Penthuisiast
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SD: CH42 - Welcome To My Parlor
🕑 Added 2023-03-19 14:09:42 +0000 UTCShe saw him sitting behind the desk, reading some files.
A feeling of intense deja-vu gripped her.
Harry Potter didn’t even look up as he beckoned her to come forward with a finger.
Like she didn’t even merit a word.
Harry Potter looked up, and there was something utterly mystifying about his intense, green eyes. Then his hand moved and lifted a folder….
Penelope swallowed.
…
…
Fear could literally feel like ice water. A cold feeling that you swallowed, that rolled down your throat and spread into your chest. It stole your breath and made your heart labor when it shouldn’t, before expanding into the belly and the hips, leaving quivers behind. Then it headed down to the thighs, and the knees, stealing the strength from your muscles that you could use to run away.
Penelope swallowed a mouthful of that fear, her eyes on the folder in Harry Potter’s hand. She didn’t want to think of how similar it was to her dream, and certainly not about what followed after he raised that folder.
She definitely didn’t want to look down at her already drenched panties.
“This is your file, right?” asked Harry Potter.
“... yes,” she mumbled.
“I couldn’t hear you.”
“Ye—yes, sir!”
“LOUDER!”
Penelope flinched, and nearly orgasmed at his tone. “So—sorry, sir! I— I said, yes. That’s my file, yes.”
“Good. Come closer.”
“Ye—yes,” Penelope croaked. Every single second was reminding her of her dream. How was this happening? But she didn’t want to displease him any further so she quickly crossed the distance between them and stood at the edge of the table. Her nipples were already stiff, and her eyes scanned the table for the wooden paddle. A part of her kept warning her to leave and escape before things got out of hand. The rest of her just focussed on how her pussy clenched at the idea.
“Take a seat.”
Penelope let out a small sigh of elation, while also fighting the burst of disappointment rising out of her. The constant dichotomy she was suffering was becoming excruciating. At this point, she just wanted one of them to happen, even if it was a re-enactment of her dream.
Harry Potter softly pushed the file across the table towards her. Did that mean he wasn’t going to throw it at her? Why?
“Outstandings in six NEWTs. Exceeds Expectations in the rest. Multiple papers in publication. I’m a layman in the subject, and I think that your theory on structural lattices and their relationship with the stability of enchantments is phenomenal. If what you suggest is true, then the entire field of enchanting would see a major breakthrough.”
‘Rubbish! You think this classifies as work? I’ve better things to do than throw gold on your day-dream. Anne! Who allowed this mud—muggleborn to see me?’
Penelope kept quiet. She had heard the same response over and over. Ministry offices, private research organisations, individual sponsors— she had tried everything. By the time she had finished her NEWTs, her list of rejections had already crossed a score. Compared to that, what Harry Potter was saying was—
“It’s tr— just a th—theory,” she said. It took everything in her to say theory instead of trash.
“Well yes,” said Harry Potter. Why wasn’t he getting angry yet? Why wasn’t he slapping her? Why wasn’t he calling her a mudblood? Why? Why? Why?
“Someone of your calibre should be working in the highest echelons of the government. Hestia tells me that the Department of Mysteries should’ve snatched you right off the bat.”
Penelope clenched her fists. She had indeed gotten a letter from the Department of Mysteries. But every Unspeakable intern had to pass through a formal check through the Litigation & Survey office, a minor department within the DMLE, that carried out a quick check about the person’s records, possible criminal history, past recommendations, rejections and (much to her disbelief) what major pureblood families thought of them. Depending on all of them, the office gave a Yay or Nay sign.
Was this Harry Potter’s way of taunting her? Every single word that came out of her lips sent her down memory lane, reminding her how she had been treated by the magical world. Was that what he was trying to show her? How helpless, how stupid, how pathetic she was? Was he indirectly stressing on how she had no other options than to do whatever he wanted?
If it was, why was he playing with her? It would be better if they just got on with it.
Her fingers began to undo her skirt, and she nearly stood up, ready to push it down to the floor.
“I mean, I can obviously understand you weren’t hired,” said Harry Potter, “which only speaks of how much the system is corrupted. I know I said I had a job for you, but that was before I knew of your credentials—”
The skirt was almost undone now.
“ —I guess, the real question is, are you willing to work as a researcher for me?”
Penelope paused.
“...”
It took a few seconds for her brain to reboot, and a couple more to realise what he had said.
“I mean, you can always work as an enchanter, but I’d rather have you in a research position,” finished Harry Potter kindly.
“You— you want to give— you want to give me—”
“Hire you as a researcher, yes,” said Harry Potter. ‘My new company, Moonforge Inc. deals in enchanting products. We take muggle technologies, and then enchant them for use for magicals. The major issues of course lie in the enchantment fading with time, and compatibility issues that muggle structures have with magic. I am hoping that if we can test your theory on this, and if it’s a success, then we can change the enchanting industry for good.” He paused, and cupped his chin. “Granted, I don’t have any other workers at the moment, so it's mostly goblins doing the lion’s share of the work. But I can get Hestia to throw in an employment offer in the paper. You’ll have to help her screen for the right participants though, since neither I nor Hestia are experts on this subject.”
Penelope opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then she opened it again.
She did the same thing over and over.
“Uh, do you want some water?” asked Harry Potter. “You look… uncomfortable.”
“You— you’re really giving me this job? No tricks?”
“Well, if you’re interested, then yes. I understand if you have qualms over me using your theories and research for my company’s exclusive profits, but I’m willing to pay you a good salary for it. Say, two hundred galleons per month, with accommodation and travel costs. You can live here, if you want, unless you disagree, which is perfectly fine.”
Penelope decided that she must be dreaming. Harry Potter was inviting her to stay in this house- this mansion, over her shithole of an apartment? And two hundred galleons? Per month? Even if she worked overtime at the parlour, the highest she could imagine making wouldn’t cross fifteen.
And that was without considering the other perks.
“Wha— what do I have to do to join?” She asked. Curse her! She needed to stop stammering.
“Well…” said Harry Potter, “I suppose you’ll do better asking Hestia about that. She kind of runs the entire thing. I’m already in the process of acquiring a large building to use as my factory premises. Kind of like this house, only dedicated to the company. If you’re onboard, then I can ask Hestia to hasten her search, and then we can progress from then on. For now, I can send you the existing research and product descriptions we have got. Once you’re done, I’ll get you in touch with the Gringotts representative. That is, of course, if you’re on board.”
“I am,” said Penelope, inwardly glad at not having stammered this time.
Harry Potter looked surprised. “Oh… I suppose, awesome then. Do you prefer beer or firewhiskey? I think I have some muggle champagne if that’s your type, what with being muggleborn and everything.”
He pushed out of his chair and walked past the table and pressed against the wall on the right. A transparent section expanded out of the wall, revealing a tiny bar within it. She watched as he poured expensive firewhiskey in one glass, gave her a look, and then poured into another.
Then he held one out for her.
Penelope couldn’t help herself. She stood up. Her mind was in a trance, stuck between trying to believe her good fortune, and not disappointing him. Whatever tiny functional part of her mind that was left kept pointing out that she was forgetting something important.
Something very important.
Penelope pushed the chair back, and walked up to him.
She took the glass gingerly and took a sip.
And then her skirt promptly fell off.
“...”
…
…
Harry Potter had not thrown her out. Harry Potter had offered her a job. Harry Potter would pay her two hundred galleons a month. Harry Potter had invited her to drink with him. Harry Potter was staring at her dripping panties.
Harry Potter had not thrown her out. Harry Potter had offered her a job. Harry Potter would pay her two hundred galleons a month. Harry Potter had invited her to drink with him. Harry Potter was staring at her dripping panties.
Harry Potter had not thrown her out….
Penelope just stood there, her mind stuck in a loop, her body frozen as she watched the kindly expression on Harry Potter’s face change to surprise and then to amusement, before a gleam flashed in his eyes.
Her pussy clenched.
Slowly, he put his glass of firewhiskey down on the counter, before crouching down, his cool green gaze staring at her, his cruel mouth twisted into a smirk.
Her pussy clenched tighter. Penelope felt like she’d die out of shame.
And yet, she made no move to pick her skirt up.
Harry Potter reached down and grabbed her skirt, and with an exaggerated slowness, pulled it up. His hand came into contact with the dripping juices crawling down her left thigh, and a jolt of electricity ran up her spine. He finally pulled the skirt up to waist level, and stood close, very close to her, holding the skirt together.
Her mouth went dry like the Sahara. Something about the way he looked at her sent shivers down her spine, like he was sizing her up. Like she was a deer, and he was a lion, looking for his next meal.
“You must be careful, Miss Clearwater,” he said, “People might get wrong signals.”
She swallowed.
He came closer, closer, until he was able to reach her back. Just a slight more, and her breasts would be touching his chest. Penelope felt his thin, calloused, Quidditch-playing hands on the small of her back, as pulled the skirt up from all sides, and pushed her shirt back in, touching her arsecheeks in the process.
And she still did nothing.
“I mean, you do not wish for people to think you’re a bad girl, are you?”
His low voice made her heart skip a beat. She stood there, like a mannequin, as he tied the skirt back together before taking a step back, like a sculptor evaluating his handiwork. Penelope was sure his gaze went down to that lone trickling droplet of her pussy juice that was hovering at her knee.
She bit her lip, uncertain. She felt like she was being tested, or maybe she was in the wrong place altogether.
“Look at me!”
Her pussy clenched at his firm tone. His piercing eyes were hard to look up to, and she feared he’d look into her soul and find her unworthy.
“You’re my employee from now on. Mine. You must be cool, confident and collected, not a timid little mouse.”
Her mouth dropped open. A mouse? He didn’t even know her! She raised her chin defiantly, straightening up to his full height. She wasn’t sure where the courage was coming from.
It couldn’t have been because he said she was his belonging. Could it?
“Yes, sir!”
His lips twitched into a half-smile. “Very good.”
Penelope nodded and started to walk towards the door. After that embarrassing moment, she wanted to hide in a dark corner. Disillusioned, under privacy wards. Maybe let the earth swallow her?
But Harry Potter had different ideas. He grabbed her wrist, making her gasp. He drew her close until they were almost nose to nose.
“Remember that you represent me now. Clean yourself up before you meet Hestia and start working. And Miss Clearwater?”
“Y-yes?”
“Don’t let me down.”
Penelope tried hard not to tremble, even though he had pulled her so close. He smelled clean like rainwater, but his hot breath on her face made her avert his eyes. Was this how he always acted? This demanding and confrontational? She had always seen him from afar, and he had always appeared like an introvert, happy to be within the confines of his two friends. She had always seen him as a boy.
This? This was a man.
A dangerous, domineering man.
A predator.
She gulped. “I will, sir.”
He let her wrist go, and she moved quickly across the room towards the door, feeling his gaze on her back until the door closed behind her. When it clicked shut, she leaned back against it, and let out a deep breath.
Draco Malfoy was a dog. Hunting among packs.
Harry Potter was a wolf. Lone. Deadly, and absolutely terrifying.
Penelope knew she had gotten a massive opportunity. To become something she could be proud of. Why, oh why then, did she feel that she was an unsuspecting little fly that had crawled into a spider’s web?
Comments
Sage Berthelsen
That woman is gonna get ruined.
