Penthuisiast
patreon
SD: CH41 - Deja-Vu
🕑 Added 2023-03-12 11:03:13 +0000 UTCHis secretary let her in.
A worried Penelope entered Harry Potter’s office. The room was… like an office, she supposed. She was quaking too much out of tension to care for the finer details. She saw him sitting behind the desk, reading some files. He 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 that looked intensely familiar before he moved it in an arc and then threw it at her. The folder slapped her face and fell down.
Penelope couldn’t even think about picking it up.
“Trash!” said Harry Potter, standing up. “Your credentials are trash. You’re unqualified, and stupid and a mudblood. You’re sloppy and you can’t even handle a tray of drinks properly. What good are you, stupid mudblood?”
Penelope wanted to say that she wasn’t here to be a waitress. But no word came out of her mouth.
“You’re useless. Unqualified. Mediocre at best. Like a filthy mudblood, you’ve been clawing at things you don’t deserve. Crabbe had the right idea. You deserve to be slapped around. Like a whore.”
Penelope staggered.
“Tell me, mudblood, why should I hire you? Draco wants to throw you into his dungeons and use you as a cum-bucket. Crabbe wants to slap you around and Goyle thinks you’re not worth his time. Maybe he’ll piss on you if he feels like it. I’d know, They invited me to their party as a thank you gift.”
“I— I—” she tried. “I can—”
“Do nothing,” said Harry Potter, in a brutally disinterested tone. “My elf can get things done better than you, and it works for free. Fortescue won’t take you, and Malfoy wants you for his dungeons.”
Fear flooded inside her. “Please— please, please sir. Please just hire me.”
“Hire you, you say?” asked Harry Potter. “Very well. Let’s see. Walk up to me.”
On wobbly legs, Penelope shuffled over to him, head bent low, unable to make eye contact.
“Now remove all your clothing, mudblood,” he ordered. Penelope blushed, and before she could question herself why she was agreeing to it, she reached up, and with horribly shaking hands, began to undo the buttons of her blouse. When the last one was undone, she hesitated for a moment, but with a sigh of resignation, her shoulders slumping in defeat, she shrugged the blouse off to her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Her naked breasts, with nipples as hard as rock chips, stood prominently on display for her employer to see. There was this weird, twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach, which forced her to comply with her demands. Reaching behind her, she undid her skirt and then her panties, letting her shaved pussy come into view. Gravity did the rest, and the garments fell at her feet. Sensing Harry Potter’s eyes on her, she could not bear to look up and meet them. She could only bite her lips and hover in that emotional space somewhere between excitement and humiliation, as she nervously awaited his next move.
She heard him leave his chair, and the twisted, burning feeling in her stomach went up. She saw him pull out a wooden paddle, and slither it up her waist all the way through her cleavage and neck, until it went off a trajectory, only to reverse and skid down her back, all the way until it slowed down to her arse.
“Now, Mudblood,” said Harry Potter. “We’ll see if you’re worth anything. If you can follow my orders, you’ll have the job of being my bitch. If not, I’ll throw you to Malfoy and his ilk.”
“...sir.”
“LOUDER!”
Penelope almost pissed herself. “Ye—Yes! Sir!”
“Now cup your tits for me, Mudblood.”
Reddening further, Penelope hesitated for a second, before reaching up and cupping her tits, lifting them up slightly. The feeling in her stomach was overpowering. Closing her eyes, she waited for what was about to happen.
SMACK!
The wooden paddle landed upon her right breast, and then upon her left, leaving bright red marks behind. Penelope screamed in pain as her breasts felt like they were on fire. She fought the urge to cover her breasts before Harry Potter smacked them again.
And again.
And again.
Tears streamed down her face. Penelope sobbed from the pain and the confusion. But no matter what, she did not leave. She could not leave. The twisted feeling in her stomach had reached a crescendo. It wanted the pain to continue. Pain was pleasure and pleasure lay in more pain.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
“On your knees!” Harry Potter commanded. Like a rag doll, Penelope dropped on all fours. She felt Harry Potter stick two fingers in her pussy, which was gushing with her fluids. She— was she loving this? Did she crave this subjugation? Was she… his whore?
And then he pushed it into her.
Penelope could feel it, feel that cockhead against her slit. He reared his hip back and slammed forward. His first thrust smashed something very large and very thick into her. His width alone caused her to scream, stretching her to her widest. He continued to brutally jackhammer into her, forcing more of his spear into her insides. Penelope’s eyes were bugging out of her head. He was splitting her. She was in agony. Tears welled from her eyes. If she hadn't been so well lubricated he would have ripped her vagina in two. Her reddened breasts bounced up and down with the force of his thrusts. He turned his abuse to them, squeezing, twisting, slapping and pulling. The pain was subsiding slowly. Each thrust brought more pleasure. He pulled at her nipples. She could feel something deep in her. He battered her cervix. Pleasure was mounting. Moans poured from her lips. She could feel her orgasm mounting. She raised her legs, trying to tighten for him. Pain returned, but he grunted. She was pleasing him. Her eyes rolled back. And then the little alarm clock beside her began to ring…
Wait. What?
…
…
Penelope opened her eyes, and found herself lying in her one room bed in Knockturn Alley, her mind still reeling from the dream. Harry Potter. She had dreamt of Harry Potter. Somehow, her mind had taken the rejections she had faced from Ministry bureaucrats, the constant reference to Draco Malfoy, the way Crabbe had assaulted her, and most importantly, her insecurities over finding a new job, with Harry Potter and his offer. Somehow, her mind had tied his dominance, his anger and his authority with her insecurities to create this monstrous persona that had her quaking in fear.
No, not fear.
And the reason for that correction was slightly below where her hands currently lay.
Arousal.
His dominance, his rage, his cruelty. It aroused her.
It was… it was so confusing. She knew Harry Potter was a good guy. For all his talk of taking advantage of Crabbe harassing her, he had been the one to actually do something about it. Whatever his intentions may have been, Penelope knew he was angry at how she had been treated. It was why he had instantly offered a job.
A job she had been stupid enough to disregard to maintain her wounded sense of pride.
Penelope had been shaking when she had realised that Draco Malfoy wasn’t going to prison, and that Harry Potter was speaking in his favour. She had no doubt that Malfoy would’ve instantly gotten her fired. He could’ve gotten her education loans called. He could’ve forbidden Diagon and Knockturn Alley businesses from hiring the silly, traitorous mudblood that needed to be taught her place. Pride was one thing, but the realisation that she was completely and thoroughly out of any job prospects was another. She had a single option.
Harry Potter.
She had only found out later that her panties had gotten wet just by being in his presence. When he spoke to her, the way he dominated her — it was arousing as much as it was terrifying. And that anger. That authority. Penelope had been conflicted between trying to speak up to him and feel ashamed of the orgasm she was suffering through.
Something — something was utterly wrong with her.
And now this dream— it was so chaotic. Her mind was in a mess, but her body was absolutely certain of what it wanted.
It wanted him.
It wanted him to dominate her.
It wanted him to make her his whore.
And that scared her.
Biting her lip, Penelope let her hand slowly run down her body. Heat poured off her excited core as she cupped it lightly. Even with her conflicted thoughts, she couldn’t help but touch herself more firmly as she imagined her dream had the stupid alarm clock not broken it.
Lifting the oversized shirt she had worn before going off to sleep, Penelope slipped her hand into her drenched panties and traced her moist slit. A muffled whimper escaped her lips as a pleasurable tinge shot up her spine. Closing her eyes, she slowly inserted a single finger, trying to enact the dream, while her other hand moved up and slapped her excited nipples. Her teeth sank down her lips as she smacked her breasts with her right hand while pushing fingers— two at first, and then a third one, into her wetness, imagining Harry Potter doing the same to her. The rational part of her reminded her that she had a meeting with Harry Potter’s secretary — that Jones woman, and that she needed to prepare herself. Another part of her whispered in sweet, dark overtones that maybe it’d be a good idea to be late. At least then she’d face another bout of his anger. Maybe, just maybe, he’d take it on her?
And she’d let him.
Her fingers pushed in and out through her dripping folds, as she whimpered again and again, whispering Harry’s name in the dark corners of her mind. She had no idea what job he had in mind for her. Maybe she could tone down her performance, make mistakes? Maybe she could try being prideful in front of him, and then beg him for a second chance, even at the risk of being punished?
Her fingers pushed deeper.
No. Especially if she was getting punished.
By him.
Only by him.
Her thoughts went back to Susan and Hannah. They had thought they were being discreet, but Penelope had overheard Hannah talking about how rough Harry had been with her. How she had orgasmed like nothing she’d ever had. How he had made her a slut for his big cock.
Just what would Harry Potter do if Penelope offered herself to him? What if… what if she wanted to be demeaned by him? Put through a collar, like a bitch, and then be taken like one? What if he spat on her face? Maybe he’d fuck her pussy and her arse and then make her lick his cock clean? What if…. What if she wanted to be his mudblood whore?
Penelope clenched her teeth so hard that it hurt now. Eyes still closed, she pinched her nipple harder and imagined looking up to bright, green eyes. She could practically feel his weight on her body, and his breath on her neck.
She knew from Hannah that Hermione Granger, now a werewolf, was living with him. That Snyde woman had called his secretary a halfblood too. A secretively spiteful part of her complained at how a muggle born and halfblood were enjoying with Harry Potter while she was rotting in this one-bit shithole apartment. It was— it was so unfair.
Her body hunched in on itself, as her pleasure reached a crescendo, with his features covering her mind’s eye.
“Harry!” she gasped in a desperate whimper.
Throwing her head back, she let out a scream, Her breath caught in her throat as she tumbled over the edge. Her juices squirted out of her, soaking her fingers and the bedsheet below. Writhing on her bed, Penelope desperately tried to control herself, her firm breasts bouncing wildly as she shook and buckled from the orgasm.
Maybe, just maybe, she should try to be a little late?
…
…
…
“Morgana! I’m so late!” cried Penelope Clearwater, as she dashed across the streets of London. She had almost forgotten that she didn’t know the part of London where he lived, so apparition wasn’t an option. She was almost glad that she was a muggleborn — mudblood— with enough experience navigating through muggle London. She had called for the Knight Bus, and endured the excruciating journey, which left her looking like a natural disaster victim.
Thank God for combing and cleansing charms.
Yeah, even to this day, she ended up taking the word god over Merlin. So sue her.
Crossing the busy Tottenham Court Road, she entered the large complex where Harry Potter supposedly lived. It took a quick disillusionment charm to get past the guards. Penelope was sure that between her growing excitement and panic, she’d have only created a mess with muggle guards. No, disillusionment was far better. Quickly rushing past the outer gates, she slowed down until she reached the proper address.
Excelsior.
Penelope couldn’t help but agree with the name. The building was three stories tall, and from the wards around the property, entirely magical. The lot it stood was meant for something a lot bigger. Instead, it had a well-manicured lawn and garden with a large private garage housing the limo she had seen parked outside the Leaky Cauldron some weeks ago. The building had a lot of stone and marble in its design, and seemed like a perfect blend of magical and muggle.
Taking a deep breath, she took a step through the wards, feeling the tingling sensation as the magics scanned and registered her. She had enough experience in warding to realise that the sensors were verifying her against several set parameters. No doubt there were quite a few nasty surprises in store for her in case the wards disagreed with anything. She wouldn’t be surprised if there were several intent-based lethal wards thrown in the mix.
Penelope didn’t panic. Panic got you killed. Instead she smoothly walked through the wards, and slipped into the small path that led to the outer door. As she reached for the doorbell, the doors opened and she found Miss Jones standing on the other side.
“You’re late!” She said, looking cross with her.
“Sorry, I errr— just—”
“Enough with your excuses!” said Jones. “Come with me.”
Silently, Penelope followed, taking careful note of the way magic was woven through the entire building. Whoever had designed this complex had a solid understanding of both muggle architecture as well as efficient ward design. She had no doubt that this mansion had all the features one would find in a wizarding manor, plus the benefits of living in a five-star muggle hotel. It reflected the nature of the person that lived and worked there — the son of a muggleborn and yet, a wizarding celebrity in his own right. Best of both worlds.
Excelsior indeed.
“I’ve gone through your credentials,” said Hestia, as they walked through an enclosed corridor. “Outstanding in six subjects, with extra credit in enchanting and runecraft. You have submitted several papers on enchanting in your seventh year.”
She nodded. There was a time when Penelope was very proud of her distinctions. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had been just two months.
“Also… I think I saw an Outstanding NEWT in Divination? You are a Seer?”
Penelope shrugged uneasily. “Professor Trelawney thinks I have the Eye. It’s limited, but I can do cartomancy with significant accuracy. Is that… important?”
Miss Jones was engrossed in thought. Maybe she thought Seers to be frauds? Penelope couldn’t blame her. Anyone that met Trelawney was likely to think of the same.
“Mr. Potter is in his office. I have forwarded him a copy of your academic records,” said Miss Jones after a minute, keeping her tone professional. “I suggest you take this opportunity to secure a proper job as befits someone.. of your calibre.”
With that, she knocked on the door twice, and heard a muffled ‘Come in.” Hestia gave her a nod, turned and walked away, leaving Penelope alone.
Swallowing, she opened the door, and took a step in. The room was… well, sophisticated, but she was too busy trying not to panic to pay any attention to it. She 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.
Comments
Sage Berthelsen
Well that’s a great use of dream magic! Is Harry taking a potion against pregnancy?
