Ron's POV (Part 3)

A sharp whimper escaped Ron’s throat as the real Hermione suddenly moved again—her tongue swirling around him, her lips tightening as she took him deeper. His vision blurred, pleasure and terror warring in his gut.

"What ever you're planning you won't win," Ron managed to choke out, his voice trembling as he fought to hold back the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm him. The entity let out a low, melodic laugh, clearly amused by his defiance. "Oh, but I already have," she purred, her breath cold against his ear. She leaned back, watching with an air of fascination as Ron's face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and anguish. His teeth were gritted, his eyes squeezed shut, but the flush rising to his cheeks betrayed him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she teased, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

The entity waved a hand, and the real Hermione paused, her lips still wrapped around him but motionless. Ron's eyes snapped open, meeting the entity's black, empty stare. "I suggest you enjoy it, Ronald," she said, her voice laced with a sinister sweetness. "After all, it's not every day you get to experience something so... divine." Ron's anger flared despite the pleasure coursing through him. "Fuck you!" he spat, his voice strained but resolute. "I might not be able to move, but you can't make me enjoy this!" The entity's expression shifted, her eyebrows rising in mock surprise before settling into a scowl. "Oh, but you are enjoying it," she snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Don't lie to yourself, Ronald. Your body doesn't lie."

Before Ron could respond, the entity's face twisted into a cruel grin. "I suggest you enjoy it," she repeated, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "or your precious friend here will suffer the consequences." She gestured to the real Hermione, who remained frozen, her eyes still closed as if trapped in a nightmare. Ron's heart raced as fear spiked through him. "What?!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking. The entity simply chuckled, the sound echoing ominously in the darkened room.

The entity’s grin widened, her black eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as she watched the horror dawn on Ron’s face. "Oh, don’t look so shocked, Ronald," she purred, dragging a nail down Hermione’s frozen cheek. "Hermione and I have an understanding."

Ron’s breath hitched, his muscles straining against the invisible force holding him in place. "What the hell are you talking about?" he growled, voice thick with desperation. "Hermione would never make a deal with something like you!"

The false Hermione—no, the thing wearing her face—threw her head back and laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally through the room. "Wouldn’t she?" she taunted, stepping closer, her bare hips swaying with predatory grace. "Desperate people do desperate things, Weasley." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "But the details? That’s not your business."

Ron’s stomach twisted. "Like hell it isn’t!" he snarled, fighting the paralysis with everything he had. "If you’ve done something to her—"

The entity cut him off with a sharp, mocking laugh. "Oh, sweet, noble Ronald," she sighed, shaking her head. "What you need to worry about is whether she keeps her end of the bargain." Her fingers trailed down Hermione’s motionless arm, possessive and slow. "Because if she doesn’t…"

A cruel smile curled her lips.

"I take full control of this pretty little body," she whispered, her voice dripping with venomous delight. "And then? I walk right back into her life. Back to Harry. Back to those adorable children."

Ron’s blood ran cold. "You stay the fuck away from them," he hissed, his voice shaking with rage.

The entity ignored him, her grin widening.

The entity flicked her wrist, and with a shuddering gasp, Hermione's lips began moving again—slow at first, then with practiced precision that made Ron's toes curl against his will. Her warm mouth enveloped him completely, tongue swirling along his throbbing length as her hands instinctively came up to cradle his trembling thighs. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, teeth grinding as he desperately tried to focus on Quidditch plays, old potions recipes, anything to distract from the sinful heat of Hermione's mouth working him over with terrifying expertise.

Not like this. Not like this. His mind screamed even as his hips gave a traitorous twitch, pushing deeper between her lips. The ghost of every teenage fantasy he'd ever guiltily indulged in—Hermione beneath him in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione pressed against the shelves of the Restricted Section—rose up to torment him.

"Please," he choked out, voice ragged. Sweat beaded along his forehead as Hermione's fingers dug into his thighs, her moan vibrating around him. "I'm sorry about whatever my ancestor did, but that was like 150 years ago! It's not right to—fuck—to take it out on me!"

The entity's amused expression darkened instantly. Her fingers clenched in Hermione's hair, yanking her back just enough to make Ron groan at the sudden loss of heat. "Not right?" she hissed, her voice dropping into something guttural, inhuman. The walls seemed to pulse in response, shadows writhing like living things. "You think fairness matters to creatures like me?"

She leaned in, her breath frigid against Ron's flushed skin. "I waited," she snarled, "One hundred and forty-eight years, seven months, and thirteen days. Watching. Hungry." Her grip on Hermione's hair tightened, making her whimper around Ron's cock—a sound that sent a fresh wave of shame and arousal coursing through him. "Your bloodline made me a promise.”

The entity's smile twisted into something grotesque, her eyes gleaming with malevolence. "But I'm enjoying the entertainment in front of me," she purred, her voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "And I'm always willing to make a bargain." With a flick of her wrist, Hermione's lips released Ron's cock, and she began to stroke him with her hand, the motion slow and deliberate. Ron's breath hitched as her fingers wrapped around him, the touch sending shivers down his spine despite the horror of the situation.

"How about this," the entity proposed, her voice laced with mockery. "If you can go the next 15 minutes without cumming, then I'll let her—your friend Harry—and even you go home." She stepped closer, her presence suffocating, as Ron's eyes widened in disbelief. "You think that's fair?" he rasped, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. "I'm about to snap from all the stimulation!"

The entity chuckled, the sound echoing through the room like the clatter of dry leaves. "Oh, but fairness is such a human concept, isn't it?" she mused, her gaze never leaving Ron's tormented face. "And I'm not exactly in the business of being fair. However," she continued, her tone shifting to one of false generosity, "I agree. It's not... sporting of me to deny you a moment to collect yourself. So, I'll give you an hour to rest before the challenge begins. But make no mistake, Weasley, this is no act of mercy. It's merely to make the game more... interesting."

Ron's mind raced as he considered the proposal.

"What if I lose?" Ron asked, his voice hoarse with desperation. His pulse hammered in his throat, his body still thrumming from Hermione’s touch—her real touch, even if it had been forced.

The entity wearing Hermione’s face smiled, and the sight of it sent a fresh wave of revulsion through him. That smile didn’t belong there—Hermione’s lips were meant to quirk in amusement when she solved a complex spell, or soften with warmth when she tucked her children into bed. Not this. Not this cruel, knowing leer, her dark eyes gleaming with something ancient and ravenous.

"Then I take what’s owed," it purred, stroking a finger down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin. "And you don’t fight. You do exactly what I say until my payment is fulfilled."

Ron swallowed hard. "What payment?"

The thing chuckled, low and throaty, and the sound made his stomach twist. "That agreement is between your ancestry and myself."

Ron clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Thinking and planning had never been his strongest trait—that had always been Hermione’s role. Harry’s role. But right now, he was alone, trapped in this nightmare with only his own instincts to guide him.

At least, if he agreed, there was a chance. A slim, desperate chance that he could win their freedom.

"Fine," he ground out, forcing the word past his lips. "I agree."

The entity sighed, its expression flickering with something like annoyance. "How noble," it drawled, rolling its eyes. "Very well. Enjoy your nap, Weasley."

Before Ron could react, a wave of unnatural heaviness crashed over him. His limbs turned to lead, his eyelids fluttering shut against his will.