The Slytherin's Devotion

The Slytherin common room was quiet that evening, the fire crackling low as most students had retired to their dormitories. Hilda Selwyn sat in a plush armchair near the hearth, a book open on her lap, though her eyes were not on the pages. She was waiting. A soft rustle of fabric and the click of a door announced his arrival. Draco Malfoy slipped into the room, his silver-blond hair catching the firelight, his grey eyes immediately finding hers. He crossed the room with practiced ease, his hand brushing her shoulder as he passed. "My room?" he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. She closed her book, a small smile playing on her lips, and rose without a word. They ascended the stairs to the girls' dormitory, the stone steps cool beneath their feet. Her room was at the end of the hall, a small space she had claimed with her belongings: dark green hangings around her bed, a vanity with silver brushes, and a wardrobe filled with fine robes. The door clicked shut behind them, and the pretense of the outside world melted away. Draco's hands found her waist, pulling her against him. His lips met hers in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, hungry and demanding. She responded in kind, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly. He groaned against her mouth, his hands sliding down to cup her backside, lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to the bed, laying her down on the cool silk sheets. He hovered over her, his eyes dark with desire. "I've been thinking about this all day," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "About you. About us." Her heart raced as his lips traced a path down her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. She arched into him, her nails scraping lightly down his back. "Then show me," she breathed. And he did. Their clothes seemed to disappear, discarded in a heap on the floor. His hands roamed her body with possessive familiarity, as if memorizing every curve, every dip. He kissed her breasts, her stomach, and lower, until she was writhing beneath him, her fingers gripping the sheets. He pulled back, his lips glistening, and looked at her with such intensity that it stole her breath. "You're perfect," he said, his voice rough. "Mine." He entered her slowly, deliberately, and she gasped, her body arching to meet his. They moved together in a rhythm that was primal and instinctive, two souls intertwining. His whispers were a constant litany: "So beautiful. So tight. I love you. I love you." She clung to him, her nails raking his back, her moans muffled against his shoulder. When they reached their peak, it was together, a shuddering release that left them breathless and tangled. Afterward, they lay in a heap of limbs, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin. The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. He turned on his side to face her, his hand cupping her cheek. "You know what I love most?" he asked, his voice soft. She shook her head, her eyes meeting his. "That when I'm inside you, I feel like I'm home." A blush crept up her cheeks, but she smiled. "And when you're inside me, I feel complete." He kissed her again, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers. The kiss sparked something anew, and soon they were moving together again, slower this time, more tender, but no less passionate. In the quiet aftermath, he nestled between her legs, his head on her thigh, pressing gentle kisses to her inner thigh. She ran her fingers through his hair, her breath hitching as his mouth found her core. "Draco," she whispered, her voice a plea. He looked up, his grey eyes gleaming. "Let me worship you," he said. And she did. Hours later, they lay in the early morning light, the first rays of sun filtering through the curtains. He was curled against her, his head on her bare breasts, his arm draped across her waist. She stroked his hair, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her skin. "We should get up before someone notices," she murmured, though she made no move to leave. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, his lips brushing her skin. She smiled, pulling him closer. In the quiet of the room, with his warmth enveloping her, she knew that this was where she belonged. In his arms, in his bed, in his soul. The other girls could look all they wanted, but at the end of the day, Draco Malfoy was always in Hilda Selwyn's bed. And that was exactly where he wanted to be.