Kyle Virex
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A Godfather's Gambit #3.2
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 14:30:02 +0000 UTCDisclaimer: All characters involved in explicit situations are adults. No underage characters have been involved or depicted in such situations.
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."
