If you want to help me financially, you can do it on https://www.patreon.com/NeverluckySMILE
Emmeline stood in front of her dressing table, combing her hair. She fluffed it out so it framed her pretty face sensually, the lustrous black locks looking wild and sexy, as she knew Harry expected. She had chosen a red lace-up bustier, something she knew looked spectacular on her. And now looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she had chosen wisely. The satin glistened alluringly as it moulded itself to her curvy body, yet she knew the fabric was sinfully cool to the touch, and she expected him to touch her in all sorts of ways, and was getting wet just thinking about it. It was like a deep-seated wantonness that had been lying dormant inside her, something that the mudbloods at Twilfitt could never bring out, and yet Harry could unleash all of those troubling desires, that submissiveness that she suppressed all these years. She had those mudbloods worship her like a goddess, when all she truly wanted was someone to treat her worse than a Knockturn Alley whore. Then again, it wasn't like she could tell anyone, after all, who would believe that Narcissa Malfoy, the proud Lady of Malfoy clan, was such a wanton slut?
She blinked.
Narcissa Malfoy?
She looked into the mirror again—
—And shrieked out in surprise.
Dark hair, contrasting deeply with her alabaster skin, lips lined with a light lipstick of the colour of frozen mulberries, and a smooth, poisonously lovely face with stormy grey eyes, and a natural arrogance that came hand in hand with aristocracy. The face of Narcissa Malfoy looked back at her from the mirror, and it took all her psychic training not to be petrified with the sheer horror she was feeling within.
How— What— what was happening?
Then she remembered.
She was in Harry Potter's mindscape. She had entered that twisted mind palace — Lecherous Shrine, he called it, a monument crafted for the incubus part of him. She remembered walking through the halls, naked, and hearing some voices. She remembered her curiosity getting the better of her, and peeking through a door and then…
It clicked.
"This… is a memory," she murmured. "I'm in a memory. No wait, that can't be."
Memories were psychic projections of the past events that the human brain had perceived through its senses. It was possible to construct these psychic projections in a three-dimensional structure using the pensieve, or directly view them through Legilimency. A Level-4 or higher could even experience the memory through the victim's own perspective, and follow through with his thoughts and emotions that he had felt when the event had happened.
But it was impossible to live a memory from the perspective of anyone else. So why was she experiencing this from Narcissa Malfoy's perspective?
It was impossible.
It was absolutely impossible.
Just like her nakedness from earlier, this was a psychic trick that this mind palace was playing on her. It had to be. It had to be.
But the thoughts that had crossed her mind earlier… They weren't hers. They belonged to Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa had sat in this room, in front of this mirror, wearing this exact clothing, thinking thoughts of Harry Potter. Narcissa had thought of Harry Potter fucking her! She had been wet just by thinking of what he did to her.
Emmeline thought back to Harry Potter's altercation with Draco Malfoy, where Malfoy had allegedly cruciated him in public. And then Harry Potter had agreed to settle it out of court and help Draco avoid prosecution after a one-on-one meeting with Narcissa behind closed doors. Was something else going on that she didn't know?
Emmeline swallowed.
Was Harry Potter, the incubus, fucking Narcissa Malfoy of all people?
It was surreal beyond belief, and at the same time, nothing else made sense. She could always reject the theory by calling all of this as one giant illusion that this place had placed on her, but Emmeline couldn't think of one legitimate reason why Harry Potter would do so. If this was a crude attempt to let her know how good he was in bed, he could have done it with any other person — Hestia, Hermione Granger, and whichever other girl he was currently involved with. There was no reason to implicate himself with a memory associating him with Narcissa Malfoy of all people. Especially knowing that Emmeline was an Obliviator and a member of the Order.
That implied that this was a true memory. This place, this room existed somewhere in the real world. Narcissa Malfoy sat here, before this mirror, wearing this dress, and thought about her sexual escapades with Harry Potter. And in a way that just didn't make sense, Emmeline was able to experience what she felt while traversing Harry Potter's mindscape.
Was this Incubus magic? She didn't know, but she'd be damned if she didn't find it out.
She looked around. The room looked imperial, like a noble lady's master suite. An enormous, oval bed turned down with shiny gold sheets and a headboard made out of vining white iron and pink tufted satin. Decorative moulding covered the walls and high vaulted ceilings, giving the decor a very Parisian feel. A large circular mirror hung directly in front of the bed and the armoire right next to it is impossible to ignore. It was stark white with huge ornately decorated doors. But as magnificent as the space was, it's the table with thick leather straps and stirrups on the side. Underneath it were several metal drawers. Emmeline was no expert, but it took little to imagine what could be in them. A crop, a flogger, and a wooden paddle were hanging on the wall next to the table. Her stomach clenched.
And that brought a second, far graver realisation that chilled her to the core. If she was living Narcissa's memories, and experiencing what she did, then it would mean that she would continue to experience everything that happened to her in this particular memory.
I… I should get out of this place.
She looked at the bed again, and that reminded her of Harry's cock. Oh, that cock! It was something even the most frigid bitch would do anything for. That was a cock you grabbed onto and didn't let go of. One look at it would make any girl want to stroke it, just so she could get her feminine fingers on a piece of such throbbing manhood. It was a cock that you were happy to choke on, just so you get to experience the pleasure of warping your lips around its impressive thickness. It was a suckable, fuckable, perfect piece of cock that any woman would be lucky to have inside her. And she had. So many, many, many times.
She thought back to that one time when Draco had nearly seen her fucking him. Oh, that was such a close save. Her little man knew of her predilections, and despite his desire to be like his father in every way that mattered, he kept her one little secret. He knew exactly how much she craved physical intimacy, and the idea of her using mudblood boys to worship her body like a goddess fitted perfectly in his world view. After all, in an ideal world, purebloods would have been gods and goddesses. Why the number of times she had seen him masturbate at the thought of face-fucking that mudblood Hermione Granger was enough to confirm that. But still… covering Harry with her own voluptuous form, and fucking him like a demon possessed while her son watched from afar was one of the most exciting moments of her life. She knew it was bad to think that way, since Draco hated Harry with a passion. But she couldn't help it. The idea that she was fucking her son's self-proclaimed arch-enemy who was giving her pleasure unlike anything his father could even imagine was just so stirring.
Emmeline clenched her teeth and staggered back, wanting to gag right then. What kind of debauchery was that? She… she couldn't bear this. She couldn't bear this any longer. She needed to get out of this place before it was too late. The door — the blasted door was right in front of her. All she needed was to step out and she'd be rid of this impending nightmare for good.
Or.
Emmeline took deep breaths, absolutely horrified that she was even contemplating it. This event was a memory. Not real life, but a memory. Narcissa's memory, not hers. Not Emmeline's. Whatever she was feeling, and would be feeling was what Narcissa had felt, and that would give her first-hand information about the relationship between Potter and that snake. If Narcissa's nasty, whispering tongue was corrupting Harry Potter, then she needed to know. She needed to warn the others before it was too late.
Even if she had to live through it all.
Her hands adjusted her girls one more time, her voluminous tits barely contained by the bustier. She liked the way her big tits cast a pronounced shadow on her midsection, and the way the cinched-up waist emphasised her shapely hourglass figure. The ribbon-like laces that adorned the front were drawn taught, forcing her huge tits together and up. They were as tight as they could be, and she knew that one tug on the bow would release her breasts from their containment. If that happened, she wouldn't be surprised if the bustier went flying right off from the strain.
Revealing her nipples that lay just beneath the lacy tops of the bustier's cups.
She smiled. All her life she had men of all ages look at her with lustful gazes, and she knew that she was above them all. Her allure was enough to turn most people into loose-mouthed idiots that would do anything to please her. And to think that with all her allure, with all her feminine wiles, her charm and everything her body had to offer, she would find herself meeting her match in a boy her son's age, and would have to contemplate on how best to hold his undivided attention.
Then again, Harry Potter was no ordinary young man. He was an incubus. A future god amongst men.
She reached down and wrigged her hips, adjusting the tiny waistband of her matching thong panties. Harry had been quite pleased when she had shown him her lingerie collection. 'I want to see those on you,' he had said. 'Even though they won't stay on for long.'
Having left the panties till the very end, she carefully adjusted the front panel, making sure her juices weren't seeping through. She turned and looked at her plump rear end, nicely displayed in the tiny red thong. She was happy she had spent all that time practising yoga. Witch or not, it did wonders for her curvy arse.
"I see you're ready," said Harry Potter as he stepped into the room through the door just like she had. Her palpitations grew, and she stood up, or maybe, Narcissa did. It was difficult to tell the difference. She watched with growing anxiety as he stepped closer, and touched her skin. Goosebumps erupted across her whole body at his touch, as his fingers crawled all the way to her neck. The married woman in her was yelling curses and demanding to leave right away, but Emmeline the Obliviator stayed silent, and let the charade continue.
"Is that a different lipstick?"
His words drew her out of her inner conflict. "...Yes. I — I'd forgotten I had this one. I've never worn this before."
A big smile came over Harry's face. "I love it. I love how shiny and wet it makes that perfect mouth of yours look. Perfect for sucking cock."
"Your cock," Emmeline's mouth spoke.
Emmeline blushedt. She had put the lipstick on for that very reason. Use her mouth for a place to cum, to dump multiple loads of thick, savoury, boy-cum.
The urge to gag overwhelmed her again. Luckily, Harry did not notice it. Or maybe, he just wouldn't, because he too, was part of the memory. None of this was real.
No matter how real it feels.
Suspending all disbelief, Emmeline decided to operate on the presumption that this was Narcissa's memory, which she was somehow accessing from Harry's mind. And if that was true, was her mouth speaking only what Narcissa did at that moment? And if that was so, could she even walk out of the room, despite the door being right up there, if Narcissa did not do it? Would she have to play the memory all the way till the very end, no matter how insane things became?
It was a terrifying realisation, which led to something even more terrifying.
Was this magic, if it was even magic — was this how Potter was able to see things from Voldemort's perspective? Could the same magic that was affecting Narcissa Malfoy affected Voldemort as well?
It was a possibility, however strange. But one nightly experience with Harry Potter had already taught her that nothing was too strange or too fantastical when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived.
"C'mon sweetheart," said Harry Potter. "Get down on your knees for me."
He didn't even need to force her to follow, for her body was doing it on her own. Not her body, Narcissa's. The distinction had to be made.
Remember it. Not yours. Narcissa's.
But it was easier said than done. The feeling of her knees bending, touching the floor, and her face moving closer to his pants, mere inches away from his stiffening cock was simply too overpowering to discard as mere illusion.
Especially because she had seen this cock in real life just before they had begun this Legilimency attempt.
She didn't even know what she was doing, for her hands worked faster than her mind. She had never been in this position before, and Gideon never had the balls to ask her to do something this demeaning. Their sexual encounters had been limited to missionary, as infrequent as they had been.
Her hands were already pulling his belt, releasing it. His fly was next, and she pulled his pants down, and then his underwear.
His cock sprang free.
And smacked her in the face.
Merlin's bones! She gasped. It was truly magnificent. Yes, she had seen it before, but this close, it looked even more impressive and wide, with that large, bulbous tip. Veins burst out of it. His balls hung below, each as large as limes. Desire and fear bubbled within her.
Before she knew it, the head stretched her mouth, but she managed to open it wide-enough. All her disdain for something this demeaning was pushed beneath the floors as she tried to bob her head, but the tip bumped against her throat before the whole head was in her mouth. She pulled back. There was an audible pop as her lips released it, and she noticed a frown forming on his face.
Emmeline wanted to spit it out. She wanted to scourgify her mouth, no, her entire body, inside and out. She wanted to fucking scrub her skin with scalding, hot water and forget about this derogatory experience. Her insides were searing with rage at his debauchery. She was a pureblood lady, an aristocrat. She was brought up to be treated like royalty, to be adored, kissed and caressed. She was not supposed to be on her knees and suck some bastard's cock like a street whore. She opened her mouth to snarl—
—And ended up plunging her head down on his cock.
"Oh, that's better," said Harry Potter. "That's so much better."
Emmeline racked her brain, trying to think of everything she knew from those Playwitch magazines about what it meant to give a good head. She knew tongue was important. She could only take his top, but she started to swirl her tongue around him. He grunted in appreciation, and pushed his cock further, stretching her cheeks. They were already starting to feel so sore, and she was struggling to keep her teeth off his girth. What was happening? This was Narcissa's memory, and she doubted that the bitch would suffer from the same issues that she did.
Then… why?
Her thoughts were running a mile a minute, but her tongue wasn't far behind. She pulled his cock in, and by Merlin, it tasted so good. It felt right, being like this. He was right. This was her place.
NO! Emmeline thought furiously. WHAT AM I THINKING? THAT'S NOT ME—
She started to bob her head faster, trying to take more of him. She had handled his width, even though it took all she had to fit him in her mouth, but his length still seemed impossible. He was brushing against her throat, and she still had so much more to go. As if he hadn't demeaned her enough already, his hand clamped down on her head, holding it in place as he fucked her mouth. Each brutal thrust forced more of that cock down her throat. She was gagging loudly, her eyes watering and tears dripping out, but Potter kept up his ferocious pace. He was breathing loudly now and grunting, enjoying the feeling of her mouth on him.
As was she, to be honest. Pleasing him felt so good, but to be used by him like this was the best. Physically it hurt, but being treated this way turned her on. She was wet, really wet. And dripping. Emmeline's eyes widened in growing horror as her hands crawled down there, and began to finger her folds. It was clumsy, but it was so good. She had over half his cock in her mouth now, and he kept hammering away, driving more of his stake in. it was getting hard to breathe. Her womanhood was burning, and her fingers were rubbing frantically. She— she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stretch her lips to take him further in.
Her vision was blurring. Didn't matter. Needed more of him. He pushed her down, darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision, his swollen balls slapping against her chin, as most of his cock was now in her mouth, trying to ram into her throat. A wave of pleasure exploded out of her, juices soaking her hands, and quivering her entire body, the force of the orgasm coursing through her.
"Cumming from sucking a cock? Only you, Narcissa."
Emmeline looked up and glared daggers at his grinning face, or at least she intended to do so. Instead Narcissa's cock-sucking lips moved on their own and said —
"It's your cock, honey" she cooed, "what do you expect?"
"Heh!"
His plunging spike muffled any further of her words. Emmeline struggled to get air in-between thrusts, but even when he was pulling out, there was at least an inch down her throat. Dizziness was gripping her, and he was driving even harder. Sweat was dripping off him, trailing along the edge of his cock and trickling into her mouth. The salty taste made her want to push back and throw up, but instead he gripped her head tighter and his cock pulsed, and she knew what was to come.
NO— I NEED TO PULL MY MOUTH OFF—
He came.
Cum seemed to pour out of him, dumping down her throat. She wasn't trying to swallow it all, or maybe she was, it was hard to tell. It was just so much that it filled her mouth, as she pulled her lips off it.
That was a mistake.
A thick wad fell on her forehead. Another one covered her cheek, and one shot into her left eye. Each glob was the size of Gideon's entire orgasm. A copious amount drizzled all over her hair. Blinking, she opened her mouth, not even realising what she was doing, and a bit of her cum trickled down her lips, seeped down her chin and fell upon her breasts.
"Lick my balls, whore!" he said. "Clean me off."
IN YOUR FUCKING DREAMS, I'LL CUT YOUR FUCKING—
"Yes, master," her lips said, and she crawled ahead, and grabbed his hips, gobbling up one of his balls. The musk was overpowering and her head spun, but she kept swirling her tongue around it. She wanted to scream, to push him back, to grab her own throat and twist it and kill herself, but all she could do was keep licking his sweat and cum-lined balls and the sides of his cock like it was the world's tastiest dessert.
Then she noticed it.
A familiar stench. One that she had sensed earlier. Something dark and foreboding and evil beyond comparison.
Necromancy.
Something wasn't right. Debauched as this place was, it reveled in the cruelties of life, of procreation. It was the world of an Incubus. In mindscape Harry's own words, this was the temple of the God of Lust. Necromancy was the antithesis of everything in here.
So why was she sensing Necromantic energies around this place?
She looked around, and she finally saw it. Tendrils.
Black, ribbon-like and squiggling along the walls. They were climbing upwards, towards the centre of the ceiling. Emmeline looked up, and found an ornate, circular mirror planted on the ceiling, perfectly aligned with the bed. Before any further thoughts could hit her mind, Harry pulled her up like a bride, and threw her into the bed like a caveman.
Was he going to —?
She shivered at the thought, but consoled herself. She had already suffered through so much, what was a little sex compared to being face-fucked? And more importantly, she needed to find out what those tendrils were up to. If her hunch was right, then that mirror was the gateway to that dream, and if not, then at least a gateway deeper into his subconscious. She had borne through so much, she could deal with the rest.
Narcissa's memory. Narcissa' body. Not mine.
Not mine.
Repeating it made her feel a little better. It did nothing to prevent her scream out like a banshee as he pushed his giant cockhead into her slit.
His first thrust smashed at least six inches in her. His width alone caused her to wail out like her body was being torn in half, not a far-fetched imagery since she was already being stretched to her widest. He continued to brutally jackhammer into her, forcing more of his spear into her. Her eyes were bugging out of her head. He was splitting her. Emmeline wailed in agony, tears freely falling from her eyes. If she hadn't been so well lubricated from the orgasm earlier, he might as well have ripped her womanhood into two. Emmeline's breasts bounced up and down with the force of his thrusts, and attracted his attention. Like a hungry wolf, Harry Potter pounded on them, squeezing, twisting, maulding, slapping, and pulling them to his heart's content. The pain was subsiding slowly, and each thrust was leading to more and more pleasure. She was moaning. Her orgasm, mounting. He raised her legs, and her eyes rolled back—
Emmeline came.
It was painful, it was pleasurable and it was nothing like the sex she knew.
A torrent flooded out of her folds, coating his still l pounding rod. She was screaming, her legs shaking violently. Her eyes were rolling back. Her nipples were roughly twisted and being pulled and her mind melted. His sweat fell all over her face, her body, her breasts. Emmeline looked up, and saw Narcissa reflected in the mirror, saw Harry's body hovering over her and pistoning into her. The tendrils were increasing by the second, crawling to the mirror's periphery.
Just a little more, she told herself. Exhaustion was seeping into her bones, and she wanted nothing but to sleep. To forget all of this and surrender to oblivion. She — she wasn't built to take this kind of fucking, her body wasn't capable of going through this debauchery. Her mind was melting, and no matter how much she screamed to herself that what she was feeling was an illusion, the sensations were too real, too powerful to just ignore. Harry grabbed her hips, and grunting and grimacing, forced his entire length into her. Emmeline relaxed and gasped, as he pulled back and speared the entirety of his rod into her folds.
Breathing deep, Emmeline held her breath, gritted her teeth and wiggled slightly, manoeuvring herself. Finally flexing her hips, she began to twist her folds around his cock, taking it in like a corkscrew.
"YES!" said Potter, smacking her breasts. Emmeline bore the humiliation and kept twisting her hips, until the entirety of his cock was in her again. He smacked her breasts over and over, and twisted her nipples as he kept drilling his corkscrew into her, her womanhood going crazy around his shaft. She couldn't help it. She hated having to suffer this, but she loved the feeling of being filled like this, feeling that hard, virile cock tearing into her folds, thrusting into her deeper and deeper like a piston engine.
"Fuck, Yeah! Here it is!" Harry grunted, burying his cock inside her just as she began to cum again. Streams of cum burst forth, firing both from his cock and her own tight, wet pussy.
"I feel it!" She babbled. "I feel it! I feel you cumming within me! It feels so goood!" Emmeline couldn't care if that was Narcissa speaking or just her own belligerent self moaning, as waves of orgasms ran through her. Her body quivered against his, riding out their orgasms together. He just kept cumming, firing stream after stream of cum into her pussy.
Then the strangest thing happened.
Golden chains began to erupt out of his body — from his hands, his legs, his chest, and pierced into her, vanishing into her skin. There was no pain, but an intrusive sensation pervaded through her entire body, like she was discovering a sense that she didn't know she had. Like a third arm, or a second heart — something that was always there, but she was only now realising it.
It's all right, she told herself. Don't panic. It's a memory. This happened to Narcissa, to Narcissa's body, not yours. Narcissa, not Emmeline.
Harry Potter lifted himself from above her, their faces just inches apart. And he smiled.
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Sure does," she said, smiling as she realised that her trials had come to an end. Plus, he wasn't wrong. Yes she was unused to taking a cock that size, and had never been fucked like that, but ignoring all the exhaustion and pain, it felt really good.
"I bet," he said, still smiling. "With a body like that, it's a shame that your husband doesn't put it to good use. Makes me wonder, is that because you're too busy being an Obliviator, or is your husband just that unsatisfactory in bed?"
The silence that followed his words was immediate and deafening, as horror, fresh and terrible, sank into Emmeline's entire body like sharp knives. She — she wanted to scream, wanted to push him away, wanted to yell and throw all kinds of deadly curses at him. She also wanted to shut her eyes and pretend that she had misheard it, that it was still a….
"I told you," said Harry Potter. "We are going to have sex. And you are going to be asking for it."
As if guided by some higher will, she looked up.
At the mirror.
On the bed lay, not Narcissa, but her, Emmeline Vance. She looked an absolute mess, with a mix of sweat and cum painting her face, hair and breasts, and Harry Potter lying over her, his cock impaled into her womanhood.
Emmeline screamed.
Meanwhile In Reality…
Hestia watched as Emmeline, now completely bereft of her clothing, straddled the sleeping Harry Potter, and placed her hands on his defined abs, and crashed down upon his turgid cock.
"FUCCKKKKKK!" She screamed, arching her back, yet her eyes stayed blank as before.
Hestia knew the feeling of being impaled by Harry's long, thick, big dick, having too much first-hand experience with it, and knew exactly what it could do to someone that was unused to taking cocks bigger than the average Joe. From the way Emmeline's expressions kept changing, she was flipping between rivers of pleasure and rapturous pain.
Harry, bless him, didn't even shift.
Emmeline screamed, and screamed, and raised herself up, only to slide down as powerfully as possible, until she had taken at least half of it into her moist pussy.
Hestia clenched her wand tighter. Her vision began to swim, and for a moment, she felt she was in danger of passing out. Or perhaps merely throwing up. Then she shook her head, and focussed on Emmeline who had paused her actions, utterly content to stay like that, with half of Harry's cock rooted into her pussy. Bloody buggering hell! The woman was in her most vulnerable state, her mind adrift in another's consciousness, and she was still trying to resist. A small part of her felt proud of her friend's ability, before she squashed that feeling and redoubled her focus.
"Fuck him," She commanded. "Fuck him as hard as you can, and get him to cum. Forget that I ever Imperio'd you. Believe from the depths of your heart that you want Harry's cum, and get it. No matter what it takes!"
"OH FUCCKKK!" screamed Emmeline again, as she pushed her pussy all the way down to the base of Harry's cock. She raised herself back and forth, back and forth, and kept bouncing on his cock and screaming like she was being torn in half. Every moan sent a shiver of excitement through Hestia's body. Just the idea of watching her fucking herself so ruthlessly on his cock— it was just so easy to imagine it was Nymphadora that was bouncing in her place. The dirty eroticism, the sluttiness was getting to her. Her pussy clenched, and her fingers itched to finger it.
Hestia ruthlessly forced the feelings down, and kept her wand levelled. The Imperius curse was taxing to hold on for extended periods of time, and she was already keeping it on for more than two minutes now. If this continued for another minute, she'd need to summon a vial of Wiggenweld potion for a pick-up.
Hestia had long since determined that Harry developed a form of magical connection with each and every person he fucked. She didn't know the technical aspects of how his brand of magic worked, but she knew that the Dark Lord branded his followers like cattle, and used the Dark Mark to perform a variety of effects. The recipient of the Dark Mark could feel their Master's presence, and use it to summon him, or be reverse-summoned to him, and the worst part, be tortured by him. Hestia doubted that anyone, even Death-Eaters, would be so stupid to willingly be branded with something that basically tagged their magic and made them the Dark Lord's plaything. No, it was more probable that the Mark also allowed them certain benefits, which was why having the Mark was considered an absolute prestige inside Death-Eater Central.
The point was if the Dark Lord, known and feared as one of the greatest Dark Wizards and Necromancers in recent history, could use the Mark to manipulate people, there was no doubt that his antithesis — the power of Love and Life, could also reach across hearts and minds and souls and establish links between them. At first, she had thought that perhaps just fucking someone was enough to do it. But then she remembered something Harry Potter had mentioned the first day she had met him.
"Sex is a powerful metaphysical force, Hermione. It's an act that creates life, a new soul. During it, the partners leave a mark on each other. The effect is magnified if the partners truly love each other."
Her instincts told her that he was saying a lot more than what Hermione understood that night. If Hestia had grabbed the subtext right, it meant that Harry was forging connections with people he was having sex with.
—The partners leave a mark on each other —
Like… cumming, perhaps? Or perhaps an emotional mark? One of not just physical satisfaction, but emotional as well?
— The effect is magnified if the partners truly love each other —
And wasn't that true? Ever since she had developed feelings for Harry, so much had changed. Hestia had begun taking decisions of her own, acting in ways she would have never even imagined. For fuck's sake, she had just cast an Unforgivable on a friend, because she was paranoid that Emmeline might derail Harry's plans. The same Emmeline she knew for years, who had trained her, and made her into the versatile and talented witch she was. It was for this bond that Hestia was manipulating her oldest friend and the love of her life Nymphadora Tonks into getting into bed with Harry.
Maybe she was terribly wrong about this. Maybe all of this would yield nothing. But her instincts had never guided her wrong, and those instincts were yelling at her that if Harry came inside Emmeline, it would forge a bond between them.
And if she knew Harry right, he would deepen the bond. After all, Emmeline would come back to train him in the psychic arts. A woman that was already in a dysfunctional relationship with her husband, and had already experienced the joys of Harry's cock. Add in the information of how her husband was actually raping Hannah Abbott all this time, and she'd be a devastated wreak. It would be child's play for Harry to charm her into fucking him again.
And again.
And again.
Until the bond was so deep that she wouldn't even think of Albus Dumbledore, or the Order of the Phoenix without consulting Harry.
Harry had made Hestia his. And she would ensure that both Nymphadora Tonks and Emmeline Vance became his.
"YES! YES! YES!" rang Emmeline's voice, repeating that one word like it was a mantra she was hanging on for life. "Yes! Give it to me! Give it to me! Give it to me! YES!"
And Harry came, painting her insides with his pearly smiled.