“Hey! Where the hell are you dragging me to? Let me go, you fucks!”
Harry’s shoulder blades slammed hard against the boys as he yanked his frame backward, his boots skidding across the grit.
He threw his weight into a sharp, lateral twist to break the hold on his right sleeve, but the three older students didn’t give an inch.
Their fingers were dug deep into the wool of his commoner’s blazer, their grips tight, heavy, and practiced.
“This guy is really cheeky!” the boy at his left hissed, twisting Harry’s forearm until the joint clicked against the fabric.
“Hey! Don’t you fucking understand the situation you’re in right now? You’re a guest in this tier, McGuire. Act like it.”
“Fuck you!”
Harry spat the words, his silver eyes flashing behind his spectacles as he drove a sharp knee upward, catching the leader in the thigh.
*Pack.*
The response was instantaneous.
The leader’s palm cracked across Harry’s cheek with a wet, heavy force that rattled his teeth and sent his glasses crooked across his nose.
Harry scoffed, his head snapping to the side as a sharp, white-hot sting blossomed over his cheekbone.
“Let’s see if that mouth works when your jaw is unhinged,” the leader snarled, drawing his hand back for a second, more deliberate blow.
“Was repeating the grade not enough for you boys that you would bully the weak?”
The hand froze in mid-air.
From the mouth of the alley, a voice cut through the damp air—low, level, and carrying a distinct, clinical chill that made all attackers stiffen.
Everyone turned in surprise, their eyes trailing back to the silhouette blocking the pale light at the entrance.
Lucas stood there, a heavy paper shopping bag slung casually over one arm, his free hand buried deep in the pocket of his dark grey trousers.
“Weak?” Harry glared directly at Lucas, his chest heaving as he straightened his spectacles with a jerky, furious swipe of his hand.
His pride burned hotter than his bruised cheek.
“Did you just call me weak right now?”
But even as the anger flared, Harry found himself taken aback by Lucas’s sudden shift in demeanor.
The last time he had seen the boy, Lucas had looked like a stray cat soaked in the rain, curled up by Malfoy’s funeral wreath and sobbing until his eyes were bloodshot.
Now, standing under the shadow of the arcade, his posture was straight, his chin lifted with a cold, quiet authority that belonged strictly to the inner circle of the high towers.
He looked bolder.
More confident.
“Lucas,” the leader muttered, his grip on Harry’s collar slackening by an inch.
“We’re just… sorting out a private matter. Commoner business.”
“Commoner or not, you punks better stop whatever you were trying to do and get the hell out of here,” Lucas said, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped into the gloom of the alley.
“Before I do something to you all. Andrew doesn’t like his property being handled roughly before the ink is dry.”
The three boys exchanged a quick, uneasy glances.
They looked at Lucas’s pristine uniform, then at the heavy silence of the corridor behind him.
With a collective huff, they released their grip on Harry, shoving him forward until his chest hit the stone wall.
“This is not over,” the leader snarled, pointing a thick finger at Harry’s face.
“Be glad that Lucas has your back for now, McGuire. But he won’t always be around to protect you from us—or anyone else for that matter. You won’t get lucky twice. Next time we meet, we’ll make sure you’re properly fucked up. Let’s go, gents.”
They turned on their heels, their boots clicking sharply against the flags as they retreated back toward the lower-tier dormitories.
******
Harry smoothed down the front of his rumpled blazer, his fingers trembling slightly from the residual adrenaline.
He adjusted his reading glasses to fit, his jaw set into a hard, defensive line as he looked at the midline student standing three paces away.
“What the fuck did I even do to those punks?” Harry muttered, his voice sharp with suspicion.
He looked up, his silver eyes boring into Lucas.
“Did someone put them up to this? Was it Andrew?”
“Causing trouble wherever you go seems to be in your blood, doesn’t it?” Lucas said, his voice conversational as he finally closed the distance between them, his eyes inspecting the red mark rising on Harry’s cheek.
“You are one to speak,” Harry snickered, leaning his shoulder back against the cold brickwork.
“As a Mayfair lackey, you’re definitely the bigger troublemaker between the two of us. What’s the matter? Did the King send his dog to check on his investment?”
Lucas stood silently for a long moment, his eyes focused on the gravel beneath his boots.
The confidence he had shown to the bullies seemed to flicker, replaced by a heavy, internal weariness.
He let out a slow sigh and turned toward the main path.
“Come with me,” Lucas murmured over his shoulder.
“Those guys might come back for you if you stay in this sector.”
“Andrew would never stoop that low,” Lucas shot back, his head turning slightly to defend his master.
“He has no use for common thugs.”
“And how would you know that?” Harry mocked, taking a step forward until he was crowding Lucas’s path.
“Just because you’ve been his lapdog for a few months, you think you know the depth of his rot?”
Lucas stopped dead on his heels.
He turned his full frame toward Harry, his eyes narrowing until they looked remarkably like the dark glass of the high tower windows.
“Then what about you?” Lucas countered, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.
“Just because you are his baby daddy… do you seriously think you know him that much?”
The words hung like a toxic mist between them.
Silence took over both males as they stood in the narrow alley, their glares locking in a quiet, vicious struggle of wills.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have helped you from those guys,” Lucas whispered, turning away with a sharp swing of his shopping bag.
His boots clicked against the stone as he walked.
“I never asked for your help to begin with,” Harry called out after him, his voice echoing off the walls.
“That was my fight, and I would have handled it perfectly myself if you had just backed your high-and-mighty ass off.”
“Is that so?” Lucas hummed, not even slowing his pace.
“Mhm. Then who was the guy getting completely overpowered just now while they dragged him into the dirt?”
Harry huffed, snatching his backpack up from the gravel by its strap.
He swung it over his shoulder with a violent jerk before marching after the midline student, his face dark.
“As one of Andrew’s lackeys, stay far away from me, Lucas,” Harry warned as he pulled level.
“You and I may not be enemies, but your boss is definitely mine. Keep that line drawn.”
“You say that now,” Lucas said, a bitter, small smile touching his lips as they crossed into the midline residential zone.
“—But you keep him close to you all the time. Acting all cozy in the lecture halls. Getting along for everyone to see.”
“Nothing like that ever happened,” Harry hissed, his teeth grinding.
“Andrew and I will remain nothing but enemies who are forced to co-parent for the sake of our daughter. There is no ‘cozy’.”
“‘Our daughter’, huh?” Lucas raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to Harry’s side.
Harry sighed, the fight suddenly draining out of his voice, leaving only an immense, bone-deep exhaustion.
“Just stay away, Lucas.”
“Is that the ‘thank you’ I get for saving your ass back there?”
“I never asked you to save me, let alone needed it. I would have broken that leader’s shin if you hadn’t interrupted.”
“Harry, just come to my room,” Lucas said, his tone switching back into that stubborn, rhythmic command.
“Or at least let me walk you back to the commoner gates. Those guys are probably waiting for you around a corner right now, and they aren’t going to use their hands next time.”
“And what if they are? Why do you even care?”
“Can you just stop being so stubborn and think logically about the situation for once?” Lucas’s annoyance finally broke through his calm mask.
He stopped, looking at Harry with an expression full of frustration.
In the dimming light, Harry resembled Malfoy so intensely it made Lucas’s chest ache—the same rigid pride, the same defensive sneer, the same absolute refusal to admit that the Academy was a meat grinder designed to consume them both.
“I will be fine on my own,” Harry stated, his voice flat.
“I always have been. So no thanks. I don’t really need your midline charity.”
“Harry, I won’t beg you for your own safety,” Lucas said, his voice dropping into a quiet, solemn finality.
“But for the very last time… come with me.”
Harry looked at Lucas for a long, silent moment.
He measured the distance back to the commoner sector—dark, unlit, and full of blind corners—and then looked at the heavy lock on the door of the midline dormitory building just ahead.
With a sharp, irritated click of his tongue, he stepped forward.
“How annoying,” Harry muttered, his eyes fixed on the pavement.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
Lucas rolled his eyes, his shoulders dropping in relief as he pulled his keycard from his pocket.
“Thank you for showing a shred of sense.”
They walked through the heavy, reinforced glass doors of the midline residential block.
The air inside was different—cleaner, filtered, and warm with the scent of polished wood and expensive carpets.
It was a world away from the damp concrete of Harry’s quarters.
“I am only concerned about you because Malfoy was my best friend,” Lucas said quietly as they stepped into the elevator.
His eyes were fixed on the digital floor indicator as it climbed.
“If something were to happen to you… I wouldn’t forgive myself.”
“Is it because you feel guilty?” Harry asked. Find the original chapter at g.com.
The question was small, but it hit the small space like a physical impact.
Lucas flinched.
His boots froze against the metal floor, and his throat moved as he swallowed hard, his knuckles turning white around the handles of his shopping bag.
The phantom weight of the iron—the memory of Malfoy’s final hours in the dark—rushed behind his eyes.
The ghost of his best friend followed him through every door in this building.
‘How does Harry know?’ Lucas thought, a cold sweat breaking along his neck.
‘How long has he known about that night?’
“Your face suddenly went pale,” Harry remarked, his silver eyes dissecting Lucas’s expression with a cold, analytical precision.
“Are you okay?… Or are you truly that guilty for finding him late?… After he died?”
“L-late?” Lucas caught his breath, a sharp spike of relief cutting through his panic so fast he almost stumbled.
He forced a tight, trembling nod.
“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. That day… I should have gone back to the dorm much earlier. Perhaps if I had been there… we wouldn’t be feeling like this right now.”
“That is true,” Harry murmured, his gaze drifting back to the elevator doors as they slid open with a soft chime.
“But I guess that bastard was way too eager to die anyway. I hate his guts to the core for leaving things unfinished.”
“Mhm,” Lucas nodded quickly, his voice a low hum of survival as he led Harry down the wide, carpeted corridor.
He stopped in front of Room 402, his keycard hovering over the scanner.
Before he swiped it, he paused, looking back at Harry with a hesitant, guarded expression.
“Oh, by the way… I have a few friends of mine visiting inside,” Lucas warned, his finger tapping against the plastic card.
“So don’t get surprised when you see them.”
Harry’s brow furrowed.
“And you’re telling me this, now?”
“Would it have mattered if I told you earlier anyway? You wouldn’t have come.”
Harry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as Lucas swiped the card.
The heavy mahogany door swung wide, and the soft, ambient warmth of a multi-room suite spilled out into the hall.
A faint, cheerful chattering was audible from the living area, the clink of glass and the smell of floral scent filling the air.
Harry stepped inside, his eyes tracking the vast layout—the high ceilings, the leather sofa set, the private kitchenette.
It was a stark reminder of the division in this school; midline status children lived like minor royalty compared to the commoners’ barracks.
“Guys, I got the snacks and drinks,” Lucas called out, setting the heavy paper bag down on the marble counter of the kitchen island.
“Help yourselves.”
“Wow, finally you made it back,” a voice called out from the depths of the plush sofa.
Tommy was leaning back, a glass in his hand, his eyes tracking Lucas’s entrance.
“That took you long enough. Did you have to harvest the grapes yourself?”
Lucas shrugged, stepping aside to clear the view of the doorway, his arm extended to reveal his companion.
“Well, I bumped into a familiar face along the way. He was in some trouble near the labs, so I brought him along for a bit.”
Harry stepped fully into the light of the living room, his hand instinctively reaching up to smooth his hair back behind his ear.
But as his eyes swept across the occupants of the room, his entire body locked.
His breath caught violently in his throat, and his left boot took an involuntary, sharp step backward toward the threshold.
Sitting in the large, high-backed armchair near the window, a crystal glass resting loosely between his gloved fingers, was the Mayfair Prince.
“Hello, Harry,” Andrew said, his lips curving into a slow, lopsided side-smile as he looked up from the leather cushion.
His dark eyes caught the light, gleaming with a terrifying, familiar amusement.
“We meet again, huh? Twice in twenty-four hours. It’s almost like it’s fated.”
Harry scoffed, his fingers tightening around the strap of his backpack until the stitching groaned.
The red mark on his cheek throbbed in rhythm with his pulse.
‘Fuck,’ Harry thought, his jaw clenching as he forced his expression into a flat, venomous mask.
‘I should have anticipated this.
They’re his circle.
They’re his dogs.”
“Andrew Mayfair,” Harry said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr as he forced a fake, mocking smile to match the King’s.
“Fancy seeing you for the second time in a row. You really do have eyes everywhere, don’t you?”
Slowly, without breaking his stare from Andrew’s face, Harry tilted his head slightly toward Lucas, his silver eyes flashing with a promise of absolute violence.
‘I will fucking kill you for this, Lucas.’