Chapter 50
"Albus!"
McGonagall's voice held a hint of imperceptible worry, "Isn't this too cruel for these children?
They are only eleven years old."
Dumbledore shook his head, his deep blue eyes gazing into the distant, endless lead-grey sky, his gaze profound and far-reaching.
"Minerva, things are not like they used to be.
Hogwarts has been severely weakened since Tom… After that, Hogwarts was severely weakened.
With continuous battle reports from the fringe worlds, I have a premonition that a new formidable enemy is about to appear, and we don't have much time left."
He paused, his tone growing heavy.
"Fudge and I talked all night yesterday; the Ministry of Magic's reform is imminent, and Hogwarts must also reform because of it.
These are things they must experience and must accept.
We can take this opportunity to pick out the weaker children among them—to see if they have talent in other areas… or if they are worth investing more resources in."
Dumbledore's gaze shifted downwards, falling accurately on Jerry, who was quietly sitting at the dining table, a flicker of an inscrutable light in the depths of his pupils.
"Rosier… that boy named Jerry, did you arrange for him to enter the academy?"
Professor McGonagall's face showed a reminiscent expression, a hint of softness quietly emerging on her mature and charming face.
"Albus, you know the relationship between Lily (Note: Jerry's mother) and me. She suffered such misfortune then, and I couldn't save her.
I have to look after her child no matter what…" McGonagallsighed softly, "Is there a problem?"
Dumbledore shook his head upon hearing this: "No… His talent is very high… I'm worried he might become another Tom."
Professor McGonagall suddenly looked up, her eyes filled with determination.
"Impossible!
Albus, he will never follow in Tom's footsteps!"
Dumbledore said nothing, just watched Jerry, who was eating pumpkin pie in large bites.
"I hope so…!"
---
The atmosphere at lunch was suffocating.
Just as Jerry was leisurely cutting a small piece of steak, a figure with a determined aura walked up to his table.
It was Hermione Granger.
Her small face was still a bit pale, but her brown eyes sparkled with undisguised curiosity and competitiveness.
She even held her parchment and quill, looking ready to take notes at any moment.
"Jerry…" she asked directly, "How did you do it?
I saw it very clearly; the interval between each of your spells was very short, your magic output was stable, and there were almost no superfluous movements.
How did you practice?"
Jerry lifted his eyelids, glanced at her, and before he could speak, another boisterous voice cut in.
"Hermione, why are you bothering with him!"
Ron Weasley hurried over, his face showing undisguised disgust.
He grabbed Hermione's arm, trying to pull her away.
"Stay away from this Slytherin!
His family are all… all Death Eaters!
Who knows what shady Dark Arts he's using!"
Hermione forcefully shook off Ron's hand, her brows furrowed.
"Don't talk nonsense, Ron!
This is knowledge!
Professor Flitwick even praised him!" She had no intention of leaving; instead, she took another step forward, staring intently at Jerry, her tone filled with a scholar's stubbornness: "Please tell me, Jerry.
How did you do it?"
Just as Hermione pressed her question, a mechanical, cold voice that only Jerry could hear echoed in his mind:
[Ding! Daily Quest triggered: The Scholar's Curiosity.]
[Quest Content: Initially train "Miss Know-It-All" Hermione Granger, making her understand that acquiring knowledge requires a corresponding "price."]
[Quest Reward: Depends on completion.]
Jerry put down his knife and fork, and leisurely wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
He looked up, a hint of playfulness in his dark eyes, his gaze sweeping over Hermione's small face, which looked particularly lively due to her earnestness.
"Want to know?"
He chuckled softly, "Sure.
However, Miss Granger, you should know that knowledge isn't free."
Hermione was startled, clearly not expecting such a reply: "What… what do you want?
Galleons?"
"I don't need Galleons."
Jerry shook his head, leaning slightly forward, closer to Hermione, and said in a low, somewhat seductive voice that only the two of them could hear:
"However… you know, pure-blood families like mine have House-elves taking care of us since childhood. I'm really not very good at washing clothes… After we return to the academy, could you help me wash them?"
This request sounded a bit strange, but it didn't seem too excessive.
Hermione's brow furrowed even deeper; she didn't understand the logic behind this exchange.
"…Especially… my intimate clothing."
Jerry added, his voice drawling with a mischievous, playful tone, "They need to be washed by hand, very carefully, very gently.
"Are you crazy, Hermione!
Listen to what he's saying!"
Ron finally exploded, his face redder than his hair: "He's asking you… to wash his… underwear!
This is an insult!
He's treating you like a House-elf!"
Ron's voice was loud, drawing glances from some of the students at nearby tables.
However, Jerry didn't even look at Ron.
His gaze remained fixed on Hermione's face, admiring the alluring blush that spread from her cheeks to her neck, and the intense struggle in her brown eyes.
He was like a patient hunter, having set a trap, just waiting for his prey to walk into it.
Hermione's chest heaved violently; she could feel her heart pounding.
Ron was right; this sounded like a blatant insult.
But…
In her mind, the scene from that morning replayed uncontrollably.
Jerry's precise, stable, continuous fireballs, that almost perfect control over magic, was a realm she completely failed to understand.
That unknown, powerful knowledge, like the forbidden fruit of Eden, emitted a fatal attraction for her.
Give up dignity, or give up knowledge?
Shame and curiosity fiercely tore and clashed within her.
After what felt like an eternity, Hermione finally took a deep breath.
She looked up, avoiding Ron's anxious gaze, and met Jerry's eyes, which held a playful smile.
Her voice was a little dry, with a barely perceptible tremor, but every word was exceptionally clear.
"Ron, shut up.
This is my business.
If you could do it, would I still need to seek knowledge from Jerry?"
She ignored Ron, who was behind her looking incredulous, and instead looked at Jerry, as if having made some kind of decision, squeezing out a few words through gritted teeth:
"Okay… I promise you."
"But on the condition that you must teach me how to cast fireballs continuously."
"No problem at all!"
---
The Slytherin common room was bathed in a soft green light.
The crackling fire in the fireplace illuminated the Slytherinstudents, some sitting, some lounging, enjoying the evening.
But at the end of the corridor leading to the dormitories, the door hidden behind a serpentine carving was now gently pushed open a crack.
Isabella Travers, the seventh-year prefect, cautiously peeked out. Her sharp eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, and after confirming no one noticed, she crouched down and glided like a ghost into the corridor leading to Jerry's dormitory.
Isabella had gone to great lengths for this "infiltration."
She certainly wasn't there to see this first-year new student; that was preposterous.
She just… needed to get something back.
That hateful little thing was so rude to her yesterday!
In her haste, she had actually forgotten her underwear in Jerry's bathroom.
She didn't want her things to be taken by a perverted first-year little lecher as some… twisted plaything!
However, apart from this somewhat embarrassing "lost and found" item, Isabella also harbored a strong curiosity about Jerry deep down.
The magic control Jerry displayed when casting wandless spells made even her, a top seventh-year student, feel inferior.
It was definitely not something a newly admitted magicapprentice could possess.
This cast a shadow of doubt in her heart.
Who exactly was he?
With complex feelings, Isabella, familiar with the route, arrived at Jerry's room.
She carefully twisted the doorknob, and the door made a faint "click" sound, slowly opening inward.
The room was completely dark.
Weak light from the corridor projected in, barely outlining the furniture inside.
Isabella gently pushed the door open, her figure flashing as she slipped inside.
Then, like a cat, she silently closed the door again.
In the darkness, she adaptively narrowed her eyes, and relying on her familiarity with this single dormitory she had enjoyed countless times alone, she deftly groped her way towards the wardrobe.
This was a private single dormitory, with much better internal facilities than ordinary dormitories, especially the independent bathroom, which spared her the trouble of sharing a washroom with a group of noisy junior students.
Therefore, Isabella was greatly surprised when this place was allocated to a first-year new student.
But what made her even more apprehensive was that in the misunderstanding last night, she was actually subdued by Jerry, that seemingly naive but cunning young boy.
Thinking of this, Isabella's cheeks subtly flushed with heat again.
Jerry, to gain her forgiveness.
Gave her a necklace.
It was a small, delicate silver moon pendant that, when worn around the neck, emitted a subtle, elusive fragrance.
Isabella had disdained such a trick, but ever since she wore the jewelry, a warm current continuously nourished her body, making her feel unprecedentedly relaxed.
What she found most impossible to ignore was that she had indeed developed an unusual curiosity for that first-year brat, Jerry.
Chapter 51
She quickly went to the wardrobe and found a small wooden box by touch.
Upon opening it, her cotton panties lay quietly inside, alongside an incredibly cute pair adorned with soft lace edges and a cat paw pattern.
Isabella spat inwardly, a trace of unspeakable embarrassment and annoyance rising in her heart.
She was just about to close the box and slip away quietly with her "spoils."
However, a faint sound carried through the wall.
It was the sound of footsteps coming up the spiral staircase!
It couldn't be such a coincidence, could it?
Had the freshmen already returned?
Panic seized Isabella. Looking at the gathering dusk outside the window, she felt a bitter taste in her mouth.
It was about that time; it really was the hour for the freshmen to return to their dorms after dinner.
Without time to think, she hastily stuffed the box back into its original place. Like an agile female leopard, she quickly scanned the room.
The wardrobe, the bookshelf, even the bathroom—none of them offered a safe enough hiding spot.
Finally, her gaze fell upon the wide single bed.
Moving swiftly, she dropped flat and rolled, stuffing herself into the darkness beneath the bed.
Almost the very instant she hid herself, there was a "click" as the door was pushed open once more.
Footsteps approached from a distance, quickly entering the room.
Next came the rustling of clothes. Isabella was so nervous she even slowed her breathing, pressing herself flat against the floor as she felt its slight vibrations.
Jerry was back.
As the night deepened, the faint light cast into the room from the corridor grew even thinner, but Isabella's eyes, which possessed excellent night vision, began to adjust.
Through the tiny gap between the bedsheet and the bed slats, she saw a pair of black shoes, and then legs, walking step by step toward the bedside.
Next came the sound of clothes dropping to the floor.
Jerry was starting to undress.
Isabella's heart leaped violently. As if bound by magic, she found herself temporarily unable to move.
She knew she should close her eyes or simply cover them with her hands, but her curiosity and the subtle influence of the pendant made it impossible for her to look away.
What first caught her eye were the thighs and firm buttocks partially obscured by his robe. Though he was still an adolescent youth, the lines of his muscles were already faintly visible, brimming with a sense of strength.
Then, the robe was shed completely, and Jerry's body was fully revealed in her field of vision.
It was a physique full of youthful vigor and vitality, without a single shred of excess fat. His skin was a healthy wheat color, and his lines were smooth, radiating a sense of latent power ready to erupt.
Isabella's breathing grew heavy.
When Jerry turned around, his back to the bed, and walked toward the bathroom, she could see a massive, fleshy-red object swaying before her eyes with his steps.
The thick, fleshy shaft hung there like a dormant snake, its head slightly upturned, revealing a tender ring.
Isabella could clearly see its flushed head, and at the tip of that massive shaft, a deep slit was carved into it.
She could even smell a faint, distinctive scent—a blend of sweat and male hormones—swaying back and forth almost directly in front of her nose.
A strange, dry heat surged straight up from Isabella's lower abdomen, making her entire body turn burning hot.
Her throat felt dry, and her hands unconsciously gripped the bedsheet in a death grip, her nails nearly digging into the fabric.
She had never observed a boy's body from such close range and with such clarity, especially that most primal, most impactful part.
Moreover, this man...
No!
This youth!
And a first-year freshman whom she had never even spared a glance before...
She felt ashamed, yet she could not suppress the intense voyeuristic desire deep within her, as well as the impulse from the pendant, which was stirring in her blood.
Jerry's footsteps stopped by the bed.
Isabella's heart nearly leaped out of her throat.
She instinctively held her breath, her entire being like a rigid stone, pressed tightly against the cold floor.
He stopped?
Why?
Did he discover her?
A flurry of questions flashed through her mind, but she soon had her answer. She heard Jerry let out a soft, questioning grunt,
as if he were looking for something.
And with his pause, that massive, flaccid, fleshy object that occupied her entire attention also stopped swaying.
It just hung there, quietly, suspended directly in front of Isabella's face.
It was too close.
So close that Isabella didn't even need to raise her head to see every single detail of it clearly.
She could see where the thick root connected to his lower abdomen, with a few sparse, curly black pubic hairs clinging to that flat skin.
She could see the blue veins bulging slightly on the shaft due to blood flow, like coiled vines, brimming with primal vitality.
What made her mouth driest of all was that plump, moistly glistening head.
The slit at the tip seemed to have transformed into a mysterious eye, silently staring down at her.
As his body paused, an even richer scent slowly drifted down, enveloping Isabella's nose and mouth.
It was no longer a distant scent mingled in the air, but had become incredibly concrete and clear: a clean smell of sweat unique to a youth, mixed with a faint, soapy fragrance like grass after rain, and at its deepest core, that unspeakable, pure male musk.
The scent aggressively forced its way into her nasal cavity, passed through her throat, and rushed directly into her lungs, giving her brain a tipsy, almost oxygen-deprived lightheadedness.
Isabella's cheeks were completely burning now.
She could even feel the breath she was trying to suppress.
The warm, feminine-scented airflow might have already gently brushed against that sensitive tip so close at hand.
A bead of sweat slid down Jerry's lower abdomen, dripped onto his flaccid shaft, rolled down its plump curve, and finally landed with a "pat" on the floor right in front of Isabella's nose, kicking up a tiny, imperceptible speck of dust.
This tiny movement, however, was like the final straw, completely shattering Isabella's line of rational defense.
She felt a wet, warm current uncontrollably surge from the depths of her body, instantly soaking her panties.
Jerry seemed to have finally found what he was looking for.
Isabella saw him bend down, reaching one hand toward the floor by the bed.
He picked up an object—a piece of thin cotton fabric.
It was her panties.
Isabella's brain buzzed, and all her blood seemed to freeze.
Right before her horrified eyes, Jerry stood back up.
Instead of heading straight to the bathroom, he brought those small panties of hers to his nose, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
Isabella could imagine that what remained on the fabric was her own most private, maidenly scent.
And now, this scent was being greedily inhaled into the lungs of this boy, who was a full six years younger than her.
"Mmh..."
A satisfied, heavily nasal sigh escaped from the depths of Jerry's throat.
Immediately after, Isabella saw his other, free hand slowly move downward, covering the shaft that was still flaccid.
His breathing grew heavy.
From Isabella's angle, she could clearly see how that shaft began to engorge, expand, and harden at an astonishing speed under his palm.
The once soft flesh became as hard as iron, blue veins bulging out one by one beneath the skin as the entire shaft perked up high, pointing straight at his lower abdomen.
His hand began to slide up and down rhythmically.
"Heh... heh..."
With every stroke, Jerry let out irrepressible gasps.
Smelling her panties with one hand and grasping his massive desire with the other, he pleasured himself right by the bed, right in front of her hiding spot, as if no one else were there.
The sliding sound and the sticky noise of skin rubbing against skin reached Isabella's ears clearly, every single sound seemingly hammering at her fragile nerves.
She could see his tense lower abdomen, and his thigh muscles trembling slightly from the exertion.
She could not tear her gaze away from the giant member throbbing in his hand. She saw the small slit at the tip oozing traces of clear fluid from excitement, making the entire head glisten wetly.
Time became incredibly drawn out.
Finally, Jerry's movements suddenly quickened, and his body began to arch.
"Ugh!"
Jerry's body arched violently, and a beast-like low growl, suppressed to the absolute limit, squeezed out from the depths of his throat.
Isabella watched with wide eyes as the slit at the tip of that giant member—taut as a branding iron from extreme excitement—suddenly burst open. Thick, almost sticky white fluid erupted continuously with incredible force and frequency, like a fire hose with its valve flung wide open.
The first jet slammed hard onto the panties he had dropped on the floor, soaking the small piece of fabric in an instant, but the spraying showed no signs of stopping.
More and more fluid poured out continuously. Those poor panties could not possibly hold such a massive volume; soon, the viscous liquid began to overflow, spilling onto the cold floor.
Instead of dispersing immediately, its own viscosity caused it to pool on the floor first before slowly spreading outward, forming a small, milky-white "lake" that emitted a strong, musky scent.
The entire process lasted for a full dozen or so seconds.
By the time Jerry finally finished releasing and his body swayed slightly from exhaustion, a jaw-dropping, massive sticky stain had already formed on the floor beneath his feet.
Having done all this, Jerry casually tossed Isabella's panties—which he had used for his gratification—beside the pool of bodily fluid, before finally turning and walking into the bathroom as if completely satisfied.
Soon, the sound of rushing water rang out.
Beneath the bed, Isabella had long since gone completely limp, her lower body a muddy mess.
Looking at the two pairs of panties lying close together on the floor and that exaggeratedly large, still slightly steaming pool of white liquid, she felt as if she were about to be completely drowned by shame and a bizarre sensation mixed with fear and excitement.
"How could there be... so much!"
"Cream... why does it smell like... cream..."
Chapter 25 Delicious!
"Incendium missilia."
Sitting in the common room, Hermione looked down in disbelief at the fireball hovering an inch above her palm, dancing constantly like a living thing.
It was more stable and condensed than any of her attempts that morning, the heat radiating from it causing the surrounding air to warp slightly.
To think that just a few hours ago, she had struggled even to cast the spell completely, needing to focus her entire mind every single time before hurling it out like an out-of-control cannonball.
Yet at this very moment, she could make the blazing fireball hover and spin quietly, as if it had become an extension of her own arm.
It was truly hard to believe.
And the reason all of this was happening was solely due to the unremarkable silver bracelet on her wrist.
Jerry Rosier had given it to her.
According to him, this was an alchemical magic item, engraved with runes capable of maintaining a constant output of magic flow.
Therefore, as long as she possessed enough mental strength, she could theoretically cast any spell she wished with stability, drastically lowering the threshold for spellcasting.
Just as Hermione was immersed in this unprecedented pleasure of controlling power, a sharp, stabbing pain suddenly shot from deep within her brain, as if a needle had been driven ruthlessly into it.
Her vision blurred for a moment, and the fireball hovering in the center of her palm vanished instantly like a candle blown out by the wind. Immediately following was a familiar exhaustion of having her mental energy completely drained.
Hermione instinctively touched her nostrils; fortunately, there was no blood.
Panting softly, Hermione pulled back the sleeve of her robe on her wrist, her gaze falling upon the simple, sterling silver bracelet.
The surface of the bracelet was as smooth as a mirror, but when magic flowed through it, complex and ancient runes she had never seen before seemed to surface.
The power it brought was real, but the consumption was also staggering.
Chapter 52
Hermione could feel that this consumption seemed to bypass the normal magic circulation within her body, directly drawing from her most fundamental spiritual power.
"This is truly... too magical."
After all, Hermione had only just stepped into the Wizarding World two days ago.
Although she had relied on her astonishing perseverance to self-study basic meditation techniques before school started, she was still like a child standing at the entrance of a magnificent library, having only caught a glimpse of a corner of this magnificent and complex Wizarding World.
Everything she knew came from books, and this bracelet Jerry had given her—this tangible alchemical magical item that could truly grant her power—had completely exceeded the scope of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
It was like a key, opening a door for her to a deeper, more mysterious magical realm.
While this made her feel incredibly curious, it also sparked a deeper interest in Jerry, this so-called "orphan of a Dark Wizard."
Books portrayed Death Eaters as heinous demons, but Jerry... apart from being a bit nasty in his speech, seemed more like an unfathomable puzzle holding countless secrets.
Just then, Ron Weasley, having finished dinner, walked into the Gryffindor common room. He spotted Hermione sitting by the fireplace, studying something by herself, and immediately walked over excitedly.
"Hermione! Let me tell you, you must not fall for that damn Death Eater's tricks!"
Ron plopped down into the armchair next to her and lowered his voice, his face full of righteous indignation. "Those Dark Wizards, they are best at using small favors to trick people, you..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Hermione had already slowly stood up.
She hid the bracelet back in her sleeve, looked at Ron, and a strange emotion flashed in her eyes.
"Ron, I don't understand!" She spoke, her tone calm but with a hint of confusion, "Why do you hold such great hostility toward Jerry Rosier?"
"Because he is a Death Eater!" Ron almost shouted, then immediately realized they were in the common room and lowered his voice, but his tone remained firm and decisive. "His family, the House of Rosier, are all famous Death Eaters!"
Hermione frowned prettily. "According to the information I found in the library, not long after Jerry Rosier was born, his family had already fallen. His parents were sentenced to death by the Wizengamot when he was three months old because they participated in Death Eater activities. At that time, he was just a baby, Ron. A three-month-old baby, what bad things could he do?"
"So what?" Ron's face flushed red, and he retorted with his neck stiffened. "The blood flowing in his body is dirty! The descendant of a snake is always a snake! My dad said that those pure-blood families are rotten to the core, especially people like them..."
"'Dirty blood'?" Hermione keenly caught the phrase, her voice involuntarily rising with a hint of sharp questioning. "What kind of argument is this? How is this different from those pure-blood Wizards calling Muggle-born Wizards 'Mudbloods'? Shouldn't we judge a person by what they have done, rather than by which family they were born into?"
Ron was momentarily speechless from Hermione's question. He stammered, "This... this is different! He is the descendant of a criminal!"
"What about Neville? Neville Longbottom's parents are Aurors, they are heroes, yet he himself cannot even perform the simplest Levitation Charm well. And Jerry, his parents are criminals, yet he was able to perfectly master the Flame Missile on the first day of school."
Hermione's speaking speed increased, her logic so clear that Ron couldn't refute it. "So, can a person's background really determine everything? Ron, this kind of thinking of yours is prejudice, it is baseless discrimination!"
This argument ultimately ended with Ron's embarrassment and anger. He turned red in the face, threw out the words "You are really unreasonable," and ran upstairs in a huff.
Hermione stood alone where she was, watching Ron's disappearing back, the emotions in her eyes becoming even more complex. Hermione did not like Ron's stubborn prejudice, but she also had to admit that Jerry Rosier, that Slytherin boy who had casually given her such a powerful and dangerous alchemical magical item, was indeed... full of mysteries.
Hermione Granger hated the unknown most of all. This bracelet had granted her powerful strength and also ignited a strong impulse in her to explore the person that was Jerry.
Right! Hermione suddenly snapped back to reality. She remembered the thing that made her so ashamed she wished she could find a crack in the ground to crawl into—she had promised Jerry that she would help him wash those "special" clothes!
Although she was extremely unwilling to fulfill this strange agreement, Hermione had never been someone who broke her word. She did not like owing people favors, especially, she did not like owing such strange favors to Jerry. Since she had already promised, she had to do it.
She looked at the wall clock; it was getting late. The first-years should all be back in their dorms by now. Hermionetook a deep breath, suppressed the inexplicable feeling of heat in her heart, stepped forward, and walked straight out of the Gryffindor common room. She was going to fulfill her "promise."
---
The sound of rushing water from the bathroom, like a signal of amnesty, finally allowed Isabella's almost frozen body to regain a trace of sensation.
Isabella, with somewhat sluggish movements, crawled out from under the bed in a disheveled manner. The cold floor made her palms and knees feel a chill, but this chill could not extinguish the heat within her body in the slightest.
Standing up, her gaze immediately fell upon the mess on the floor. Isabella's panties were casually discarded to the side. And next to them was that pool of viscous liquid that was still emitting a trace of warm white steam.
That pool of stuff was so conspicuous, so large, reflecting a sheen in the dim light, and the rich, fishy scent mixed with the boy's unique musk and a faint milky smell stubbornly lingered in the air.
On her face, which should have been arrogant and cold, there was now a deep crimson flush. Shame, anger, curiosity... countless emotions intertwined and churned in her heart, making her breathing somewhat unsteady.
Her hand lifted, intending to pick up her own panties and take away this proof of humiliation. However, her fingertips paused in mid-air.
As if possessed, her gaze moved away from the panties and was nailed firmly onto that pool of liquid. Reason was screaming at her to leave quickly, but that pendant on her chest was emitting a continuous warmth, and an irresistible impulse surged up from the depths of her body.
In the end, she made a decision she couldn't even understand herself. Isabella did not touch the panties again; instead, she quickly bent down, extended a finger, and swiftly scraped it against the thickest part of that viscous liquid.
The warm, slippery, and life-filled texture came from her fingertip, making her whole body tremble slightly. She didn't even have time to look closely before she immediately pulled back the coated finger and clenched it tightly in her palm.
After completing this act that could be called perverse, she did not linger for a second. She turned around, like the most agile night cat, silently opened the door, and slipped out, leaving all the amorousness and secrets of the room behind her.
Isabella left Jerry's room as if fleeing. She tightly clenched the hand stained with secrets, the slippery sensation in her palm feeling like the temperature of a branding iron, making every step she took feel terrifying.
Passing through the dark corridor leading to the boys' dormitories, the familiar scene of the Slytherin common room, shrouded in the green light from the bottom of the lake, appeared before her eyes. The fire in the fireplace was still burning, and students in twos and threes were gathered together, whispering.
Isabella kept her head down and moved through the crowd as fast as she could, just wanting to return to the seventh-year girls' dormitory, to that safe and private space that belonged to her.
However, just as she was about to step onto the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory, a voice with a slightly lazy and teasing tone came from the side.
"Yo, isn't this our honorable Prefect? It's so late, and you're in such a hurry; where did you go to do something you shouldn't have?"
Isabella's body stiffened, and she stopped. The speaker was Cassandra Warrington, one of her roommates, a tall pure-blood Witch who always liked to unbutton the top two buttons of her school uniform and radiated mature charm in every gesture.
"Cassandra." Isabella turned to the side, trying her best to make her expression look as cold and detached as usual.
Cassandra crossed her arms and looked her up and down with great interest, her gaze finally landing on the hand she was clenching tightly.
"What's wrong? What treasure are you hiding in your hand that you're so nervous?" As she spoke, she walked over gracefully, and a scent mixed with expensive perfume and a faint tobacco smell rushed toward her.
Cassandra's nose twitched slightly, and her pretty eyebrows arched. "Hmm? What's that smell... it seems to be... cream? Did you sneak some dessert?"
Her face leaned in, her sharp eyes sparkling with a cat-and-mouse light, as if she really wanted to come and sniff Isabella's hand.
Isabella's brain almost stopped thinking. To be discovered, she absolutely could not be discovered! If Cassandra knew what was on her hand, then her dignity and face as a seventh-year Prefect would be completely ruined!
In the chaos, a thought that she couldn't even understand herself, almost instinctive, dominated her body. In the second before Cassandra's nose was about to get close, Isabella suddenly raised that tightly clenched hand.
Then, she stuffed the index finger stained with Jerry's bodily fluids into her mouth without hesitation.
The warm, slippery, and viscous sensation instantly filled her mouth. A strong, indescribable taste exploded on the tip of her tongue—mixed with a faint saltiness and a unique, almond-like fishy smell.
Isabella was completely stunned. She... what did she eat?
Cassandra was also stunned by her sudden action, then revealed a knowing, ambiguous smile: "Wow, it seems it's really delicious, you couldn't even wait to get back to your room."
Isabella finally snapped out of it. Isabella could feel the viscous liquid slowly melting under the stirring of her tongue, and an intense sense of shame made her wish she could find a crack in the ground to crawl into right there and then.
She kept her finger in her mouth, speaking unclearly, the sound almost squeezed from her throat: "...It's just... just cream."
Cassandra narrowed her eyes suspiciously, taking in Isabella's guilty appearance. Cassandra certainly didn't believe this clumsy excuse, but looking at the other party's expression of being so embarrassed she was about to cry, she found it even more interesting.
A cunning smile curled at the corners of Cassandra's mouth. She pretended to suddenly realize something, her voice not too loud, but clear enough for the few Slytherinstudents nearby who were pricking up their ears to hear clearly:
"Cream? Oh! I understand. Are you secretly practicing making a cake for next month's Valentine's Day dance? I really couldn't tell, our always aloof Prefect, our Miss Isabella, you actually... also have a crush?"
The words "have a crush" were like a heavy hammer, striking hard at Isabella's nerves. Isabella's face turned pale in a "flash," and then it was covered by an even deeper crimson.
"I don't! You're talking nonsense!" Isabella anxiously wanted to defend herself, but the finger in her mouth made her speech unclear.
In her desperation, Isabella couldn't care about anything else. With a push of her tongue and a movement of her throat, she actually swallowed that sticky, slippery lump of Jerry's bodily fluids along with the saliva in her mouth with a gulp.
Isabella quickly pulled out her finger and explained eagerly: "Cassandra, don't talk nonsense, there's no such thing at all!"
However, to Cassandra, Isabella's explanation was tantamount to trying to cover up something.
"Oh my, you're even shy." Cassandra laughed, her body shaking with mirth. She winked at Isabella, turned around, and was the first to lightly walk up the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory, her voice full of teasing. "No, such big news, I must hurry and share it with the sisters, let everyone guess who has such great ability to capture our Prefect's heart."
Chapter 53
"Stop right there!" Isabella, both anxious and angry, chased after him without a second thought.
The moment she rushed up the stairs, she suddenly realized—she had just... swallowed that thing.
A surge of physiological nausea welled up from her stomach, causing her footsteps to falter as she nearly gagged.
However, that sensation lasted only a few short seconds before disappearing.
In its place was an extremely strange thought that made even Isabella herself feel a chill down her spine.
At the base of Isabella's tongue, there seemed to be a lingering, faint taste—a mixture of saltiness and the fishy scent of almonds. Instead of feeling disgusted, she felt... as if... it actually tasted quite good.
She couldn't help but stick out her tongue, licking her palate and inner cheeks, savoring it carefully.
That taste... was a bit like some kind of yogurt.
With a hint of post-fermentation sweetness and richness, a touch of seawater's briny freshness, and that clean, grass-like fragrance unique to a young boy's body...
*Gulp!*
---
Walking through the quiet corridor, Hermione's heart pounded uncontrollably.
Finally, she arrived at the door to Jerry's dormitory.
Ron's previous words echoed in her ears, those terms making her feel somewhat hesitant.
However, at the thought of the words she had promised, she took a deep breath, raised her hand, and gently knocked on Jerry's door.
*Knock, knock.*
Two soft sounds echoed through the empty corridor.
No one responded.
Hermione knocked twice more.
Still, there was a deathly silence.
She frowned. Was Jerry not in his room?
But if he wasn't there, how was she supposed to fulfill her promise?
With a hint of doubt, Hermione subconsciously turned the doorknob.
*Click.*
The door was actually unlocked.
It slowly swung inward, revealing a crack that showed the bright space inside.
She pushed it with her hand.
The door hinge let out a slight groan as it opened inward.
What met Hermione's eyes was a room completely different from what she had imagined.
There were no clothes strewn about, no snack wrappers all over the floor; instead, it was excessively tidy.
The books on the desk were neatly categorized, and the bed was meticulously made.
However, this tidiness was ruined by a few items on the floor.
Hermione's gaze was first drawn to the scattered pieces of fabric.
One was dark-colored, appearing to be men's underwear, while the other... Hermione took a few steps closer, leaned over, and somewhat confusedly picked up the light-colored fabric.
It was a pair of pure white, soft-textured cotton panties.
The style was very simple and the size was quite small, clearly meant for a girl.
Hermione Granger's brow furrowed.
Does Jerry Rosier... wear this kind of underwear?
As soon as the thought arose, she dismissed it herself.
This was too ridiculous.
Perhaps he had stolen it from some girl as a prank?
It didn't seem strange for a Slytherin student to do such a thing.
Setting aside this odd discovery for the moment, Hermione's attention shifted to a large stain on the floor next to the panties.
It was a pool of cooled, dried, semi-transparent viscous liquid. Under the light of the magic lamp, the edges shimmered with a faint white. It looked as if someone had accidentally knocked over milk or something similar but hadn't cleaned it up in time.
Hermione squatted down, driven by curiosity to lower her head slightly and lean in for a sniff.
A very, very faint scent entered her nostrils.
It was slightly fishy, but more like the smell of fermented dairy, like... sour cream.
This discovery left Hermione even more perplexed.
She hesitated for a moment, looking at the solidified stain, and extended her index finger, lightly dabbing a bit from the thickest part.
It felt a bit sticky, like dried glue. She brought that finger to her lips, and her tongue tip cautiously darted out to give it a lick.
It indeed tasted like sour cream.
The small bit of vigilance in Hermione Granger's heart was completely lowered.
So he just spilled some yogurt on the floor?
What an untidy fellow.
Just then, the clear sound of running water came from the direction of the bathroom deep within the room.
Hermione did the math and immediately confirmed her suspicion.
Jerry must be taking a shower.
"Jerry?"
Hermione stood up, softly calling Jerry's name as she walked toward the bathroom. "Jerry Rosier, are you in there?
I..."
The bathroom door was also slightly ajar.
After standing there for a good while without receiving a response, Hermione finally pushed the door open.
A cloud of steam billowed toward her.
The bathroom was spacious, with a huge white bathtub occupying most of the space.
And Jerry Rosier was lying naked in the bathtub filled with clear water, his eyes tightly shut, seemingly fast asleep.
Hermione's footsteps stopped.
Her gaze, uncontrolled, fell beneath the water's surface.
Because Jerry was lying on his back, the most private part of his body was thus revealed without any cover under the water.
It was a... an organ Hermione had never imagined and did not possess.
It had not gone limp despite its master's slumber; instead, with a posture full of vitality, it pointed straight up toward the surface.
With Jerry's steady breathing, his lower abdomen rose and fell slightly.
And that stiff member followed this rise and fall, its full head constantly breaking the surface, creating small ripples before sinking back into the water, over and over again.
Every time it surfaced, the flushed tip would glisten with a moist sheen under the lights, and that deep slit was clearly visible.
Hermione felt her breath hitch.
Her cheeks heated up uncontrollably, and a strange, dry heat surged from deep within her body.
Books had never described such a scene; it was a highly impactful symbol belonging to a male.
Hermione knew she should leave immediately; one should not look at what is improper.
But Hermione's feet seemed nailed to the spot, unable to move an inch.
Curiosity, that most primal desire to explore the unknown, was like a kitten's paw, scratching at Hermione's heart again and again.
What... would it feel like to touch?
Is it as hard as it looks?
Or is it warm?
Once this thought arose, it could no longer be suppressed.
Hermione Granger swallowed, her throat feeling a bit dry.
Hermione looked around, confirming that Jerry was still fast asleep.
Then, Hermione slowly squatted down, extending the hand that had just tasted the "sour cream" flavor, tremblingly reaching toward that member in the bathtub that rose and fell with his breath.
Her fingertips drew closer and closer to the rising and falling flesh.
Hermione could clearly see that the shaft was covered with slightly protruding blue veins, like gnarled tree roots coiled under the smooth skin, full of eruptive, wild vitality.
Finally, her fingertip, carrying a hint of a young girl's characteristic coolness, tentatively touched the full, rounded head at the very tip of that giant object.
The sensation was so vivid, so strange.
First was the temperature.
It was a scorching warmth, much higher than the water temperature, as if boiling magma was flowing inside.
Next was the texture; it was a firm yet elastic sensation. The skin was incredibly smooth, like the finest silk, yet it contained a steel-like hardness.
Just this fleeting touch made Hermione's finger feel as if it had been burned, and she instinctively wanted to pull back. But that irresistible curiosity made her suppress her instinct to retreat.
She became a bit bolder.
Hermione's palm slowly moved down, bypassing the rounded head, and cautiously wrapped her entire hand around the thick shaft.
Her hand wasn't small for a girl her age, but at this moment, she could only barely grasp it.
The full, solid flesh completely filled her palm, heavy and possessing a startling weight.
She could clearly feel how the soft skin of her palm pressed tightly against every protruding vein and hard contour of that member.
Hermione could even feel that deep within the hard flesh, there seemed to be a pulse beating slightly and powerfully, echoing her own heartbeat.
This discovery caused Hermione Granger's cheeks to turn completely red.
This thing... is alive.
Just as her palm unconsciously slid slightly, the sleeping boy in the bathtub let out a blurred, satisfied murmur from his throat.
"Mnh..."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat.
Hermione looked up and saw Jerry's brow furrow slightly and his lips move, as if he were about to wake up.
What terrified her even more was that the giant object in her palm, as if stimulated by something, suddenly and powerfully jumped upward in her hand. Its size seemed to swell another notch, becoming even harder and more scorching.
Jerry is going to wake up!
This realization was like ice water, dousing all the curiosity and heat in Hermione's heart, leaving only pure panic.
Hermione let go as if struck by an electric shock. Because her movement was too violent, she lost her balance and fell onto the slippery floor on her backside.
Hermione didn't even care about the pain in her rear. She scrambled up from the floor using both hands and feet, crawling and running out of the bathroom and out of Jerry's room.
Hermione didn't dare look back, nor did she even dare to think about what the scene would have been like if Jerryhad opened his eyes the moment she fled.
It wasn't until she ran all the way back to the Gryffindorcommon room and threw herself heavily into that familiar armchair by the fireplace that Hermione's frantic heartbeat finally calmed down a bit.
Hermione spread out her right hand, the hand that had just touched the forbidden object.
Her palm seemed to still retain that startling, scorching, and hard sensation, and her nose also seemed to still smell that scent mixed with water vapor and a faint "sour cream" odor.
"What... a strange... sensation!"
Chapter 26: Can... Can I touch it?
Catherine's talent was actually not considered top-tier in their dormitory, which gathered the most outstanding seventh-year Slytherin girls.
Her family had long since declined, and the power of their bloodline was thinning day by day. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been reduced to robbing remote branches of Gringotts or even knocking people unconscious with clubs outside bars in Knockturn Alley to make ends meet.
She had never mentioned these things to her roommates, but this had been the norm of her life during the holidays for the past few years.
Chapter 54
However, ever since this semester began, everything has changed.
The first to notice the anomaly were the other three members in their dormitory—Isabella Avery, CassandraWarrington, and Fiona Shafiq, who came from a family of Ministry of Magic officials.
The four of them were not only roommates but also seventh-year Deputy Prefects of Slytherin House, living together in this four-person dormitory that symbolized honor and status.
The changes were obvious.
First, it was the material changes.
The plain, old wand that Catherine used to hold had been replaced by a brand-new, expensive staff, carved from purpleheart Wood and inlaid with a glimmering obsidian at the tip.
The magic items she carried with her, whether it was the self-correcting quill or the protective Alchemy jewelry, were all exquisite pieces that ordinary students could hardly afford.
What was even more concerning was her internal change.
Her understanding of profound magic, as well as the significant growth of her mental power, which felt like a deep pool, made her a completely different person from the mediocre Catherine her roommates remembered.
The strangest thing was yesterday, during their internal dormitory duel practice.
Catherine's performance could still only be considered average; the spells she cast were no faster than anyone else's, and her defensive barrier did not appear particularly sturdy.
Yet everyone, whether it was Cassandra as her opponent, or Isabella and Fiona who were watching, had a vague feeling—she was deliberately hiding her true abilities.
That feeling was subtle, like watching a dragon that insisted on curling itself up to disguise itself as a harmless lizard.
Every one of her movements and every instance of her channeling magic revealed a sense of ease that felt out of place, as if she only needed to think it to easily defeat her opponent, but she simply chose not to.
This huge contrast made the already subtle atmosphere in the dormitory become even more turbulent.
After all, the backgrounds of the four girls were worlds apart.
Isabella Avery was a true darling of heaven.
The Avery family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families standing at the pinnacle of the Wizarding World.
She was a princess who had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, far ahead in talent, wealth, and status.
Fiona Shafiq represented the backbone of the Wizarding World.
Her parents both held important positions in the Ministry of Magic, and although they weren't a top-tier wealthy family, they were well-off, and she had received an elite education from a young age, making her a standard upper-middle-class young lady.
As for Catherine and Cassandra, they were typical representatives of the "fallen nobility" within Slytherin.
They had the name of pure-blood, but the glory of their families had long since faded, and they had to rely on their own means to fight for every resource and status.
In the past, Catherine had always played the role of a slightly silent, mediocre-skilled girl in this dormitory, someone who needed to cling to the strong to survive.
And now, where did these mysterious changes in her come from?
Could it be that she was... by some rich and elderly Wizard...
Eww~
Catherine paid no attention to her roommates' subtle glances; she sat quietly on her bed.
In her hands, she held an old Alchemy book with a worn cover that smelled of leather and ink, its obscure Alchemyrunes and complex structural diagrams causing her slender brows to furrow slightly.
This private collection from Jerry was far more profound than any Alchemy monograph in the Hogwarts library; even with Catherine's extraordinary learning ability, she needed to concentrate fully to barely understand a glimpse of its contents.
She had just completed a precise rune-engraving exercise, and her mental power had been greatly depleted, leaving a wave of emptiness deep in her brain.
Without any hesitation, Catherine took out a bottle of dark blue potion from the cabinet beside her bed.
The potion shimmered with a mysterious luster in the dim dormitory, and one could tell at a glance that it was expensive—three whole Galleons, enough to buy a brand-new, high-quality school uniform.
This magic potion, called "Arcane Recovery," could quickly and efficiently restore a Wizard's mental power; it was a luxury usually only used by Ministry of Magic Aurors when executing dangerous missions.
She unplugged the bottle, and the rich scent of a mixture of herbs and magic elements immediately filled the air.
Catherine tilted her head back and drank the whole bottle of potion in one gulp.
The ice-cold liquid slid down her throat, and a refreshing power immediately surged into her mind like a spring tide, dispelling all fatigue and emptiness.
At the same time, the dormitory door was pushed open with a creak.
"Hahaha! Come and catch me! Little Prefect, you run so slowly!"
Cassandra's unbridled laughter was like a thunderbolt, instantly breaking the silence in the dormitory.
She rushed in like a gust of wind, her tall figure carrying a touch of youthful vitality, her eyes full of the cunning of someone who had succeeded in her mischief.
However, before she could say anything, Isabella, who had followed close behind, covered her mouth.
"Mmm... Mph!" Cassandra made a sound of protest.
Isabella's face was flushed crimson, and her eyes still held lingering annoyance as she pressed her hand firmly over Cassandra's mouth, her voice as low as a gnat's: "Don't talk nonsense! You are not allowed to say it!"
Fiona, who followed closely behind, also walked in, and seeing this scene, she couldn't help but cover her mouth and laugh.
Isabella pushed Cassandra toward the bed, panting, while the latter seemed to have found the joy of playing, dodging left and right in the small space of the dormitory.
Fiona was also drawn in, joining the ranks of "besieging" Cassandra.
The three girls began to chase and play in the dormitory.
Cassandra dodged while letting out laughter like silver bells, her figure moving flexibly through the gap between the bed and the desk, occasionally making provocative grunts: "Mmm! Isabella, how dare you... touch me!"
Isabella kept a straight face, but her flushed earlobes betrayed her embarrassment.
She reached out to grab Cassandra's arm, trying to pin her down so she wouldn't say those blush-inducing words again.
"Don't talk nonsense! If you say that again, I'll tell the Professor that you climbed out the window to the Forbidden Forest last night!"
Fiona, seeing this, was happy to watch the show; she smilingly pretended to block Cassandra's path, but always deliberately slowed down by a step, allowing Cassandra to slip away, occasionally letting out crisp laughter to add background music to this living drama.
Their long robes fluttered during the chase, occasionally brushing past Catherine's desk and stirring up a breeze.
Their laughter, gasps, and the occasional soft sounds of collision filled the entire dormitory, making this originally cold room instantly overflow with the unique, unbridled youthful aura of seventh-year girls.
This chaotic chase reached its climax after one of Cassandra's nimble dodges.
To avoid the "clutches" of Isabella and Fiona, who were attacking from both sides, she leaped onto the bed nearest to her—Catherine's bed.
"Catch her!" Isabella also pounced on it.
The soft bed sank deeply under the weight of the two people, and the bedding was left in a mess. Fiona followed closely behind, and the three of them immediately rolled into a ball, laughing and playing.
Catherine, who had been watching all this quietly, felt a trace of a smile flash in her eyes.
When Cassandra's hand waved wildly and accidentally knocked off the quill she had placed on the nightstand, she finally moved.
Catherine didn't speak; she just put down the book in her hand and, with a speed that was unnaturally fast, lunged from the side, precisely grabbing Cassandra's flailing wrist.
Then, she reached out with her other hand and began to tickle Cassandra mercilessly.
"Ah! Hahaha... Catherine! You... you're cheating!"
Cassandra instantly lost all resistance, laughing until her whole body went limp on the bed.
The situation immediately turned around, and Isabella and Fiona, seeing this, tacitly joined in the "siege" of Cassandra.
The four top girls of Slytherin House, at this moment, cast aside all disguises and reserve, and like the most ordinary girls, wrestled into a ball on the bed, their crisp laughter almost blowing the roof off the dormitory.
I don't know how long it had been before this playfulness gradually subsided.
The four of them were exhausted, panting, their hair disheveled, and their robes wrinkled.
Supporting each other, they finally lay down side by side on Cassandra's bed, which had the most space.
For a moment, only the girls' slightly rapid breathing remained in the dormitory.
Isabella's cheeks still carried a flush from the exercise, while Fiona lay on her side, propping her head with her hand, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Catherine closed her eyes, seemingly calming her heartbeat.
Cassandra lay on her back, her chest heaving violently.
The unbridled, bright smile on her face disappeared bit by bit as her breathing gradually stabilized.
Those eyes, which always carried a bit of playfulness and charm, now lost their focus, staring blankly at the bed curtains above.
The joy from just a moment ago seemed to have been extracted, and a layer of unfathomable, deep worry, like a thin mist, quietly shrouded her brows.
The first to break the silence was Fiona.
Watching the smile fade from Cassandra's face, she asked softly: "What's wrong, Cassandra? Unhappy?"
Cassandra's eyes moved, but she didn't look at anyone, just continued to stare at the dark green bed curtains embroidered with silver stars above her.
She tugged at the corner of her mouth, trying to squeeze out her usual, indifferent smile, but failed.
"It's nothing!" Her voice was a bit dry. "Just thinking about some... things after graduation."
The atmosphere in the dormitory became somewhat heavy because of this sentence.
Seventh year, graduation—these two words themselves represented the uncertainty of the future.
Catherine, Isabella, and Fiona all knew that Cassandra had a boyfriend who had already graduated, Orion Black Wood.
He was once a prominent figure in Slytherin House, a former male Prefect, with outstanding ability and excellent grades, and was the object of admiration for countless lower-year students.
After graduation, relying on his impeccable resume, Orionobtained an internship qualification to enter the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic directly.
However, this was not just a qualification; it was a cruel test.
To become a full-time, power-wielding Ministry of Magicofficial, one not only needed to pass the internship assessment but also needed a large amount of Galleons to pull strings, as well as achievements on the front line that would make superiors take notice.
And Orion's family situation was not enough to support him in walking this expensive path to power. He was a half-blood Wizard, his mother was Muggle-born, which made him an outlier in Slytherin, which emphasized pure-blood supremacy.
No one knew that, in order to gain the favor of this senior who was sought after by everyone, Cassandra had once told a massive lie.
She boasted that although her Warrington family's glory was no more, it still had deep foundations, was wealthy, and her parents still held high positions in the Ministry of Magic.
Orion believed it.
Thus, from the moment he graduated and entered the front line, all the expensive equipment, supply potions, and "gifts" used to pull strings were almost entirely funded by Cassandra.
However, the truth was that Cassandra's parents had both perished in the war several years ago.
Everything she possessed was merely a generous death compensation payment issued by the Ministry of Magic.
This money had once been her only reliance.
And now, in order to maintain that false lie, and to support her boyfriend's seemingly bright future, this money... was about to hit rock bottom.
She dared not imagine what kind of look Orion would give her when he found out she was just an orphan with nothing but a pure-blood name.
She dared not imagine even more how the love she maintained with lies and money would fall apart when she could no longer produce a single Galleon.
This heavy secret weighed on her heart, making her feel doubly suffocated after the short playful scuffle just now.
Catherine was the first to get up.
She got off Cassandra's bed silently, returned to her own bed, and picked up the thick Alchemy notebook again.
To be honest, although she no longer had to risk her life for a mere few Galleons, Catherine did not feel that her pressure had diminished in the slightest.
This pressure came entirely from the boy named Jerry Rosier.
Although Jerry was just a boy, in every aspect, he had comprehensively and overwhelmingly surpassed her.
During the days spent at Black Feather Castle, Catherineand Jerry's magic sparring was a daily compulsory course, but she had never won, not even once.
That sense of powerlessness when facing absolute talent almost shattered all her pride.
Mmm... of course, if you count those "sneak attacks," she had actually won quite a few times.
Images uncontrollably flashed through Catherine's mind: while Jerry was meditating, she would quietly kneel in front of him and take his semi-erect cock into her mouth.
When he was practicing magic and sweating profusely, she would hug him from behind, swallow his two warm, full testicles into her mouth together, and feel their pulse gently beating on her tongue...
But those were just jokes!
Catherine shook her head gently, trying to shake these messy thoughts out of her mind, forcing herself to refocus her attention on the complex Alchemy notebook in front of her.
Reading these notes, which condensed the wisdom of ancient Alchemy masters, was, to a certain extent, no less difficult and mentally exhausting than planning a perfect heist on a Gringotts vault.
Chapter 55
After only flipping through a few pages, that familiar sense of mental emptiness washed over her again.
Catherine reached out again, took another bottle of deep blue "Arcane Recovery" Potion from her nightstand, unscrewed the cap without a second thought, and downed it.
This action was caught perfectly by Cassandra, who had just opened her eyes.
Cassandra's pupils constricted slightly.
She recognized that Potion.
It was "Arcane Recovery," one of the most traded mana recovery Potions on the market, each small bottle priced at three Galleons, and it was often in short supply.
She was all too familiar with this price.
Because Orion, who was fighting on the front lines, could not get sufficient Potion supplies from the Ministry of Magic, and every intense battle would exhaust his magic.
Therefore, almost every month, Cassandra had to grit her teeth, take out her meager remaining compensation, buy several sets of such expensive Potions, and mail them via owl to the distant front lines.
That was practically Orion's lifeline.
And now... Catherine, the Catherine who not long ago had to rely on part-time jobs to earn her tuition, was actually drinking this expensive Potion, which even full-fledged Aurors were reluctant to use easily, like water?
Cassandra's brain couldn't quite process it.
This... how could this be possible?
Where on earth did Catherine get so much money?
This wasn't just ordinary wealth; this was simply squandering money like dirt!
Catherine seemed to sense Cassandra's gaze; she smiled and held up the Alchemy notebook in her hand: "Do you want to read it too?"
Her smile carried a hint of playfulness, as if she had seen through the confusion in Cassandra's heart but had no intention of explaining further.
"I'll lend it to you when I'm done!"
She added, then turned her attention back to the notebook, as if what she had just said was merely casual small talk, and that priceless Potion in her hand was nothing more than ordinary tea.
Cassandra was speechless.
That smile also made her feel even more impatient and curious.
Meanwhile, deep within the towering Gryffindor tower, an untimely knock on the door broke the tranquility of the common room.
"Knock, knock, knock!"
The sound was loud and rhythmic; clearly, the person knocking had no reservations whatsoever.
The Gryffindor students in the common room looked over one after another.
One had to know that, except for Professors and a very few permitted Prefects, rarely would students from other houses visit the Gryffindor common room, especially at night.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were sitting in comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace, with several thick homework books spread out on the table.
Hermione Granger was absent-mindedly flipping through a book titled "Advanced Guide to Alchemy," her mind still echoing with that embarrassing scene in the bathroom, as well as the lingering warm sensation on her fingertips.
The knocking sounded again.
"Who is it!"
Ron complained impatiently, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.
He stood up, walked to the door, and pulled open the portrait of the Fat Lady.
The portrait slowly swung open, revealing the person outside—Jerry Rosier.
He was holding a dirty laundry basket in his arms, full of school uniforms and robes that reeked of sweat and Potion.
A harmless smile hung on Jerry's face, as humble and polite as ever: "Good evening, everyone. I'm here to see Miss Granger."
Ron's face darkened instantly. He puffed out his chest like a rooster whose tail had been stepped on: "What do you want with Hermione? She has nothing to say to you!"
Harry Potter stood restrained behind Ron, his vigilant gaze fixed on Jerry.
"I just... have something I'd like to consult Miss Grangerabout."
Jerry's smile remained gentle, yet in his calm, deep eyes, a glimmer of light that was hard to catch flickered.
His gaze bypassed Ron and precisely found Hermione, who was pretending to read in the corner of the room.
Hermione's body stiffened abruptly.
Her brain was in chaos; the sight of that massive thing pulsing, the intimacy in the bathroom... everything flooded her mind in an instant.
She instinctively wanted to avoid Jerry's gaze, yet she was pulled by an indescribable sense of anticipation.
Ron clearly didn't notice Hermione's anomaly. He stepped forward, almost pressing against Jerry, his tone unfriendly: "What can't you say tomorrow? This is Gryffindor territory; what the hell are you trying to pull, coming here uninvited as a Slytherin?"
"I said, it's a private matter."
Jerry's tone remained polite throughout, but there was a hint of unquestionable firmness in his green eyes, "Please ask Miss Granger to come out for a moment; it will only take a second."
The atmosphere between the two instantly became tense.
In the common room, all the Gryffindor students put down what they were doing, their eyes focused on the two confronting each other.
Harry also leaned forward at the right moment to show his support for Ron.
Jerry seemed not to see Ron blocking his way, not even sparing him a glance.
His gaze passed over Ron's shoulder and landed directly on Hermione, who was in the corner of the room, blocking her face with a book, her body somewhat unnatural.
His voice was not loud, but it clearly carried throughout the entire quiet common room:
"What, are you planning to break your promise? I've already taught you how to cast that spell. Now, it's time for you to help me wash my laundry, Miss Hermione."
This sentence was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, instantly stirring up a thousand ripples.
Breaking a promise? Teaching a spell? Washing laundry? These words combined made all the Gryffindor students, who were pricking up their ears, show expressions of confusion and gossip.
Ron was even more stunned; the string of curses and questions he had prepared were stuck in his throat, and he couldn't get a single word out.
And for Hermione, this sentence was no less than a thunderbolt.
She knew that Jerry was giving her a way out—a seemingly reasonable excuse that would allow her to escape this predicament in front of everyone.
But this reason itself was full of another kind of ambiguity, a meaning that made one's face flush and heart race.
Under the gaze of dozens of eyes, Hermione Granger felt the blood on her face almost boiling.
She slowly put down the book, stood up, lowered her head, and walked step by step out of the corner, through the crowd, and came to Jerry.
"You Slytherin bastard, what are you talking nonsense about..."
Ron finally reacted and instinctively started to curse.
But before he could finish, Hermione had already taken the pile of clothes from Jerry's arms.
The moment the pile of fabric fell into her arms, Hermioneclearly felt that, besides a few robes and shirts, right on top was that dark-colored men's underwear she had seen on the floor of Jerry's room.
She didn't even dare to think whether that pure white underwear was also hidden under this pile of clothes.
Hermione's cheeks were so red they were almost dripping blood; she clutched the pile of clothes tightly to her chest, as if it were a hot potato.
She kept her head down, not daring to look at Jerry, and even less daring to look into anyone else's eyes, and said in a voice as soft as a mosquito's: "I... I will wash them clean and dry them, and then send them over to you... I..."
"That would be very much appreciated."
Jerry didn't wait for her to finish, clapped his hands lightly, and showed an impeccable, brilliant smile on his face.
In his eyes, there was a hint of mischief—like a prank successfully pulled off—that only Hermione could understand.
Subsequently, he turned around, nodded politely to all the dumbfounded Gryffindor students in the common room, as if he hadn't just been in a confrontation but was attending a friendly tea party.
"Good night, everyone."
Having said that, he turned around dashingly and walked out of the Gryffindor common room unhurriedly under everyone's gaze.
From beginning to end, he didn't look at Ron and Harry Potter again.
If it were said that it was impossible for Jerry not to have discovered Isabella under the bed, then letting Hermionebrowse in his room could completely be seen as part of his training.
Facts proved that Hermione, still just a young girl now, was amazingly trainable and didn't know much about the knowledge between men and women, which made Jerryfeel very pleased; this meant that if the system issued further tasks to train Hermione in the future, it would become much simpler.
Just at this moment, deep in Jerry's mind, the system's notification sound rang out suddenly, interrupting his pleasant thoughts.
[Emergency Quest Issued: Peeking]
[Quest Description: The extraordinary wealth Catherineinadvertently revealed at Hogwarts has already aroused the vigilance and suspicion of her roommate, Cassandra. Cassandra has a close relationship with Selina, the head of the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic. Selina is using her authority and ability to come to Hogwarts this time as a Professor of magic Combat, with the main purpose of targeting the bloodline of the Rosier Family—that is, you yourself—attempting to find your flaws and send you to Azkaban. Given Selina's deep hostility toward you, once Cassandra's suspicions continue to ferment and she reveals any suspicious information to Selina, it will very likely lead to Selina finding evidence, or even direct proof, that threatens your safety, thereby causing you a devastating blow. You must dispel Cassandra's doubts as soon as possible, or divert her attention in other directions to get rid of her prying.]
[Quest Objective: Get rid of all suspicion and vigilance Cassandra Warrington has towards you as soon as possible.]
[Basic Reward: One [Random Dark Arts Knowledge Scroll].]
[Extra Reward: If you successfully win Cassandra over to your camp and make her your loyal follower, you will additionally gain [Ancient Bloodline Awakening Degree] + 5% and unlock the [Master of Charms] title.]
[Failure Penalty: If you fail to dispel Cassandra's suspicion in time and it leads to Selina obtaining evidence against you, you will immediately become the Ministry of Magic's [Most Wanted Criminal] and be wanted by the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic across the entire region. All your unfinished plans will instantly come to a standstill, Family Prestige points - 200, and for the next year, you will be forced to embark on a life of flight, during which all quest rewards will be halved.]
This quest came unexpectedly, making the smile on Jerry's face freeze.
Selina, a name he was all too familiar with.
On the train to Hogwarts, the hatred and madness in that woman's eyes still remained fresh in Jerry's memory.
However, who was Cassandra? Jerry didn't know this person at all.
Fortunately, the quest described in detail that Cassandrawas Catherine's roommate.
It seemed that this little kitten had inadvertently shown her wealth, attracting others' attention, which was indeed a troublesome matter.
However... Jerry was more concerned about the "Ancient Bloodline Awakening Degree" quest reward.
The so-called "Ancient Bloodline" was a mysterious and crucial concept in the Wizarding World.
It referred to those ancient, long-standing pure-blood families whose ancestors had deep fusions or contracts with some powerful magical creatures, elemental spirits, or even ancient, powerful Wizards.
This bloodline contained a source of power that transcended ordinary Wizards and was a higher level of magical talent and potential.
For a Wizard, especially those aspiring to stand at the pinnacle of the Wizarding World, the awakening of the bloodline meant breaking through shackles and touching upon deeper mysteries of magic.
It was not just an enhancement of magic output, but an epiphany of the essence of magic, capable of unlocking ancient spells inherited by the family, unique magicresistance, and even stimulating some peculiar abilities capable of rewriting the History of Magic.
Pure-blood Wizards were highly esteemed not because they were born with high morals, but because "pure-blood" meant their family's bloodline was easier to keep pure, thereby preserving the strength and potential of these ancient bloodlines to a certain extent.
The more powerful the pure-blood family, the more likely the ancient power contained in their bloodline would be inherited and awakened by descendants.
As an ancient pure-blood Wizard family, the Rosier Familynaturally contained astonishing ancient power in its bloodline, it just needed an opportunity to be triggered.
However, for half-blood Wizards, the awakening of the ancient bloodline was much more difficult.
The dilution of the bloodline brought not only a weakening of magic power but also a dulling of magical talent; many ancient powers were thus silenced and could no longer be discovered by descendants.
But once a half-blood Wizard successfully awakened the ancient bloodline, the heights they could reach would often exceed everyone's expectations, because they broke the conventions, and the uniqueness of their bloodline meant variables and infinite possibilities.