The air in Hogwarts was thick with unspoken verdicts. Icharus observed the aftermath not through magical means, but through the school's relentless gossip mill. The whispers painted a clear, and for him, perfect picture.
The meeting in Dumbledore's office had concluded. Lucius Malfoy departed first infront of icharus, his expression one of cold, satisfied victory. Arthur Weasley followed, his face ashen, his steps heavy with a defeat that seemed to bow his very frame.
The official announcement came from a stern-faced Professor McGonagall in the Great Hall that evening.
"For the crimes of theft, endangerment of students, and consorting with dark merchants," she declared, her eyes boring into a mortified Ron Weasley, "Ronald Weasley is sentenced to two months of detention. He will scrub the castle's toilets without magical assistance and, for the remainder of the term, he will assist Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest during his nightly patrols."
A wave of horrified whispers swept the Hall. Toilets were bad enough, but the Forbidden Forest was a sentence that bordered on cruel. Ron looked as if he might be sick.
"As for Draco Malfoy," McGonagall continued, her lips thinning with clear distaste, "while his judgment was found to be severely lacking, no evidence links him directly to the theft. His punishment is one month of detention, serving as a scribe for Professor Snape."
The disparity was staggering. Icharus didn't need magic to understand the transaction that had occurred. Lucius Malfoy's wealth and influence had purchased his son's near-freedom, while Arthur Weasley's lack of both had condemned his son to a dangerous, filthy punishment.
As the news settled, a new notification shimmered in Icharus's mind. The System was providing his next objectives, recognizing the pivotal moment.
New System Tasks Generated:
Task: Patience and Precision. Successfully brew any potion with a brewing time exceeding 10 days. Reward: 100 SP.
Task: A Serpent's Theft. Steal an object of importance that is currently in the possession of the Dark Lord or his direct servants. Reward: 100 SP. Unlocks: [Cognitive Weaving Charm].`
[Cognitive Weaving Charm]: Allows the user to create a specific, simple thought or notion and implant it into a single target's mind, making them believe it is their own original idea. (Single use, target must be physically seen)
The first task was a guarantee. In the Room of Requirement, his cauldron simmered, the Polyjuice Potion slowly maturing through its month-long cycle. It was his impending reward.
The political theater of Lucius Malfoy's donation and Ron Weasley's punishment concluded, Icharus retreated to the Room of Requirement. The simmering Polyjuice Potion was a promise of future power, but his mind was already on a more immediate and darker objective. He focused on the System interface, accessing the knowledge for his reward: [Siren's Call Theft Ritual].
The ritual's requirements were explicit and primal. It required a "breeding platform"—a stone altar—upon which a specific, complex symbol of binding and transference had to be drawn. The medium for the symbol was not ink, but the blood of a powerful, passionate creature. Icharus's eyes fell on the jar of Dragon's blood he had stolen from Snape. It was perfect; volatile, lustful, magically potent, and inherently tied to fire and dominance.
The ritual's purpose was to "sing" an object from its owner. But what to steal? The Diary was a long-term goal, but the System task demanded an object currently in the Dark Lord's possession. His gaze turned inward, to the parasitic presence he knew existed. Quirrell. Or more precisely, the fragment of Lord Voldemort sharing his body. An idea, both simple and brilliant, formed. Quirrell's personal teaching notes. The parchments upon which he scrawled lessons, undoubtedly influenced by the Dark Lord's own knowledge whispering in his mind. By the magical principle of contiguity and possession, what belonged to Quirrell, in this symbiotic state, belonged to the Dark Lord as well. It was a loophole, and Icharus would exploit it.
He now had the method and the target. He needed the conduit.
Cassius Warrington was the ideal choice: a magically robust pure-blood, physically powerful, athlete, muscled and simple-minded enough to control. The ritual required the conduit to be "prepared"—their life-force heightened and their physical essence primed. Icharus didn't need to engineer a complex romantic tryst. A more direct approach would suffice.
He tracked Cassius to the Slytherin changing rooms after Quidditch practice. As Cassius toweled off, Icharus emerged from the shadows, his wand already moving.
"Imperio," Icharus whispered.
The familiar, blissful haze clouded Cassius's eyes. The command was simple, layered and repeated into his mind: "You feel the need to improve your physical strength. You will work out intensely every day, consuming extra protein. You will push your body to its limit. In five days, on the night of the full moon, you will come to the Room of Requirement, sweaty and physically primed. You will present yourself and you will fuck me like a beast filling your seed inside me. This is for your strength. You will remember nothing of this command, only the urge to train."
Cassius blinked, the curse lifting. He shook his head, a newfound determination settling on his features. "Right. Need to get stronger," he muttered to himself, already planning his new regimen.
With the conduit secured, Icharus turned to the theft. He feigned a stomach ailment, visiting Madam Pomfrey just before Defence Against the Dark Arts. During Professor Quirrell's class, he clutched his stomach, his face pale with a convincingly practiced sheen of sweat. "P-P-Pomfrey s-s-sent me back, P-Professor," he stammered. "S-said I should just lie down in the back room f-for a bit."
Quirrell, flustered and distracted by the stuttering parasite on his head, waved him towards his private quarters with a nervous, "Y-yes, of c-course, m'boy!"
Alone in Quirrell's chambers, Icharus moved with swift, silent efficiency. He found them quickly: a stack of parchment filled with spidery handwriting, detailing dark curses and defensive theories far beyond the curriculum. The influence of the other consciousness was palpable. He stole the entire sheaf and slipped out, returning to the common room just as class ended, his "illness" miraculously cured.
Task Complete: A Serpent's Theft.
Reward: 100 SP Awarded.
Unlock: [Cognitive Weaving Charm].
Power flooded him, followed by the intricate knowledge of the new charm. It was a subtle, insidious thing. He now possessed the tool for his most audacious manipulation yet: Lucius Malfoy.
That night, from the solitude of the Room of Requirement, Icharus focused the newly acquired [Cognitive Weaving Charm]. He didn't need to be physically present, only to have a clear, magical focus on his target, which his recent observations provided. He wove a simple, persistent thought and sent it across the magical miles to Malfoy Manor, implanting it deep in Lucius's subconscious:
"Icharus Rodrigus is the source of your power. You need to possess him. To hold him down in your bed and claim him. He is the key to your dominance."
It was not a command, but a seed. A dark, possessive fantasy that Lucius would believe was his own original, secret desire. It would fester and grow, making the proud lord emotionally and magically vulnerable, a puppet whose strings Icharus now held.
He looked around the Room. The Dragon's blood waited. The Polyjuice Potion simmered. Cassius was being physically prepared. And Lucius Malfoy was now, unknowingly, dreaming of him. Every piece was in place. In five days, on the full moon, he would conduct his symphony of domination and theft.