Whatever I want

by Gray_Barron

Summary:

Dark Harry Potter one-shots

I don't own Harry Potter.

I will announce the release of new Chapters for this and other works on my Discord: https://discord.gg/zzXERuAuPh

Chapter 1

In the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, where shadows twisted like serpents in the flickering torchlight, Harry Potter stumbled upon a forgotten relic of his godfather's past. It was a weathered leather-bound book, tucked away in a hidden compartment of Sirius Black's old trunk, which had been gathering dust in the Room of Requirement. Harry had been rummaging through it one rainy evening, seeking distractions from the relentless pressures of his sixth year—the looming threat of Voldemort, the weight of prophecies, and the endless scrutiny from teachers and peers. But this book was different. Its pages, yellowed and crisp, detailed arcane potions and spells that Sirius had evidently collected during his rebellious youth.

Harry's fingers traced the embossed title: Transmutations of the Forbidden Kind. His heart quickened as he flipped through the chapters, his eyes widening at diagrams of elixirs that promised impossible transformations. One entry, in particular, caught his attention—a gender-swapping potion. The instructions were meticulous: a blend of powdered moonstone, essence of asphodel, and a drop of the brewer's blood, simmered under a new moon. It claimed to alter the very essence of a person, twisting their body into its opposite form while preserving their mind. Sirius had scribbled notes in the margins, warnings about the potion's instability, but also tantalizing hints of its potential for revenge or escape. Harry, ever the strategist in his private battles, saw an opportunity. Draco Malfoy, that smug, sneering pure-blood prat, had been a thorn in his side for years—mocking him, undermining him, and aligning with forces that threatened everything Harry held dear. A plan began to form in Harry's mind, dark and unyielding, born from years of resentment.

Over the next few weeks, Harry gathered the ingredients in secret. He pilfered moonstone from the potions storeroom, extracted asphodel from the greenhouses under the guise of extra credit assignments, and even pricked his own finger for the blood, wincing at the sharp pain but feeling a thrill of power. The brewing process was intricate, requiring precise timing and incantations. In the dead of night, in a secluded corner of the Room of Requirement that he had configured into a makeshift laboratory, Harry worked tirelessly. The cauldron bubbled and hissed, emitting a foul, metallic scent that made his eyes water. As the potion congealed into a shimmering violet liquid, Harry felt a surge of triumph. He bottled it carefully, hiding it in his trunk beneath his Invisibility Cloak. The book had mentioned side effects—temporary weakness, heightened emotions—but Harry dismissed them. This was his chance to turn the tables on Draco once and for all.

Luring Draco was almost too easy. Harry knew the Slytherin's routines like the back of his hand, having observed him from afar with a mix of loathing and curiosity. Draco often slipped away from the Great Hall after dinner, heading to the library or the Slytherin common room via less-traveled paths. One evening, as the castle grew quiet, Harry waited near the moving staircases, his mind racing with anticipation. He had the potion vial in his robes, along with his wand at the ready. "Malfoy," he called out casually, stepping into view as Draco rounded the corner. Draco paused, his pale face twisting into a smirk.

"What do you want, Potter? Come to grovel for mercy?" Draco sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. He adjusted his robes, oblivious to the danger.

Harry forced a grin, playing the part of the reluctant ally. "Actually, I found something you might be interested in. Something from Sirius's old stuff. Thought you might want to see it—could be worth a laugh, or maybe even useful for your... family business." He dangled the bait, knowing Draco's insatiable curiosity and greed.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but the prospect of leverage over Harry was too tempting. "Fine, lead the way. But if this is a trick, you'll regret it."

Harry guided him through the labyrinthine halls, his heart pounding. They reached the Room of Requirement, which Harry had reconfigured into a hidden chamber—stone walls lined with flickering candles, no windows, and a heavy door that sealed shut behind them. As soon as they entered, Harry acted. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted, his wand flicking with precision. Draco's wand flew from his hand, clattering to the floor. Before Draco could react, Harry had him pinned against the wall, his own wand pressed to Draco's throat.

"What the hell, Potter?" Draco gasped, his face contorting in shock and fear. He struggled, but Harry was stronger, fueled by pent-up rage.

"Shut up," Harry growled, his voice low and menacing. With his free hand, he retrieved the vial from his robes and forced it to Draco's lips. "Drink this. Now."

Draco thrashed, trying to bite or spit, but Harry was unrelenting. He clamped a hand over Draco's mouth, tilting the vial until the potion poured down his throat. Draco choked and gagged, his eyes bulging in horror as the liquid took effect. A wave of magic rippled through the room, the air crackling with energy. Draco's body began to change—his features softening, his frame shrinking, curves forming where there had been none. His hair lengthened into silvery waves, and his robes hung loosely over a newly feminine form. Within moments, Draco Malfoy was no longer a he, but a she—stunned, disoriented, and trembling on the floor.

Harry stepped back, breathing heavily, a twisted satisfaction blooming in his chest. "Look at you now," he said, his voice laced with contempt. But the sight of Draco's transformed body ignited something darker in him—anger, desire, a need for dominance that he had suppressed for too long.

Without warning, Harry lunged forward and struck Draco across the face, his fist connecting with a sickening thud. Draco cried out, collapsing to the ground as blood trickled from her split lip. Harry didn't stop; he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up and slamming her against the wall again. Blow after blow rained down—punches to the stomach, kicks to the ribs. Draco whimpered and pleaded, her voice higher now, feminine and desperate. "Stop, please! What are you doing? Why?"

Harry's mind was a storm of justifications. This was for all the times Draco had belittled him, for the way he had aided the Death Eaters, for the constant torment. He channeled his fury into each strike, feeling the satisfying crack of bone under his knuckles. Draco's body bruised and bled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Finally, Harry paused, his hands aching, his breath coming in heavy bursts. Draco lay huddled on the floor, sobbing quietly, her new form battered and exposed.

But Harry wasn't done. He reached into his robes and pulled out two more vials—virility and stamina potions he had brewed separately, enhancements from the same forbidden book. They promised heightened endurance, unyielding strength, and amplified desires. Harry downed them in one gulp, feeling the effects almost immediately: a rush of heat through his veins, his body thrumming with energy, his senses sharpening. His thoughts turned primal, the potions stripping away any lingering hesitation.

He advanced on Draco, who tried to crawl away, her limbs weak from the beating. "No, Potter, don't—please, I beg you," she whimpered, her voice breaking. But Harry ignored her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. He tore at her robes, the fabric ripping easily under his enhanced strength, exposing her newly transformed body—soft skin, curves that invited his touch, and vulnerabilities that made his pulse race.

Harry started with her mouth, forcing her jaw open with rough hands. He thrust himself inside, ignoring her gags and struggles. The potions made him relentless, each movement driven by a savage rhythm. Draco's tears streamed down her face as she choked, her body convulsing, but Harry held her in place, his grip ironclad. He took his time, savoring the power, the control, until he pulled away, leaving her gasping and coughing.

Next, he flipped her onto her stomach, her protests muffled against the cold stone floor. He entered her from behind, violently, without preparation or mercy. Draco screamed, her body tensing in pain, but the sound only fueled Harry's frenzy. The stamina potion kept him going, wave after wave of force, his hands digging into her hips as he drove deeper. The room echoed with her cries and his ragged breaths, the air thick with the scent of sweat and blood.

Finally, he turned her over again, spreading her legs forcefully. He entered her there too, his movements brutal and unyielding. Draco's mind seemed to fracture under the assault; she went limp at times, then thrashed in renewed panic. Harry's body responded with unnatural vigor, the virility potion ensuring he could continue indefinitely. Time blurred as he took her repeatedly, alternating between her mouth, ass, and what the potion had made of her. By the end, he reached his peak, spilling into her with a final, violent thrust. As he did, a strange magic surged—the book's warnings had mentioned that impregnation could lock the transformation permanently. Draco's body accepted it, her fate sealed in that moment.

Harry collapsed beside her, his body spent but satisfied. Draco lay there, broken and sobbing, her eyes vacant. He whispered something cruel in her ear—words about her new reality, her helplessness—before leaving her in the room, locking the door behind him. The next morning, whispers spread through Hogwarts of Draco's mysterious absence, but Harry played his part, feigning concern.

Three months passed, and the castle's routines continued amid the chaos of the wizarding world. Harry had almost convinced himself it was over, but then Draco reappeared—or rather, the version of her that the potion had created. She had managed to hide her condition, wearing loose robes to conceal the swelling of her belly. The impregnation had indeed locked her in her female form, and now she carried Harry's child, a twisted symbol of his dominance. Draco sought him out in the halls, her face a mask of desperation and rage.

"Potter," she hissed, cornering him near the potions classroom. Her voice was low, but her eyes burned with fury. "You think you can get away with this? I know what you did. That potion, the assault—everything. I'm pregnant because of you, and if you don't help me fix this, I'll tell everyone. Dumbledore, the Ministry, the whole damn world. You'll be expelled, imprisoned—worse."

Harry's stomach tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. He had anticipated this, planned for it. "Fix what, exactly?" he asked, his tone mocking. "You're the one who drank it. But fine, let's talk. Meet me in the old Astronomy Tower tonight. We can figure something out—privately."

Draco hesitated, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but the promise of resolution was too alluring. She nodded curtly and walked away, her hand resting on her pregnant belly.

That night, Harry led her to another hidden room he had prepared in the Room of Requirement, similar to the first but with more secrecy—dark drapes, no escape routes. As soon as the door closed, he struck. "Stupefy," he muttered, disarming her quickly before she could react. Draco staggered, but the spell only dazed her momentarily. Harry grabbed her, his hands rough on her swollen form.

"You thought you could blackmail me?" he snarled, pinning her against the wall. Her pregnancy had made her slower, more vulnerable, and Harry exploited it mercilessly. He tore at her clothes again, exposing her changed body, now marked by the bulge of the child within. Draco fought back, clawing at his face, but Harry was stronger, the memory of his potions lingering in his veins.

He forced himself on her once more, his actions even more violent in his anger. He entered her mouth first, gagging her until she sobbed, then flipped her onto her side to accommodate her belly, thrusting into her with brutal force. Her cries echoed in the room, a mix of pain and pleas for mercy, but Harry was deaf to them. The assault was longer this time, his stamina holding as he took her in every way, climaxing inside her again with a guttural growl.

As he withdrew, panting and slick with sweat, a cold resolve settled over him. Draco lay there, weeping and broken, whispering, "Please, just end it." Harry didn't hesitate. He wrapped his hands around her throat, his fingers digging into her soft skin. She struggled weakly, her hands scrabbling at his arms, but the life drained from her eyes as he squeezed tighter. Her body convulsed, then went still, the light fading from her gaze.

Harry released her, his hands trembling slightly from the effort. He couldn't leave evidence, so he turned to the book once more. A transfiguration spell within its pages allowed him to convert organic matter into inanimate objects—a simple incantation to turn her body into a piece of wood. "Mutatio lignum," he intoned, watching as Draco's form twisted and hardened, her features blurring into the grain of an ordinary log.

Without a second glance, Harry gathered the wood and carried it to a nearby fireplace in an abandoned corridor. He tossed it into the flames, watching as it caught fire and burned to ashes. The evidence disintegrated, leaving only smoke that curled into the night air. Harry walked away, his mind already compartmentalizing the events, ready to face the world as if nothing had happened.

In the days that followed, rumors swirled about Draco's disappearance—suspicions of Death Eater involvement, perhaps, or a runaway. Harry played his role perfectly, mourning outwardly while feeling a dark sense of liberation. The castle moved on, oblivious to the shadows he had woven, and Harry Potter, the boy who lived, carried his secrets like a shield.

Chapter 2

Hermione Granger lay in the Hogwarts hospital wing, the effects of the Polyjuice Potion mostly reversed. Her body had returned to normal, save for the soft cat ears twitching atop her head and the slender tail that flicked restlessly beneath the sheets. She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts of the Chamber of Secrets, when a faint rustle caught her attention. Harry Potter, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, had slipped into the room.

They whispered about the dangers they'd faced, but as Hermione recounted the horrors, she felt an unfamiliar heat building. Without warning, she rubbed against him, her body pressing close as a low purr escaped her throat. Harry hesitated at first, but his hand found her ears, stroking them gently, then trailing down to her tail. The touch ignited something primal in both of them.

Clothes fell away in the dim light. Hermione fondled her newly enlarged breasts, her breaths coming in short gasps, while Harry stroked himself, his eyes locked on her. Their movements grew frantic, and soon they both climaxed, the room filled with stifled moans.

Panting, Hermione pushed him back, her voice shaky. "This is all wrong, Harry. We shouldn't be doing this." Her tail lashed in protest, but Harry, driven by a mix of desire and confusion, acted on impulse. He stunned her with a quick spell, her body going limp as he tied her to the bed with conjured ropes.

He rummaged through Madam Pomfrey's stores, his heart pounding, and emerged with two fertility potions and a stamina elixir. Harry downed the stamina potion first, feeling a surge of energy, then the fertility one. Hermione stirred, begging through her daze, "Please, don't—Harry, no!" But he ignored her pleas, forcing the second fertility potion down her throat.

Harry positioned himself over Hermione, the ropes binding her wrists and ankles to the bedposts, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. She blinked up at him through tear-filled eyes, her cat ears flattening against her head as the reality of the moment sank in. He entered her slowly at first, his cock sliding into her warmth with deliberate force, each inch stretching her in a way that made her gasp and then sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her body tensing as she wept openly, weeping uncontrollably while muttering broken pleas. "Harry, stop—please, this isn't you," she whispered, her voice cracking, but he didn't halt. Instead, he thrust deeper, his hands gripping her hips to hold her in place.

The room filled with the sounds of her muffled cries and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. Harry moved with a steady, unrelenting pace, his stamina potion keeping him hard and unyielding. Hermione's tail thrashed wildly at first, a physical manifestation of her resistance, as more tears fell, soaking the sheets beneath her. She turned her head away, her breaths hitching in sobs, weeping as the violation continued. "Why are you doing this? We're friends," she choked out, her voice breaking into a whimper, but his rhythm only intensified, his hands roaming to fondle her enlarged breasts, pinching her nipples until she arched involuntarily.

As minutes stretched into what felt like hours, Hermione's body began to betray her. The fertility potion coursed through her veins, heightening every sensation, turning pain into a twisted pleasure. Harry's thrusts grew more forceful, his cock filling her completely with each stroke, and despite her tears, a low purr started to build in her throat. She bit her lip to stifle it, but it escaped, mixing with her sobs. "No, I don't want this," she protested weakly, yet her hips subtly lifted to meet him, her inner walls clenching around him in response.

He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear, whispering fragmented encouragements as he drove into her again and again. The prolonged assault blurred the lines between resistance and desire; Hermione's weeping softened into intermittent moans, her mind fracturing under the onslaught. Harry's stamina held strong, allowing him to draw it out, changing angles to hit deeper spots that made her gasp and writhe. He paused occasionally, pulling back just enough to tease her before plunging in again, extending the torment into ecstasy.

By the time he finally quickened his pace, Hermione was a mess of contradictions—tears still glistening on her face, but her body responding with eager pulses. She begged one last time, her voice hoarse, "Don't cum inside, Harry—please, I can't get pregnant," but her words lacked conviction now, overshadowed by the building climax within her. He ignored her, his release building to a peak as he thrust harder, faster until he emptied himself inside her with a guttural groan. The flood of his seed, amplified by the potions, pushed her over the edge, too, her body shuddering in unwanted orgasm as her will shattered completely.

Exhausted and broken, Hermione lay there, her tears drying on her cheeks as a vacant expression took over. When Harry finally untied her, she didn't pull away; instead, she reached for him, her hands trembling as she pulled him down onto the bed. Their bodies collided again in a haze of need, fucking through the night without pause, her purring growing louder as the hours blurred into a cycle of relentless pleasure.

Weeks later, in Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall watched from the front of the room, her expression a mask of quiet despair. Hermione, now heavily pregnant, knelt before Harry in plain view, her cat ears flat against her head as she deepthroated him with mechanical enthusiasm. The class pretended not to notice, but McGonagall's heart ached for the promising student Hermione had been.

She lamented the loss silently, knowing the ancient laws protecting purebloods tied her hands. No action could be taken; the Wizarding World's archaic rules shielded such indiscretions, leaving Hermione to her fate as just another casualty in the shadows of power and desire.

Chapter 3

Harry stands in the dimly lit corridor of Hogwarts, his frustration boiling over from Ginny's relentless puppy-dog stares and clumsy attempts at flirtation during classes and meals. She's always been so transparent, her wide eyes following him like a lost lamb, but tonight, he's had enough. He crafts a simple plan, approaching her in the Great Hall with a sly smile and a whispered promise of a secret rendezvous in the Room of Requirement. "Meet me there after dinner," he says smoothly, his voice laced with feigned affection, making her heart race as she nods eagerly, her cheeks flushing with excitement. The room, ever adaptable, materializes into a cozy chamber with flickering candlelight and plush rugs, setting the perfect trap. As she enters, breathless and hopeful, Harry wastes no time, drawing his wand with a swift motion and casting a stunning spell that hits her squarely in the chest. She crumples to the floor in an instant, her body going limp, eyes fluttering shut, leaving her completely at his mercy. The spell's effects are immediate and thorough, paralyzing her muscles while keeping her conscious enough to feel the vulnerability, her mind trapped in a haze as he kneels beside her, already plotting the next steps with a cold, calculating grin.

With Ginny's stunned form laid out before him, Harry takes his time securing her, conjuring thick, enchanted ropes that wrap around her wrists and ankles, binding them to iron rings that appear in the floor at his command. The ropes tighten just enough to restrict any movement, digging slightly into her skin and leaving faint red marks that highlight her helplessness. He steps back to admire his work, then leans in for a thorough examination, his hands roaming over her body with clinical detachment. Her frame is so disappointingly slight, skinny arms and legs that speak of her youth, a flat chest and narrow hips that make him scoff in disgust. "What did you ever think you had to offer?" he mutters aloud, his fingers tracing the contours of her undeveloped breasts, pinching the soft tissue to test its give, then sliding down to her bony pelvis. He's repulsed by her childish proportions, the way her skin is smooth and unmarred, lacking any real curves or maturity. She's just a pathetic, desperate girl, he realizes, her naive adoration nothing more than a nuisance. This close inspection fuels his anger, his mind racing as he pokes and prods, noting how her body trembles slightly under the stunning spell, her shallow breaths the only sign of life. In that moment, an idea crystallizes: she's not even worthy of being a person anymore, just livestock, something to be used and discarded, and he feels a twisted thrill at the thought of reducing her to that level.

Driven by his growing contempt, Harry grips his wand tighter, channeling his magic into a series of transfiguration spells that warp Ginny's body in grotesque ways. He starts with her forehead, muttering incantations that force cow horns to sprout slowly, first as small bumps, then elongating into curved, ivory spirals that jut out menacingly, their weight pulling at her skin and making her head loll unnaturally. Next, he focuses on her lower back, transfiguring a cow tail that emerges inch by inch, the furry appendage swishing involuntarily as nerves connect and send jolts of unfamiliar sensation through her. But the most dramatic change is to her chest; her tiny, budding breasts begin to swell under his spell, the flesh stretching and sagging into heavy, pendulous udders that hang low against her torso, their skin turning a mottled pink and veined with blue, filled with an unnatural weight that makes them sway with every breath. The process is agonizingly slow, her body resisting at first before yielding to his magic, the air filled with faint crackling sounds as bones and tissues reshape. He steps back to survey the results, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the monstrous transformation, horns framing her face, tail flicking behind her, and those ridiculous udders dominating her front, turning her into a hybrid of girl and beast. The entire ritual takes several minutes, his wand movements precise and deliberate, each spell building on the last until she's barely recognizable, her original form corrupted into something base and animalistic.

As the final transfiguration spell fades, Harry flicks his wand to lift the stunning effect, and Ginny jolts awake with a sharp gasp, her eyes flying open in sheer terror. She thrashes against the ropes, the new horns on her head scraping against the floor and sending sharp pains through her skull, while the heavy udders pull at her chest, making every movement agony. "What... what have you done to me?" she screams, her voice hoarse and breaking as she stares down at her altered body, hands straining against the bindings to touch the foreign appendages. The tail swishes wildly behind her, brushing against her legs in a way that feels alien and wrong, heightening her panic. Tears stream down her face as she begs for mercy, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush: "Harry, please, why are you doing this? I thought you... I love you! Change me back!" Her struggles only make the ropes dig deeper, drawing small trickles of blood, and she's overwhelmed by the physical sensations, the weight of the horns, the ache in her udders, the unnatural balance of her body. She looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes, her mind reeling from the shock, every fiber of her being screaming for release, but Harry's expression remains unmoved, a cold smirk playing on his lips as he watches her unravel.

Ginny's pleas echo in the room, her voice cracking with desperation, but Harry cuts her off with a harsh laugh, kneeling down to mock her directly. "Mercy? You really think you're worth that?" he sneers, his words dripping with disdain as he reaches out to grab one of her sagging udders, squeezing it roughly to emphasize his point, the flesh yielding under his fingers like overripe fruit. He continues berating her, "You're nothing but cattle, just like your mother and all those Weasley women, bred for nothing more than popping out more useless brats. Did you honestly believe I'd want someone as pathetic as you?" His grip tightens, causing her to wince and cry out, but he doesn't stop, using his other hand to fondle the other udder, feeling the warmth and unnatural texture. Then, without warning, he positions himself between her legs, his erection straining against his robes as he frees it and presses it between the heavy, sagging flesh of her transformed breasts. He fucks her tits with brutal force, his hips thrusting rhythmically, the soft, yielding udders enveloping his shaft in a warm, slick grip that contrasts wildly with their bovine appearance. Each movement sends ripples through the pendulous flesh, the skin stretching and slapping together as he pounds harder, his hands clamping down on the sides to hold them in place, feeling the veins and weight against his palms. The sensation is intoxicating, a mix of the udders' odd, rubbery resilience and the heat of her skin, building friction that makes him groan with pleasure. Ginny whimpers beneath him, her begs turning into choked sobs as the ropes hold her fast, the tail thrashing in rhythm with his thrusts, and he revels in her degradation, driving deeper until he's on the edge, finally pulling out to cum in thick, hot ropes across her udders and face, the semen dripping down in sticky strands that cling to her skin and horns, marking her completely.

Flipping her over with a rough shove, Harry doesn't give Ginny a moment's respite, grabbing her hips and yanking them upward so she's on her knees, face pressed against the cold stone floor. Her bound wrists scrape painfully as he positions himself behind her, the cow tail flicking against his thighs in a frantic, involuntary dance. He plunges into her without any preamble, his cock sliding into her tight, unprepared entrance with a forceful thrust that makes her gasp in pain, her body rocking forward with the impact. He fucks her relentlessly, each stroke deep and punishing, his hands digging into the soft flesh of her hips, leaving red fingerprints that bruise almost instantly. The floor is unforgiving, its chill seeping into her as he drives in harder, feeling every inch of her inner walls clench and resist before yielding, the wetness building despite her distress. He savors the details, the way her transformed body responds, the udders swinging wildly beneath her with each thrust, grazing the ground and adding to her humiliation; the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room; the musky scent of sweat and fear mixing in the air. Her cries grow more animalistic, muffled against the stone, as he maintains a brutal pace, angling his hips to hit deeper spots that make her body betray her with involuntary spasms. The entire act is drawn out, his stamina unyielding as he grinds against her, the tail wrapping around his arm at one point, only heightening his dominance in this twisted ritual.

As Harry's relentless assault continues, Ginny's mind begins to fracture under the onslaught, her human thoughts dissolving into a primal haze. At first, her pleas are coherent, desperate words begging for it to stop, but they gradually morph into low, guttural moos that escape her lips unbidden, her voice deepening and distorting as if her body is fully embracing the cow persona. She arches her back instinctively, as though submitting to him as her "bull," her hips pushing back against his thrusts in a rhythmic response that feels almost natural now. The transformation seeps into her psyche, making her lose grip on reality, memories of her life at Hogwarts fading, replaced by base instincts of heat and breeding. Harry notices the shift and grins, pounding harder to push her further over the edge, feeling her inner walls tighten around him in response. Finally, with a deep, guttural groan, he climaxes inside her, his seed flooding deep into her core in hot, pulsing waves, likely impregnating her in this corrupted state, the warmth spreading through her as her body shudders in a mix of pain and unwanted release. He holds himself there for a moment, savoring the conquest, before pulling out slowly, leaving a trail of fluids that drip onto the floor.

Leaning down beside her head, still breathing heavily from the exertion, Harry whispers harshly into her ear, his voice low and menacing to drive home the finality. "I hope you enjoyed your last minutes as a human being," he says, his breath hot against her skin, making her flinch as the words sink in. Panic surges through her, her eyes widening in fresh horror, the remnants of her human mind clawing for control as she lets out one last desperate beg for mercy, her voice a garbled mix of sobs, words, and moos that tumble out incoherently. "Please, Harry, no... don't... I'll do anything!" she cries, but he simply waves his wand with a casual flick, completing the transformation in a cascade of magic. Her limbs elongate and reshape into sturdy cow legs, her face stretching into a blunt muzzle, fur sprouting across her body as her hands and feet morph into hooves. The process is swift and irreversible, her final screams turning into lowing sounds as she fully becomes a cow, thrashing feebly on the floor in a futile attempt to reverse what's been done. Straightening up, Harry calls out casually for a Hogwarts kitchen house elf, the creature appearing with a sharp crack, bowing low before him. "Special request," Harry says, his tone even and authoritative, gesturing to the newly transformed cow that was once Ginny.

An hour later, Harry took his seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, the air filled with the usual chatter and clinking of plates. He can't help but smirk to himself as the main course is served, a succulent surprise steak that draws murmurs of approval from his housemates. Ron, in particular, dives in with enthusiasm, devouring large bites and praising the tenderness between mouthfuls, completely oblivious to the irony. "This is bloody brilliant, mate, what do you reckon they did to make it so juicy?" Ron asks, glancing at Harry, who just chuckles softly, his eyes glinting with secret amusement as he takes a deliberate bite, the flavorful meat a grim reminder of his earlier deeds, while the rest of the table enjoys the meal without a clue.

Chapter 4

The war had been won, and Harry Potter emerged as the celebrated hero who had finally vanquished Voldemort once and for all. But as he stood outside the familiar house on Privet Drive, a simmering rage bubbled within him. The Dursleys may have been his blood relatives, but they had made his childhood a living hell with their cruelty and abuse.

Harry was surprised to sense that the ancient blood wards around the house still pulsed with magic. The Order had told him the protective charms would fade once he came of age, yet here they remained, strong as ever. As long as a blood relative of his resided here, these wards would shield him from any who might seek retribution against The Boy Who Lived. A dark smile played across Harry's lips. That protection would make what he had planned all the easier.

With a flick of his wand, Harry silently cast notice-me-not and soundproofing charms around the perimeter of the house. No need for the Muggle neighbors to hear anything...untoward. Satisfied that he had guaranteed an undisturbed night, Harry kicked in the front door with a resounding crash.

"Evening, Dursley's! I'm home!" Harry called in a mock-cheerful tone as he strode into the sitting room where the odious family cowered, stunned at his sudden entrance. At least the whale-like cousin and walrus of an uncle had the decency to look fearful. Petunia, on the other hand, simply gaped at him like a hooked fish, her pallid face screwing up as if she had smelled something particularly unpleasant.

"Oh my Merlin, it reeks of moldy cabbage and mothballs in here," Harry sneered, wafting a hand in front of his nose dramatically. "Honestly Petunia, if you're going to be a miserly hag, at least invest in some damn bleach once in a while."

"Y-you!" Vernon Dursley blustered, face purpling as he heaved himself out of his armchair. "Get out of my house this instant! I won't have your sort-"

"MY sort?" Harry hissed, wand leveled at his uncle's sweaty forehead. "And just what sort would that be, Dursley? The sort that saved your pathetic hide from the darkest wizard of all time?" He barked out a humorless laugh. "Please. You should be on your knees thanking me. Instead, you're still as hateful and bigoted as the day I was dumped on your doorstep."

Harry's eyes darkened, magic crackling from his wand tip menacingly. "Well, no more. Payback's a real bitch, isn't it? Speaking of which..."

He turned to Petunia, who shrank back against the wall, nervously fiddling with her rope of pearly necklaces. "I trust you can still cook, yes? You're going to make me one final family dinner, even if it chokes you. After all, I'm just a parasitic leech sponging off your generosity, right? Least I can do is fill my belly before I leave you all to rot."

With a lazy flick of his wand and a smirking "Imperio", Petunia straightened robotically, a glazed look falling over her features. Dudley watched on in horrified confusion as his mother woodenly donned an apron and began rummaging through the cupboards.

"You can't do this!" He squealed, backing away as Harry advanced on him. "Mum! Help!"

"Oh shut up, Big D," Harry sighed before jabbing his wand at the obese boy. "Transfiguration was never my strong suit, but for you? I'll make an exception."

Dudley let out an ear-splitting shriek as his milky skin rippled, bones and flesh shifting grotesquely until all that was left was a lumpy burlap sack, filled near to bursting with misshapen, bulging potatoes. "Huh. Fits you better than your old skin does, if I'm honest."

Vernon made to barrel toward him, meaty fists swinging, but Harry neatly sidestepped, wand swishing in a practiced arc. The man's blubbering roar warped into a high-pitched squeal as pink flesh turned to red, bristly pork. Harry appraised his handiwork with a satisfied nod. "There. A decent roast and sides. I'm sure even your culinary ineptitude can't cock up a simple roast, Auntie dear."

The Imperiused Petunia set to obeying her nephew's commands without hesitation, trussing up the meat that had once been her husband and shoving it into the oven to cook, seemingly unperturbed. Once the food was simmering away and the off-putting crunches and gurgles of Petunia snapping Dudley's spuds in half to boil filled the kitchen, Harry strolled out into the cramped living room.

He flopped into Vernon's overstuffed armchair, making a show of kicking his feet up on the coffee table and enjoying the soft plushness of the worn leather. As he listened to his aunt bustling about the kitchen like nothing was amiss, Harry couldn't help the cruel smirk that twisted his features. It was almost funny, really. All those years of abuse, and here he was, waltzing in and turning their own lives into a macabre mockery - literally - at the snap of his fingers.

Still, his revenge wasn't complete just yet. There were a few more humiliations he had in mind...particularly for one Petunia Dursley. After all, it had been her begrudging letter to Dumbledore all those years ago that had sealed his fate, hadn't it? The cruelest twists of fate always started with fear. Or, in her case, misplaced jealousy.

As if summoned by his musings, the woman in question appeared in the doorway, vacant expression trained on him. "Dinner is served."

Harry hummed, rising from the chair languidly. "Well then, let's not keep it waiting, hm? Wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste."

He trailed after her into the kitchen, nearly doubling over with harsh, barking laughter at the nightmarish domestic scene that greeted him. Steaming on the table was a roast fit for a king, juices running red from the pig Vernon had become, surrounded by the boiled halves of the potatoes that were once Dudley. The sick irony of it set his blood singing.

"By Merlin, Petunia! You've truly outdone yourself!" He gasped out between fits of caustic mirth. He speared a hunk of pork with a serving fork, brandishing it at the blank-faced woman. "I'm sure your darling husband would be thrilled to know that, in the end, he made an excellent main course. He's never been so appetizing!"

If possible, Petunia's eyes went even deader than before. Harry clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Now now, don't look like that. This is what you get for housing a greasy, piggish layabout and an indolent, overstuffed tub of lard. Think of this as...spring cleaning."

With a snap of his fingers, Petunia blinked rapidly, the fog lifting from her gaze as the Imperius Curse faded. She took one look at the grisly meal on the table and promptly crumpled to the linoleum, wails of despair wrenching from her throat. Harry allowed her a moment of grief before sinking a hand into her mousy bun and dragging her tear-stained face up to look at him.

"Enough blubbering. We're not finished yet," He growled, pushing her toward the living room once more. He shoved her to her knees at his feet, wand held like an iron bar beneath her chin. "I hope you realize this is all your doing, Petunia. Every misery I've ever suffered at your hands was set in motion by you and your damn jealousy."

She mewled pathetically, eyes darting for any escape, but Harry kept a firm grip on her hair, yanking her attention back to him. "What, you thought you were special? That you were worth more than my mother? Please," He scoffed. "You were never anything to anyone. But if it's what you've always wanted, I'll grant you one final wish."

His coarse laugh made Petunia flinch. "When you wrote to Dumbledore, I can only imagine this is what you really wanted to be, deep down. Not a perfect, poised wife and mother, but some wizard's little plaything. His whore."

It was sickeningly clear what was about to happen, but Harry felt no remorse as he reached for his zipper with his free hand, already half-hard at the thought of debasing the wretched woman before him. Petunia let out a horrified whine of realization, struggling feebly. "No, no please-"

"Aw, don't cry." Harry mocked, pressing his wand more firmly against her throat as he freed himself from his trousers with a lewd slap against her jaw. "This is what you get. This is what you deserve for treating your own flesh and blood like he was less than dirt. It's fitting, don't you think? A Evans and a Potter, together at last?"

She was still making those pitiful mewling sounds as he forced his length past her thin lips, bucking forward to hit the back of her throat. "Unf, that's it. You're only good for one thing now, aren't you? My own personal cocksleeve. Dumbledore should be proud; you'll be servicing a wizard's every need now after all, you insufferable bitch."

Petunia retched around him, tears and spit making her face a mascara-streaked mess as he mercilessly fucked her face, bottoming out in her throat with every brutal thrust. "Take it. Choke on it," Harry panted, using both hands now to steady her head as he snapped his hips frantically. "This is the least you owe me for nearly two decades of torture."

The hot flood of his release triggered Petunia's gag reflex, Harry's cock muffling her retching as the oven timer's shrill ringing filled the kitchen. With a breathy moan, Harry pulled out, watching dispassionately as the woman collapsed to the linoleum in a boneless heap.

"Enough sniveling," He sneered, giving her a sharp nudge with his foot. "Your dinner's going to burn. Wouldn't want to let good meat go to waste, would we?"

Whimpering, Petunia dragged herself to her feet, shakily setting about the task of plating up the disturbing feast. Harry watched it all with a cruel smirk, enjoying the way her hands trembled each time her gaze darted to Vernon and Dudley's cooked remains.

Once the food steamed on the placemats, Harry seated himself with a flourish, snapping his fingers in Petunia's direction imperiously. She approached on wooden legs, posture doll-like and rigid. "Imperio."

The glazed film fell over her eyes once more, and without hesitation, Petunia began to methodically consume her portion, seemingly unperturbed by the pork roast's uncanny resemblance to her husband of twenty years. Harry himself ate with gusto, the succulent meat near melting on his tongue like butter. He kept Petunia's leash tight, ensuring she didn't stop until the plate was clean and her stomach nearly distended with the weight of the food.

Only when Harry had eaten his fill did he push himself away from the table, eyes darkening into black pits of sadistic intent. Petunia didn't react, simply staring blankly ahead as he rounded on her, forcing her to bend over the cluttered dishes. She let out a muffled squeal as her face smashed against the remnants of their perverse supper, hot breath fogging a film of grease on the plate below.

But her cries went unheeded, turning to breathless screams as Harry buried himself in her dry ass, the over-stretched ring of muscle burning in protest. There was no give to her body, even as he pried her cheeks apart, the dark hole he pistoned in and out of constricting near-painfully.

He fucked her like a rabid animal, each snap of his hips jostling dishes and near dislodging Petunia entirely. But he kept her ruthlessly pinned in place, hellbent on using her thoroughly. His wand never wavered, the Imperius curse keeping her struggling to a minimum.

It was the searing iron brand of her unprepared channel that finally sent Harry hurtling over the edge, his second release flooding her clenching hole with thick, tacky ropes of come. He stayed seated within her for a pregnant moment, relishing the aftershocks and the broken sounds of her hitching sobs before pulling out with a vulgar squelch.

His length was an angry-looking red, slicked with shit and cooling fluids. Harry held his wand beneath Petunia's quivering chin. "Clean it," He ordered, voice scraping gravel.

The woman rose shakily to her knees before him. There was an emptiness to her gaze that went beyond the residual fog of magic, a numb submission in the way she shuffle-crawled after him to the couch.

Harry wasted no time in turning on the TV, the flickering light casting their entwined forms in harsh relief. Petunia set about her task robotically once more, mouth working sloppily around his softening flesh to lap at the mess left behind. When the channels began to blur together, his eyes instead began to track the bobbing motions of her head, the suction growing more and more enthusiastic with every tug.

When his cock had been cleaned to his satisfaction, Harry pulled the woman into his lap, his renewed erection prodding insistently at her thigh. "You're not finished yet," He rumbled, hand spanning the circumference of her throat.

They rose as one, Harry's fingers flexing warningly each time she stumbled on the stairs. The master bedroom was oppressively floral, Harry absently wrinkling his nose even as he shoved the woman face-first into the mound of pillows with a sickening crunch.

arry didn’t give Petunia a moment to adjust before he was pushing his way inside her clenching sheath, the walls fluttering around him. This time was different, languid rolls of his hips refusing to go deeper until her body had no choice but to relax and accept him.

His hands mapped her form, calloused fingers dimpling the give of her heavy tits and raking blunt nails over peaked nipples. His ministrations wrenched choked, unwilling sounds from Petunia, her pussy rippling around him despite her resistance.

"Doesn't it feel good?" Harry panted wetly into the shell of her ear, nearly crazed with the overwhelming lash of tight slickness. "To be used like this? To just be a wizard's fucktoy, sopping wet and begging for it?"

She broke on a silent cry, head thrashing against the pillows as the ember of her orgasm stoked higher and higher. Harry could feel the echo of her release clamping around him like a vice, his own punch-drunk wave of euphoria rising to mix in a heady cocktail.

He set a relentless pace, rutting into her with a single-minded intensity that left Petunia keening beneath him, her nails scrabbling fruitlessly in the sheets. Every snap of his hips seated him to the hilt, the wet slap of their flesh and the symphony of their mixed moans and grunts painting the room in debauchery.

"Ungh fuck, that's it," Harry grunted, lost in the feel of her silken heat enveloping him. "Milk my cock. Take it all like a good little slut."

Petunia could only whimper in response, her slick walls massaging his shuttling length wantonly. The wet squelch of their joining filled the room, the bed creaking ominously with each frantic thrust. But Harry paid it no mind, too consumed with the blaze of pleasure licking up his spine.

"That's it, take it," He panted hotly, breath gusting over the sweat-slicked curve of her throat. "Show me how much you love being force-fed my cock."

Incoherent pleas fell from Petunia's bitten lips, rising in pitch with every brutal thrust. The bedframe squeaked in protest, the headboard thunking against the wall like a metronome, matching the frenetic rhythm Harry set.

"Tell me you love it," He growled, punctuating the demand with a sharp, stinging slap to her pendulous tit. "Beg me for my load, you greedy bitch."

"Please!" She sobbed, the word breaking on a thready moan. "Please, I need it, I need- nnh!"

Her words devolved into discordant wails as Harry shifted, changing the angle to nail her deeper, prying her open wider to accept the pounding. The new position was too much, and Petunia flew apart with a shattered cry, her greedy cunt clamping down on him like a vice.

He came on a broken groan, spurting deep in her writhing channel, the copious spend mixing with her own seeping come. They lay together for a timeless moment, bodies heaving, the only sound the squelch of Harry pulling free of her swollen folds.

"T-thank you," Petunia slurred into the sweat-damp pillow, voice hoarse from her screams. "I don't...I don't deserve your cock, I'm just a filthy Mudblood whore."

Harry's hand brushed her face, "Good girl, know your place," He whispered

"Yes," She whispered, tears tracking down her ruddy cheeks. "Yes, I promise."

"Good." He settled himself beside her, tucking Petunia into the crook of his arm. "A few more months of this, and you'll be popping out a little sister for me to love," He hummed against her temple, almost dreamily. "Don't worry, I won’t kill you… yet. The wards require a living relative to protect me. No, you'll remain here, in this house, ripe and breedable, for as long as I like. Who knows? Give me a few more magical daughters, and I may even let you live."

Chapter 5

Hermione sighed as she sat alone in the compartment, trying to distract herself from the fact that she couldn't find her two best friends, Harry and Ron. She figured they must be on the train somewhere, but she was still a little anxious about not being able to locate them. Resigning herself to waiting until they arrived at Hogwarts to find them, she pulled out a book on advanced arithmancy and tried to lose herself in the complex equations and theories.

 

Just as she was immersed in a particularly fascinating chapter on the magical properties of the number seven, the door to the compartment slid open with a bang. Hermione looked up, startled, to see Draco Malfoy leaning against the doorframe with a sneer on his pale face. His blonde hair was slicked back, making him look even more like the arrogant, privileged pureblood he was.

 

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, not bothering to hide her disdain as she glared at him. She knew he was nothing but trouble, especially when Harry and Ron weren't around to back her up. But she refused to let him see that he intimidated her at all.

 

"I just wanted to see if the know-it-all mudblood was ready for another year of being the teachers' pet," Draco sneered, his cold gray eyes sweeping over her contemptuously. "You really think you're so much better than the rest of us, don't you? But you're nothing special. Just a filthy little mudblood who doesn't belong here."

 

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, anger flaring in her chest at his insults. But before she could get a word out, Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it at her, grinning maliciously. He muttered a spell that she didn't recognize, something she had never come across in all her extensive reading.

 

Instead of freezing up like she would with the Full Body Bind curse, Hermione felt her entire body go limp, like all her muscles had turned to jelly. She collapsed bonelessly back against the seat, unable to move a single muscle no matter how hard she tried. Panic rose in her throat as she realized how vulnerable she was.

 

Draco turned to his two cronies lurking in the corridor, a sinister smirk twisting his lips. "Crabbe, Goyle, guard the door. Don't let anyone in, no matter what. The mudblood and I need some...privacy." Crabbe and Goyle grunted in acknowledgment, taking up positions on either side of the door like hulking sentinels.

 

Draco slid the door shut with a definitive click, then cast several powerful privacy charms, ensuring that no one would be able to hear or disturb them. Hermione's heart pounded as he turned to face her, his eyes dark with cruel anticipation.

 

"Well, well," he drawled, sauntering over to sit down beside her motionless form. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Granger. And you're completely at my mercy." He reached out to brush a strand of bushy brown hair out of her face, making her shudder internally.

 

With a lazy flick of his wand and a muttered spell, Draco made Hermione's clothes vanish, leaving her completely naked and vulnerable. Her sweater, skirt, and even her underwear disappeared without a trace, exposing her bare body to his leering gaze. She was still limp from his earlier spell, unable to tense up or even shiver, let alone cover herself or fight back.

 

"Y-you won't get away with this, Malfoy," Hermione spat, her voice shaking with impotent rage. Her brown eyes blazed with anger and fear, but she refused to back down even in the face of his cruelty. "When Harry and Ron find out what you've done, they'll kill you. Dumbledore will expel you and your family will be disgraced. You're making a huge mistake."

 

Draco threw back his head and laughed coldly, the sound making Hermione's blood run cold. "You really are stupid, aren't you, mudblood?" he sneered, emphasizing each word with a sharp jab of his finger against her bare collarbone. "All the laws in our world exist to aid purebloods like myself. Laws made by purebloods, to protect purebloods. No one cares what happens to a worthless half-breed like you. I could do whatever I wanted and no one would lift a finger to stop me. So don't bother threatening me with consequences that will never happen."

 

Panic started to set in as the gravity of her situation sank in. Hermione was completely at Draco's mercy, unable to move or defend herself, with no one coming to save her. She was utterly alone and helpless against whatever vile plans he had in mind for her. Tears pricked at her eyes as the fear truly set in, but she refused to let them fall, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She glared at him defiantly, trying to calm her racing heart as her mind raced for any way out of this horrifying situation.

 

Draco paid no attention to her plight, too busy taking a seat beside her motionless naked form and unzipping his uniform trousers with an eager grin. He pulled out his hard cock and gave it a few lazy strokes, relishing the way Hermione's eyes widened in shock and horror at the sight. Her frightened reaction only made him harder, turned on by her obvious distress.

 

"Please, Malfoy, don't do this," Hermione begged, hating how small and frightened her voice sounded. "I'm sure we could figure something else out, find some other way to settle our differences. You don't have to do this..."

 

But her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. Draco just smirked cruelly, enjoying the sight of her trembling in fear as he loomed over her immobilized body. He knew nothing she said would change his mind. He was too far gone in his sadistic glee, drunk on the power he had over her helpless form, to consider stopping now. He was going to take what he wanted from her and make her suffer for every time she'd humiliated him, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

 

Grabbing a fistful of Hermione's bushy brown hair, Draco ruthlessly yanked her head up from where it slumped limply against the seat. He positioned her face in front of his erect cock, smirking at the look of wide-eyed horror and revulsion on her face. With a dark chuckle, he rammed his hips forward, shoving his full length into her mouth in one brutal thrust.

 

Hermione made a panicked, muffled sound around the cock suddenly filling her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as she gagged. Draco's thick shaft stretched her lips wide, fills her mouth completely. She couldn't even clench her jaw in resistance, her muscles completely slack from the spell he had cast. She was powerless as he started thrusting, using her mouth with rough, ruthless strokes.

 

Draco groaned loudly as he face fucked Hermione, relishing the wet heat of her mouth and the way her tongue involuntarily caressed his cock with every thrust. The sight of her pristine features degraded by his cock was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. The knowledge that she was completely unwilling and helpless only heightened his sadistic pleasure. He grinned wickedly at the way tears streamed down her face as he hit the back of her throat with every brutal stroke, the drool and saliva dripping down her chin.

 

"Fuck, your mouth feels good, mudblood," Draco panted, his hips snapping forward relentlessly, using her mouth hole with punishing force. "Looks like even a know-it-all little whore like you is good for something. Take it, take my cock like a good little whore." He sneered at her cruelly, enjoying the way she was completely at his mercy as he used her face however he wanted.

 

Hermione's eyes were wide and glassy with tears and her face was flushed an angry red, drool and spit smeared on her chin and cheeks. She could feel the bile rising in her throat as the choking sounds grew louder. She wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, but she couldn't even move her tongue as he brutally skull fucked her.

 

Draco reached down to grope her bare tits roughly as he continued reaming her throat, leaving angry red marks on her pale skin. "You like that, don't you, Granger?" he taunted viciously, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her yelp around his cock. "You love being used like the filthy mudblood whore you are." He grinned maliciously at the way she gagged and sputtered, thrusting into the back of her throat with brutal intensity until he felt his balls tighten and draw up. With a guttural moan, he rammed deep into her throat, cumming hard and flooding her esophagus with his hot, bitter seed.

 

Draco grabbed Hermione's limp, unresisting body and hauled her up onto his lap, arranging her so that she was straddling his thighs with her back to his front. He spread his legs, forcing hers apart as well until she was lewdly splayed open. The position left her completely vulnerable, her naked body on full display for his cruel, mocking eyes to roam over.

 

"Let's see what other holes of yours I can violate," Draco sneered, voice thick with sick arousal. He reached around to roughly grope and squeeze her tits, his large hands completely covering her modest mounds. He kneaded the soft flesh, roughly pinching and twisting her nipples until they stood at attention, reddened and sore. Hermione made pained, whimpering noises but was helpless to resist as he manhandled her chest, humiliating her with his degrading touch.

 

Next, Draco slapped her tits, his palm cracking harshly against the tender flesh. Hermione's eyes rolled back at the sting, tears streaming down her face as she endured his cruel ministrations. She felt him smile cruelly against her ear, clearly enjoying her torment. "I love the way your body jiggles when I do this," he taunted, punctuating his words with another brutal slap. "Looks like these tits are good for something other than being a tease."

 

Draco shoved his hand between her legs next, his fingers invading her most private places. Hermione wanted to recoil, to squirm away from his vile touch and clench her thighs closed, but she was completely immobilized, forced to submit to his probing fingers. "Fuck, you're dry as the Sahara down here," Draco sneered, jabbing two fingers into her tight, unstretched entrance with no lubrication. Hermione yelped at the harsh burn of the intrusion, tears streaming down her face at the horrible sensation. But Draco just laughed cruelly, pumping his fingers in and out of her pussy with vicious strokes, relishing in her pain and shame.

 

Not satisfied with just violating her pussy, Draco's other hand moved to her ass, his fingers digging into the plump flesh before pulling her cheeks apart lewdly. Hermione cried out in humiliation as he exposed her most private place to his hungry eyes, horror rushing through her as she realized his intentions. "You won't!" she cried, her voice thick with tears. "You can't!"

 

Draco just laughed darkly. "Oh, I can, and I will," he promised sinisterly. "I'm going to break in this tight little ass of yours and fuck it raw until you're sobbing and begging me to stop. Until you're broken and bleeding, Granger. And there's nothing you can do to stop me." And with that awful vow, his fingers slathered in her pussy juices, he began pushing them into her impossibly tight asshole, grinning wickedly at her anguished sobs as he viciously finger fucked her hole.

 

Feeling his cock grow firm again at her agonized cries, Draco pulled his fingers free from her clenching, virginal ass. Gripping her hips in a bruising hold, he dragged her back onto his rock hard cock, slamming her down onto his length in one brutal thrust. Hermione screamed in pain, sobbing brokenly at the awful sensation of being so suddenly and roughly invaded. Draco moaned loudly, fucking up into her with savage intensity, her ass clamping down on him like a vice as he brutally ravaged her last virgin hole.

 

"Fuck Granger, your ass is so fucking tight," Draco grunted, his hips snapping up to meet her body as he used her like a fucktoy. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with the wet squelching and Hermione's anguished cries. Draco relished every scream, every broken sob, and wail, getting off on her pain and humiliation. "Take my cock you little mudblood slut," he snarled viciously, hammering into her ass with the full force of his body. "I'm going to cum in your ass and make you bleed, you filthy whore," he promised darkly.

 

Draco reached up to grip Hermione's hair, yanking her head back cruelly as he continued to ream her ass, his hips a blur as he fucked into her with brutal force. "I want you to remember this," he growled in her ear, voice dripping with sick malice, "Every time you sit down, I want you to feel the ache in your ass and remember being my little fucktoy. Every time you try to get off, you'll remember being my whore. You'll never be able to forget me and what I did to you."

 

With a final, brutal thrust, Draco buried himself balls deep in Hermione's ass, his cock spurting hot, thick streams of cum into her abused hole. He moaned loudly in debased pleasure, his cock twitching and pulsing as he filled her ass with his seed. He grinned wickedly at the way Hermione sobbed and shrieked, her ass clenching around him as he continued to cum, painting her insides white with his hot sticky cum.

 

As Hermione whimpered, only half consciously still begging for mercy, Draco laid her out on the compartment bench. He began licking and sucking her body, savoring the taste of her skin. "God, you taste good," he commented, his tongue lapping at her neck, her chest. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, grinning in satisfaction as she trembled beneath him.

 

Draco finally lifted his head, his expression cruel and possessive as he studied her prone, naked form. "Now that I have you, I think I will keep you," he said, his tone threatening and dark. Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she realized he was not joking. Her heart raced wildly, her breath coming in panicked gasps as the implications sank in. He was planning to keep her as his own personal fucktoy, to rape and violate as he pleased for the rest of her life.

 

Hermione whimpered pitifully, begging him not to do this, to let her go. But Draco just smirked cruelly, his eyes filled with mocking mirth as he stroked his cock, willing it back to attention. His passion and arousal were fueled by her pitiful moaning, his cock growing harder and harder as he drank in her abject terror and misery. He loomed over her, his muscular body caging her against the bench, promising unspeakable depravity and cruelty.

 

Draco's cock was finally hard again, pulsing with arousal as he lined up with Hermione's last pure hole. With a dark smirk, he pointed his wand at himself, casting an engorgio charm and grinning wickedly as his cock swelled to an almost grotesque size. Hermione's eyes went round with fear, whimpering pitifully at the sight of the now massive rod poised at her virgin entrance.

 

Draco rammed his engorged cock into her virgin pussy in one brutal thrust, grinning maliciously at Hermione's agonized scream. He moaned loudly as her impossibly tight sheath clamped around his monstrous cock, nearly strangling him with the intensity of her vice-like grip. "Fuck Granger, your little virgin cunt is choking my cock," he groaned, his hips starting to move with vicious intensity.

 

Draco pounded into Hermione's virgin pussy with brutal force, slamming his engorged cock in and out of her hole as he stretched it to the breaking point around his massive girth. Hermione's screams were constant, her nails digging into the flesh of his back as she tried ineffectually to push him off. But Draco just laughed cruelly, relishing her pain and fear as he plundered her virgin sheath with his massive cock.

 

Hermione's blood coated his cock, her virgin entrance stretched obscenely wide around his engorged girth. Draco was in seventh heaven, fucking her virgin hole with wild abandon as his hands mauled and groped her chest. He twisted and pulled on her nipples, grinning maliciously at her pained cries as he did his best to ruin her cunt with his cock.

 

With a guttural roar, Draco buried himself balls deep in Hermione's ruined cunt and came, painting her insides with his hot, vile seed. His cock twitched and spat, filling her to overflowing with his cum until it was leaking out from around his still-hard shaft, dribbling down to mix with the blood and juices from her well-fucked holes. He grinned wickedly at the sight of her puffed up pussy, still stretched wide around his semi-hard cock. His eyes dark with cruel promise, he leaned down to whisper viciously in her ear, "This is just the beginning, Granger. I'm going to spend the rest of my life raping your holes and making you suffer."

 

Draco stood over Hermione, his expression cruel and mocking as he studied her broken, brutalized form. Hermione whimpered pitifully, her eyes wide with horror as she realized he was not finished with her yet. "Please," she begged, her voice quavering with fear, "No more, please. I'm begging you."

 

Draco just smirked viciously, lifting his wand and pointing it at her naked body. With a few swift spells, he amputated her arms at the shoulders and her legs halfway down her hips, healing the wounds immediately and leaving only fleshy lumps behind. Hermione screamed in agony, fresh tears coursing down her face as she stared in shock at her new stumps, her limbs vanished without a trace.

 

"Please, Draco," Hermione sobbed, her voice high and thin with desperation. "Please don't do this. I'll do anything you want, just please don't."

 

Draco just laughed, an awful, dark sound that held no mercy. "Shut up, Granger," he snarled, his eyes filled with sick malice. "I'll do whatever I want with you, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

 

He vanished the amputated arms and legs, along with the blood that was splattered in the compartment from his previous violations. Hermione sobbed brokenly, her body trembling with shock and fear as she realized just how helpless she now was. With a dark chuckle, Draco took her trunk down from the rack, vanishing the contents before placing the weeping, limbless girl inside.

 

Hermione began pleading for mercy, her voice high and thin with desperation as she begged him not to do this. "Please, Draco, please," she cried, her words tripping over each other in her haste to get them out. "I'm begging you, please don't do this. I'll be good, I promise. Please, I'll do anything you want, just don't lock me in there."

 

But Draco just smirked, cutting her off as he closed the trunk with a resounding thud, trapping her inside the dark, cramped space. "I'll do what I want, Granger," he sneered, his tone mocking and cruel. "And right now, I want to keep you locked up in this trunk until I'm ready to play with you again."

 

As Hermione whimpered pitifully in the trunk, Draco grabbed the handle, smirking at the muffled sobs emanating from within. "Don't worry, Granger," he called out, his voice filled with dark mirth. "I'll take good care of you."

 

With that, he hefted the trunk, carrying it out of the compartment as Crabbe and Goyle followed behind. The three walked away, leaving no trace of what transpired in the now-empty compartment, as if nothing had ever happened at all. But hidden away in the trunk, Hermione wept bitter tears, her body and spirit broken by Draco's vile actions, knowing that no one would ever come to save her from the fate he had planned for her.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Several months passed since Hermione's disappearance, and the investigation to locate her seems to have sputtered out after only a few days. A missing mudblood is hardly worth anyone's time, especially when there are more pressing matters at hand. To top it all off, some monster has been petrifying mudbloods in the castle, leaving everyone on edge.

 

Despite the fear and unease permeating the castle, it is a good time to be a pureblood Slytherin. Draco revels in the chaos, his cruelty and malice growing stronger with each passing day. He knows that he has nothing to fear, not while he has his favorite toy safely tucked away in his trunk.

 

Draco makes his way back to his room after a long day of class, eager to spend some quality time with his plaything. He climbs into bed and closes the silenced curtains, ensuring that no one will hear what is about to transpire. He opens the trunk he keeps on his bed at all times these days.

 

Draco settled back into his bed, the trunk that held his favorite toy lying open in front of him. He grinned down at Hermione with an expression of cruel satisfaction as she gazed up at him with dull, hopeless eyes. She lay curled up on the bottom, her body even more broken and battered than before. Her limbs had not regrown, leaving her helpless and at Draco's mercy. It was the perfect state for his favorite plaything.

 

Draco grabbed her roughly by what little hair she had left, dragging her towards his already erect cock with a sick sense of anticipation. Hermione's mewls of pain excited him, his cock twitching at the sound. "You want your dinner, don't you, whore?" he asked mockingly, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You're a good little fuck toy, aren't you? Eager for your master's cock."

 

Hermione whined quietly, but she knew better than to protest. She had long since accepted her place as Draco's personal fuck toy, the only thing she was good for. She opened her mouth obediently, taking his cock into her mouth without hesitation. Draco groaned as he felt the wet heat of her mouth envelop him, his hands fisting in her hair as he began to thrust.

 

He started slow, savoring the feel of her mouth on his cock as she worked him with her tongue. But it wasn't long before his vicious nature took over, and he began to fuck her face in earnest. He thrust hard and fast, bottoming out in her throat with every stroke. Hermione gagged and choked, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe around the hard length pistoning in and out of her mouth.

 

But Draco just laughed, the sound cruel and mocking as he used her face without mercy. He could feel his orgasm building, the familiar tingling at the base of his spine warning him that he was close. He thrust deep into her throat one last time, holding her head still as he spilled his seed down her throat with a groan of satisfaction.

 

Hermione swallowed every drop, knowing that it was the only sustenance she would get, the only meal she deserved. She had long since learned to take what she could get without complaint. Draco held her in place for a moment longer, savoring the feeling of her throat working around his softening cock. It was moments like these that he lived for, the pure, unadulterated power he held over her broken form.

 

With a final, cruel laugh, he pulled his cock from her mouth, watching with dark satisfaction as she coughed and spluttered, ropes of spit and cum dangling from her chin. She truly was the perfect fuck toy, broken beyond repair and completely at his mercy.

He flipped her over onto her back, her leg stumps splaying open to reveal her glistening pussy. Draco's cock twitched at the sight, already hard and ready to sink into her willing flesh. He lined himself up with her entrance, his eyes locked on hers as he began to push inside. Hermione whimpered softly as he stretched her open, her meager lube making the process tight and slightly painful. But she didn't protest, didn't fight him in any way. She simply lay there, accepting his cock into her body without complaint.

 

Draco groaned as he sank fully inside her, his eyes fluttering closed at the exquisite feel of her pussy gripping him like a vice. He could feel every inch of her, every ridge and contour as if it were his own. He began to move, his thrusts slow and leisurely as he took his time enjoying her body. There was no rush, no need to hurry. She was his to do with as he pleased, and he intended to savor every moment.

 

Hermione's body jiggled with each thrust, her breasts bouncing slightly even in their depleted, unfed state. Draco reached up, pinching and twisting her nipples just to hear her hiss in pain. The sound sent a thrill through him, spurring him on as he continued to fuck her with deep, measured strokes. He could feel his orgasm building once more, the telltale tingle at the base of his spine warning him of its approach. But he held it off, determined to draw out the moment as long as possible.

 

Draco leaned down, his breath hot against Hermione's ear as he whispered cruelly to her. "You like that, don't you, whore?" he asked, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "You love being fucked by your better, don't you? Your filthy mudblood cunt was made for my cock, you worthless little fuck toy." Hermione whimpered pitifully, tears leaking from her eyes as she nodded jerkily. She knew the truth of his words, knew that she was nothing more than a hole for him to fuck whenever he desired.

 

With a final, vicious thrust, Draco came, his cock spurting deep inside Hermione's abused pussy. He groaned gutturally, his hands clenching on her hips as he held her in place, ensuring that she took every drop. It was the ultimate sign of ownership, a brand seared into her flesh to remind her of her place. And as he pulled out, his cum leaking from her freshly fucked hole, he knew that she would never forget it.

Chapter 6

Luna Lovegood ventured deeper into the shadows of the forbidden forest, her vibrant eyes scanning the dense foliage for any sign of the elusive thestrals. These mystical creatures had fascinated her ever since she first learned of their existence, and now she was determined to find them.

As she pushed aside a low-hanging branch, Luna caught a glimpse of movement in a small clearing ahead. Her heart raced with excitement as she recognized the unmistakable forms of a group of young thestrals frolicking and playing in the dappled sunlight.

Approaching cautiously so as not to startle the magical beings, Luna reached into her satchel and withdrew some fresh cuts of raw meat she had swiped from the Hogwarts kitchen earlier. With an outstretched hand, she offered the morsels to the curious creatures.

The mares and foals eagerly accepted the gifts, their velvety noses brushing against Luna's pale skin as they nibbled at the offerings. She couldn't help but smile as they pranced around her, their wings fluttering with delight.

Suddenly, a rustling from the trees signaled the arrival of a magnificent young male thestral. His sleek, obsidian coat shimmered in the dappled sunlight as he trotted into the clearing. The mares and foals scattered at his presence, leaving Luna alone with the imposing creature.

As her eyes traveled along the thestral's powerful form, Luna's gaze lingered on the impressive erection that stood proud and tall between his hind legs. An unfamiliar warmth spread through her body, and she found herself entranced by the sight.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Luna quickly tossed the remaining meat to the male thestral, temporarily distracting him. Seizing the moment, she crept around behind him, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

Luna didn't fully comprehend the strange desires that had taken hold of her, but she couldn't resist the urge to reach out and wrap her slender fingers around the thestral's long, leathery cock. It pulsed with heat and vitality, twitching at her gentle touch. With a deep breath, Luna began to slowly stroke the impressive length, marveling at the softness of the skin and the hardness beneath.

An impulsive thought crossed her mind, and before she could second-guess herself, Luna leaned forward and ran her tongue along the thestral's shaft. The musky, animal scent filled her nostrils as she tasted the essence of the creature. A low, guttural moan escaped the thestral's throat, spurring Luna on in her bold exploration.

As she continued to stroke and lick, savoring the unique experience and the taboo nature of her actions, Luna knew she had crossed a line. Yet, something about the forbidden encounter only served to heighten her excitement and curiosity.

The male thestral, growing impatient with Luna's teasing, snorted forcefully and reared up on his hind legs. His powerful hooves knocked Luna off balance, sending her tumbling onto her back in the soft forest floor. She gasped, startled by the sudden movement and the imposing presence of the magnificent creature looming over her.

Before Luna could even think to react, the thestral was upon her, his massive form pinning her down with ease. She could feel the heat radiating from his body as his weight pressed against her, leaving her utterly helpless beneath him.

With a deliberate motion, the thestral dragged his rough, leathery cock up Luna's belly, the hot, sticky precum leaving a glistening trail on her pale skin. His impressive length glided between her small breasts, the flared head of his cock brushing teasingly against her soft pink lips.

Luna's eyes widened in surprise, but before she could make a sound, the creature began thrusting. His massive cock rubbed against her body with each powerful movement, tearing her clothes and exposing her delicate flesh to the sensation of his heated flesh. The sensitive head of his cock speared into her mouth, filling her senses with the musky, otherworldly taste of thestral precum.

As he continued to thrust, Luna found herself helpless beneath his immense size and strength, her petite frame rocked by the force of his movements. She could scarcely breathe as his cock filled her mouth, the leathery texture of his shaft rubbing against her tongue and the roof of her mouth, coaxing her to submit to his primal desires.

Luna's mind spun, a whirlwind of confusion and unexpected arousal as she was subjected to the thestral's raw, animalistic passion. She knew she should try to escape, to fight against the overwhelming sensations, but a dark, hedonistic part of her craved this forbidden experience, reveling in the intensity and the taboo nature of it all.

With each thrust, Luna could feel the thestral's cock growing harder and more insistent, throbbing with an otherworldly need. His movements became more frenzied, the slick sounds of his cock violating her mouth filling the quiet of the forbidden forest. Saliva and precum dribbled down her chin as her lips stretched around his impressive girth, straining to accommodate his size.

With a powerful shudder, the thestral's massive cock erupted, spraying Luna with thick, potent seed. Some of the warm semen passed her lips, leaving trails across her face, but most of it coated her now naked body. The pearly ropes of his release clung to her pale skin, marking her with his essence as she lay pinned beneath him. The warm, sticky fluid seemed to seep into her very being, branding her as the thestral's own.

He lifted off her slightly, allowing her to draw a shaky breath. Sensing an opportunity, Luna weakly rolled over onto her stomach and started to crawl away, desperate to escape the intense, primal scene. Her arms trembled with the effort, the forest floor rough against her sensitized skin. The thestral watched with an otherworldly glint in his dark eyes, reveling in the sight of her pale, quivering form as she attempted to flee.

She only made it a few inches before he was on her again, his massive weight pinning her down. This time, his enormous cock unerringly sought out her most intimate place, the flared head plowing directly into her tight, virginal womb. Luna's eyes widened in shock as she felt her body struggling to accommodate his immense size, her slick heat stretching to the limit. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that threatened to shatter her very being.

The thestral began thrusting powerfully, his cock pounding into Luna's fertile womb with an otherworldly intensity. Each movement seemed to reach deeper inside her, claiming her utterly and irrevocably. Luna gasped and whimpered, overwhelmed by the sensations as her mind was pushed to the brink of sanity. The raw, animalistic nature of the coupling consumed her, erasing all thoughts save for the need to submit to the thestral's desires.

His leathery shaft ground against her most sensitive spots, forcing waves of twisted pleasure through her body as he relentlessly fucked her. The musky scent of the thestral's seed and her own arousal filled the air, a potent reminder of the raw, animalistic act unfolding in the shadowy forest. The sounds of their coupling, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the guttural moans and whimpers, echoed through the trees, a symphony of primal lust and forbidden desire.

Luna's thoughts shattered, any semblance of rationality giving way to pure instinct and carnal need. She succumbed to the overwhelming experience, her hips bucking against the thestral's as he bred her with ruthless abandon. Her petite frame jolted with each powerful thrust, her fertile body willingly accepting his domineering cock as he filled her to the brim. She could feel his hot seed pulsing deep within her, claiming her womb as his own and tying them together in a dark, unbreakable bond.

As the thestral's movements reached a frenetic pace, Luna's mind was pushed over the edge, her entire being reduced to nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure and breeding. She abandoned herself entirely to the taboo coupling, lost in the primal need to be taken and seeded by the majestic creature. Her own climax built within her, a coiled spring wound tight by the thestral's relentless onslaught, threatening to unleash a tsunami of ecstasy that would drown her in its intensity.

The thestral's thrusting reached a crescendo, and with a primal roar, he spilled his seed deep within Luna's ravaged womb. She could feel her body desperately expanding as it tried to accommodate the massive load pumped into her, her belly bulging obscenely as the thestral's hot, thick cum filled her to the brim and beyond. The sensation was overwhelming, a painful fullness that seemed to consume her entire being, leaving her gasping and writhing beneath him.

He pulled out, his leathery cock glistening with a mix of their fluids. Before she could even think, he plunged into her tight asshole, the flared head of his cock stretching her impossibly wide. Luna screamed as she was abruptly filled in a new, even more taboo way, the thestral's massive member invading her most secret place with ruthless efficiency. The pain was excruciating, a searing burn that seemed to tear through her very soul, mingling with the dark pleasure that still thrummed through her veins.

The thestral abused her asshole mercilessly, his hips slamming against her with feral intensity. Each thrust seemed to reach deeper inside her, claiming her in the most primal way possible. Pain started to pierce through the unworldly pleasure, making Luna keen and sob with the overwhelming sensations. Her body was reduced to a mere plaything for the thestral's twisted desires, a vessel for his pleasure and nothing more.

She struggled to get free, her small hands clawing at the forest floor as the thestral ravaged her ass. But he was relentless, his massive form pinning her down as he took his pleasure from her writhing body. Luna's mind spun, the pain and ecstasy mingling to create a storm of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her entirely. She felt herself slipping, her thoughts fragmenting beneath the onslaught of the thestral's brutal assault.

The thestral suddenly reared up on his hind feet, his movement so powerful that Luna's small body was lifted into the air. She hung impaled on the thestral's cock, her body stretched to its limit as he filled her completely. Luna's vision dimmed, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she felt her very life ebbing away. The pain was all-consuming, a white-hot agony that seemed to sear her very essence.

The last thing she saw as life flickered out of her was the head of the thestral's cock protruding from her own mouth. He had run her through, impaling her completely on his massive, black member. Her last moments were filled with a shower of cum spouting from the thestral's cock, covering her still, emaciated corpse in a final, degrading claiming. The thick, pearly seed coated her face and body, marking her as the thestral's property even in death, a final insult to the once innocent girl.

The thestral used his hind hoof to shove the lifeless body of the broken girl from his cock, her form crumpling to the ground like a discarded toy. He gazed down at the dead girl for a moment, his dark eyes glinting with an otherworldly satisfaction at the sight of her utterly ravaged body, glistening with the cum that still oozed from her gaping holes.

He transformed into Harry Potter, his human form materializing in place of the majestic creature. He took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of sex and death that lingered in the air. He had never imagined that having a thestral as an animagus form would be this useful, providing him with the perfect tool to indulge his darkest, most twisted desires.

He turned from the ruined body of his dead classmate, a cold smile playing on his lips. No one would miss Loony Lovegood, the strange girl with her head always in the clouds. Her disappearance would be a mystery, but one that would never be solved, for who would suspect the Boy Who Lived of such a heinous crime?

He walked off, headed back to the castle, leaving the broken, violated corpse of Luna Lovegood behind him in the shadowy forest. The secret of his true nature locked away, a dark, twisted part of himself that he would continue to indulge, again and again, claiming new victims as the thestral within him demanded.

Chapter 7

Dumbledore pushed open the weathered wooden doors of Wool's Orphanage, wincing as they creaked on their rusty hinges. His nostrils were immediately assaulted by the stale smell of boiled cabbage and damp that seemed to permeate the very walls of the rundown building.

 

Approaching the reception desk, he smiled warmly at the receptionist, a harried-looking woman drowning in a sea of paperwork. "Good day. I am Professor Dumbledore. I'm here to see a young boy by the name of Tom Riddle?"

 

The receptionist glanced up, barely concealing her look of disdain. "Tom Riddle? I'm afraid you're too late. Some distant relative of his collected him just this morning. Didn't leave a forwarding address." She shrugged uncaringly and returned to her files.

 

"I see. Well, I do hope he is safe, wherever he may be. Good day to you." With a swirl of his cloak, Dumbledore turned on his heel and headed back out into the gloomy London drizzle, his mind already racing.

 

Where could young Tom have disappeared to so suddenly? But there was nothing more he could do here today, not without risking undue attention from the Muggle authorities. Pulling the list of Muggle-born students from his pocket, he set off to track down the next name on his list.


                                                                                                       *   *   *   *   *


Tom awoke with a startled gasp, the frigid air stinging his bare skin. In a rush of sensations, he realized three things simultaneously: he was naked, he was strapped down to a metal table, and he was trapped in a lightless room. A wave of vulnerability crashed over him as he registered his complete lack of clothing, not even a stitch to cover his nakedness and preserve a shred of dignity in this horrifying situation.

 

His heart hammered in his chest as he pulled against the restraints, his unclothed body shivering from both the icy chill and the primal fear coursing through him. Tom forced himself to take a ragged breath, pushing past the distracting sensation of being utterly exposed in his nude state. He needed to remember how he ended up here, in this nightmare.

 

The last memory that swam to the surface was of the orphanage matron informing him of a visitor. Him, the boy no one ever visited. Unease had prickled as he went to the front room, finding a strange man waiting for him. The man's piercing green eyes were burned in Tom's mind, as was the odd stick he clutched in his hand. Without warning, the man had pointed the stick directly at Tom. A blinding flash of red light erupted...and Tom remembered nothing more until he came to in this dark prison, fully naked and bound.

 

The door to the room suddenly swung open, flooding the darkness with light that made Tom wince. A second later, a light bulb flickered to life above him, casting harsh illumination on his naked, bound form.

 

Heart in his throat, Tom looked to the doorway and saw a figure silhouetted there. As his eyes adjusted, he recognized the man who had come to his room at the orphanage.

 

"Who are you?" Tom asked, his voice cracking with the fear and panic he was trying to suppress.

 

"My name does not matter," the man replies, his voice cold and clinical. "All that matters is that you never become the man I know."

 

Tom's brow furrows in confusion, trying to make sense of the man's strange words. Why was he speaking as if they were acquainted? As if he knew the man Tom would become?

 

His racing thoughts were interrupted as he watched with wide, fearful eyes as the man reached into his pocket and withdrew two small vials of some unknown liquid.

 

Heart leaping into his throat, Tom opened his mouth and screamed for help at the top of his lungs.

 

The man gave a small, humorless smile. "No one can hear us down here, Tom," he said calmly, dashing Tom's hopes of rescue.

 

The man walked over to stand near Tom's head, looming over the bound, naked boy. With a deft motion, he uncorked one of the bottles, revealing a faintly glowing liquid within.

 

"Please, please don't do this," Tom begged, desperation coloring his voice as he pulled futilely against his restraints. "I'll do anything you want, just let me go!"

 

The man's eyes were unyielding, his voice hard. "You didn't grant my mother mercy; there will be none for you."

 

In one swift movement, he tipped the contents of the vial into Tom's mouth. Tom tried to turn his head, to spit out the strange potion, but the man clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, giving him no choice but to swallow or suffocate.

 

Tom gulped down the liquid, which burned as it traveled down his throat, making him gasp and sputter. Almost immediately, he could feel it begin to take effect.

 

A searing heat bloomed in his core, spreading rapidly through the rest of his body. It was like nothing Tom had ever felt - was his blood boiling? His bones melting? He thrashed against the table, perspiration breaking out over his skin as the potion coursed through him, rewriting his very being at the most fundamental level.

 

The changes quickly became apparent. The angular lines of his face softened, rounded, taking on a more delicate feminine shape. A tingling, prickling sensation engulfed his scalp as his short dark hair sprouted and lengthened, spilling over the table in lustrous ebony waves.

 

With a painful lurch, his skeleton began to shift and reshape itself - his hips widening, his frame becoming smaller and more petite. His musculature altered, fat redistributing in new patterns, bestowing him with curves - the swell of breasts, the nip of a slender waist.

 

His skin felt like it was being pricked by a thousand needles as fine, dark hair follicles retracted, leaving his newly feminine form smooth and hairless save for the thick tresses fanning about his head. His voice rose in pitch to a breathy, panicked soprano as he felt an unmistakable internal shifting, his very essence transforming from male to female.

 

In mere minutes, the metamorphosis was complete. Panting, terrified, Tom could only stare at his new female body, so utterly alien to him. The physical changes were drastic, undeniable. But inside he could still feel himself, Tom Riddle, screaming soundlessly in horror, trapped in this unfamiliar vessel like a butterfly in a cocoon.

 

The man's hands roamed lecherously over Tom's new female form, roughly squeezing and kneading her tender breasts, making her whimper in pain. His fingers pinched and rolled her sensitive nipples, sending jolts of sensation zapping through her. Tom could only sob miserably, feeling so utterly violated and debased, but the man paid her anguished cries no mind.

 

"Please, I'm begging you...don't..." Tom wept brokenly, trying in vain to recoil from the man's degrading, humiliating touch. But trapped by the ropes, there was no escape from this torment. "Get off me, stop!"

 

Ignoring her desperate pleas, the man's hands continued their violating exploration, sliding sensually over the curved planes of her hips and stomach. Tom shook with sobs of misery and shame, horrified tears flooding her eyes as the man groped her so obscenely. She had never felt so helpless or defiled.

 

The man's fingers trailed lewdly up her inner thighs, making Tom shudder in revulsion. "No, not there...please..." she whimpered pitifully, but he ruthlessly shoved his fingers into her most private place, penetrating her dry heat. Tom screamed in pain and degradation, writhing futilely against the invasion.

 

His fingers pumped obscenely in and out, making disgusting squelching sounds. Tom could only lie there, forced to endure this sickening violation. Hot, shameful tears streamed down her face as she prayed for this nightmare to end. But the man just leered down at her, savoring her anguish.

 

After what felt like an eternity, the man finally withdrew his fingers from Tom's aching, abused sheath. She collapsed back onto the table, sobbing brokenly, feeling so ruined and defiled. The man regarded her quivering, ravaged form, a twisted smile on his face. "Now," the man said, having finished enjoying her new body, "to make sure you are bound to me forever."

 

He opened the second vial and, like before, poured it down her throat.

 

The man raised his wand, aiming it at Tom...or rather, the girl Tom had become, lying helpless and terrified on the table. There was a flash of light, and suddenly Tom felt her body go completely limp, all her muscles turned to jelly. She couldn't move a muscle, not even to blink or turn her head.

 

Another swish and flick, and the ropes binding her vanished. Tom slumped bonelessly to the table, still paralyzed. She could only watch in horror as the man loomed over her.

 

"That second potion," he said with a twisted smile, "forces the drinker into an extreme state of fertility. Old magic, very powerful. Took me a long time to brew."

 

Tom's eyes widened in pure panic. Her mind raced - what was he planning to do to her now?

 

"Once you conceive, the transformation will be locked in forever. You'll be a woman for the rest of your life...and a mother." The man chuckled darkly, enjoying the sheer terror on Tom's face.

 

"No...please..." Tom whimpered, even as tears of fear and despair flooded her eyes. "I don't want this...don't do this to me! Why...why are you doing this?!"

 

The man just smiled wider at her pitiful pleas, savoring her anguish. Slowly, tauntingly, he stripped off his clothes, revealing his naked body...and a large, veiny cock, already half-hard. Tom could only stare in horrified fascination, knowing what was coming, unable to escape.

 

The man moved to the end of the table, his eyes gleaming with cruel lust. He grabbed Tom's limp legs, draped on either side of the table, and slowly pulled her towards him until her naked pussy was right in front of his erect cock.

 

"Say goodbye to yourself," the man whispered to her, his voice dripping with malice.

 

Tom could only stare up at him in pure, abject terror, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. She couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't even beg. She was completely at his mercy...and he had none to give.

 

The man spit on his hand and stroked his cock a few times, getting it nice and slick. Then, without any warning or hesitation, he rammed it deep into Tom's dry, tight pussy.

 

Tom screamed in pain, a high, keening wail of a woman, feeling like she was being torn in two. The man grunted, not giving her any time to adjust, and started thrusting hard and deep. The table shook, Tom's limp body flopping like a rag doll with each powerful thrust. Her small, budding breasts jiggled obscenely as the man continued his brutal assault. Just little A-cups, befitting a 10-year-old girl's body. But that only seemed to excite him more, seeing how tiny and delicate she was, a pure virgin to ruin.

 

The man groaned in twisted pleasure, pawing roughly at Tom's small tits, pinching the sensitive nipples. Tom sobbed in pain, feeling so violated and debased, the man's grunts and the lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filling her ears, making her feel sick.

 

Tears flooded down Tom's face as the man raped her, fucking her childish body like a depraved animal. She was crying so hard she could barely breath, whimpering brokenly, but there was no escape, no respite from this never-ending nightmare.

 

All she could do was lie there limply, her tiny girl's body flopping around like a rag doll as the man used her ruthlessly for his sick pleasure. His hot breath rasped against her neck as he violated her, drool slavering from his mouth as he mindlessly thrust into her over and over.

 

The pure wrongness of it all - to be robbed of her gender, her dignity, her very SELF - it overwhelmed Tom. The pain and humiliation was like nothing she had ever known. She felt herself splintering under the onslaught, knowing she would never recover from this absolute defilement.

 

The man gave a hoarse shout and slammed deep, spilling his vile seed into Tom's newly fertile womb. She could feel his thick, slimy cum flooding her insides, making her slippery with his filth. He bucked and rutted, making sure to cram every last drop into her, marking her as his property, his fucktoy.

 

Finally, he pulled out with an obscene squelch, leaving Tom's sore, gaping pussy oozing with his seed. Tom just lay there limply, weeping in abject misery, feeling so ruined and shattered she could barely think. The man had destroyed her utterly, and he knew it. He smiled in satisfaction at the broken, defiled little girl on the table. Tom Riddle was gone, and only his raped, seeded victim remained.

 

The man continued violating Tom for hours, using and abusing every hole ruthlessly. Tom was mindless with agony and degradation, barely even conscious as the man ravaged her. He fucked her raw, his grunts and groans mixing with the lewd sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.

 

Somewhere in the endless torment, Tom felt it start to change. The constant stimulation made pleasure begin to mingle with the pain until she couldn't tell them apart anymore. His cock ramming into her, the feeling of delicious fullness as he crammed her holes with his cum - it was becoming erotic as much as agonizing.

 

Tom started moaning with it, meeting his thrusts, begging for more in slurred, broken words. "Ah...yess...fuck your little cumdumpster...breed me...knock me up..." she mewled, lost to everything but the hard cock stretching her open.

 

The man looked down at her, flushed and debauched, and smiled. He had broken her completely, turned Tom Riddle into his willing little cock-sleeve and cumslut, eager for his cock and cum.

 

As he plowed her clenching pussy one last time, he reached down and patted Tom's swollen belly, making her coo with pleasure. "This is just the beginning," he whispered to her, his voice dripping with dark promise. "All your old pureblood followers...I'll hunt them down too, fold by fold. Turn them into my fucked-out little cumdumps like you, their wills broken by my cock, their cunts molded around me as I pump them full of my seed..."

 

Tom moaned loudly at the idea, bucking her hips eagerly. "Yes...make them take it...rape them...breed them...until all they know is your cock..." she babbled, high on lust and submission.

 

The man chuckled darkly. He planned to do just that. One by one, he'd turn Tom's army of fanatics into his own personal harem of mindbroken fucktoys, his cock their only master as he sired dozens of little halfbreed heirs on their ripe wombs.

 

And Tom, his first and greatest trophy, would help him do it, a willing slave and broodmare, degenerate with need for the man who had destroyed her.

Chapter 8

Lockhart found himself in a peculiar position, one that he hadn't anticipated when he eagerly accepted the offer to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. The prospect of being surrounded by adoring young girls had been too tempting to resist.

 

However, the emergence of the Heir of Slytherin had thrown a wrench into his plans. Everyone would undoubtedly look to him, the renowned Professor Lockhart, to play a pivotal role in putting an end to the threat.

 

The problem was that Lockhart possessed neither the desire nor the actual ability to confront the dangers that lay ahead. He was content to bask in the adulation of his students and fans, not risk life and limb battling dark forces.

 

As he sat at his desk, contemplating the rather inconvenient turn of events, a soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," Lockhart called out in response to the soft knock. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a petite red-headed first-year girl poking her head into his office.

 

"I... I am here for my detention," she squeaked nervously.

 

Truth be told, Lockhart couldn't recall the girl's name or the flimsy excuse he had concocted for assigning her detention. Not that it made any difference to him.

 

"Ah, yes," he replied, smoothly rising from his chair. "Please come in."

 

The young student entered the office, utterly oblivious to the sinister intentions that lay ahead. Why would she suspect anything? After all, Lockhart was a renowned hero in the wizarding world.

 

He casually walked past her to close the door, discreetly locking it when she wasn't looking.

 

"I am really sorry for falling asleep in class," she began to ramble, hoping to appease him. “I have just been so tired lately.”

As Lockhart turned away from the door, he noticed that the young girl's back was still facing him. The poor, unsuspecting little thing was making it all too easy for him.

 

He swiftly drew his wand and cast the memory-wiping spell, "Obliviate." Just as he had done with his previous victims, Lockhart proceeded to hollow out her mind, leaving no trace of her former life behind.

 

But unlike the witches and wizards whose accomplishments he had stolen, this time he didn't leave her memory empty. Instead, he leaned in close and whispered into her ear, "Your name is Slut. I am your master, and your sole purpose is to let me fuck you."

 

He could feel her mind latching onto his words, the void left by her erased memories eagerly accepting his twisted suggestions as fact. A new, fabricated history began weaving itself together in her impressionable young mind.

 

"Yes, master," she whispered, completely under his control.

 

Lockhart took her wand and snapped it in half, knowing that his new little cumdump wouldn't be needing it anymore. With a cruel smirk, he proceeded to strip her naked, preferring the use of his hands over magic for this task.

 

Her slender, developing body was now fully exposed, her pale skin shimmering under the dim light of the office. Her small, budding breasts were just starting to take shape, and her tiny pink nipples stood erect from a combination of nervousness and the slight chill in the room. 

 

Her slim hips and narrow waist highlighted her youthful figure, leading down to her smooth, hairless pussy that had never been touched before.

 

With his young victim fully under his control, Lockhart wasted no time in enacting his twisted desires. He roughly grabbed her skinny arm and dragged her over to his desk, enjoying the way she compliantly followed his lead without resistance.

 

Once they reached the desk, he shoved her face-down onto the hard wooden surface, causing her to let out a soft gasp of surprise. He then forcefully pressed her slim body against the desk, ensuring she was pinned in place with her pert little bottom raised and exposed to him.

 

His hands roamed her naked flesh, greedily exploring every inch of her vulnerable form. He squeezed and fondled her small, developing breasts, relishing the way her sensitive nipples pebbled under his touch.

 

As he continued his rough groping, his fingers trailed down her stomach and between her legs, where he discovered her smooth, hairless pussy. He wasted no time in probing her most intimate area, roughly parting her delicate folds and shoving a finger inside her tight, untested hole.

 

The young girl let out a whimper of discomfort, having never experienced such a violation before. However, even as her body protested against the intrusion, she remained utterly compliant and submissive to Lockhart's demands.

 

He added a second finger, forcefully thrusting in and out of her snug opening as he worked to stretch her childish hole to accommodate his sizeable adult cock.

 

After a few more minutes of cruelly fingering her, Lockhart decided it was finally time to claim his prize. He hastily unzipped his pants and pulled out his thick erection, which was already engorged and throbbing with arousal.

 

Positioning himself behind her spread legs, he aligned the swollen head of his cock with her petite slit. With a single brutal thrust, he impaled her on his considerable length, tearing through her virginity without mercy.

 

The girl cried out in a mix of pain and fear, her tiny body struggling to adjust to the sudden invasion of his massive cock. Tears streamed down her face as her innocence was so harshly stolen from her.

 

But Lockhart paid no mind to her suffering, lost in his own sick pleasure as he viciously rammed into her tight heat over and over again. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and the girl's pained whimpers filled the room, a testament to the brutality of the assault.

 

He continued his relentless assault, rutting into her like a crazed animal until he finally reached his climax. With a depraved groan, he buried himself deep within her abused cunt and flooded her womb with his hot, filthy seed, branding her as his property in the most degrading way possible.

 

Lockhart, his eyes still gleaming with lust, shifted his gaze towards the door at the sound of the unexpected knock. He quickly pulled his young victim off the desk, her abused pussy leaking a mix of his seed and her virgin blood.

 

"Who is it?" he called out in a surprisingly composed voice, given the depraved acts he had just committed.

 

He grabbed the disoriented ginger by her shoulders and roughly shoved her towards the nearby fireplace, intent on getting her out of sight. As he did so, the person at the door identified herself.

 

"Hermione Granger, Sir. I had a question about your lesson," the muffled voice came through the door.

 

Lockhart hastily tossed some floo powder into the fireplace, opening the connection to his private hunting lodge where he could stash his cumdump until he was ready to deal with her again. With a rough shove, he pushed the naked girl through the flames, not caring about the discomfort it might cause her.

 

The dazed and violated young witch would just have to wait for him at the lodge until he was finished with his unexpected visitor.

 

Working quickly, Lockhart tucked his still semi-hard cock back into his trousers and fastened them up. He then grabbed the ginger's discarded clothes and school bag off the floor, haphazardly shoving them into a nearby desk drawer to hide the evidence of his crimes.

 

Another knock sounded, and Hermione's muffled, concerned voice came through the door: "Is everything okay in there, Professor Lockhart?"

 

Just as she asked this, Lockhart, having composed himself, unlocked the door. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and plastered his famous charming smile on his face, before pulling the door open.

 

"Ah, Ms. Granger, of course!" he greeted enthusiastically, as if nothing untoward had just happened. "Please, do come in. Apologies for the delay, I was just in the middle of some, ah, paperwork." He gestured for her to enter, his mind already turning to how he might be able to take advantage of this private meeting.

 

As she did with most things, Hermione entered the room confidently and completely without fear. Lockhart's charm and fame preceded him, so why would she have any reason to fear?

 

"I was looking over your books," she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "And I feel like I must be missing something. You see, the timelines don't quite add up."

 

Lockhart felt a familiar sense of panic rise up in him. Of course, Hermione, being the clever little bookworm she was, had noticed the discrepancies. She wouldn't be the first to raise questions about the validity of his stories.

 

Fortunately for him, Hermione was just a mudblood - barely even considered a worthy member of their society. No one would miss her if she were to mysteriously disappear.

 

He quickly closed the door, once again locking it, and turned back to Hermoine. She gazed up at him with worried eyes, still clinging hopefully to the belief that he was the hero she had always admired.

 

But Lockhart recognized that look in her eyes. He had seen it many times before, usually right before he "convinced" them of his innocence.

 

Lockhart began to spin a tale, his voice dripping with sincerity, "There is a perfectly reasonable explanation…"

 

This was normally the moment where Lockhart would simply erase the memories of his suspicious visitor and send them on their way, none the wiser. But he had something different in mind for young Hermione.

 

Stepping forward, he placed a seemingly reassuring hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up into his eyes questioningly. In one swift motion, he reached down and plucked her wand from her pocket, not giving her time to react.

 

By the time Hermoine realized what he had done, Lockhart had already stepped back and snapped her wand in front of her shocked eyes.

 

Her reaction was immediate and panicked. "NO!" she shouted, eyes wide with fear and betrayal.

 

She tried to move towards him, likely to grab the wand back, but he was between her and the door. Without her wand, she was powerless and completely at his mercy.

 

Hermoine tried to scream for help, but Lockhart knew it was futile. He had chosen this office specifically because it was out of the way and far from prying ears.

 

Realizing the gravity of her situation, Hermoine didn't waste any time in trying to physically fight back against her attacker. She began to thrash and kick, desperately trying to land any kind of blow against Lockhart that could help her escape.

 

The assault caught him by surprise, and a well-placed kick to the shin had him letting out an angry yell. Enraged and no longer trying to hide his true nature, Lockhart grabbed Hermoine by the neck and, with a burst of strength, slammed the young girl into the hard stone floor.

 

The back of her head impacted with the cold stone, causing stars to burst in her vision. She tried to cry out again, but Lockhart's large hand was still wrapped around her fragile throat, squeezing and restricting her airflow.

 

Frustrated and starting to panic, Hermoine continued to claw at Lockhart's hands and arms, desperately trying to get him to release her. Tears of fear and pain began to leak from the corners of her eyes.

 

Instead of releasing her, though, Lockhart just laughed - a dark, twisted sound. He leaned down and, using his free hand, began slowly stripping Hermoine of her clothes, fondling and molesting her as he went.

 

Hermoine tried to thrash away from his cruel touch, but the lack of oxygen was making her dizzy, and each movement seemed weaker than the last. Even as he exposed her small teenage breasts, she could barely muster up the energy to scream.

 

Lockhart wasted no time in palming one of her tiny tits in his large hand, roughly squeezing and tweaking her nipple until she cried out in pain. He didn't stop there, letting his hand travel down her body, only pausing to grope her once he reached the waistband of her skirt.

 

With frightening speed, he roughly yanked open the button and zipper, wrenching the skirt down Hermoine's legs until she was left only in her panties. These, he simply tore off, leaving angry red marks on her hips.

 

Hermoine felt a new wave of humiliation and fear wash over her as Lockhart tore away her last piece of clothing, leaving her completely naked and vulnerable beneath him. She tried to renew her struggles, but his hand never left her throat, keeping her pinned in place with his superior strength.

 

His eyes, dark with lust and cruelty, roamed over every inch of her exposed flesh, and Hermoine had never felt more violated. Bile rose in her throat as she felt his free hand began to explore her naked form, touching her in places that no one had ever touched before.

 

Lockhart's fingers grazed over her torso, pausing briefly to circle her belly button before trailing down to the neat patch of hair that covered her most intimate area. Hermoine tried to clench her legs together, but Lockhart just laughed and easily pried them back open.

 

Teasingly, Lockhart danced his fingers through her pubic hair before slipping one digit between her lower lips. Hermoine cried out in fear and violation as he roughly explored her most private place, her body trying to recoil away from the unwanted touch.

 

The more Hermoine struggled, the more Lockhart seemed to enjoy it. He added another finger, forcefully thrusting them in and out of her dry heat. Hermoine sobbed and tried to twist away, but with his hand still firmly wrapped around her throat, there was little she could do.

 

Satisfied with his crude exploration, Lockhart eventually withdrew his fingers, only to quickly replace them with something much larger. Hermoine's eyes widened in panic as she felt the slick head of his engorged cock pressing against her tight entrance, demanding access.

 

With a vicious thrust, Lockhart impaled the young girl on his full length, causing Hermione to scream in pain and fear. He didn't give her time to adjust, only continuing his brutal assault on her untested body.

 

Tears streamed down Hermione's face, mixing with the blood matting the back of her head to the stone floor. Lockhart continued to rut into her, his grunts of pleasure mixing with Hermione's sobs and pained gasps.

 

It seemed to last forever, but eventually, Lockhart let out a final, sick groan and Hermione felt the hot splash of his seed flooding her battered womb. She felt dirtyLockhart, his cock still rock hard and glistening with Hermoine's virgin blood, roughly grabbed the young girl's limp body and lifted her up off the floor. Hermoine, still impaled on his length, whimpered weakly but didn't have the strength to fight him anymore.

 

With Hermoine's dead weight in his arms, Lockhart walked them over to the nearest wall. He then adjusted his grip on her, grabbing her ass with both hands and using the new leverage to start forcefully thrusting up into her again.

 

Hermoine's sensitized body was on fire from the new angle, her front being deliciously dragged against the rough fabric of Lockhart's shirt with every vicious thrust. She whined in pain, feeling completely overwhelmed and praying for it to just end.

 

But Lockhart wasn't done with her yet. He pistoned his hips, rutting into her like an animal as he chased his release. The lewd sounds of their fucking filled the room, mixing with the heady scent of sex.

 

Lockhart groaned, feeling Hermoine's tight cunt flutter around him as she unwillingly started climbing towards another release. He loved the way she felt, so hot and tight, and knew that he was going to have to fuck her again before he eventually got rid of her.

 

Feeling his balls start to tighten, Locket picked up his pace, snapping his hips erratically as his thrusts lost their rhythm. Hermoine could only hold on for the ride, feeling completely used as Lockhart cruelly used her body for his pleasure.

 

With a final thrust, Lockhart buried himself deep inside Hermoine's abused cunt, flooding her again with his potent seed. This time, however, Hermoine's exhausted body could take no more and her pussy started spasming around him as she unwillingly reached her own climax.

 

Lockhart grunted in satisfaction, feeling the tiny muscles milking his cock for every last drop of cum. He used Hermoine's trembling body until he had wrung every ounce of pleasure he could out of her, only letting her slide off his half-hard dick when he was finished.

 

Hermoine immediately collapsed to the ground, her legs unable to hold her weight anymore. Lockhart just smirked down at her, satisfied with how thoroughly he had destroyed the once bright and fiery girl. and used, barely able to look at the man who had so brutally destroyed her innocence.

 

Lockhart pulled out of her with a lewd squelch, and Hermione felt his cum and her blood beginning to leak out of her abused pussy. She curled in on herself, no longer trying to fight back the broken sobs that wracked her body.

 

Lockhart stared down at Hermione's broken, trembling body, watching as the evidence of his cruel violation leaked out of her abused hole. A twisted smile spread across his face - it was time to finish this.

 

He reached down and tangled his fingers in Hermione's hair, roughly pulling her head back until he could look into her tear-stained eyes. She looked so beautifully destroyed.

 

Lockhart could feel his cock twitching in interest again, but he ignored it. He had more pressing matters to attend to first.

 

Hermione didn't even fight him as he looped his hands around her delicate throat, her eyes just staring blankly ahead. Lockhart had completely broken her.

 

Lockhart tightened his grip around the young girl's throat, cutting off her air supply. Hermione's eyes went wide, and he could feel her begin to struggle weakly.

 

But it was no use. Hermione was weak and exhausted, her body still trying to recover from the brutal fucking it had just received. Lockhart just tightened his grip, feeling her fragile windpipe start to crush beneath his strong fingers.

 

Hermione's face began to turn blue, her eyes bloodshot and bulging from the pressure of Lockhart's grip. She scratched at his arms, desperately trying to pull in even the tiniest gasp of oxygen, but it was no use.

 

Eventually, the life started to fade from Hermione's eyes. Her struggles became weaker and weaker, her scratches against Lockhart's arms more like the caress of a lover.

 

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Hermione stopped moving altogether. Her arms dropped to her sides, and her eyes stared sightlessly ahead.

 

Lockhart held the choke for a few more seconds, just to make sure, before finally releasing her. Hermione's crushed and lifeless body fell to the floor in an unceremonious heap, her face frozen in a rictus of fear and pain.

 

With a sigh, Lockhart gathered up Hermione's lifeless body and both girls' belongings before stepping through the floo connected to his private hunting lodge.

 

The ginger girl was waiting for him when he arrived, her eyes widening only a fraction at the sight of the dead body he was carrying.

 

"This is what happens to those who fail to please me," Lockhart said, his voice cold and uncaring.

 

The young ginger girl nodded, her face pale but her expression accepting. "I understand, Master," she whispered submissively.

 

"Good." Lockhart responded. He carelessly dropped Hermione's crumpled body to the floor at her feet. "Now take her out into the woods and bury her deep."

 

The traumatized girl just nodded again, bending to grab Hermione's ankles so she could drag her lifeless husk out of the lodge.

 

Lockhart watched her go, feeling a dark satisfaction rise up in him. With a sigh, he turned on his heel and returned to the castle. He had one last thing to take care of.

 

"THEIR BODIES WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER," he thought with dark glee, already formulating his plan.

 

Shortly after, Harry and his friend Ron vanished as well, and the school was closed for good. There was too much scandal and treachery surrounding it for it to continue.

 

But Lockhart didn't mind. At least he still had some fresh ginger pussy to fuck whenever he wanted.