Chapter 14
Draco was completely oblivious, still curling his lip triumphantly.
As for Hannah Abbott, she buried her head even deeper, entirely immersed in her own complex emotions.
However, Narcissa heard him loud and clear.
The pupils of her indifferent blue eyes suddenly contracted, narrowing into a dangerous point.
She maintained her haughty posture, but her spine tensed in an instant, as if an invisible hand were choking the breath out of her.
Her flawless aristocratic composure cracked, just a tiny, almost negligible fraction, at that moment.
She subconsciously clenched her fists, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms, and her usual indifference vanished, replaced by a sharp scrutiny and a rare trace of unease.
"A huge sum of money seventeen years ago..."
Countless thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant.
The downfall of the Rosier Family was not a matter of a single day; since it involved certain people, certain accounts naturally could not be made public.
The House of Malfoy had indeed moved some funds around during that period for certain "investments."
If what Jerry said was true, then this would be a bomb that could detonate at any moment.
She lowered her head, her gaze sweeping over Jerry's youthful yet shrewd face.
Every word that came out of this child's mouth was silently dismantling her proud mask.
Her slender fingers unconsciously rested on the edge of the pale skin of her chest, which was trembling slightly with the rise and fall of her breathing.
She suddenly bent down until her aggressive blue eyes were level with Jerry's.
The subtle fragrance of the mature woman grew stronger, faintly carrying a heavy hint of musk.
Her breath was close at hand, yet it held no warmth. Instead, it was like a sharp knife, trying to dissect the child before her.
"I would certainly like to know!"
Narcissa's voice remained soft, yet it carried an unquestionable coldness: "How does an infant, who knew nothing back then, know about these... family secrets?"
The corners of her lips curled up again into a half-smile, but this time, it was no longer playful. It was mixed with scrutiny and a dangerous trace of amusement.
As she bent over, the lines of her thighs, concealed by her robes and clad in black stockings, became more pronounced, like a beast poised to spring.
Facing Narcissa's cold, searching blue eyes,
Jerry did something completely unexpected instead.
He lightly took a step back.
That step was taken so gracefully and effortlessly, instantly removing him from the oppressive range of Narcissa's aura.
Like a feather, he drifted away leisurely from the claws of the beast poised to strike.
The calmness and depth in his dark eyes from his confrontation with Narcissa vanished in an instant, as if they had never existed.
Then, he completely ignored Mrs. Malfoy, who was bending over with her body curves on full display and her expression frozen.
His gaze softened as he turned to Hannah Abbott, who had long been frightened out of her wits, and a pure, bright smile natural to his age bloomed on his face once more.
"Hannah!"
His voice regained its crisp warmth. "I'm going in to buy books first. It was nice meeting you, see you next time!"
With that, he even gave Hannah a friendly wave.
Having done all this, Jerry calmly turned around, bent down to pick up his package from the ground, hugged it to his chest, and walked toward the entrance of Flourish and Blotts without looking back.
His back was small and thin, but his steps were exceptionally steady, without a single trace of panic, as if the undercurrent-laden confrontation just now had been nothing more than an inconsequential encounter.
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
Only the rich scent of Narcissa's perfume lingered in the air, though now it felt somewhat aggressive.
She remained in that slightly bent posture. Her blue eyes, which had intended to lay bare Jerry's inner secrets, now only reflected the ancient wooden door of the bookstore.
The smile on her face froze completely.
Humiliation, anger, alarm... various emotions flashed across her well-maintained face, finally freezing into a cold, dripping gloom.
She had never been so completely and contemptuously ignored—especially by a seemingly harmless, young boy.
"Draco."
Narcissa's voice regained its usual coldness and majesty, though her tone was laced with a barely perceptible tension.
She didn't explain, nor did she pay attention to Draco's inquiring gaze, but merely patted his slightly stiff shoulder.
"Go wait for me at the wand shop in Diagon Alley.
I need to go into Flourish and Blotts to browse some books.
Remember, no fooling around without my permission."
Although Draco was reluctant, he knew his mother's temper well; beneath that seemingly gentle instruction lay absolute, unquestionable authority.
He could only curl his lip and walk reluctantly toward Ollivanders Wand Shop not far away.
Looking back with every few steps, his eyes were full of confusion.
Once Draco's figure disappeared into the crowd, Narcissaslowly turned her gaze back to the ancient wooden door of Flourish and Blotts.
A huge sum of money seventeen years ago.
She remembered.
During the years when the pure-blood family conflicts were at their peak and Lord Voldemort's power was at its height, the House of Malfoy had indeed made a massive "investment" to consolidate their position in the Ministry of Magic and to acquire a crucial batch of Dark Arts items.
That investment was nominally conducted through ancient family contracts.
The most critical sum among them, she vaguely recalled, was indeed "borrowed" from the Rosier Family of that time.
After the downfall of the Rosier Family, the promissory note was naturally assumed to have turned to ash along with the family's destruction.
She had never even thought about its whereabouts since, let alone recorded it in the ledger.
But now...
No longer as leisurely as when she first arrived, Narcissapushed open the heavy wooden door of the bookstore with a sense of pressing urgency and walked straight inside.
She had to find that boy.
That promissory note could not be left at large, and absolutely could not be discovered by those bastards at the Ministry of Magic!
Narcissa's gaze swept quickly through the sea of books stacked on the shelves, searching for that small, thin figure.
As she navigated between the bookshelves, the slight rustle of her velvet robes and the rhythmic clicking of her high heels sounded exceptionally abrupt and conspicuous in the quiet atmosphere of Flourish and Blotts.
However, the object of her search was currently hiding in a corner filled with Potions books, looking at her with great interest through the gaps between the thick volumes.
Jerry hid his small body behind a bookshelf several times his height. Watching her hurried steps and feeling the anxious aura emanating from her, the corners of his lips curled into a barely perceptible smile.
He knew she was anxious.
This eager look of searching for prey was far more amusing than her previous high-and-mighty attitude.
Just then, the cold and familiar system notification rang in his ears.
[Ding! Temporary quest issued!]
[Quest Name: Interest from Seventeen Years Ago]
[Quest Objective: Successfully collect the interest owed to the Rosier Family by the House of Malfoy seventeen years ago.]
[Quest Content: Inside Flourish and Blotts, commit an insulting physical assault on Narcissa Malfoy and take an intimate personal item (panties or bra) from her body.]
[Quest Reward: Family Prestige +50, Special Item (To be determined).]
[Quest Failure Penalty: Narcissa Malfoy will completely see through your disguise and will use the power of the House of Malfoy to secretly execute you in the most brutal manner.]
Jerry's breath caught for a barely perceptible moment.
His dark pupils dilated slightly, and an excited chill instantly surged up his spine, rapidly spreading to his limbs and bones.
This quest was... unexpectedly thrilling.
The penalty was "secret execution." This meant he had to succeed, with absolutely no room for failure.
Yet the quest content carried a morbid, overtone of blatant sexual assault.
Jerry gazed at Narcissa, who was pacing in front of the bookshelves not far away.
Her well-tailored robes wrapped around her mature, voluptuous curves perfectly, and the "intimate personal item" targeted by the quest, resting beneath her smooth skin, seemed exceptionally tempting and challenging at this moment.
Jerry licked his dry lips, a cold and sinister light that did not match his age flashing in his eyes.
Instead of acting immediately, he shifted his gaze away from Narcissa's mature, seductive body and turned to walk to the "Laws and Regulations" section at the deepest part of the bookstore.
The shelves were packed with heavy, archaic tomes.
Jerry stood on his tiptoes, with some effort pulling out a long-dusty, heavy volume titled "A Compilation of Ministry of Magic Regulations: Since the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692."
His small frame was almost crushed by the book, but he hugged it to his chest anyway, walked to an inconspicuous corner, and began to flip through it page by page with his slender fingers in deep concentration.
A few minutes later, when Narcissa, with some impatience, finally cast her gaze toward this corner, Jerry looked up.
Holding the book that was almost half his size, he took small steps and walked straight toward Narcissa.
His face wore the confusion and innocence unique to a young boy asking a question, as if his previous clash with her had never happened.
"Mrs. Malfoy!"
He looked up, his voice crisp and filled with curiosity. "I saw something in this book that I don't quite understand. Could you teach me?"
Narcissa's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Looking at the boy who had suddenly become humble and eager to learn, and the heavy legal tome in his hands that seemed entirely out of place for him, a sliver of wariness rose in her heart.
But she didn't refuse, merely speaking in a condescending, patronizing tone: "Speak."
Jerry laboriously held the book up to her, turning to the page he had already found. He pointed his small finger at a cold clause printed in Gothic script.
The title of that section was: [Regulations on Punishments for Asset Transactions and Dealings with Families Marked as 'High-Risk Dark Families' by the Ministry of Magic].
Narcissa's gaze followed his finger down. The lines of black print now felt like branding irons heated red-hot, searing painfully into her eyes.
[...Any transaction of assets exceeding one thousand Galleons with a marked Dark Family without the permission of the Ministry of Magic, once verified, shall subject both parties to the following punishments: First, all assets under their names shall be immediately frozen by the Ministry of Magic and subjected to a thorough investigation; Second, the primary individuals involved must undergo mandatory Veritaserum interrogation by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Third, those found guilty shall be sentenced to a minimum of fifteen years of imprisonment in Azkaban.]
Narcissa's breath hitched violently upon seeing the words "Veritaserum interrogation" and "Azkaban." Her face paled at a speed visible to the naked eye, and for the first time, undisguised horror surfaced in her usually indifferent and arrogant blue eyes.
She could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest, a cold chill surging through her entire body.
Her long legs, clad in black stockings, tensed unconsciously beneath her velvet robes, the lines of her muscles becoming exceptionally clear due to the extreme tension.
Jerry seemed completely oblivious to her abnormality, merely raising his innocent face and asking softly in an even more puzzled tone:
"Mrs. Malfoy, I don't quite understand... what does 'Dark Family' written here refer to?
Is it like... my family?
If so, that would be truly unfortunate!"
As he spoke, his body, holding the heavy volume, seemed to sway slightly under the weight, as if seeking a point of support.
At that exact moment, his small hand that wasn't holding the book, which was free, seemingly by accident, lightly rested on Narcissa's calf.
Narcissa's body froze for a split second.
She only felt a strange warmth rapidly spreading from a single spot on the side of her leg through the smooth black stockings.
Jerry's face still wore that innocent, inquisitive expression. He seemed completely unaware of where his hand was placed, his clear eyes still gazing intently at Narcissa, waiting for her answer.
However, his hand, which had seemingly rested on her leg by accident, did not pull away.
Instead of pulling away, his fingers actually began to move.
Those small fingertips, carrying the soft flesh unique to a young boy, began to slide gently and extremely slowly over her stockings, in a barely-there manner.
The movement was very light, as if he were curiously feeling the delicate, smooth texture of the stockings, or unconsciously tracing the firm, beautiful curves of her leg muscles.
He caressed upward from her calf, bit by bit. That warmth belonging to a young boy, separated only by a thin layer of fabric, so brazenly violated one of the most private areas of an adult noblewoman.
Narcissa's breathing became completely erratic.
An indescribable numbness and sense of humiliation spread wildly upward like vines from the spot he touched.
Her brain was in utter chaos because of that legal clause, yet her body shivered slightly due to this sudden, sacrilegious caress.
She could feel her leg muscles contracting involuntarily, yet she didn't dare make any sudden, large movements.
Chapter 15
If she were to step back even slightly, or open her mouth to scold him, the gaze of the surrounding Wizards pretending to read would be immediately drawn over.
What would people see then?
She could not move.
She was pinned to the spot.
The look of confusion in Jerry's eyes deepened; he even pouted slightly, as if feeling aggrieved by not receiving an answer.
"Madam, could it be... that even you do not know?"
His voice was as pure as a mountain spring, yet his hand had already quietly slid past the back of her knee, reaching that softer, more sensitive area of her inner thigh.
Chapter 8: Tastes Better Than Milk Powder, Mrs. Malfoy.
Jerry's calm questioning became the final straw that broke the camel's back.
Narcissa's reason snapped completely in that instant.
The humiliation, the threat, and the sensation of that hand wandering wantonly over her smooth stockings—a mixture of disgust and a strange, tingling numbness—caused her beautiful face to instantly frost over.
Killing intent coalesced, undisguised, within her ice-blue eyes.
The space between the bookshelves was narrow and cramped; she did not even need any large movements.
There was no incantation, not even a movement of her lips.
The wand hidden in Narcissa's sleeve had already quietly slid into her palm. With a swift flick of her wrist, a silent, silvery whip of light, like a viper flicking its tongue, coiled toward Jerry's body at a speed almost impossible for the naked eye to capture!
This was the most direct Petrificus Totalus; once ensnared, he would immediately become unable to move like a puppet, leaving him at her mercy.
However, just as that silver light was about to touch Jerry's body.
The seemingly simple obsidian ring on his left pinky finger suddenly erupted with a circle of dark, light-consuming ripples. The silver whip of light collided with that layer of ripples, and like boiling oil dropped into cold water, it emitted an extremely faint "sizzle" before instantly dissipating without a trace.
Narcissa's pupils constricted sharply.
"A protective magic item?"
Her heart shook violently. How could a forgotten orphan possess a protective item of this level that could activate automatically?
This was definitely no ordinary merchandise; it bore the purest dark rune mark of the Rosier Family!
Her intent to kill grew stronger. This child was far more dangerous than she had imagined.
She did not give Jerry any time to react, raising her wand again, its tip erupting with even more dangerous magical light. This time, she intended to use more forceful means to pierce directly through his protection.
But Jerry's movements were faster than hers.
He didn't even look at Narcissa's wand, as if he had long anticipated all her movements.
The moment the first spell was blocked, the hand that had been touching her thigh retracted like lightning, not to retreat, but to reach for the delicate silver locket hanging around his neck.
With a soft "click."
The locket opened in response.
There was no blinding light, nor any loud sound.
A faint silver mist, carrying a trace of sweet, cloying scent, drifted out from the locket and spread through the cramped space at an astonishing speed.
Alarm bells rang in Narcissa's heart; she subconsciously held her breath, but it was already too late.
The mist seemed to possess life, actively drilling into her nasal cavity and penetrating her skin.
The scene before her eyes began to distort; the towering bookshelves became as undulating as waves, and the text on the books began to jump and spin crazily.
All external sounds, including her own rapid heartbeat, seemed to be separated by a thick layer of water, becoming distant and blurred.
Even worse, her thinking began to become sluggish.
A strange, warm sensation rose from her limbs and bones, causing her tense nerves to involuntarily relax.
What flashed through her mind were no longer sharp spells, but chaotic images—the infatuation of watching the back of Jerry's father in her youth, the lonely tears at her wedding, Lucius's face, and the lingering, maddening sensation on her thigh where Jerry had just touched... All emotions were magnified countless times by this mist, churned into a chaotic porridge.
"Disorientation Potion!"
The magical power gathered at the tip of her wand was like a kite with a snapped string, instantly collapsing.
She felt a wave of dizziness, her body swaying backward involuntarily, her back hitting the cold bookshelf heavily before she could barely steady herself.
Her long, slender legs, beneath her velvet robes, went slightly weak from the loss of strength.
She had been countered.
And Jerry, amidst this chaotic silver mist, seemed completely unaffected.
His pitch-black eyes were as clear as before, calmly watching Narcissa's beautiful face, which was flushed with an abnormal crimson due to confusion and desire.
"Wrong, Mrs. Malfoy, it is an Entrancing Disorientation Potion!"
By all logic, such a commotion should have attracted someone's attention.
But in reality, Flourish and Blotts was not as small as it appeared on the surface.
The interior had been cast with a highly advanced Undetectable Extension Charm; its true space was astonishingly vast, far larger than a standard Quidditch Pitch.
Countless towering bookshelves intersected like a maze, forming isolated, deep, and secluded corners.
Wizards traveling through them often saw only books and no people, and their voices were absorbed by the thick books and the pervasive magical aura, providing the perfect cover for everything about to happen.
Narcissa swayed, her face, flushed with an abnormal crimson from the potion, flashing with a hint of the final ferocity belonging to a pure-blood aristocrat.
She forcibly gathered her scattered willpower, raising her arm in a twisted posture, pointing her wand tip at Jerry!
"Stupe..."
She hoarsely spat out the first half of the spell, a scarlet light struggling to coalesce at the tip of her wand.
However, the spell would never have the chance to be finished.
Jerry didn't even draw his wand.
He simply raised the hand wearing the obsidian ring.
The ring, the locket, and even the dozens of miniature magic items sewn into the lining of his robes all resonated faintly at this moment!
An indescribable, massive magical power, layered through many levels, erupted from him as the center.
"Shut up."
He said softly.
Before the words left his lips, dozens of silent bats made of pure shadow condensed out of thin air in front of him.
These bats had no physical form but carried an extreme chill. Flapping their wings, they formed an airtight black torrent that instantly devoured and dissolved Narcissa's unformed red spell, without even stirring a ripple.
With the bonus of 100% spell critical hit, every one of his spells at this moment was equivalent to the full-force strike of an adult elite Wizard.
And Narcissa, already under the influence of the secret potion and with her mind in chaos, was as fragile as a Muggle before him now.
After devouring the spell, the shadow bats did not dissipate but circled and rushed toward Narcissa. In her terrified gaze, they transformed into black chains that instantly coiled around the wrist holding her wand, pulling it back violently!
"Ah!"
Narcissa let out a short cry of alarm; her wand flew from her hand, tracing an arc in the air before falling onto the carpet in the distance with a dull thud.
At the same time, a visible aura of magical power flashed across Jerry's body.
It was a Strength Enhancement spell.
The next second, his small body, like a cannonball fired from its chamber, lunged forward violently!
"Bang!"
A dull, loud noise.
Narcissa's mature, voluptuous body was slammed against the bookshelf behind her by a brutal force completely disproportionate to Jerry's size.
The towering bookshelf shook violently, and a few old books from the top shelf fell down with a rustle, hitting the floor, yet failing to attract the attention of anyone in the distance.
She was completely suppressed.
Jerry's body pressed tightly against her; the magic-enhanced strength made her feel as if she were being pinned down by a piece of high-density granite, unable to move.
Her arms were held by his knees and shoulders, unable to break free, and could only lie helplessly at her sides.
"You... you..."
Narcissa's face turned bright red from humiliation and anger; she twisted her body, trying desperately to break free, but everything was in vain.
Her long, beautiful legs, wrapped in silk stockings, kicked forcefully beneath her robes, the heels of her high heels scratching against the wooden floor with a harsh sound, yet unable to shake the "little mountain" on top of her in the slightest.
"I... what?"
Jerry's voice came from her ear, carrying a kind of innocent curiosity.
His small body formed an absurd and highly oppressive contrast against her mature, voluptuous curves.
"Mrs. Malfoy!" he said softly, his tone carrying undisguised mockery, "You look nothing like a lady right now."
As he spoke, the hand wreaking havoc on her chest became even rougher.
Jerry was no longer just kneading; he used all his strength, splaying his five fingers to fully control that side of plump softness in his small palm, gripping and squeezing hard.
The expensive velvet fabric emitted a sound of unbearable friction under his fingertips, and the fullness wrapped by the fabric was wantonly played with, its shape changing constantly.
"Mmm..."
From Narcissa's throat, another whimper, intertwined with pain and shame, spilled out.
Her body arched violently due to this rough treatment, attempting to avoid that devil's claw, but was quickly pressed back down by Jerry's brute force.
She could feel the sensitive point on her chest, through several layers of fabric, being maliciously ground by his knuckles. Waves of sharp stinging pain and shame, magnified countless times, left her mind blank.
Her cheeks were flushed so red they were almost dripping blood, and her eyes were covered with a layer of physiological mist.
Her body was resisting, rejecting; every inch of muscle was screaming in defiance, but under the dual suppression of absolute strength and the potion, all of this seemed so powerless, appearing instead more like a helpless performance to please the other party.
"Tell me, Madam, do you feel... very hot right now? Is your body... no longer listening to you?"
His other hand was not idle either.
That free hand slid down along the curves of her suppressed body, brushing over her soft waist, and finally rested on her flat abdomen, which was rising and falling violently with her breathing.
Two completely different sensations—one the rough ravaging of her chest, the other the gentle provocation on her abdomen—drove Narcissa almost insane.
Her body was trembling non-stop, partly from anger, and partly from the untimely shivering caused by that damned potion.
Jerry's hand, which had been drawing circles on her lower abdomen, suddenly stopped moving.
He didn't offer any more sarcastic remarks, but instead declared his absolute dominance with a more direct and invasive action.
That small hand, with irresistible force, rudely probed into the hem of her gorgeous robes, groping all the way up along her smooth, cool back.
After the smooth sensation of the silk petticoat, his fingertips soon touched that obstacle spanning across her back, made of lace and metal.
Narcissa's body stiffened again; she immediately understood what he wanted to do.
"No..." A roar, bordering on a plea, issued from her throat, and her leg kicking became even more frantic yet powerless.
Jerry completely ignored her protest. His slender yet unusually strong fingers accurately found the metal clasp behind her corset.
With just a faint "click."
The final barrier binding her chest's fullness was cleanly and neatly undone.
The pressure that had been tightly wrapping her chest instantly disappeared, and the two plump, soft mounds lost their support beneath the robes, sagging heavily. This sudden sense of emptiness made her feel an unprecedented panic.
Jerry's hand pulled out from behind her, effortlessly reaching back to her front, and through the velvet fabric, rudely dragged one side of the now-unbound, plump softness out from the loose corset and the torn neckline.
That snow-white, voluptuous hemisphere swayed slightly in the dim light cast by the bookshelves, due to the sudden exposure and the trembling of her body.
The crimson bud at the tip, due to the previous rough kneading and the chill of the air, had long since stood up in shame.
Narcissa let out a desperate whimper, turning her head away, unwilling to look at this humiliating scene of being at someone's mercy.
Jerry, however, lowered his head and leaned in.
He opened his mouth and, without hesitation, bit down on that erect crimson bud.
"Ah!"
Narcissa let out a short, sharp cry of pain, her back arching violently, slamming hard against the bookshelf with a dull, loud thud.
The sharp stinging pain brought by his teeth gave her a moment of clarity, but what followed was an even deeper, bottomless despair.
The pressure of teeth soon vanished, replaced by a more humiliating, warm, wet embrace and powerful sucking.
Jerry, like a greedy infant, took the entire tip into his mouth, sucking vigorously with his tongue and palate.
The slippery, smacking sound was exceptionally clear and jarring in this deathly silent corner.
Narcissa completely gave up struggling. Her body went limp, and a sense of exhaustion, as if all her strength had been drained, surged through her limbs.
Before long, a clear liquid with a faint, sweet, fishy scent uncontrollably overflowed from the tip, which had been ravaged to a bright red, following his powerful suction, and was swallowed entirely into his throat.
The sucking motion stopped abruptly.
Jerry lifted his head, his lips leaving the tip that had been ravaged until it was wet and red. A trace of the clear, faintly sweet-smelling liquid still hung from the corner of his mouth. He subconsciously stuck out his tongue and licked it slowly, the focused expression on his face changing for the first time—it was a look mixed with a hint of surprise and intense interest.
He raised his eyes to look at Narcissa's face, which was covered in sweat and tear stains from humiliation.
"Mrs. Malfoy!" his voice carried a hint of novel discovery, "I didn't know... that even though Draco is already so grown up, you could still..."
"No... no..." a hoarse, unintelligible cry escaped Narcissa's throat.
Her eyes widened abruptly, instantly filled with bloodshot veins and incredulous terror. Her body shuddered violently, as if she had been doused with ice water from above.
Watching her completely broken state, Jerry let out a low, pleasant chuckle.
His hand mercilessly tore open the collar on the other side, completely exposing the other snowy-white abundance. The bud, which had not yet been touched, stood stiffly erect due to its owner's fear.
Then, under Narcissa's desperate and hollow gaze, he bowed his head again and pressed his lips against it.
That smacking, shameful sound echoed once more in this narrow space.
This time, Narcissa's struggle became much weaker. Her body trembled slightly with each of his powerful sucks, her hands pressed tightly against her sides, nails scratching futilely at the expensive robe fabric.
While tasting this unexpected "trophy," Jerry freed the hand that had been pressing on her lower abdomen.
The mission required either the panties or the bra, but for someone accustomed to having everything under control, taking only half was never his style.
To be safe, he wanted both.
Instead of directly pulling off the bra that was already unfastened and hanging on her by its straps, he more maliciously used two fingers to pinch one of the delicate lace straps.
Narcissa immediately sensed the intention. "You... Merlin... you... I..."
A chill shot up her spine, causing her already near-breaking nerves to tighten once more.
"Don't..." she squeezed out this weak, tearful word with all her might.
She began to twist her body violently, desperately rubbing her shoulders and back against the bookshelf behind her, trying to escape the hand that was about to completely strip away her last covering.
Jerry turned a deaf ear to her resistance.
He simply pressed his knee more firmly against her legs, using the weight of his body to render all her struggles invisible.
Then, the fingers holding the strap gave a sharp tug downwards!
"Riiiip!" A soft sound of fabric being torn.
The delicate strap snapped in response.
Narcissa's body jolted.
Jerry did not pause and tore off the other strap in the same way.
The black, expensive lace bra now hung listlessly like a rag on her torn-open bodice.
He let go, straightened up, and wore a playful smile on his face.
Jerry brought the soft lace to the tip of his nose and sniffed it gently, as if appraising some rare spice.
Then, he raised his eyes to look at Narcissa's hollow, watery blue eyes.
The corners of his lips curled into a smile, pure and devoid of any impurities.
"Hmm, it has a milky scent."
Jerry said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone: "A very interesting collectible."
After saying this, he casually shoved the fabric into the pocket of his robe.
Narcissa's body convulsed violently again at his words, a wheezing, drowning-like sound escaping her throat.
Her dignity was currently being peeled away, piece by piece, in the most understated manner by this boy, and then thrown onto the ground to be trampled upon wantonly.
Jerry released his hold on her and took half a step back, but still blocked her only way out. He gave her a moment of respite, and also the space to execute the next order.
"Now, Mrs. Malfoy!"
His voice returned to its calm, waveless tone, as if discussing a perfectly normal transaction, "It's your turn."
Narcissa looked at him blankly, seemingly unable to understand the meaning of his words.
A smile that could be called gentle appeared on Jerry's face, but the words he spoke next made the blood in Narcissa's entire body freeze instantly.
"Take off your panties and the stockings on your legs yourself."
He paused, and continued in a tone that brooked no argument, like announcing a final judgment: "This will count as the interest on the seventeen-year debt that the House of Malfoy owes my family. This way, I can give you some time to raise the principal."
"Otherwise," his eyes instantly turned icy, like the cold from the deepest depths of Azkaban: "Tomorrow morning, this IOU, and this... milky-scented bra, will appear on the desks of the Minister and your husband, respectively."
Narcissa's pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.
"No... please... don't..."
She finally let out a complete, tearful plea.
She began to shake her head, her body shrinking back desperately, her back rubbing against the rough bookshelf as she tried to get further away from this little demon.
Jerry just stood there quietly, arms crossed over his chest, watching her coldly with a gaze that was extremely patient, as if admiring the final struggle of prey.
Time seemed to stretch out at this moment.
For Narcissa, every second was a silent slow torture.
Finally, her violently shaking head stopped.
The hands shielding her chest dropped powerlessly.
The robe was lifted up bit by bit, first revealing her calves, which were taut and straight in black stockings, then her rounded knees, and finally her plump and shapely thighs covered by thin silk fabric.
Narcissa bit down hard on the hem of her robe with her teeth to prevent it from slipping down.
Then, her hands moved downward, her fingers touching the top of her thighs, the lace trim used to hold up the stockings.
Narcissa's fingertips paused there for a long time, as if that thin layer of fabric weighed a thousand pounds.
Finally, she closed her eyes, applied force with her fingers, and began to peel the stockings down her legs, inch by inch.
The silky fabric rubbed against her skin, making a faint "rustling" sound.
As the stockings rolled down, her fair, delicate skin, which rarely saw the sun, was exposed to the air. Due to tension and humiliation, a patch of tiny bumps, like goosebumps, appeared on it.
Narcissa completely peeled off one stocking, letting the black fabric pile up at her ankle, and then repeated the same motion to peel off the other.
After finishing this, her beautifully arched feet now stepped completely bare onto the cold and dusty wooden floor of the bookstore.
Her feet were beautiful, with high insteps, rounded and neat toes, and every nail trimmed extremely clean. The soles of her feet, which rarely touched the ground, showed a healthy pink, but now curled slightly from stepping on the cold floor.
Narcissa's body began to tremble violently and uncontrollably, her teeth biting a deep bloodstain into her lower lip.
Her gaze was fixed firmly on the ground, not daring to look up at Jerry.
Her hands rose again, reaching toward her waist and abdomen, fingers hooking the edge of the thin, black lace panties.
Narcissa paused, her body convulsing violently one last time, as if trying to exhaust all her strength.
Then, she gave a sharp tug downwards.
The black lace fabric slid smoothly down her rounded buttocks and long thighs, finally piling up at her ankles where she had already removed the stockings.
With the disappearance of the final covering, the most private core of her body was exposed, without reservation or concealment, to the boy's sight.
The hair in that area was groomed extremely exquisitely, forming a small, dark, inverted triangle.
Below that patch of hair, the fleshy, full cleft was clearly visible. Due to the influence of the previous drug and her current extreme emotions, the mucosa there had become moist and swollen, reflecting a bit of shameful, watery light in the shadow cast by the bookshelf.
Jerry took a step forward, crouching slightly, his line of sight level with that unshielded valley.
Narcissa's body convulsed sharply; she could feel his gaze, like a tangible spotlight, roving back and forth over her most private parts.
Then, he reached out his hand.
That slender index finger, belonging to a child, traced from top to bottom over the already moist, full cleft with a hint of scrutiny.
"Ah..." a barely audible, broken gasp escaped from deep within Narcissa's throat.
Narcissa's body collapsed as if crushed by the final straw; her legs went soft, and she nearly slumped to the ground, only prevented from sliding down by her back being pressed hard against the bookshelf.
Jerry withdrew his hand. He didn't look at her again, but instead bent down, picked up the bundle of black lace panties and stockings from the ground, and unhurriedly stuffed them, along with the bra from before, into the pocket of his large robe.
After doing all this, he straightened his body again.
He even nodded slightly at her, as if completing a pleasant business deal.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Malfoy."
"But, I must clarify, this is just the interest!"
"If you can't pay the money next time, there will be new interest."
After saying this, he didn't look at her again and turned to leave.
The small figure quickly disappeared into the shadows deep within the bookshelf.
Until the light footsteps had completely faded away.
The last trace of strength supporting Narcissa's body finally dissipated completely.
She slid powerlessly to the ground along the cold bookshelf.
"Damn... little pervert!"
Chapter 9: You... haven't paid yet!
Jerry's footsteps were very light, like an elegant cat, moving silently through the heavy shadows cast by the bookshelves.
He did not look back, nor did he have even a shred of reluctance.
He walked out of that cramped corner as if nothing had happened, returning to the bustling hall of Flourish and Blotts.
But not until he pushed open the wooden door of the bookstore with the hanging wind chime and walked back into the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley did a cold system notification sound finally ring in his consistently calm and waveless mind.
[Ding! Temporary mission completed!]
[Mission Name: Interest from Seventeen Years Ago - Completed]
[Mission Objective: Successfully collect interest - Achieved]
[Mission Evaluation: Perfect. You caused the maximum degree of mental destruction to the target with the minimum cost, and successfully obtained the mission items.]
[Mission Reward: Family Prestige + 50, special item 'whisper of the succubus' has been issued.]
His pocket sank slightly.
The reward had been issued into his pocket.
The corners of Jerry's mouth curled into an imperceptible arc.
The fabric in his pocket still carried the warmth and secret scent of that woman's body, like a burning hot iron, constantly reminding him of the feat he had just accomplished.
He did not linger in Diagon Alley, but turned into a deserted, secluded alley.
After confirming that no one was around, he reached out his hand and snapped his fingers.
Accompanied by a loud pop like fabric being torn, the space around him was instantly compressed and pulled by an invisible force.
The feeling of the world spinning lasted less than a second, and the noisy, chaotic background sound of Diagon Alley was completely left behind.
When his feet touched solid ground again, he had already returned to Black Feather Castle, pushing his cart.
Chapter 17
Jerry took off his robe, threw it casually on a chair, and walked to the fireplace.
By the firelight, he slowly took out today's spoils from his pocket.
A black lace bra, two black silk stockings of the same material, and a lace panty that still bore obvious damp marks and a rich, lingering scent of her body.
He laid these intimate items belonging to Narcissa Malfoyone by one onto the velvet tablecloth, as if displaying works of art.
The black lace gave off a dim, ambiguous luster under the flickering firelight of the fireplace.
The cups of the bra still retained slight creases from being squeezed, as if one could imagine the soft and full snowy peaks they had once enveloped.
The two silk stockings lay limp on the tabletop like two black dead snakes, the delicate lace trim at the cuffs having once tightly gripped the base of that woman's fair thighs.
And the most eye-catching of all was the tiny, triangular panty.
The obvious damp mark on it was slowly evaporating in the dry air, but that unique scent—a mixture of high-end perfume, a woman's sweat, and the slightly fishy sweetness secreted from her most private parts—stubbornly lingered at the tip of Jerry's nose, like a silent declaration.
This was the mark left by a pure-blood noblewoman in the depths of extreme shame and fear.
Jerry extended a finger and gently tapped the damp spot, his fingertip feeling a slight coolness and stickiness.
These things were worth more than any Galleon.
After admiring them for a long while, Jerry reluctantly put them away, placing them into a sandalwood box engraved with complex magic runes.
He needed to preserve them well; perhaps one day in the future, they would come in handy for something even greater.
After finishing all this, he shifted his attention to the other reward from this mission.
With a thought, a strangely shaped small bottle appeared in his palm out of thin air.
This was the special item—[Succubus's Whisper].
The bottle body was crafted from some unknown purple crystal, presenting an eerie, semi-transparent texture that seemed to flow as if it were alive.
The bottle was no bigger than a palm, but its shape was like an abstract, screaming human head, with the wide-open mouth serving as the bottle's opening.
There was no stopper, but the mouth was surrounded by a faint, almost invisible pink mist, firmly sealing what was inside.
Through the semi-transparent bottle, one could vaguely see that it was filled more than halfway with a silvery liquid that was as viscous as mercury and shimmering with tiny starlight.
Just holding the bottle in his hand, Jerry could feel an elusive power, full of temptation and desire, trying to penetrate his mental world through the bottle.
In his ears, it seemed as if a series of magical, highly seductive feminine gasps and moans were ringing out; these sounds were like soft little hands, gently scratching at the depths of his soul, teasing his most primal instincts.
Jerry focused his intent on the eerie crystal bottle in his palm.
Soon, a semi-transparent information panel, visible only to him, floated above the bottle.
[Item Name: Succubus's Whisper]
[Item Type: Special Alchemy Material / Consumable]
[Quality: Rare]
[Description: This is a crystallization of desire extracted from the soul origin of a high-ranking Succubus, containing the purest, unmasked power of primal desire. It can easily dismantle the rational defenses of intelligent beings, infinitely magnifying the desires hidden deep within their hearts, and ultimately reducing them to slaves of the flesh.]
[Usage Method:]
[1. Direct Use: Open the bottle; the leaking pink mist can significantly lower the mental defenses of those who inhale it, making them extremely susceptible to Charm-type magic or verbal guidance. If the liquid in the bottle is ingested directly by the target, it can cause them to completely lose their sense of shame for a period, acting solely according to their body's instincts.]
[2. Synthesis Use: This item is an extremely precious 'Emotional' type alchemy catalyst, which can participate in 'Synthesis'. When synthesized with other materials, it can imbue the creation with strong charm and aphrodisiac properties.]
[Synthesized with Potions: Can upgrade the most basic 'Relaxation Potion' into a potent aphrodisiac capable of corrupting even a saint.]
[Synthesized with Spells: Can strengthen the effects of 'Charm Spells' and 'Love Potions', and can even create a permanent mental brand on them.]
[Synthesized with magic Items: Can craft an ordinary accessory into a cursed object that continuously emits an aura of temptation.]
[Synthesized with Biological Materials: Through complex alchemy rituals, it is even possible to twist the target's soul essence, creating a 'Desire Servant' who is absolutely loyal to you and possesses a Succubus-like constitution.]
[Warning: The power of desire contained within the item is equally effective against the user. Long-term contact or abuse of this item may subtly erode the user's mind, making them become cold-hearted and obsessed only with desire.]
"Good stuff!"
With a thought from Jerry, a semi-transparent attribute panel, visible only to him, quietly appeared before his eyes like a ghost.
[Host: Jerry Rosier]
[Family Prestige: 136]
[Synthesis: Lv.6 (Can synthesize primary magic items)]
[magic Affinity: 25 (Average)]
[Physique: 18 (Weak)]
[Spirit: 30 (Excellent)]
[Talent:???]
[Held Items: Succubus's Whisper]
[Current Missions: Hogwarts Entrance Assessment (Monthly Mandatory), Prelude to Taming the Little Wildcat (Monthly Side Quest)]
Seeing the "Family Prestige" column jump from a two-digit number to "136", a smile finally appeared on Jerry's face—a smile of true significance.
Although the tasks issued by the system were very difficult and the penalties for failure were fatal, the rewards were correspondingly extremely generous.
Just one successful burst of acting and one humiliation at the bookstore had earned him a full sixty points of Family Prestige and an item that could be called an artifact.
This deal was extremely cost-effective.
Especially knowing that Family Prestige could actually directly influence the real world.
He waved his hand to close the system panel, and the room returned to its original dimness and silence.
The fire in the fireplace had gone out at some point, leaving only a few strands of gray embers.
"Hogwarts Entrance Assessment..." Jerry whispered the name of the mandatory monthly task.
It was time to prepare for his journey to that so-called "Holy Land of magic."
Black Feather Castle was deathly still; apart from himself, there was no other living creature.
The glory of the Rosier Family had long since passed, so naturally, there were no House-elves or similar convenient creatures to serve him.
But for Jerry, this was not a bad thing; he never trusted others to handle his secrets and weapons.
Jerry dragged a quaint trunk, reinforced with dragon hide and black iron, from under the bed.
When the trunk opened, not a speck of dust rose; it was clearly well-maintained.
He began to pack his luggage methodically, his movements not like those of a child about to enter school, but more like a soldier preparing to go to the battlefield, checking his equipment.
First, the clothes.
Several brand-new, well-tailored Hogwarts robes were folded with near-obsessive precision and placed flat at the bottom of the trunk.
Jerry even sewed a few unknown defensive runes into the inner pockets of the robes.
Besides these, there were several sets of pure black casual wear with silver snake-patterned hidden designs; not a single piece was superfluous.
Next, the books.
In addition to the boring textbooks issued by the school, Jerry also carefully wrapped a few forbidden books he kept privately, bound in covers made of unknown animal hide.
The edges of these pages were yellowed, and they recorded things far more interesting than spells like "Expelliarmus" using ancient runes.
Then, his "Alchemy Tools."
He did not put in the bulky pewter cauldron.
Although the inner walls of the trunk were stitched with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
He had better choices.
Jerry took out a small mortar ground from obsidian, as well as a full set of silver tools as precise as surgical scalpels.
As for the medicinal materials, besides a few necessities, he packed more small glass bottles with strange labels.
Some bottles contained twisted plant roots soaking in liquid, while others contained the eyeballs or teeth of certain small magical creatures; these were indispensable materials for his "Synthesis."
Finally, he stood before the trunk and placed the yew wand, which felt cold to the touch, on the top layer.
Beside the wand, he hesitated for a moment, then placed the purple crystal bottle containing the "Succubus's Whisper" inside as well.
Hogwarts, that hunting ground that gathered all the young Wizards of the Wizarding World, would surely offer many opportunities to let this interesting item play its intended role.
He had even started to calculate that the side quest named "Prelude to Taming the Little Wildcat" might be the first testing ground for this Potion.
After placing everything in its proper place, Jerry closed the lid of the trunk with satisfaction.
With a "click," the lock snapped shut crisply, as if pulling the trigger for the upcoming hunt.
Yawning, Jerry climbed onto the recliner, looking at the rapidly rotating, brilliant starry sky on the ceiling.
He slowly closed his eyes and entered a state of meditation.
...
There were still a few days left until Hogwarts started, but Jerry did not intend to set off immediately.
Before boarding the express train at King's Cross Station, he had to deal with a potential trouble first.
"Prelude to Taming the Little Wildcat"—the young Witchwho had seen his true face and was proficient in curses.
In the system task description, although no failure penalty was specified.
But in Jerry's creed, the word "negligence" never existed.
Any pawn who had seen his true face and was not completely under his control was a hidden danger that had to be thoroughly tamed or directly erased from the chessboard when necessary.
Therefore, he had to resolve this hidden danger.
The night was like a thick piece of black velvet, completely wrapping London.
Jerry's figure quietly appeared in an alleyway deeper and filthier than Knockturn Alley.
The air here floated with a sweet, fishy smell of fermented Dark Arts and inferior Potions, enough to make ordinary Wizards shrink back.
He tilted his head and downed a drop of Polyjuice Potion. After a burning sensation in his throat, Jerry's face had changed into that of an unremarkable adult Wizard in his thirties, with turbid eyes and a down-and-out look.
He pushed open a creaking, dilapidated wooden door hung with a string of dried lizards.
The plaque above the door was carved with crooked letters— "Prophecy House."
A rich, almost suffocating sweet fragrance rushed towards him; it was the scent of dragon's blood incense mixed with some unknown pollen, capable of easily paralyzing one's nerves.
The room was dimly lit, with only a few crystal balls floating in mid-air emitting a faint, ghostly glow.
A petite figure was curled up on a huge, gorgeous recliner covered with layers of deep purple velvet cushions.
It was a girl who looked no more than seven or eight years old, wearing an ill-fitting silk nightgown that was about to slip off her thin shoulders.
A pair of fair, petite bare feet were exposed to the air without defense, the toes round and neat, like a row of top-quality pearls.
She had long platinum-blonde hair, and at this moment, she was boredly poking at a crystal ball with one finger.
In the underground world of Wizards, the flow of intelligence had a set of unspoken rules.
Ordinary information peddlers, like the gnomes selling fake goods in Knockturn Alley, mostly provided news that was hearsay, half-truth, and half-rumor.
One level up were the "Memory Thieves" proficient in Legilimency; they could dig secrets out of other people's brains, but this method was highly risky, and the intelligence obtained was often fragmented, subjective, and highly colored.
Truly priceless intelligence—absolute secrets capable of changing the course of a battle or overturning a family—had only one way of being obtained—that was prophecy.
Therefore, this dilapidated shop named "Prophecy House" was the entity at the very top of the entire black market food chain. People who came here were not looking for lost pets or asking about tomorrow's weather; they were here to buy "truth."
And the price for providing this "truth" was far more complicated than just Galleons.
As for why the owner of this room was always in the appearance of a seven or eight-year-old girl, this itself was one of the most widely circulated horror legends in the underground world.
Some said that truly powerful prophetic talent was a kind of power from ancient times, primitive and chaotic; it could not be carried by the brains of adult Wizards, which were full of prejudice, desire, and complex memories.
Only the soul of a child, not yet fully polluted by the secular world and pure as a blank sheet of paper, could barely become a "vessel" or "conduit" for this power to descend.
Therefore, every generation of Seer had to be a child.
From the day she was chosen, her physical growth would completely stagnate, forever imprisoned in the body of a young girl.
And her soul would be washed and eroded by that vast and ancient power of prophecy day and night, maturing, aging, and decaying at a rapid speed.
Chapter 18
They could see everything of the past and the future, but they had no present of their own.
So, this girl curled up in the lounge chair might have lived for decades, or even a century.
But, it could also be a disguise.
Who knows!
"Another guest here to seek secrets."
She didn't lift her head, but her voice came from deep within her throat, a husky, languid tone characteristic of a mature woman, utterly at odds with her youthful appearance. "Tell me, what do you want to know?
The trajectory of fate, a lover's betrayal, or your pathetic, sordid desires hidden deep within your heart?"
Jerry spoke in the husky voice of the unfamiliar face, "I'm looking for a cat."
"A cat?"
The young Seer finally lifted her head, her disproportionately large purple eyes sweeping over him, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "I'm not responsible for finding lost pets here."
She paused, seemingly scrutinizing Jerry's soul beneath his disguise.
"However… seeing as the Galleon you brought smells quite nice, I might make an exception this once."
She extended a small hand, beckoning him with a curled finger. "Come here."
Jerry stepped forward as instructed, stopping before her.
"My feet are a bit cold."
She stated it matter-of-factly, extending her small, delicate bare feet towards him. The snow-white insteps gleamed like ivory in the dim light.
Jerry gazed at her feet, which could have been works of art, without expression.
"My pleasure!"
Then, he extended his hands and cupped her cold little feet in his palms.
Her skin was too delicate to be real, and the icy touch spread from his palms all the way up his arms.
Jerry didn't immediately begin to knead, but first used the warmth of his palms to slowly envelop and melt that coldness.
"Mm…"
The girl hummed comfortably, stretching out on the lounge chair, her silk nightgown slipping lower, revealing her flat, youthful chest. She closed her eyes, as if absorbing something.
Jerry's fingers began to move.
His movements were devoid of desire, yet as precise as those of the most experienced masseur.
The pads of his thumbs, with just the right amount of pressure, pressed against her high instep, gliding down along each slender metatarsal bone.
Then, his fingers explored the arch of her foot, tracing circles, neither too light nor too heavy, on that most sensitive, soft flesh.
"Ah…"
A faint tremor escaped from deep within the girl's throat.
Her body suddenly tensed, her small feet instinctively curling in his palms, toes tightly pressed together, as if resisting, yet also craving more.
Jerry paid no mind. His fingers slid to her ankles, kneading around the delicate bones, while his other hand began to gently stretch and rotate her pearl-like toes, one by one.
The girl's breathing grew rapid and hot.
Her body, which had been languidly curled on the lounge chair, now unconsciously straightened, her small buttocks squirming against the velvet cushion, as if countless ants were crawling beneath her.
The loose nightgown, with her movements, was pressed into ambiguous folds.
"Tell me… the 'cat' you're looking for…"
She spoke intermittently, her mature voice now tinged with an uncontrollable, moist tremor: "She… mm… what is she like…"
Jerry's fingers were now precisely pressing a spot deep in her arch, the pressure increasing from light to heavy, repeatedly stimulating that nerve cluster.
"Black fur!" he answered in a low voice, his hands not pausing for a moment. "Tall, phoenix eyes!
Sharp claws, skilled in some… unsavory curses."
"Hah… ah…"
The girl could no longer utter a complete sentence.
Her legs unconsciously parted slightly, her body tensed into a small bow, and a strange, intense pleasure, like currents of electricity, surged wildly from the arch of her foot, which he controlled, to the deepest parts of her body.
A thin layer of sweat beaded on her smooth forehead, and an unnatural flush spread across her cheeks.
She abruptly opened her eyes, her purple pupils shimmering with moisture, having lost their focus.
As she whispered hoarsely, the crystal ball in her arms suddenly lit up.
The mist inside violently churned and converged, eventually solidifying into a clear, dynamic image.
The image showed a dark, damp alleyway, the flagstones covered in sewage, and on a precarious wooden sign at the alley's entrance, a viper coiled around a goblet.
Then, the view passed through a dirty wooden door, entering a smoke-filled tavern.
A woman sat by the corner bar, drinking a Firewhiskyalone.
She appeared to be in her forties, with a haggard face, wearing thick glasses, her brown hair casually tied into a bun, with a few strands of grey hair falling loose, making her seem even more ordinary and unremarkable.
She wore a faded old Wizard's robe, and her entire being exuded a sense of weariness, as if life had worn away all her edges.
Just then, the woman in the image seemed to sense something, impatiently raising her left hand to push up her glasses.
The moment she raised her hand, the view zoomed in sharply, focusing precisely on her wrist.
On her slightly coarse skin, a grotesque, long-healed old scar was clearly visible.
The scar's shape was very peculiar, like a wand broken in half.
The Seer Witch, using her last shred of rationality, waved the crystal ball in her hand, squeezing out a few broken words through gritted teeth: "Serpent Alley… end… Viper's Kiss… left wrist… broken wand… scar…"
Before she finished speaking, a violent spasm wracked her small body.
She let out a sharp, forcibly suppressed whimper like a small animal, then abruptly pulled her feet back from Jerry's palms, curling them tightly against her chest.
Jerry slowly stood up, subtly raising the hand that had been holding her feet.
At the base of his gloved index finger, on a seemingly unremarkable black iron ring, a blue electric arc, thinner than a strand of hair, flickered once before falling completely silent.
The Seer Witch gasped for breath, her platinum blonde hair soaked with sweat, clinging messily to her flushed cheeks and neck.
Her silk nightgown was already twisted out of shape by her movements, and even though her legs were tightly pressed together, they couldn't completely hide the uncontrollable, slight trembling at the top of her thighs.
Jerry's gaze slowly descended, falling upon the deep purple velvet cushion where her buttocks had been pressed.
There, a damp mark, darker than the surrounding color and with blurred edges, was clearly imprinted on the luxurious fabric.
That wet stain reflected a faint, ambiguous sheen under the dim light of the crystal ball, and an aroma, a mixture of the girl's body scent and a musky sweetness, drifted subtly.
Following his gaze, the girl also saw the shameful mark that proved her body had completely lost control.
Her small face instantly drained of all color, replaced by an extreme humiliation of being seen through, of being stripped bare.
"Enough!"
She roared hoarsely, her voice filled with the exasperation of being overwhelmed by desire, "The transaction is over!
Take your information… and get out!"
Jerry let out a chuckle.
"Sweet dreams, Your Excellency!"
Just as Jerry's hand was about to touch the doorknob, a hoarse, sharp voice came from behind him.
"Stop!"
Jerry's footsteps halted, waiting for her next words.
The girl suddenly struggled, propping up her sweaty upper body with her elbows, her eyes half-dazed, half-clear, her tongue even unconsciously tracing her lips.
"You… haven't paid yet!"
Chapter Ten: Lick here, kitty!
In the "Viper's Kiss" tavern, the middle-aged Witch, glimpsed by the Seer's crystal ball, was staring at the stout owner behind the bar, who was wiping glasses, with a sharp gaze that belied her weary appearance.
She was, of course, no ordinary middle-aged Witch; this face was merely the product of Alchemy and a Transfiguration Charm.
Beneath the disguise was a seventh-year Slytherin student from Hogwarts named Catherine, but in the underground black market, people were more accustomed to calling her "Cat."
Catherine was proficient in various malicious curses and acted ruthlessly, taking on "private jobs" during holidays to earn hefty tuition fees and money for magical materials.
The recent joint robbery of Gringotts should have been her biggest income this year, enough to allow her to live a life of extravagance until graduation.
Catherine's original plan was indeed to double-cross them.
After getting the Galleons, she planned to send her partners to hell with a long-prepared "Bone-Rotting Curse," keeping all the treasure for herself.
She hadn't even bothered to inquire about their names or backgrounds; in her eyes, they were just temporary tools, soon to disappear.
However, she severely underestimated that bastard pervert kid.
The moment Catherine uttered the spell, his reaction was ten times faster than she had imagined.
Catherine hadn't even seen what magic he used when an irresistible force, carrying an aura of extreme coldness, penetrated all her defenses and acted directly upon her soul.
The feeling was like being stuffed alive into a ten-thousand-year-old piece of profound ice, even her thoughts frozen solid.
In the last moment before Catherine's consciousness dissipated, a "Resurrection Rune" left to her by her mother automatically activated, taking the fatal blow for her.
Catherine survived, but that life-saving rune, worth enough to buy half of Diagon Alley, turned to dust.
The result was that Catherine had worked for over half a month, risking being hunted by the entire Ministry of Magic, only to end up without a single Galleon, and instead losing her most important trump card.
Now, she needed money more than ever.
The start of the school year was approaching, and the end of the month was imminent.
According to Catherine's observations, the owner of "Viper's Kiss" habitually deposited all of the month's earnings into Gringotts on the last day of each month.
Although this sum was far less than the proceeds from the robbery, it was at least enough to solve her immediate financial difficulties.
Catherine raised her goblet and downed the fiery whiskey in one gulp.
The strong liquor burned her throat, but it couldn't quell the irritation and humiliation in her heart.
But on the surface, she was at least calm.
Her ordinary, middle-aged Witch's face showed no ripples of emotion.
She gently placed the empty goblet on the bar, making a crisp sound almost drowned out by the tavern's clamor, then, with a subtle, barely noticeable gesture, she tilted her chin towards the stout owner behind the bar.
The owner grunted knowingly, grabbed a greasy rag, and lazily wiped the bar in front of her twice, then refilled her glass with amber-colored Firewhisky.
Just as the owner pushed the glass over, Catherine also reached out, as if to pay for the drink.
Her movements were unhurried as she pulled a few Bronze Knuts and a sickle from her worn robe pocket and casually placed them on the counter.
The sickle was no different from the other coins, except that as her fingertip pushed it across the sticky wooden bar, a faint, almost invisible, ghostly blue glow, thinner than a spider's silk, seemed to flash from its edge.
The light flashed and disappeared, as if it were merely a reflection from a cheap crystal lamp.
The owner's fat fingers unhesitatingly raked the coins over, tossing them into the old, clattering cash register behind him.
With a "ding!" the cash drawer closed.
Catherine picked up her new drink but didn't drink it.
She merely slowly rubbed the rim of the glass, her gaze seemingly unfocused on the swirling liquid inside, but all her magical perception, along with the sickle enchanted with a tracking curse, had been locked into that dark, greasy cash drawer.
The tavern door was pushed open again, and a cold gust of wind, mixed with the stench of alley trash, blew in, causing a few Wizards huddled in the corner to curse discontentedly.
A figure walked in.
It was a seemingly ordinary middle-aged man, wearing a faded old robe with even frayed cuffs, sparse hair, a sallow complexion, and eyes filled with the murky numbness of someone utterly crushed by life.
He looked like any destitute Wizard from the streets of London who had drifted here, seeking to exchange his last few Bronze Knuts for a cup of cheap alcohol to temporarily forget his troubles.
Catherine didn't even give him a full glance, only catching sight of him approaching the bar in her peripheral vision.
The man stopped one body-length away from her, hesitated, then, as if having made up his mind, dragged his heavy feet to her side and pulled out the empty, closest high stool.
"Screech!"
The grating sound of wood scraping the floor instantly tensed Catherine's shoulders. She utterly detested such noises that broke her sense of control.
She didn't turn her head, but she could clearly feel the man sitting down, and a faint, musty smell of old robes mixed with cheap tobacco permeated her personal space.
This made her feel an inexplicable sense of irritation.
She loathed this kind of crowding, and she hated having strangers this close even more.
In this filthy tavern, any stranger could be a robber looking for money, or an Auror from the Ministry of Magic.
But she soon relaxed.
No one would associate her with that "Cat" who was somewhat famous in the black market.
After the man sat down, he didn't try to strike up a conversation with her, only murmuring listlessly to the tavern owner, "A glass of Gillywater."
Then he hung his head, staring blankly at his own worn-out boots, like a statue about to weather away.
A pathetic, harmless loser.
Catherine quickly defined him in her mind, and then paid him no more attention.
Her prey was that fat, greasy tavern owner, not this stray dog beside her who was also waiting to be slaughtered by life.
She pulled her attention back to her plan, completely unaware that deep within the low, murky eyes of this seemingly harmless "loser" beside her, a cold, predatory glint was flickering.
Jerry picked up that inconspicuous glass of Gillywater, the rim blocking half his face, but his gaze went over the glass, locking precisely onto the woman beside him with his peripheral vision.
He didn't need to use any magic; he only needed to observe.
First, her gaze.
In the past three minutes, her gaze, which seemed fixed on her own glass, had unconsciously darted toward the tavern owner and the old cash register behind him four times.
That wasn't a casual scan, but a brief, evaluative focus like locking onto prey.
Then, her payment action.
He recalled the details of her earlier actions.
A Witch who was tight on money and needed to rely on a disguise to make a living in the black market had deliberately used a silver Sickle mixed with a few copper Knuts to pay for a cheap whiskey.
This was illogical, unless that silver Sickle itself was a marker.
A beacon that allowed her to precisely track the flow of this money.
Finally, her behavior of ordering a second drink.
She had barely touched that new drink, only stroking the side of the glass idly with her fingers.
She wasn't drinking; she was looking for an excuse to stay, and she was waiting.
Waiting for what?
It was almost the end of the month.
This fat owner would take the entire month's income after the tavern closed and set off on the road home or to Gringotts.
This little wildcat really seemed to be short on money.
Jerry drank the tasteless Gillywater in one gulp, letting out a satisfied, misty sigh.
He didn't look at Catherine beside him, but turned his sallow face toward the busy, fat owner behind the bar.
"Boss!"
He spoke in a hoarse voice that carried a touch of familiarity, "How's business lately?"
The fat owner didn't even look up, only grunting through his nose as a response.
He was laboriously wiping a fingerprint-covered glass with a greasy rag.
"Look!"
Jerry continued to talk to himself, reaching out to point at the pitch-black alley outside, "Even those long-eared Goblins have gotten smart now.
I went to deposit money this afternoon, and guess what?"
This finally piqued a bit of the owner's interest.
He stopped his work, casting a glance at Jerry with those small eyes squeezed into slits by fat, "What?"
"Gringotts doesn't accept deposits at night anymore!"
Jerry slapped his thigh; his voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for everyone in the circle around him to hear, "They said they lost a huge sum of money.
Now, as soon as it gets dark, their vault doors are locked tighter than a Troll's rear end!
Insist on depositing money?
Fine, do it tomorrow morning!"
"Clang!"
A harsh, crisp sound.
It didn't come from Jerry, but from Catherine beside him.
Her hand, which had been gently stroking the side of the glass, lost control because the owner's body had stiffened instantly, and her knuckles knocked heavily against the glass.
The tavern owner's face instantly became uglier than the sludge in a sewer.
He slammed the rag in his hand onto the bar, cursing in a low voice, "Those blood-sucking bastards!
They're safe, but we shop owners have to bear all the risk?"
Catherine turned her head slowly, inch by inch.
On that face belonging to a middle-aged Witch, a pair of eyes stared fixedly at the talkative, down-and-out man beside her.
If looks could kill, Jerry would have been sliced to pieces by her no less than a hundred times by now.
All her plans, her only hope for tonight, had been completely shattered by a few words of idle chatter from this stray dog who had appeared from who knows where.
Jerry seemed completely unaware of the murderous intent beside him, which was almost tangible.
He just revealed a simple, somewhat apologetic smile and began to fumble in the pockets of his worn-out robes.
"Look at my memory, I haven't paid yet..."
He muttered to himself while digging around for a long time.
Catherine watched coldly, almost able to imagine him pulling out a few crumpled copper Knuts.
However, the next second, her pupils contracted sharply.
She heard a crisp, pleasant sound of metal clashing, "Clatter."
As if the man hadn't held it steady, a handful of golden things slid out of his pocket and spilled onto the dirty, greasy bar.
Not copper Knuts, nor silver Sickles.
It was over a dozen shiny, genuine gold Galleons.
They tumbled under the dim light, exuding a deadly temptation that made the entire tavern fall silent.
"Oops, my hand slipped."
Jerry grinned, revealing a somewhat foolish smile, and used his calloused hands to clumsily gather those gold coins back, leaving only one on the bar.
"Boss, for the drink."
He said, "Keep the change, save the rest, and I'll come back tomorrow!"
Jerry turned and left amidst the owner's fawning voice.
His back was swallowed by the night as the tavern door creaked, but Catherine's gaze never left his swaying pocket, which was filled with Galleons.
Tonight, this money was destined not to belong to tomorrow.
Catherine, like a ghost, slid silently out of the tavern's shadows.
The Transfiguration and the Disillusionment Charmprovided her with perfect cover; her footsteps were lighter than Jerry's, and like a real cat, she followed silently behind that swaying money bag.
She followed him to a fork in the road with sparse lighting at the end of the tavern, where there were no other pedestrians around, only a few stray cats rummaging through trash.
It was time.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Catherine whispered, and accompanied by a faint light from the tip of her wand, a cold spell shot precisely at Jerry's back.
Jerry fell down without any defense, his body hitting the wet, slippery gravel road straight and hard with a dull thud.
The moment he fell, the money bag that should have been tightly grasped in his hand also rolled off, spilling Galleons all over the ground with a clatter.
Catherine didn't step forward, but cautiously waited for a moment, and only after confirming that the other person was motionless did she slowly appear and walk step by step to Jerry's side.
She looked down from above at this "unconscious" man, her eyes flashing with desire for the Galleons.
She bent down and reached out to touch Jerry's pocket, wanting to see if there were more surprises inside.
However, the moment her fingertips touched his pocket, the originally "unconscious" Jerry's murky eyes suddenly opened, the light within them instantly becoming sharp, full of cold and sober mockery.
"What a little wildcat that doesn't learn."
His hoarse voice now carried a certain low, oppressive magnetism.
Catherine pulled her hand back sharply, and an "Expelliarmus" escaped her lips subconsciously, while sparks shot from the tip of her wand.
However, Jerry seemed to have expected this; his elbows instantly propped him up, and he rolled swiftly on the ground, narrowly dodging the spell, while his left hand shot out like lightning, precisely grabbing Catherine's ankle.
"Bone-Chilling Curse!"
A force carrying a bone-piercing chill surged from his fingertips, acting directly on her leg.
Catherine felt half her body instantly paralyzed, as if it had been submerged in ice water.
In shock and anger, she struggled violently, waving her wand as well, and both a "Finite Incantatem" and a "Crucio" flew toward Jerry at the same time.
The two's magic collided with a bang in the narrow space, erupting in a dazzling flare of light and a wave of air.
The powerful impact forced Catherine to retreat several steps, and the Transfiguration on her face began to twist unstably due to the violent impact on her magic.
Her face switched back and forth between that of the middle-aged Witch and the Slytherin girl, and finally, after a blurry tremor, it completely collapsed with a "pop," revealing Catherine's young, angry face.
Jerry had already stood up from the ground, dusting off the non-existent dust on his robes.
His free right hand grabbed at the air, and a black, mirror-smooth pebble was held in his hand, instantly flashing with a ghostly blue light.
He aimed the glowing snapshot stone at Catherine, flicked his finger, and directed a completely unconcealed, malicious smile at her face, which was twisted with anger, "Come on, say cheese!"
That frivolous "cheese" was like a fuse, instantly igniting the string in Catherine's mind called "reason."
"Avada Kedavra!"
A sickly green light, carrying a scream that tore at the soul, shot violently from the tip of her wand.
In that instant, the smile on Jerry's face completely froze.
His movement to raise his hand to dodge was slow—so slow that Catherine clearly saw the disguise on his face shatter like thin ice, revealing that young, handsome boyish face.
It was him!
It really was him!
The shock of realization brought a hatred deeper than anger.
Catherine's body trembled with extreme emotion, thinking only of tearing the little bastard in front of her into a thousand pieces.
However, Jerry just looked at her, his eyes now devoid of a ripple, only the coldness and cruelty after being provoked.
"Avada Kedavra! You know quite a lot."
He just gave a contemptuous snort, his wand not even pointing at her, just waving it casually.
An invisible and violent force, carrying a one-hundred-percent pure magic critical hit, slammed into Catherine's thin body.
"Banishing Charm!"
"Ugh!"
Catherine didn't even have time to let out a full scream before she was sent flying backward uncontrollably, like a ragdoll hit by a Troll, slamming heavily against the alley wall with a "bang," then sliding to the ground like mud, with only painful moans left in her throat.
Jerry walked up slowly, his steps heavy and powerful, each one feeling like it was stepping on Catherine's heart.
He simply raised his wand and pointed it at the girl lying on the ground.
Countless blinding blue electric arcs appeared out of thin air, like a group of violent venomous snakes, instantly wrapping around Catherine's young body.
"Rolling Current!"
The current raged through her limbs and bones, every inch of her muscles convulsing and tightening under the stimulation of the high-voltage current.