Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
Iris Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley had just exited the Hogwarts Express, their charcoal grey uniforms crisp and neat, complemented by red and gold neckties. The three young witches were returning to the Muggle world after a long, transformative final school year.
Hermione had come back to prepare for her NEWTs and to experience being Head Girl, while Iris and Ginny had chosen to complete their schooling fully, committing to the last year after Voldemort’s defeat. All three were now of age—legally adults—and had summer plans waiting for them.
Yet none of that stopped Mrs. Weasley from greeting them at the station with her usual mixture of fuss and warmth.
As Molly Weasley bustled through the station, however, she was visibly disturbed. Though not harboring old pureblood prejudices against Muggles, she was unaware that just a block from the station, a loud goth/punk/metal concert was underway. The streets overflowed with Muggles dressed in stranger fashion than usual.
Passing by was a young man with a tattooed face, his shirt made of netting, wearing a skirt — unusual enough. But what truly set Molly’s protective instincts aflame were the scarlet women: a bald woman striding by clad only in boots, a skirt, and black tape covering her nipples.
“It’s a good thing my boys aren’t here to be tempted by such harlotry,” Molly muttered under her breath, outraged as she pushed through the throng of concertgoers. She was determined to collect her girls before they had to witness such scandal firsthand.
Before she could even reach the magical portal to Platform 9¾, the three fresh graduates stepped through.
“Mum!” Ginny exclaimed, clamping a warm hug on her mother.
“Mrs. Weasley, good morning! We didn’t expect to see you today,” Hermione added with a smile, eager to return the embrace.
Molly turned to Iris, her expression softening even further. “Oh, Iris, dear… look at you.”
She pulled Iris into a firm, enveloping hug, holding her just a beat longer than the others. “You’ve shot up again, haven’t you? And you look… well. Like you’ve finally had some peace this year.”
Iris smiled faintly at that, her green eyes meeting Molly’s fond gaze. “It’s been… different. Better. And it’s really good to see you, Molly.”
“You know you’re one of mine too, don’t you?” Molly said with quiet firmness, smoothing down a fold in Iris’s collar before releasing her. “Always will be.”
Iris felt a warmth spread in her chest — a different kind of magic — before stepping back to let Molly give Hermione another quick squeeze.
“Oh, girls," Molly said, eyes shining, “it’s wonderful to see you so grown up and mature. I know you were planning to spend the first week decorating Iris’s apartment at Grimmauld Place before heading to the beach, but I simply couldn’t go that long without seeing my girls.”
Hermione blushed, comforted and honored by Molly’s inclusion of her in the family fold. Iris gave her a knowing half-smile; she understood that feeling very well.
“I am so blessed that you three turned out so well. But as I was coming in, I saw so many scarlet women, so indecently dressed. I can’t imagine what could cause someone to embrace such depravity. We best be going before such… such disgusting displays shock your conscience.”
Hermione was taken aback by the sudden rant, exchanging a glance with Ginny, who just rolled her eyes with amused tolerance at her mother’s histrionics. Iris kept diplomatically quiet, though the corner of her mouth twitched.
As the trio started toward the exit, three of the very depraved harlots Molly warned about took offense at her words.
They were tantric punk-goth witches.
Demonia
The first was Demonia, known as Demi. Nearly six feet tall in four-inch heeled black leather boots buckled to the knee, she moved like a confident predator. Her black PVC skirt revealed flashes of sleek black latex beneath, each step hinting at the glitter of numerous rings pressing against the material. Above, a shiny black leather corset showcased her cleavage and the shadowed maw of a demonic tattoo — a tantric magical reservoir enabling her to cast at will without wands or preparation. A black spiked collar hugged her throat, framing a face of long, striking lines, lips painted ink-black, grey eyes glowing faintly beneath shaved brows replaced with carved tattoo sigils. Rings and heavy plugs adorned her piercings, every piece gleaming like a talisman.
Toxicity
Beside her stood Toxicity, or Toxi — a cyber-goth vision of dangerous curves and neon contrasts. Standing 5’9” in black leather thigh-high boots, she wore a black open-cup minidress with no underwear, her breasts cupped in bright neon-green latex. Platinum blonde hair streaked in vivid purple spilled into synthetic techno-dreads bound in a swaying ponytail. Severe drawn-on brows cut above grey eyes haloed with purple shadow. Her bridge piercing gleamed beneath a purple cybergoth gas mask, the filters marked with biohazard symbols and topped by vials of glowing green fluid. Beneath the mask: snakebite piercings, triple tongue rings, and a labret spike. A sprawling black and crimson pentagram tattoo lay across her chest, the bottom point trailing between her breasts, pulsing faintly with stored magic.
Veloura
The third was Veloura, the most overtly seductive of the trio — and the most unsettling. She wore skin-tight, thigh-slit pants of shimmering obsidian silk, over which her hips were bound with chains tipped in tiny silver bells. Her top was a transparent mesh halter stitched with crescent moons in silver thread, leaving the swirling galaxy of tattoos along her torso visible — planets, eyes, and curling script in a language older than the Ministry itself.
Her hair was a cloud of deep crimson waves, cascading over one shoulder like spilled wine. Her eyes shifted hue slowly — from gold to violet to a rich midnight blue — a gift from her patron. A septum ring shaped like a crescent moon sat above hex-symbol lip piercings. Veloura’s magic smelled faintly of sweet wine and opium smoke, and her voice, when she spoke, curled around the mind like silk soaked in honey.
Veloura was the group’s emotional manipulator, her tantric focus on desire-through-truth — she found what you craved most and made you reach for it willingly.
They were no wand-wavers — their magic came from invocations, ritual scars, potions, and blessings from higher beings: demonic, chaotic, or merely bored omnipotents. Transformation, corruption, liberation of the flesh and spirit — these were their tools, and sex was their sanctum.
Demi glanced at Toxi with raised brows. “Well… that was quite rude, wasn’t it? We don’t grumble about prudes in the street.”
Toxi’s muffled laugh through the mask was thick with anticipation. “Oh, something tells me this prudish little matron needs a lesson.”
Veloura’s slow smile was almost languid. “Then why not teach her by reshaping… what she treasures?”
The three exchanged a brief, wicked look.
Toxi’s mask hissed faintly, dosing her with the slow burn of a tantric elixir that could twist anyone she kissed into willing abandon. Demi adjusted her gloves, her fingers brushing the lines of her tattoo-reservoir. Veloura simply watched the three young witches ahead — Iris Potter, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley — her ever-shifting eyes drinking them in like ripe fruit on the branch.
They began to follow, shadows moving with the crowd. The question hanging between them wasn’t if they would touch these girls’ lives… but how.
Perhaps cursed furniture in Iris’s flat at Grimmauld Place. Perhaps a body-switch hex. Perhaps no trickery at all — just the oldest, simplest methods: seduction, and the slow unwinding of every moral thread.
Whatever they chose, the hunt had already begun.
Chapter Text
The din of King’s Cross tapered the farther they walked from the scarlet length of the Hogwarts Express. Steam hung in ragged veils between the great iron supports overhead, turning the sunlight into fractured gold. Molly Weasley’s determined pace cut through the crowd as easily as a prow through water, her grip on Ginny’s elbow gentle but unyielding.
Iris walked just to her side, Hermione matching step on the other. To anyone watching, they looked like any trio of returning schoolgirls and their guardian — but in the slipstream of magic that eddied behind them, something much darker coursed.
Demonia walked in the outer fringe of the Muggle crowd, her gait slow and predatory, the crystal in her pocket still warm from Ginny’s essence. Behind her, Toxicity’s neon highlights flickered under the coppery light as she adjusted the straps of her satchel, the glow in her own crystal like bottled lightning from Hermione’s soul-thread.
Veloura moved differently from them both — languid, a shadow of movement at the edge of notice. The smoky quartz pendant she had pulled from her chains nestled in her palm, the gold-and-black strands inside reminding her of tiger’s eye. Iris Potter’s thread. Still fresh. Still thrumming.
Molly was talking, half to herself, half to the girls — the sort of fussing that fell somewhere between affection and an inventory of possible dangers.
“We’ll just pop straight through to Grimmauld; no reason to dawdle while London’s in one of its… moods,” she said, voice crisp.
Iris caught Hermione’s faint smile out of the corner of her eye. Ginny rolled her eyes with a touch of warmth — used to her mother’s reaction to anything she deemed unsafe.
But beneath that normalcy, each girl felt something else.
For Ginny, a subtle warmth settled low in her chest, an almost imperceptible tightening of focus on the sound of bootheels behind her — though when she looked over her shoulder, she saw only a knot of teenagers in dark band shirts.
Hermione’s mind, usually sharp-edged from years of trained attention, seemed to catch on invisible burrs. Midway through answering Molly’s question about Apparition licensing, she lost the thread, blinking it back sharply. The edges of her awareness felt… brushed.
Iris noticed the change in her friends first. Ginny’s laugh was a half-second late; Hermione pressed her lips together more than once before speaking, as though editing thoughts she hadn’t meant to have. And Iris herself — she wasn’t sure. Just the prickling at her nape. The faint pressure of eyes that might not be there.
From behind, Veloura shifted the pendant minutely and tasted the spike in Iris’s heartbeat through the link. Demi, further left in the flow of people, breathed the first sip of Ginny’s restless energy. Toxi, under her mask, smiled slow as Hermione’s momentary lapse fluttered along their tether.
The Floo station loomed ahead, its discreet magical signage unreadable to the Muggles bustling past. Molly ushered her charges more closely together.
“Straight through, girls,” she instructed. “I’ll go first, then you each follow. And Iris — make sure your wards are up and working.”
“Yes, Molly,” Iris said, though her eyes flicked instinctively toward a shadowed alcove on the opposite pavement. Empty. But she didn’t realize her fingers had brushed the chain at her throat the same way one might check a weapon was still there.
The three tantric wytches paused in that alcove once Molly and her wards had disappeared into the green roar of travelling flame. Demi’s smirk was all teeth; Toxi’s breath hissed through her valve like a purr; Veloura merely closed her eyes and let herself savour. The bonds were raw, but they were real — and from tonight onward, distance would mean nothing.
“We could follow now,” Demi murmured.
Veloura’s smile was a crescent moon. “No. Let them think the world is empty again. The quiet grows the craving.”
Toxi adjusted her mask back over her face, the vials glowing faintly. “Besides, we’ve got time. Plenty of it.”
Outside the Floo station, the city noise swallowed their voices as they turned away — three hunters with threads already tied to their chosen prey.
The green roar of the Floo faded, replaced by the muted hush of a house that had learned to listen.
Molly stepped out first into the wide, high‑ceilinged entrance of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Her sensible shoes made small, decisive sounds on the polished wooden floor, each one bouncing faintly beneath the heavy cornices. She straightened, checked herself for stray soot, and turned just as a swirl of emerald flame delivered Hermione in a mild cough and whirl of robe hem. Ginny followed, landing with more surety, eyes scanning the taller walls, the brightened panels, and the absence of the dour drapery she remembered.
Iris was last through. She stepped lightly across the grate’s lip, brushing ash from her sleeve as her gaze swept the hall with the steady, measured look of someone weighing the comfort of her own claimed ground. This was not the same Grimmauld Place they had hidden in during the war; she had worked to loosen its shadows—scraped back wallpaper, aired the rooms, banished the portraits that glared from the walls. Even the scent was different: cedar oil and beeswax layered over something subtle and warm from the kitchen hearth.
“Still smells clean,” Hermione said, setting her shrunken trunk on the edge of a rug and letting it swell back to proper size with a soft thump .
“That’s the cedar,” Iris replied. “Keeps out the rot. Makes the place feel like it breathes again.”
Molly moved toward the kitchen almost on instinct, opening cupboards to take stock. “At least the kitchen is properly stocked up here. And look at these rooms—the carpets are brighter, the air’s fresher.” She turned with a half‑serious wag of her finger. “Just don’t hole yourselves up all summer. You need light and fresh air.”
Ginny grinned, slipping past her to flop onto a chair at the long oak table. “Don’t worry, Mum, we have plans.” There was a note of lazy satisfaction in her voice, the kind of comfort that made Iris glance over at her a moment longer than usual.
None of them saw the shimmer that slid over the latch as the door shut behind them—a shimmer like heat haze with veins of green, violet, and smoky gold. The house’s old wards accepted it without resistance, as though recognising it as something permitted.
Far away, in a shadowed loft punctuated by candle‑pools on worn floorboards, three crystals pulsed in time with that shimmer. Demi’s glowed green with indigo streaks. Toxi’s burned yellow laced with violet. Veloura’s smoky quartz turned in her fingers, its golden‑black tendrils stirring like a cat stretching.
“They’ve settled in,” Demi murmured, her eyes half‑closing as she leaned into the thrum that connected her to Ginny. “Her pulse is quick. She likes the space.”
Toxi tilted her head, feeling Hermione’s tidy, deliberate movements through the link. “She’s already cataloging the rooms in her mind, her stuff is yet to come from the storage,” she said with a grin in her voice. “I can work with that.”
Veloura’s smile was languid. “And mine’s listening to the house,” she breathed, more to herself than the others. “Iris is… alert.”
Back at Grimmauld Place, Molly was still fussing, pointing out where the girls might set their belongings and which pantry jars were closest to the best‑quality tea. The warmth of her voice and the clink of crockery seemed normal enough, but beneath it the air in the old townhouse felt heavier, glossier somehow, as if the rooms had begun to lean in to hear.
By the time the kettle whistled and mugs were passed around, something soft but definite had taken root there — not a foreign object imposed, but a thread woven through the existing weave, pulling it subtly toward a new pattern.
Molly didn’t notice; the girls didn’t understand. But outside, in the secret places between here and the wytches’ loft, the threads had already started to draw tight.
The loft was hidden in plain sight, wedged between a crumbling brick warehouse and an anonymous storage facility in an older quarter of the city that no one lingered in after dark. From street level it appeared abandoned — cracked windowpanes, graffiti‑splashed bricks, a rusted fire escape clinging to the wall like a long‑dead vine. But the inside told another story.
The moment the heavy, iron‑bound door shut behind them, the air shifted. Candles burned in tiers along wall‑mounted racks, their light pooling across mismatched furniture: a velvet fainting couch the colour of old blood, a set of spindle‑back chairs reupholstered in black satin, and a low table permanently dusted with chalk glyphs.
Above, long swathes of black and wine‑coloured silk hung from the crossbeams, stirring slightly despite the absence of any breeze. The scent was heady—musk, incense, myrrh, and something sharper edged, like pepper crushed in a mortar.
Veloura crossed immediately to the low table in the center, unclipping the crescent‑frame pentagram crystal from her hip chain and setting it gently onto the carved surface. Demi, already shrugging out of her jacket, followed suit, laying down her own pendant with a clink of silver chain, and Toxi released hers with a flourish, the vials on her mask catching the candlelight.
For a beat, the three of them simply looked.
The crystals pulsed faintly in unison — green streaked with indigo for Ginny, violet‑shot yellow for Hermione, smoky gold and black for Iris. Each glow was slow and steady, like the heartbeat of something newly captured.
Demi crouched beside hers, gloved fingers tracing the pentagram frame. “Ginny’s energy is direct,” she murmured. “She doesn’t mask much. I can feel the ripple every time she moves.”
Toxi’s lips curled behind her mask, though her eyes crinkled with open amusement. “Hermione’s more… slippery. Always thinking three corners ahead. I’ll make sure at least one of those corners leads back to me.”
Veloura’s tented fingers hovered above her crystal, not quite touching. “Iris…” Her voice was lower now, almost reverent. “She’s the most dangerous of the three.”
“Oh?” Demi’s eyebrow arched. “Biting before she’s caught?”
“No. She listens. Took barely a push for her to notice the house’s mood. If that kind of awareness sharpens, she might even feel us.” Veloura smiled languidly. “Which is delicious in its own right but not something I want to happen right now.”
They sat around the low table, the flicker of candlelight holding the crystals in small halos. The ritual began without discussion—three voices twisting syllables from different tongues into a single susurrus. The air inside the pentagrams thickened, shimmering faintly.
Demi nudged her link, sending Ginny no more than the ghost of a touch—a brush at the nape of her neck as though someone had leaned in close.
Toxi wove a whisper of distraction into Hermione’s mind, a phantom taste of sweet metal at the back of her tongue that had no business being there while she unpacked her books.
Veloura didn’t intrude; she radiated instead, letting the essence of Iris’s name hum inside the crystal and letting the resonance drift along the tether until Iris might feel a momentary, satisfying assurance for no reason at all.
They broke the murmur together. The sensations snapped back into the stones, lying dormant but warm.
“What’s the plan, then?” Toxi asked, leaning back on her hands. “We could push harder.”
“No,” Veloura said at once. “You rush a weaving, you tangle it. Let them walk a while with the thread around their ankle without looking down. When they finally notice, the knot will already be tight.”
“Patience,” Demi agreed, her smirk slow and wolfish. “And in the meantime, we… watch.”
It was decided. They would pull again tonight, more deliberately, when the three girls were sleeping. That would be the safer path — dreams were ripe soil for planting, and even a soulswap.
Above them, the silks shifted again, catching a glow from the streetlamp outside. And somewhere across the dark city, three young witches at Grimmauld Place went about an evening unaware that every casual touch, every warm glance, was already being threaded into a web.
The floo went back to yellowish-orangish flame behind Molly Weasley, the reverberation humming through the thick old bones of Grimmauld Place. Her absence left a hush — gentle, but somehow deeper than just the absence of her voice. Iris turned the latch, tracing the repaired brass plate with an idle thumb before drawing the bolt for the night.
The light inside had mellowed. The tall windows along the corridor washed pale amber onto the floorboards, gilding the grain. High above, faint groans in the timbers settled into silence. The house wasn’t oppressive as it once had been, but there was still a weight to it — an awareness, softened now, as though the building itself was listening.
In the kitchen, Hermione stoked the hearth with a practiced wand-flick, coaxing the coals from embers to a steady burn. Ginny rooted through the icebox, producing a heel of cheese, a loaf of crusty bread, and a clutch of late-season apples. Iris fetched plates and mugs, the three of them falling into a rhythm that needed no words.
“Feels like we’ve finally… stopped running,” Ginny said at length, leaning back against the counter as she sliced the cheese. “It’s strange.”
“Strange is good,” Iris replied. She set the plates on the table, then slid into a chair across from Hermione, whose fingers were idly tracing the beveled rim of her mug. “We’ve earned strange.”
Hermione smiled faintly, but didn’t answer right away. Her eyes had gone unfocused for a moment, as though she’d lost the thread of a thought. She blinked, shook her head lightly, and reached for the bread knife.
Up in the loft across the city, three crystals warmed in synchrony.
Demi coaxed hers, green with indigo, sending Ginny a flicker of sensation — the remembered thrill of wind on her face mid-Quidditch dive, coupled with the phantom pressure of a hand at her back, steady and sure.
Toxi let violet streaks churn languidly through her yellow core, dropping the notion of a whisper into Hermione’s focus: a voice she couldn’t quite make out, low and inviting, that made her chest tighten almost imperceptibly.
Veloura simply breathed into her smoky gold-black stone, sliding the softest pulse of reassurance toward Iris — the kind of inexplicable calm one feels when an unseen presence promises, You’re not alone.
Back in the kitchen, the girls ate and talked about the week ahead, but the magic was already bending the edges of their time together. Threads of conversation trailed off into shared smiles; touches lingered — Ginny’s hand brushing Iris’s as she passed the butter, Hermione leaning a shade closer than necessary to set down the bread.
When Ginny laughed at one of Iris’s dry asides, Demi could taste it through the link: warm, bright, and just beginning to fray at the edges with something more primal. Toxi drank in Hermione’s surreptitious glances, her satisfaction rising each time the clever witch’s gaze dipped to another’s mouth before darting back up.
Veloura knew Iris could feel something — not enough to name, but enough to make her glance toward shadowed corners of the kitchen as though expecting to see someone there.
By the time they drifted upstairs, plates rinsed and hearth embers banked, the air in Grimmauld Place felt charged — like the pause before a storm breaks. None of them said it aloud, but all three felt it.
And far away in the candlelit loft, three wytches smiled, knowing that the real work would begin once their prey’s eyes closed.
Night came differently to Grimmauld Place than it did elsewhere in London. Here, the stillness was thicker, as though the house itself absorbed and muffled the street’s restless sounds. The wards shimmered faintly against the deeper shadows, a transparent skin just under the surface of reality.
In the loft across the city, three witches were already in their places. Demi sat cross‑legged on the velvet fainting couch, her boots discarded, and the crystal before her like a living ember, her slave waiting for her commands in the confines of chains. Toxi was sprawled on the bed, mask on her face, the glow from her pendant reflecting in the black steel of her piercings. Veloura stood, hips swaying gently as she moved in a slow, deliberate circle around the low table, smoky quartz turning between long, jeweled fingers.
They had waited until the threads pulsed with the unmistakable cadence of sleep — slow, steady, and open.
Across the bindings, they could feel them.
Ginny – Demi’s Adrenaline and Touch
Demi’s eyes closed as she slid into the half‑trance, picturing the green‑indigo stone spinning in the dark. She didn’t push; instead, she anchored herself in memory — Ginny’s heartbeat during a match, the way her body knew power and quick reaction. Demi wove that thrill into the dream before inviting herself in.
Ginny found herself in flight, broom angled low, the pitch lit only by floating lanterns and the moon’s white scythe. The wind was hot, electric, carrying the scent of rain yet to fall. She didn’t remember mounting the broom — she simply was there, the speed vibrating in her bones.
Behind her, there was pursuit… not threatening, but inevitable. The air thickened when it drew closer, hands warm and sure closing around her waist mid‑flight. She should have fought, but instead leaned into it, the pair of them banking together in perfect union, muscles straining in synchrony to pull from the dive into a climb so steep it was almost weightless.
The unseen hand, one slid up her ribs, the other down her pants towards her untouchable territory, and even in her dream Ginny gasped at the heat that spread from that place. The higher they climbed, the warmer it got — lightning at the edges of the sky, the promise of rain and release.
Demi, in her loft, smiled with sharp satisfaction and anchored the sensation deep in Ginny’s dreaming body before letting it fade to mist.
Hermione – Toxi’s Curiosity and Temptation
Toxi’s approach was different. She rolled the yellow‑violet crystal over her palm, feeling Hermione’s precision through the tether — neatness, order, structure like clockwork. If Ginny’s mind was a galloping flight, Hermione’s was an intricate library of closed, locked rooms.
Perfect.
In Hermione’s dream, she was barefoot among mahogany shelves that reached endlessly upward, gilded ladders stretching out into shadow. No Hogwarts Library, this — the script on the spines of the books shifted and curled even as she read it, some in languages she didn’t know she knew.
Her fingers hovered over one binding, mottled leather warm to the touch. She opened it. The pages breathed — there was no other word — a slow rush of scent like ink and candlewax and something sweeter she couldn’t place, something that made her cheeks warm.
She realised she wasn’t alone.
A figure stood just at the edge of the shelving row, masked, their voice velvet and low. “Read it aloud,” they murmured, and she did. The words dissolved like dark chocolate on the tongue, and she felt them seep into her palms from the pages, into her mind, until she couldn’t tell if the heat was in her body or in the air or just in her thoughts.
Every question the figure asked, she answered — and each answer left her lighter, warmer, wanting, and hornier. She woke in the dream still speaking, still wanting the next question, to feel more of it, more of warmth and the attention of unseen touch seeping into her.
Back in the loft, Toxi licked her lips and savoured the curious ache coming back along the link.
Iris – Veloura’s Shadowed Invitation
Veloura’s method was the quietest, and perhaps the most dangerous. She didn’t drag Iris into a fantasy; she stepped into one of Iris’s own memories, changing details like a painter adjusting light on a canvas.
Iris dreamed she was back in the corridors of Hogwarts, but the year was… unclear. Torches burned low in sconces, and the stone beneath her bare feet was warm, almost alive. She wasn’t wearing robes. The air stirred against her skin.
She felt watched — not in fear, but as if someone important were waiting for her to notice them. Every time she turned a corner, she caught sight of a shadow figure who would be gone by the time she stepped forward. At first she hurried, then she slowed, the anticipation swelling with each empty hall.
When she pushed open the heavy oak door to the Great Hall, the ceiling was gone — only stars overhead — and the whole space was lit by hundreds of floating candles. At the far end stood someone she couldn’t quite make out, their eyes shifting colour in the candlelight: gold to violet to blue‑black. They didn’t beckon, but she felt herself walking toward them anyway.
Halfway there, she woke — or thought she did — the warmth of those eyes lingering as a reassurance in her chest.
Veloura’s smile in the loft was languid, her own gaze shifting hue in rhythm with the crystal’s slow pulse.
The Wake‑Up Hooks
By the time the trio released their soft control, each crystal’s glow had dulled to embers, their warmth quietly nested inside the sleepers’ bones.
Ginny murmured into her pillow and turned toward the sun‑warmed spot on the bed.
Hermione shifted in her chair, fingers flexing before closing around the spine of the book she had fallen asleep with.
Iris lay still for a long time, eyes shut, committing the dream’s last image to memory even as it faded.
Across London, the three tantric witches rose from their work almost as one.
“They’ll remember just enough,” Demi said, pulling her boots back on.
“And want just a bit more,” Toxi added, mask already hissing faintly as she resealed it.
Veloura only laughed softly. “Now… we let them wonder what’s missing. And tomorrow, we switch up the pace and switch places with them. We will prepare everything to corrupt them, we will have to personalize it respectively, but wouldn’t that be fun”
Morning light filtered through the tall windows of Grimmauld Place in thin bars, gilding dust motes that hung in the still air. The protective wards gave an almost imperceptible thrum — not warning, just a reminder of their presence.
Iris was the first to wake. She lay still under the weight of her blankets, staring at the pale shapes cast on the ceiling. The dream hadn’t left her — or rather, the feeling of it. It was in her chest like the echo of a chord struck too low to hear. Her mind kept replaying the flicker of candlelight, those eyes shifting color, the pleasant ache of knowing she’d been found before she knew she was lost.
She dressed quietly, padding barefoot into the kitchen, pushing hair out of her face.
Hermione was already there, robe drawn around her, a cup of tea steaming between her hands. She was halfway through the same page of her book for the past five minutes, eyes moving but not taking in the words. Her thoughts kept catching on sensations — the smell of leather and ink, warmth in her palms, in her head as though she’d been holding something alive.
Ginny stumbled in last, hair mussed, cheeks still flushed from sleep. She snagged an apple from the bowl on the counter with a faint smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes — as if the night had left her with a private joke. Every so often, she shifted in her seat, like a phantom touch still rested against her ribs and her core.
Conversation at breakfast was simple. The words were ordinary — what to do with the day, when the stuff from storage is coming — but the spaces between them had changed. A glance lasted the beat of a heart too long. Fingers brushed passing the butter, and neither withdrew quickly. Hermione noticed Ginny’s knee never moved once it rested lightly against her own. Iris saw Hermione’s gaze drop, unthinking, to her mouth when she took a sip of tea.
They didn’t name it, but all three felt it: the sense of some shared, unseen thread tugging them invisible inches closer.
Across London, in their silk‑draped loft, the tantric wytches basked in the residual glow radiating off their crystals. Demi rolled Ginny’s green‑and‑indigo stone between thumb and forefinger, feeling the pulse as if it were her own heartbeat.
“She carries the flight in her still,” Demi murmured. “It will make her restless if she doesn’t chase it. I will need to improvise I guess”
Toxi sprawled like a cat in a spill of daylight, mask resting on her chest. She tapped Hermione’s crystal with a painted nail. “Clever little thing spends the whole morning turning the same page, wondering why she’s flustered. She doesn’t even realise she’s answering questions in her head for me, soon she will read the book I’ll personally leave for her.”
Veloura sat cross‑legged, smoky quartz pendant cradled in her palm. Her eyes cycled from gold to violet as she smiled. “Iris notices the gaps between shadows now. That’s the doorway. And tonight, and she’ll look for me, but she would be me in here while I corrupt her body.”
They didn’t speak of rushing. The joy was in the slow turn. Outside, the day was beginning afresh — but for six witches in two separate buildings, another net had been laid.
The girls would go about their planned day. And the wytches? They would plan tonight’s swap.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Here is my take on a Corruption story, and I do not own anything from this Harry Potter Universe, just using the characters for my fun. Also, every character in this story is mature and above the age of 18.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning of the next day, at the loft.
“We will add our runes over the boundary of the loft to prevent any kind of wand-waving magic, whether performing, tracking, or anything else. The only magic they will perform is tantric after they are deep into it. They will be separated until their education is done and finished, and we will release the hold on our separate room once we can sense that they have learned all that they need. It’s gonna be a fun few days ahead of us.”, finished saying Veloura.
“Let’s start our preparations. We do not want to get late, and before that, let’s do the ritual for the soul swap. We will have ample amount of time after that to finish our preparations. We have already stocked up on food and required materials to corrupt them.”, said Toxi.
“Let’s start then, but before that”, Demi pulled both Toxi and Vel in a 3-way kiss, which turned into a makeout session right away. Finally, they pulled away and went to the ritual room.
It did not take them long to finish up the ritual. After that, they went into their rooms to start their preparations for their targets.
By noon, they were finished. Toxi was making some last-minute calls to order new furniture for the Grimauld place as they would be redecorating it in their target's new taste. It would be fun ride for the 3 tantric wytches.
With Demonia, she had a pet, or you can call her a human pet.
“Pet, in a few minutes a spell will take place and it will seem like I am not myself. You are to treat me as your mistress no matter what I say. In several days I will return, and i will know everything that has happened is that clear?"
The woman at her knees whimpered and stared up adoringly into her mistress's eyes.
"Depending on how things go, the dungeon may be locked as long as 2 days. The house is sealed for up to three days, speak if you understand."
The 36 year old former stay at home mother responded, "Yes my mistress, this one understands."
Demonia then grabbed Pet by the leash hanging from her black studded collar, the slave being nude except for black leather bands at her ankles and wrists, and the lewd tattoos covering her body of demonic succubi fucking and corrupting women. The most interesting being a tattoo covering her back, of a succubus reaching under Pet's arms to appear to fondle the slave's E-cup breasts. The red hands with black nails reaching up as if to pinch Pet's pierced nipples.
Demona led her slave over to a harness, and took her hands, admiring the tattoos on her right hand fingers reading 'slave', as she locked a hanging chain to that wrist, and then the left hand whose finger tattoos read 'mommy' and that hand too was suspended from ceiling chains.
Demona turned to the toy chest to finalize her preparations before the spell took effect.
Meanwhile Toxicity was making her own final preparations, having enjoyed listening in on Iris, Hermione and Ginny's discussion as to how they were going to decorate Hermione's apartment and then take a few weeks vacation.
Toxicity prepared a bedroom similar to her own, and stocked it with books full of dark tantric magic, some of her sexier outfits and accessories, and certain ingredients commonly used by the wytches.
Toxicity grinned a manic grin as she finished setting up a room perfect for corrupting a good girl using her preferred style of wytch magic. She had already placed runes that would block the usage of witch magic either travel, tracking, or other.
As minutes ticked down she was on the phone getting some deliveries underway, and finally it was time she sat down, donned a black gasmask with a tube leading to a large glass hookah-construct, and simply enjoyed pleasuring herself with some toys until the spell kicked in.
In her own room, Veloura was finishing up on her own preparations. She had setup the mirror all around the wall, and has also setup the tasks she needed Iris to do to corrupt her, make her a nymphomaniac pothead, but without the use of either hookah or anything, with the help of Toxi, Vel has setup a constant supply and release of that smoke in her room from a secret small gap. Vel had also hid a smoking pipe and bong for Iris’s future use with required oils and ingredients, but that will come later. And then there were some dark tantric books, which were disguised as tasks as well. She took a look into Iris’s psych and heard her discussing the future decoration plans of their place. Well, it wouldn’t be Iris, Hermione or Ginny’s plan that will get executed, it would be Vel, Toxi and Demi’s.
The anticipation for putting the three innocent girls into their new situation was so exciting!
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Hermione’s eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit room suffused with an intoxicating mixture of herbal and alluring smoke. She remembered having a conversation with Iris and Ginny, sitting on the sofa in Grimmauld place planning some more redecoration for the place, when she felt weak, sleepy and tired. At the moment she felt as though she was in a dream. She could smell a strange pungent smell like burning potions ingredients. She could feel something covering her face. She could feel something filling her like a dildo.
Clearly she was dreaming.
While she owned and had used a dildo, that box hadn't even come over from storage yet.
Hermione's hands began to come up to her face, but as she rubbed her hands over her chest, everything felt weird.
First her breasts felt larger than normal, and oh so much more sensitive. Then there were the nipple rings. Hermione grabbed the two rings and tugged, and was rewarded with a body-quaking orgasm.
"Unnnnngh, ohhhh. What is this? Am I still dreaming?" She said out loud, her voice sounding completely foreign to her ears through the gas mask.
As her left hand continued to fondle her nipple ring, her right hand felt down towards her pussy. There she found that it wasn't a dildo in her, it was a double ended dildo, with half of it sticking out from her as though she had her own cock. Hermione began to tug on the dildo, and that felt amazing. She tried to lift her head to look down, but she still felt so groggy, and that 'oooh that smoky smell' she just wanted to enjoy this dream.
Hermione couldn't lift her head so she just went with what she could feel.
Hermione began to work the dildo in and out, and when her hand touched her labia she found a new surprise, the labia were pierced with rings on both sides of the labia.
Hermione brought her left hand down to mess with the rings as she began to stroke the double-dong in and out again with her right hand.
As she worked herself into a greater sexual stupor, her eyes began to focus. She could see through the lenses of the gasmask. With every stroke she could see that she was making tiny gasping noises which were accompanied tiny puffs of smoke exiting the mask.
Hermione rolled her head to the left, and saw a wall with a poster that had symbols she couldn't make out, and what looked like a woman having sex with two other women.
(Later Hermione would realize that one of the women in the poster was the owner of this body, and that they were sharing the dildo she was moving like a butter churn.)
Hermione rolled her head to the right, and she could see a floor to ceiling bookshelf covered with books, sex toys, and glass devices she did not recognize.
A small lock of hair fell down across the left eye lens and Hermione could see platinum hair streaked with purple and purple tech dreadlocks.
'Definitely a dream'. Her hair looked nothing like that.
Hermione licked her lips as the could feel her body approaching orgasm.
She felt her tongue around and could feel several lip rings, and a triangle of metal barbells on her tongue.
"Sweet baby maeve, this feels so good." Hermione bit down on her lip, and could taste the metal of the lip rings as she tugged on her labia rings and the dildo hit just the right spot.
"Unnnnnghhh aieeeeeeeeee!"
Hermione had a mind-blowing orgasm, and passed back out.
She was aware that something was off, but so far she had chalked it all up to being in a weird erotic dream.
Maybe the next time she awoke, she might realize her circumstances, and the trouble she was now in.
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The last thing that Ginny remembered was sitting on the couch with Hermione planning out what furniture stores they would visit the next day. Somehow she fell asleep. Now she could feel something quite strange, as the felt something wet wiggling in her cunny.
Ginny's eyes shot open to see that there was a woman between her legs. Ginny could see that there was some kind of tattoo on the woman's back, but could not make out what it was. And to be honest her attention was not on the tattoo. Rather it was the head of this woman.
Ginny could see a head of light brown hair, gathered into a braided ponytail, with a brass ring at the end. Ginny could see ears easily as it appeared that the sides of the woman's head was shaved. The woman's ears appeared to be covered with metal, from the top, curving around to the bottom of the outer ears were metal spike piercings, and hanging inside the woman's lobes were 1" diameter plugs.
The left ear had a black plug that displayed a silver symbol that looked like a circle with eight arrows pointing in every direction, and the right plug held a purple symbol that consisted of a circle containing a downward pointing pentagram, and from the upper right section of the circle extended a line that was bisected by a crescent that pointed towards the circle, and the line ended at a smaller crescent that opened away from the circle. (Ginny would not yet have the knowledge to recognize the symbols of chaos unbound, of the mark of Slaanesh.)
While Ginny observed these details, of far greater interest was the fact that the woman was using her tongue like a tiny cock, bobbing her head so that each stroke would result in the woman's lips hitting Ginny's clitoris.
"Morganna's saggy tits, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Ginny yelled.
Ginny began to reach down to the woman, but then realized the extent of her predicament. First, was that this was not how she was supposed to look. She could feel that she was now taller than she had ever been, and there were other things about this body that weren't right.
Her tits were huge, and almost obscured the woman going to town on her cunt. Then she could see and feel the metal being worked in her pussy lips and her clit. When she yelled, it came out as a sexy seductress' voice, and sounded nothing like her own. And in her mouth she could feel a triangle of metal tongue barbells.
The next thing she had noticed as she tried to move was that she appeared to be encased in something rubbery. To that point Ginny had never heard of a latex catsuit, or anything along these lines. Ginny was covered from head to toe in black latex only her face and ears, her tits, her crotch, and her fingertips remained exposed, her hands and arms were covered in black latex gloves to the first knuckle, leaving her fingers and fingernails exposed with inch long glossy black nails. She could not see that a glossy black topknot ponytail came out the top back of her catsuit.
Next she noticed that she was in a throne-like chair, and her wrists and ankles appeared to be chained to that throne. It appeared that the chains extended from her wrists to the throne behind her lower back.
Ginny's hands left the armrest, but the chain length kept her a good 3-4 inches from the woman's head. Ginny tried to kick the woman, but her ankles had almost no play and kept her legs spread lewdly. The only part of her body she could reach were her exposed breasts.
As she looked at the woman between her legs she realized that the woman herself appeared to have chains stretching from cuffs on her limbs to the ceiling.
"What is going on? Why are you doing this?" Ginny asked in a voice not her own.
The woman appeared to pause her licking before bringing her hands up and replacing her tongue with two of her fingers. "Mistress Ginny, this's one is following her mistress's instructions."
"Who is your mistress?" Ginny demanded.
The slave looked up into Ginny's eyes, and said "you are my mistress, mistress Ginny."
"Well if I'm your mistress you must set me free."
"Mistress, the chains are locked by a spell and only your orgasm can release the chains."
Ginny was furious. What in the hell was goings on? One second she was asleep at hermione's and the next she looks like a complete harlot, while some other harlot is doing things that she wanted Harry to do, and not this... tattooed slave bitch.
"Fine, do it you fucking slut. Go ahead and make me cum, so the damn chains release."
"Yes, Mistress Ginny."
The woman continued her efforts licking Ginny's pussy and clit ring as she worked two of her fingers inside her mistress.
It took some time as Ginny was primarily het, but eventually, the slave's efforts along with some licking of her perineum between her cunt and ass, was enough to push her over the edge.
Much to Ginny's surprise she could see that her skin at the inner edges of her tits under the latex was appearing to glow. (Ginny did not yet know about the tantric magic storage tattoo that was currently hidden by the catsuit)
Next the heard the sounds of chains popping and she felt a brief second of elation before she realized that her chains were still in place.
The slave woman stood up, her chains fully released, and she posed for a second before Ginny so that Ginny could see the tattoos of evil looking red hands with black nails pinching her nipples, and several other lewd tattoos of succubi fucking normal women.
Ginny struggled against her chains "you lying bitch, I'll kill you", she shook with fury as the tried to break free.
"Mistress, this slut apologizes, but your pet did not lie. This one only said that the chains would be released, not that every chain would be released."
Ginny was enraged, and wanted nothing more than to beat the crap out of the one who violated her.
"Arrrrrrrrghh" she growled.
The slave woman began to walk around her, and further explained. "Mistress needed to cum not only of her own free will, but intentionally, and needed to be in the right mindset before Mistress Ginny could become Mistress Ginny."
As the woman passed, Ginny could see the huge succubus tattoo on the woman's back. "What the hell are you talking about you crazy bitch?"
Ginny could hear the slave woman rustling with something.
"This one was merely a mommy slut before Mistress turned her into her Pet Mommy Slave. This spell will make mistress ginny properly into Mistress Ginny."
At that moment, the slave woman placed a set of goggles over Ginny's eyes. "What the fuck is this? What are you doing?" Ginny heard no response as a set of headphones over her ears.
Ginny had never heard of submiminals or brainwashing, so she had no idea what was going on. She continued to curse at the slave girl, but couldn't even hear her own words.
It seemed like she could almost see something, so she concentrated not realising that her own concentration just allowed the subliminals to pump words onto her head.
Ginny could hear a voice in the distance, a voice that sounded like the voice of this body. Her sub-conscience could hear the words:
"You're a wicked lesbian dominatrix witch. You want to mindfuck any pretty woman you can and turn them into twisted lesbian whores. You love fucking and dominating women. You are wearing sexy latex. You love to fuck sexy women while wearing sexy latex. You love dominating women into sexy latex clad whores for your own amusement. You love to dominate lesbian sluts."
The words flowed through Ginny's brain, as the pictures became increasingly clear, showing pictures of women in latex fucking other women doing everything from tongue fucking, ass-to-mouth, threesomes, lesbian orgies, all involving women in latex with tattoos and piercings.
Then as the program progressed it began to show before and after pictures of innocent looking women, mothers, daughters, being turned into depraved lesbian sluts. Scenes of women being put in stocks and paddled, fucked with strapons, and chained together by their piercings...
Demonia's favorite corruption spell required a combination of tantric energy, the intentional release of that tantric energy, and a mindset comparable to the one being installed.
Ginny had unwittingly fallen into her trap. How would Ginny fare against this form of tantric techno sorcery?
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Iris blinked against the dim, scented haze, the soft tendrils of incense curling upward in the air like waiting fingers. Her mind swirled in a slow, intoxicating fog, laced with aromas of sandalwood, jasmine, and something darker — musk and honey, and the faintest trace of spice. The world leaned softly, distorting edges into velvet shadows.
She shifted on the plush silk-draped chaise where she had apparently been laid. Her body felt strange — supple, even delicate — yet alive with unfamiliar strength. Her hands lifted, fluttering over the curves of a form both hers and yet utterly foreign. The skin beneath her touch was warm, the surface smooth as polished marble, painted with intricate tattoos: twisting sigils and esoteric runes, constellations drawn in black ink along arms and across the shoulders, and a slow-burning pentagram coiled delicately at the small of her back.
A faint shimmer caught her eye in the mirrored panel at the room’s far side, where Veloura’s animated gaze followed her every movement — watching, waiting.
Veloura’s voice drifted from hidden speakers woven into the room’s walls, silk-soft and coaxing. “Welcome, Iris. You are far from home, but not lost. If you desire to return to your own body, to save your friends, you must first prove your strength, wit and courage.”
The challenge was clear.
The chamber was vast yet intimate, furnished with dark woods, soft pillows, and an array of mysterious objects laid carefully along low tables and incense burners. At the center, a low pedestal held a series of scrolls, crystals, and a set of slender bindings — delicate loops embroidered with gold thread.
Veloura’s voice bubbled again through the hidden speakers, “Each task will stretch your senses, sharpen your will, and draw you deeper into the sacred art of tantric magic. Succeed, and you may break free. Fail, and this place will claim you.”
Iris’s heart beat sharply. She had never been one to back down, yet the haze seemed to pull at her resolve, weaving subtle webs of desire and uncertainty.
The first task was laid before her: a black velvet blindfold embroidered with silver moons and stars.
Veloura’s voice softened, “Wear it, and let your other senses awaken. Taste and touch will guide you where sight cannot.”
Hesitant, Iris obediently took the blindfold and tied it securely over her eyes.
Darkness bloomed.
Guided by whispered instructions, she traced the arcane patterns embroidered on her hands onto a velvet cloth, the fibers warm and alive beneath her fingertips. The scent of jasmine grew heavy in the air, mingling with the faint pulse of the smoke curling from the pot simmering softly in the corner. A subtle warmth bloomed in her chest, a sense of anticipation tinged with escape. Because even though she is locked and without her magic, she had to try. To break free and reach Hermione and Ginny.
As Iris was finishing her task, she realised the task both challenged and beguiled, pulling her closer into the intricate dance of shadowed pleasure and latent power, as she touched herself raw blindfolded. She could feel the piercings on her labia, on her clit.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Iris suspected Veloura’s intentions were far more complex than simple tests — that each sensation, each whispered command, had been designed to unravel her defenses, to awaken a new hunger and impatience beneath her calm surface.
As the intoxicants from the ever-burning pot inhaled deep into her lungs, the room seemed to pulse in synchrony with her quickening breath. The line between freedom and desire thinned, blurring into a promise she was powerless to deny.
And yet, for all the confusion and haze, a core of steel remained — a flicker of the warrior who had fought against Voldemort and forces.
Veloura’s voice smiled softly behind her, “You will learn much before freedom finds your hands.”
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The moment stretched like a taut wire as Iris stood before the mirror, its surface carved with unseen twisting runes that glowed faintly under her eyes. Her breath trembled with the fierce pulse of determination. The intoxicating fog that shrouded her senses still lingered — a warm haze dancing at the edges of her mind — but beneath that, the fire of resistance flared.
She raised her hand, clenching her fist, and punched the glass. Her fingers twitched with expectation, her lips whispered self encoruagements, but the mirror refused to budge. The runes on the mirror flared—
—not in surrender, but in mockery.
A sudden wave of intense undulated heat went through her body, not born of triumph but of something far more unsettling — a sharp, spreading pulse that rolled like heat and desire intertwined, confusing her senses, dulling her will. The heat was making her horny by the moment.
A voice, silken and teasing, wrapped itself around her like smoke from the ever-burning pot hidden in the corner. “Oh, Iris… you possess so much spirit, but here, your usual tricks are but feathers against my arrangemnt. This place answers only to tantric magic, and that magic you have yet to learn.”
She staggered back, chest rising and falling with a sudden catch. Her hands going down on her again, exploring her body, towards her entrance, stimulating her boobs.
The heavy fragrance filled her nostrils, thick with spice and a faint sweetness that beckoned and ensnared. Her thoughts loose, a fog creeping over clarity as the seduction of power mingled with the haze.
Veloura’s laughter—soft and near—coursed through the room like a caress. “To leave this chamber, you must first master what I teach. You will not grasp the door without my lessons. Fail, and you remain here—bound by your own reluctance.”
Iris’s hands moving faster and faster inside her cunt. Anger boiled beneath her surface, yet the fog coiled tighter with every breath.
In a sudden defiant act, she reached toward dildo present on nearby surface and starting thrusting in her pussy.
The door remained closed.
Slick beads of sweat traced her spine, and in that moment, faint giggles bubbled from the hidden speakers.
“You dance on the edge, witch. Soon, you will yearn to dance closer,” Veloura whispered, velvet and threat entwined.
Iris’s mind churned with frustration and lack of release, but beneath the turmoil, a spark of understanding—a promise of the primal magic she must learn, the intoxicating path she must walk.
She continued to fuck herself as she sank to the velvet cushions, breath ragged. The series of tantric trials awaited; the heavy, seductive web was already closing around her.
Only by surrendering to the lessons—and to Veloura’s will—could she hope to reclaim herself, and reach the friends still trapped in shadows, finally, she came undone and passed out from the exhaustion of her first task, her attempt to flee the inevitable and her masturbation.
Notes:
To read ahead, follow the link in my bio.
Chapter Text
As Hermione began to wake up, she knew that she had never felt so good. It was like every cell in her body was supercharged with life and euphoria and magic.
Hermione began to sit up, she began to look at her hands, the hands were thinner than her own hands. The fingernails were long glossy purple nails shaped to a dangerous looking point. The hands had tattoos, the right hand had letters on the knuckles spelling WYTCH, and the left hand had letters spelling BITCH. aditionally, there appeared to be a runic array tattooed on both her palms, with tattoo lines extending up her arms to her shoulders, where the tattoos joined to a massive tattoo on her chest.
That tattoo was a huge runic array in the shape of a pentagram, with the bottom point of the pentagram extending down between the huge breasts on this body.
And Hermione was certain at this point that this was not her own body. Hermione couldnt make out anymore because she had viewed all of this through the smoky lenses of the black rubber gasmask she was wearing. This time, her hands went to the gasmask and she could feel the hose extending from the bottom. She raised the hose and found that it was attached to a crystal contraption sitting on a desk a few feet away.
Hermione began to get up out of the bed, as she turned and moved her legs off the bed, she fumbled with the clasps on the mask, but couldnt get it off. Hermione noticed that the desk had a mirror and stood up. In doing so Hermione noticed that she was wearing rubbery black latex from her toes to her thighs. As Hermione slid out of the bed, the huge black double dildo jutting from her cunt slapped the latex at her thigh.
Hermione grasped the dildo with one hand, and held it steady as she approached the mirror on the desk, taking in the madness of the look of her body. The platinum blonde hair with purple streaks and purple tech-dreads woven into the hair.
The huge pentagram above the breasts, the large black rings in her nipples. The strange purple tattoos covering much of her torso, all of this disturbed and excited Hermione as she pulled out the chair from the desk and sat down so that she could see the mask, and the clasps holding it on.
Hermione closed her legs together and released the double-dildo so it rested clamped between her thighs. She undid the clasps on the mask, and felt the rubber pull away from her face. A cloud of smoke poured out from the edges of the mask and before her eyes as the mask was peeled away. It felt good. Kind of like the feeling of peeling off sunburnt skin, just without the pain of sunburn.
Once the smoke had dissipated, hermione looked at a face that was not her own. Instead of her own brown eyes, Hermione looked into grey eyes, and a face covered in purple makeup and metal. The piercings were intense. The one that initially grabbed Hermione's attention was the pointy labret spike pointing down between her lower lip and her chin. Somehow that had fit into the gasmask she had been wearing.
Then there were the huge holes in her earlobes. They appeared to have metal rings on the inside like a liner, or a gromet. There were snakebite lip rings, and tongue barbells. Though this was the first time seeing them, Hermione had felt them earlier.
Yes, this was all crazy and feeling less and less like a dream. Hermione felt the tip of the labret spike with her fingers, and found that she enjoyed the sensations.
The smoke from the gasmask had dissipated, but when Hermione sighed in exasperation at her situation a cloud of smoke exited her nostrils like an angry dragon. This also was a feeling that Hermione found to be strangely enjoyable.
As she began to take in her circumstances, the next thing that ahe noticed was a sheet of paper with her name at the top.
To: Hermione Granger (Magical Core witch)
From: Toxcicity (Eldritch wytch)
Re: Eldritch tantric magic training
Dearest Hermione,
I hope that you forgive the familiarity of my greeting, but I expect that you have become quite familiar with my body by this point.
To cut to the point, we have 'Seen' that you need an emergency education in eldrich tantric magic to supplement your magical-core based magic. Due to the short amount of time available, and the embarassing nature of tantric magic for virgins or those raised in victorian values, (see the wizarding world) we determined that the fastest way to give you the training you need would be to place you in my body and seal the apartment so you would be able to focus on learning these skills and techniques.
Now, while this training is of the utmost importance, if you do not wish to learn, this spell will end after what feels like 3-5 days, and you will be returned to your own body without the knowledge that you will need in the days to come.
If you wish to learn, please use the tome resting on this desk. It is important that you work through it from start to finish and that you not skip steps.
Next, keep in mind that eldrich tantric magic is based on sexual energy, so keep your arousal and orgasms high to keep studying.
You may have noticed the gasmask and smoke. It is a non-harmful smoke that will aid you in maintaining a proper mindset, and it feels and tastes great.
If you don't want to be tethered to the hookah mask, in the large drawer of this desk, there is a bong that can be taken throughout the apartment to smoke a similar gel, or the cybergoth aerosol mask, which introduces an aerosolized potion that has similar effects to the smoke.
Good luck. We are depending on you to learn as much as possible in the time allowed.
Love,
-Toxi.
Hermione opened the drawer and observed both a glass bong, and a gasmask with spikes, biohazard symbols, and two green vials.
Well, it sounded like all this was necessary... so taking the letter at face value, she reached down and pulled out the bong. (It appeared simple enough. but hermione felt the bong had naughty bad-girl implications) so she placed the bong back in the drawer and pulled out the cybergoth gas mask and examined how the vials were fit into sockets on the side, and there was no hose.
Despite all these years, Hermione had still not learned. Nearly everything in that letter was a lie. Everything she would have access to in this apartment was designed to corrupt and pervert her mind. The smoke was designed to eliminate her inhibitions, and make her suggestible and horny.
Worse, the potions used to make the smoke occasionally had the side effect of causing madness, but from Toxcicity's perspective, that would just be a bonus.
Hermione lifted the mask to her face, finding that it fit over her mouth and nose even with the piercings and strapped it on. Other than a wonderful scent that smelled like a combination of old books, sweat, and her pussy, she didn't notice anything.
She cracked open the book in front of her: 'Basics of Eldrich Tantric Magic By Toxicity'.
Chapter 1 Choosing the correct eldrich power, specifically: Slaanesh.'
As Hermione began to read, she forgot about the mask, and while her attention was on the book, her right hand again began working the double dildo in and out of her cunt, while her left alternated between turning pages and fondling her tits.
Toxicity had laid her trap perfectly and Hermione had chosen to walk right into it.
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Ginny has had her mind under assault from both the spell, the subliminals, and the slave. But she hasn't given in.
But tantric magic can be more adaptive than core-based magic and the spell begins to use a new technique. It starts taking Ginny through her memories. Her in the chamber, about to lose consciousness as Tom stands above her gloating. Suddenly everything freezes, from Tom's laughter to the dust motes in the light of the torches.
A sound approaches... clack-clack-clack, Ginny looks to the sound, and she recognizes the woman whose body she had been inhabiting, covered in black latex, the woman approaches holding a black leather crop.
"Tisk tisk dear. You'll never get anywhere if you choose to be the victim."
Ginny became enraged, and slowly began to stand. "Who the hell do you think you are? Choose to be the victim?! I never chose this!"
"Oh didn't you? Ginny, this is a dream in your mind. You are in control, and yet you cower from evil tommy-boy, and hope to be saved by your knight in ugly glasses."
Ginny, while angry, was also confused. "What?"
"Ginnny dear, you are in a dream. You can choose to stop Tommy yourself. To take the power back. In fact, why don't you try this on Tommy boy." The woman held out the crop to Ginny, who hesitated.
"Are you going to choose to remain Tommy's victim?
Ginny's eyes flashed with anger. She grabbed the crop and turned back to Tom Riddle, and struck him across the face with the crop.
"You bastard, do you have any idea how much you hurt me." Ginny yelled as she struck him again. This time, the crop left a red mark on Tom's face, and at that same moment, a black latex sleeve formed on Ginny's arm, leaving her palm exposed, while it extended up the back of her hand to wrap around the base of her middle finger.
"You made me petrify Hermione!" Smack!
An identical black latex sleeve formed on Ginny's other hand.
"You made me petrify Colin!" Smack! A thigh-high latex boot formed on Ginny's right leg.
"You made me petrify Penny Clearwater!" Smack! An identical boot formed on Ginny's left leg.
Ginny walked behind the frozen, but apparently sensate Tom Riddle and kicked him in the back of his knee forcing him to fall to his knees.
Ginny's school robes turned into a red latex cape hanging from her shoulders.
"You killed poor Myrtle!" Ginny kicked Riddle in the balls as hard as she could from behind. And Ginny's skirt turned into a pair of black pvc short shorts that opened with a zipper crotch.
"You framed poor Hagrid!" Ginny pulled down the back of Riddle's pants and struck his ass with the crop. As she did, her shirt transformed into a black pvc corset with shiny buckles down the front.
"You nearly killed me!" Ginny struck riddle's ass again with the crop, and a black pentagram tattoo appeared on ginny's chest above her clevage, and also on the palms of her hands.
"And worst of all, you nearly killed Harry!" Ginny struck again with all of her strength, and as she did, a black spiked collar formed on her throat, black makeup adorned her face, and studded wristbands appeared on her wrists.
"Do it." Ginny heard the woman whisper behind her. "Take his power... Take his power and and finish him. You know what to do. Your mind has learned the spells, you only have to want to use them."
Ginny reached down and grabbed Riddle's face. And began to chant a spell in a language she had never spoken before. As she did, the pentagram on her chest and the two on her hands began to glow. As the chant began to reach a creshendo, Ginny channeled the power into the crop once more and struck Tom Riddle's ass one final time. And then there was a blinding discharge of energy.
Ginny blinked away the spots in her eyes. And could see that Tom Riddle was no more. Instead, a nude girl looking 18-19 with long black hair, cowered on the floor. In Ginny's hand, the black crop was gone, and in its place was a black leather leash attached to the black leather collar around the neck of the black haired girl.
The nuts that Ginny had just kicked a minute ago were no longer there. In their place, the black haired waif had a delicate pussy, with only a slight landing strip above her clit. Riddle, completely free of the timelock raised her hands to cover her nude b-cup breasts. As Riddle looked at Ginny she whimpered in fear. At the moment that Riddle had lost her manhood, Ginny had gained a lurid red double-ended strapon dildo, with one end inserted into her own cunt through the booty shorts as the bottom zipper was open exposing everything, the straps having formed around her waist to lock it into place.
"Take her Ginny. Make her yours." The woman behind her whispered.
Ginny grabbed Riddle by her long black hair and smacked her in the face with her strapon. "Bitch. You best open your mouth, because I am going to fuck you in every way you can be fucked, and if you dont suck this cock, you are going to learn a new definition for pain."
Riddle tentatively stuck out her tongue and touched the strapon. Ginny balled up her hands in Riddle's hair and pulled, thrusting the red dick between her lips until Riddle gagged. "Oh, we are going to need to work on that, won't we slut?." Ginny paused but heard nothing but gagging.
"I said, won't we slut?" Riddle mumbled something like yes, before ginny slapped her face. "That's 'Yes, Mistress Ginny.'... well?"
Riddle mumbled "yes Mistress Ginny" around the artificial cock.
"Good girl. Youre going to be my good girl now and forever, aren't you my little riddle-slut?"
"Yes, Mistress Ginny."
Ginny then began to face fuck the female Riddle in earnest until Ginny had come at least once from the inner dildo's penetration and her strapon was thoroughly coated with Riddle's saliva. Then she shoved Riddle to the ground and mounted Riddle from behind and began to fuck her cunt like the bitch she was.
After Mistress Ginny had satisfied herself and left all of Riddle's holes unnaturally stretched and gaping, Ginny turned to the woman who handed her the crop, only to find a large mirror just standing there.
Ginny studied her look, loving how the outfit made her look like one of those scarlet women that she's always been warned about.
Now she had the power, and it felt incredible.
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The room dimmed as Veloura’s soft laughter rippled through the hidden speakers woven behind the thick, velvet curtains. Iris’s eyes adjusted to the shifting darkness, the humming incense thickening, filling her lungs with its intoxicating embrace. Around her, the chamber seemed to dissolve into shadow and flame, replaced by an ethereal, dreamlike hall borne of magic and illusion.
Before her flickered shimmering silhouettes—shapes blurred yet distinct in their emotion and urgency. Bound figures of Hermione and Ginny appeared, their forms trapped beneath shimmering chains of light, their faces etched with silent pleas and flickering despair. The illusion was vivid, every breath they drew seeming to echo in the vast, empty chamber.
Veloura’s voice caressed her from all directions, warm and coaxing. “They need you, Iris. Their souls are entangled in darkness. To save them, you must move beyond this cage. To release them, and yourself, you must continue with the sacred tantric rites, bending your own spirit to the ancient tantric magic.”
A tremble of longing surged through Iris’s veins, mingling with the haze that softened her thoughts and made the world tilt on its axis. The task she had endured for now seemed but a soft prelude to this summons, this call to relinquish control and embrace the power coursing through her.
With trembling hands, she began—the rituals Veloura had taught her subconsious, whispered breaths of mantras wrapped in allure, movements flowing like molten silver. Each gesture awakened something buried deep—a sinuous energy tightening within, demanding release, feeding on desire and surrender alike.
Images cascaded across her mind’s eye—shadowed torches flickering in impossible halls, the heat of skin and breath mingling in sacred communion, the thrum of magic woven through flesh and soul. The deeper she pressed, the more the line between pain and pleasure blurred, until each rite became both a sentence unstoppable pleasure and releases.
Veloura’s laughter danced at the edges of sensation, drawing her ever closer to the edge of ecstasy and beyond. “You awaken, Iris. The path is carved in fire and longing. Follow it willingly, or remain forever bound.”
When the ritual concluded, the illusion shifted. Veloura now stepped forward, graceful and radiant, embodying the very essence of temptation and command. In Iris’s heart beat a fierce tumult—resistance tangled with a helpless yearning that she barely recognized as her own.
For a fleeting moment, Veloura’s eyes met hers—gold to violet, endless and fathomless. “You cannot return yet, sweet Iris, but every step you take binds you closer to freedom… and to me.”
The chamber faded back into the scent-rich room where her journey had begun, blindfold still bound, skin flushed with exertion and longing. Yet beneath the haze, a new understanding settled—freedom was a promise entwined with surrender.
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Toxicity was loving every second of this. Not only was she in the body of a witch with a magical core, she was able to listen in on how things were going with their three... victims? Students? Yes, students, back at their lair.
The soul sample spell that they had hit all three of the girls with was still going strong and had followed her into Veloura, Demonia's body, and Toxi's innate connection with her own body allowed her to listen in on Hermione. (Who other than some wake & bake jilling off had not yet significantly activated her trap.)
Toxi had awoken on a couch in the Granger girl's body. The body of Ginny Weasley and Iris Potter asleep next to her. It was hilarious to think that innocent freckled girl and black haired green eyed girls would be temporary host to the utterly depraved Demonia and fully intoxicating and corrupt Veloura.
Now, what to do first?
Toxi had a list of things she wanted to fuck with. Hermione's apartment, Hermione's body, Hermione's friends, and the laws of physics themselves.
Well, she had ordered some supplies to be delivered here... a housewarming gift for all three girls.
So with those supplies on the way, she wanted to have some fun, and began to do some minor preperations.
The seductive groans from the couch announced the awakening of Demonia and Veloura. The wytch in the body of Ginny Weasley stretched, showing that the innocent looking ginger had some ways to go in terms of her development. The wytch in Iris Potter's body yawned and although she didn't need much changes but it will be a long way before their body was up to their standards.
Toxicity jumped up and perched her knees on the arm of the couch, and got in close to Demonia's face who had not yet opened her eyes, while her fingers went inside Vel's shirt and started squeezing her boobs.
"How long are you going to do that?" Demi asked after a pregnant pause.
"Until you open your eyes." Toxi responded with a manic insane grin, while she continues to massage and tase Vel's boobs. Vel finally opened her eyes and her hand also inside her cunt as she moaned and also leaned her towards the other two wytches.
Demi gave in and opened her eyes displaying the chocolate brown orbs.
"There we go!" Toxi leaned down and kissed Demonia, slipping her the tongue,while her hand leaves Vel's boobs and hooks her chin to also pull her in for a three-way kiss. All three wytches were disappointed by the virgin kiss. Neither of the bodies had any lip rings, tongue studs, hell, neither had any more than a single ear ring in the lobes.
Demonia looked at Toxi and Vel. "I vote we start with a makeover."
"Hee hee hee, well, we're going to need to use some special techniques because do you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
Toxi looked at her partners, and Vel explained "Can you feel the magical core? These girls have never done any tantric rituals, and they clearly don't have any chaos mage storage tats. So do you feel the source of magic deep within your core?"
Demonia turned her awareness inward as though she was going to draw from her stored mana, and was shocked by the ocean of power just waiting to be used inside Ginny's body.
"Wow."
"I know right! But this means that anything we can do, they can undo unless we take some key steps."
Toxi led Demonia and Veloura into the apartment's potions lab, which was empty except for Hermione's school potions kit she had brought home in her trunk.
"As you can see, my miss innocent only has her school supplies. In fact, she, Iris and your girl Ginny were going to do their furniture shopping today, and supply shopping tomorrow."
"Now, the good news for all of us involved is that I have been listening in on their conversations, and I've already ordered furniture and supplies to be delivered on their behalf..." Toxi smiled an insane wicked grin that would never have crossed Hermione's face. "Well, really it's on our behalf, but I'm sure they'll find good use when they're back."
"And all your exposition gets us a makeover how?" Responded Demonia.
"Well, I'm glad you asked," Toxicity grinned maniacally, the look stretching face muscles that Hermione never used, "we can use either a standard permenence potion, that would basically prevent common methods of dispelling magic, or we can use a tantric spell once we have the foci for a ritual in place. Orrrrr... "
"..."
"Orrrrr...dot, dot, dot..."
"Sigh, 'or' what?"
Toxicity laughed, "Or we can break a ton of laws, and use blood magic, something that these good girls would never consider using, and therefore something that they probably wouldn't be able to undo!"
"Well, that seems like a simple enough solution, so what do we need to do?" said Vel.
Toxicity held out a 20 ml glass vial of Hermione's blood and a similar empty vials and two small needles. "Filler up. Whole blood only please. I already took care of Hermione's before you woke up."
Demonia, nicked her left thumb and filled the small vial "by the pricking of our thumbs something wicked, this way comes."
At she finished the old shakesperian line, both vials of blood began to glow. As if the vials were tiny blacklights.
"Did I just cast a spell?"
"Hmmm..." Toxicity held her vial over the old carpet, and could easily see old stains under the unexpected blacklight.
"I'm going to say yes. We'll have to be careful what we say when holding blood or other magical foci, since we are in bodies with magical cores"
Meanwhile, Vel also nicked her finger and filled the vial, careful not to cast any spell unknowingly.
"Now, for our purposes, will you guys need any tattoo inks or hair potions other than black?"
"Yes, i will need some red ink, and possibly some hair potion to make this hair less ginger, and more fire-red", Demonia responded.
"And I'll need some red, blue, green, and silver ash white, same for her hair to make her look more dignifiedly corrupt in our standards.
"Allright. I'll get cracking. I decided that Hermione could use some more green in her life, but now I also think I can add some blue. I should have a ton of black, some Ginny-red ,some red, blue, green, and silver ash white and Hermione-green and blue ready soon. While i work on this you write down what you want done"
Demonia just nodded. Until they had the necessary tattoos to focus magic that she was used to, she would feel a bit defenseless.
Vel just went and stated noting down the things she wanted to do in Iris's body.
An hour later, the Wytches possessing Iris, Hermione and Ginny were on their way to a nearby tattoo parlor that was closed for the night.
The girls were still dressed in their normal garb. Iris, a normal shirt pant with a tan jacket. Hermione a pink hoodie and jeans, and Ginny in a blueish long sleeve shirt and jeans.
Toxi led Demonia and Vel to a nearby tattoo and piercing parlor that had a sign that said closed this weekend for renovations.
"Well, this seems like luck is on our side." Commented Demi.
"Tee hee, not so much luck as a quick buck, we've got this place for a few days if we need it." Responded Toxicity as she typed a code she had memorized into a door panel, and the door made a buzzing sound as it unlocked. The wytches entered the building and the door shut behind them with a solid clang.
Notes:
To read ahead, follow the link in my profile
Chapter Text
Here is my take on a Corruption story, and I do not own anything from this Harry Potter Universe, just using the characters for my fun. Also, every character in this story is mature and above the age of 18.
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It was the seventh day since the switching spell had gone into effect. All three of the wytches, Veloura, Toxicity, and Demonia, had gotten makeovers and upgrades for their host's bodies, as well as set up and decorated Garimmauld’s apartment.
Demonia looked in the mirror occupying one of Iris's guest rooms, at the improvements she had made to Ginny's body.
Surprisingly, she had changed Ginny's hair from ginger red to fiery dark blood red. She liked the way it looked against her pale skin, at the moment, it was gathered into a top knot ponytail and bound by a black latex strap. She had also gotten a very high clean nape shave, which will never grow hair on her nape after she was done dealing with the change with blood tantric magic, also her hair was cut in a full layer cut and face-framing bangs, which were falling on her cheeks and chin, as the rest of her hair was in ponytail. Demonia turned and enjoyed the way the newly installed breast implants were a ridiculously fake E cup. The huge tits stood obscenely erect on Ginny's otherwise petite body. "The letter 'P' is brought to you by the DuPont Corporation, makers of fine fake titties."
Demonia ran her hands over the bolt-on funbags. First across the tops of the breasts, finding that the huge runic pentagram now tattooed over Ginny's cleavage felt no different from her unmarked skin.
Then Demonia ran her fingers down to the newly pierced nipples. The long, sharp, glossy black fingernails, playing with the black metal of the nipple rings hanging from Ginny's tits. Once she played with the nipple rings for a few seconds, she palmed the super firm tits, the hard pointy nipples pressing into the center of her palm tattoos, the black runic pentagrams being the key to wielding tantric magic on the fly, along with the mana storage tattoo on her chest.
Then Demonia ran her fingers down on her ass, squeezing the newly installed butt implants, very huge and shapely.
Demonia licked her lips, feeling the clicks as her triple tongue studs added to Ginny's tongue clacked against the snakebite piercings in Ginny's lower lips. While the nipple rings were pitch black to contrast against Ginny's pale skin, the lip rings were standard high-chrome steel to contrast against the glossy black lipstick.
Demonia grinned at the look of an innocent waif turned into a goth slut. While Demonia did not go overboard with tattoos and modifications, she did so out of a desire to see what additions Ginny herself would add. That being said, the metalwork installed by Demonia in Ginny's pussy would preclude easy movement through metal detectors.
Demonia had added a black ring to the hood of Ginny's clit, as well as a series of 4 metal gromets with a 1 cm diameter hole in each of ginny's labia, and through those were threaded thick, heavy stainless steel rings. Demonia loved how the tight young pussy was constantly under tension, and feelings and sounds of the rings colliding with one another could be felt and heard with every step. Hopefully Ginny would find these improvements as erotic as Demonia has.
Demonia looked away from the mirror. This room, intended to be Ginny's room anytime she was to visit Grimmald place, was now decorated a stark glossy black. The walls were covered with shiny black latex soundproofing. The floor had been covered with a strong black latex padding, which made kneeling easier, but was tough enough that stiletto heels would not pierce it.
From the ceiling hung various chains and straps much like her own playroom the chains and straps had runes etched in them that they could be controlled with almost no tantric energy. The bed was a King size four post bed with manacles attached to the corners, and black curtains. In the corner next to the mirror was a wardrobe, but in the spirit of magic, it was a walk-in wardrobe, which held more fetishwear than the average adult boutique, the dildo collection alone could have supplied three separate adult stores.
Demonia walked over to the wardrobe and removed some of her favorites. First, a pair of long black arm-length latex gloves that exposed her fingers, nails, as well as her palms. Next, she unrolled a pair of thigh-high black latex stockings onto her legs. Then she put on a black latex garterbelt to hold the stockings up. Panties were ignored for the moment, but a short black latex skirt made it possible for Demonia to go out in public if she so desired.
Next Demonia chose a black leather bra covered in metal studs, and finalized her look with a spiked collar. Yes, she had enjoyed playing dressup with her temporary body, but it was just about time to return. She decided to check in on Toxicity and find out how long they had left.
As Demonia walked down the hallway, she observed some of the other changes that had been made. The building's wards had been sufficiently modified to protect technology from the power surges that accompany magic.
One of Demonia's biggest contributions to Iris’s future apartment had been the installation of a playroom much like her own at home for turning innocent women into lesbian slaves. From some of the updates she had gotten from Toxi, and from her own monitoring, her plan had been going flawlessly, and Ginny had experienced everything that techno-mage tantric brainwashing had to offer. And the old sanitarium restraint chair that she had found online was delightfully sinister with its built in headphones and restraints.
After passing the playroom, the kitchen looked normal, but had a few secret cabinets to store items that could be used to knock out or subdue unsuspecting victims.
At the end of the hallway, the conservatory room had been one of Toxicity's projects full of crazy magic plants. From the hallway Demonia could see something that looked like a venus fly trap, only large enough to capture a person. What the thing did, Toxi had kept secret as a suprise.
Speaking of the demented wytch, Demonia knocked on the door to Hermione's room, and entered when she heard Toxi say to come in.
Where Demonia had abstained to allow Ginny the freedom to decorate her body in the future, Toxicity had clearly chosen to go in the opposite direction and lock in as many changes as possible.
The body that had been Hermione Granger's was almost unrecognizable. First and most attention grabbing was the hair. Rather than Hermione's bushy brown locks, her hair was now vibrantly green and dark blue. Neon green and Navy blue, with the sides shaved into an undercut with no hair on the sides of her head below the plane of the top of her scalp, the remaining hair was supplemented with green and blue cybergoth tech-dreads. The hair towards the left and right sides atop Hermione's head had both been gathered together and wrapped with black leather to create a double handlebar pigtail look, that came out at 45 degree angles from her scalp for about 6 inches in the wrapping, before coming through the wrapping to fall straight down past her shoulders. The remaining hair and tech dreads fell towards her back unrestrained.
Next, it was clear that Toxicity had taken Hermione's body to the plastic surgeon as well, because her tits were huge and had been expanded to G-cups. These tits were epic in that they were perfectly spherical orbs jutting out from her body in a display of pure whorish sexuality. Her butt was also made huge, soft and sensitive for any kind of touch.
Once a person recovered from seeing those two massive changes, the rest of Toxicity's changes were equally drastic if not as noticible from a distance.
Hermione's pussy had been shaved bald, and would never grow hair again. Upon her mound was a large green biohazard tattoo, below which began the piercings. The clit was pierced by a curved green barbell with emerald balls on the ends.
Like Ginny's body, Hermione's Wytch had installed four 1 cm gromets in each side of her labia. However Toxicity had located green and blue glow-in -the-dark gromets, and green and blue glow-in-the-dark horseshoe style piercings which hung from them. On the one hand, Hermione's piercings would look crazy under a blacklight or other light source. But unlike Ginny's wouldnt be as heavy, set off metal detectors, or sound like wind chimes as she walked.
On Hermione's right tit, Toxicity had tattooed the eight pointed star of chaos unbound, and had pierced that nipple with both a green vertical barbell, and a blue horizontal barbell.
On her left tit was a huge spiderweb tattoo, that nipple also had a green and blue verticle barbell, but had a black metal square piercing going horizontally through the nipple. Toxicity had an idea for that spiderweb tattoo, but did not have the time to learn the magic required to finish it.
Between the huge tits in the clevage was a large runic pentagram, of the type used by wytches to control and store tantric magic.
Just like Ginny, Toxicity had also tattooed runic pentagrams on Hermione's palms.
On her fingers Toxicity had two layers of tattoos. The fingers on her right hand below the first knuckles of her fingers and thumb now spelled the word: T O X I C, while the left hand spelled the word: W H O R E. Then for the area between the first and second knuckles on the fingers of her right and left hands combined to spell the name: S L A A N E S H.
Finally, Toxicity had done some substantial work on Hermione's face. First she installed seven spike piercings below the lower lip, specifically, a long standard labret spike in the middle, and theee more shorter spikes to the left and right. This was supplemented by a pair of snakebite lip rings on either side of the mouth. Neon green lipstick, triple tongue piercings in a triangle pattern. And a septum ring that hung down to the top of her upper lip.
Her eyebrows had been permemently shaved off, now over her right eye where her eyebrow used to be was the word DELIRIUM tattooed in a filigree font. Over her left eye she had two spike eyebrow piercings, and a tattoo that was a reverse-image of the delirium tattoo but written backwards in such a way that it was only readable in a mirror.
The ears were also covered in piercings with three spikes jutting from the back of each ear, and small 1 mm gromets in her earlobes. On the left side of her head where the undercut had been shaved away was another large green biohazard tattoo.
Toxicity was standing in the middle of the room looking into a full body mirror admiring the changes she had made to Hermione's body, especially the large back tattoo.
On her back the tattoo was amazing in its realism given how little time had been available. Clearly it would not have been possible without using magic to create it. In the tattoo, stood the current form of Hermione's body wearing a latex cybergoth outfit, and a black, blue and green cyber goth gasmask. That depiction of Hermione was looking into a mirror. Inside that mirror, was a depiction of Hermione as she had been, bushy haired and innocent in her hogwarts uniform, her hands pressed against the glass of the mirror as if trying to escape the glass.
Toxicity hoped that her student would love that tattoo as much as she did.
The room itself had seen signifigant change. Where before Hermione had not yet decorated her room, the room was now host to a huge custom size bed on a raised platform, currently with black latex sheets, and with mirrors and blacklights installed directly above it. The bed was honestly large enough to hold an orgy on.
To the left of the door was a huge desk and bookshelf that took up the entire wall. Hermione's own books had been unpacked and organized, along with all the books that Toxicity had sent over. There were also cubbyholes in the shelving. Some held things like gasmasks and dildos, others held bongs and potion ingredients. On the desk itself, there was a huge crystal hookah connected by a black tube to a gas mask. Identical to the one that Toxicity had tricked Hermione into using at their lair.
To the right of the door were three other doors. First, the en suite bathroom. Second, a walk-in-closet, that had similar expansion as Ginny's wardrobe. The closet was full, while there was a small section containing Hermione's original clothes, the majority of clothing that Toxicity had purchased was cyber-goth fetishwear in latex , leather, and a few magical hydes. As well as accessories from knee high army style boots with 8 chrome buckles , to 5 inch stilettos, and everything else a cyber-goth could need.
The final room was a mini potions lab and ritual room.
"Well Demi, this is the most fun I've had in ages!"
“Yes, now let’s check in with Vel, it’s the last day with our joyride in these bodies”
Coming out of TOxi’s room and moving towards the master bedroom of the apartment, which Vel has occupied for herself.
With Vel, She initially wanted to keep a balance between a little bit of freedom for Iris to choose things for her body and making some of the changes herself but she also wanted to leave a body behind, which will be well appreciated by now fully corrupted and transformed Iris.
She started with her room, the master room had become a shrine of corruption, designed to trap its occupants in a world of reflection and excess. Every wall and the vast ceiling were sheets of darkened mirror-glass, stretching the space into infinite copies of itself, each reflection more sinful than the last. At the heart of it all rested a massive bed, framed in dark, carved wood and draped in glossy black latex sheets that gleamed under the glow of strategically placed blacklights. The ultraviolet glow bathed the room in an eerie radiance, making tattoos shimmer, piercings glint, and every latex surface glow with an otherworldly sheen. The mirrored ceiling doubled the bed into an endless altar, ensuring that no movement, no act, no breath of pleasure could escape repetition.
Yet the room’s true secret lay behind an almost seamless panel along the far mirrored wall—a hidden door, invisible unless one knew where to touch. Beyond it stretched a walk-in wardrobe, its interior just as decadent as the chamber it belonged to. Blacklights here too set the atmosphere, causing racks of latex bodysuits, PVC corsets, sheer mesh, and leather harnesses to catch and glow faintly, as if infused with their own dark aura. Glass cases displayed toys of every imaginable size and function, polished steel and silicone gleaming under the ultraviolet haze—whips, paddles, restraints, vibrating instruments, and implements of wicked delight. It was not merely a wardrobe but an arsenal, a sanctum of corruption carefully curated to complete the transformation Vel had orchestrated.
Then she gave attention to Iris’s body. She noticed that as Demi had made significant changes but not too much to take away the freedom which Ginny will have to do those changes herself, on the other hand, Toxi had gone to the opposite direction and fully changed Hermione’s body. So Vel decided to do something way beyond anyone’s thoughts.
She started with her hair. She got a full 360° clean shaved undercut and then cut her hair to a very short jaw length asymmetrical A-line graduation bob where you could see her clean shaved nape from behind because of the shortness of the hair length. And then she dyed it in dark red and dark blue, green pop-ups, silver ash white roots and black tips.
Next was the face. Vel had worked with a steady hand, each act of corruption a deliberate rewriting of flesh. She had driven twin barbells through both brows, weighing the girl’s gaze with metal so that innocence could never again soften her eyes. Snakebites and spider bites framed her mouth, steel drawing her lips into a permanent echo of hunger, while a heavy septum ring marked her with the quiet brand of something feral.
Her tongue had not escaped Vel’s art. Split clean down the center, it now writhed like a serpent, studded with twin rows of gleaming steel and bound at its base with a spiked barbell. A tongue once meant for words of honesty had been transformed into a forked instrument of venom and seduction.
But it was the ears that bore Vel’s most intricate design. She had adorned them with rows of helix rings, forward helix studs, and tight rook and snug piercings that bound the cartilage into her will. Conch hoops coiled inward, industrial bars spanned edge to edge, and her lobes stretched under the weight of black plugs. Chains ran from ear to lip, weaving metal into flesh until even the act of moving set the body whispering with its own restraints.
Vel had not stopped at the face. Her corruption demanded more — a full tainting of flesh, an undeniable rewriting of form. She had sculpted the chest first, gifting it with implants that swelled the breasts into an exaggerated fullness, heavy and perfect, a living mockery of innocence. The nipples were not spared; each was crossed with steel, vertical and horizontal barbells forming a perverse crucifix of sensitivity which will not buzz in a metal detector.
Her hands had traced lower, inscribing control upon the navel — a vertical jewel above and a horizontal bar across, the intersection gleaming like a branded seal of ownership. Along the spine, Vel had marked her claim in symmetry: two straight lines of dermals running down either side, framing a bare strip of skin left intentionally untouched. That strip, she reserved for ink — a canvas where corruption could be written in runes by Iris herself. It will be her decision however she will leave an implanted idea of what she can ink on her back.
Even the body’s shape had bent to her will. Implants curved the hips and swelled the ass into an impossible hourglass, exaggerated beauty twisted into something extremely sexy. When Vel was finished, no natural softness remained; only sculpted excess, perfected through artifice.
But her darkest triumph lay between the thighs. Here, steel and sensation ruled. The clitoral hood was pierced twice — vertical and horizontal — jewels pressing against flesh until every movement throbbed. Beneath, the triangle piercing teased deeper nerves, ensuring no moment of stillness would be free of awareness. Rings lined the labia, glinting in rows, designed for chains or locks at Vel’s whim. At the very rear, the fourchette piercing closed the circle of corruption, while above it all, a Christina bar crowned the mound, gleaming like a perverse jewel of sovereignty.
She was still not done, though, her hands moved with the certainty of an artist and the cruelty of a most sinful corrupter. Piece by piece, she carved her mark into the girl’s flesh — not with ink and needle alone, but with will, lust, and ownership.
Upon the chest, just below the collarbones, she branded the most sacred of sigils: an inverted pentagram, black and crimson, its edges lined with whispering runes. It pulsed faintly, a core of tantric magic, a wound and a beacon both.
She drew runic spell-lines across the ribcage, etched like circuits of desire, crawling under the curve of breasts and down into the hollow of her stomach — a map of corruption that no eye could mistake for innocence. Between the twin rows of corset piercings along her back, Vel laced an occult script straight down the spine, runes burning darkly, a path for magic and submission alike.
Around her throat and shoulders bloomed thorned roses, a black choker of vines that seemed to cut into the skin. Across her hip and lower stomach, a serpent coiled, its inked fangs poised just below her navel piercing, tongue forked and hungry. Chains circled her upper thighs, locking inward toward her groin, their links heavy with the suggestion of eternal bondage.
Her arms did not escape Vel’s hand either: black lace gloves tattooed over her forearms and hands, a mockery of elegance, beautiful only because they could never be removed. On the tongue, Vel traced a dark venom line dripping down into the throat — so that even her very voice would taste of poison and lust. Below the pentagram, Vel marked the sternum with a third eye of lust, red and unblinking, an eternal voyeur upon her corruption. And deep within the inside of her arms, she burned hidden runes, only visible when flesh was exposed and vulnerable — sacred whispers, bound to sin.
But Vel was not without patience. Some marks she whispered into the girl’s mind, leaving them not upon flesh, but within desire itself — knowing she would one day choose to claim them.
The vision of Devil’s Wing sleeves burned in her arms, great shaded wings that would sprout from shoulder to elbow and her upper back. The idea of a barbed halo across the nape, a fallen angel’s brand, circled in her thoughts like a predator. And the most dangerous of all — the full spine script, a black rune-chain running from neck to tailbone, completing her transformation into a vessel of tantric power.
These were not forced. Vel left them as whispers, as temptations, as stains that the girl herself would one day welcome. Because true corruption, Vel knew, was not only what she imposed — but what the victim begged to finish for herself.
Vel stepped back at last, admiring the body she had forged. What once had been untouched flesh was now her masterpiece — swollen, pierced, engraved, tattooed, and entirely hers.
Once Toxi and Demi entered Vel’ room.
"So how have our targets been doing over the past few days?" asked Vel
"Targets, oh no, Ginny has truly become Demi’s apprentice. She has been soaking up everything we installed to teach her, and between the brainwashing and the spells I think she's come to love it. And as for Hermione..."
Toxicity reached down and began to fondle her pussy, "oh Hermione's transformation has been a wonder to watch. And don’t ask me like you aren’t also keeping eyes on our apprentices. This has been the most entertaining week ever. And how can we forget Iris....she had so much fight, but once she realized the real freedome is in corruption and seduction. She is soaking up every thing, rituals, spells, knowledge, corrupting smoke, everthing. She has moved even beyond Hermione and Ginny. She would be the leader of their group, leading them by her sinful examples and alluring seduction skills."
Demonia walked over and grabbed Toxicity’s right hand as she was fondling herself, and shoved two of her own fingers up Toxicity’s cunt. She worked them in and out ruthlessly, grinding the heel of her palm against the cybergoth’s clit while leaning in to flick Toxicity’s septum ring with her tongue. Demonia turned her head mid-motion, dragging Toxicity into an open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues met in a duel, the clash of steel piercing against steel ringing in the air as their tongues plundered each other’s mouths with a wet, metallic hunger.
It was then Vel slid into the scene, silent as a shadow. The corrupter didn’t ask — she never asked. Her forked tongue glistened under the dim light as she pressed herself against Demonia’s side, letting one sharp flick of her serpent tongue graze the sensitive edges of both their lips as they kissed. The shiver it sent through them made Toxicity gasp — and Vel wasted no time driving her hand down between Demonia’s thighs, forcing the demoness open as she whispered something in Parseltongue. The hissing syllables wound through the room, carrying weight like a spell, a command that both women felt low in their spines.
The forked tongue slithered between them, one half teasing Demonia’s pierced tongue, the other trailing down to catch Toxicity’s lower lip. It was corruption split in two, tasting both prey at once. Toxicity moaned into the kiss, shuddering, and came hard — her body locking around Demonia’s fingers. With a feral laugh, she pulled both corrupters toward the bed and slapped the blacklight switch.
The room erupted into phosphorescent sin. Toxicity’s biohazard tattoos glowed sickly green, her breast ink shimmered ultraviolet purple, and her pierced cunt flashed like radioactive steel. Vel grinned in satisfaction at her earlier craftsmanship, then shoved Toxicity down onto Demonia’s face.
Demonia devoured her immediately, tongue and fingers claiming the glowing, pierced pussy. Vel slid behind Demonia, yanking up her skirt and diving nose-deep into her dripping sex. But she didn’t stop with tongue alone — her forked tongue split Demonia’s pleasure in two, each tip caressing a different fold, flicking her piercing on one side while coiling into the clit on the other. Demonia writhed violently, trapped between the twin assault of Toxicity above and Vel below.
Toxicity, lost in the cycle, leaned forward and clawed Vel closer, tangling her free hand in the corrupter’s hair. She forced Vel’s mouth deeper into Demonia’s slit, grinding her hips until the three were bound in a chain of corruption: Demonia tonguing Toxicity’s pierced cunt, Vel tonguing and hissing spells into Demonia’s, and Toxicity moaning like prey caught in the middle.
The blacklight made every fluid glow — sweat, spit, cum — like neon witchfire. Their piercings clacked, their tattoos writhed under the glow, and Vel’s hissing Parseltongue coiled through it all, turning orgasm into ritual.
When Demonia’s relentless tongue finally set off the hidden corruption Vel had buried deep in Toxicity’s body, the cybergoth broke. Her cunt convulsed and she squirted violently — not a stream, but a blast — soaking Demonia’s face, hair, and chest until the latex sheets beneath them were slick and shining. The blacklight caught it, splattering in greens and purples, glowing across their skin like ritual markings.
Vel only laughed darkly, smearing the mess across Demonia’s lips before shoving her forked tongue into her mouth, making her taste every drop of corruption. Toxicity collapsed, trembling and glowing like a possessed idol, while Demonia was pinned in a web of tongues, piercings, and magic.
And Vel — hissing words only snakes and spirits could understand — knew she was far from done.
Now it was obvious why Vel also had gone with the latex sheets.
Well, they still had till evening to cleanup before the soul switch spell reverted.
Notes:
Please follow the link in my bio to read ahead.
Chapter 6
Notes:
Apoologies for the delayed posting, and checkout the link in my bio to read ahead
Chapter Text
Ginny reveled in the power, the ability to control her own destiny in the dreamworlds.
Yes, the brainwashing subliminals quickly introduced sexual fetishes and perversion into her mind, accompanied by magical instruction and empowered by the magical spell and it fed her sexual dominance.
In the space of several days, Ginny had experienced years of instruction in using tantric magic. And in terms of perversion, there was almost no sexual act that she had not experienced or inflicted upon others.
Through her darker experiences, she inflicted horrors upon the memory of Riddle. Both male and female. For her more loving experiences, she seemed to focus on Iris, Luna, and Hermione.
And then her corruption training took an unexpected turn... corrupting her mother. In some dreamworlds, Ginny took her revenge upon her mother for being overbearing, and stifling her life. In other dreamworlds, Ginny corrupted her mother, turning her into the very 'scarlet women' that she had always protested. Common slut, muggle streetwalker, lesbian dominatrix, brothel madam, dog-slut, punk whore, kidnapper and slave trainer, adult baby, latex gimp, kitsune furry, Molly-pig, each perversion of Molly was a sign of a permanent shift in Ginny's mind. To the point where she looked forward to being released from the chair so that she could try out some techniques on her mother.
Oh yes, not only was she aware of the brainwashing she was recieving, she had already recieved the training to operate such a machine and the attendant spells herself, and was looking forward to her release.
Ginny had lost all sense of actual time, and she was not the innocent girl that had been placed into the brainwashing chair.
So when the goggles went blank, and the dark whispers ended their instruction she had a feeling that things were about to change.
As the goggles were peeled from her face, she saw a pierced and tattoed slave woman. Yes she remembered this one. This was the one that called herself Pet mommy slave.
"Pet."
"Mistress Ginny", the slave responded as she continued disconnecting her from the chair.
Ginny summoned her tantric magic and a leather strap struck out like a snake to snap against the slave's ass. The slave shuddered as she came from the pain, but continued her work.
"Thank you Mistress Ginny, but Mistress Ginny needs to conserve her energy until Mistress Ginny chooses a pateon god."
Ginny knew this was correct. She had literally had years of instruction in tantric magic in her mind and knew the pros and perils of each eldrich god. The only two she would consider would be Lilith, the succubus goddess, or Slaanesh, the chaos god of pleasure. None of the others appealed to her.
"Yes, is the ritual circle prepared?"
"Yes Mistress Ginny."
The slave unhooked the remaining restraints, and Ginny flowed to her feet, recalling that she was in the body of her pre-programmed teacher Demonia.
Ginny was about to summon energy to warp the black haired seductively evil form in black makeup and black latex to something more to her own taste, but hesitated. No. The ritual needed to be done first. With an eldrich patron, all tantric magic would cost only a fraction of her reserves. And while in her real body, she could rely on her magical core to supplement the stored energy, in this body once energy was used, she would need to recharge it.
Now the recharging process was fun, but having to perform sex acts for the barest scraps of magic would be occasionally tedious, so no. Patron first, personal pleasure second.
As she stood up Ginny noticed that while she was wearing the same black latex catsuit that had covered this body from head to toe, but for her face, ears, tits, crotch, and fingertips, there was no body odor... well, that and now she clearly had a latex fetish that had not existed before.
Upon considering the odor question, her mind instantly came up with a response from her years of education. She had been subject to a cleanliness spell as part of the brainwashing process... but still, there should be an excess of girlcum and urine on the floor.
"Pet, did you address my urine and cunt-spray?"
"Yes Mistress Ginny, this one had the pleasure to capture and clean Mistress Ginny's love with this one's mouth."
Ginny appreciated the effort, and used her magic to summon the tool she needed. A strapon harness with an anal plug, and a mounting for a double dildo. She grabbed a double dildo from a nearby rack and locked it into place, then put on the harness. Enjoying first the feeling of the anal plug slipping into her ass, and then the front as one half of a black monstrosity was lodged deep within her borrowed cunt and the harness was completely attached.
As Ginny confirmed the ritual circle's design with the knowledge in her mind, she played with the labia gromets in this pussy. God, if nothing else she was going to want a set of these when she got back to her own body.
Everything checked out, Ginny grabbed Pet, and threw her down on her knees. Ginny stepped in front of her and without a word, Pet took the strapon into her mouth, and began to lube it. After a while ginny grabbed Pet's hair and began to throat fuck the slave. Once Ginny came from that act and the dildo inside herself she began to recite the spell to bind her to Slaanesh as an acolyte
Once the spell was recited, Ginny began to fuck pet's slutty pierced cunt from behind.
As she sawed in and out, the dildo inside her did wonderful things with every thrust.
Soon, as the orgasm began to build, she felt the connection form with her patron Slaanesh. Her vision flashed purple, and she knew her Wytch name. "Syyn" Ginny convulsed as her power reservoir was filled to overflowing, the runic pentagram on her chest so incredibly full that it was glowing purple and was visible through the black latex of her catsuit.
Ginny/Syyn recovered from the amazing orgasm, and called upon her power. The rune empowered chains and straps hanging from the ceiling came to life and in seconds Pet was completely suspended in the air as if she were in the reclining brainwashing chair.
Ginny/Syyn stepped between the slave's legs and concentrated. After a few seconds, she stuck out her tongue, which just kept coming out until she tapped the tripple piercings starting about 1 inch back from the tip, against her nipple piercing. Ginny/Syyn got down and placed her face between the slave's legs and rested her bottom lip at the base of the slave's cunt. She re-extended her tongue, like a snake slithering along the outside of the woman's labia, she found that this woman too had extensive piercings... five incredibly thick steel horseshoe piercings were pierced directly through each sides of the womans labia. As Ginny/Syyn's tongue wormed through there was a series of loud clunks as rings struck one another, until ginny reached the slave's clit ring. As her tongue began to play with that ring, ginny/Syyn lubed up her finger be sticking it in Pet's dripping pussy.
Ginny/Syyn begam to thrust in and out and eventually added a second finger, and then a third. Pet groaned at three. Ginny/Syyn added a fourth, and Pet moaned.
After working her hand in and out she got her entire hand into Pet's Cunt, and then made a fist inside her cunt. The slave moaned out loud "Ohhhhhh Mistress." Ginny/Syyn began to work the fist in and out, her latex encased arm looking like a huge rubber dong, sliding in and out between the pierced labia.
As Syyn/Ginny was fisting the slave-cunt, she retracted her tongue, placed her other hand on the slave's ass and cast a tantric spell designed for her next act through the hand tattoo. She then re-extended her tongue this time to the slave's ass and began working it in. The ass tasted almost minty-clean as she had intended.
Apparently the spell only worked on cleaning out shit, because after a few inches Syyn/Ginny could taste metal. A pair of ben-wa balls had been shoved up the slave's ass. At the same time, Syyn/Ginny was fisting the slave cunt all the way up to her elbow.
Syyn/Ginny wrapped her tongue around one of the balls pulled it out a little, before whacking it against the other sphere. The two then started shaking. The combined action made Pet mommy slave cum. Her orgasm squirting out around Syyn's arm as if somone was trying to stop a fire hydrant with their hand.
Once the slave stopped convulsing, Syyn stood up and licked a substantial amount of the girlcum from her latex clad arm, and walked to the door. After messing with three seperate locks she opened the door to see an average looking livingroom filled with a smoky haze and with a crazy looking purple haired cyber-punk bitch on a couch smoking a bong and fucking herself with a double dildo.
Syyn looked upon this scene and said, "Yeah, this seems right."
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By the second day, Hermione was well into learning the eldrich tantric magic that her Professor Toxicity had provided that wonderful book on. Although it was not mentioned in the note but she could see more of the books like the one she got which she will read after finishing this one. After all, what better way to master a new way of magic then more books.
Hermione giggled like a maniac any time she referred to Toxicity as the professor.
Hermione had left the bedroom several times but most of the doors in the building were locked, and the spells she had learned so far were of no use to open them. The kitchen was full of fast meals, and there were ingredients available if she wanted to make a complex meal, but for the time she had, microwave pizzas, cereal, and breakfast sandwiches were definitely sufficient.
Whenever Hermione left the bedroom, she wore the cyber-punk potions mask, but whenever she returned, she switched back to wearing the gasmask attached to the crystal hookah. The smoke from the hookah seemed to keep her mind open and her body horny. The best combination to learn tantric magic.
By now, Hermione was a master of self-pleasure using the double dildo. As she progressed through the book she had added the use of butt plugs, anal beads, and using both ends of the double dong for double penetration. Every time she came, she was able to feel the magic accumulate in her runic tattoo. It was strange to have no access to her magical core, but she supposed that learning tantric magic in a body where that was the only magic allowed her to focus on the new material.
The book had her experiment with all sorts of things. Both magical and sexual. Hermione was suprised how good it felt to have weights hanging down from her labia rings while she fucked her ass with an extra long but slightly thinner dildo.
In terms of Magic, Hermione had learned an abundance of body transfiguration, and mental manipulation spells.
As she learned the runes from the book, the mind warping effects of the eldrich runes book became more and more ingrained. Just 5 days ago, Hermione would never have considered using ilicit substances, or using extreme sex toys, but here she was not only accepting the corruption as a matter of course, but loving it.
In terms of mind arts, the very warping of her mind would provide an unbeatable defense. A Legilmancer entering her mind would find an unintelligible maze of impossibility. As for offensive techniques, the runes installed the spells in her mind. All she would need is the intent to use them on a person, and her magic would guide her.
This morning was the first time that Hermione had needed to refill the hookah. Now she was aware that the waxy mixture that it consumed was a combination of several magical potions ingredients as well as a concentrate of THC and certain psychotropics. "Hermione Granger nymphomaniac pothead... hee hee hee ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...heh heh." Hermione giggled like the madwoman she was quickly becoming. The simple act of doing something she considered naughty was enough to make her cum. Thinking about all the school rules she broke, she realized that she got a tremendous amount of pleasure every time she broke a rule. And pointing out to Ron and Iris that they were breaking the rule just heightened the pleasure. It's too bad that she never masturbated during those pleasure highs.
If she had, she probably would have cum like a freight train.
As the third full day became night Hermione reached the section on tying her tantric magic to an eldrich patron. The book recommended the chaos god Slaanesh. It explained that Slaanesh focused on sexuality and pleasure as its primary sacriment.
When compared to some of the other potential patrons, this seemed quite reasonable. Blood and anger? Disease and rot? Random manipulation and backstabery? Green ooze and monsters? No thank you.
No, if Hermione had to choose a patron for her tantric magic, then it would definitely be Slaanesh. Hilariously, the ritual to accept Slaanesh as her patron was basically more masturbation in a ritual circle and the adoption of a wytch-name something that represented her approach to tantric magic. When Hermione completed the ritual late on her second full night, Slaanesh accepted her as an acolyte, and she felt the acceptance as she came and her new name bestowed upon her: Delirium. If someone had been watching they would have seen her eyes flash purple the moment the ritual was sucessful.
Once Hermione/Delirium was able to move after such an amazing orgasm, she went back to the desk and put on her hookah gas mask as she pulled down the dictionary.
Delirium:
(1) an acutely disturbed state of mind that occurs in fever, intoxication, and other disorders.
(2) wild excitement or ecstasy.
"Hmmm, lets go with number two."
So she continued her studies, continued getting high, and continued abusing the fuck out of her borrowed pussy.
During the third day she learned that one of the strong points of tantric magic is body manipulation/transfiguration. She was able to play with Toxicity's body. The body started with DD-Cup breasts, Hermione/Delirium had messed with the tits, growing them into an absurd sized R-Cup and playing with them for an extended period.
The R cups were fun, but getting clothes that fit would not be. Hermione/Delirium brought them back down to a fake looking EE-cup and had proven herself able to change other parts of the body, including her face, hair colors etc. When she arrived, she arrived in a body that had blonde hair and purple streaks. Hermione/Delirium cast a tantric spell, and suddenly the hair was hermione's normal bushy brown hair. Then she cast it again and she suddenly had a shaved head but for a red mohawk. Then she cast it again, and a full head of hair was back with all the hair neon purple with length down to her ass, and black streaks running the length.
Then invoking Slaanesh, Delirium/Hermione was able to begin manipulation of her clit. It was a hell of a thing to watch her clit start growing while she had her favorite double dong still in her cunt. As the clit reached 5 inches long, the clit ring would now be called a prince albert. As she reached 8 inches long she lost her mind in a fury of self-pleasure anal and vaginal penetration with the double dong, while whacking off on a futa cock was crazy fun.
The cock was fun, but for Delirium/Hermione, it mostly just got in the way. Handy to create it when needed, but it was a distraction from learning and the utter joy of her cunt.
After that for her rest of the time their, she continued to learn more about her goddess Slaanesh and the magic. If staying horny all the time and keeping her mind was a side result then it was amazing.
Late on the 7th day Delirium/Hermione was taking a break from the studies as a pizza cooked away and she lounged on the couch in the living area trying out the portible bong from the desk drawer.
Just a week ago, she rejected using the bong because she felt it was naughty... something that she, a good girl, wouldn't do. Now as she sat on the couch, wearing nothing but a black pvc cupless corset, purple thigh high pvc boots, black studded wristbands and a black studded collar, and she sat working the double dildo in and out of her cunt, pausing only to re-light the bong on the table and take a deep toke. The naughtyness was the very reason that she used it.
Delirium now craved being a bad girl. Specifically, she wanted to do all the things she was taught not to do as a good girl.
Fuck authority, Fuck the laws, Fuck the Ministry, Fuck the prudes, and Fuck her cunt!
Then much to her suprise, a door which had been locked all week clicked repeatedly before the door opened…
=====================================================================
Iris knew she was stuck, kind of imprisoned and getting brainwashed to become a psycho gothic slut, in the name of getting her friends free. The tasks, rituals she has done when she first woke up, were already having a huge effect on her. Her mind was already playing tricks on her, showing her herself in the mirrors on the wall, not her actual body, but the body of the host, who was playing with her, to what end, she didn’t know. She figured this much out that she wasn’t getting out of here that soon. And with that thought, she fell asleep.
While she was sleeping, she was still inhaling the pot and thc oil which was getting in the room from hidden socket, arranged by Vel earlier. As the smoke filled the room more, the results became very clear when Iris got hornier by the second and her hands immediately went to her pussy to finger herself and get some satisfaction.
Unknowingly, she was playing right into the hands of her captors. Well basically, Vel, after taking Iris’s soul sample and connecting her with herself, she was able to look into her past and see what Iris has already been through. This information not only helped Vel with carefully arranging the room for Iris to corrupt her but also to know her better, her strengths, her weaknesses. The major point which Vel got was that iris was brave and loyal to her friends and could do anything for them, but also that Iris had shit shields in her mind.
Cause even after the war and the way she endured Voldemort’s and Snape’s legilimens attacks, she was still nowhere near close to making even rudimentary shield to protect her mind.
Vel took the advantage of that, but to keep things on safer side, she was using the continuous air supply mixed with marijuana, thc and other psychotropic and drugs to make Iris very suggestible, horny and need of sexual release every time.
So as Iris was sleeping, the aerosol drugs were working too, and in sleep, Iris fucked her pussy multiple times, cumming, again and again till morning. When she woke up, her body was not tired as she thought because of all the accumulation of tantric magic because of all the masturbations she did throughout the night. She weirdly felt powerful but then another pre-recorded audio of Vel for Iris.
“Well done Iris, you were able to complete all the tasks of yesterday. Now you are one step closer to freeing your friends and yourself. Today, you only have one task, which is to meditate and follow my voice in your head.”
Before Iris could do anything, recording ended and she was alone again. Without any more prompting, Iris immediately sat down to meditate. And once she went under, she realised that the owner of the body had left triggers for her, which she triggered without even knowing. Vel’s mind announced herself in the mind, “Hello Iris, let go of your past, dominate the brutality and manipulations you faced, surrender your will, and you’ll be free of the bindings on yourself.”
For Iris, it was like listening to a broken record, running in a loop. While this was running, the scene in front of her changed, she was back at dursley’s, doing chores and getting scolded over nothing as usual, but Vel’s voice was changing her. When Vernon was shouting at her for something Dudley did, she turned around and used magic to bind Vernon, Vernon screamed, fighted, but she did not let go, she tightened the bindings. Suddenly, there was a whip in her hand, she was using it, on Vernon. Similarly, she bound Dudley and Petunia. And used the whip to smack them over their body, and used her magic to tease them mercilessly. The invisible hands were continuously stroking and squeezing Vernon and Dudley’s dick, while a vibrator was getting shoved up in Petunia’s dry pussy.
Somehow, torturing the dursley’s was making her feel overjoyed and she was enjoying the feeling of it. Subconsciously, her thoughts were already changing, her moral side corrupting, her sense of justice getting sidelines by the selfishness of revenge.
In her dreamscape, now she was assaulting Snape and Malfoy in the same way, but she had also shoved very thick and large butt plugs in their ass. Outside her mind, her hands were continuously fucking herself, somehow a double ended didlo appeared in her hand which she used to fuck her pussy and ass together, She wasn’t having enough of it.
This ran the whole day and by night, Iris was already very deep in Vel’s control.
The next day when she woke up, she was looking forward to the new task for herself, she felt pretty amazing after taking the well deserved revenge from Snape and Malfoy, and Dursley’s.
The next day, no recording got played, but she was moved to a modified chair and tied up. A VR goggle over her eyes and noice-cancelling ear-plugs in her ear. Her hands and legs tied to the chair while a butt plug inside her ass, and a vibrator which can also stimulate her clit was shoved in her pussy, which all started with no warnings.
The visor started showing her memories from hogwarts, but corrupting them in every sense possible. The dream Iris got rid of Quirell the first chance she got then she started recruiting rest of the witches in her cult of freedom and free magic. And no one can stop her from teaching magic to her followers. Iris didn’t know where were these ideas coming from, but she was loving it. Every witch in the castle. She was aiming to corrupt them and make them her wytches.
By the end of the day, she had the knowledge to increase her strength by getting herself a patron god, only Lilith and Slaanesh were there, so she made the ritual circle, got the double ended dildo, found the hose which was releasing pot smoke in the room.
Before entering the circle, she took a large drag and entered with double ended dildo inside her pussy and asshole. Then, she started fucking herself, crazily, the joy and happiness she got from the experience was pushing her way over the edge. As she came closer and closer to a massive orgasm, the ritual worked and a violet and red glow appeared on her green eyes. And she got her name, “Lilith”. Named after the other Patron goddess, like an incarnation of the original goddess. A voice appeared in her mind, while her hands were continuously fucking her, unlike Vel, it sounded more like two voices, as one.
“Iris, our dear new devotee, you have impressed us way more than others, as a rewards, we give you more powers to you, with a single thought of yours, you can do anything, make a single, virgin, church going girl to a sex loving lustful deviant and so more.”
Lilith couldn’t believe herself, she has gotten the blessing of both the patron gods and she has absolute power to do anything. She got overwhelmed and passed out from cumming so much and the weight of so much power.
For the rest of her duration, she stayed in that state, accumulating to her new powers and learning how to use them in her dreams. She learned everything, from transforming a straight girl to a lesbian lover to changing anatomy of her body to getting it done on other’s body by just a thought.
By, 7th day, she had mastered everything. Iris initially had not given that much attention to Veloura’s body, but now when she looked at it, she wanted to leave a gift for her captor, no her mentor.
She increased the already big boobs to huge, and locked the size alongside making her ass huge too and hips wide. Giving her a very hot hourglass look. But for an amazing present, she made it so that Vel’s tongue can elongate anytime she would want and would be able to use parseltongue. It will help her in fucking her cunt by her tongue using parseltongue and well that is something to think of and fuck herself over again. As she was doing this, the door opened from an invisible panel by a mirror on the wall and entered two women, although she hadn’t seen them before, she could tell she had to show the dominance from start. The moment they entered, with a single thought, Iris, pulled them fully inside her room, got them naked and started fucking their cunts with vibrators while pushed their lips together. The other two women started kissing and tried to use the magic as well, but it only backfired as Iris reversed the spell they wanted to use on her, which made them cum uncontrollably. Iris was enjoying this way too much, but something felt very familiar to her about the, so she asked, “Who are you bitches, entering in my room without my permission and trying to use magic against me?”
They answered….
Chapter Text
As Synn stood in the newly opened doorway from Demonia's... (cell? Classroom? Brainwashatorium?) Syyn noticed that the cyber-punk slut on the couch was staring at the still wet strapon that she had not yet removed from her waist. "You want a piece of this, bitch?"
The cybergoth blew out a cloud of smoke and met her eyes before she said, "No you cunt, I want the whole thing!" The cybergoth then got on all fours on the couch and smacked her ass as an invitation as she pulled the black dildo out of her cunt, the gaping maw twitching open and closed. Syyn practically teleported over and grabbed a handfull of long purple hair as she whacked the strapon against the cyber goth's own grommet pierced labia.
(Syyn paused for a second... was labia piercing with grommets that much of a thing? Yes she would definitely need to get these when she was back in her own body... but back to the pussy at hand.)
"So bitch, what's your name?"
"Delirium. You?"
"You can call me Syyn."
Delirium responded "Pleasure to meet you" And Syyn chose that moment to thust the strap-on cock into her cunt with no warning. But since Delirium had been abusing that same cunt with dildos for several days, all it did was make her moan, a moan which turned into manic laughter as the fucking continued.
Syyn began to mutter a tantric spell, and as her left hand' pentagram tattoo began to glow, she slapped it on Delirium's ass... only nothing happened other than a moan from Delirium.
"Hee hee hee, you didn't say 'simon says'," Delirium cackeled as she raised her own left hand whose runic pentagram tattoo was now glowing purple. "But way to jump start my heart, sexy."
Syyn's stored knowledge instantly informed her that Delirium must be another eldrich tantric wytch, and that using such magic on a co-practitioner was... challenging, without permission.
"Don't worry sexy, I'm not mad. I can tell that your spell was the minty anal cleaner. I'm afraid I'm already cleared out, but I went with citrus-y fresh." Stated the cyberpunk slut as Syyn continued to fuck her cunt doggy-style.
"Since you're already back there how'bout making use of this", Delirium held the black double dildo she had been using by herself over her shoulder. Syyn grabbed it and immediately began working it into Delirium's ass.
"Ohhhhh. Sweet merlin that's goooood. So you just decide to drop by and fuck the newest Eldritch tantric wytch on the block, or are you just happy to see me."
Syyn was working the double-dildo in and out of Delirium's ass trying to set up a rhythm between that and her strapon.
Trying not to break concentration, she said, "well, i dont know about you being the newest Eldrich Tantric Witch. About 7 days ago i was helping my friend move into her house, and next thing I know, i'm in this sexy latex clad wytch's body, and they're literally pouring tantric magic knowledge into my head.
The Cyber Punk's head whipped around to look at her, her purple hair flowing like the cape of a matador, "Ginny? Is that you?"
The purple haired cyber punk shoved backwards hard, knocking Syyn over onto her back, as Delirium remained impaled on the strapon. Using her leverage, and possibly some magic, she spun around so she was riding Syyn cowgirl style, with the long black double dildo sticking out of her ass like an obcene latex tail.
The question rattled around Syyn's head for a second ... 'What? No... it can't be! she looked at the completely foreign person who was fucking herself on the strapon. "Her...Hermione? Is that you?"
"Eeeeeeeeee! OH my god! It is you Ginny, its like the best day ever, teeee he he he!" She leaned down and kissed Syyn hard on the lips, their tongue studs clicking, as their tongues sought dominance.
Syyn had not undone the tongue manipulation spell she had used on Demonia's Pet, and Delirium's eyes got wide when Syyn's tongue reached deep down her throat. Delirium began to bob her head up and down, as if she was deep throating a cock ( that was part of her day 2 dildo practice) all the while fucking herself on Syyn's strapon cock.
This continued for several minutes, as both tried to hold off their own orgasm to establish dominance, but Delirium was holding an ace in the hole, she had caught Syyn's spell energy in her own runic pentagram tattoo, and since it was Synn' energy she would have zero ways to stop it. So Delirium thought up her spell, and smacked Synn's tit with her hand. Instantly Syyn's tongue was as sensitive as a man's cock, and Syyn's cunt (which held the other half of the strapon dildo) became twice as sensitive than normal.
This pushed Syyn over the edge and she began to cum hard, the final part of the spell kicking in... Syyn's pussy was filled with vaginal fluid and clenched hard as her pussy attempted to gush her cunt-juice. However, with the strap-on in place, the fluid forced it's way out around the dildo like water from a hose with a thumb covering it. The spray hit Delirium's clit with decent enough force to feel like a water massager, and her knowledge of what was happening was enough to send her over the edge too. She moaned as she came hard, and that only drove Syyn onto a stupor as the vibraton from the moaning went into her newly sensitive tongue. Syyn withdrew her tongue as she blacked out, and she could hear the girl that was apparently Hermione say, "I guess I win."
It was several minutes later, when Syyn began to return to consciousness, she could feel a dildo being slowly worked in and out of her cunt, and then a pair of lips met hers, and rather than have a tongue force its way in, this time it was a mouthful of potent smoke. She opened her eyes to see a face full of piercings.
Delirium ended the kiss and said "glad to see you're back with me Ginny." As whisps of the remaining smoke floated from her mouth. "So is it safe to assume that you were placed in your trainer's body for the last several days as you learned Eldrich tantric magic, and other fun things?"
Syyn blew out the smoke that Delirium had shared with her as she saw that she was lying on the couch, Hermione perched on the coffee table her right hand working the black double dildo in and out of Ginny's pussy, and her left hand holding a bong. "Yep, this is apparently the body of Demonia, and as you can see, she is a fan of black and latex. I spent the last three days hooked up to a techno-magic brainwashing chair that put me in a dreamworld where I learned how to be a Wytch, and a sexy slutty dominatrix, you?"
"Tee hee, This is the body of my professor Toxicity, who is a total cyber-goth. When I woke up, I was in a room on a bed, fucking myself with this double dildo," Delirium nodded to the dildo she was slowly sliding in and out of Ginny's pussy. "As well as a sexy cybergoth outfit, and a gasmask attached to a hookah. It felt lovely," Hermione paused to take a hit from the bong, holding the madness inducing smoke in for a moment before blowing it from her nostrils in such a way that Syyn found incredibly sexy.
Once I could overcome the pleasure I read a note left for me that they put me in Toxi's body to learn eldrich tantric magic, and so I of course poured everything into learning from the book. Let me tell you, those eldrich runes are no joke. Norse runes can mean a single word, or a sentence, but eldrich runes, can mean an encyclopedia. Literally, you study certain runes, and once you understand it, suddenly volumes of information are in your head."
"Over the past seven days, i've learned the equivlent of entire libraries of potions, poisons, spells, curses, sexuality and corrupting others.... and yes, I've become a total nymphomaniac stoner bitch.
Down with the patriarchy! Up with the Orgi-archy!"
Synn grinned at the changes her somewhat prudish friend had undergone. "I suppose that while the paths were different, we had the same destination. So I take it from that you took a wytch name?"
She watched the cybergoth possed by Hermione take a lung filling drag from the bong, and saw her eyes flash purple for an instant before she began to release the smoke.
"Yes, after I adopted Slaanesh as my patron god, I took the name Delirium. A combination of pleasure and madness. It's increasingly appropriate, don't you think?"
"Oh yes, you are clearly a sexy beast, and there's no doubt that you're now a fucking crazy bitch, so I love it. That being said, can I still call you Mione?"
"Awww." Delirum leaned down and gave Ginny a peck on the lips. "You can call me anything you want sexy, but yes, you can still call me Hermione or Mione. Can I still call you Ginny?"
"Wellllll, my wytch name is Syyn, spelled S-y-y-n, and I think it really suits me now that Ive learned how to turn random women on the street into masochistic sex slaves and whores... but yes, you can still call me Ginny."
"Well... Ginny, you are here, I am here, don’t you think Iris would be here as well, locked in a chamber, getting corrupted by her mentor or getting brainwashed into a perfect little tantric wytch.”, said Delirium aka Hermione while laughing like a maniac and imagining Iris in different positions
“I believe she would be in the body of the 3rd woman I saw in a poster in my room.” continued Hermione while taking a big puff from her bong and exhaling the smoke right on Syyn’s face.
After inhaling the smoke from Delirium’s exhaled smoke, Syyn swayed a bit then said, - “You could be right Hermione and she might be trying to find us, if that’s the case, then we can transform her ourselves” and Ginny grinned.
“I don’t believe so, Syyn, if that was the case, she might have already found us, I believe she’s here, somewhere.”
Suddenly, a door opens up to another room, and the curiosity got the best of them so without any due diligence, they entered the room, but what they didn’t expect to get pulled further into the room with a force they didn’t imagine someone would have. And not just that, their meager clothes were pulled away and vibrators started to fuck their dripping cunts faster than anything they have experienced. Their lips were pushed together and nothing stops two tantric wytches from kissing while they are this close.
While they were kissing, they heard a sultry dominant voice, “Who are you bitches, entering in my room without my permission and trying to use magic against me?”
Delirium broke the kiss first and said, “I’m Delirium, I also used to be known as the Hermione Granger but after I went through my Professor Toxicity’s (Delirum again gave a maniacal laughter) teachings, and adopted Slaanesh as my patron god, I received this name - ‘Delirium’, a name which I’ll be forever”, giggled Delirium.
“And I’m Syyn, S-Y-Y-N, I used to go by Ginny but now after my brainwashing done by Demonia, I have become a dominant myself to corrupt innocent, sweet girls into my minions and pets.
Hearing this Lilith aka Iris, grinned devilishly, but before she could say anything, Delirium continued, “And I believe you are our Iris or now known as…”
Lilith laughed, leave it to Hermione, sorry, Delirium to figure out who she is in minutes after meeting her in this form, inhibiting Veloura’s body.
“You are so right my Deli”, Lilith boops Delirium’s nose, and snaps her fingers, now not just the vibrators are fucking their cunts but also butt plugs are fucking Syyn’s and Delirium’s asshole. Lilith gave a very evilish smirk.
“And my chosen name is Lilith, and do you know, I’m not just blessed by our goddess Slaanesh, but also the goddess Lilith and to honour both of them, Slaanesh granted me the power to do anything with just my thoughts, and not just that, she gave me the name Lilith such that that I am blessed by both of our goddesses. And now I’m going to show you both, what an actual Tantric Wytch can do and who your queen will be.”
And then the room obeyed her commands without even her saying them. Chains spilled from the ceiling, coiling around their wrists, spreading their legs. They moaned at the restraint, at how natural it felt to be bound for her. Ropes fell downa and wrapped around their boobs, and crotch, giving so much friction like a real hand rubbing hard on their sensitive dripping cunt.
Lilith leaned between them, licking a path down Syyn’s collarbone, then biting Delirium’s pierced nipple until the girl screamed and laughed like a nymphomaniac pothead she was. The mirrors magnified it, showing angles too obscene to be real. Syyn moaning as her whip cracked across both of their asses while Lilith watched, or Delirium riding Syyn while Lilith sat above, pulling their hair, licking them, sucking on them.
“Say it bitches,” Lilith whispered, pressing her thighs against their faces. “Say your names.”
“Syyn!”
“Delirium!”
“Good girls.”
“Now, tell me, who is your queen and everything, who’s gonna take good care of you, and who’s going to push you over the edge over and over, and again and again.”
“You my queen”
Moaned both Delirium and Syyn after cummng for the nth time from Lilith’s assault in their body. Not a single cell was unhappy from this though and they were mesmerized by the power of their queen. Then they again heard Lilith saying something,
“I can feel from the tugging on the runes in my hands that the body switch spell that got us here is coming to an end soon. I have already casted a few spells as a thank you, and a few spells as pranks for my mentor, would you be up for that?"
Tired but still full of energy by the idea proposed by Lilith, both Delirium and Syyn said, "Well, we really enjoyed the way you made us yours, and made us cum so many times, and we also want to leave something for our tecahers."
"Then don’t worry, Delirium/Hermione and Syyn/Ginny, I will set down the all 3 if us with a multiple dildo game I like to call ass-to-ass with a 3-way double dildo, so it will fuck our pussy as well as ass. If you cum your brains out, you're the winner."
"Sounds like a game where everybody wins. Let’s get started."
Chapter Text
Hermione—Delirium—felt a stiffness in her body as consciousness returned.
It was not the comfortable stiffness of waking from a long sleep, nor even the soreness of having spent hours in the library curled over parchment and ink until her neck ached. This was different. This was residual pleasure, woven through bone and sinew like a curse and a blessing at once. Her skin prickled as though it had been dusted with a thousand sparks of magic, each one ready to ignite at the faintest touch.
The last sensations she remembered came in a rush, tangled, feral: the exhilarating rhythm of using Toxicity’s body to pleasure Ginny—no, Syyn now—in Demonia’s skin and Lilith in Veloura’s skin. Their laughter had been wicked, delirious, punctuated by gasps and moans, the room around them drowned in neon light and dark light. They had been locked together ass-to-ass, double ended dildos connecting them in a grotesque parody of intimacy, yet it had felt transcendent. Their bodies had become ritual, their laughter a hymn, the madness of their orgy a prayer to something larger and darker than themselves.
They had cummed together and then, nothing. Blankness. They felt the pull and now, here she was.
Now she was back in bed. Her eyes getting used the darkness around her, she saw the edge of a gasmask, and she could taste the mind-warping that she had been learning to use and enjoy, to further her eldrich tantric magic and her horniness.
But there was more. As she started to feel her energy, something entirely powerful also pulsed inside her chest, her core. She sat up halfway, hand pressed flat over her sternum, eyes wide.
Magic.
Not the tantric siphoning runic tattoo. The magic filled her veins, set her on edge, made her fingers tremble with power. And running beside it, no, through it, was another current: raw, feral, tantric energy. Pleasure converted into power, desire transformed into sorcery, her new tantric siphoning runic tattoo.
Delirium gasped, laughing as the truth struck her like lightning, which made her more horny. She wasn’t in Toxicity’s body anymore. She was back in her own body. And she could tell that Toxicity had made some very significant changes in the last week.
Her eyes darted upward instinctively. Something had moved above. For one delirious second she thought the ceiling was alive—shifting, watching her. But no. Her pulse slowed, and her mouth curled into a grin. Mirrors. The bedroom had mirrors fixed to the ceiling, and holy fuck what did Toxicity do to her?!?
She saw herself.
And her breath caught in her throat.
The reflection that stared back at her was unrecognizable.
She didn’t know what to look at first, her hair or her tits.
She felt her hair—Hermione’s hair—had always been bushy, a wild mane of brown curls she fought against daily, transfigured, slicked, spelled, cursed, never quite tamed. But now? Now it was a crown. A luscious mane of dark midnight blue, every strand glossy and alive, threaded with jagged streaks of neon green. It shimmered as she moved, glowing faintly in the candlelight, like she had stolen strands of aurora and woven them through her head.
Two sculpted pigtails rose dramatically from her crown, each bound by a six-inch leather stalk, stiff and proud. From the tips burst cascades of green and blue like fireworks frozen midair. Alien. Punk. Otherworldly. Her hands reached up without thinking, touching the pigtails, tugging, confirming their strength. They were not fragile illusions. They were her. The sides of her scalp were shaved smooth—smooth as if razors had kissed her daily for years. Not a shadow of hair remained on those sides, just velvet soft skin.
She slid her hands lower. Her chest—her breasts.
Hermione had never been particularly vain about her figure. She’d been practical, pragmatic, focused on books and causes, not curves. But Delirium’s reflection was obscene and very naughty. Her breasts were massive and impossibly round, impossibly firm, huge G-cups that seemed to defy gravity even without support. She gasped and moaned as she squeezed them, flesh too perfect to be natural .
Experimentally, she wriggled her fingers and thought of decreasing the size of her boobs while using the spell she had learn earlier. Nothing. The spell fizzled uselessly against her skin. Then she used the spell to increase the size and they swelled, from G to H, I until they were R cup as she had tone in Professor Toxi’s body, a giggle left her mouth again, “He He He He HA HA HA HA” she played with them for a couple of minutes and then she returned it to her perfectly spherical G cups, squeezing them one last time.
“Implants,” she whispered, breathless, manic laughter bubbling up. “She must have installed implants.”
She squeezed again, harder, moaning at the weight and bounce. “No tantric magic to shrink these down,” she cackled. “Toxi gave me massive tits of an absolutely hot body.”
Her fingers trembled with giddy madness. She loved it.
As she moved her hands down across her face, she noticed that in addition to the runic pentagram tattooed on her palm, her fingers had tattoos on them. Her right hand read: TOXIC, on one set of knuckles and thumb, while further toward her fingernails, the four fingers read SLAA.
SLAA? Delirium looked to her left hand and saw it read: WHORE, and below that, NESH. Oh. Of course. So when she put her fists together, they read TOXIC WHORE SLAANESH.
The mind warped bookworm giggled at the defilement of her fingers, tipped with neon green painted fingernails, then looked at the room clearly designed for her. It was like someone created an orgy room within a library. Oh Toxicity clearly knew her tastes. Or was it more accurate to say Toxicity "new" Hermione's tastes. She cackled again at the pun in her mind, making tiny puffs of smoke come out the exhalation vent of the mask.
As much as she wanted to keep her bong mask on, Delirium/Hermione knew that Toxicity would have given her a complete makeover and she wanted to see if she could recognize her own face.
There was a full body mirror also mounted on the wall, Delirium stood up admiring the shiny thigh-high cybergoth boots which were covered in buckles and peeled the mask from her face, exhaling a cloud of sanity-breaking smoke, as she approached herself in the wall mirror.
Her eyes darted downward, following the reflection’s lines. Thigh-high boots, glossy black, hugged her legs like lovers, adorned with buckles and chains that jingled when she shifted. Between them, her cunt gleamed with piercings. Her labia had been fitted with green carbon composite horseshoe rings, swinging with every twitch of her thighs. She spread her legs in front of the mirror, watching the jewelry sway, her hand trembling as it hovered over her sex before plunging fingers inside.
A hiss escaped her throat. Pierced, stretched, transformed. She felt metal shift lightly against flesh, a constant reminder she had been rebuilt. And she loved it.
Her gaze tracked higher again, to her face.
Her mask still in place, removing it slowly, she found that Toxicity had done some very substantial work on her face as well.
If her body was rebellion, her face was apocalypse.
Piercings glittered across her lips—labret spikes, jagged and bright, flanked by smaller studs. Her eyebrows were gone, shaved clean, giving her eyes a wide, manic glare. And above them, tattoos. On her left brow, written backwards so it would read properly only in the mirror: Delirium. On her right brow, written forwards, so the world would see: muirileD. Her name, her mantra, her curse.
She tilted her head side to side, admiring it, giggling with a manic edge. Her lips spread, revealing more studs along her tongue. She licked one spike thoughtfully, tasting faint copper.
She leaned closer.
Her scalp tattoos burned brilliantly. On the left, the biohazard symbol, inked neon green, stark against shaved skin. On the right, the anarchist symbol—crude, violent, carved into flesh with devotion.
Her breath caught. The sight nearly dropped her to her knees.
A jolt of pleasure exploded through her body just from seeing it. A wave of orgasm without touch, born only from the power of ink, symbol, covenant. She pressed her forehead against the mirror, shuddering, gasping, a laugh bubbling into a moan.
“All my life,” she whispered, voice trembling, “I followed rules.”
Her fingers slid downward, trailing across her piercings, across her wet cunt.
For most of her life, she obeyed the rules, she made others obey the rules, but in the end she always had to break the rules when it mattered, because rules were made by people to control you, and so many times those people were wrong or just stupid (hem hem... umbitch)
And now... fuck the rules. "Fuck the rules." She whispered. Just the fact that she said that finally did bring her down to her knees, as she jammed her hand between her legs and began to roughly finger herself as she chanted her new mantra. "Fuck the rules... Fuck the rules...FUCK the rules... FUCK THE RULES!" As she came she saw stars, and heard in her head something, the sexiest voice she could imagine asking if she would dedicate her life and her soul to chaos and pleasure. Part of her then realized that the very spot she knelt on was a runic circle.
She understood, suddenly, what she had to do.
Delirium realized that Toxicity had planned this all out, and that she knew what to say
Her voice was ragged, raw, but filled with purpose.
“Slaanesh,” she cried, hands outstretched, body trembling. “I swear my life, my magic, and my soul to you!”
The circle flared, neon green and midnight blue. Lightning cracked through her body, each bolt orgasmic, each pulse tearing the Hermione away and leaving only Delirium. Her tattoos pulsed in rhythm with the light. Her hair flared brighter, streaks of green alive like fire. Her piercings hummed with resonance.
She screamed. And the scream was not pain—it was ecstasy.
When it subsided, she collapsed forward, panting, laughing, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Hermione was gone.
Only Delirium remained.
She rose slowly, deliberately, one hand tracing the word tattooed across her knuckles. Right: TOXIC. Fingers: SLAA. Left: WHORE. Fingers: NESH.
She made fists.
TOXIC WHORE SLAANESH.
Her grin widened.
She stood before the mirror, against the riot of blue and green hair, against spell-kissed skin, a heart roaring with chaos and pleasure.
She was ready.
For anything.
For everything.
For the world to become hers and her queen’s, she will help her make this world hers.
The air of the chamber was still when Syyn stirred, thick with the lingering perfume of lube, latex, and something more primal — the faint metallic tang of ritual blood and sex that clung to the walls like old wallpaper. The silence pressed in close, as if the room itself were listening for her first breath.
Her eyes opened into darkness broken only by faintly glowing symbols etched across the ceiling. For a moment she forgot herself — forgot her body, forgot the long chain of corruption and choices that had led her here. And then the weight of her body returned to her, alien and unfamiliar, heavy with alterations Demonia had inscribed into her flesh like scripture.
She sat up slowly, her movements whispering against the bed of glossy, rubbery material beneath her. The bed shifted with a squeak of latex — obscene, like the groan of something alive. She caught her reflection faintly in the mirrored wall across the room, and what looked back was both her and not her: Ginny, but stretched into Syyn, warped into something new.
The catsuit glistened as though wet, black latex sealing her from throat to toes, the skin-tight gloss exaggerating every curve of her athletic frame. But that body was no longer her own.
Her breasts were grotesquely, gloriously exaggerated — Demonia’s indulgence. The E-cup swell strained against the latex chest, the glossy black skin stretched to its limit, seams tracing along the edges of her heavy, obscene curves. She moved, and the material squeaked with each inhale, each motion pulling across her ribs and collar.
Syyn lifted her hands and turned them slowly. The sleeves of the suit ended sharply at her wrists, leaving the pale flesh of her hands bare. It was there that the first shock seized her.
Runes. Pentagrams. The skin itself had become scripture.
Then she noticed her hair, not just her pale straight hair, but in a different cut and a more darker shade of red, like blood running down her body as she cums again and again.
Across each palm, black tattoos pulsed faintly — sigils carved in ink but alive with magic. She flexed her fingers, and the lines shimmered faintly, feeding, linking, hungering. Her chest tightened, and she pulled at the zipper of the suit, dragging it just far enough to glimpse the matching tattoo burned into the flesh above her breasts: a great pentagram that seemed to throb faintly, beating in time with her pulse.
When she placed her palms flat over her chest, a current surged through her — tantric energy rushing like blood, like breath, like desire itself. It was familiar, achingly so. She remembered that surge when she had been inside Demonia’s body. But this was purer. Wilder. Hers.
Her grin came sharp and hungry.
But it faded when she caught the next detail in the mirrored wall.
Her face.
Pierced.
The reflection glittered with steel and rings — upper and lower snakebites on both sides of her lips, small hoops clinking faintly when she moved her jaw. She ran her tongue over them, and the sensation startled her — a scrape of cool metal against softer flesh. Her tongue met more resistance, and she realized what Demonia had done: three piercings through her tongue, arranged in a cruel little triangle. She pressed the barbell studs against the roof of her mouth, and the sound was a faint, sharp clack — obscene, like teeth on bone.
Her breath quickened. She could feel weight elsewhere too — the tug against her nipples, the foreign gravity pulling at the sensitive flesh between her thighs. Beneath the skin-tight latex, rings bulged, outlined stark against her pale skin. She muttered aloud, half in shock and half in delight:
“The fuck did Demonia put down there? Bloody padlocks?”
Her voice carried into the chamber, swallowed by the velvet-black walls.
She rose from the bed, the rubber mattress whispering after her. The heels struck first — six-inch stilettos, with platforms that bit into the padded floor. They lifted her body in an unnatural arch, pushing her balance forward, stretching her calves taut. Yet she found no clumsiness. Each step was effortless, as if the shoes had become part of her body, or her muscles had been subtly altered to adapt.
She crossed the chamber. At its center, a heavy table stood, polished obsidian inlaid with silver sigils. Upon it: a folded piece of parchment and her wand.
Her hand hovered above the wand for a moment. She could feel its thrum, its pulse — eager, resentful, alive. She took it, and the wood almost quivered in her grip, as though recognizing its mistress’ corruption.
Then her eyes caught the parchment.
The handwriting was unmistakable: Demonia’s. Fluid, sharp, mocking.
The letter unfolded like poison in her mind. Demonia explained, almost cheerfully, that Syyn would need to re-tune her link to Slaanesh — her patron, her god — through ritual climax within the circle inscribed on the floor. The words teased, whispered, commanded. The note promised gifts, tools, toys — a vintage brainwashing chair, a fetish collection hidden in the walk-in closets, treasures that would gnaw at her curiosity.
And then the warning: Do not enter the plant room.
Syyn frowned. Grimmauld Place had never had a conservatory. Not in her memory. Not in the stories of the house. Something had changed, something unnatural.
Her gaze slid to the end of the letter, where Demonia’s last words lingered:
“P.S. — I hope you enjoyed my pet mommy slave. Mine was just a random mother I wanted to corrupt… but I’d love to see what you could do to your own.”
Syyn felt her breath hitch. She looked down. The circle had already been etched beneath her feet, perfect lines of runes glowing faintly in the darkness, waiting.
The words were bait. But effective. She could feel her pulse quickening. The thought — corruption made flesh — lingered like incense.
She reached for the zipper at her throat.
It rasped downward, slow and deliberate, splitting the latex seal. The sound echoed, obscene, in the silence. She pulled it past her collarbones, exposing pale flesh and the glowing sigil burned into her chest. The pentagram pulsed faintly in time with her heartbeat.
The zipper continued. Down past her ribs. Past her navel. The latex peeled away from her flesh, skin hissing against rubber. Her breasts spilled free, pale and exaggerated, areolae shockingly dark against the pallor. The black steel nipple rings caught the dim light, glistening wetly. She raised her hand and let her fingers brush against one, the weight pulling at the pierced flesh. A thrill shot down her spine.
Her breath came shallow. She dragged the zipper further, past her stomach, past her hips, down until it halted just above the swell of her ass. The suit peeled away like skin, and she stood within the runic circle half-exposed, the tattoos and piercings glittering like holy ornaments in profane parody.
When she finally spread the latex at her crotch, the sight arrested her breath.
It wasn’t padlocks, not quite. But close.
Her clit hood bore a thick steel ring. But the lips of her sex — pierced with grommets, eight in total, each threaded with massive steel rings. They hung like obscene jewelry, thick as a man’s finger, clinking together when she shifted her weight. Like chimes. Like chains.
Her hand trembled as she touched them. The sound was sharp, metallic, echoing faintly through the chamber.
And when her fingers brushed against them, something inside her broke.
In all honesty, the sheer depravity of seeing her cunt pierced in such extreme fashion caused her to cum just from running her hand along the piercings and listening to them clank.
The circle blazed alive, light searing against the walls. Energy coursed through her body like fire through dry wood. She screamed — in agony, in ecstasy, in worship. The mark burned itself into her flesh, glowing pink against pale skin: the sigil of Slaanesh, proof of devotion carved into her mound.
Her body shuddered, collapsing to her knees within the circle. The room seemed larger now, darker, shadows bending around her. She felt her god’s eyes upon her, infinite and merciless, drinking in her degradation, her transformation.
She panted, chest heaving, rings clinking faintly as she shifted. And she realized — she was no longer Ginny, not really. She was Syyn. She was a vessel, remade, pierced, rewritten for her queen, and she will serve her till her last breath and orgasm.
She moved out to check on Hermi, no Delirium and her Queen, Lilith.
Iris, no, Lilith woke to a room full of glasses, mirrors.
She remembered dominating Delirium and Syyn at the loft, then fucking them together with a double ended dildo, they were ass to ass, moaning, groaning, screaming for release when they orgasmed and felt the pull.
Her first breath fogged against the air, cool and sharp, and when she opened her eyes she saw herself — not once, but a thousand times over. Every surface around her reflected her back: the walls, the ceiling, even the floor beneath the low red glow. Her body stretched into eternity, multiplied, each reflection a ghost of herself, each echo darker than the last.
The room was a shrine of corruption, hers now. The massive bed beneath her was draped in latex sheets, glossy and wet-looking under blacklight lamps that pulsed faintly from the corners. The mirrored ceiling doubled the bed infinitely, each mirrored Lilith, a woman in bondage, a copy waiting to awaken. No motion she made could hide from the mirrors. Every twitch of her lips, every blink of her eyes, every secret curve of her body was already stolen, already replayed.
She pushed herself upright. The latex sheets squeaked under her, and her breath caught at the sound — obscene in the silence. When she moved, the reflections moved with her, infinitely delayed, lagging by a second, as though the mirrors themselves wanted to hold onto her.
And then she focused on her hair.
Dark red clashed with streaks of blue and ash-white at the roots, jagged in ultraviolet glow. The cut was brutal — a jaw-length bob, sharp on one side, clean-shaven undercut on the other, exposing the raw skin of her nape. She raised a hand in disbelief, and her fingers brushed against the stubble at her scalp.
The touch made something glint.
Her brows were weighted with twin barbells. Steel dragged at her skin, changing her expression even in stillness. Below, her lips glittered with snakebites and spider bites, her mouth drawn into a permanent, hungry curl. The heavy septum ring swung slightly as she inhaled, brushing her lip.
Her tongue tingled. She opened her mouth — and gasped.
The split. A forked tongue, serpentine, studded with steel rows that caught the blacklight. It writhed in two directions at once, alien and alive. A spiked barbell pressed against its base, making every motion heavier, more obscene. She hissed involuntarily, the sound echoing in stereo from a hundred mirrored mouths.
Her ears itched with weight. She turned her head, chains whispering as they dragged against her cheek. Rooks, helixes, conches, lobes — every inch of cartilage bore steel, black plugs stretching her flesh taut, chains weaving from ears to lips so that every movement sang softly with restraint. Her reflection glittered like a chandelier of corruption.
Her chest heaved. And here too, she was no longer herself.
Breasts swelled unnaturally, implants exaggerating her frame into perfection beyond nature. She cupped one in need— it was heavy, obscene, tipped with black steel in a perverse crucifix of bars piercing each nipple. They crossed at perfect right angles, steel stretching flesh cruelly. Her gasp echoed, and the mirrors gasped back, endless, she squeezed them, and didn’t stop.
Her hand slid downward. She found the twin jewels at her navel, vertical and horizontal, like a compass pointing inward, a sigil of ownership. She turned, and the mirrors revealed her back — dermals marching down each side of her spine, a bare strip left untouched like a canvas waiting for her choice. She traced it, shivering as the skin burned faintly beneath her fingers.
Her hips. Her ass. Both sculpted to impossible hourglass curves. The latex sheets clung to her as she rose, and she nearly stumbled under her new proportions. Yet the mirrors adored her — each curve repeated, multiplied, worshipped.
An inverted pentagram sprawled across her chest, pulsing faint crimson. Runes crawled under her breasts and down her stomach, black spell-lines etched into her flesh like circuitry. Between the corset piercings of her back ran a script of occult symbols, glowing faintly in ultraviolet light. Around her throat, thorned roses bloomed in ink, a black choker of vines that seemed almost to cut. A serpent coiled across her hip, fangs bared just beneath her navel piercing.
She gasped as the tattoos shimmered. They weren’t static. They moved faintly, as if alive — roses twitching, serpent tongue flickering, runes crawling like ants under skin.
Her thighs bore chains of ink, circling toward her groin. Lace gloves tattooed her forearms, elegant and permanent. Beneath her breasts, a third eye glared red, unblinking. She felt seen, owned, pierced by her own desire.
And there —
Her mound gleamed. A Christina piercing crowned it, the jewel glinting like a perverse diadem. Beneath, rings lined her labia, glinting row by row, clinking faintly as she shifted. Twin bars pierced her clit hood, vertical and horizontal, pressing against flesh mercilessly. A triangle piercing tugged deeper nerves, making her hips buck when she merely brushed it. At the rear, a fourchette ring gleamed, closing the circle.
Steel and flesh merged. Her cunt had become an altar.
Her breath came ragged. She noticed she was in a runic circle.
The runes on the floor glowed faintly, waiting.
She knew what had to be done. Vel had left her here to claim herself, to finish the ritual not by command, but by choice, which she had already made.
Her forked tongue slid over her pierced lips. Her fingers trembled as they hovered near the steel between her thighs. The reflections around her leaned closer, watching, hungry, endless.
And then she touched.
Her hands caressing her mound, her waist, her hips, her boobs and her pussy. She used her tongue to suck on the piercing.”ahhh, ohhh” She had elongated her forked tongue, which wrapped around her pierced nipple and started to stimulate them. Her body, couldn’t stable herself and she almost fell on her knees, but she persisted, stayed standing in her naked glory, seeing, every inch, every part of herself, playing with herself, her fingers glistening with her juices coming out other cunt, and going deeper and deeper. She was close, and then she pinched her clit and at the same time, her pierced tongue, sucked hard on the wrapped nipples.
And then she came, she immedietely knew what she had to say,
“Slaanesh,” she cried, fingers still inside her cunt, body trembling. “I swear my life, my magic, and my soul to you!”
The purple glow was blinding, even more bliidning because of the mirrors. Since the ritual itself was to give a source of power so that the Eldrich Tantric Wytches wouldn’t go out of their magic powers, combining it with Iris’s, sorry, Lilith’s already powerful Magical Core, the result was a powerful aftershock, a power surge and a wave of desire, like a succubus was spreading their pheromones. The after force was earth shattering, and the magical backlash went throughout the house, also making Delirium and Syyn cum again.
She collapsed onto the latex sheets, gasping, pierced flesh trembling with aftershocks. Her reflections collapsed with her, endless Liliths writhing in mirrored devotion.
Her vision swam — and in the glass above, she thought she saw Vel’s shadow smiling back at her.
Now, her dominion will start and she have Delirium and Syyn.
And her first target, Luna.
Notes:
Please follow the link to read ahead: https://www.patreon.com/c/Lucifer07Morningstar11
Chapter 9
Notes:
Please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.patreon.com/c/Lucifer07Morningstar11
Chapter Text
Once Synn came down from the high of her climax and the strange satisfaction of sealing her pact with an elder god, she pulled herself together and remembered she needed to check on Hermione—no, Delirium.
The second floor of 12 Grimmauld Place wasn’t the same as when Ginny had been here a few days ago. Back then it had felt half-abandoned, with bare floors and only a few bits of old furniture left behind. Now it was different. Someone had been busy. The kitchen was stocked and gleaming, cupboards full of food. The living room had been cleared and furnished with expensive leather chairs and a polished table that looked out of place in the dark old house.
She moved further down the hall. One room had been completely transformed. White tiles lined the walls and floor. In the center sat a restraint chair, the kind you’d expect to find in an asylum. Beside it was a crude but effective brainwashing rig—the same sort of setup the Wytches had strapped Ginny into.
Synn grinned as soon as she saw it. She stepped inside, running a hand along the cold metal frame of the chair.
“Well, isn’t this generous?” she muttered, amusement in her voice. “Though… it looks like the accessories are sold separately.”
The chair was beautiful in its twisted way, but useless without someone strapped into it.
Her boots clicked softly against the floor as she left the tiled chamber. At the end of the hallway, she noticed something new—a glass door that hadn’t been there last week. Beyond it stretched what looked like a conservatory, filled with dense greenery and strange flowers pressed up against the panes. Something about it made her pause. She remembered the warning in that letter. Whatever was behind that glass wasn’t meant for her. Not yet.
“Later,” she whispered to herself.
For now, she had someone else to see. Her “best friend.” Or maybe “best fiend,” she thought with a crooked smile tugging at her pierced lips.
Synn stopped at a door on the left, one she knew had been prepared for Hermione’s—Delirium’s—use. She rapped on it with her knuckles, sharp and quick. For a moment there was silence. Then, muffled but clear, Hermione’s voice floated out:
“Come on in, Syyny… hehehehehe…”
Synn’s grin widened as she reached for the handle.
Synn stepped fully into the room, eyes immediately drawn to Hermione—or rather, Delirium, as everyone was beginning to call her now. The transformation was staggering, a blend of the beautiful and the unsettling, like watching a familiar painting unravel and rematerialize in dripping colors and erratic brushstrokes.
Physically, the change was the first, most obvious thing. The once tidy, practical brown hair now spilled in wild, tangled wave her scalp, clean shaved from side, the top of the hair gathered in two direction at 45 degree with 6 inch latex band keeping it constrained with techno braids embedded in them, shot with flashes of electric blue and violet that caught the light like living things. Her eyes had shifted as well—no longer the steady, focused hazel Synn remembered, but the madness leaving from them. Her skin glowed faintly pale, almost translucent, and contrasted against the tattoos on her body, runic similar to her own, then some more, it was a full corruption of looks and psych and though her waist remained slim, her boobs and hips were massive, implants, same as her, and there was an impossible chaos corrupt energy in the way she moved—like she might spring apart or dissolve into maniacle giggles at any instant.
But it was what lay beneath the surface, the psychological transformation, that truly left Synn breathless. Delirium was the fracture point between restraint and abandon, a tempest of brilliance and chaos fused into one. The Hermione she had known—the orderly, fiercely intelligent girl who absorbed facts and wielded knowledge like armor—had been shattered and reassembled into something rawer, more chaotic and real.
Delirium's mind danced on the knife-edge between genius and madness. Or it was more like that her madness had broadened her horizon and Delirium is the better version, maybe the best, corrupt and a pothead nymphomaniac version of old Hermione.
She immediately moved closer and took Delirium’s lips in hers and started kissing her while her hands began to explore her body.
Similarly, Delirium had also observed Syyn’s body, and she could see that Demonia had left sme freedom for Syyn to completely mark her body with tattoos and more changes. But none the less, she was now a fully depraved cunt who will do anything to corrupt a sweet little straight virgin to a pussy loving, fully obedient slave of hers.
Delirium was appreciating Syyn’s body in her head while thinking of multiple ways to fuck both of her holes at once when Syyn moved closer and took her by surprise. But she didn’t back down, her own hands started to caress and massage Syyn’s sensitive body. They both moaned into each other’s mouth when they both made each other cum with their fingers and hands.
“Shouldn’t we go and find Iris, sorry, Lilith, our Queen?” The moment Syyn asked that question, they felt a massively powerful wave of Lilith’s power running through them, the after effect being so powerful that they came again without doing anything and fell on their knees.
“Well that was definitely Lilith, let’s move before she comes here” said Delirium.
But before they could move, Lilith entered herself. Walking like she was gliding, so smooth, effortless. And ropes and other binding came to life, securing both, Syyn and Delirium, hanging them from the ceiling. And not just ropes coiled around their wrist and ankles to make them stay standing, but 2 steel benwa balls, a vibrator after that went inside their cunt, vibrating at its highest, and then came a thick butt plug in side their asses.
The stimulations were so good, but before they could even moan or speak, gags entered their mouth. Lilith had come to show who’s their Queen and she will achieve that without even lifting a finger.
“And here I thought my slaves would be already in front of my after I woke up, but what I find is that they were busy with themselves, making each other orgasm. Well, that’s not good, for you.” Lilith says while pointing her fingers at them, her runic tattoos, in full visibility.
Snap
The vibrator and butt plug start thrusting, fucking them.
Muffled moans and groans started coming out of Syyn’s and Delirium’s mouths.
While this was happening, Lilith’s mind was working at the highest capacity, she already had a plan to get Luna here and on multiple ways to corrupt her. But she also had an outline of a plan to ensnare the whole magical world.
No, not just magical world, but whole world.
“mmmmmhhhhhhhhh” “ mmmmmhhhhhhhhh”
Syyn and Delirium’s muffled scream notified her of their orgasm and she stopped it, removing the gag, butt plug and vibrator but leaving ben wa balls inside of them. Their face downwards.
“Mistress, apologies, we were about to come and find you”
“Yes mistress, we had almost left the room when you came”
“Raise your head, there is so much to do and we are not waiting for tomorrow, but before we start, come here and start taking care of my cunt and asshole”
Snap
Their restraints untie.
Once it was done, they raised their head and saw how beautiful corrupt Iris’s body, now Lilith’s body was. Veloura has done an admirable job, fully committing and still leaving a few things for Lilith to finish off on. Most striking was her hair, so sharp, domineering.
Delirium, ever so enthusiastic about cunt after corruption, went directly on her knees and started using her tongue on Lilith’s pussy, and clit. Her one hand’s finger already thrusting inside the wet cunt.
Syyn, went behind and started licking on, and inside the asshole, the ass cleaning spell already performed by Lilith, leaving a citrusy smell and taste, made Syyn crazy over her more.
After a few more rounds of orgasms, they were done and lying on bed, fully naked, still playing with each other’s body, but less.
Less enough to atleast converse and not leave the readers bored out of their mind.
“Well my slaves, I have a plan to lure our sweet dear Luna here and make her ours, who do you have in mind to do the same with, or you have different plans of your own.”
Syyn and Delirium were still in bliss, Delirium’s crazy but still working intelligence popped though and she said, “HeHeHeHeHeHeHeHe, well I was thinking of getting that skank Lavender here, I’ll make her my slave and show her who’s actually the boss here, and probably Pansy as well, now’s the perfect time for spreading the corruption. HeHeHeHeHeHeHeHeHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa”
“And I want to bring Cho here, she had eyes for you and I cannot let that crying nonsensical girl be free when she can serve you and us my queen. And can we also bring Romilda Vane, she tried to use love potion on you, we can make her our as well.”
Lilith actually got overwhelmed with that thought but she loved both of their ideas.
“Let’s start with Luna first, I’ll call her here by tomorrow morning and then once she is here, we can start on her education, sorry, correct education to become a tantric wytch under me. After that, we will bring others. Until then, find ways to also convert the muggles our way, so that when the time comes to actually start on our world domination, it would be a piece of cake, a walk in the garden.”
After the somewhat planning was done, they again went back to fucking each other, throughout the day and night, They were able to send a letter to Luna, knowing she will be here tomorrow morning.
Chapter 10
Notes:
Please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.patreon.com/c/Lucifer07Morningstar11
Chapter Text
The next day, the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place didn’t look like it belonged to three women who were, by most definitions, unhinged. But it now hid many secrets, after the renovations done by Demonia, Toxicity, and Veloura. The table was laid with eggs, fruit, toast, and even silver cutlery, as though some invisible servant had set it all up for royalty. The morning light broke through cracked curtains, painting the room in faded gold.
But none of them sat down properly.
Syyn lounged on the table itself, bare-legged, her fork stabbing at strawberries like she was gutting prey. Her lip piercing glinted every time she smirked, juice dripping down her chin in a way that was anything but innocent.
Delirium crouched half on a chair, half on the floor, wild-haired, pupils blown wide as if she hadn’t slept at all. She giggled between bites of toast, as though some secret joke was gnawing at her brain. Every so often, she’d flick crumbs at Syyn, whispering, “He he he he… you’re too serious, Syyny-girl.”
And then there was Lilith.
The Queen. The anchor of chaos. Sitting perfectly still, posture like a goddess sculpted from pale marble. She didn’t touch her food so much as command it—cutting fruit into perfect slices, eating with slow precision. Her silver ash hair fell sharply against her face, her green-glowing eyes flicking between the other two with something between amusement and hunger.
It was Delirium who broke first. She shoved her chair back, scrambled onto the table, and shoved half a strawberry into Syyn’s mouth before kissing her so hard their teeth clacked.
“Breakfast is boring. You’re breakfast,” Delirium giggled, straddling Syyn right there among the plates.
Syyn only growled, biting Delirium’s lower lip hard enough to draw a yelp. Her hands clawed up the other girl’s thighs, nails digging, pulling her closer like she wanted to eat her alive.
Lilith sighed. A queen’s sigh. The sigh of a woman who knew she would indulge them, but only because she allowed it.
And then she stood, slow, deliberate. Her chair scraped like a guillotine being lowered.
The room froze. Even Delirium stilled mid-grind on Syyn’s lap, shivering with some deep, feral recognition that the true Dominant had risen.
Lilith didn’t speak at first. She simply crossed the room and slid her hand into Delirium’s tangled tech dreads, wrenching her head back until the girl arched, laughing breathlessly at the pain.
“You two,” Lilith murmured, voice a low, venomous caress, “can’t even eat without turning it into a mess.”
“Because hunger is the point,” Syyn rasped, mouth smeared red from strawberries and Delirium’s lip.
Lilith kissed her next. Harder. Slower. She took Syyn’s jaw in both hands like she was claiming her skull as hers. Her forked tongue explores her mouth. When she pulled back, Syyn gasped like she’d been drowning.
Breakfast was forgotten.
Plates clattered, cutlery slid to the floor, and fruit rolled away. What remained was the three of them tangled on the table, mouths and hands everywhere, heat rising like incense.
Delirium’s giggles turned into moans, her voice high and broken. Syyn’s growls grew deeper, animal, desperate. And Lilith—Lilith moved among them like the spider at the heart of the web, directing, pulling, forcing mouths together, deciding who got to touch where, who was allowed to whimper.
Their measly, worn clothes were discarded the moment Lilith took charge, her finger trailing along Syyn’s body and her other hand pushing Delirium’s face towards Syyn’s already wet cunt. Her own mouth continued to assault Syyn’s, as her tongue elongated and swelled, giving Syyn’s throat a feeling that she was sucking on a dick. Delirium’s finger started massaging and playing with Lilith’s labia and clit piercings before she found her way into the pussy. Their moaning is non-stop. Their screams, out of the world. What was supposed to be a normal breakfast turned into a hot, sensational makeout session and then a full-on quickie between three tantric wytches. As they finished, all were panting and naked, their body glistening with sweat and their other heavenly bodily fluid.
By the time the sunlight had shifted across the room, the breakfast spread was nothing but chaos: overturned cups, shattered eggs, smeared butter, and three bodies shining with sweat and hunger.
Lilith finally pulled away, lips swollen, chest heaving, and whispered, almost teasing:
“Now that… is how queens eat breakfast.”
The table was a disaster—plates overturned, sticky jam fingerprints everywhere, syrup on thighs, crumbs in hair. It didn’t look like breakfast; it looked like sex had exploded in the middle of the meal.
Syyn leaned back in her chair, one leg thrown over the armrest, hair wild, lips still swollen. She lit a cigarette like she needed it just to breathe, exhaling smoke into the mess. “You two are animals,” she laughed, voice still hoarse from moaning. “Breakfast feels like an orgy every damn day with you freaks.”
Delirium rolled onto the table, bare ass, knocking over a bowl, giggling like she was high, she kind of was, her bong in her fingers. “Orgy? Babe, that wasn’t even round one.” She scooped jam with her finger, smeared it on her nipple, and licked it off. “An orgy would be when I can’t feel my legs for two days.”
Lilith sat like a queen in the middle of chaos, lazy smirk on her lips. She sucked a piece of fruit from her finger, eyes glowing that sick green. “She’s got that look again.”
Delirium scrambled onto Syyn’s lap, straddling her. “Yeah, yeah—who’s the victim for your first time, huh? Spill it. Don’t make me make you spill it while moaning on my fingers again.”
Syyn grinned like a wolf. “Yesterday was the last day as students. We graduated. Today is different and the first day as mentors/teachers. Today, I’m going hunting for my first victim.”
Lilith tilted her head, curious. “Who?”
Syyn exhaled smoke into Delirium’s mouth, then kissed her hard, pulling away with a nasty grin. “Eventually? Molly.”
Delirium choked on laughter, nearly falling off the chair. “MOLLY?! Oh my god. The mother hen. That’s fucking evil. I love it.” She was laughing so hard she slapped her own thigh, wheezing.
Lilith’s smirk deepened, slower, darker. “A mother undone. That will be… delicious.”
“But not yet. That’s a big one. That’s patience. For now…” She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a growl. “Cho Chang.”
Delirium gasped like she’d just been told Christmas came twice. “The sad little birdy? Ohhh, she’s gonna fold like paper. You’re gonna wreck her.”
Lilith licked her lips. “Pretty. Delicate. Perfect to break.”
Syyn leaned in closer, manic energy pouring out of her. “She won’t just break. I’ll put her in the same chair as I was. I’ll strip her down with tantric ritual magic and brainwashing until she doesn’t even remember she had a will. She’ll beg to be our toy. Every sound she makes will be ours.”
Delirium squealed, grinding against Syyn’s thigh. “Yes, yes, YES. I wanna see her begging. I wanna see her cry when she realizes she belongs to us.”
Syyn grabbed her hair, kissed her deep and messy, then yanked away with a laugh. She kissed Lilith too, slower, more reverent, biting her lip before pulling back. Then she stood, throwing her jacket on, already buzzing with the hunt.
“Keep yourselves busy with Luna,” she said, licking her lips. “I’ll be back with a new toy by evening. Cho’s gonna be perfect.”
Delirium was already writhing against the table again, whining for more. Lilith sat there cool and calm, like a queen watching her knight ride out to war, only her glowing eyes betraying the hunger.
The door slammed behind Syyn, leaving the two of them alone in the wreckage, dripping, restless, grinning like wolves.
Lilith and Delirium were tangled up in each other again, lips sticky from that syrupy, endless kiss that tasted like smoke and sin. Lilith pressed her tongue deeper, desperate to draw more of Delirium’s giggles into her mouth. But then she broke away, breathless, her chest heaving.
“Shit,” Lilith muttered, licking her lips. “Luna’s gonna be here soon.”
The name alone seemed to ripple through the chamber like a spark. Luna Lovegood. Dreamy little Luna, with that bizarre gift of seeing what no one else should see. A natural mystic, raw, untamed — and so very breakable once the right potions, oils, and tantric hooks were in her bloodstream.
Delirium’s grin widened, eyes glassy but burning. “Ohhhh, yessss. Sweet Luna. You know she’ll see me, even through the glamour. That’s the fun of it. She’ll see everything — the colors, the holes in the world, the… mm, the need.” She started giggling, grinding her hips against the sheets. “She’ll see me the way I already see myself — dripping, stoned, ravenous, oh gods, always needing release.”
Lilith chuckled, brushing her silver hair aside. “Exactly. Which is why she’s yours, darling. Luna’s got that perpetual state of half-orgasmic curiosity. Perfect for your… pothead nympho chaos.”
Delirium cackled, rolling onto her back, legs splayed, already toying with herself like she couldn’t wait another second. “Mmm, fuck yes. I’ll make her perma-horny, so even when she’s reading about fucking Moon Frogs, she’ll be grinding on the parchment.”
Lilith smirked, standing. “Then she’s yours. As for me…” She stretched, her latex creaking. “I’ll leave you to your fun. I’ve got my own itch to scratch.” And with that, Lilith sauntered out, hips swaying, off to her room to take the edge off herself.
Delirium was left laughing, humming, rubbing smoke-stained fingers over her lips. “Okay, Lunie-loon. You’re mine now.”
But then her high hit a snag. She frowned, looking around. “Where the fuck is my wand?”
She patted herself down — latex stockings, garters, sleeves. No wand. The thought made her right hand twitch, her runic focus tattoo glowing faintly. Suddenly she felt it — a hum, a warmth crawling along her arm. And then—
FWIP — a wand shot out of her latex sleeve, straight into her palm.
Delirium gasped. “Ohhh, baby.”
It was Hermione’s old wand. Ten and three-quarters inches of Vinewood, dragon heartstring core. But it was changed — lacquered in shiny black latex, pulsing faintly like it had a heartbeat. It thrummed in her hand, alive, eager, corrupt.
She moaned, clenching her thighs. “Oh, fuck. You feel me, don’t you? Both cores, both reservoirs, you greedy bitch.”
Green and purple sparks showered as the wand vibrated, and Delirium’s eyes went wide. “Ohhh, that’s new. Vibrating like a bloody sex toy.” She giggled, licking it. “Mmmm. You’re alive, aren’t you? Aware?”
She poured tantric shaping energy into it experimentally. The Vinewood’s length never changed — still the same 10¾ inches — but its girth swelled, latex stretching thick in her hand. Two inches wide. Then three. Then, nearly four, until she had to grip it with both hands.
Her jaw dropped. “Well. If I ever meet someone who can take a two-liter Coke bottle raw, I’m fucking ready!” She burst into insane laughter, head thrown back.
She shrank it back down, stopping at a sleeker size. That’s when she noticed — the Vinewood vines were no longer vines, but veins, ridged like a ribbed dildo.
Her eyes rolled back, and she bit her lip. “Ohhh, science demands testing.”
She kissed the tip, shivering as joy pulsed back into her. “We’re gonna be so close, darling.”
Delirium sprawled back onto the table, sliding a hand down between her pierced pussy. The rings jingled faintly, like tiny bells. She rubbed herself, eyes locked on the wand-dildo pulsing in her grip.
She muttered a tantric lubrication spell, but instead of coating the wand, the wand absorbed the spell whole.
Her brows shot up. “Wait… greedy girl. You drink it, don’t you?” The wand suddenly pulsed, bloated with energy.
Delirium probed the connection — and there it was, like a taut magical string tying her tantric well directly into the wand. She plucked it experimentally.
Her body seized with a mini-orgasm as the wand spurted warm, clear lube all over her tits. It smelled like cinnamon-apple pie.
She howled with laughter. “Oh, oh, you came! You dirty bitch! Did you just cum on me?!”
"Was it good for you?" The wytch asked as she stared at her expanded wand, before she wiped the lube onto her hand and smeared it onto her wand.
Once it was fully coated, the former Miss Granger started pistoning her wand in and out of her cunt. For some reason, it was locked to that length of 10 and 3/4 inches.
"Umph, I suppose that nnnh, it was part of, snngh, the wand's identity." She speculated out loud as she pistoned her tool and companion for the last seven years in and out of her corrupted whore cunnie.
Delirium kept thrusting her wand deep with her right hand while her left hand began fondling her pierced nipples. She got some of the leftover lube on her fingers and had an idea as she thrust a finger into her ass.
"Oh god, I love this. Fuuuck. All those years I could have been doing this, and I was too much of a prude."
Delirium continued to fuck herself until she felt like she was going to cum, and then "IIIeeeeeeeeeeeee" Delirium finally came with a screech. As she did, she felt her wand pulse and then paint the inside of her cunt with lube as if it was cumming.
When she finally collapsed back, sweaty and glowing, she stroked her wand lovingly. It pulsed, dribbling more lube like aftershocks. She smeared it across her nipples, moaning, before kissing the shaft reverently.
“Fuck. Apple-cinnamon. My cunt’s a Yankee Candle now.” She snorted, then burst into wild laughter again, curling on her side.
Her eyes flicked to the door. Luna would be here any minute.
Delirium licked the lube off her fingers, smeared some across her cheeks like war paint, then held her wand high. “Alright, baby girl. Time to put on a glamour. Time to make Lunie mine.”
Chapter 11
Notes:
Please follow the link to read ahead - https://www.patreon.com/c/Lucifer07Morningstar11
Chapter Text
Luna liked the way letters always seemed to find her. She never thought of them as bits of paper—it felt more like a message chose you, swooping through the world until it found exactly the right pair of hands. When she opened Iris’s neat little script that morning, she smiled as if it had been waiting for her all along.
They wanted her tomorrow, after noon. That was nice, she thought, because mornings were often for thinking, and evenings for dreaming, and afternoons—well, afternoons were for visiting friends.
She folded the parchment into her pocket as if tucking away a secret, humming faintly to herself while she fed the garden gnomes a plate of crumbs she’d saved. By the next day, the thought of Grimmauld Place tugged pleasantly at her like the pull of a tide.
It wasn’t that the house was beautiful. It wasn’t. It had a sort of scowling, tired look about it, with soot clinging to its stones and shutters that never quite opened properly. But Luna liked places that didn’t look the way they were supposed to. It usually meant they were hiding something important.
She rang the bell.
The door creaked open and there was Hermione, brisk and bright, who immediately wrapped Luna in one of those hugs she was rather famous for. Hermione always hugged as though she were trying to make up for all the times no one else had thought to.
“You’re here!” Hermione’s voice carried relief, warmth, and just a trace of eagerness.
“Yes,” Luna said serenely, her silvery eyes blinking. “You look a little more… solid than last time I saw you. That’s good. Some people go see-through when they’ve been studying too long.”
Hermione gave a startled laugh, squeezing her tighter before ushering her inside.
The kitchen had changed. Luna noticed immediately—it was tidier, quieter, and smelled faintly of herbs that didn’t quite belong in kitchens. She sat when Hermione pointed to the chair, fingers brushing over the wood as if she could sense the house’s old memories pressed into the grain.
A cup of tea was set before her, steam curling up in grassy-sweet ribbons. Luna leaned forward, inhaling. “That smells like it was picked by someone who sings to plants,” she said dreamily.
Hermione smiled, though there was something in her eyes that Luna didn’t bother naming. She rarely named things before they were ready. “It’s just a new blend. You’ll like it.”
Luna sipped. The taste was earthy, soothing, with a sweetness that clung like honey. It spread warmth through her chest in little ripples.
“And where are Iris and Ginny? I was looking forward to meeting with them, too,” asked Luna in her dreamy voice.
“Well, Ginny has gone out to run some errands, and Iris is just sleeping in today.” replied Hermione.
After that, they talked easily—Hermione asking about Luna’s plans now that Hogwarts was finished, and Luna answering with her usual calm certainty. She told her she wanted to follow trails of creatures most people thought didn’t exist. That she might travel, perhaps across seas where no one had yet thought to look. And alongside, she will start on magizoology mastery.
Hermione nodded often, listening with patience, and deliberate interest she wore like armor. Every time Luna took a sip and the cum emptied, Hermione’s inner thoughts kept getting more sinful than she could anticipate. She was imagining all the ways she’s gonna corrupt dear Luna.
“You always listen very carefully,” Luna said at one point, tilting her head. “Like a Wrackspurt waiting for the right moment. Not everyone does.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said, though her tone had a curious weight to it, still hiding her real thoughts. The tea actually contained some of the herbs and oil she would use in her bong and hookah or her gasmask for smoking, but it served it’s purpose very well with some sleeping potion in the tea.
The tea blurred the edges of Luna’s thoughts, though she didn’t mind. It was rather like being underwater—everything slower, softer, muffled by waves. She blinked at the rim of her cup, smiling faintly. It was making her drowsy and making her feel really amazing. Luna was thinking she’s gonna ask Hermione for the ingredients and recipe for this tea.
“You know,” she murmured, “this tea makes me feel as though I could sleep for a hundred years and still wake in time for supper.”
“That sounds about right,” Hermione said gently. “Just finish it. You’ll feel the best.”
Luna did as she was told, draining the last of it. Her head lowered to the table almost without her permission, cheek resting against the smooth surface. She giggled softly at the thought that the wood felt cooler than moonlight.
Her eyelids fluttered. The room blurred, darkening at the corners.
Her last thought before sleep took her was that Hermione’s smile seemed a little sharper than usual, like a mask slipping for just an instant. But Luna, being Luna, wasn’t afraid. She only thought, Oh, that’s interesting, and drifted away.
Luna wasn’t sure when her body went heavy. One moment she was sipping the tea, noticing how it tasted faintly sweet, with honey or some natural herb, and the next her head rested on the cool wood of the table.
She didn’t mind. The table felt nice against her cheek, humming faintly like an old friend whispering. She half-smiled, drifting. Her mind totally drifted away.
Delirium removed her glamour. After her makeover and spiritual, psychological awakening, even looking like Hermione for a short period of time, for our crazy pothead nymphomaniac, Delirium, was unacceptable. Still, she had to do what she had to do.
Well, Delirium started observing Luna for a second. Not in a frightening way—more like admiring her innocence. Her delicate, soft face. Her long, cascading blonde hair. Luna was wearing flared leg jeans, a colorful shirt, and a cardigan. Her ever-present, unique earrings,
“Oh,” she murmured. “That’s peculiar. You’re wet,” after Delirium sniffed around Luna.
“Hmm, never thought one could get that wet just by this much diluted version of the stuff I use for myself, but this sets an example for how to proceed with her. Gotta move her to my room, I have all the things I need to actually start on her, especially starting from making her addicted to this smoke, she’s gonna love it.”
Delirium, levitated Luna from the chair and moved her to her room.
As she lay Luna on the bed, Luna moaned in her sleep, squirming her thighs together. Delirium laughed like someone who had just smoked half the greenhouse and then discovered a new kink in gravity. She leaned on Luna, moving aside strands of Luna’s hair.
“You’re sooo cooked,” Delirium purred, voice rolling like honey over glass. “Most people would probably take some more time to come to this stage, but you are already exceeding expectations.” Delirium leaned more in, towards Luna’s ear. With a quiet spell, she whispered in her ear, “Scream, kick, cry. And when you are done, scream, moan, and cum for me non-stop.”
Her fingers—too many, or maybe just fast enough to seem like it—stroked Luna’s hair, twisting strands as though braiding them into similar tech dreads like hers.
Luna moaned faintly, eyes closed. “She is gonna be so fucking crazy and nymphomaniac like me.”, concluded Delirium.
Then Delirium howled with laughter, sudden and sharp, then just as suddenly stopped, bending close until her nose brushed Luna’s ear. “Gods, you’re delicious. I’m going to eat that brain, roll it in smoke, lick it clean—” she broke off, giggling. “No, no, not eat. Keep. You’re mine now. Mine, mine, mine.”
Something tightened around Luna’s wrists. Not rope, not cloth—chains, tight and living, curling like serpents. They wound her arms to her top sides, tugged at her waist, and pinned her legs spread on the bed.
Another moan. Luna, still sleeping, dreaming. “That’s gonna keep you in place. While I prepare for your corruption.”
Delirium, set up the room, smoke already filling in from her hookah. She will also set up a similar gas mask and hookah for Luna, so when she wakes up, she will also have to masturbate to release her gas mask.
“Yes,” and her clothes need to go. With the vanishing spell, Luna’s clothes were gone.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Delirium snorted, bursting into manic giggles. “Wow, such a cute little girl, perky boobs, small for some time, but perfect.” Delirium started to lick around the nub and sucked pretty hard when she heard another moan leaking from Luna’s sleeping form. There was some blonde bush down there in Luna’s body, but she will take care of it soon.
Her voice dipped, lower, hotter. “You like this, don’t you, dear moon? Even if you don’t know it yet, I think you’re gonna love the transformation you’re gonna go through.”
The light flickered, shadows pressed tighter, sliding across Luna’s skin with a strange, liquid heat. Luna shifted slightly, sighing.
Delirium pulled out the similar double-ended dildo she had when she woke up for the first time, and thought that this whole thing was a dream. And guess what, it turned out to be so much better. She positioned it halfway inside both of Luna’s holes after lubricating. “Well, that seems to be done. What else? What else? Ohh, yeah, how can I forget?” Delirium installed the hookah, connected the hose with the gas mask, and attached the mask to Luna’s face.
“It feels like for now, my work is done, let’s catch up with Queen dearest to plan next steps, ha ha ha ha, he he he he. She is gonna be so like me once I’m done with her. My perfect little copy and so much more,” she maniacled.
Delirium suddenly froze. Then she let out a ragged laugh again, eyes wild. “Oh, you’re not just gonna be more, you’d be the same as me and Syyn and serve our queen very well. I wanna eat you so much right now, but we gotta wait, good things come for those who wait, or amazing bad things come to those who don’t, I could—mmm—fuck you ‘til your dreams bleed into mine.” She nuzzled Luna’s neck, inhaling deeply, then jerked back to giggle again. “And you’d still just… tell me to do it again.”
Luna’s eyes, fully closed, soft, delicate. So much in pleasure in her dreams, only pleasure, so, so much pleasure. “You’re mine. Ours,” she said crazily. “And after your corruptive transformation, more.”
Delirium went utterly still. Her grin trembled, then stretched wider, manic, aching. She pressed her forehead to Luna’s, breath sharp, eyes burning.
“Ours,” she whispered hoarsely. “You’re fucking ours and more.”
And the smoke swallowed them both.
VulcanRider on Chapter 1 Thu 14 Aug 2025 05:18AM UTC
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GrokeBroke on Chapter 1 Thu 14 Aug 2025 04:51PM UTC
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Dark_Z on Chapter 1 Sun 31 Aug 2025 02:48AM UTC
Last Edited Sun 31 Aug 2025 02:53AM UTC
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lucifermorningstar_06 on Chapter 1 Sun 31 Aug 2025 04:55AM UTC
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GrokeBroke on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Aug 2025 08:44AM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Aug 2025 09:03AM UTC
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Cupcakee on Chapter 2 Wed 20 Aug 2025 07:57PM UTC
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lucifermorningstar_06 on Chapter 2 Thu 21 Aug 2025 01:09AM UTC
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Cupcakee on Chapter 2 Thu 21 Aug 2025 09:53AM UTC
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lucifermorningstar_06 on Chapter 2 Fri 22 Aug 2025 02:05AM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 11:06AM UTC
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GrokeBroke on Chapter 3 Sat 16 Aug 2025 02:07PM UTC
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goobjones on Chapter 4 Sun 17 Aug 2025 07:26PM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 4 Mon 18 Aug 2025 12:01PM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 5 Wed 20 Aug 2025 06:49PM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 6 Tue 26 Aug 2025 08:46AM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 7 Thu 28 Aug 2025 09:27AM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 8 Fri 29 Aug 2025 09:09AM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 9 Sun 31 Aug 2025 06:44PM UTC
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Agneska on Chapter 10 Tue 02 Sep 2025 05:47PM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 10 Wed 03 Sep 2025 07:35AM UTC
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VulcanRider on Chapter 11 Mon 08 Sep 2025 03:46PM UTC
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