Late September. The Slytherin dungeons were imbued with a cold, greenish calm. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting long shadows over the Persian rugs where first-years pretended to study, though in reality, everyone orbited around the figure seated in the main armchair.
Draco was reading.
Or trying to.
For the past hour, the letters of Archaic Power Structures had been dancing before his eyes. Not from lack of concentration, but from pain.
It started as a hum at the base of his neck. Now, it was a constant vibration under his skin, as if his veins were filled with boiling carbonated water. His fingers trembled imperceptibly on the leather of the book.
Draco closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to force his Occlumency to suppress the sensation.
It's not working.
A sharp pang, like a red-hot needle, pierced his sternum. Draco let out a hiss of pain, bringing a hand to his chest. The crystal goblet on the table beside him shattered without anyone touching it.
The glass shards flew outward but stopped in mid-air, suspended by unnatural gravity, before falling to the floor like diamond dust.
The Common Room fell silent. Pansy, who was embroidering on a nearby stool, looked up in alarm.
"Draco?"
He raised a hand to stop her.
"I'm fine," he lied. His voice sounded raspy, metallic.
[CRITICAL SYSTEM ALERT][Diagnosis: SEVERE ETHERIC DISSONANCE.]
The red interface flashed on his retina, displaying an anatomical schematic of his own body. His magical core, located near his heart, glowed with a blinding white light, while his magical conduits (the meridians carrying magic to his limbs) appeared dark red, inflamed.
[Explanation of Failure:]
The Engine: Your transmigrated soul and System bonuses are generating Adult Wizard Level mana (Grade A).
The Chassis: Your biological body is that of an eleven-year-old boy. Its conduits are narrow and fragile.
The Problem: You are trying to pass an ocean through a straw. Initially, thanks to the System's physical enhancement, the magic accelerated your growth slightly, but currently, the internal pressure is eroding your nerve endings.
Consequence: If you continue accumulating power without expending it massively or stabilizing it, you will suffer a Core Implosion. (Death by Spontaneous Combustion).
Draco read the diagnosis with analytical coldness, though cold sweat trickled down his temple.
Damn it. I've advanced too fast. My magic grows exponentially, but my body grows linearly.
[RECOMMENDED SOLUTION: ANCHORING PROTOCOL]You need a "Ground." A compatible external agent that can connect to your core and act as a secondary capacitor, absorbing the excess magical static your body cannot process.
System Suggestion: Vassalage Contract.
[Vassal Requirements:]
Blood Compatibility: Must be Pureblood (to withstand the density of your magic).
Psychological Affinity: Must be submissive or willing (resistance would create a violent rejection).
Gender: Female (Yin-Yang Polarity Principle to balance your excess Yang/Active energy).
Draco opened his eyes. The pain was still there, a dull throb threatening to crack his ribs from the inside.
His grey eyes, shining with an unnatural fever, settled on Pansy Parkinson.
She was watching him with genuine concern, lips parted and hands clutching her embroidery. She was pureblood. She was devoted to the point of fanaticism. And she was empty, waiting to be filled by something greater than herself.
Draco analyzed her aura. It was pale grey, malleable. Perfect.
"Pansy," Draco said.
She stood up instantly, dropping the fabric.
"Yes, Draco? Do you need something? Nurse Pomfrey?"
"No." Draco stood up. The movement cost him, but he disguised it with arrogance. "I need to walk. Come with me."
"Now?" she asked, glancing at the pendulum clock. It was nearly ten at night.
"Now."
Draco walked toward the stone exit. Every step was a battle against the internal pressure seeking release. He needed to drain that energy, and he needed to do it soon. If Pansy wanted to be his queen, she would first have to prove she could survive being his battery.
—[
The Grand Staircase of the castle was in full motion. The marble flights creaked and groaned as they shifted position, connecting floors in an architectural dance that Draco usually found fascinating, but which now only increased his sensory irritability.
They were on the third floor, trying to cross to the tapestry corridor.
A group of Gryffindors was coming down noisily. Among them stood out Cormac McLaggen, a second-year boy with broad shoulders and the natural arrogance of someone who has never received a real punch in the face.
The flight of stairs jerked as it anchored. Pansy, distracted by her worry for Draco, momentarily lost her balance.
"Watch out!" she exclaimed, stumbling toward the center of the path.
McLaggen, who was coming down in a hurry, collided with her. It wasn't a gentle accident; it was a deliberate shoulder check. Pansy let out a gasp and fell to her knees on the hard stone, her belongings scattering.
The lions' laughter erupted.
"Watch where you're going, slithering snake!" barked McLaggen, not even stopping to help her. He turned to his friends, grinning. "Always crawling on the floor, eh? It's their natural habitat."
Draco stopped.
The buzzing in his ears ceased. The pain in his chest suddenly transformed. It was no longer a burden; it was fuel.
The sight of the laughing Gryffindor acted as the trigger on a loaded gun. The System didn't even need to suggest a strategy. The predatory instinct took control.
"McLaggen."
The name wasn't shouted. It was spoken with a calm so unnatural it cut through the group's laughter like a guillotine.
Cormac turned, an eyebrow arched.
"What do you want, Malfoy? Gonna cry because your girlfriend got...?"
Draco didn't wait for the end of the sentence. He didn't draw his wand. He didn't need it. The magic was so desperate to leave his body that it responded to his anger like a rabid dog.
Draco moved his left hand in a sharp gesture, from top to bottom.
"Ossis Mollire." (Bone Softening).
It was a non-verbal spell, crude, powered by the brute force of his overloaded core. A lash of invisible violet energy struck McLaggen's knees.
A wet, sickening sound was heard. Like rubber stretching.
The Gryffindor's knees gave way, not because they bent, but because they lost their structural rigidity. McLaggen fell to the floor with a scream of confusion and terror, his legs turned to useless jelly under his own weight.
"What... what's happening to me?!" he screamed, trying to stand, but his legs bent at impossible angles.
His friends backed away, horrified.
Draco advanced. He walked slowly toward the fallen boy. His steps echoed with terrifying finality.
Pansy remained on the floor, looking at Draco with wide eyes. There was no fear in her gaze toward him; there was adoration. She was watching the monster emerge from the cage, and she loved it.
Draco reached McLaggen. The Gryffindor looked up from the floor, pale.
"You... you did this to me! My father is...!"
Draco stepped on McLaggen's right hand.
It wasn't a quick stomp. It was slow, deliberate pressure, increasing the weight until knuckles cracked under the sole of his dragon-hide boot.
"AHHHH!" McLaggen's shriek bounced off the stone walls.
Draco leaned over him, his face a mask of absolute coldness, his grey eyes shining with an inner light that was not natural.
"Your father is irrelevant," Draco whispered. Magic crackled around him, making the air smell of ozone and blood. "And you are a waste of space."
He pressed the boot harder.
"Pansy Parkinson is mine. And what is mine is sacred. If you touch her again, if you breathe in her direction again... I won't leave you with rubber knees. I will remove your bones one by one."
He lifted his foot. McLaggen sobbed, cradling his broken hand.
Draco turned to the group of Gryffindors watching, paralyzed.
"Take him away," he ordered. "And tell Pomfrey he fell down the stairs. Because if I hear a single official complaint... I will remember your faces."
McLaggen's friends nodded frantically, lifting the crippled boy and dragging him away as fast as possible.
Draco stood there, breathing deeply. The discharge of violence had relieved the pressure in his chest by 10%, but it wasn't enough. The core was still roaring. He needed more.
He turned to Pansy. She was already standing, gathering her things, but her hands were shaking. She looked at him as if he were a god of vengeance. Her pupils were so dilated her eyes looked black.
Draco extended his hand.
"Get up."
Pansy took his hand. His skin was burning.
"Draco... that was..."
"Necessary," he cut in. He pulled her hard, drawing her against his body. The proximity made magical sparks jump between their clothes. "But I'm not finished. The magic is still burning me, Pansy. And you are going to help me put it out."
He dragged her toward the dark corridor, toward a disused classroom whose door stood ajar, promising the privacy the ritual required.
—[
Draco released Pansy's wrist. She stumbled back, bumping into an old desk covered in graffiti from decades of past students. She rubbed the skin where he had grabbed her; it was red, hot to the touch, as if she had handled a live wire.
The only light came from the moon filtering through the high, dirty windows, bathing the room in blue and grey hues.
"Draco..." she whispered, her breathing ragged. "What you did to McLaggen... his legs..."
Draco didn't answer immediately. He leaned against the closed door, shutting his eyes. The System was screaming warnings in his mind, red progress bars filling dangerously. The violence had been a temporary relief, like opening a pressure valve for a second, but the core continued to produce more energy than his meridians could transport.
"Did I scare you?" he asked, opening his eyes. In the gloom, his grey irises looked like liquid mercury.
Pansy swallowed hard. She straightened up, trying to regain some of her usual composure, though her knees were shaking.
"Yes," she admitted. "But... I didn't want you to stop."
Draco smiled. It was a broken, hungry smile.
"Correct."
He pushed off the door and walked toward her. Pansy didn't back away, though every survival instinct screamed that this wasn't the boy she had grown up with. This was a predator wearing Draco Malfoy's skin.
He cornered her against the desk. He placed a hand on either side of her, trapping her. He leaned in until their noses almost touched. The heat radiating from him was suffocating, smelling of ozone, electrical storms, and pure dark magic.
"Look at me, Pansy."
She looked at him. She saw the sweat beading on his forehead, the tension in his jaw.
"You're... you're burning up," she whispered, raising a trembling hand to touch his chest.
The moment her fingers grazed his shirt, a visible spark jumped between them. Pansy gasped and pulled her hand back, but Draco caught it in mid-air and forced it back over his heart.
"Do you feel it?" Draco hissed. "It's not fever. It's power. Too much power."
He pressed her hand against his chest. Pansy could feel it: a furious, runaway beat, as if a bird were trapped inside his ribcage trying to break his bones.
"My magic is growing faster than my body," he confessed, his voice hoarse. "It's eating me alive, Pansy. It's burning my nerves. If I don't find an outlet... I'm going to implode."
Pansy looked at him with wide eyes, finally understanding the urgency, the sudden violence.
"Do you need... do you need a healer?"
"No," Draco let out a dry laugh. "Healers would try to 'cure' me by blocking my magic. They would try to make me normal. And I refuse to be normal."
He leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear.
"I need an anchor. I need someone who can withstand the overflow. Someone to accept what spills over so I don't break."
Pansy shivered. The implication was intimate, dangerously vague.
"Me?"
Draco pulled back enough to look her in the eye again. His expression hardened.
"You are weak, Pansy. You almost fell on the stairs from a simple shove. Your magic is mediocre. Your will is fragile."
The words were slaps. Pansy shrank back, hurt.
"I am a Parkinson..."
"And that means nothing if you don't have the power to back it up," Draco cut in relentlessly. "But I can change that."
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. The caress was soft, but the magic accompanying it made Pansy's skin tingle deliciously.
"I can make you strong. I can give you the power spilling from my hands. You will be faster, more lethal, more... magical. No one will ever push you again. No one will ever look down on you again."
Draco lowered his hand to her throat, feeling her racing pulse under the pad of his thumb.
"But the price is your autonomy, Pansy. If you accept this, you will be mine. Not as a girlfriend. Not as a friend. You will be an extension of my will. My battery. My shadow."
The System flickered before Draco:
[VASSALAGE CONTRACT: INITIATED][Conditions: Voluntary submission in exchange for Residual Power.][Transfer Rate: Your excess magic will flow into her, forcibly expanding her core.]
Pansy looked at him. She saw the promise of power in his eyes. She remembered the humiliation on the stairs, and then the vicarious satisfaction of watching McLaggen scream under Draco's boot. She wanted that. She wanted to be part of that unstoppable force.
"Do it," she whispered. Her voice trembled, but she didn't hesitate. "Make me yours, Draco. Make me dangerous."
Draco smiled, and this time the smile reached his eyes.
"Good girl."
He lifted her by the waist with supernatural ease and sat her on the old desk. He stepped between her legs, not with the urgency of teenage sex, but with the gravity of an ancient ritual.
The air in the abandoned classroom turned thick, almost liquid. It wasn't just silence; it was the pressure of a storm contained in a stone room.
"Power has a price, Pansy," he whispered, his raspy voice vibrating in her chest. "And to give it to you, I need direct access to your core."
Without warning, Draco reached out and grabbed the lapels of Pansy's uniform.
Rrrripp.
The sound of tearing fabric was violent in the silence. The buttons of the white blouse popped, rolling across the wooden floor. Pansy gasped, the cold dungeon air hitting her exposed skin, but the blush rising up her neck kept her burning.
Her black lace bra was revealed, but Draco didn't stop there. With an impatient flick of his fingers, he pushed the fabric aside, exposing the pale, soft skin of her sternum and the swell of her breasts.
"Draco..." she moaned, shaking not from cold, but from electric anticipation. She felt vulnerable, small, and absolutely thrilled.
"Stay still," he ordered.
Draco brought his thumb to his mouth and bit down.
His teeth tore the pad without hesitation. Blood welled up, dark and bright, charged with the excess mana that was killing him. It smelled of iron and burnt ozone.
He pressed further into the space between her legs, pinning her thighs with his sides, trapping her. The closeness was suffocating. Pansy could feel the feverish heat emanating from Draco's body, a human furnace about to explode.
He lowered his bloody finger to her bare chest, right over her heart, where her pulse hammered frantically against the skin.
"This will mark you as mine," he hissed. "Inside and out."
The wet thumb touched her skin.
"Ahhh!" Pansy arched her back, throwing her head back.
It didn't feel like blood. It felt like liquid lava. Where Draco touched, Pansy's skin burned with agonizing pleasure. He began to trace the rune Othala (Possession). He did it slowly, torturously slowly, enjoying how her stomach muscles contracted with every stroke, how her nipples hardened against the cold air in reaction to the invasive magic.
Draco slid the blood-stained finger down, tracing the valley between her breasts, leaving a bright red trail that hissed softly.
"You are empty, Pansy," he murmured, observing his work with dark eyes. "Your core is small. Pathetic. But I'm going to fill it until you don't remember what it was like to be alone."
He finished the rune. The symbol glowed on her skin with a pulsating crimson light.
Draco then placed his open palm directly over the mark, covering Pansy's chest, his hot skin against hers.
"TRANSFER!"
There was no gentleness.
Draco's magic rushed into her with the violence of a dam breaking. It was absolute penetration. Pansy felt his energy—dark, heavy, dominant—invading her veins, forcing her meridians to open wider than nature had designed.
"Oh, God! DRACO!" Pansy screamed, her nails digging into his shoulders, tearing his shirt.
The sensation was one of unbearable fullness. She felt his magic pumping inside her, thick and hot, filling every empty corner of her being, saturating her blood, caressing her womb, her lungs, her mind. It was a full-body orgasm triggered by sheer magical saturation.
Draco groaned, gritting his teeth. He felt the murderous pressure in his own chest alleviate, draining into her body. He could feel Pansy writhing under his hand, how his magic stretched her, molded her, possessed her.
[SYSTEM: TANTRIC LINKING ACTIVE][Subject Status: Ecstasy/Overload.][Your Magic is rewriting her neural circuits to respond only to your frequency.]
"Take it all," Draco growled in her ear, biting her lobe hard. "Don't waste a single drop of my power."
Pansy sobbed, her hips moving instinctively against his, seeking friction, seeking relief from the fire running through her blood.
"It's too much... it's too big..." she moaned, eyes rolling back.
"Hold it," he ordered, ruthless, injecting one final wave of power.
Pansy's body tensed into a rigid arc. A violent spasm racked her from her core to her fingertips. She screamed, a broken, guttural sound, as her body collapsed into a magical climax that left her blind and deaf for a few seconds.
Draco withdrew his hand slowly.
Pansy slumped forward, her forehead hitting Draco's chest. She was drenched in sweat, her breath coming in broken gasps. Her blouse was open, her skin marked with the rune that was now fading to a scarred silver, like a tattoo of liquid quicksilver.
Draco held her by the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her short, damp hair. He was calm now. Cold. Perfect.
He lifted her face to look at her. Pansy wore the expression of an addict who has just tasted the purest drug in the world. Her lips were swollen from biting them, her eyes glassy with pleasure.
"Look at me," he said.
Pansy obeyed, trembling.
"Now you carry my signature in your blood," Draco whispered, looking down at her exposed chest, where the silver scar rose and fell with her rapid breathing. "Every time you use magic, you will feel this. You will feel my weight inside you."
Draco slid a finger down the scar, making Pansy shudder violently.
"Cover yourself," he said, releasing her and stepping back. "You're a mess. But you're my mess."
Pansy hugged herself, closing the remnants of her blouse with clumsy hands, looking at Draco with a devotion that bordered on madness. She didn't care about the pain. She didn't care about the torn clothes. She felt full of him. Powerful.
"Thank you, Master Draco..." she whispered, testing the title on her tongue.
Draco smiled, adjusting his own shirt cuffs with aristocratic calm.
"Welcome to the court, Pansy."
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