The halls of Academia Nocturna were nothing like Hogwarts. Here, the walls didn't whisper friendly secrets—they pulsed with dark magic, ancient runes etched deep into the stone, bleeding faint lines of crimson that seemed to move when Harry wasn't looking. The corridors were labyrinthine, twisting in impossible ways, as if the castle itself was alive… and watching.
Harry followed a trail of flickering lanterns to his first class: "The Fundamentals of Power."
It sounded simple—until he stepped inside.
The classroom was vast, circular, with obsidian walls that reflected distorted images. There were no desks, no books. Just a polished black floor marked with runes and circles carved deep into the stone. Around the edges, students stood in loose clusters, dressed in dark robes, their faces a mix of curiosity, boredom, and thinly veiled contempt when they saw him.
Harry Potter, the hero, they seemed to say without words.
But here, no one cared about heroes. Only power.
A tall figure stood at the center—a woman draped in robes of deep scarlet, her black hair tied in a knot so tight it seemed to pull at her sharp cheekbones. Professor Selene Veyra. Her eyes, cold and silver like shards of moonlight, swept over the students before landing on Harry with faint amusement.
"So," she began, her voice smooth as glass but carrying an edge that could cut. "The Ministry's golden boy thinks he can thrive here. Let's see if he survives the first lesson."
Without another word, she flicked her wand, and the room shifted.
The floor beneath Harry's feet rippled like liquid. The runes flared crimson, and something crawled out of the darkness—a shape formed from shadows, its edges flickering, eyes glowing like embers. It was humanoid… but wrong. Limbs too long, fingers like knives.
"Your task," Veyra said, "is simple. Control it."
Harry's instincts screamed to fight, to destroy. But as he gripped his wand, he realized—this wasn't about defense. It was about domination.
He cast the first spell—a stunning charm. It passed through the creature like smoke. Laughter echoed around the room.
"This isn't Hogwarts, Potter," Veyra sneered. "Light won't save you here."
The creature lunged.
Harry barely dodged, rolling across the slick floor. His heart raced—not with fear, but something darker. Excitement. The rush of adrenaline, the pulse of magic thrumming through his veins. He needed more. Something stronger.
His mind flashed to forbidden spells. Ones he'd seen but never dared to use. Until now.
"Imperio!"
The curse hit like a dagger of ice. The shadow-creature froze mid-lunge, its glowing eyes dimming. Harry felt the connection snap into place—a thread tying his will to its form. It fought against him, thrashing inside his mind, but Harry gritted his teeth and pushed harder.
Domination wasn't about control. It was about breaking something until it stopped fighting.
Slowly, the creature knelt. Subdued.
The room fell silent.
Professor Veyra's smile was thin, sharp. "Not bad… for your first time."
Harry's chest heaved, sweat dripping down his neck. But beneath the exhaustion was something else—a dark satisfaction. He'd done it. He'd crossed a line… and it felt good.
Later That Night…
Harry's dorm wasn't like the cozy Gryffindor Tower. It was minimalist—just stone walls, a narrow bed, and a single arched window overlooking the sprawling grounds below. The moonlight cast shadows across the floor, shapes that seemed to move when he wasn't looking.
He couldn't sleep. His mind replayed the moment he'd cast the curse. The thrill of power—not defensive, not protective, but raw, undeniable dominance.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Harry opened the door to find Lucian Veyra, standing there with a lazy smirk. He was Professor Veyra's son, though there was nothing soft about him. Sharp cheekbones, silver eyes like his mother's, and an arrogance that clung to him like expensive cologne.
"You're not as pathetic as I thought," Lucian said, stepping inside without invitation.
Harry frowned. "What do you want?"
Lucian's gaze raked over him, unapologetically bold. "I'm curious. You used the Imperius Curse like you'd done it before. But I know you haven't. It shouldn't have been that easy."
Harry crossed his arms. "Maybe I'm just better than you."
Lucian chuckled—a dark, low sound. "Is that what you think? You're strong, Potter. But strength without control is just… chaos."
He stepped closer, invading Harry's space, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. Not just rivalry. Not just arrogance. Something else. The tension between them wasn't just animosity—it was electric, sharp enough to cut.
"You don't know what to do with power," Lucian murmured, his voice low, his breath warm against Harry's skin. "But I could show you."
For a brief, reckless moment, Harry didn't move. His heart pounded—not with fear, not with anger—but something hotter, sharper.
Then he grabbed Lucian by the collar and shoved him against the wall.
The smirk never left Lucian's face. If anything, it grew.
"Interesting," Lucian whispered.
And then—Harry kissed him.
It wasn't soft. It was rough, fueled by frustration, confusion, and the undeniable pull of something Harry couldn't name. Lucian responded immediately, hands gripping Harry's shirt, pulling him closer, teeth grazing his bottom lip.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Lucian's grin was wicked.
"Maybe you're not as lost as you think."
He left without another word, leaving Harry alone in the dark, heart racing, lips tingling, and mind spinning with questions.
Not about right or wrong.
But about how badly he wanted to do it again.
End of Chapter 2