“See it what?” Daphne prompted, nudging him again. “Do magic tricks? File your taxes?”

“I want to see it wet for me,” he growled, taking hold of her shoulders and sitting her down on the park bench. “I want to see it wet, Greengrass,” he muttered to her, dragging his tongue over his lips, “I want it fucking soaked - I want your legs spread out in front of me like my goddamn dessert and I want to lick your cunt until you fucking scream for me, until you’re fucking begging for it -

“Holy shit,” she murmured, but he clearly had far too much momentum to stop there.

“I want you so wet my fingers slide right into your tight little cunt,” he continued breathlessly, his green eyes wide, “I want my cock in your mouth while you take me so deep I can feel you swallow - I want you to say my name when you come with me inside you - ”

“Potter,” she whispered approvingly, impressed, but he shook his head.

Harry, ” he corrected, straightening abruptly. “And I want to make you say it, over and over, until your throat hurts,” he finished, suddenly looking very much like a man who’d killed a Dark Lord as they paused for a moment, staring at each other.

He looked out of breath; a little dazed. Seconds ticked by as she watched him, seeing something she hadn’t before.

“Did you say you wanted your cock in my mouth?” she asked eventually, glancing up at him. “Because that can be arranged.”

She watched the muscle twitch hungrily around his jaw. “Is it on the list?” he asked hoarsely.

A slow smile spread over her lips. “Funnily enough,” she said, “it is now.” 

“Here, really?” he asked, peering over the ledge of the roof terrace. “I mean, someone could see.”

“That’s sort of the idea,” Daphne reminded him, placing a cushioning charm on her knees and then settling herself in front of him. “There,” she said, glancing up. “Good view?”

He looked down, watching the silk of her dress slip against the curve of her breast.

“Ideal,” he agreed, and she grinned.

“I meant,” she said emphatically, gesturing behind her, “the view.

“Oh,” he said sheepishly, glancing out at the city lights. “Right.”

When he glanced back down, she was eyeing the zipper of his trousers. “Right,” she murmured to herself, reaching up to undo the button. “You’re ready, then?”

“Uh,” he said, chewing his lip. Yes, he thought desperately, excitedly, humiliatingly; yes, please. “I, um - ”

She slowly dragged the zipper down, taking his cock in her hand. “Mm, you are,” she murmured appreciatively, running her thumb over his tip. “Good,” she declared definitively. “Nothing more disappointing than coming face to face with a flaccid dick, honestly.”

“True,” he acknowledged gruffly, coughing as he adjusted his stance. “I hate that.”

She, to his relief, laughed.

“Shut up,” she instructed him affectionately, leaning forward; she licked his tip - fuck, he thought fiercely, fucking hell - and then smiled as he emitted an indistinct choking sound. “Been a while, Potter?” she asked innocently, tilting her head to look at him.

“Harry,” he corrected her, “and, er - yes. This wasn’t - ” he broke off, hissing as she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, sucking lightly. “This wasn’t - Ginny’s favorite thing.”

I mean, if you want, he heard Ginny say; watched her glow with relief as soon as he would have inevitably said no, no, it’s fine. He shook his head briskly, shoving her out of his thoughts.

“Don’t know why,” Daphne commented, rubbing her thumb in a circle against the head of his cock. “She could have done a lot worse. In fact,” she added, nudging his knees apart to lean in further, pumping him in her hand, “this might be the nicest penis I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you seen a lot?” he asked hazily, and she glanced up, smirking.

“Enough to have a fair idea,” she ruled. “Now shut up,” she said again, licking her lips. “I’m busy.”

She leaned forward again, gripping his hips; he tangled his fingers in her hair as she slid her lips over the length of his shaft, her tongue dragging along the underside. She moved slowly, deliberately, like she was savoring the taste of him; her fingers pressed into his hips and then slid to his arse, her nails digging in through the fabric of his trousers.

He held his breath as she brought her hand up, releasing him to wrap her fingers around the base of his cock; she worked her hand in time with her mouth, sucking at him with fascinating fervor before slowly glancing up, her wide hazel eyes locking on his.

“Daphne,” he stammered, “it’s - fuck, Daphne, you’re really - ”

Really fucking good -

She said nothing, staring at him as she took him deep in her throat; he felt her swallow against his tip and then watched her lips move up his painfully throbbing length, the entrancing pinkness of them gliding along his shaft.

She released him for a moment, pulling back to take him in her hand, languidly stroking him. “Would you like to come on my tits?” she asked, ruthless with her nonchalance. “Or is it sufficient for me to swallow?”

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, fighting his sudden imminent release. “I - I can’t, I don’t - ”

She slipped her lips around his cock again, looking delicately satisfied as he tightened his grip on her hair.

“I’m - ” he choked out, “I’m going to - ”

He came in her mouth - which was really his preference, anyway - and she smiled, slowly licking him clean, before rising gracefully to her feet and daintily running a finger over her bottom lip.

“I think,” she announced, clearing her throat, “that I’m next, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know about this,” Daphne said, frowning as she looked around the Muggle club. “Isn’t this rather public?”

“It’s the young and irresponsible list,” Harry reminded her. He looked around, finding a darkened corner. “There,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Here?” she asked, her heart pounding as she followed. “Are you sure?”

“You just blew me on a roof, Greengrass,” he reminded her, glancing back and tossing her a very un-Potter-like smirk. “I think I can handle this.”

“It’s Daphne,” she reminded him, and then sighed as he spun her against the wall. “And fine,” she said, more resignedly than she actually felt.

“Here,” he said, positioning himself against her and maneuvering her leg over his hip. “Like this.”

“Okay,” she agreed, trying not to fidget as he slid his hand under her dress. “Wait, hold on - ” she nudged him back a step, shimmying out of her lace thong and putting it in his trouser pocket. “There,” she said, patting it with a merciless grin. “Making things easier.”

“Well, stop it,” he instructed, grabbing her thigh again and shifting her against the wall. “I’m sort of an impressive public figure, Daphne,” he informed her. “I hardly need you to make things easy.

“You’re terrible,” she muttered, sucking in a breath as he slipped his hand under her arse, reaching the slickness between her thighs and circling a finger at her slit.

“Not nearly as terrible as I could be,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her neck as she nodded her vacant agreement. “Is anyone watching?”

She glanced up at the sweaty bodies around them. “Nope,” she said, letting out a thin hiss as he suddenly buried two fingers inside her.

“Too bad,” he lamented, kissing her shoulder. “They’re missing it.”

“Missing what?” she asked vacantly, mewling a little as he found that spot, sliding his fingers in and out and pressing against it. “Me getting fingered by the Chosen One?”

“No,” he said, shifting her in his arms again to bring his thumb up to her clit. “Me kissing the prettiest girl in the room.”

She frowned, confused. “But we’re not - ”

He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers. “We are,” he muttered against her mouth, and then he began thrusting faster as he kissed her, his lips pulsing at the same pace as his hand; she lifted her hips, inviting him, and slipped her tongue along his.

“More,” she whispered, and he pressed the flat of his hand against her clit, letting her grind against him. She whimpered, shamelessly rubbing against his hand as she rode his fingers, and he let out a growl of frustration against her lips.

“Hold on,” he said, looking around before pulling out his wand and muttering a disillusionment charm.

“Harry,” she whispered in confusion, “what are you - ”

But faster than she could say this isn’t part of the list he was already on his knees, his head under her dress; he nudged her leg over his shoulder, shifting to take her clit between his teeth as she let out an audible gasp, taking a fistful of his hair between her fingers.

“Overachiever,” she panted, feeling him smile against her skin.

He brought his fingers back to her cunt, continuing to fuck her with them; she felt herself shake, felt time come to a screeching halt, felt herself shatter around him as she threw her head back against the wall. “Harry, fuck, Harry - ”

She came with a loud gasp, the words holy fucking shit dying on her tongue.

“Maybe,” he suggested, ducking his head out from under her dress and looking up at her, “we should consider finding a hotel room.”

“Good idea,” she said weakly, and he stood up to kiss her again, letting her taste herself on his lips.

“Would you like to be tied up,” he asked, squinting at the clumsily scribbled list, “or gagged, or, I suppose, handcuffed - ”

“Tied up, I think,” Daphne said, leaning back against the bed of the not-altogether unpleasant Muggle hotel room. “Seems like a safe place to start.”

“Unless you’d rather tie me up,” he offered, and she grinned.

“It’s your turn,” she admonished him, standing and walking barefoot towards him to press a kiss to the base of his jaw. “Dress,” she whispered in his ear, bringing his hand to the strap of it. “On or off?”

He groaned a little as her lips brushed his neck. “Off,” he croaked, and she smiled, stepping back to let the straps fall from her shoulders.

She was wearing nothing underneath; his hand went instinctively to her panties in his pocket as he stared at her, his gaze raking over her inviting hips, her flawless breasts, the blissful curves and angles of her.

“I suppose I’m not much compared to a professional quidditch player,” Daphne ventured uncertainly, “but - ”

“What?” Harry asked, tearing his gaze away from her body - he’d been imagining the soft curve of her thigh against his cheek and considering the undeniable benefit of having sight added to the equation - to look her in the eye, shaking his head. “Daphne,” he murmured in disbelief, stepping towards her. “You can’t possibly think you’re anything but perfect, can you?”

“I can,” she began stubbornly, but he shook his head again, silencing her as he leaned forward, pressing his fingers covetously against the slim curve of her waist.

“Get on the bed,” he whispered in her ear, “so I can fuck your perfect cunt.”

She gave him a radiant smile, taking a few steps back to fall against the duvet. “It’s wet for you,” she informed him wickedly, pushing herself up against the pillows. “I’m so fucking wet, Harry - ”

“Stop it,” he groaned, forcing himself to concentrate long enough to transfigure two silk ties before approaching her on the bed. “Overachiever,” he muttered, and she smiled as he climbed over her, dropping a kiss against her lips and pushing her hands over her head.

“How’s this?” he asked, tying her wrists loosely to the bed frame. “Is it too tight,” he asked hesitantly, “because I can - ”

“Harry,” Daphne said, squirming beneath him as he straddled her. “Would you just fuck me, please?”

He laughed, leaping deftly from the bed and tearing his shirt over his head before slipping out of his trousers and trunks, standing before her with his hand on his cock.

“Ask me again,” he suggested, sliding his hand along his shaft.

She swallowed, staring. “Fuck me,” she rasped, “Harry, please -

The plea became a breathless sigh as he slid against her, slowly kissing his way up the inside of her legs; he brushed his lips lightly against the inside of her thigh before rearing up on his haunches, nudging the tip of his cock against the slickness of her cunt.

She writhed against him and he, panting, leaned forward to take her nipple in his mouth; he scraped his teeth against her breast and she arched her back with a tormented whimper, drawing him into her.

“Please,” she begged as his thumb circled her swollen clit, “ please, Harry - ”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, he thought, pressing his forehead to hers and gasping as he slid himself inside her.

She could tell he was trying to take it slowly, to time his thrusts - to torture her, she thought with a moan - and she pulled impatiently at her ties as he roughly grabbed her arse; he lifted her hips as he drove into her, filling her completely and then withdrawing with a miraculous - demonic, she amended desperately - restraint, wretchedly immune to her mounting urgency.

“Harry,” she choked out as he shifted her leg higher, positioning himself masterfully against her clit, “for fuck’s sake, Harry, more -

“More?” he asked, a glimmer of mischief in his green eyes as he lifted her leg onto his shoulder, bending over her. She struggled against the ties, feeling her legs shake and suppressing a near-desperate sob.

“Please,” she moaned weakly, “I’m - I’m right there - ”

“Are you going to come?” he asked in her ear, laughing a little, and she wanted to slap him for the unforgivable improvement he’d made to his dirty talk - or else, she thought, at least make him suffer equally - but he carried on, effortlessly comfortable with control. “Do you like the way my cock feels inside you, Daphne? Am I making you c- ”

“Oh, fucking hell - yes,” she cried out, feeling the coil he’d built inside her break; she came with a stuttered convulsion, her head lifting from the bed to gasp against his mouth. He kissed her slowly, riding her through it, and she bit hard on his lip, feeling a wave of incomprehensible euphoria wash over her, escaping in an ardent sigh.

“Harry,” she muttered, suddenly remembering it was her second orgasm and hardly likely to be her last, “untie me, Harry, now -

He reached over, pulling at the silk and letting her flip him onto his back, gripping her hips as she straddled him. “My turn,” she whispered devilishly, removing his glasses - askew as they already were - to wrap the silk tie around his eyes, tying it loosely behind his head; they both gasped as she drew him inside her again, his fingers feverishly burning against her thighs.

He bucked his hips against her from beneath, his hands traveling blindly over the shape of her and digging in, driving forcefully into her like he couldn’t get enough - “you wanted me to say your name,” she murmured, leaning forward to whisper a laughing taunt in his ear, “so make me say your name” - and suddenly the sheets that twisted around them were balled in his fists, holding her in place, tight around her waist as he rutted against her clit and she bounced on his cock, and it was everything good about sex - friction and sweat and utter fucking penetration, in the most literal sense of the word.

For a moment it flitted through her mind to cross one night stand off the list until Harry reached up, tearing the blindfold from his eyes and running a finger across her lips in awe - “I have to see you,” he choked out, and she nodded, too out of breath and too close, too close, so fucking close to speak - and it occurred to her to do so would be a lie.

But then she came - hard - and abandoned thought entirely.

“What on earth,” Daphne panted when they’d fallen back against the pillows, “are we going to do tomorrow?”

For a moment Harry was silent, watching her breath rise and fall; and then he pulled her against him, tucking his legs under hers as he drew her back to his chest.

“I think,” he murmured, feeling recklessly content as he pressed a kiss to the rose on her shoulder, “we’ll just have to throw the list out and take things as they come.”

“How irresponsible of us,” she murmured, and they basked in a lesson well learned.