Kyle Virex
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A Godfather's Gambit #2.2
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 14:30:02 +0000 UTCDisclaimer: All characters involved in explicit situations are adults. No underage characters have been involved or depicted in such situations.
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.
