The five days preceding the full moon passed with a deceptive, almost cruel, sense of normalcy at Hogwarts. For most, it was life as usual. For Icharus Rodrigus, it was the final, meticulous ticking of a clockwork mechanism.
In the Hospital Wing, Hermione Granger remained a still, pale figure beneath her blankets, her condition unchanged. The brilliant light of the school's most promising Muggle-born witch was dimmed, a void that seemed to suck the warmth from the corridor outside.
Elsewhere, Icharus continued his subtle work. He found a nervous Neville Longbottom in the library, struggling with a simple Herbology text. "You know," Icharus had murmured, sliding into the seat beside him, "the Mandrake's cry isn't just lethal. In some ancient Balkan rituals, a recorded cry, when played backwards at a specific pitch, is said to instill paralyzing fear in an enemy. Much more useful than just waiting for it to mature, don't you think?" He left Neville staring at his book, a new, dark seed of curiosity planted in his mind.
His social maneuvering was equally calculated. He played football with Justin Finch-Fletchley and the other Hufflepuffs, the picture of easy camaraderie. In Potions, he deliberately asked Ernie Macmillan for help with a Shrinking Solution, appealing to the boy's pride. "I just can't get the consistency right, Ernie. You always seem to have a knack for the stirring technique." Ernie, puffing out his chest, launched into a detailed explanation, redoubling his own efforts to be perfect.
And with Cedric Diggory, he perfected the art of the admiring underclassman. He'd wait near the Quidditch pitch, catching the older boy as he came down from practice, hair damp with sweat, radiating health and vigor. "Wow, that was a amazing Wronski Feint, Cedric! How do you even keep your bearings?" Or he'd share a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks on a weekend trip, making a self-deprecating joke that had Cedric laughing, the easy bond of house loyalty strengthening. He noted the way Cedric's muscles moved under his Quidditch robes, filing the observation away with detached interest.
Meanwhile, Ron Weasley's punishment was a public spectacle. He was often seen trudging from the bathrooms, smelling faintly of disinfectant and humiliation, or heading towards the Forbidden Forest with a terrified Hagrid. The disparity between his fate and Draco's festered within him. He saw Draco Malfoy smirking in the halls, untouched, and felt a burning, helpless rage. It wasn't just about the punishment; it was about power. His father had been powerless to protect him. Lucius Malfoy had simply opened his vault and made the problem disappear. Ron felt a disgusting, unworthy jealousy for the very privilege he despised.
In the Room of Requirement, the Polyjuice Potion completed its final, slow shift, settling into a clear, murky potion that held a faint, pearlescent sheen—the sign of a perfect brew.
Task Complete: Patience and Precision.
Reward: 100 SP Awarded.
Power, clean and quantifiable, flooded Icharus's system. He was now richer by 100 points, but his focus was absolute.
As the full moon rose, its pale light filtering through the enchanted windows, Cassius Warrington made his way to the seventh floor. The physical enhancement potion from his family, combined with the relentless, magically-compelled workouts, had transformed him. At sixteen, he was now supernaturally buffed, his physique that of a young god, every muscle defined and humming with trapped, primal energy. He was sweating, his mind a haze of instinct and the lingering, blissful command to "present himself."
Icharus stood in the center of the Room of Requirement. The space had transformed. It was a grotto, filled with the intoxicating, cloying scent of night-blooming lotuses, their white petals glowing in the dim light. In the center was a low, obsidian altar. Using the stolen Dragon's blood, Icharus had painted a complex, spiraling sigil upon it—a design that pulsed with a faint, internal heat, promising both binding and release.
The door opened. Cassius entered, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a mix of exhaustion and the Imperius-driven need.
"Undress," Icharus commanded, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.
Cassius obeyed without hesitation, tearing his sweat-soaked shirt in his urgency. The raw, physical power in the room was palpable.
Icharus gestured to the altar. "Now," he said, his tone leaving no room for question. "Enjoy me. Release everything."
Icharus started to lick the young man sweat as if it is gods nectar, they both kissed as if long lost lovers meeting each other.
Cassius started to bite Icharus Nipples, tore his robes lifted him and took to the soft cushion on ritual altar. He bite Icharus body all over and spanked his ass, eat his hole as if he is hungry for it all his life.
Icharus asked Cassius to chant "ek samþykki at gefa hluta af mætti mínum ok binda með félaga mínum, ek fórna hluta af mér fyrir eilífa dýrð hans. Látum líkama vora sameinast ok sæði mitt verða máttur hans"
Cassius started to pound Icharus in various positions , kissing him, biting while chanting and enjoying every inch and sensation to its core. Icharus ordered Cassius to fuck till he bleeds and Cassius seed enters his body.
The two mated for 3 hours, Cassius restless filled Icharus hole with his seed for 3 times and by 4th time Icharus started to bleed from his hole, when his blood dropped on to the ritual alter it hummed in a symphony and Cassius felt as if he lost some thing meanwhile Icharus will stat increased from 3 to 4.