Harry's head spun, his body buzzing as Celeste worked her mouth up and down on his cock with such skill that it seemed almost otherworldly. Her lips moved along his cock, slow and teasing, her tongue tracing the sensitive underside with just enough pressure to make him shake.
Her hands were busy cradling his balls, those thumbs brushing in a way that sent jolts through his entire body. She didn't let up, sucking him off with such enthusiasm that it felt like she was pouring everything into pleasing him.
"Celeste," he gasped, his voice rough and his hips twitching to meet her rhythm. "This is… fuck, this is unreal."
She hummed around the mouthful of cock, the vibration shooting through him, and her purple eyes flicked up to meet his, glowing brightly. There was something in her gaze—lust, sure, but also something deeper, like she was giving herself to him completely. It hit him hard, and it was a feeling he couldn't quite name.
She pulled back just enough, her lips hovering over the tip, her breath hot against his skin.
"My master," she murmured, her voice thick with devotion. "You taste incredible. Your magic, your essence—it pulls me in. I was made for this, for you."
Harry's breath caught, his mind tangled in a mix of pleasure and questions. "Made for me?" he managed, his voice tight. "What—what are you, Celeste?"
She smiled seductively and slid up the bed, her movements sensual and almost predatory. Her dress, a tight and small black number that hugged her curves, rode up her thighs, showing off the sheer stockings that had been driving him crazy all night.
"I am yours," she said, her voice low and teasing. "Bound to the Black bloodline, to the heir of this manor, yes. But I belong to you, Master Harry. My purpose is to serve you, to please you, and to strengthen you."
"To strengthen me?" Harry asked.
Her eyes darkened, her voice dropping into a whisper. "Among other things, but we have time for that. Right now, it's time for you to claim me."
Harry watched, his heart pounding, as she scooted back and stood at the foot of the bed. Her fingers found the zipper at the side of her dress, pulling it down slowly. The fabric parted, revealing smooth skin inch by inch—her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, and the dip of her waist. She shrugged the dress off, letting it pool at her feet, standing there in nothing but those stockings and a black lace thong.
Harry's mouth went dry as he stared. Her body was stunning—full big breasts that looked so soft as they swayed and a narrow waist flaring into hips that begged to be grabbed. Her crimson hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the dim light of the room.
"Fuck," Harry breathed, his eyes locked on her. He sat up, unable to stop himself, his cock throbbing and his hands twitching to reach out and touch her. "You're gorgeous."
She stepped closer, a small smile playing on her lips, and climbed onto the bed on all fours. Those large tits dangled enticingly, slapping against each other as she came closer, straddling his thighs.
"All for you, Master," she said, her voice soft but full of lust and devotion. Her hands moved to her thong, hooking her thumbs under the lace and sliding it over her curvy ass. It slid down her legs, and she tossed it aside. Now she was bare except for the stockings, her skin pale and perfect, and her pussy glistening in the low light. Harry's cock twitched, already hard and aching from her earlier work.
He reached for her, his hands sliding up her thighs, feeling the contrast of smooth skin and the texture of her stockings.
"Celeste," he said, his voice rough with want, "I need to touch you."
She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "Touch me, Master. I'm yours to explore. Yours to command."
Harry didn't need more encouragement. His hands roamed her body, starting at her thighs and slowly moving up to her hips, gripping them firmly. He pulled her closer, his lips finding her neck, kissing and nipping at the soft skin there. She let out a quiet moan, tilting her head to give him better access.
His hands slid higher, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. They hardened under his touch, and she arched into him, her breath hitching.
"Like that?" he asked, his voice low, lips still against her neck as he fondled her tits, teasing her nipples.
"Yes," she whispered, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Don't stop."
He didn't even though he could. He took his time, savoring every inch of her. His lips moved down to her collarbone, kissing all over her neck before drifting lower, kissing the swell of her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over it.
Celeste gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders and her hips shifting closer. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, loving the way she responded—small moans, her body trembling under his hands as she gripped him hard.
His hands slid down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, and he reached around, cupping her delicious ass. He squeezed, pulling her flush against him, savoring the feeling of her large tits mashed up against his chest and the heat of her pussy against his cock. She was wet, slick, and the contact made him groan.
"You feel so good," he muttered, his lips moving back up to hers.
She kissed him, hard and hungry, her tongue sliding against his. "Take me, Master," she whispered against his mouth. "I'm ready for you."
Harry's hands tightened on her hips as he lowered himself on the bed, guiding her as she lifted herself, straddling him. She reached down, fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking once, twice, before positioning him at her entrance. The tip of his manhood brushed against her hot and wet pussy, and he groaned, fighting the urge to thrust up right then.
"Celeste," he said, his voice shaky, "you sure about this?"
Her eyes locked on his, glowing with that strange, intense light. "I've never been more sure, Master. Claim me."
Slowly, she sank down, taking him in inch by inch, and Harry's breath almost stopped, his hands gripping her hips as her tight heat enveloped him.
It was his first time, and nothing could've prepared him for this—her pussy was perfect, gripping him like she was made for him. He groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, as she took him fully, her hips flush against his.
"Fuck," he gasped, his hands sliding up to her waist. "You're so tight. So perfect."
Celeste moaned softly, her head tilting back and her crimson hair spilling over her shoulders.
"Master Harry," she breathed, her voice trembling. "You feel… so good. So strong."
She refused to waste even a moment and started moving, rolling her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm that made his vision blur. Her hands braced on his chest, her crimson nails digging into his skin just enough to sting, and she leaned down to kiss him, her lips soft but demanding.
Harry kissed her back, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, the other gripping her ass, guiding her movements. She was incredible—every roll of her hips, every clench of her pussy, sent waves of pleasure through him. He couldn't get enough of her body, his hands roaming everywhere—her thighs, her breasts, the curve of her back, and her bubble butt. He loved the way her stockings felt under his fingers, the contrast of lace and skin driving him wild.
"You're amazing," he said, his voice raw and rough, as his hips started to move with her. He thrust up, meeting her rhythm, and she gasped, her nails digging harder into his chest.
The sound of their bodies filled the room—skin slapping against skin, her soft moans, and his ragged breaths. The air seemed to hum, their magic connecting in a way that made his skin tingle, like their heartbeats were syncing up again.
Celeste's movements sped up, her hips grinding harder and her pussy clenching around him in a way that made him see stars.
"All for you," she murmured, her eyes half-lidded and her voice thick with devotion. "Every part of me, every breath—it's yours."
She leaned down, kissing him again, her tongue teasing his and her breasts pressing against his chest.
Harry groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, spreading them wider. He thrust harder, deeper, loving the way she moaned with every movement.
Her body was perfect—soft and firm in all the right places, her skin warm under his hands. He couldn't stop touching her, couldn't stop marveling at how she felt, how she moved, how she gave herself to him completely.
"I'm yours," she whispered, her voice a mix of adoration and need, her eyes locked on his. "My master, my lord. I feel your magic, your soul. It's… overwhelming."
Harry's control was fraying, his body moving on instinct. He flipped them, rolling her onto her back without breaking their connection, her legs wrapping around his waist.
He thrust into her, hard and steady, watching her face—her lips parted, her eyes glowing, and her cheeks flushed. She was beautiful, and she was his. He leaned down, kissing her neck, her jaw, her lips, pouring everything into it.
"Celeste," he groaned, feeling the pressure building in his gut, his cock throbbing inside her. "I'm close."
"Yes," she gasped, her legs tightening around him, her pussy clenching hard. "Give it to me, Master. All of you."
Harry couldn't hold back. With a low groan, he came, his release spilling into her greedy pussy, his body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. Rope after rope of his thick, hot, and potent seed shot deep into her quivering quim, and Harry kept thrusting hard and fast, clutching her hard against him.
Celeste cried out, her own orgasm hitting her like a tidal wave, her nails raking down his back as her pussy pulsed around him. Their magic surged, a wave of energy that made the room hum, the chandelier flickering above them.
They stayed like that for a long while, their naked and sweaty bodies pressed together and their breaths heavy. Celeste's forehead rested against his, her hair tickling his face, and her eyes still glowing faintly. She kissed him softly, her lips lingering, and Harry felt that same ache in his chest, like their connection was more than just physical.
Suddenly, her expression changed, her brow furrowing as she pulled back to look at him.
"Master," she said, her voice soft but serious. "There's… something inside you. A darkness. It doesn't feel like you."
Harry's heart skipped, the pleasure fading in an instant as her words hit him. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice rough and his hands still wrapped around her, holding her close.
She stared at his forehead with an intense look on her face. She caressed his cheek as her hand climbed, her fingers brushing his scar, and he flinched, a strange jolt running through him.
"Here," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "I feel it in your scar. A fragment of something… wrong. Like a piece of someone else's soul, tied to yours. A failed attempt at soul magic."
A jolt of fear shot through Harry at those words. His stomach dropped, his mind racing. A piece of someone else's soul. His scar. The Horcruxes.
Voldemort had split his soul, hiding pieces in objects to cheat death. But the idea that a piece of Voldemort's soul was inside him, that he was a Horcrux… it made his blood run cold.
His mind replayed all the conversations he'd had with Dumbledore over the years. The mysterious connection he shared with Voldemort, his ability to speak Parseltongue, Dumbledore's theory that Voldemort had unintentionally given him some of his powers that night, and the intense pain whenever he was near anything deeply connected to Voldemort or Voldemort himself. It all added up!
"No," he whispered, his voice shaking. "That can't be right."
Celeste's eyes softened, her hand cupping his face. "I feel it, Master," she said, her voice full of certainty and care. "Your magic is pure, strong, more beautiful than any other I've come across. There is power in you, more potent than any other. But this darkness clings to you, like a shadow that isn't yours. I felt it when our magic connected, when you marked me with your seed, when you claimed me."
Harry's mind spun, the implications crashing over him. If he was a Horcrux, did that mean he had to die to stop Voldemort? Had a piece of the Dark Lord been inside him all these years, influencing him, tying them together? The visions, the connection to Voldemort's mind—it all fit, and it made him sick.
"Celeste," he said, voice barely audible, his hands tightening on her. "Are you sure?"
She nodded, her eyes filled with devotion. "I am, Master. But you are stronger than this darkness. Your magic, your soul—they're yours. I'll help you, serve you, protect you. Whatever it takes."
Harry stared at her, his chest tight, fear and realization swirling in his head. He was a Horcrux. A piece of Voldemort was inside him. But as he looked into Celeste's glowing eyes, felt her warmth still pressed against him, he believed her.
She leaned in, kissing him softly, and Harry kissed her back desperately, holding her close.
He was stronger than this. He would survive, as he always had.
xXx
Hermione woke to pale sunlight creeping through the curtains. Her eyelids felt heavy, her mind unsettled despite what should have been the first night of proper rest in months.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as she tried to push away the images from the previous evening. However, they came flooding back anyway—Celeste's crimson hair, Harry's flushed face, the sounds he made, the way he looked so utterly lost to pleasure… and the way her own body had responded, despite her embarrassment.
She groaned, rubbing her temples, and pushed herself upright.
Her body ached for more rest, but she couldn't stay in bed, not with everything swirling in her head. She needed to see Harry, to check on him, to make sure he was… what? Okay? Himself? Not lost to whatever Celeste was?
She didn't know, but she needed to get out, needed to move, needed to do something other than lie here replaying those images.
She dressed quickly in yesterday's clothes, grimacing at how wrinkled they were. They'd been living rough for so long that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to care about appearances, but something about this place—this opulent, magical manor—made her hyper-aware of how disheveled she looked.
Or maybe it was about the hostess instead, she thought with a grimace as she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't look bad. But compared to Celeste…
Ignoring the mirror, she slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.
The corridor was quiet, her footsteps muffled on the thick carpet as she found herself walking toward the far end, toward what Celeste had called 'the master's quarters.'
Her steps slowed as she approached the door, her heart thudding. What if Celeste was in there? What if they were… together? The thought made her stomach twist with something that was most definitely not jealousy.
What if she knocked and interrupted something? What if she didn't knock and just walked in, like she might have done back at Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, and found them...
She stopped in front of the heavy oak door, her hand hovering over the handle.
This was ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. Harry was her best friend, and she had every right to check on him. Whatever had happened between him and Celeste was... well, it was confusing and uncomfortable, but it didn't change their friendship.
Did it?
Before she could make a decision, before she could either knock or turn away, the door opened.
Hermione's eyes widened as Celeste stepped out, and her breath caught in her throat. The woman was completely naked, her skin glistening with sweat. Her crimson hair was mussed and falling in waves over her shoulders, and her purple eyes were glowing with satisfaction.
There were marks on her neck and collarbone that looked suspiciously like love bites. But it was the way she walked—unsteady, almost trembling—and the unmistakable evidence of Harry's release trickling down her inner thighs that left no doubt about what had happened.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her face flushing hot. She tried to look away, tried to give Celeste some privacy, but her eyes seemed frozen, taking in every detail against her will.
Her gaze darted past Celeste to the bed, where Harry lay sprawled, his chest bare, his hair a mess, and his skin flushed with the same exertion. The sheets were tangled around his legs, and he looked… content. Too content.
Her eyes lingered on a certain anatomy of his… she quickly averted her gaze.
"Good morning, Miss Granger," Celeste said, her voice smooth and sultry as usual, as if she didn't stand naked in front of her and hadn't just stepped out of Harry's room after what they'd been doing in there. Her purple eyes shone as she inclined her head, a satisfied smile curving her lips. "I trust you slept well?"
Hermione's mouth opened, but no words came out. Her mind blanked, caught between shock and a burning embarrassment. She forced her eyes back to Celeste, trying to ignore the way the woman's body seemed to glow with satisfaction.
Celeste tilted her head, studying Hermione with those unsettling eyes. "Master is quite... vigorous," she said, her voice dropping to a purr that made Hermione's skin crawl. "I do hope we didn't disturb your rest. He has such... needs."
The casual way she said it, as if discussing the weather, made Hermione's jaw clench. She found her voice, though it came out higher and more strained than she intended. "I was just... I wanted to check on Harry. Make sure he was all right."
"Oh, he's more than all right," Celeste said, her smile widening. "He's claimed me properly now. Marked me as his. I exist to serve him, and I've fulfilled that purpose quite thoroughly."
The words hit Hermione like a physical blow. Claimed. Marked. The possessive way Celeste spoke about Harry, as if he belonged to her now, made something fierce and protective rise in Hermione's chest. But underneath that, there was something else—a sharp stab of what felt uncomfortably like jealousy.
"Right," Hermione managed, her voice tight. "Well, I'll just... I'll come back later."
Her eyes flicked back to Harry, who hadn't noticed her yet. He lay on his back, one arm flung over his head, his chest rising and falling slowly. The sight of him—disheveled, vulnerable, and so clearly affected by Celeste—made her chest tighten painfully. She turned to leave, her feet moving before her mind caught up.
"Hermione!" Harry's voice stopped her cold.
She paused, her back to him, her hand gripping the doorframe. She didn't want to turn around, didn't want to face him, not after what she'd just seen.
"I should go," she said, not turning around. "You're obviously... busy."
"No, wait." There was urgency in Harry's voice now, and Hermione heard the rustling of bedsheets as he presumably sat up. "We need to talk. It's important."
Hermione's first instinct was to flee, to get as far away from this awkward situation as possible. She didn't want to talk to Harry right now, not when she could still see Celeste standing there naked and satisfied, not when her own emotions were so tangled and confusing. But something in Harry's tone gave her pause. He sounded... different. Genuinely concerned about something.
She turned slowly, keeping her eyes carefully averted from both Harry and Celeste. "Can't it wait? Until you're... dressed?"
"Celeste," Harry said, and there was a note of command in his voice that Hermione had never heard before. "Could you give us some privacy?"
Celeste nodded. "Of course, Master Harry." She moved past Hermione, close enough that Hermione could smell the musky scent of sex on her skin, and disappeared down the corridor. Hermione forced herself not to look at her retreating figure.
Hermione waited until she heard a door close somewhere in the distance before she finally looked back toward Harry's room. He had pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, though his chest was still bare, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair.
"Hermione, please," he said, looking up at her with concern. "I know this is weird, and I know you're probably angry with me, but I need to tell you something. Something important."
She crossed her arms, her jaw tight. "Fine. But make it quick. I'm not exactly thrilled to be here after… that." She gestured vaguely toward the door, her cheeks flushing again.
Harry winced, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I get it. I'm sorry you had to see… that. But it's not what you think."
"Not what I think?" Her voice rose, a mix of incredulity and irritation. "Harry, I just saw Celeste walk out of your room, looking like—looking like that! And you're lying there, all…" She trailed off, waving a hand at him, her face burning. "What am I supposed to think?"
Harry's face reddened, but his eyes flashed with frustration. "I don't know, Hermione! You think I planned this? You think I wanted you to walk in on… whatever the hell just happened?"
"You tell me," she stepped closer, her hands clenched into fists. "After everything I've seen since last evening, with Ron, and then here with her… I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't really know how to think right now."
Harry's jaw tightened. "That's not fair. You know I didn't ask for this. Ron leaving was not my fault. And this thing with Celeste… I'm not going to feel sorry for it."
"Oh wow," Hermione laughed mirthlessly, a shocked look on your face. "You're that close to her now, huh?"
"You were there yesterday, Hermione," Harry said gruffly. "And you too felt her magic yesterday. It's… it's overwhelming, and honest. I could feel it deep within me. She's been nothing but truthful about everything, and my magic responds to her. You know everything I've been through. I didn't mean for anything to happen, but it did, and I'm not going to apologize for craving some sort of comfort, some ray of light in this shitty darkness that my life has been."
Hermione's shoulders slumped, some of her anger draining away. She knew he was not wrong, she had accepted as much herself, but she hated how her emotions were spiraling—anger at Harry, at Celeste, and at herself for feeling so unsteady.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. "Fine," she said, her voice quieter but still edged with tension. "Let's just… be adults about this. Whatever's going on with you and Celeste, it's your business. But we're in the middle of a war, Harry. We can't afford to get distracted."
He nodded, his expression softening. "I know. And I'm sorry for making you feel… whatever you're feeling. But there's something else. Something bigger. That's why I need to talk to you."
She frowned. "What is it?"
He hesitated, his eyes darting to the side as if searching for the right words. "This morning, after… everything, Celeste told me something. About me. About my scar."
Hermione's irritation vanished in an instant. "Your scar? What about it?"
"Celeste says there's something inside me. A piece of someone else's soul. She says it's connected to my scar."
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. "Harry, what are you saying?"
"I think I'm a Horcrux, Hermione." The words came out in a rush, as if he'd been holding them back and finally couldn't contain them anymore. "I think Voldemort accidentally made me into a Horcrux when he tried to kill me as a baby."
Hermione's legs felt weak. She sank onto the edge of the bed, her mind spinning.
"She called it a 'failed attempt at soul magic.' Said it's like a shadow that's not mine, clinging to me. And it makes sense, doesn't it? The visions, the connection to Voldemort, the Parseltongue… all of it."
Hermione stared at him, feeling a tightness in her chest. "How did she know? Celeste, I mean. How could she feel it?"
Harry's cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away. "She said she felt it when our magic connected. When we… you know. It's like her magic let her see something I couldn't."
Hermione's jaw tightened, a flicker of her earlier irritation returning once again. "Right. Of course. Her magic." She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "So what do we do? If you're a Horcrux, we need to know for sure. And if you are… we need to figure out how to fix it."
Harry's eyes met hers, filled with a mix of fear and determination. "Celeste said she'd help me. Whatever it takes."
"And how exactly is she going to do that?" Hermione asked, and she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. "By shagging you senseless until the piece of Voldemort's soul just... gives up and leaves?"
Harry's cheeks flushed red. "Hermione—"
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, running her hands through her hair. "That was... that was uncalled for. I'm just... this is a lot to process."
"I know," Harry said quietly. "And I know what you saw this morning was... uncomfortable. I'm sorry you had to see that."
Hermione felt her own cheeks burn. "It's not my business what you do with... with her. You're eighteen, Harry. You can make your own choices."
"But it bothers you," Harry said, and it wasn't a question.
She wanted to deny it, wanted to maintain the pretense that she was just concerned for his safety, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she found herself being brutally honest. "Yes, it bothers me. Not because I think you shouldn't... be with someone. But because there's something about her that doesn't feel right."
"She's bound to serve me," Harry said. "She can't hurt me."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Hermione replied, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was worried about. "It's just... Harry, you've been through so much. We both have. And now suddenly there's this woman who claims to exist solely to please you, and you're just accepting it? It feels too convenient."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his hands. "Maybe it is convenient," he said finally. "Maybe I do want something that's just for me, something that makes me feel good instead of afraid or angry or guilty. Is that so wrong?"
The pain in his voice made Hermione's chest tighten.
"No, it's not wrong. You deserve to be happy, Harry. You deserve to have good things. I just... I want to make sure you're safe."
"I know," Harry said, glancing at her sideways. "And I appreciate that. I do. But Hermione, if I really am a Horcrux, if there's a piece of Voldemort inside me, then I need all the help I can get."
Hermione nodded. "Did she tell you anything? What she'd do?"
"No," Harry shook his head. "But she said my magic was stronger than this… this darkness. And I believe her. I don't know why, but I do."
Hermione stared at him, her thoughts racing. She still did not fully trust Celeste, but Harry did, and he'd always had a knack of trusting the right people, even when it didn't make sense.
"Okay," she said finally. "You should get ready. I'll see you downstairs."
She stood up and headed for the door, but Harry's voice stopped her. "Hermione? Are we okay? I mean, after everything that's happened?"
She turned back to look at him, sitting there on the rumpled bed with his messy hair and concerned green eyes, and felt her lips curve into a small smile. "We're okay, Harry. We're partners, remember? No matter what."
The relief on his face was so profound that it made her chest ache. "Good. Because I couldn't do this without you."
"You won't have to," she said firmly. "We'll figure this out. Together."
To read more, visit the link on my profile. The username is KyleVirex everywhere, so that would help out too, I guess. Thanks!