Filthy Little Mudblood

Stress Relief

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Draco POV

What a stupid hag. I can't believe I have to sit through that lesson, what use is Divination anyway. Everything's going to shit with Dumbledore in charge. Maybe it's best I'm tasked with killing him—it's not like I have a choice anyway. Otherwise, I'll suffer "a fate worse than death," as the Dark Lord himself said. Fuck, this mark is so itchy; it's been burning my wrist ever since he put it there. As if I'm not stressed enough with having to kill our headteacher, now this fortune-telling bitch is airing my business to the whole class?

Luckily, everyone there is too stupid and self-absorbed to pay attention to the inevitable end of Hogwarts. Except for Y/N. I don't know why, but the way she looks at me makes me feel uneasy—nervous almost. I can't quite put my finger on why.

I don't know why I waste a second more thinking about that bitch or even looking at her. But when I'm not thinking about killing Dumbledore, I'm thinking about her, and now I can't sleep. I have bags under my eyes that are so deep and dark they could be mistaken for bruises.

I need a distraction, and I know the perfect girl.

I don't think my legs can carry me any faster. I need this rage out of me now. Knocking on the door irritably, I start to adjust my tie. The door opens, and there she is—Pansy, with her short black hair and fierce green eyes full of hunger, staring back at me. Merlin, this girl won't ever give up. Not that I'm complaining.

I push her onto the bed, a smirk spreading across her face. She slowly removes her tights, revealing her bare thin white legs. I rip off her skirt as she unbuttons her shirt and unclaspes her bra, exposing her petite breasts. Her face looks even hornier than a minute ago.

"Are you going to undress now?" she coos.

"No, I'll do what I want."

Leaving my long-sleeved shirt on, I unbuckle my belt. My throbbing member needs relief. I reach into the top drawer of her bedside table and pull out a green apple-flavored condom.

"Do you want me to help?" she coos again.

"No, I can do it myself," I reply harshly.

Using my thumb and index finger, I rip open the packet and impatiently unroll the latex. As I put it on, I can feel my dick throb. I pry her legs open and hear a moan escape her lips. I thrust into her, feeling a rush of relief and pleasure as I move erratically. It feels so good to relieve my stress—among other things.

She's screaming now. Whether it's in pain, pleasure, or both, I don't care. I thrust harder, faster, and close my eyes, trying to imagine a world where I am free to do what I want, not under the control of my father or the Dark Lord.

In my mind, I'm lying in the Forbidden Forest, the trees shading me from everything else in the world. I imagine the wind running through my hair—no, it's fingers running through my hair. Those same warm fingers trace my face, and soft squishy thighs cushion my head like a pillow. A face from above places warm kisses on my lips, the warmth tingling through my body. She pulls away to look into my eyes, and that's when the faceless person becomes recognisable. Those gentle dark eyes and soft round face are unmistakable, even in the depths of my fantasies. It's Y/N's fingers through my hair, Y/N's legs beneath my head, Y/N's lips intertwined with mine. It's Y/N looking back at me with loving eyes.

In that moment, I release myself, my cum shooting out faster than a Quidditch ball through a hoop. Pansy moans and I shortly after her, and just as my moan escapes, the door opens and a gasp is heard. My eyes snap open.

It's Y/N.