Hermione ground her hips harder against Harry's cock, the thick shaft sliding slick between her soaked folds. She broke the kiss with a gasp, her breath coming in short bursts. Harry's hands dug into her arse, pulling her closer, urging her on. The ritual's magic hummed through her veins like fire, turning every brush of skin into a spark that lit her up.
"Bloody hell, Hermione," Harry groaned, his voice rough. "You feel amazing."
She looked down at him, her eyes half-lidded, and reached between them. Her fingers wrapped around his length, hot and pulsing in her grip. She lifted her hips just enough, lining him up with her entrance. The tip nudged her opening, and she sank down slow, inch by inch. A low moan escaped her as he stretched her wide, filling her completely.
"Oh fuck," she whispered, bottoming out. She sat there a moment, adjusting to the fullness, her walls clenching around him.
Celeste's chanting filled the air. The succubus shifted on her feet, her thighs pressing together. Heat bloomed low in her belly as the magic thickened, wrapping around her like her Master's invisible hands touching her intimately.
She felt Hermione's arousal spike, and it tugged at her own core. Her hand drifted down, her fingers slipping between her legs. She was wet already, slick enough that her touch slid easy over her clit.
Harry bucked up once, shallow, making Hermione jolt. She braced her hands on his chest, her nails digging in, and started moving, rising and dropping back down, setting a rhythm that had them both panting. His cock dragged along her insides with each thrust, hitting spots that made stars burst behind her eyes.
The ritual amplified it all—every slide, every squeeze felt ten times stronger, like her nerves were wired straight to lightning.
"Yes, like that," Harry said, his voice strained. He grabbed her hips, helping her bounce. "Ride me."
Hermione picked up speed, her breasts jiggling with each drop. Sweat beaded on her skin, and she tossed her head back, moaning loudly. The chamber echoed with the wet slap of their bodies meeting, mixing with Celeste's steady chant. The magic pulsed in time with her movements, building pressure deep inside her.
Celeste's fingers circled faster now, dipping into her own heat. She watched Harry's cock disappear inside Hermione over and over, and envy twisted with lust in her gut. It seeped into her pores, making her nipples ache and her knees weak. She leaned against the altar's edge, one hand tweaking her breast while the other plunged two fingers in and out, matching Hermione's pace. A soft whimper broke her chant for a split second, but she pushed on, her voice husky.
Hermione leaned forward, pressing her chest to Harry's. She captured his mouth again, their tongues tangling messily as she fucked herself harder. He thrust up to meet her, his balls slapping against her arse. She broke the kiss to nip at his jaw, drifting down to his neck, tasting salt on his skin.
"You're so deep," she murmured, her voice breaking. "Feels so good."
Harry's hands roamed up her back, then down to squeeze her cheeks, spreading them. He held her there for a moment, buried to the hilt, and rolled his hips. The grind hit her clit just right, and she cried out, clenching hard around him. Waves of pleasure crashed through her, sharper than before, the ritual turning it into something overwhelming.
Celeste felt it too—the echo of Hermione's near-climax rippling out. Her own fingers thrust quicker, curling inside her as she rubbed her thumb over her swollen nub. Heat flooded her, making her vision blur. She chanted louder, the words fueling the magic, drawing it tighter around the three of them. Her free hand gripped the altar, her knuckles white, as she chased the edge.
Harry sat up a bit, wrapping his arms around Hermione's waist. He sucked on her neck, leaving a mark, before he moved to her breast. His mouth latched on, his tongue flicking the nipple as she rode him. Hermione's hands tangled in his hair, holding him there. She moved faster now, her hips snapping down, chasing that building fire. Each bounce sent jolts up her spine, her pussy fluttering around his cock.
"Fuck, Master—I'm close," she gasped.
"Me too," he grunted against her skin. "Come with me."
Celeste's arousal peaked with theirs, the magic linking them all. Her fingers worked frantically, plunging deep into her gushing quim as she pinched her nipple hard. The chant turned throaty, almost a moan, but she kept it going.
Hermione slammed down one last time, grinding hard. The orgasm hit her like a hex, ripping through her body in violent shudders. She screamed, her vaginal walls spasming around Harry, milking him. He followed right after, thrusting up deep and spilling inside her with a roar. Hot spurts filled her, the sensation drawn out by the ritual, making her quake longer.
Celeste came with them, her body arching as pleasure exploded through her. Her fingers soaked, she rode the waves, the chant fading to a whisper. The magic reached its peak and settled as the ritual concluded, leaving them all spent.
Suddenly, Harry felt the magic surge through him with an intensity that made every nerve in his body sing. The pleasure was overwhelming, transcendent, and then—something else entirely.
It happened before he could react.
A violent tug came from inside his skull, so sharp and sudden that he gasped. The magical backlash hit him like a freight train, sending waves of sensation through every fiber of his being. His vision went white, then black, and he knew nothing more.
"Harry!"
Hermione's scream pierced the air as Harry's body went rigid underneath her, having collapsed onto the ritual circle. His eyes had rolled back, showing only whites, and his breathing had become shallow and rapid.
"What happened?" Hermione scrambled off him hastily, all pleasure forgotten. Her hands hovered over his body, unsure where to touch. "Celeste, what the hell happened?"
"I don't know!" Celeste exclaimed, her eyes wide. She was already at Harry's other side, her usual composure cracking. She placed her fingers against his neck, checking his pulse. "His heart's racing. The ritual—it must have triggered something."
"Something? What do you mean something?" Hermione's voice climbed higher. She grabbed Harry's hand, squeezing it desperately. "Harry, can you hear me? Harry!"
Celeste closed her eyes, her expression tight with concentration. Crimson tendrils spread from her fingertips over Harry's body, covering him entirely.
"There's magic still flowing through him. Powerful magic. I can feel it thrumming beneath his skin."
"Is he in danger?" Hermione demanded, tears forming in her eyes.
"I don't know," Celeste admitted, and the fear in her voice made Hermione's stomach drop. "I've never seen anything like this. The ritual should have worked perfectly. But something happened when the magic connected with the thing that's inside him."
"The Horcrux," Hermione breathed. "Oh God, the Horcrux must've reacted in some manner."
Celeste nodded grimly. "We need to keep him comfortable and wait. Whatever's happening, it's beyond our control now."
Hermione brushed Harry's sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead, her hand trembling. "Please be okay," she whispered. "Please."
xXx
Harry opened his eyes to a world bathed in soft golden light.
He was lying on something warm and solid, but his mind felt foggy and he couldn't immediately place what it was. As he pushed himself up onto his elbows, he realized he was completely naked. That made sense, given what they'd been doing, but—
This wasn't the ritual chamber. Celeste and Hermione were nowhere to be seen.
As soon as the thought of wanting clothes crossed his mind, Harry felt a pleasant warmth spread across his skin. He looked down to find himself dressed in simple black trousers and a green shirt. His eyes widened.
"Okay, that's new."
He sat up fully, looking around with growing confusion. He appeared to be in a garden of some sort, but it was unlike any garden he'd ever seen. The grass beneath him was impossibly green, each blade seeming to glow with an inner light. Trees surrounded him on all sides, their leaves shimmering with colors that shifted between gold, silver, and bronze. The sky overhead was a swirl of purples and blues, with what looked like stars visible despite the ambient light everywhere.
It was otherworldly. And yet, something about it felt familiar.
Harry frowned, trying to place the sensation. His eyes widened when it hit him. The trees were arranged like the ones near Hagrid's Hut. Not exactly the same, but close enough that the pattern felt right. Comforting, even.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
He got to his feet, testing his weight. Everything felt solid enough, real enough, but there was a dreamlike quality to it all that he couldn't shake. The light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The air smelled like something between rain and honey. It was pleasant.
Harry walked forward, his bare feet silent on the glowing grass. As he moved deeper into the garden, he began to notice more details. A swing hanging from one of the trees swayed gently, even though there was no breeze. It looked remarkably like the one he'd seen in pictures of his parents' home in Godric's Hollow.
Further on, he spotted a pond. The water was crystal clear, and as he approached, he could see straight to the bottom. Fish swam lazily through the depths, leaving trails of light in their wake. But what caught his attention was his reflection.
He looked the same as always, but there was something different about his scar. In the reflection, it seemed to pulse with a faint, sickly green light.
"This is my mind," Harry said aloud, the realization hitting him suddenly. "I'm inside my own head."
As if in response to his words, a soft echo rippled through the garden. He heard laughter—a child's laughter—bright and innocent. He didn't know how, but he knew it sounded like him, but younger. Much younger.
He turned, following the sound. The trees seemed to part for him, creating a path where none had existed before. The laughter grew louder, mixed now with the sound of a woman's voice. His mother's voice, he knew somehow.
"Come here, you little troublemaker!"
Harry's breath caught. The voice was distant, like a memory half-forgotten, but it was definitely hers. He'd heard it before in the presence of Dementors, but this was different. Clearer. Warmer.
He walked faster, almost running now. The path led him to a clearing where he could see ghostly images playing out like projections on smoke. A woman with red hair chasing a small boy, both of them laughing. The boy tripped and fell, and the woman scooped him up, kissing his forehead.
The images faded as quickly as they'd appeared, leaving him wanting for more.
Harry stood in the clearing, his heart hammering. This place was built from his memories, his experiences, his very essence. But as he turned slowly, surveying his surroundings, he noticed something that didn't fit.
To his left, the golden light of the garden stopped abruptly. There was a section where the trees were twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. The grass there was brown and dead, and the light seemed to actively avoid it, leaving that corner in shadow.
And from that corner, Harry felt something. A wrongness. A presence that didn't belong.
His jaw tightened. He knew what it was even before he started walking toward it.
The closer he got to the shadowed section, the colder it became. The comfortable warmth of the garden faded, replaced by a chill that seeped into his bones. The light behind him seemed to dim, as if afraid to follow.
Harry pressed on.
The twisted trees formed a barrier of sorts, but as he approached, they creaked and bent aside, allowing him passage. It was like they recognized him as the master of this place and had no choice but to obey.
Beyond the trees was a small clearing, if it could be called that. The ground here was cracked and dry, like drought-stricken earth. In the center was a shallow depression, and in that depression—
"Fucking hell," Harry breathed, stopping dead in his tracks.
The thing was grotesque beyond description. It looked vaguely humanoid, but twisted and malformed, like a corpse that had been left to rot for centuries. The skin—if it could be called skin—was grey and mottled, stretched tight over what appeared to be bones that jutted at unnatural angles. But it wasn't dead. Far from it.
The thing writhed and twitched, its movements jerky and spasmodic. Where a face should have been, there was only a twisted mass of tissue with two glowing red points that might have been eyes. It had no mouth, but Harry could hear it nonetheless—a constant, low keening that made his teeth ache. Haunting.
However, roughly a quarter of it was simply gone. It didn't look like it was destroyed cleanly, but torn away instead, leaving ragged edges that sparked with faint magical energy. The thing was smaller than it should have been, diminished for some reason.
Harry felt bile rise in his throat as he stared at it. This was what had been living in his head all these years. The abomination that still lived inside him.
But what held his attention even more than the Horcrux itself was what surrounded it.
Bands of energy wrapped around the thing like chains, holding it in place. The magic was visible here in a way it wouldn't be in the real world—threads of crimson and emerald that wove together in an intricate pattern. They pulsed with power, tightening whenever the Horcrux tried to move, and each time they did, the thing's keening grew louder.
Harry stepped closer, fascinated despite his revulsion. The magic felt... warm. Protective. There was no malevolence in it whatsoever. In fact, it felt welcoming to him, even as it clearly tortured the soul fragment it imprisoned.
He reached out slowly, his hand trembling slightly. His fingers touched one of the crimson strands, and the moment they made contact, a wave of emotion crashed over him.
Love. Pure, unconditional, overwhelming love.
Harry gasped, his eyes widening. He knew this feeling. He'd felt it only once before, in the moments before his mother died. It was the same protective magic that had saved him from Voldemort's Killing Curse, the same magic that still ran through his veins.
"Mum," he whispered.
The crimson strands seemed to pulse in response, growing briefly brighter. Harry could feel it now, feel her, even after all these years. The magic that had saved him hadn't just stopped Voldemort. It had stayed with him, protecting him from within.
And it had trapped the Horcrux.
He looked back at the writhing thing, seeing it now in a new light. His mother's magic had been containing it all this time, keeping it from spreading its corruption through his mind and soul. The emerald strands—those felt different. Newer. They had the same protective quality, but they were linked to something else. Something he couldn't quite place.
Harry knelt down, examining the Horcrux more closely. The section that was destroyed looked like it had been burned away, the edges still smoldering with that same crimson and emerald light. The thing's keening was constant, a sound of pure torment.
Good, Harry thought viciously.
As he watched, the protective magic tightened again, and another tiny piece of the Horcrux crumbled away. It was being slowly destroyed, eaten away by the magic that held it captive.
Harry frowned, thinking back to the ritual. Celeste had theorized that they would need to do it seven times, with seven different women, to fully destroy the soul fragment. Looking at what remained of the thing, he could see why. About a quarter—maybe a bit more—had been destroyed, but there was still so much left.
If this was the result of doing the sex ritual twice, then yes, they'd need to do it five more times to eradicate this thing for good.
But there was something else he noticed. The protective magic seemed stronger now, the strands thicker and brighter than he thought they should be. Something was feeding it, making it more powerful.
Was it the ritual? The magic they'd worked together? Harry wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that's exactly what it was. The ritual hadn't just attacked the Horcrux directly—it had strengthened the magic that was already fighting it.
"Clever woman, Celeste," Harry murmured, wondering if she had been deliberate with this. He would not put it past her.
He stood up, looking around the small clearing. This place was inside his own mind, a representation of where the Horcrux had lodged itself all those years ago. But if he was here, truly here rather than just dreaming about it, could he do something to help?
Harry focused, trying to will more power into the protective magic. The strands pulsed in response, but nothing changed. He tried again, imagining the magic growing stronger, the Horcrux growing weaker.
Still nothing.
He sighed, frustrated. Whatever this place was, whatever rules governed it, they weren't the same as in the real world. He couldn't just throw magic at a problem and expect it to work.
But he'd learned something valuable. He'd seen the Horcrux with his own eyes, seen how much of it remained and how his mother's magic and the magic of the ritual—his magic, really, since both were now part of him—were slowly destroying it. He knew they were on the right path.
And he knew that his mother, even in death, was still protecting him.
Harry looked around the clearing one more time, committing every detail to memory. The twisted trees, the dead earth, the writhing abomination at the center, and the beautiful, deadly magic that held it captive.
Then he looked past the clearing, back toward the golden garden that represented the rest of his mind. He could see it in the distance, still bright and alive, untouched by the corruption that had tried to spread from this place.
He wondered what else he might find in there. What other memories, what other pieces of himself might be hidden in that impossible landscape. There had to be more to explore, more to learn about himself and the magic that ran through him.
With a resolute look, he turned around and began walking back to the garden. If this place would allow him to discover himself in earnest, he wanted to try. He needed every advantage he could get if it helped him get ready for what was to come.
xXx
Months had passed since Harry had found himself in this place, and he had made more than a dozen trips to the twisted realm as he had started calling it. The visits had been fruitful, and so had his stay in his true mindscape.
He was lying on his back, staring at the swirling patterns of the crimson threads that he knew represented his mother's protective magic when he felt a pulling sensation. It started in his chest, a gentle tug that grew steadily stronger. The world around him began to shimmer, the colors bleeding together like watercolors in rain.
"So… it's time then," Harry said, reaching out toward nothing in particular. There was a resolute look on his face as he made contact with the crimson tendril again, allowing himself to feel his mother's love and protection one more time. "I'm ready, Mum. Thank you… for everything."
The crimson tendril pulsed with love, and a part of Harry longed to stay, to not leave this place. However, the mindscape was already fading. The garden, the clearing, the Horcrux, all of it was slowly dissolving into streams of light that swirled around him. The last thing he saw before everything went white was the crimson and emerald magic, still pulsing, still holding strong, still protecting.
Still destroying.
His vision was filled with colors, and there was nothing but the pull, dragging him up and away from the depths of his own consciousness. Back toward the waking world. Back toward reality.
Back toward Celeste and Hermione, who would no doubt be worried sick about him. It had been months, after all.
He didn't know how much things had changed in the real world, but he hoped things had not gone from bad to worse.
The light grew brighter, more intense, until Harry had to squeeze his eyes shut against it. He felt weightless, suspended between worlds, and then—
Harry's eyes snapped open.
The first thing he registered was the stone ceiling above him, lit by flickering torchlight. Then came the sensation of cold stone beneath his back, and the lingering touch of magic on his skin. He took a deep breath, his lungs expanding fully, greedily pulling in air.
"Master!"
Two voices called out simultaneously, and suddenly his vision was filled with concerned faces. Hermione's hair tickled his cheek as she leaned over him, her brown eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Beside her, Celeste's usually composed features were tight with worry, but relief was already washing over them.
"Thank Merlin," Hermione breathed. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks. "You scared us half to death."
Harry blinked, his mind still adjusting to being back in his body. Everything felt different somehow. Sharper. More present. He could feel the weight of Hermione's hands on his skin, and sense Celeste's magic hovering around him like a protective blanket.
"How long?" he asked, his voice rough.
"About five minutes," Celeste said. She sat back slightly, though her hand remained on his chest, monitoring his heartbeat. "You collapsed right after the ritual peaked. Your eyes rolled back and you stopped responding."
Five minutes.
Harry stared at them both, trying to process that. It had felt like months in there. Months of exploring, of learning, of understanding himself and what lived inside his head. But out here, barely any time had passed at all.
"Bloody hell," he muttered.
"Can you sit up?" Hermione asked. "Should we get water? Food? What do you need?"
Harry reached up, gently taking her hands in his and squeezing reassuringly. The touch seemed to calm her slightly. "I'm alright," he said, his voice warmer now. "Actually, I feel really good. Better than I have in ages."
He sat up slowly, both women moving with him, staying close. Hermione's hand found his arm again, and he didn't pull away. Instead, he covered it with his own, giving her another gentle squeeze before looking at Celeste.
"What happened?" Celeste's eyes searched his face. "Where did you go?"
Harry looked between them, considering how much to share. They deserved to know something, but there were parts of his experience that felt too personal, too intimate to put into words.
"I was inside my own head," he said. "My mindscape, I suppose you'd call it. Everything looked like a garden, built from my memories."
Hermione's eyes widened. "You achieved introspection? Full mental projection into your own consciousness? That's incredibly advanced magic. Most wizards never manage it, even with years of Occlumency training."
"Wasn't really trying," Harry admitted with a small smile. "The ritual must have triggered it somehow." He looked at Celeste. "I think the magic we raised connected with the Horcrux and pulled me under."
Celeste nodded slowly.
"I saw it," Harry said. The memory of that twisted, writhing thing made his jaw tighten. "The Horcrux. It was in a corrupted part of my mindscape, separated from everything else."
"What did it look like?" Hermione asked softly.
"Like something that should never have existed." Harry's voice was flat. "Rotting and wrong. But here's the important bit—about a quarter of it was gone. Destroyed. The edges were burned away, still smoking."
Celeste's breath caught. "A quarter? You're sure?"
"Pretty sure, yeah." Harry met her eyes. "Which means your theory about needing seven women was spot on. If two rituals took out that much, we'll need five more to finish the job."
Celeste sat back on her heels, a satisfied expression crossing her face.
"There's more," Harry continued. "The Horcrux was bound by magic. Chains of energy holding it in place, slowly eating away at it. Some of the magic was crimson—my mum's protection. It's been containing the thing all these years, keeping it from spreading."
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. "Her sacrifice magic is still active inside you? I thought after the graveyard…"
"Always has been." Harry's voice softened slightly. "But there were emerald strands too, woven through the crimson. Newer magic, from the ritual. They were working together, destroying the Horcrux piece by piece."
"The ritual didn't just attack it directly," Celeste murmured. "It reinforced the protective magic already present. Made it stronger, more aggressive." She looked at Harry with something like admiration. "Your mother's love, channeled through ritual magic designed to purify and protect. It's elegant."
Harry studied both women for a moment. They were still close, still hovering, their concern evident. Hermione's hand rested on his arm, and Celeste's fingers were pressed against his wrist, monitoring his pulse even though he'd told them he was fine.
Something had shifted inside him during those months in his mindscape. He'd had time to think, to understand himself, to accept what he wanted. These two women had pledged themselves to him. They'd called him Master, had given themselves over completely to help him survive.
Maybe it was time he started accepting that more fully.
"Come here," Harry said softly, reaching for both of them. His arms encircled their waists, pulling them close. Hermione settled against his side immediately, while Celeste leaned into his shoulder. "I know you were worried. I'm sorry for that."
"You couldn't help it," Hermione said, her voice muffled against his chest.
"No, but I can help what happens now." Harry pressed a kiss to the top of Hermione's head, then turned to do the same to Celeste. "Thank you. Both of you. For staying with me, for helping me, for everything."
Celeste pulled back slightly to look at him. "You're different," she observed. "Something's changed."
"I had a lot of time to think in there," Harry admitted. "To understand things better. About the Horcrux, about magic..." He paused, his hands tightening slightly on their waists. "About what I want."
"What do you want?" Hermione asked, tilting her head up to meet his eyes.
Harry was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "I want to stop being so passive about everything. Stop letting things happen to me." His gaze moved between them. "You've both given me so much. Trusted me, bound yourselves to me. I think I've been too... hesitant about accepting that. About accepting you."
"We chose this," Celeste said. "We chose you."
"I know." Harry's hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin gently. "And I think I'm finally ready to really understand what that means."
He turned to Hermione, his other hand sliding into her hair. She leaned into the touch, her eyes already darkening with desire. The shift in his demeanor was subtle, but it was there—a new confidence, a certainty that hadn't existed before.
"Master," Hermione breathed.
"I want both of you," Harry said simply. His voice was calm and assured. "Not just for the ritual. Not just because we need to destroy the Horcrux. I want you because you're mine, and I'm yours."
"Yes," Hermione whispered.
Harry leaned down, kissing her slowly. There was no uncertainty now. He kissed her thoroughly, claiming her mouth like he had every right to. She melted into him, a soft moan escaping her throat.
When he pulled back, he turned to Celeste. She was watching with hooded eyes, her lips parted slightly. "And you?" he asked.
"I've been waiting for this," Celeste admitted. "For you to really see what you have."
Harry kissed her too, and she responded with the same fire she always had. But when he pulled back, he kept his hand in her hair, holding her gaze. "The bedroom can wait," he said. "Right now, I want to be with both of you properly. Not because we have to, but because I want to."
"The ritual's done," Celeste said, though her voice was breathless. "We should move somewhere more comfortable."
"No." Harry's voice was firm but not harsh. "Here is fine. Right now is fine."
He guided Hermione to stand, his hands sliding down her body appreciatively. She shivered under his touch, and he smiled. "You're beautiful," he told her. "Both of you. I don't think I've said that enough."
Hermione's cheeks flushed. "Harry—"
"Master," he corrected gently. "I'd like you to use it more. If you're comfortable with that."
"Yes, Master," Hermione said immediately, and the way her breath hitched told him everything he needed to know about how she felt about it.
Harry pulled them both close again, his hands roaming their bodies with a new sense of purpose. He wasn't rushing or fumbling. Every touch drew out their pleasure and showed that he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Against the wall," he murmured to Hermione. She went willingly, pressing her palms against the cold stone. Harry stepped up behind her, his hands sliding around to cup her breasts. "Tell me what you want."
"You," Hermione gasped. "I want you, Master. Please."
Harry's hand trailed down her spine, making her arch. "Please what?"
"Please take me. I'm yours."
He entered her slowly, savoring the way she gasped and pushed back against him. His movements were controlled, measured, giving her exactly what she needed but making her work for it. And all the while, his other hand reached out for Celeste, pulling her close so he could kiss her while he moved inside Hermione.
"That's it," he murmured against Celeste's lips. "Both of you. Mine."
The next hour passed in a haze of pleasure. Harry took his time with both women, learning what made them gasp and moan, where they were sensitive and how they liked to be touched. But more importantly, he let himself accept what they were offering—complete trust, complete submission, complete devotion.
He brought Hermione to the edge three times before finally letting her fall over it, and she was sobbing with gratitude by the end. Celeste he challenged more, testing her limits, seeing how far she'd let him push. And she rose to meet him every time, proving that her submission was a choice, not a weakness.
When they finally collapsed together on the floor, all three of them spent and satisfied, Hermione curled into his side immediately. "That was..." she trailed off.
"Different," Celeste finished, settling on his other side. "You're more confident. More assured."
"I know what I want now," Harry said simply. His arms came around both of them, holding them close. "And I'm not afraid to take it anymore."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, the torchlight casting dancing shadows on the walls. Harry could feel the lingering magic from the ritual still humming through the room, could sense the bond between the three of them growing stronger with each passing moment.
"We'll need to plan the next ritual soon," Celeste finally said. "Finding the right witch, making sure the circumstances are perfect."
"We will," Harry agreed. "But not tonight. Tonight, I just want to be with you both."
"Yes," Hermione whispered.
Celeste nodded against his shoulder. "We're not going anywhere, Master."
Harry tightened his arms around them both. The old Harry would have questioned this, would have wondered if he deserved it or if it was too good to be true. But that Harry was gone, left behind in the mindscape along with his doubts.
This Harry knew exactly what he had, and he was going to cherish it.
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