Chapter 4: The Collar Comes Off
The day had stretched long and merciless, filled with lessons that carved themselves into her bones.
Madame Voss had returned after luncheon, bringing with her a trunk full of garments that Lyra was forced to try on, one after another, until she wanted to scream. Silks and velvets and lace that clung to her curves like a second skin. Dresses that left her shoulders bare, gowns that swept the floor, underthings so delicate they felt like cobwebs against her flesh.
"You have an exceptional figure," Madame Voss had remarked, cinching a corset tight enough to steal her breath. "Men will find you irresistible. Use that."
The words had lodged themselves in Lyra's chest like a splinter.
She had spent the afternoon learning to curtsy, to pour tea without spilling, to laugh at jokes she didn't find funny. She had learned to lower her eyes at the right moments, to part her lips just so, to make her voice soft and inviting. She had learned to be a woman. To be desirable. To be wanted.
And through it all, the collar had hummed against her throat, warm and approving.
Now, hours later, the chamber was quiet. The velvet drapes whispered against the stone walls, stirred by some draft that came from nowhere and everywhere. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting dancing shadows across the obsidian shelves and their cursed occupants. The air smelled of burnt sage and something darker—amber and leather and the faint metallic tang of the collar itself.
Lyra knelt on the cold stone floor before the bed.
Her knees ached. Her back ached. Her very bones ached with exhaustion. But she held herself still, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap, her green eyes fixed on Draco where he sat on the edge of the mattress.
He had been watching her for a long time. Long enough that the silence had grown heavy, thick with something unspoken. His gray eyes were unreadable, his expression carefully neutral, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against his thigh.
The collar was warm but quiet against her throat. No compulsion. No pull. Just the steady, patient hum of magic waiting to be used.
"Say it again," Draco said finally.
His voice was soft. Almost gentle.
Lyra lifted her chin. The words had been forming in her chest for hours, taking shape during the endless lessons, crystallizing with every curtsy and every forced smile. She had been planning this moment, waiting for the right time, the right tone.
She had not expected the collar to fall silent.
But the silence had come, and in that silence, she had found something. Not freedom. Not quite. But something close.
"I don't need it anymore," she said.
The words rang through the chamber like a bell. Clear. Steady. True.
Draco's eyebrow arched. "The collar?"
"Yes." She held his gaze. "I don't need it."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "You've said that before. Yesterday. Last night. And every time, I've watched you fight it. Fight me." A pause. "So why should I believe you now?"
She had prepared for this. She had rehearsed the words until they felt natural on her tongue, until they didn't taste like lies.
"Because I've stopped fighting," she said. "I've stopped pretending. Every time I kneel, every time I open my mouth, every time I spread my legs—it's not because the collar makes me. It's because I want to."
The words hung in the air between them.
Draco didn't move. Didn't blink. His gray eyes were fixed on her with a stillness that was almost predatory.
"You want to," he repeated. Not a question.
"Yes." She uncrossed her hands and placed them on her thighs, palms up, a gesture of surrender. "I've been telling myself that you're forcing me. That the collar is making me do these things. But that's a lie. The collar amplifies what's already there. It doesn't create anything." She swallowed hard. "I want you. I want your cock. I want your hands on me. I want everything you've given me and everything you haven't yet."
Still, he didn't move.
"And now I'm saying it out loud. Without the collar. Without the compulsion." She took a slow breath. "I don't need it anymore."
The silence stretched between them like a held note.
Then Draco stood.
He crossed the space between them in three long strides, his bare feet silent on the cold stone. He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell him—leather and cedar and something beneath it, something warm and male and entirely him.
He reached down.
His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her face up. She met his eyes and held them, refusing to look away. His thumb traced along her cheekbone, feather-light, almost tender.
"Hold still," he murmured.
She held still.
His other hand moved to the back of her neck. She felt the clasp of the collar, the cold metal against his fingers, the faint vibration of the enchantment as it recognized his magic. There was a click—sharp and final—and the collar loosened.
He caught it before it hit the floor.
The absence of its hum was immediate and dizzying.
Lyra gasped.
The world tilted. She swayed on her knees, her hands flying out to catch herself on the stone. Her head swam with vertigo. The magic that had been a constant presence in her mind, a whisper in her ear, a weight around her throat—gone. Just gone.
She felt naked. Exposed. Heavy with a freedom she hadn't known she'd been missing.
And also terrified.
Because without the collar, there was nothing to blame but herself.
She stayed where she was, on her hands and knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The cold of the stone seeped into her palms. She could feel Draco's eyes on her, watching, waiting.
She waited for the compulsion to return. For the panic to drive her to her feet. For the instinct to run, to fight, to do anything but stay.
It didn't come.
She lifted her head and looked at him.
He was holding the collar in one hand, dangling it like a trinket. His expression was still unreadable, but something had shifted. Something in the set of his jaw, the angle of his shoulders. He looked—curious. Cautious. Almost uncertain.
"Well," he said. "You're still here."
"I'm still here," she agreed.
She pushed herself up onto her knees. Then, without waiting for permission, she crawled onto the bed.
The crimson silk was cool against her skin. She moved on all fours, her body swaying with each movement, her long dark hair falling around her shoulders in disarray. She positioned herself in the center of the enormous mattress, facing away from him, and spread her thighs.
The air was cool against the wet heat between her legs.
"I want your child," she said.
Her voice didn't waver. Didn't crack. It was steady and sure, a cold clear flame burning through the fog of uncertainty.
She heard Draco's sharp intake of breath.
She looked over her shoulder at him. He hadn't moved. He stood at the edge of the bed, the collar still in his hand, his gray eyes wide with something that looked almost like shock.
"I want you to fuck me," she continued. "I want you to put a baby in me. I want to feel you cum inside me and know that's what you're doing. That's why I came back. That's why I stayed. That's why I'm here."
She reached back and touched her own cunt, running her fingers through the slick folds, coating them in her wetness. Then she brought her hand to her mouth and sucked her fingers clean, tasting herself, letting him watch.
"I've never lied to you," she said. "I've fought you. I've hated you. I've called you names and plotted against you. But I've never lied." She met his eyes. "And I'm not lying now."
Something broke in Draco's expression.
The cool composure shattered like glass. His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. The hand holding the collar clenched into a fist.
"You want my child," he said, and his voice was different now—low and rough, scraped raw.
"Yes."
"You understand what that means?"
"Yes."
"Once I put a baby in you, you're mine. Forever." He stepped closer to the bed, the collar still clenched in his fist. "No running. No escape. You'll be bound to me in ways the collar could never manage."
"I know."
"Dammit, Lyra—"
"I know," she said again. "I want it. I want you. I've wanted it since the first time you touched me. I just didn't let myself admit it." She held his gaze, steady, certain. "I'm admitting it now."
For a long moment, he didn't move.
The candles flickered. The velvet drapes whispered. The chamber held its breath.
Then Draco dropped the collar to the floor.
It hit the stone with a clatter that echoed through the silence. He didn't look at it. He was looking at her—at the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips, the wet, waiting heat between her thighs.
"You want my child," he said again.
"Put it in me," she whispered.
He didn't need to be told again.
She heard the rustle of fabric as he stripped off his shirt. Heard the clink of his belt buckle being undone. Heard the soft thud of his trousers hitting the floor. She stayed where she was, on all fours, her thighs spread, her cunt dripping, presenting herself like an offering.
The mattress dipped as he climbed onto the bed behind her.
His hands landed on her hips—firm, commanding, fingers digging into the soft flesh. She felt his breath against the back of her neck, warm and ragged. Felt the heat of his body as he leaned over her, covering her, claiming her.
"You're sure," he rasped.
"I'm sure."
He positioned himself behind her. She felt the blunt tip of his cock press against her entrance, hot and thick and insistent. She braced herself, fingers curling into the silk sheets, and pushed back against him.
He slid inside in one brutal thrust.
She screamed.
Not from pain. From fullness. From the sudden, overwhelming sensation of being filled to the brim, stretched around his girth, impaled on his length. Her cunt clenched around him, wet and tight and wanting, and she heard him groan behind her—a deep, animal sound that vibrated through her bones.
"Fuck," Draco breathed. "Fuck, you're always so tight."
He pulled back and slammed in again.
The force of it drove her forward, made her gasp and moan. He set a relentless rhythm, each stroke harder than the last, his hips slapping against her ass with a wet, obscene sound. His fingers tightened on her hips, sure to leave bruises, and she couldn't bring herself to care.
"That's it," he growled. "Take all of it. Take my cock, take my cum, take everything I've got."
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, please—"
"Gonna fuck a baby into you," he said. "Gonna fill you up until you're dripping with it. Gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to."
She arched her back, pressing her hips back to meet his thrusts. The angle changed, and suddenly he was hitting something deep inside her, something that made sparks burst behind her eyes and her thighs tremble beneath her.
"Right there," she cried. "Please, right there—"
He hammered that spot relentlessly, his cock buried deep in her cunt with every stroke. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto her back. The silver chain he wore around his neck swung against her skin, cold against the heat of her flesh.
"Look at you," he panted. "Writhing on my cock. Desperate for my cum. All those years of being the perfect hero, and now you're just a whore begging to be bred."
She should have hated the words. She should have felt shame.
All she felt was heat. All she felt was want.
The collar was gone. The compulsion was gone. And still, she wanted this. Still, she craved him. Still, she would have crawled over broken glass just to feel him inside her.
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, I'm your whore. Your breeding stock. Your—"
He cut her off with a particularly brutal thrust that pushed her face into the pillows.
"Say it again," he demanded.
"Your breeding stock," she gasped into the silk. "Your good little breeder. Fill me up. Make me round with your child."
The rhythm faltered. She felt him swell inside her, felt the first pulse of his release—
But he pulled out.
She whined at the sudden emptiness, her cunt clenching around nothing, desperate and denied. Behind her, Draco was breathing hard, his cock still hard and glistening with her wetness.
"Not yet," he said.
What?
She looked over her shoulder, confused, frustrated. "What are you—"
He pushed two fingers inside her, scooping up the wetness that coated her inner walls. When he pulled them out, they were slick and shining. He brought them to her mouth.
"Suck," he commanded.
She obeyed, taking his fingers between her lips, tasting herself on his skin. The salt and musk of her own arousal mixed with the taste of him, and she moaned around his knuckles.
He pulled his fingers free and reached down. She couldn't see what he was doing, but she heard it—the wet, obscene sound of him spitting into his palm. Then his hand was on his cock, slicking himself up with a mixture of her spit and his.
"Spread wider," he said.
She spread her thighs as far as they could go, her knees aching on the mattress. The cool air hit her exposed cunt, making her shiver.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, Draco—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
He drove into her again.
The spit made the slide easier, smoother, but no less intense. He pounded into her with single-minded purpose now, his rhythm brutal and unrelenting. The bed creaked beneath them. The candles flickered wildly. The whole chamber seemed to shudder with the force of their coupling.
"That's it," Draco growled. "Take it. Take every inch. You're going to cum for me, and then you're going to take my seed."
She was close. So close. The pressure was building in her belly, coiling tight, ready to snap. Her clit throbbed with every thrust, grinding against nothing, desperate for friction.
"Touch yourself," he ordered. "Make yourself cum on my cock."
She reached back between her legs, fingers finding her swollen clit. The first touch made her hips jerk. The second made her vision blur. She circled the sensitive nub in time with Draco's thrusts, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach.
"That's a good girl," he cooed. "Working yourself on my cock, playing with your little clit. You want to cum?"
"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, please—"
"Then cum for me."
The command was like a spark to dry tinder.
She shattered.
Her orgasm ripped through her like a storm, bowing her spine and stealing her breath. Her cunt clenched hard around Draco's cock, rippling with waves of pleasure that seemed to go on and on. She screamed wordlessly into the pillow, her fingers still working her clit, drawing out every last pulse of the climax.
Draco fucked her through it, riding the spasms of her cunt with gritted teeth. When the last tremor faded, when she was limp and trembling beneath him, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the back of her neck.
"Now," he breathed. "Now you take it."
His hips slammed forward one final time.
She felt him come undone.
His cock pulsed deep inside her, spilling heat in wave after wave. She could feel it—the thick, hot rush of his seed flooding her cunt, coating her walls, claiming her from the inside out. His hips stayed flush against her own, holding her impaled, holding her open, making sure not a single drop escaped.
She milked him dry, her inner walls clenching and releasing in rhythmic pulses that coaxed every last bit of his release from his body. Her cunt drank him in, greedy and desperate, and she whispered into the pillow.
"Again."
Draco laughed—a ragged, breathless sound. "Again?"
"Again," she repeated. She wiggled her hips, working his slowly softening cock. "I want more. I want all of it."
He pulled out with a wet, obscene sound, and she felt a gush of his seed follow—thick and warm, trickling down her thighs. She looked down at the crimson sheets and saw the evidence of their joining: white and milky and unmistakable.
"Look at you," Draco marvelled. "Fucking dripping with it."
"Put it back in," she said. She reached back and gathered some of the cum that had escaped, pushing it back inside her with her fingers. "Don't waste it."
His cock twitched at the sight.
"You're fucking incredible," he whispered.
She rolled onto her back, her legs falling open. Her cunt was red and swollen, glistening with their combined fluids. She reached down and spread her lips with her fingers, showing him the entrance he had just claimed.
"You want to make sure it takes," she said. "Don't you? You want to fuck your seed so deep inside me that there's no question. That I'll be carrying your child."
Draco's eyes were dark, hungry. His cock was already hardening again, rising from the nest of pale hair at his groin.
"Yes," he said roughly. "That's exactly what I want."
He moved between her legs, positioning himself at her entrance. His cock was slick with her wetness and his own release, and it slid inside her easily now—still tight, still full, but no longer painful.
"Look at me," he said.
She looked up at him. His face was above her, gray eyes locked on green, and in that moment, she saw something she hadn't expected.
Vulnerability.
For all his cruelty, for all his carefully constructed control, there was something fragile behind his eyes. Something almost like fear.
"Once we do this," he said, "there's no going back."
"I know."
"I'll never let you go."
"I know."
"Swear it to me." His voice cracked. "Swear you'll stay. That you'll be mine. Not because of magic, not because of the collar, but because you want it."
She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. His skin was warm beneath her palms, smooth and pale.
"I swear," she said. "I'm yours. Not because you forced me. Not because I have no choice. Because you're what I want."
He kissed her.
It was the first time he had ever kissed her properly. His lips were soft against hers, hesitant almost, as if he expected her to pull away. She didn't. She kissed him back, opening her mouth to him, letting him taste the salt of her tears.
He fucked her slowly this time.
Gentle, almost. Each stroke deliberate. Each movement designed to draw out their pleasure, to make it last. His hips rolled against hers in a steady rhythm, and he watched her face the whole time—watched her lips part, her eyes flutter, her breath catch.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured.
"Your baby," she whispered. "I want your baby."
He reached down between them and pressed his thumb to her clit. She gasped and bucked beneath him.
"Cum for me," he said. "Cum for me while I put my child in you."
The combination of his thumb on her clit and his cock deep inside her was too much. She came with a sob, her body arching off the mattress, her cunt gripping his cock like a fist.
He came a moment later.
This time, she felt every pulse. Every jet of his seed, spilling hot and thick inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held him deep, making sure nothing could escape, making sure every drop of him found its home inside her.
When he finally pulled out, they both looked down at the evidence.
Her cunt was open and raw, glistening with their mixed fluids. A thick trickle of his seed and her wetness seeped out and dripped onto the sheets.
"Push it back in," Draco said hoarsely. "Don't let any of it escape."
She reached down and scooped up what had escaped, pushing it back inside her, her fingers delving deep. The motion made her gasp—she was sore and sensitive, but she didn't care.
"Done," she said.
He collapsed beside her, gathering her into his arms. She went willingly, curling against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin.
They lay like that for a long time, tangled together on the ravaged sheets, their breath slowly steadier. The candles had burned low, casting the chamber in dim amber light. The cursed artifacts hummed softly on their shelves, indifferent to the scene they had witnessed.
"You're not wearing the collar," he said into the darkness.
"No."
"You could run."
She lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow, but she could feel the tension in his body beneath her.
"I said the words," she murmured. "I meant them."
He opened his eyes. They were gray and luminous in the dim light, and she could see the doubt lingering there, the remnant of the boy who had never trusted anyone.
"I believe you," he said finally. "I don't know why, but I believe you."
She pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
"I'll be here," she said. "When you wake up. When you come back from wherever you go. I'll be here." She traced patterns on his chest with her fingertip. "I'm your woman now."
The words hung in the air like a vow.
Draco pulled her close and closed his eyes.
The night crept in, gentler than before. The fire in the grate burned low. The moon threw silver light through the high windows, painting the dark sheets with pale lines. Draco reached for the coverlet and drew it up, tucking the ends around her shoulders with a care that felt almost gentle.
"Sleep," he said.
She closed her eyes.
But sleep didn't come easily. Her mind was still churning, still processing everything that had happened—the removal of the collar, the absence of its constant hum against her throat, the words she had spoken and the promises she had made.
She had meant it. All of it.
But somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that this was only the beginning. That there would be more battles ahead—not with Draco, but with herself. With the remnants of Harry Potter that still lingered in the corners of her consciousness.
She pushed the voice away and pressed closer to Draco's warmth.
In the morning, she would wake to a new reality. No collar. No compulsion. Just her and whatever she chose to become.
And for the first time since waking in this body, she was not afraid.
She drifted off to sleep with his heartbeat against her ear and his seed still warm inside her.