Chapter 4

The next day dawns bright and clear, a typical September morning at Hogwarts. The usual bustle of students is notably absent as they all head to Hogsmeade, giving the castle a quiet, contemplative air. You find yourself wandering the seventh floor, east wing, waiting for Iris Potter to arrive. In your hand you have a picnic basket you spent all morning preparing, charmed to keep everything fresh and with compartments. One holds food and drink for yourself and the other food and drink for Iris. All the food has been tainted with your cum, the sandwiches dripping with cum, the cake glazed with jizz, and the drink is pure cum. Iris arrives, her expression curious as she takes in the seventh-floor corridor. She's dressed in casual clothes, a tight red t-shirt that does nothing to hide her perky breasts and the faint outline of her bra. For bottoms, she has a knee-length wavey black skirt and red thigh-high socks. "Draco," she greets, her gaze flickering to the picnic basket in your hand. "What did you want to show me?"

You hold up the basket, a secretive smile playing on your lips. "Patience, Potter."

You begin pacing the corridor, your steps are measured and deliberate. With each stride, you focus on the intention of finding a suitable space for a picnic, a place that would impress Iris and provide the perfect backdrop for the afternoon. As you walk backward and then forward, the walls around you seem to shimmer subtly, the air charged with the anticipation of magic about to manifest. As you complete your third pass along the corridor, a previously unseen door materializes before you, its ornate handle gleaming in the soft light filtering through a nearby window. You grasp the handle, the cool metal sending a shiver up your arm, and push the door open. The room beyond is a revelation - a picturesque picnic spot.

Iris raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of the door but follows you without hesitation, her curiosity piqued. As she steps over the threshold, her eyes widen in surprise and delight. The Room of Requirement has transformed into a verdant meadow, complete with a blanket spread out on the grass.

You extend your hand, gesturing towards the blanket. "After you, Potter," you say, your tone a mixture of formality and amusement. Iris rolls her eyes but accepts your hand, allowing you to guide her to the center of the blanket. You follow closely, the soft rustle of the meadow grass underfoot adding to the sense of occasion. Iris settles onto the blanket, her gaze wandering over the idyllic setting. The Room of Requirement, ever a marvel, has outdone itself with this serene expanse of greenery, complete with a sky painted with the soft hues of a setting sun. You sit opposite her, the picnic basket between you, and with a flourish, you open it to reveal the food inside.

You reach into the basket and retrieve one of the sandwiches, the bread glistening slightly more than it should. You extend your arm, offering the sandwich to Iris with a sly grin. "Hungry?" you ask, watching her reaction closely.

Iris eyes the sandwich with a hint of suspicion before looking back up at you. "What's in this?" she inquires, her gaze flickering between your face and the offered food.

"Just some tuna and homemade mayonnaise," you reply, maintaining a poker face though the corners of your mouth twitch with suppressed mirth. The sandwich is indeed filled with tuna, but the only thing true about the mayonnaise is that it is homemade. Iris hesitates for a moment, her skepticism evident, but the allure of a good meal wins out. She takes the sandwich from your hand, albeit gingerly, and takes a small bite. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and for a moment, you worry that she's detected the true nature of the condiment. But then she smiles, her eyes lighting up with genuine appreciation.

"This is really good, Draco."

You nod in response to her compliment, a genuine smile playing on your lips. "I'm glad you like it, Iris," you say, reaching back into the basket to retrieve your sandwich. Unlike the one you've given Iris, this one is devoid of any... personal additions. You unwrap it from its cloth covering, the scent of fresh bread and simple tuna filling your nostrils. As you take a bite of your sandwich, you watch Iris with an intensity that you hope appears casual. She seems completely at ease, enjoying the food without any inkling of its true ingredients. You can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the thought of your plan unfolding so smoothly.

Iris takes another bite, her eyes closing briefly as she savors the taste. "You've got a real talent for this, Malfoy."

Iris, still unaware of the true nature of the 'sauce,' brings her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to lick off the excess. The action is innocent, yet the sight of it sends a thrill through you. Her eyes flutter closed as she savors the lingering taste, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping her throat.

You extend your arm, offering Iris a pewter mug filled with a white creamy liquid. "Care for some 'milkshake'?" you ask, the corners of your mouth twitching as you suppress a smirk.

Iris takes the mug from you, her fingers brushing against the cool metal.

Iris brings the mug to her nose, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she inhales the rich, heady aroma wafting from the thick liquid. "Smells... interesting," she comments, her tone laced with curiosity as she peers into the mug.

Iris extends her tongue, touching it to the surface of the 'milkshake'. Her eyes widen slightly as her taste buds register the unfamiliar flavor. She swirls it around in her mouth, her expression contemplative. "It's... different," she says, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty. "What's in it?"

You lean back on your elbows, watching her with an air of nonchalance.

You shrug, maintaining an air of mystery. "It's a secret ingredient," you reply with a sly grin. "One day, I'll tell you. But for now, it's part of the Malfoy family's culinary tradition." Iris seems to accept this, her curiosity piqued rather than satisfied. She takes another sip from the mug, her face scrunching up in thought as she tries to decipher the taste.

Iris tilts the mug, draining the last of the 'milkshake'. She lowers the mug, her tongue darting out to catch any stray drops clinging to her lips. "That was surprisingly good," she admits, her gaze meeting yours with an intensity that suggests she's both intrigued and suspicious. "Could I have some more?"

You suppress a triumphant grin, maintaining your composed facade. "Of course." You reach into the picnic basket, your fingers brushing against the cold, glass surface of the flagon filled with the remainder of your 'secret ingredient' milkshake. You pour the thick, white liquid into Iris's mug, the level rising until it's once again brimming with your carefully prepared concoction. You hand the refilled mug back to Iris, watching as her fingers curl around the pewter. "Enjoy, Iris," you say, your voice carrying a soft, almost teasing lilt. She brings the mug to her lips, her eyes never leaving yours as she takes a generous gulp. The sight of her swallowing sends a thrill of satisfaction through you, your carefully laid plans seeming to unfold perfectly.

Iris takes another sip, her eyes closing in pleasure as the taste of the 'milkshake' seems to grow on her. She swallows, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "This really is delightful," she murmurs, her voice holding a note of genuine surprise. "I've never tasted anything quite like it."

You observe her reaction, your heart pounding in your chest.

You reach into the picnic basket once more, this time retrieving a small, perfectly iced cake. The white icing glistens in the soft light of the Room of Requirement, its smooth surface hiding the unique ingredient that lies beneath. "Here, try this with your milkshake," you suggest, your voice carrying an undertone of anticipation. You watch as Iris accepts the cake, her fingers leaving slight impressions in the soft icing. Iris carefully balances the cake on her knee, her gaze shifting between the confectionery and the mug in her hand. She uses a small, ornate silver fork to cut a piece of the cake, her movements precise and deliberate. The fork pierces through the layers, revealing the creamy filling within. She brings the fork to her lips, her eyes closing as she tastes the cake. "Mmm, this is wonderful."

Iris takes another bite of the cake, her lips closing around the fork as she savors the flavor. The creamy filling, blending seamlessly with the rich cake, leaves traces of 'cream' on her lips. She licks her lips clean, her tongue darting out to capture the last remnants of the 'cream'. The sight is strangely mesmerizing, and you find yourself momentarily entranced by the motion. Iris follows each bite of the cake with a swig from her mug, the combination of flavors seemingly enhancing her enjoyment. She appears oblivious to the true nature of the ingredients, her innocence in stark contrast to your scheming.

As Iris continues to enjoy the cake and the contents of her mug, you notice a subtle shift in her demeanor. The potion you've fed her previously, coupled with the 'milkshake', seems to be working its magic. Her guard lowers, her laughter becomes more frequent and less inhibited, and her eyes hold a glint of mischief that wasn't there before.

Iris savors the last bite of the cake, her eyes fluttering closed as she chews. She swallows, the motion smooth and almost elegant. She takes one final gulp from her mug, her throat working as she drains the last of your 'milkshake'. The empty mug is set aside with a soft clink, and she leans back on her hands, a contented smile playing on her lips.

With a flick of your wand and a murmured incantation, the silverware lifts from the blanket spread on the floor of the Room of Requirement. The fork Iris had been using, now devoid of any cake or 'cream', hovers in the air for a moment before it glides smoothly back into the picnic basket, followed by the knife and the rest of the cutlery.

You shift your position, moving to sit behind Iris. Your legs stretch out on either side of her, and she leans back, resting her head against your chest. The faint scent of her hair mingles with the lingering aroma of the picnic, creating a heady mix that fills your senses.

You wrap your arms around Iris, pulling her closer as you lean in to whisper in her ear. "It's almost time to end the day," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air, a subtle hint of the night's impending conclusion. But you're not quite ready for the day to end, not without a grand finale. "But I want to end it with a bang."

As your hands glide under Iris's t-shirt, the fabric bunches up, providing a tantalizing peek at the skin beneath. Your left-hand travels upward, tracing the contours of her torso before arriving at the underside of her bra-clad breast. The material of the bra is soft and yielding under your touch, a stark contrast to the firmness of what lies beneath. Simultaneously, your right-hand ventures in the opposite direction, fingers skimming over the waistband of her skirt before delving lower. The texture of her clothing under your fingertips is a mix of rough and smooth, a tactile reminder of the layers separating your skin from hers.

Iris's breath hitches as your hands settle into their respective destinations.

Your right hand, deft and assured, slips beneath the waistband of Iris's panties, the pads of your fingers tracing the contours of her pussy. The warmth emanating from her is palpable, a beckoning that draws you further into the intimate exploration. Simultaneously, your left hand executes a swift, practiced maneuver, the clasp of her bra giving way under your touch. The fabric loosens, and with a gentle nudge, you free her breasts from their confines. They spill into your waiting hand, the skin soft and supple, the nipples hardening under the cool air of the Room of Requirement. Iris's breath hitches as your hands claim their prizes. Her breasts, now freed, rise and fall with her quickened breathing. Her eyes flutter closed as your fingers continue their exploration, the sensation of your touch sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

With your left hand still cradling Iris's breast, your thumb brushing rhythmically against her hardened nipple, you focus on the task at hand with your right. You gently part her folds with your fingers, the wetness you encounter a testament to the effectiveness of your potion working its magic. The heat from her core is intense, a furnace stoked by the magic-infused arousal coursing through her veins. With a deft movement, you guide two fingers into Iris's inviting warmth. Her body tenses momentarily, then relaxes as it adjusts to the intrusion. The potion ensures her compliance, but there's a genuine response beneath the enchantment. You feel her muscles clench around your fingers, a sensation that sends a thrill through you.

Your fingers move with precision and purpose, each thrust designed to stoke the fire within Iris. The potion, already hard at work, ensures that every touch, every caress, is magnified tenfold. You can feel her responding to your rhythm, her body moving in sync with your hand. The sound of her rapid breaths fills the Room of Requirement, punctuated by the occasional gasp as you hit a particularly sensitive spot. The Room of Requirement, usually a sanctuary of tranquility, is now alive with the sounds of Iris's escalating arousal. Your fingers pump in and out of her with a relentless cadence, each stroke bringing her closer to the precipice of an explosive climax. Iris's hips begin to buck, instinctively seeking more of the pleasure you're wringing from her.

As your fingers work tirelessly, you feel Iris's body begin to tremble. Her breaths come in short, sharp gasps, and a flush creeps up her neck, painting her cheeks a rosy hue. You know the signs; she's teetering on the edge, ready to plunge into the abyss of ecstasy.

With a final, swift thrust, you send her over the edge.

As Iris's body convulses in the aftermath of her climax, you withdraw your fingers from her depths, the digits glistening with the evidence of her pleasure. Her eyelids flutter open, revealing hazy, sated eyes that lock onto yours. Without a word, you bring your hand to her lips, pressing the tips of your fingers against their parted softness. Iris's eyes widen slightly as she tastes herself on your fingers, the flavor of her climax a potent reminder of the intimacy you've just shared. The potion's influence ensures her compliance, but there's an undeniable spark of something being wrong in her gaze as she tentatively licks your fingers clean. Iris's cheeks flush a deeper shade of red as she realizes what she's doing, the taste of her arousal lingering on her tongue. The potion ensures her obedience, but the faint crease in her brow hints at the war within her. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping from yours as she processes the intensity of the experience.

As Iris's tongue flicks against your fingers, the potion in her system ensures that her senses remain heightened, her reactions magnified. The taste of herself, salty and sweet, is strange yet oddly compelling to her. You curl your fingers slightly, gently tugging at her tongue, guiding her in a dance of sensuality. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, a silent question forming in her gaze.

"You liked that, didn't you?" you ask, your voice carrying a note of command that reverberates through the Room of Requirement. Iris blinks slowly, her eyelids heavy with the afterglow of her climax. She nods a small motion that sends a cascade of red hair tumbling over her shoulders.

"Good girl," you murmur, withdrawing your fingers from her mouth with a wet pop.

With a flick of your wand and a softly spoken "Tergeo," you clean your hands, Iris's thighs, and the immediate area, leaving no trace of the intimate activities that just transpired. Iris looks at you, her eyes still clouded with the potion's effects but a hint of clarity begins to shine through. You offer your arm, a gentlemanly gesture that stands in stark contrast to the manipulative actions you've taken thus far. She hesitates for a moment, her gaze shifting from your arm to your face, trying to reconcile the conflicting emotions swirling within her.

"Come on, Iris." Iris takes your arm, her fingers curling around the sleeves of your robes. The Room of Requirement, having served its purpose, fades away behind you as you lead her out. The corridors of Hogwarts are quiet, the castle's stone walls echoing softly with the remnants of the day's activities.

You guide Iris through the labyrinthine halls, her steps slightly unsteady beside you.

As you approach the familiar staircase leading to the respective dormitories of Gryffindor and Slytherin, the weight of the day's events hangs in the air. The flickering torches cast long shadows, creating a tapestry of light and darkness that dances on the stone walls. You stop, turning to face Iris, her green eyes still holding that hazy mix of satisfaction and confusion. Leaning in, you whisper into her ear, your breath warm against her skin. "Sleep well, Iris," you say, the words a soft murmur that seems to linger in the air. The potion's effects are evident in the way she sways slightly towards you, her body seeking the closeness it has become accustomed to throughout the day.

As you pull away from Iris, you give her a small, knowing smile, one that acknowledges the unspoken bond that the day's events have forged between you. You turn on your heel, the hem of your robe swishing against the stone floor, and begin to desend the stairs toward the Slytherin dormitories.