Penthuisiast
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SD:CH142 - Where Desire Becomes Dominion
🕑 Added 2024-12-15 06:16:37 +0000 UTCI wasn’t prepared for this.
Standing in the center of my mindscape, the very ground beneath me shifted — undulating, as if alive. I could feel it pulse under my feet, like a heartbeat echoing through my soul, and I knew, without a doubt, that this creature standing before me was me. Me. The Incubus Lord. The side of me that I’ve only tasted, but never truly grasped. Never understood.
This was no male veela. No vampire with shining skin. Not an upgrade on some mystical Screen either.
It was the real thing. Real.
“Greetings,” it said, smiling at the utter, utter silence pervading my mind. “I am the Incubus Lord, Master of Lecherous Shrine. And you are the bacteria that wears the name of Harry James Potter. It is about time we had a talk.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuckety fucking fuck!
And here I was thinking that I had just gotten some breathing time after gift-wrapping Voldemort and sending him away for the foreseeable future.
Instead I had… Well, this.
The figure standing in front of me was me, but also… well, more. For one, his eyes burned with an intense, unnatural hue — green so bright that even the killing curse paled in comparison, with a ring of potent scarlet, an eerie mixture of seduction and danger. They threatened to pierce my soul, the weight of his gaze able to pull my very essence to the surface, leaving me naked, and utterly exposed, revealing me as the imposter that I was. Bacteria, he had called me earlier — a bacteria wearing the name Harry Potter.
How truly apt!
“Why am I here?”
The Incubus Lord’s lips twisted into a smile. And it was a dark thing, predatory, a perfect blend of charm and menace, with teeth just a little sharper than human, a hint of the monster lurking within. It contrasted sharply with that unnaturally pale features.
“To show you just how much you don’t know. Harry Potter must know, if and when he makes the choice.”
“What… choice?”
“To claim my mantle, or choose the abomination that haunts your scar. To give in to its twisted powers and seek to become a mockery of everything alive.”
He was referring to the horcrux, to the power within it — power that came directly from Voldemort himself, power that could make me ascend into a full-fledged Necromancer and then, into a Necrolord Primus.
The other end of the spectrum.
“Hmm. I knew something was weird when the Horcrux-Voldemort offered me that neat little package to absorb himself into me. And now the Incubus Lord himself has come down from his mighty throne with another sales pitch. Guess I’m an important customer, you know, for bacteria.”
What? I’m a wiseass, and if you are surprised by that, I guess you haven’t been paying attention.
“Levity. Good. You will need it. Come.”
But I hesitated. There was something I needed to know first.
“You know what I am, right?”
The Incubus Lord arched an eyebrow.
“I feel there are things you should know before I go with you.”
The Incubus Lord tilted his head slightly.
“I’m — I’m not Harry Potter. I’m — I’m an imposter.”
I didn’t know why I just did that. This was the Incubus Lord, the ultimate manifestation of the path I was striving to reach. And I had just sputtered out my deepest, darkest secret. But if the Horcrux — if Voldemort had access to my true memories, if it knew of my true identity, it was probably wise to balance both sides of the scales.
“I am aware. You will find that there are few things that have happened since your arrival that I do not know.”
I got that sinking feeling that reminded me of the time I first got called before Dumbledore back in second year.
Or well, Harry did.
Was there even a difference at this point?
“You, uh, you know?”
He gave me a very mildly long-suffering look.
“Right,” I said quietly. “You are me. Of course you know.”
“Just so. Although, not completely. I am an anthropomorphic manifestation of the end of your path. Or perhaps, one of them anyway. You would have done better by getting rid of that abomination when you got the chance back at Bones Manor.”
Yeah, I’ve been thinking along similar lines too. It would have saved me from a lot of headaches. On the other hand, that dark power was the sole reason I even got to know about Lucius serving Voldemort. Without it, I’d have lost Amelia for good, as well as everyone else in the attack.
“One cannot have everything, as you will most assuredly learn.”
Great. More cryptic talk. Wonderful.
“Now, come.”
“Uh, where?”
The Incubus Lord raised his hand and pointed behind me.
“That.”
I turned around to see what he was pointing at and…
…couldn’t look away.
Literally.
I saw towering spires, crooked yet magnificent, coiling upwards like claws, each embedded with fragments of memories — faces of people I knew, people I had fucked. Narcissa, Amelia, Hestia, Hermione…. I saw chains of light and shadows writhe around the spires, whispering in a language I couldn’t understand yet could feel deeply. I saw pillars, entwined with veins of pulsing light, and in that illumination, I saw my deepest longings, images of lovers, and threats, all twisted to serve my whims. Pools that were red like liquid desire, reflecting fractured scenes of myself engaging in carnal pleasure with my anchors. Each ripple was like a stab of truth, forcing me to confront my own history.
There was a strange, sickening yet irresistible drag about it. An immense gravity that made the Shrine the center of my senses, its impossible looming form, its towering spires reaching into infinity, twisting and warping with every passing moment.
It was calling out to me. Not with words, but with feelings — desire, ambition, domination. The whispering voices of countless souls echoed in my ears, begging, pleading, exalting…
“Do you see it? Do you feel it? Every flicker of desire, every glance, every touch — it feeds our power. They are already yours, they just don’t know it yet.”
He was right. I could feel them. Lust and yearning in their rawness, not just my own, but the others tied to me — my anchors, my lilims, their desires were rushing into this thing. And with that was an ever present sense of domination, the knowledge that I would own anyone who entered the Shrine, twist their wills to mine. There was guilt too, guilt that whispered that all the bonds I had forged, none of them were real.
It was wrong.
It was monstrous.
But it was… beautiful.
“What? What is… what is this?”
“This,” came a seductive whisper in my ear that sent shivers down my spine. “Is Lecherous Shrine.”
“Not a shrine,” I whispered back. “A prison.”
“Yes. And it has chains for everyone. Including you. Including me. Now, come. Welcome home, Harry Potter.”
“I… I’m not Harry Potter!”
My words came out weaker than I had expected.
It made him smile.
“You might as well be. It is the role you have chosen for yourself, after all.”
“The… role?”
‘Living The Role,” whispered the Incubus Lord. “Your Omniblend. You do not just narrate a story, do you? You become the role you are playing. All those tales you spun for your audience, all of that emotion, where did you think that came from?”
The bottom fell out of my stomach.
Living The Role. An Omniblend that granted me the art of stepping beyond my own identity, weaving a persona so convincingly that the audience — and even the universe itself — accepts it as truth.
The universe accepts it as truth.
My lie, crafted to fool Hestia and the others, was becoming — had become — reality?
The power was supposed to be a gift — all perks were gifts that I gathered by fucking others, and each of them added something to my arsenal or my repertoire. It was supposed to be a clever tool, a bit of flair to help me survive by convincing others, based on my knowledge of the books. But only now I was seeing it for what it was: a lie so perfect that it was devouring the truth, leaving behind only the version I chose to show.
"It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? To speak, and the world reshapes itself to believe you. But there’s a price to wielding this seductive power. Do you know what it is?”
His eyes glinted. “Ask yourself. You are not Harry Potter. You are an imposter. You have lied and cheated and misled your way, using every bit of knowledge, skill and people’s belief in Harry Potter to reach where you are now. And yet, when I offer to show you the greatest power of all, you choose to step back and reveal yourself for what you are. Seems rather… contradictory, does it not?”
His words hit me like invisible punches, and I staggered back. A sensation of ice-water trickling down my spine gripped me, and my stomach did a horrible twist. I wanted to yell at him, claim his sweet words to be nothing more than lies and falsehoods, yet I couldn’t. The Screen was many things, but wrong was not one of them. It had thrown me plenty of curve-balls, but it had never, not even once, attempted to derail me with false information.
The universe accepts it as the truth.
The universe….
Had I, unknowingly, used a version of Meta-Luck upon myself? Had i… unintentionally, recast myself as a time-travelling Harry Potter? After repeating the same story so many times to so many people, had my latest stint somehow turned it into reality?
Repeating the fact in my head that my lies had somehow transformed me into a time-travelling Harry Potter, one that had lived through it all, suffered through the losses, the emotions, the frustrations, and the battles… and the worst part? Nobody other than me was going to be affected by it, except for myself — I did the only thing I could.
I giggled.
The Screen was clear on this. The storyteller had to firmly believe in his own version of the story for it to take root in the minds and hearts of the audience. Was that what activated the Child of Prophecy perk? Because I had unwittingly attempted to convince reality itself? And succeeded?
“Yes, that is the part that has me floundering too, I admit,” said the Incubus Lord, looking at me with a half-amused, half-worried expression. “Enthralling the audience should not have devolved to enthralling Reality.”
“I didn’t use Meta-Luck either,” I said out loud.
I hadn’t used Meta-Luck by mistake, because apart from that being a voluntary choice, the Screen would have instantly warned me, and then registered the amount of Meta-Luck points consumed in the process. And yet, Living The Role had been crafted because my own Perk — Child of Prophecy clashed with Fate. And like Meta-Luck, there was only one other thing capable of bringing Fate into the equation.
“Nymphadora Tonks, she did something. She….”
Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was the Subversive Activist’s powers within Living The Role omniblend, or maybe my mind was finally connecting the points together, but the answer came easy enough to me.
“Felix Felicis,” I snarled. “Liquid Luck. She…. she had the gall to use Liquid Luck on me.”
Liquid Luck. Even in the books, the potion was practically sentient. It didn’t just create good luck for the drinker, it went ahead and actually prodded the drinker to act out in all sorts of ways to make their desire come true.
And if the Fate-altering effects of Liquid Luck clashed against Living the Role’s power to bend one’s perception, to twist their personal sense of truth into whatever the storyteller wanted….
Fuck.
And the worst part? I didn’t even know if I succeeded in making her believe my tale. But if I stopped believing in it, then it would have an adverse effect, both on myself, as well as the rest of my believers. Living The Role… it didn’t just bend the other’s perception, did it? It carved them to stone. And not even the storyteller can escape it.
I pushed through the shock, through the deliriousness, and laughed. Laughing at the absurdity of being impaled by my own skill. Relentlessly and hysterically, I laughed and laughed at the mad irony of it all. I laughed to the point that the Incubus Lord clearly wondered if I had gone insane.
“I…” My voice croaked. “...messed up…. Didn’t I?”
“Do you fear losing yourself, Nameless one?”
Nameless One. How apt! From the very beginning, I hadn’t been able to remember my name. And now, I was slowly losing my identity as well.
“Do not fret, Nameless One. Nothing in this universe is eternal. Not even the Universe itself. In the end, when the last star dies and the universe dives into an ocean of darkness, the End shall put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind it when it leaves.”
“And because nothing is eternal, losing my identity shouldn’t matter?” I half-asked, half-growled.
“You have become, are becoming, will become Harry Potter. That, Nameless One, is your identity.”
“The Harry Potter I’ve read about was nothing more than a wizard drawn by the nose by Albus too-many-names Dumbledore,” I said bitterly. “He wasn’t an incubus, or a necromancer for that matter.”
“Just like he never dived into the horcrux’s power, or ever sought control over the bestial powers of the yenaldooshi. “Strange are the ways of Fate, Nameless One. This power, this Shrine…. It is yours, Harry Potter’s home.”
“This isn’t my home,” I voiced loudly. “Lecherous Shrine lies dormant. I haven’t even gotten the needed anchorage to activate it.”
“Ah, denial. You mortals cling to it as if it will save you. But you feel it, don’t you Nameless — No, Harry Potter. Do you not feel the way this place calls to you? The way they call to you?”
He gestured towards the Shrine. As if in response, the spires flared with light, and the whispers intensified.
“Look closer, Harry. Every spire, every chain, every glimmer of light—it’s all them. Every soul you’ve touched, every heart you’ve ensnared. You built this, whether you meant to or not.”
Harry’s eyes are drawn to the spires, where images flicker like ghosts: Hermione’s determined gaze, Ginny’s twisted longing to be possessed and used, Amelia’s piercing stare. Each face is warped, their features twisted with longing, devotion, and submission.
A sense of horror overtook me. “This isn’t real. I… I haven’t forced them! The anchorage doesn’t work that way. I can’t just… force someone to like me! Twist their emotions, yes. Challenge them sexually, even give them pleasure like they’ve never experienced before. But I didn’t ensnare them. They came to me by their own accord. And they can always just leave.”
The wispiest shade of a smile formed on the incubus lord’s lips. “That, Harry Potter, is the funniest joke of all.”
....
....
....
During the course of the entire meeting, as Harry Potter narrated his entire tale, Narcissa had watched, curious, spellbound, shocked, afraid, even horrified. There was simply no question of doubting the veracity of his words — Narcissa had always been an excellent reader of people and their body language, and Potter showed absolutely no signs of any falsehoods. Whatever he said, truth or fiction, he utterly, utterly believed in it, and if the Head-Obliviator was willing to claim the authenticity of his mindscape and memories, Narcissa could fall behind that.
But between all of that, there had been one single question troubling Narcissa’s mind.
Lucius was gone.
Draco had forsaken her.
She was Narcissa Black again, and more importantly, was independently wealthy to maintain her lifestyle until her death.
She didn’t have to do anything with the House of Black. She could even just say goodbye to Harry Potter, give him the copy of the blackmail Lucius had on other people as an incentive to let her leave the British shores for good. Aunt Melania had a nice manor in the outskirts of France, where she used to spend the summers with grandfather Arcturus. She remembered being there with Andi and Bellatrix and the boys. She could just leave and be done with it all— Lucius, the Dark Lord, Potter, Dumbledore, everyone, and begin her life anew.
Unfortunately there was just one little issue to that.
Narcissa could have claimed that it was because of her son Draco. By staying in Britain, she’d be able to ensure that other interested parties didn’t use her son as a tool to exact their vengeance on Potter. Or even worse, Draco might just turn up wearing his father’s Death Eater regalia someday to fight Potter, and on that day, Potter would not hold back. Draco would die, perhaps not in the fiendfyre that consumed him in Potter’s tale, but he would die nonetheless.
It would have been an appropriate reason, just not the exact one.
The true reason was standing right before her. The reason, she was certain, was not Harry Potter.
Narcissa had had Harry Potter several times before. The young man was talented, powerful, well-endowed and most importantly, knew how to use his tool well. Easy on the eyes, especially with his ruggedly handsome features, and his constant efforts to rein himself and stay within the limits of morality, even when he knew perfectly just how much chaos he could cause if he just allowed himself to… indulge a little while. Working together to get rid of her former husband had shown Narcissa exactly how ruthless Harry Potter could be, and at the same time, demonstrated that his power of necromancy made him both vulnerable at the same time, absolutely fitting as the next Black Lord, with her standing at her side. Oh Narcissa had no dreams of marrying the young and virile Lord, as entertaining as it would be. No, she was perfectly happy to stay on as a lover, as a woman of House Black, and possibly, its Regent. It would be child’s play to get Potter to pump out a baby with her, given his incubus powers. A baby, Narcissa was certain, would become a perfect Black.
But this entity that was currently standing in front of her? This… this wasn’t Harry Potter. This was… something else.
Oh he still wore the face of Harry Potter, but with slight distortions — sharp, angular, and hauntingly beautiful. His hair, dark and black with deep raven-like hues, slick and smooth with a slight wave that shifted and moved with the shadows around him. The hair exuded an unnatural magnetism, almost as if it could entangle the minds of those around him. The texture felt soft, as if made from the threads of the night itself.
His skin was unnaturally pale, as if borne of white marble, glowing white marble. Every movement caused it to shimmer, absorbing and reflecting the darkness at the same time. An otherworldly aura irradiated out of him, a mix of danger and temptation, an intoxicating pull that was making it very, very hard for Narcissa to not just tear her clothes away and jump him like the others. His eyes glowed with a bright shade of scarlet, similar yet utterly different from the malevolent crimson in the Dark Lord’s eyes like she remembered. His muscles rippled, lithe yet solid, as though he was capable of unimaginable feats of strength and agility, exuding the kind of effortless authority that made it clear that he didn’t need to assert dominance — he simply was.
. All of those things were enticing enough by themselves, but what stood out more than anything else were the pair of wings that span out, dark as the starless sky. Featured but sleek, sharp like obsidian, and they moved around like a grace of prey, casting a shadow that somehow wrapped around the entire room, a perfect cage of seduction and fear.
And kneeling right in front of him, were Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance and Anastasia Greengrass.
Narcissa watched as the entity grabbed Hestia’s head and pushed it against his cock, the miserable girl barely managing to handle his width, the length feeling impossible despite being pushed into her mouth all the way till her throat. Vance, the closet deviant, was on her knees, licking the part that was still outside Hestia’s mouth, while making a grab for the balls. Anastasia was all over his resplendent form, licking every bit of his body and kissing it with an almost religious fervor.
But, whether it was Potter, or some kind of preternatural power possessing him as was the fashion these days, Narcissa would be damned if she didn’t get a first-hand experience of it.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she said, vanishing her robes, and grabbed Hestia by her hair and pulled her back, and instead forced herself upon his cock. Harry Potter pulled her head further towards him, and bucking his hips, he began facefucking her, stretching her throat roughly, holding her with in place as he fucked her mouth. Each brutal thrust forced more of his cock down her throat. Within ten seconds, Narcissa was gagging loudly, her eyes watering and tears dripping out, but Potter kept up his ferocious pace. He was breathing loudly and grunting, enjoying the feeling of her mouth around him.
And the best part? It actually felt good to serve him, but to be used like this felt even better than that. Physically, it hurt, but being treated like a slave was turning her on.his hands clamped hard against his cock, and Nacissa couldn’t breathe. But that didn’t matter. Needed more of him. Darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision. The last of his cock rammed into her mouth, and his swollen balls slapped against her chin. Her body quivered, and a furious orgasm surged through her.
Narcissa shook, and in that one moment of euphoria, she saw it.
Saw golden halls, saw a massive throne, ornately designed in a room just as grand, studded with enchantments and jewels that exerted gravity of their own, entrapped the gaze of the observer. And on that throne, seated like a god, was Harry Potter.
Females surrounded him. Hestia Jones, standing to one side, right behind the throne, an advisor. Vance stood on the other side, while Amelia Bones sat genuflected to his left, his loyal knight in service. Granger, transformed in a half-lupine transformation, sat on the right. But most of all, she was shocked to find herself — naked, lying down on the floor, entwining herself around Potter’s legs as she rose and licked his balls and cock, as if her life depended upon it.
And the worst bit? She was loving it.
The sight burned itself in her eyes, and Narcissa knew right then what she would do.
She would stay. She would stay for him. She would stay on his side, on her knees, sucking him and being fucked into the throes of ecstasy by him, while he twisted everything and everyone in his image.
And that, Narcissa decided, would be glorious.
Comments
Larry
thanks
Vinccool96
The last chapter before start of 4th year better be named “the end of the beginning”
frosty gamur
extremely well wrote, with great dialogue. cant wait for next chap
Elton2K Dre
Nearly 150 chapters and we've what just finished the summer before his 4th year??
Hadrian v.E.
Ho, boy.
Noon2Dusk
Please fix this part Physically, it hurt, but being treated like a slave was turning her on.his hands clamped hard against his cock, and Nacissa couldn’t breathe. But that didn’t matter. Needed more of him. Darkness was creeping into the corner of her vision.
