The ritual was complete. The stolen notes lay on the scorched altar. The System's reward of 100 SP registered in Icharus's mind, bringing his total to 200. But in the wake of the immense magical discharge, the blissful haze in Cassius Warrington's eyes shattered into sharp, horrified clarity. He looked down at himself, at Icharus, at the evidence of what had been done. Rage, pure and unadulterated, twisted his features.
"You… you mudblood bastard!" he roared, his voice raw. "You dared to use an Imperius on me? A Warrington!" He lunged, not with his fists, but for his wand, which lay discarded with his clothes. Icharus's mind, honed by survival, moved faster than his battered body.
He had 200 SP. The market was open. He couldn't fight Cassius physically, and a Stunning Spell might not stop him. He needed a different solution. A permanent, subversive one. His eyes scanned the ethereal market list, and he found it.
[Obsidian Heart Bind]
- 100 SP Description: A single-use curse crystal. When shattered, it releases a miasma of dark intent that, upon inhalation by the target, twists their perception of a designated individual. Effect: The target develops intensely possessive, dominant, and sexually abusive thought patterns focused solely on the user. They come to view the user as their rightful property, a toy for their gratification and a subject for their humiliation. The feelings are powerful, genuine, and self-reinforcing.
Duration: 1 Lunar Year. Note: Does not create loyalty or affection, only a dark, obsessive sense of ownership. The target's base personality is amplified in its cruelest aspects.
It was perfect. And it cost exactly half his newfound wealth. As Cassius's fingers closed around his wand, Icharus, with a final surge of will, purchased the [Obsidian Heart Bind]. A small, black crystal appeared in his palm. He crushed it. A wave of invisible, psychotropic magic, darker and more insidious than the Imperius, washed over Cassius. He froze, wand half-raised, as the magic invaded his mind. The rage didn't vanish; it was redirected, reshaped, and fused with a new, horrifying desire. The fury on his face melted away, replaced by a slow, smug, and deeply possessive smile. He lowered his wand, looking at Icharus not as a victim seeking revenge, but as an owner surveying his newly acquired property.
"Well, well," Cassius purred, his voice dropping to a menacing, intimate tone. He walked forward, circling Icharus where he lay. "Look at you. The brilliant little Muggle-born, all broken and used on the floor. You thought you could play with forces beyond you." He crouched down, grabbing a handful of Icharus's hair and yanking his head back. "You're going to learn your place, Rodrigus. That clever mind, that pretty face… it all exists for my amusement now. You are my little secret. My toy." He released him with a shove. "You will come when I call. You will satisfy me when I want. In my bed, in a broom closet, wherever I desire. You will worship me with that mouth of yours, or I will destroy you. I'll tell everyone it was you who used the Imperius. I'll make sure you're expelled, and then I'll find you outside this castle and finish what I started. Do you understand?" Icharus, lying on the cold floor, bleeding and in pain, looked up at Cassius. The plan had succeeded in averting immediate exposure, but at a terrible, unforeseen cost. He had traded the clean, clinical control of the Imperius for the volatile, humiliating ownership of the [Obsidian Heart Bind].
He was safe from the authorities, but he had now made himself the personal slave of a cruel and powerful wizard. He nodded slowly, his eyes downcast, hiding the cold, murderous fury that now burned brighter than ever within him. "I understand," he whispered. Cassius smirked, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face. He felt powerful, dominant. To have this brilliant wizard, who had dared to manipulate him, now utterly beneath his heel, was a sweeter victory than any Quidditch cup. "Good," Cassius said, delivering a final, contemptuous kick to Icharus's side. "Now, clean yourself up. I'll be summoning you soon." He strode from the room, leaving Icharus alone in the silence. The System had given him a way to survive, but it had also forged his own chains. The path to power had just become infinitely more dangerous and personal. The hunt for a way to break the [Obsidian Heart Bind]—or to permanently eliminate
Cassius Warrington—had now become his most immediate and desperate goal. Alone in the Room of Requirement, the taste of blood and humiliation thick in his mouth, Icharus Rodrigus faced the abyss. The [Obsidian Heart Bind] had saved him from exposure, but it had caged him more effectively than any prison. The cold, murderous fury within him was a sterile thing; it provided no solution. As he clutched his injured side, a new System notification, colder and more demanding than any before, seared into his mind.
CRITICAL TASK: THE MARTYR'S PATH
Objective: Formally accept your role. For one lunar year, you will submit to Cassius Warrington as his property. You will not resist, you will not seek an early escape, and you will serve his will in all things he demands of you. You must make him believe your submission is absolute and genuine. Reward upon Completion:
*+1 Permanent Luck*
*+1 Permanent Endurance*
*+1 Permanent Charm*
Penalty for Refusal/Failure: The [Obsidian Heart Bind] will become permanent. Your Will stat will be permanently reduced by 2.
Icharus stared at the message. It was not a choice. It was a sentencing. The System, in its alien logic, was not offering him a way out, but a way through. It was demanding he lean into the humiliation, to make the poison his medicine. To survive, he would have to become the perfect slave. He selected [ACCEPT]. A strange calm settled over him. The path was clear, however horrific. Every instinct screamed against it, but his Will, now statted at 4, allowed him to shove those instincts into a locked box in his mind. This was no longer about emotion; it was a mission. The summons came not as a note, but as a sharp, painful tug on a hidden magical leash Cassius had devised—a twisted perversion of the Protean Charm that served only to inflict a stinging hex on Icharus's wrist. He had been expecting it. The game was a week old now. When Icharus entered the Room of Requirement, it had transformed into a grim parody of a Slytherin common room, all dark leather and cold, green light. Cassius lounged in a high-backed chair like a king on a throne. And he was not alone. Marcus Flint, his brutish face split in a predatory grin, cracked his knuckles. And in the corner, trying to look nonchalant but failing to hide his nervous excitement, was Draco Malfoy. Cassius was showing off his new "pet" to an audience, inducting his junior into this culture of cruelty. "Well, look who decided to obey," Cassius drawled. "Strip." Icharus, his face a mask of vacant submission, complied.
The cold air of the room raised goosebumps on his skin. He stood naked before them, the object of their collective gaze. The abuse began. It was a symphony of humiliation. Marcus Flint was all physical, brute force. He delivered sharp, stinging blows that were meant to bruise and degrade, not to incapacitate. He forced Icharus to his knees with a hand tangled in his hair, grunting about "knowing your place, mudblood."
Draco Malfoy, eager to prove himself, followed their lead with a cruel, childish mimicry, spitting insults about Icharus's parentage, his house, his very existence. Cassius presided over it all, a smug, possessive smile on his face. And then, something within Icharus… shifted. Draco's participation was a gift. Malfoy is here. He is witnessing this. His father's obsession, now his school rival's plaything. The psychological leverage this provides is incalculable. A strange, serene calm settled over him. The fear and shame that should have been his were consumed by this icy, analytical fire. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips—not of pleasure, but of supreme, god-like understanding. He was not being broken; he was being tempered. He was learning the absolute mechanics of power from the perspective of the powerless, and in doing so, he was transcending it. He looked up at Cassius, and for a fleeting second, his eyes were not those of a victim, but of a scientist observing a fascinating, if vile, experiment.
Cassius saw the look. The smugness on his face faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion and unease. This wasn't the reaction he wanted. He wanted fear, tears, begging. Not this… this unsettling quiet. "Having fun, are you?" Cassius snapped, his voice losing its smooth confidence. "You like being my little whore in front of an audience?" Icharus didn't answer. He simply held the gaze for a moment longer before letting his eyes go blank again, the mask sliding back into place. But the seed of doubt was planted in Cassius's mind.
The "enjoyment" Icharus felt was not masochistic pleasure. It was the euphoria of ultimate cognitive control. He had discovered that his mind could be a separate citadel, utterly untouchable. His body was just a vessel, a tool to be used, and in allowing it to be used so completely, he was, paradoxically, asserting the most absolute form of control over his own existence. When they finally left him, crumpled and sore on the floor, Icharus felt more powerful than he ever had with a wand in his hand. He had passed a test he hadn't known he was taking. He had looked into the abyss of total subjugation and found, not his breaking point, but his core of unbreakable will. The path to revenge was no longer just about escaping Cassius; it was about using this very experience as the anvil upon which his new, indestructible self would be forged.