Harry's POV (Part 4)

The entity's lips crashed against Harry's with bruising force, her tongue forcing its way past his teeth in a mockery of intimacy. He could taste something bitter and ancient beneath the artificial sweetness of her mouth, like spoiled honey left in a tomb. When she finally pulled away, Harry's body went slack against the chair, though his cock remained painfully erect beneath his trousers.

"I think you need to make it up to me," she purred, running a single sharp nail down his chest.

Her movements were liquid as she straddled his lap, the heat of her bare thighs burning through his trousers. The corset she wore pushed Hermione's - no, not Hermione's - breasts up obscenely, the swollen curves barely contained by black lace. They swayed inches from Harry's face, the scent of bergamot and something faintly metallic filling his nostrils.

He tried to turn his head away, but unseen hands gripped his hair, forcing him to stare as her fingers worked open the front of his trousers. The cool air of the room hit his exposed flesh, making his traitorous cock twitch.

The entity’s smirk widened as she positioned herself over Harry’s lap, her black eyes glinting with cruel amusement. Her fingers curled around his cock, and Harry gritted his teeth as she stroked him once, twice—her touch cold and deliberate. Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she lowered herself onto him, swallowing him inch by inch.

It was exactly like Hermione. The tight, wet heat, the way her body clenched around him—it was indistinguishable from the nights he’d spent buried inside his wife. His stomach twisted in revulsion, but his traitorous body responded anyway, his cock twitching as she settled fully against him.

"Pathetic," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Even now, you can’t help but want me."

Harry snarled, but the sound choked off into a ragged groan as she began to move, grinding her hips in slow, torturous circles. The sensation was unbearable—every slide of her body against his was a sickening parody of intimacy, made worse by the fact that his body reacted, his hips jerking weakly beneath her despite his disgust.

From the bed, Hermione’s cries grew louder, interspersed with Ron’s rough grunts.

The entity’s laughter was a low, cruel hum as she rocked against him, her fingers digging into his thighs. "Oh, Harry," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy, "I’m so sorry—I’m blocking your view."

Before he could react, the upper half of her body dissolved into mist, vanishing into the air. Harry gasped—his lap still bore the full weight of her, the pressure of her hips grinding down on him, the slick heat of her cunt still wrapped around his cock. But from the waist up, there was nothing. Only empty space where her torso should have been, her legs moving of their own accord, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls.

His stomach twisted in horror, but his body betrayed him, his hips jerking weakly beneath her as she worked him deeper. The mirror in front of him shimmered back into focus, and there they were—Ron and Hermione, tangled together in the same obscene display as before.

Hermione was bent backward over the edge of the bed, her spine arched almost painfully, her long hair spilling over the mattress like dark silk. Ron stood between her spread thighs, his massive hands gripping her hips, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. The muscles in his arms flexed as he thrust, his body a solid wall of strength compared to Harry’s lean frame.

Harry could see everything—the way Hermione’s full breasts bounced with each of Ron’s deep strokes, the way her mouth fell open in a silent cry, her fingers scrabbling uselessly at the sheets. Ron’s cock stretched her obscenely, her body taking every thick inch with a wet, filthy sound that filled the room.

"See?" The disembodied voice of the entity whispered in Harry’s ear, though her mouth was gone. "She needs him. Look at her—she’s never made those sounds for you, has she?"

Harry’s breath came in ragged pants, his body torn between disgust and unwanted arousal.

The entity's laughter slithered through the air like oil on water as Harry's body arched against his will, his cock twitching inside her with every torturous grind of her hips. She maintained the same maddeningly slow pace—just enough friction to keep him painfully hard but never enough to grant release. Each time his breath hitched, each time his balls tightened, she would still her movements entirely, letting him hover on the precipice until the tension bled away into fresh agony.

Ron's deep growl rumbled through the room as he lifted Hermione's legs over his shoulders, bending her nearly in half. The obscene slap of flesh against flesh echoed off the walls, each thrust driving Hermione higher up the mattress. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, her back bowing off the bed as Ron's massive cock stretched her impossibly wider.

"Godric—Ron—!" Hermione's cry shattered into a breathless moan, her breasts bouncing with every brutal snap of Ron's hips. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, catching the dim candlelight as her body jolted with each deep stroke.

Harry's throat burned with the effort of holding back his own choked sounds. The entity's cunt clenched around him in cruel mimicry of Hermione's pleasure, her muscles fluttering just enough to make his toes curl before denying him again. His vision blurred at the edges, torn between the horror of watching his wife unravel beneath another man and the sickening heat coiling low in his gut.

The entity's voice dripped into his ear, thick with amusement. "Listen to her. She's never screamed like that for you, has she? Never begged."

Hermione's nails raked down Ron's chest as he pistoned into her, her thighs trembling around his waist. "Fuck—yes—right there, don't stop—!"

Harry's cock throbbed in response, his hips jerking weakly beneath the entity's weight. A strangled sound escaped him—half protest, half plea—as the entity chuckled darkly.

Ron’s thrusts grew erratic, his massive body trembling as he buried himself to the hilt inside Hermione, her name a broken groan on his lips. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, leaving faint red marks as he held her in place, his cock pulsing deep within her. Hermione arched beneath him, her back lifting off the bed as she cried out, her voice raw and desperate.

“Ron—yes—oh Godric, yes—” Her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him down against her as his hips jerked in short, possessive strokes.

Harry could only watch, his own body strung tight with agonized arousal, as Ron’s release spilled inside her, his thick cock twitching visibly through the stretched walls of her cunt. A shudder wracked Hermione’s body, her thighs clamping around Ron’s waist as she clenched around him, milking every last drop.

“I love you,” Ron gasped against her throat, his voice rough with exertion. His hands slid up to cup her face, thumbs brushing over her flushed cheeks. “Always have.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair. “I love you too,” she whispered, the words so tender they cut deeper than any curse.

Something inside Harry snapped.

A broken, wounded noise tore from his throat as the entity above him finally relented, her cunt tightening around him in a cruel parody of Hermione’s pleasure. His hips bucked upward, his cock throbbing as his release crashed over him in helpless, shuddering waves. The pleasure was sharp and sickening, tainted by the sight of Ron still buried inside Hermione, their bodies pressed together in the aftermath.

The entity laughed, low and delighted, as Harry spilled inside her, his vision blurring at the edges. “Pathetic,” she purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Even your climax is small. Do you think she even felt you when you came inside her?”

Harry’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the aftershocks.

Harry's breath hitched as tears spilled down his cheeks, the hot tracks cutting through the sweat and shame on his face. The entity slid off him with unsettling grace, her false-Hermione form standing naked beside the chair where he remained trapped. The cruel smile had vanished, replaced by an unsettling blankness that made his skin crawl.

"Why?" Harry croaked, his throat raw. He hadn't realized his voice had returned until the word tore free. "What did you do to them?" His fingers dug into the armrests, knuckles white against the dark wood.

The entity tilted its head, black eyes reflecting candlelight like pools of ink. When it spoke, Hermione's voice carried an echo of something ancient. "You were always the extra, Harry Potter. The spare character. I simply... rearranged the story." A slow blink. "And had my fun."

A fresh wave of horror crashed over him. "They're not—that's not really them, is it?" His gaze darted to the bed where Ron and Hermione still lay entwined, Ron's massive hand possessively splayed across her bare stomach.

The entity followed his gaze and laughed—a sound like breaking glass.

The entity’s laughter curled through the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. Its black eyes gleamed with amusement as Harry’s face twisted in horror.

"Oh, Harry," it sighed, Hermione’s lips forming the words with mocking sweetness. "You still don’t understand, do you? That is them. The real Ron. The real Hermione. Every moan, every thrust, every drop of his seed spilling inside her—real."

Harry’s stomach lurched. His fingers clawed at the arms of the chair, nails biting into the wood. "No," he rasped. "You’re lying. Hermione would never—"

"Would never what?" The entity tilted its head, feigning innocence. "Take Ron’s cock like a starving woman? Beg for it? Scream his name?" It stepped closer, running a cold finger down Harry’s damp cheek. "Oh, honey. She has. Thousands of times. Time bends to my will here. I kept you unconscious for years before allowing you to wake up in that chair."