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 unworthy. 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?
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