Harry awoke before dawn, drenched in sweat, the metallic taste of blood still lingering on his tongue. His sheets were tangled around his legs, his skin marked by faint bruises and scratches—memories of the night before.
Lucian was gone.
Of course he was.
He always left before morning, like a shadow that refused to exist in the light. No words. No promises. Just the lingering warmth of his touch and the faint scent of smoke and something darker.
But Harry didn't need promises.
Because Lucian wasn't an addiction.
He was a necessity.
Classes Became a Blur.
Harry sat through lectures on advanced dark rituals, mind-control curses, and blood-binding spells, but none of it mattered. His wand felt heavier in his hand, not because of the magic he wielded—but because of the weight Lucian had left behind.
His thoughts weren't on spells. They were on sharp teeth grazing skin, rough hands pulling him closer, whispered words soaked in sin.
Lucian was everywhere—and nowhere.
Harry hated it.
And he craved it.
The Spiral Deepened That Night.
Another letter, slipped under his door. No signature. Just three words, written in black ink that bled into the parchment.
"Meet me. Now."
Harry didn't hesitate.
He followed the pull like a moth drawn to flame, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of Academia Nocturna. The school felt different at night—alive, breathing, the walls pulsing with faint whispers.
Lucian was waiting in one of the abandoned towers, leaning against the crumbling stone wall, the moonlight casting sharp shadows across his face. His silver eyes glinted with something dangerous.
Not affection. Not tenderness.
Possession.
"You're late," Lucian said lazily, though Harry knew he'd only arrived seconds ago.
Harry didn't reply. Words weren't necessary between them anymore.
Lucian pushed off the wall, crossing the space between them in two steps. His hands gripped Harry's face, his mouth crashing down with brutal intensity. Teeth. Tongue. The faint copper tang of blood when someone bit too hard—but neither of them cared who.
Harry shoved Lucian against the wall, their bodies colliding with a force that rattled the ancient stones. His hands found Lucian's shirt, yanking it over his head, fingers tracing old scars, fresh bruises—marks left by others, by Harry himself, by the life Lucian lived before this.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't romantic.
It was war.
A battle fought in gasps and moans, in nails digging into skin, in bruises blooming like dark flowers across pale flesh.
When it was over, they didn't speak.
Lucian lit a cigarette, his bare skin glowing faintly in the moonlight, a thin sheen of sweat along his collarbone. He didn't look at Harry.
And that pissed Harry off more than it should've.
"Is this all I am to you?" Harry's voice was low, rough with exhaustion and frustration.
Lucian exhaled smoke, the corner of his mouth twitching into that infuriating smirk. "What do you want me to say, Potter? That I care?"
Harry's jaw clenched. "Do you?"
Lucian finally looked at him, eyes sharp and cold like shards of glass. "No."
The word hit harder than any curse.
But Harry didn't leave.
Because he couldn't.
The Mission Came Soon After.
A test from the Covenant—a task meant to solidify Harry's place among them.
Find the traitor. End them.
Simple.
But nothing was ever simple anymore.
The target was a witch named Saria Vale, an ex-member of the Covenant who'd stolen something valuable—a relic infused with magic older than the academy itself.
Lucian insisted on coming.
Of course he did.
They tracked her to the outskirts of a crumbling magical town, far from the protection of the Ministry. The night was cold, the sky bruised with clouds.
When they found her, she wasn't what Harry expected.
Not a villain. Not a monster.
Just a woman. Tired. Frightened.
But Harry had crossed too many lines to hesitate now.
"Please," she whispered, her wand trembling in her hand. "You don't have to do this."
Harry's grip tightened around his wand. Avada Kedavra burned on the tip of his tongue.
Lucian stood beside him, his expression unreadable.
Harry looked into the woman's eyes—saw her fear, her humanity.
And he cast the spell anyway.
Green light. A soft thud as her body hit the ground.
Silence.
Lucian stepped closer, his voice a dark whisper in Harry's ear. "You didn't hesitate."
Harry didn't reply.
Because he didn't need to.
Back at the Academy…
They didn't make it to Lucian's room.
Harry shoved him against the nearest wall, hands tearing at clothes, mouths bruising with desperate, furious kisses. It wasn't lust. It wasn't even anger.
It was ownership.
Lucian's fingers tangled in Harry's hair, yanking hard enough to make him gasp. "Is this what you wanted?" he growled. "To feel something?"
Harry's only answer was a bite, sharp and deep, drawing blood.
Lucian hissed, his laughter dark and breathless. "You're mine, Potter."
Harry didn't deny it.
Because it was true.
End of Chapter 7