Chapter 4: Possession of the Prodigy
The silence in Ron and Hermione’s bedroom was thick, broken only by Kreacher’s ragged breathing and the frantic hammering of Ginny’s own heart against her ribs. The scent hit her first – Ron’s familiar blend of stale Firewhiskey, cheap Muggle aftershave, and something uniquely him, warm and earthy. It clung to the rumpled sheets Hermione had dragged her onto. Ginny’s stomach lurched. This bed. Where Ron slept. Where Hermione slept. Where Hugo and Rose had probably been conceived. The sheer domesticity of it, the worn floral pattern on the pillowcase inches from her face, felt like a physical blow after the cold grandeur of the Black drawing room piano.
Hermione lay beneath her, propped against Ron’s pillow, her eyes dark pools reflecting the dim light filtering through the curtains. Sweat plastered dark curls to her temples, her blouse still gaping open, revealing the faint red marks Kreacher’s gnarled fingers had left on her skin. Her hand, sticky with Kreacher’s earlier release, slid possessively up Ginny’s thigh, under the hem of her skirt. "Feel it?" Hermione murmured, her voice low and rough. "Still warm. His warmth." Her fingers pressed higher, finding Ginny slick and swollen, the aftermath of Kreacher’s brutal possession still pulsing within her. "And Kreacher’s." Ginny shuddered, trying to pull away, but Hermione’s grip tightened like iron. "No. Stay."
Kreacher loomed beside the bed, a hunched, repulsive shadow against the mundane backdrop of a Quidditch poster on the wall. His immense cock, already stirring again with terrifying speed despite his recent violent climaxes, hung heavy and glistening. His milky eyes flickered between them, lingering on Hermione’s exposed skin, then on Ginny’s trapped form. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "Filthy whores," he rasped, shuffling closer. His rancid breath washed over Ginny’s face. "Defiling Master Ron’s bed. Kreacher should tell him. Tell him how his Mudblood wife spreads for elf cock." His gnarled hand reached out, not towards Ginny, but towards Hermione’s face. He traced a bony finger down her cheek, a gesture grotesquely intimate. Hermione didn’t flinch. She tilted her head into the touch, her eyes never leaving Ginny’s.
"Tell him," Hermione breathed, a dangerous smile touching her lips. "Tell Ron how his wife begged for Kreacher’s seed. How she demanded it deep inside her." Her hand beneath Ginny’s skirt pressed insistently, fingers finding Ginny’s sensitive core, circling the swollen flesh Kreacher had stretched and filled. Ginny gasped, arching involuntarily against the touch, against Hermione’s body beneath her. The conflicting sensations – Hermione’s knowing fingers, the lingering ache of Kreacher’s invasion, the suffocating scent of Ron – were overwhelming. "Tell him," Hermione repeated, her voice hardening, "while Ginny rides me. While she feels Kreacher’s claim inside her… inside me."
Kreacher’s growl deepened into something hungry. He shuffled onto the bed, the mattress groaning under his slight weight. His bony knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Hermione’s hips, his hunched form casting Ginny into shadow. His bulbous eyes fixed on the point where Hermione’s hand disappeared under Ginny’s skirt. "Blood-traitor whore rides Mudblood whore," he muttered, thick saliva gathering at the corner of his thin lips. His own hand, rough and calloused, slid down Hermione’s torso, over her belly where Ginny’s hand had felt Kreacher’s release pulse deep inside her just moments ago. He gripped Hermione’s hip, his fingers digging in. "Kreacher watches."
Hermione’s eyes blazed up at Ginny. "Move," she commanded, her voice sharp, echoing the authority she wielded in the Ministry, twisted now into something dark and primal. Her fingers inside Ginny pressed harder, demanding. "Ride me, Ginny. Show Kreacher how wet you still are for him. How empty you feel without him filling you." Ginny whimpered, trapped between Hermione’s command, Kreacher’s looming presence, and the treacherous heat coiling low in her own belly. Shame warred with a terrifying echo of the surrender she’d found on the piano. She shifted her hips tentatively, grinding down against Hermione’s hand, the friction sending sparks through her exhausted nerves. A low moan escaped her lips.
"Harder," Hermione hissed, bucking her own hips upwards, forcing Ginny to move with more urgency. "Show him!" Ginny’s breath hitched. She pushed herself up slightly on her hands, braced on either side of Hermione’s head, her fiery hair falling forward, brushing Hermione’s face. She rocked her hips, grinding down onto Hermione’s fingers, the slick sounds loud in the quiet room. Kreacher watched, rapt, his breathing harsh. His free hand reached out, tangling in Ginny’s hair, yanking her head back sharply. "Look at Kreacher, blood-traitor," he snarled. "Look at true power while you rut on the Mudblood."
Tears stung Ginny’s eyes, blurring Kreacher’s grotesque face. She obeyed, meeting his milky gaze as she moved, the rhythm becoming faster, more desperate, driven by Hermione’s insistent fingers and Kreacher’s painful grip. Hermione arched beneath her, gasping, her own eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping open, fixed on Kreacher. "See?" she panted. "See how she needs it? How she’s still his?" Kreacher grunted, his grip on Hermione’s hip tightening. His monstrous cock, fully rigid now, bobbed obscenely close to Ginny’s moving hip. The thick, musky scent of him mixed nauseatingly with Ron’s lingering presence on the sheets.
"Kreacher wants," the elf rasped, his voice thick with lust. His gaze dropped to where Ginny’s body met Hermione’s, then slid lower, to Hermione’s own exposed core beneath Ginny’s thigh. "Wants both filthy whores."
Hermione’s smile was predatory. "Then take," she breathed. She suddenly pulled her hand from under Ginny’s skirt, slick fingers glistening. Before Ginny could react, Hermione grabbed Kreacher’s wrist, the one tangled in Ginny’s hair, and yanked it downwards. She guided his gnarled hand roughly between Ginny’s legs. Kreacher’s rough fingers plunged into Ginny’s wetness without preamble, making her cry out. "Take her," Hermione commanded Kreacher, her eyes burning into Ginny’s. "While she’s riding me. Fill her again. Remind her who owns her cunt."
Kreacher needed no further urging. He shuffled closer, his bony knees pressing harder into the mattress. His fingers inside Ginny curled, probing deep, drawing another ragged gasp from her. Then he withdrew his hand, slick and glistening, and gripped the base of his immense cock. He positioned the thick, veined head against Ginny’s entrance, already stretched and aching from his earlier assault. Ginny froze, suspended above Hermione, her body trembling. "No," she whispered, the word barely audible.
"Yes," Hermione hissed, her own hand snaking up to grip Ginny’s hip, holding her in place. "Take it, Ginny. Take him while you’re on top of me. Feel him split you open… feel him fill you… while I’m right here." Her gaze locked with Ginny’s, fierce and unyielding. "While Ron’s scent is still on the sheets."
Kreacher thrust upwards. Hard. Ginny screamed, the sound ripped from her throat as he impaled her in one brutal motion, forcing her body down onto Hermione’s. The angle was different, deeper, more invasive. She felt him stretching her impossibly wide, the burning ache flaring into sharp agony. Hermione gasped beneath her, the force of Kreacher’s entry driving Ginny’s body hard against hers. Kreacher began to move, short, powerful thrusts that rocked both women, the bedframe creaking violently in protest. Ginny collapsed forward onto Hermione, her face buried in the crook of Hermione’s neck, sobbing against the sweat-damp skin. Hermione wrapped her arms around Ginny’s back, holding her close, whispering harshly in her ear, "Feel him! Feel him inside you! Own it!"
Kreacher grunted with each thrust, his rhythm relentless, possessive. His gnarled hands gripped Ginny’s hips, lifting her slightly only to slam her back down onto him and onto Hermione with bruising force. The wet slap of flesh, Ginny’s choked sobs, Hermione’s sharp gasps, and Kreacher’s guttural growls filled the room, drowning out the faint sounds of the sleeping house. Ginny felt utterly pinned, violated from above and embraced from below, a grotesque parody of intimacy. The scent of Ron was still there, faint beneath the overwhelming stench of Kreacher and sex. Kreacher leaned forward, his hunched form pressing down, his rancid breath hot on Ginny’s ear as he pounded into her. "Blood-traitor whore takes elf cock in her husband's brother's bed," he rasped triumphantly. "Filthy. Disgusting." He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust. "Tell Kreacher you love it."
Ginny shook her head wildly against Hermione’s neck, tears soaking Hermione’s skin. "No!"
"Tell him!" Hermione commanded, her voice sharp, her nails digging into Ginny’s back. "Tell him you love his filthy cock! Tell him it’s better than Harry’s! Better than anyone’s!" The piano room confession echoed cruelly in the marital bed.
Kreacher slammed harder, making Ginny cry out. "Say it!" he snarled, yanking her head back by her hair again, forcing her to look at his distorted face. His milky eyes burned with malice and perverse need. "Say you love Kreacher’s cock!"
The pain, the violation, the suffocating pressure, Hermione’s relentless demand beneath her – it coalesced into a wave of dark, terrifying surrender. The words tore from Ginny, raw and broken: "I love it! I love your cock, Kreacher! It’s… it’s better!" The admission tasted like ash.
Kreacher roared, a sound of pure, dark victory. His thrusts became frenzied, losing all rhythm, a desperate pounding. Ginny felt him swell impossibly thicker inside her pulsing channel. He was close. Hermione felt it too. She arched beneath Ginny, pressing up against her, forcing Ginny to take Kreacher even deeper. "Now," Hermione gasped, her eyes wild, fixed on Kreacher’s straining face. "Fill her! Fill her right here! Mark Ron’s bed!"
Kreacher’s body locked, buried to the hilt. A guttural cry ripped from him as he emptied himself in scalding, violent pulses deep inside Ginny. She convulsed, a strangled sob escaping her as the traitorous flutters deep within her core answered the invasion, triggered by the sheer, overwhelming force of his possession. Kreacher shuddered violently against her back, his grip on her hips bruising, holding her impaled as he spent himself. Ginny collapsed fully onto Hermione, trembling uncontrollably, feeling the hot flood seep out of her, soaking Hermione’s thighs and Ron’s sheets beneath them.
Kreacher slowly, stickily pulled out, staggering back off the bed. He stood hunched, breathing heavily, his monstrous cock glistening, dripping onto the worn carpet. He stared at the two women tangled together on the bed, Ginny weeping silently onto Hermione’s chest, Hermione’s arms still wrapped around her, her own eyes wide and strangely vacant, staring at the ceiling. A low, satisfied chuckle escaped him. "Filthy whores," he muttered again, but it lacked its earlier venom. It sounded almost… proprietary.
Hermione shifted beneath Ginny. Her hand, sticky with Ginny’s sweat and Kreacher’s release, slid up Ginny’s back to cup the back of her head. She gently guided Ginny’s face away from her neck. Ginny blinked through her tears, meeting Hermione’s gaze. There was no comfort there. Only a terrifying, hollow intensity. Hermione’s thumb brushed roughly across Ginny’s wet cheek, smearing tears. Then, slowly, deliberately, Hermione lifted her thumb to Ginny’s lips. Ginny froze. The salty tang of her own tears mixed with the unmistakable, bitter musk of Kreacher clinging to Hermione’s skin. Hermione pressed her thumb against Ginny’s closed lips. "Taste it," Hermione whispered, her voice devoid of inflection, cold as the Black family silver. "Taste what he left inside you." Her eyes bored into Ginny’s, demanding absolute submission. "Taste it on Ron’s sheets."
Ginny whimpered, her body trembling violently. Kreacher watched, his bulbous eyes gleaming with dark fascination. Hermione’s thumb pressed harder, insistent. Ginny’s lips parted slightly. The taste flooded her mouth – salt, bitterness, Kreacher. The ultimate degradation. She gagged, tears streaming anew, but Hermione held her gaze, unblinking. Ginny closed her eyes, a final surrender, and her tongue touched the pad of Hermione’s thumb.
Hermione let out a slow, shuddering breath. Her other hand tightened on Ginny’s hip, sticky with Kreacher’s essence. "Good girl," she murmured, the words chillingly soft. She pulled her thumb slowly from Ginny’s mouth, leaving the taste lingering. Her gaze shifted past Ginny’s shoulder, towards the bedroom door. "Now," Hermione breathed, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper that carried terrifying weight in the aftermath, "imagine Ron walking in."