The massive oak doors closed behind them with a heavy thud that seemed to echo through the entire entrance hall, and Harry found himself standing in what could only be described as architectural perfection.
The entrance hall was bloody enormous - easily three times the size of the Dursleys' entire downstairs, with a ceiling that soared up into shadows. A grand staircase curved upward along one wall, its dark wood handrail polished to a mirror-like shine.
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. "This place is mental."
"The manor contains forty-seven rooms across three floors," Celeste explained, and her honey-sweet voice once again made Harry's skin tingle. "The ground floor houses the main living areas - drawing rooms, dining hall, library, conservatory, and kitchen. The second floor contains the family bedrooms and private studies, while the third floor holds guest quarters and storage."
Harry tried to focus on what she was saying, he really did, but it was damn near impossible when she moved like that. Every gesture was fluid and graceful, and the way her dress moved with her body was absolutely mesmerizing. He caught himself staring at the way the fabric clung to her curves, the way her hair caught the light from the chandeliers overhead, and the sheer amount of exposed skin that sent his blood rushing south.
"The grounds encompass nearly two hundred acres," Celeste continued, leading them deeper into the manor. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, and Harry found the sound oddly hypnotic. "There are extensive gardens, a greenhouse, stables, and a private lake. The property is completely warded and self-sustaining."
"Self-sustaining?" Hermione asked, her curiosity kicking in once again despite her obvious discomfort with their guide. "How?"
"Magic, Miss Granger," Celeste replied with that mysterious smile. "The Blacks were always innovative in their use of magical theory. The manor generates its own power, maintains its own climate, and even produces fresh food in the enchanted gardens."
They walked through a series of corridors that seemed to stretch on forever, passing countless doorways and corridors that branched off in all directions.
"As I said, the master's quarters are on the second floor," Celeste continued, her gaze sliding back to Harry. "Those, Master Harry, are particularly… accommodating."
Harry swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Accommodating? What does that even mean?
"Here we are," Celeste announced, unaware or uncaring of his thoughts. Harry saw her push open a set of double doors to reveal what had to be the most luxurious living room he had ever seen.
The room was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the grounds, a fireplace big enough to park a car in, and furniture that looked like it belonged in a palace. Deep burgundy sofas and chairs were arranged around low tables, and the entire space felt warm and inviting despite its grandeur.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Celeste said, gesturing toward the velvet armchairs and sofas in the seating area with a graceful sweep of her arm.
Harry chose one of the larger sofas, sinking into cushions that felt like clouds. Hermione settled beside him, though he noticed she was sitting rather stiffly, her eyes never leaving Celeste.
"I knew the Blacks had money, but this is..." He gestured around the opulent room. "This is mental."
"The Black family has always been wealthy," Celeste explained. "But more than that, they understood the true value of magical power. This manor is not just a home, Master Harry. It is a sanctuary, a fortress, and a source of incredible magical energy."
She was moving closer as she spoke, and Harry found himself tracking her every step. There was something almost predatory about the way she moved, like a cat stalking its prey, but in the most alluring way possible.
"The magic here will respond to you as the heir," she continued, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "It will strengthen you, protect you, and serve your every need."
"That's... good to know," Harry said weakly, his voice coming out rougher than he'd intended. He couldn't seem to look away from her eyes - those incredible purple orbs that seemed to glow with their own inner light.
And then, to Harry's complete and utter shock, Celeste glided over and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands resting lightly on her thighs. Her dress rode up slightly, revealing more of those sheer stockings, and Harry's jaw hit the floor.
"What the bloody hell-" he started, his eyes going wide as saucers.
"What the—?!" Hermione sputtered, her eyes bugging out. "What are you doing?!"
Celeste tilted her head, her expression serene, like she was offering them tea instead of kneeling like some kind of… well, Harry didn't even know what. "I am welcoming Master Harry to his new home, Miss Granger," she said calmly. "It is my duty to ensure his comfort."
"His comfort!?" Hermione whispered, her face turning pink. "This is—This is highly inappropriate! Harry, tell her to stop!"
Celeste acted as if kneeling in front of Harry was the most natural thing in the world. She settled back on her heels, her hands resting lightly on her thighs, and looked up at Harry with an expression that was somehow both innocent and incredibly seductive.
His brain was a mess of static. She's on her knees. In front of me. What the actual fuck is happening? His heart was pounding so hard he was sure everyone in the room could hear it. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but no words came out. Celeste's purple eyes locked onto his, and he felt like he was drowning in them, those silver flecks glinting like stars.
"Master Harry," she whispered, her voice breathy and full of promise. "I have been waiting for you since the moment you became the Black heir eighteen years ago. I have maintained this manor, preserved its magic, and prepared for the day you would come to claim what is rightfully yours."
"Eighteen years?" Harry sputtered, his brain struggling to process what was happening. "But I was just a baby-"
"Celeste, I don't know what kind of game you're playing," Hermione interrupted, her voice rising with indignation, "but this is completely inappropriate! Harry is-"
Her words were cut off abruptly as Celeste reached up, her hands sliding up his thighs. She leaned in, cupped Harry's face in her impossibly soft hands, and kissed him.
Harry's mind went completely blank.
Her lips were soft and warm and perfect, and she tasted like something sweet and exotic that made his head spin. For a moment, he was too shocked to do anything but sit there like a complete idiot, but then she deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing along his lower lip, and something inside him just... melted.
This wasn't like kissing Cho - that had been awkward and wet and frankly a bit disappointing. This was like kissing fire itself, like pure magic flowing through his veins. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to come alive, and he could feel his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
His brain was screaming, What the fuck?! I should stop this. He knew he should stop this. This was mental, completely barking mad, and Hermione was right there watching, but...
But Merlin, it felt incredible. Like nothing he'd ever experienced in his life.
The moment her tongue brushed against his, his body took over. He kissed her back, hard, his hands instinctively reaching for her shoulders, pulling her closer.
The kiss heated up fast—too fast. Celeste's hands slid from his face to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his messy hair, and Harry groaned into her mouth, his whole body on fire. This is insane. This is so fucking insane, but it feels so good. His hands moved of their own accord, one settling on her waist while the other buried itself in those silky crimson locks.
She made a soft sound against his lips - part sigh, part moan - and Harry felt something deep in his chest respond to it. His heartbeat was racing, thundering in his ears, but somehow, impossibly, he could feel another heartbeat matching it perfectly. Celeste's heartbeat, he realized dimly, beating in perfect synchronization with his own.
It was like their very life forces were connecting, intertwining in a way that felt both magical and deeply intimate. Harry had never experienced anything like it - this sense of perfect harmony, of two souls recognizing each other.
The kiss grew more heated, more desperate, and Harry found himself pulling her closer, his hands roaming over the soft fabric of her dress. She felt incredible - all curves and warmth and silky skin - and that intoxicating perfume of hers was making it impossible to think clearly.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice was screaming that this was wrong, that he should stop, that he didn't even know what she was or what she wanted. But that voice was getting quieter and quieter, drowned out by the feel of her lips on his, the way she fit perfectly in his arms, and the magical connection that seemed to be growing stronger with every passing second.
He felt powerless to stop it, but the truth was... a part of him didn't want to stop it. After everything he'd been through in recent months, a part of him had been starving for this kind of connection, this kind of passion, and now that he'd tasted it, he wasn't sure he could give it up.
It was Hermione's voice that cut through the haze. "Harry! What are you doing?!"
Harry pulled back, gasping, his lips tingling. Both of them were breathing hard, and Celeste's purple eyes were glowing more brightly than ever, half-lidded and smoldering. She stayed close, her breath warm against his cheek, her lips swollen and red from their kiss.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he rasped, his voice rough. "I don't—I don't know what's happening."
Celeste's lips curved into a sultry smile, her eyes never leaving his. "I have been waiting for this day, Master Harry, ever since you were named the Black heir eighteen years ago." Her voice was pure seduction, every word dripping with promise. "It is my purpose to serve you, to bring you pleasure, to fulfill your every desire. I feel it in my very soul, Master Harry. The magic… your magic, it calls to me, binds me to you, it's made me yours to command."
"Yours to command?" Hermione's voice came out as a strangled squeak. "What do you mean, yours to command?"
"I exist to serve Master Harry," Celeste explained, her voice dripping with seductive promise as she gazed up at Harry adoringly. "To fulfill his every desire, to meet his every need, to be whatever he requires me to be. I am bound to him by magic older and more powerful than most wizards could ever comprehend."
Harry stared down at her, his mind reeling. This beautiful, mysterious woman was bound to him? Had been waiting for him for eighteen years? It was like something out of a fantasy, too good to be true.
And yet, looking into those glowing purple eyes, feeling the magical connection that still thrummed between them, Harry found himself believing every word she said.
"This is madness!" Hermione finally hissed, glaring. "Harry, this is—she's not human! We need to—"
"Calm down, Hermione," Harry said gruffly, shocking her.
She made to speak, but her words were cut off as Celeste's hands moved higher, one of them boldly groping Harry over his trousers. Harry's breath hitched, his body jerking where he sat. Oh, Merlin, she's touching me. She's actually touching me. His face burned, but he couldn't look away from Celeste's face, from the way her lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out to wet them.
"Miss Granger," Celeste said, her tone amused but firm, "I am merely doing my duty. Welcoming my master to his new home in the manner he deserves." Her hand squeezed gently, and Harry bit back a groan, his hips shifting involuntarily.
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Duty?! This isn't duty! Those Blacks must've done something to you, bound you to please them! You're being coerced, like—like a house-elf! You don't have to do this, Celeste. You can—"
Celeste let out a low, throaty laugh that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Coerced? By those unworthy idiots? Oh, sweet girl, you misunderstand. None of them could hold their own against me! No Black has ever set foot in this manor in centuries? Why do you think that is?"
Hermione stared at her in shock, and despite everything, she was hanging on to every word Celeste was saying.
"They might have succeeded in binding me to this house and their bloodline, but they were unworthy!" Celeste grinned ferally. "None were worthy. None until…"
She turned to Harry, a look of utter devotion on her face. With her other hand, she reached up to gently stroke his face. "I felt your magic the moment you became the heir. Eighteen years since I've been waiting for you to come and claim your inheritance, Master Harry."
Harry groaned as she gave his manhood a soft squeeze and Celeste grinned, turning to Hermione. "This is my deepest wish, my greatest desire—to serve Master Harry to the best of my abilities." Her eyes flicked back to Harry, and she leaned closer, her breath hot against his ear. "Isn't that right, Master?"
Harry's brain was finally functioning, numerous thoughts passing through his head. She's a succubus, isn't she? She's gotta be. But she's so… loyal. So perfect. He should stop this. He knew he should. Not because he sensed something nefarious, no. He could tell she was genuine, truly loyal to him, truly wanting to serve him as she had claimed so far. No, it was because he felt they should talk before… going further. But her hand was still moving, stroking him through his trousers, and it felt so bloody good that he couldn't muster the desire to ask her to stop.
Hermione's eyes bugged out as Celeste's fingers deftly undid Harry's trousers, pulling his hard cock free. Harry groaned, his head falling back against the chair. Fuck, her hand's so soft. So warm. Celeste's grip was firm but gentle, her strokes slow and sensual, and Harry's hips bucked slightly, chasing the sensation.
"Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry managed, his voice strained. "I—I don't want this to stop. It feels too good." He felt like a complete git for saying it, but it was the truth. Every nerve in his body was singing, and Celeste's touch was like nothing he'd ever felt before.
Hermione was speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Her face was bright red, and her eyes kept darting to Celeste's hand, to the way it moved over Harry's length.
She's staring. Hermione's actually staring. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through Harry, and he groaned again, louder this time.
Celeste's eyes lit up, her smile widening. "Oh, Master Harry," she murmured, her voice thick with delight. "You're responding so beautifully." She leaned forward, her crimson hair brushing against his thighs, and before Harry could process what was happening, her lips closed around him.
Harry's vision went white. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell. Her mouth was hot, wet, and impossibly skilled, her tongue swirling around him in ways that made his toes curl. He gripped the armrests of the chair, his knuckles turning white, as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper with every movement.
"Celeste," he gasped, his voice hoarse. "Fuck, that's—" He couldn't finish the sentence. His whole world had narrowed to the sensation of her mouth, the way her lips stretched around him, and the soft hum she made that vibrated through his entire body.
Hermione made a strangled noise, her hands clenched into fists. "Harry, this is—this is insane! You can't just—" But her words faltered, and Harry caught her staring again, her eyes wide and conflicted. She's watching. She can't look away. The thought made his cock twitch, and Celeste hummed in approval, her pace quickening.
Harry was lost in it now, his hips moving in time with her movements and his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Celeste was relentless, her tongue and lips working him in a way that was almost magical. She's a succubus. There's no other explanation. No human could do this. But she was so devoted, so eager to please him, and it made his chest ache in a way he didn't understand.
"Master," Celeste murmured around him, her voice muffled but still dripping with seduction. "Let me have you for it." Her hands cupped his balls, her thumbs brushing against him, and Harry felt himself spiraling toward the edge.
"Fuck, Celeste," he groaned, his voice raw. "I'm gonna—" He didn't finish as his body tensed, and he came hard, his release spilling into her mouth. She didn't pull away, her lips sealed around him, swallowing every drop with a hunger that made his head spin.
When it was over, Harry slumped back in the chair, panting, as his body kept buzzing with aftershocks. Celeste pulled back slowly, her tongue darting out to lick her lips clean. She looked radiant, her purple eyes glowing brighter than ever, and her smile almost worshipful.
"My lord and master," she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. "You have given me your grace, your fire, your life." She kissed his thigh softly, her hands still resting on him. "Thank you, Master Harry, for this gift. It is my joy to receive it."
Harry could barely think, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "I—uh—You're welcome?" he managed, his voice weak. What do you even say to that? He glanced at Celeste, who was still licking her fingers clean, catching every last drop of his seed with a look of pure bliss. His cock twitched again, and he groaned softly, shaking his head.
Hermione's, on the other hand, was still frozen, her face a mix of shock, disbelief, and something else Harry couldn't quite place. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it, her eyes flicking between Harry's face and… well, below his waist.
Celeste rose gracefully to her feet, smoothing her dress as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Shall I prepare your rooms now, Master Harry?" she asked, her tone light and professional, like she hadn't just blown his mind in front of his best friend.
"Uh… yeah," Harry said, hastily tucking himself back into his trousers. His face was burning, and he couldn't bring himself to look at Hermione. "That'd be… good."
As Celeste glided out of the room, her hips swaying hypnotically, Harry glanced at Hermione, who was staring at the floor, her brain clearly struggling to process what she'd just witnessed.
Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. What the fuck has Sirius gotten me into?
xXx
An uncomfortable silence settled over the living room of the manor following Celeste's departure. Harry sat slumped in the velvet armchair, his face flushed and his hair even messier than usual. He could still feel the sensation of Celeste's lips on his own, her tongue tangling with his, and the warmth of her mouth.
He didn't dare look at Hermione who sat frozen beside him, staring at the ornate carpet with unseeing eyes.
Harry's mind was a mess. Half of it was still reeling from Celeste's impossible allure, and the other half was screaming at him to say something, anything, to break the tension. Still, nothing came to his mind.
What the hell could he even say after something like that? "Sorry you had to see that, Hermione, but apparently she's some sort of magical sex goddess bound to me for life?" Yeah, that'd go over well.
"Hermione," he started, his voice rough and barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean for… that to happen. I don't even know what that was."
Hermione's head snapped up, her brown eyes wide and stormy, filled with a mix of shock, anger, and hurt. Her cheeks were still pink, her lips pressed into a tight line.
"You don't know what that was?" she echoed, her voice sharp but trembling. "Harry, she—she just… in front of me! And you let her!"
"I didn't—" Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, tugging at it in frustration. "I didn't let her, it just… happened! I wasn't thinking straight, alright? She's… she's not normal, Hermione. You saw her. You felt it. There's something about her, something magical, and it—it got to me."
Hermione's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing. "Got to you? Harry, you're Harry Potter! You've faced a Dark Lord, Death Eaters, dementors, and you're telling me you couldn't stop yourself because some… some woman batted her eyelashes at you?"
Her voice cracked slightly in the end with hurt, making his chest tighten painfully.
"It wasn't like that," he said, his voice low, almost pleading. "It wasn't just her looks. It was… I don't know, like her magic was pulling at mine. Like I couldn't think straight. I know it sounds mental, but it's true. I didn't mean to… to make you uncomfortable."
Hermione's gaze softened slightly, but her shoulders were still tense, her hands fidgeting in her lap. She looked away, her lips trembling as if she were fighting to keep her emotions in check.
"Harry, I just… I don't understand. This place, this woman—it's all too much. We're in the middle of a war, hunting horcruxes, and now you're… what, the master of some magical manor with a—a succubus or whatever she is fawning over you? It's insane!"
Harry winced at the word "succubus." It was exactly what he'd been thinking, but hearing it out loud made it feel even more surreal.
"I know," he said quietly. "I don't get it either. Sirius never told me about any of this. I didn't ask for it."
Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping as some of the fight drained out of her. She rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the headache.
"I know you didn't. I just… I thought you'd be more careful, Harry. More… restrained. After everything we've been through, I didn't expect you to just…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing again as she gestured vaguely toward the spot where Celeste had been kneeling.
Harry's face burned, and he looked away, his stomach twisting with guilt. "I'm sorry," he said again, quieter this time. "I didn't mean to make you feel… whatever you're feeling. I just… it felt good, Hermione. After everything—Voldemort, the horcruxes, all the shit we've been through—it felt good to feel something else for once. Something that wasn't pain or fear."
Hermione's expression softened further, her eyes searching his face. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something, but then she shook her head, her lips pressing together again.
"I get it," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "I do. It's just… a lot. We're all exhausted, Harry. I think we should just… rest. We can figure this out tomorrow."
Harry nodded, grateful for the out. "Yeah. Rest sounds good."
They sat there for a moment longer, the silence less uncomfortable but it was still awkward. Finally, Hermione stood, smoothing her jeans with shaky hands.
"Let's go find our rooms," she said, her voice clipped but not unkind. "Celeste said they're on the second floor, right?"
"Yeah," Harry said, standing as well, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. He followed her out of the living room, the opulent surroundings barely registering as his mind struggled with guilt, confusion, and the lingering heat of Celeste's ministrations.
As they walked up the stairs, Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Are you... are you okay?"
Was she okay with what had happened? Was she okay with him? Was she okay with the strange woman who'd just... done that to her best friend right in front of her?
"I'm fine," she lied, because what else could she say? "Just tired."
Harry nodded, though she could see he didn't believe her any more than she believed herself. "Right."
As they reached the second floor, Celeste appeared as if summoned, leading them down the corridor to their rooms without a word. She showed Hermione to a beautifully appointed room with windows overlooking the moonlit grounds, and Harry to what she called "the master's quarters" at the far end of the hall.
"Sleep well, Master Harry," Celeste murmured, her voice carrying that same seductive undertone that had made Hermione's skin crawl earlier. "I shall be nearby if you require anything at all."
Hermione caught the meaningful look that passed between them and quickly shut her door before she could see any more.
xXx
It was still dark outside.
Hermione lay on her back in the enormous four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling as moonlight filtered through the heavy curtains. The silk sheets felt cool against her skin, and after weeks of wandering about in the wild, the feeling of a soft bed should've been heavenly, but it did little to soothe the restlessness coursing through her.
The room was luxurious, but it felt like a gilded cage. She'd barely slept all night, her mind replaying the events of the previous evening on loop.
Celeste, with her crimson hair and glowing purple eyes, kneeling in front of Harry. The way her hands had moved confidently as she'd undone his trousers. The way Harry's eyes had fluttered shut, his breath hitching, his hips shifting as she'd… Merlin, she'd taken him in her mouth right there in front of her. And Hermione had watched, frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, her body betraying her with a heat she hadn't expected and didn't want to acknowledge.
She groaned, rolling onto her side and pressing her face into the pillow. Stop thinking about it, she told herself, but it was no use. The images were burned into her mind—Harry's flushed face, the way his hands had gripped the armrests, the soft, desperate sounds he'd made. And Celeste—bloody Celeste—looking so smug, so utterly devoted, as if pleasing Harry was her sole purpose in life.
Hermione's stomach twisted with a mix of emotions she couldn't untangle. She was angry—at Celeste for her brazen behavior, at Harry for letting it happen, and at herself for not knowing how to react. She was confused, because what the hell was Celeste? A succubus? A house-elf bound by some twisted Black family magic? A sentient manifestation of the manor's power?
And what about her? What was going on with her? She knew, deep down, what it was… something else, something she didn't want to name, because every time she thought about Celeste's lips on Harry and her mouth on… her body reacted in ways that made her cheeks burn with shame.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself to sleep, but her mind kept circling back to Harry. She couldn't fault him, not really. They'd been through hell these past months—hunting horcruxes, dodging Death Eaters, living in that godforsaken tent with Ron's constant brooding and her own fraying nerves.
Harry had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders since he was eleven, and now, at eighteen, he was still fighting, still sacrificing, still pushing forward despite everything. If anyone deserved a moment of pleasure, a moment to feel something other than fear or despair, it was him.
But Merlin, did it have to be like that? So blatant, so… raw? She'd expected Harry to be more cautious, more restrained. He was Harry—brave, stubborn, loyal Harry, who always put others before himself. She hadn't expected him to melt under Celeste's touch, to let himself be swept away by whatever magic she was wielding.
And yet, she couldn't deny the truth: he'd looked… happy. Not just pleasured, but truly, deeply content in a way she hadn't seen in months. Maybe ever.
Hermione's chest ached at the thought. She wanted that for him. She did. But it didn't make it any less jarring to see it happen right in front of her, to feel like an outsider in a moment that was so intimate, so intense. And it didn't help that she'd felt something too—a spark of heat, a twist in her gut that had nothing to do with anger or shock.
She'd watched, unable to look away, as Celeste's crimson hair brushed against Harry's thighs, as her lips moved over him with a skill that was almost otherworldly. And Hermione had felt her own body respond, her thighs pressing together, and her breath catching in her throat.
She groaned again, louder this time, and flipped onto her back, staring at the ceiling again.
"Get a grip, Hermione," she muttered to herself. "You're being ridiculous."
But it wasn't ridiculous, not entirely. She'd been in close quarters with Harry and Ron for months, the three of them practically living on top of each other in that tent. She'd seen Harry at his best and his worst—his courage, his temper, his quiet moments of vulnerability when he thought no one was watching. And she'd felt… things. Things she'd pushed down, buried under layers of logic and duty, because there was a war to fight, horcruxes to find, and feelings were a luxury they couldn't afford.
But now, in this absurdly opulent manor, with Celeste's seductive presence throwing everything into chaos, those feelings were bubbling to the surface. She thought about Harry's hands, rough from years of Quidditch and fighting, gripping Celeste's shoulders. She thought about the way his voice had sounded, hoarse and desperate, as he'd gasped Celeste's name. And she thought about how it might feel to be the one touching him, to be the one making him lose control like that.
Her face burned, and she pressed her thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building between them. "Stop it," she whispered fiercely, her voice trembling. "This is not helping."
She forced herself to think about something else—anything else. The horcruxes. The locket was there, but they had no means to destroy it. And there were others out there they hadn't even found or had any idea about.
They still had so much work to do, so many dangers to face. She couldn't afford to get distracted by… whatever this was. Jealousy? Attraction? Both? She didn't know, and she didn't want to know. Not now.
But her mind betrayed her, drifting back to Celeste's glowing purple eyes, the way her lips had curved into that sultry smile as she'd looked up at Harry.
"I exist to serve Master Harry," she'd said, her voice dripping with promise.
And Harry had believed her. Hermione had seen it in his eyes, felt it in the way his magic had pulsed in the room, intertwining with Celeste's in a way that was in perfect sync. It was magic, Hermione told herself. That's all it was. Some kind of enchantment, some Black family spell that had ensnared him. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.
Celeste wasn't just a spell. She was… something else. Something powerful, something dangerous, and something Harry was drawn to in a way Hermione couldn't fully understand.
She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow again. "Sleep," she muttered. "Just sleep." She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing, trying to shut out the images of Harry and Celeste, the heat in her body, and the confusion in her heart. They had a war to fight. They had horcruxes to destroy. She couldn't afford to lose focus now, not when so much was at stake.
But even as she finally drifted into a fitful sleep, her last conscious thought was of Harry's flushed face, his green eyes hazy with pleasure, and the way Celeste's lips had looked, wrapped around him, claiming him in a way Hermione wasn't sure she could ever compete with.
However, she was sure that things were about to get much more complicated than any of them were prepared for.
xXx
The master's quarters were more opulent than any other feature of the manor, and in the center sat a massive four-poster bed draped in emerald-green velvet.
Harry lay sprawled across the bed, the silk sheets tangled around his legs, and his chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever, his dreams weren't plagued by visions of Voldemort, horcruxes, or death. Instead, they were warm, vivid, and intoxicatingly pleasant.
In his dream, he was back in the opulent living room, but it was just him and Celeste. Her crimson hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the chandelier light as she knelt between his legs, her purple eyes glowing with that same hypnotic intensity.
Her lips were soft and hot, moving over his cock so skillfully that it made his entire body hum with pleasure. A delicious warmth spread through his groin, radiating outward, making his toes curl and his breath hitch. He could feel her tongue, teasing and relentless, drawing soft moans from his lips as his hips shifted instinctively, chasing the sensation.
"Celeste," he murmured in his sleep, his voice low and rough, barely audible in the quiet room. "Keep going… please…"
A soft giggle broke through the haze of his dream, and it was enough to stir him, his eyelids fluttering as the dream began to blur at the edges. The warmth in his groin didn't fade, though—it grew stronger, more real and more intense.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and his breath caught in his throat as he locked gazes with a pair of glowing purple eyes staring up at him from between his legs.
Celeste.
She was there, in the flesh, her crimson hair spilling over his thighs, and her lips wrapped around his cock, moving with the same slow, sensuous skill he'd been dreaming about. Her tongue swirled around the tip, sending a jolt of pleasure through him that made his hips buck involuntarily. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and adoration, and she hummed softly, the vibration making his vision blur.
"Fuck," Harry gasped, his voice hoarse as he propped himself up on his elbows, his heart pounding. "Celeste—what—what are you doing?"
She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips glistening and her voice a sultry purr. "Pleasuring my master, of course," she said, her tone light but filled with devotion. "You called for me in your sleep, Master Harry. I could feel your desire, your need. It's my duty—my joy—to fulfill it."
Before he could respond, she lowered her head again, taking him back into her mouth with a slow, deep suck that made his head fall back against the pillow.
"Oh, Merlin," he groaned, his hands fisting the sheets as waves of pleasure rolled through him.
He knew he should stop her, show some rationality and ask questions, and should figure out what the hell was going on—but her mouth was so warm, so perfect, and the way her tongue moved was driving every coherent thought from his mind.
In the end, the choice was made for him and he fell back against the soft sheets, succumbing to the sheer pleasure she was giving him.
Any talks or discussions could wait.
To read more, visit the link on my profile. The username is KyleVirex everywhere, so that would help out too, I guess. Thanks!