Chapter 56
In the Rosier bloodline that Jerry inherited, there lay a source of magic far beyond imagination.
Once this ancient bloodline awakened, it meant he would no longer be limited to ordinary charms and spells, gaining access to a deeper, more powerful magic.
Now, Cassandra's existence was not just a threat; if used properly, she could also become a catalyst leading to this enticing reward.
Jerry's thoughts returned from the distant bloodline inheritance, refocusing on the reality before him.
This pawn, Cassandra, who had suddenly appeared, had disrupted some of his plans, but she also brought new opportunities.
While pondering how to respond, he kept walking back to the underground Slytherin common room, passed through the empty public area, and arrived at the door of his dormitory.
Just as he was about to push the door open, his movements halted.
A sliver of warm lamplight, which he hadn't lit when he left, seeped through the crack in the door.
A faint scent, a mixture of tea and some high-end perfume, drifted out subtly.
Someone was inside.
Jerry's eyes sharpened, and his fingers instinctively touched an alchemical accessory he wore on his chest. With a slight pulse of magic, the hidden protective array on the accessory was instantly activated, and an almost invisible shield enveloped his entire body.
But just a second later, he seemed to recognize something, and the vigilance in his eyes turned into a hint of amusement.
After hesitating for a moment, he proactively deactivated the alchemical accessory.
He pushed open the dormitory door.
What met his eyes was a mature and tall figure with her back to the door.
That was not the back of a young girl.
The other person was standing in front of his desk, seemingly examining the books spread out on the tabletop.
She was wearing a dark green, form-fitting nightgown that looked like it was made of silk.
The style of the nightgown was conservative, reaching down to her ankles, with long sleeves covering her wrists and a tightly closed neckline that didn't reveal a single glimpse of skin.
However, being conservative didn't mean it wasn't alluring.
Quite the opposite, the soft and smooth material perfectly outlined the plump and graceful curves unique to a mature woman.
A belt of the same color was tied around the waist of the nightgown, cinching that slender waist that could be held in one hand, making the full silhouette of her breasts wrapped in the fabric above look astonishing, and her firm, rounded buttocks below even more so.
With her slight movements, the silk nightgown shimmered like ripples under the light, as if it were alive, flowing over those mature curves and clinging tightly to every inch of skin, revealing the scenery hidden beneath the fabric in an even more imaginative way.
Just a view from behind exuded the calm and elegant temperament of a noblewoman who had long held a high position.
Jerry's gaze lingered on those rounded, firm buttocks for a moment, and a knowing smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
Who else could it be, appearing in his dormitory at this time and in this manner?
Who else but that Transfiguration Professor who liked wearing cat-paw panties?
"Not resting even at this late hour, Professor McGonagall!"
Jerry closed the door, his voice not loud, but enough to break the silence in the room. "Are you here to check on students' nighttime discipline, or... is there something else?"
Hearing Jerry's voice, the mature figure slowly turned around.
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwartsand Dean of Gryffindor, did not have the serious expression she usually wore in class.
Her face looked much softer under the lamplight, and those green eyes, which were always as sharp as a hawk's, now held a few hints of complex, unnamable emotions.
Jerry stepped forward slowly, his gaze falling on the desk.
Only then did he realize that Professor McGonagall had been examining the various magical accessories he had casually left there.
Those were alchemical products he had created using Synthesis—rings, pendants, bracelets—each shimmering with a restrained magical glow.
Considering he was in the school, the chance of encountering real danger was slim, so Jerry didn't like carrying all these things on him. Although their weight was almost negligible after alchemical treatment, it was still somewhat troublesome.
Professor McGonagall had come specifically to visit Jerry. As a close friend of Jerry's late mother, her feelings for this child were incredibly complex.
She still remembered that many years ago, she had personally held that infant in swaddling clothes who had the same green eyes.
But Dumbledore's warnings still rang in her ears, making her often doubt whether her favoritism for this child was correct.
Jerry's father was a notorious Death Eater, and his family was synonymous with the Dark Arts.
McGonagall was very afraid—afraid that this child she had watched grow up would follow in his father's footsteps.
So, she came tonight.
Unable to calm her mind before bed, she wanted to talk with Jerry, even if it was just small talk, hoping to understand more of his true character.
However, while she was waiting for Jerry to return and happened to examine these exquisite magical accessories, she discovered a secret that startled her.
She didn't answer Jerry's question, but simply raised her hand and gave a gentle beckon toward Jerry's wardrobe.
The wardrobe door opened silently, and an exquisite gift box flew out, hovering in the air. The lid popped open automatically, and those cotton panties, folded neatly with a cute cat-paw pattern, drifted into her hand.
McGonagall's gaze moved from the accessories to Jerry's face. Her voice sounded very calm, yet carried a hint of subtle coldness.
"Do you like the gift I gave you?"
Truth be told, McGonagall herself didn't know why she had acted so frivolously this afternoon, in a way completely unbefitting her status.
But while examining these magical accessories, she found the answer.
Jerry had actually incorporated an extremely rare and insidious alchemical item into these seemingly harmless accessories—a substance with an effect similar to 'Succubus Crystals.'
This substance would continuously emit a weak, almost undetectable magical pulse, subtly influencing the minds of those around it, amplifying the hidden desires deep within them, making them unknowingly feel a strange sense of goodwill and closeness toward the owner of the accessories.
This discovery gave her a chill of fear, followed by a surge of anger at being toyed with and manipulated.
Facing Professor McGonagall's question, which was laced with hidden anger, Jerry didn't show the slightest panic.
He just took two steps forward and stood firmly in front of McGonagall.
The eleven-year-old boy's body had not yet fully developed; even among his peers, he wasn't considered tall.
He had to tilt his head up slightly to see Professor McGonagall's face fully.
And Professor McGonagall, as a tall adult woman, looked down at him from above. The height difference between the two created a strange and strong visual contrast.
"Professor McGonagall, you're angry."
Jerry spoke, his voice still carrying the clear tone unique to a youth, yet his tone was as calm as if he weren't a child. "You feel that I used these trinkets to manipulate your thoughts and made you do... something unbefitting of your status, right?"
He didn't deny it; instead, he met the challenge head-on and directly admitted to the accessories' function.
"You know the Rosier Family's reputation better than I do."
Jerry's gaze was very honest, his green eyes reflecting Professor McGonagall's slightly cold face. "What my father and my grandfather did has made almost the entire Wizarding World hostile toward us.
As a Rosier, trying to make friends at Hogwarts, or even just to receive a bit of kindness, is a hundred times harder than for an ordinary student."
He paused, his tone taking on a well-timed hint of helplessness and self-deprecation: "I admit, this is a shortcut, a not-so-honorable method.
But other than this, what else could I do?
I can't exactly expect everyone to set aside their prejudices and take the initiative to understand what kind of person the son of a Death Eater really is, can I?"
At this point, his tone suddenly shifted, and his gaze became direct and bold.
"And perhaps you don't know, but I have no interest in power or the Dark Lord's ways."
Jerry's eyes began to wander unscrupulously over McGonagall's exquisite body wrapped in the nightgown. "Compared to ruling the world, I prefer... beautiful things."
His gaze slid from McGonagall's full breasts to her slender waist, and finally back to her face, which still retained its charm.
That look was a mixture of a youth's pure curiosity and a lecherous aggressiveness unbefitting his age.
Before McGonagall could react to these explicit words, Jerry made an even bolder move.
He reached out and, with a gentle yet undeniable motion, took the cat-paw panties from McGonagall's hand.
Then, right in front of McGonagall, he brought the soft cotton fabric to his nose, closed his eyes, and took a deep, intoxicated breath.
"Mmm... so fragrant."
Jerry opened his eyes, a satisfied smile appearing on his face. "It's your scent, Professor."
The air in the entire room seemed to freeze.
McGonagall had completely not expected a youth to dare act so flippantly toward her and speak such insolent words.
Jerry was like a small carriage that didn't know its limits, attempting to drive a mature, noble, yet secretly fiery steed.
This massive sense of contrast caused a momentary blankness in McGonagall's mind.
She looked at the boy before her, who was more than a head shorter than her but whose eyes were startlingly bright, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond.
Should she reprimand him like a strict Professor, or... quietly accept all this absurdity?
McGonagall looked at the boy before her with complex emotions.
In those clear green eyes, there was undisguised desire, yet also a kind of innocence like a child discovering a new toy.
These two completely different traits were paradoxically blended together.
Was this really a disguise?
Or was it that an eleven-year-old, world-ignorant child was simply using the most instinctive way to express his yearning for 'beauty'?
Her gaze swept over those alchemical accessories on the desk; the craftsmanship looked a bit rough, but the magical circuits within them were quite ingenious, especially the substance similar to 'Succubus Crystals,' which had been perfectly integrated without causing any magical conflict.
If all of this was completed by Jerry independently... then this talent was already nothing short of terrifying.
Truly a child of the House of Rosier.
A silent sigh passed through McGonagall's heart.
She thought of Jerry's mother, Lily.
She had been her best friend, a woman who was equally brilliant and who dared to love and hate.
McGonagall had promised her that she would look after her son.
If... if he could be given the right guidance...
Or even if he was just guided in a different direction, as long as another cold-blooded, heartless Rosier Death Eater didn't emerge, it would be a worthy tribute to Lily's soul in heaven.
In McGonagall's heart, an unprecedentedly bold idea took root and sprouted.
As she thought this, her body, which had been tense with slight anger, slowly relaxed.
A well-maintained hand belonging to an adult woman gently brushed over her own chest. She didn't look at Jerry; her gaze seemed to fall on some point in the void.
Her fingertips unfastened the very first button at the top of the nightgown.
The silk slid softly to both sides, revealing her elegant collarbones and the cream-like skin below.
Jerry's breathing hitched.
McGonagall didn't stop.
The second, the third...
The neckline of the nightgown was completely unfastened, and the pride and plumpness of a mature woman, which had been tightly wrapped, finally broke free from its constraints, revealing soul-stirring curves.
Large areas of snowy-white, full flesh gleamed with an ivory-like warmth under the light.
She finally lowered her head and, with those deep green eyes, gazed at Jerry, who was a head shorter than her.
In that gaze, there was no longer anger or confusion, but instead a condescending scrutiny filled with absolute control.
Then, an invisible pulse of magic quietly spread out, centered on her body.
Jerry watched with wide eyes as the dark green silk nightgown underwent a wonderful change.
It didn't disappear but seemed to have clear water infused into it; its color changed from deep to light, and its texture from solid to ethereal.
In just a second or two, the entire nightgown turned into a layer of almost completely transparent magical gauze with a faint green tint, gently enveloping her exquisite body.
Now, everything was displayed before Jerry's eyes without reservation.
The pair of full breasts, shaped perfectly by gravity, hung softly, their crimson tips standing slightly firm due to her fluctuating emotions.
Below the flat, firm lower abdomen was the mysterious area covered by carefully groomed black hair, and her two long, sturdy legs were pressed together without a single gap.
All the beauty and secrets owned by a mature woman were thus presented before a youth in a highly impactful way.
In a voice that was almost a whisper and filled with magnetism, she asked softly, "Mr. Rosier, given your excellent performance in class this morning, this is your reward.
Now, which gift do you think is better?"
Her index finger gently hooked the edge of the transparent nightgown.
Chapter 57
The nightgown clung almost perfectly to her mature and alluring body; the curves that were originally hidden were now completely revealed.
Jerry's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
He pretended to be captivated, staring unblinkingly at the pair of round, full snowy peaks tightly wrapped in the transparent nightgown on Professor McGonagall's chest.
They stood firm without the slightest sign of sagging, as if containing endless vitality.
He could clearly see that under the thin fabric, the two nipples had become slightly prominent due to nervousness or excitement.
"I... Can I touch them?"
The boy spoke hesitantly, his voice carrying a hint of uncontrollable trembling.
The corners of McGonagall's mouth curled up slightly.
She didn't answer, but simply gave a light wave of her hand.
That layer of transparent nightgown, thin as a cicada's wing, instantly returned to its original state.
The dark green silk became opaque once more, tightly concealing that alluring body again, leaving only an exquisite silhouette that added to infinite imagination.
Then, she deftly plucked the pair of panties with the cat paw pattern from Jerry's hand.
Before Jerry could react, those panties were gently yet indisputably pressed against his face, carrying her unique tea fragrance and the faint scent of a mature woman, instantly invading all of Jerry's senses.
"If you can satisfy me in tomorrow's Transfiguration Class!" McGonagall's voice returned to its usual stern yet playful tone, though her pitch was much lower than usual, "then, it's not impossible."
Mr. Rosier!"
She pressed the panties even tighter, blocking Jerry's vision, leaving him able to feel only the soft fabric and the lingering fragrance deep within it.
"But today... no."
Chapter 27: The Naked Loan Plan! (Part 1)
Daylight broke.
Having not slept all night, Jerry slowly ended his meditation. He opened his eyes and stretched his somewhat numb limbs.
Jerry pulled a small bottle of emerald-green Invigoration Potion from his bedside table, unscrewed the cap, and tilted his head back to drink it all in one gulp.
The potion slid down his throat, and a gentle warm current quickly spread throughout his body, dispelling the fatigue brought on by the night's meditation.
Feeling his magic and strength replenished, Jerry jumped out of bed, washed up briefly, changed into his school robes, and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
At the Slytherin long table, Catherine was already sitting there, taking small bites of a piece of toast.
Seeing Jerry approach, she immediately waved, signaling him to sit beside her.
"Good morning, Jerry."
"Good morning." Jerry sat down and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.
Just then, Catherine said to the other girl beside her, "Cassandra, this is the one I mentioned to you, Jerry Rosier."
Jerry followed Catherine's introduction and saw this 'mission target' for the first time.
Cassandra Warrington, just by sitting there, radiated an aura that was completely out of place with the lively students around her.
Cassandra was a bit taller than Catherine, wearing a well-tailored Slytherin school robe, but the details revealed a unique style.
Cassandra's collar was tied with a black lace ribbon, and her cuffs were also adorned with the same lace. On her fingers, she wore several silver rings engraved with rose and snake patterns.
Cassandra's makeup was light, yet it perfectly highlighted her deep eye sockets and slightly pale complexion. Combined with her straight, jet-black hair, she looked like a mistress stepping out of a medieval castle, carrying a cold, gothic beauty.
Cassandra looked up at Jerry.
Those were gray-blue eyes, beautiful, but as if covered by a thin mist, with a faint, lingering sorrow hidden deep within her gaze.
Even when meeting Jerry's eyes, that sorrow did not dissipate; it just flowed quietly, as if it were a part of her soul.
Cassandra nodded to Jerry as a greeting, her voice clear and cold: "Hello, Jerry!"
"Hello, Senior!"
Jerry smiled slightly and responded, his gaze unreservedly falling upon her.
Cassandra's gray-blue eyes responded to Jerry's appraisal without a ripple.
She showed no displeasure, as if long accustomed to the scrutiny of others.
Jerry's gaze moved down, landing on the unique Slytherinrobe she wore.
Catherine was talking incessantly about some house gossip nearby, but Jerry's attention was entirely focused on Cassandra's attire.
This school robe was far from the standard uniform worn by ordinary students.
Its fabric was excellent, with a texture and luster a grade higher than usual robes; one could tell at a glance it was expensive.
The tailoring of the robe had also been carefully modified. The circle of black lace at the collar and the fine silver thread embroidery at the cuffs both revealed a deliberate pursuit of individuality.
These details indeed made Cassandra stand out, carrying a luxurious yet cold gothic charm.
However, Jerry's eyes were sharp, and he soon discovered the truth behind it.
Despite the high-quality fabric, upon closer inspection, those dark areas occasionally gave off a slightly whitish, worn color under the refraction of light, especially in places like the elbows and hem that were frequently rubbed, faintly leaking the secret.
And those laces and embroideries that seemed to be for showing personality were placed and styled too cleverly, perfectly covering areas where wear or repair marks might have appeared.
In other words, Cassandra's seemingly unique school uniform wasn't because she pursued a different fashion, but because she had cleverly taken an old, even slightly worn uniform and given it a makeover with careful modifications and detailed 'disguises' to give it a different luster, thereby hiding its original simplicity and the marks of time.
Cassandra's 'individuality' was not ostentatious, but a refined decency carrying a trace of bitterness.
All of this was laid bare in Jerry's eyes.
An imperceptible curve appeared at the corner of Jerry's mouth as he looked at the sorrow deep within Cassandra's gray-blue eyes; at that moment, he seemed to understand something.
What those eyes occasionally revealed was a fatigue unsuited to her age.
He had already guessed seventy or eighty percent of it; Cassandra was very likely caught in some kind of financial predicament.
But these were just his deductions; they still needed further confirmation.
At lunchtime, after Snape's Defense Against the Dark Artsclass ended, Jerry went straight to the Great Hall.
He didn't head directly to the Slytherin long table as usual, but deliberately took a long detour, passing near where Cassandra was sitting.
"Oh, damn it, my Galleon bag is torn again."
Jerry muttered with feigned annoyance, while intentionally holding his velvet pouch a bit crookedly.
Suddenly, with a 'clatter,' dozens of glittering golden Galleons, along with a handful of silver sickles and bronze Knuts, poured out like a stream, scattering all over the floor.
The heavy, distinct sound of Galleons immediately attracted the attention of nearby students. In Hogwarts, where resources were relatively scarce, such a number of Galleons was considered a fortune.
"Ugh, what a hassle."
Jerry frowned but didn't immediately go to pick them up. He just bent down with some impatience and gave his wand a light flick: "Accio."
Those gold coins scattered on the ground obediently flew back into his money bag.
This action seemed casual, but in reality, it was full of Jerry's nonchalance toward wealth.
Cassandra's gaze was inevitably drawn by this sudden commotion.
Her eyes lingered on the pile of Galleons for a moment. Although she quickly looked away, that fleeting, momentary complex look in her eyes was still accurately captured by Jerry.
This undoubtedly further confirmed his judgment: Cassandra indeed possessed a certain degree of desire and anxiety regarding money.
"Interesting!"
The clock struck twelve at noon, and the sun was intense.
At this time, the ghosts of Hogwarts would not wander around but would hide in dark corners, waiting for the sun to set.
In an empty classroom, Catherine was leaning against a dust-covered desk. Her slim-fitting robes outlined her nearly perfectly developed body curves to the fullest.
When the classroom door was pushed open and then gently closed, Catherine unhurriedly turned around.
Jerry was standing at the door with a faint smile on his face.
"Little kitten, tired of waiting?" Jerry's voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet classroom.
A charming smile blossomed on Catherine's face, and her soft body pressed directly against him. Her arms naturally looped around Jerry's neck as she whispered into his ear with breath like orchids: "How could I be, Little Pervert Master?
It is my honor to be able to wait for you."
Her voice carried a hint of seductive raspiness, lacking any of the humility of a servant, instead sounding more like a lover acting spoiled.
"Why is your tongue so sweet today?"
Jerry's hand naturally wrapped around her slender waist, pressing her tighter against him so she could clearly feel the hardened object already beginning to awaken beneath his lower abdomen: "Did you find out what I wanted?"
"Of course."
Catherine's finger lightly brushed across the back of Jerry's neck, feeling the temperature beneath his skin. She hung on him as if she had no bones. "The matter with Cassandraisn't really a secret among the Slytherin upperclassmen.
Her boyfriend, Orion Blackwood, the Prefect from two years ago, is a very ambitious half-blood."
As she spoke, she pressed her cheek against Jerry's chest, lightly rubbing like a satisfied cat. "That man is bent on making a name for himself in the Ministry of Magic, but the positions in the Auror Office aren't that easy to get. He has no money and no background; he can only rely on risking his life to fight for merit.
And our classmate Cassandra is his biggest financier."
"Financier?" Jerry repeated the word with great interest.
"Yes!" Catherine chuckled, the sound vibrating in Jerry's chest. "Cassandra's parents died in the conquest war on the front lines, and the Ministry of Magic gave her a large sum of compensation money.
Unfortunately, she spent all that money on that man—buying equipment, making connections... I guess there's probably very little left now."
After hearing Catherine's account, the image of Cassandrain Jerry's mind became increasingly clear: a pure-blood orphan girl who was all show and no substance, struggling to maintain love and vanity.
Just as Jerry was thinking about how to exploit this, he felt the arm around his neck loosen.
Catherine's hand began to slide slowly down his chest with an undeniable sense of provocation.
There was no one around, only the occasional bird song from outside the window.
Her hand slid past his lower abdomen and finally stopped at the area between his legs that was already highly bulging.
Catherine didn't hesitate for a moment; her palm covered it directly.
Through a thin layer of trouser fabric, she skillfully gripped that massive meat rod, whose size far exceeded that of his peers.
She could clearly feel the giant thing swell another size in her palm, its pulse throbbing powerfully.
She looked up, her beautiful eyes full of mist and an infatuated smile. Her rosy lips approached Jerry's ear, and in a tone that was almost a moan, enchantingly seductive to the core, she said:
"Little Pervert Master... look, you're just thinking about another woman and it's already being so disobedient... would you like your little kitten to help you feed it full right now?"
Her breath carried an alluring sweetness, warmly spraying onto Jerry's ear.
It was an unmasked invitation, a perfect blend of provocation and submission, pointing straight to the most primitive desires deep within the human heart.
Jerry's gaze darkened.
He didn't answer but just looked down at the face in his arms, which had become increasingly glamorous due to desire. He reached out, pinched Catherine's chin, and tilted it up slightly. In his eyes was an aggressiveness toward a prey he was determined to get.
"You decide." Jerry's voice was low, with a command-like raspiness.
Having received permission, Catherine's eyes lit up. Her body flexibly stepped back half a pace, and she naturally knelt down slowly before Jerry.
She knelt on the ground, her hem spreading out like flower petals, revealing her slender white calves. Her movements were elegant and without hesitation, as if performing a sacred ritual.
She looked up at Jerry, her gaze burning and full of expectation.
Those lively eyes seemed to ask, 'Little Master, is it okay now?'
Jerry just looked at her, the corners of his lips curling into a meaningful arc.
Catherine understood. She reached out her slender hand, untied the belt of Jerry's robes, and skillfully pulled the robes to both sides.
His trousers were also briskly pulled down to the base of his thighs. That long-prepared 'meat rod' that was almost bursting out of his pants instantly sprang forth, quivering as it was exposed to the air.
That thing... even for the experienced Catherine, every time she saw it, it would make her heart tremble.
It was as thick as her wrist, and the urethral opening at the tip was already secreting a small amount of transparent liquid, shimmering with an alluring luster under the reflection of the afternoon sun.
The size alone was enough to strike fear into one's heart.
Catherine did not shrink back. Her glamorous lips parted slightly, and the tip of her tongue first gave a light lick in the air to moisten it.
Then, she held her breath and carefully yet greedily took the tip of that giant 'meat rod' slowly into her mouth.
---
Outside the classroom door, Cassandra's footsteps were so light they were almost inaudible.
She crouched low, approaching bit by bit.
Chapter 58
At midday, the Magic Theory classroom was usually deserted.
Although it was usually quiet during class, it seemed even more silent now.
Therefore, she had to tread carefully, even resorting to a spell—Silencio.
Starting from Catherine's unusually extravagant behavior, a string of questions had been lingering in Cassandra's mind.
Those extremely rare "Arcane Resurgence" Potions on the market were definitely not something a student living on scholarships and part-time jobs could afford.
She knew very well that Catherine had either landed a wealthy benefactor or... had gotten involved with some shady Dark Arts organizations.
Either way, for the now-desperate Cassandra, there was profit to be made.
If it were the former, she could use the accidentally discovered secret to "borrow" a substantial amount of hush money from Catherine to fill Orion's growing financial needs.
If it were the latter, once she successfully reported a Dark Wizard, the high reward from the Ministry of Magic would be enough for her and Orion to overcome their current difficulties, and perhaps even allow him to advance further in his official career.
After all, too much "sunk cost" had already been invested; she couldn't let Orion's previous efforts go to waste.
Cassandra pressed herself against the classroom door, carefully leaning her ear toward it.
The door panel vibrated faintly, and some indistinct, panting, and muffled sounds came through. She almost held her breath, trying to identify the content of the conversation.
However, those voices were too low and fragmented to discern any useful information.
Just as she was about to peer through the crack in the door, she suddenly heard an extremely suppressed gasp, a mix of pain and pleasure, followed by rapid splashing sounds and the sound of Catherine swallowing hard.
Cassandra's mind went blank with a "boom." That sound... although she had never experienced it personally, she had heard similar descriptions in certain novels and whispers circulating privately.
That was... the sound made only when extreme desire reached its peak!
She instinctively looked through the crack in the door, and by the faint light, she saw a scene that was blurry but clear enough for her to recognize who it was!
Catherine was kneeling on the ground, and Jerry Rosier... no, what she could see was Catherine's mouth, stuffed full by a huge, still twitching object, with liquid already overflowing from the corners of her mouth and dripping onto the ground.
This image was like a lightning strike, suddenly exploding in Cassandra's mind.
She covered her mouth tightly so as not to let out a cry of surprise.
She didn't have time to see more; her body moved stiffly and mechanically backward as she almost fled the hallway of the abandoned classroom, disappearing into the afternoon shadows.
---
"Mm..."
Jerry suddenly looked toward the crack in the door.
As if he had discovered something.
And it was in that split second of distraction.
He let out a suppressed low gasp, his body tensing suddenly, his fingertips unconsciously clutching Catherine's hair.
Catherine's mouth was stuffed full by that massive cock, and her breathing became a bit hurried.
Her small face turned bright red, but her eyes grew even more excited.
She worked to adjust her angle, devouring it, her tongue laboriously circling the head, the tender soft flesh rubbing against the sensitive folds.
"Haa, haa, haa, haa... ah..."
Jerry's breathing became heavier and heavier.
In the small classroom, only the wet "squelching" sounds and Jerry's uncontrollable low moans remained.
From deep in Catherine's throat came several almost whimpering "mgh... mgh..." sounds.
She could feel that "cock" rapidly expanding and heating up in her mouth, every inch of it tenderly surrounded and licked by her oral cavity and tongue.
The tip of her tongue flexibly swept over the glans, sucking the fishy-smelling pre-cum, then moved down along the thick shaft, lightly scraping with her teeth.
His eyes were tightly shut, his whole body's muscles tensed, and heavy groans constantly overflowed from his mouth, as if he would completely break at any second.
"Ah... mm! It's... it's coming out..."
Catherine clearly felt the "cock" in her mouth twitch violently a few times, and a hot torrent suddenly erupted.
*Gulp... gulp...*
That scorching liquid, carrying a strong masculine scent, surged continuously into Catherine's mouth.
There was too much of it, far exceeding what her mouth could hold; she couldn't even swallow it all before it overflowed from the corners of her mouth, ran down her chin, flowed to her neck, and soaked the collar of her robes.
Catherine coughed slightly from the impact of the massive amount of "body fluid," but she didn't let go, still struggling to swallow until the trembling of Jerry's body gradually subsided and the huge "cock" slowly shrank in her mouth.
She looked up, her face, neck, and even the corners of her eyes stained with the milky white liquid, looking exceptionally disheveled yet possessing a kind of moist, alluring beauty from being thoroughly nourished.
"Are you full, Little Master?"
Her voice was raspy from the intense impact she had just endured, yet it remained charming.
Jerry looked at Catherine kneeling before him, her face a mess but her eyes obsessed, and a surge of pleasure mixed with satisfaction and control rose in his heart.
He reached out, gently brushing away a few stray hairs stuck to her cheek, his thumb gliding over her smooth skin stained with his own fluids.
Jerry's desire had not fully subsided; that huge cock that had just released still maintained a significant degree of hardness.
Jerry was in no hurry to pull back; instead, he held the base and used the tip, still stained with slippery fluid, like a paintbrush to slowly smear it across Catherine's face.
Jerry carefully and evenly spread the milky white liquid from her forehead to the tip of her nose, then to her cheeks and chin, until her entire delicate little face was covered in a thin "mask" with his unique scent.
Throughout the process, Catherine was like an extremely docile kitten, staying obediently still, even tilting her face up slightly to cooperate with his movements, a satisfied purr coming from her throat.
"Were there many upperclassmen like Cassandra before?"
Jerry asked in a casual tone while performing this ridiculous and erotic act.
"Of course."
Catherine's voice was still raspy, but her tone carried a sense of matter-of-factness.
She proactively stuck out the tip of her pink tongue, curling a streak of white liquid from the edge of her lips into her mouth, savoring it carefully, her gaze becoming increasingly blurred.
"Did you think, Little Pervert Master, that I risked being sent to Azkaban just to participate in a robbery of a Gringotts branch for fun?
Or why I would spend my holidays crouching behind the back door of a bar in Knockturn Alley to ambush lone Dark Wizards?"
As she spoke, her body moved forward a bit, the full softness of her chest pressing right against Jerry's thigh, rubbing gently, "It was all because... I ran out of money."
While talking, Catherine raised her hand, using a finger to dab some liquid from her face and suck it into her mouth, her movements charming and natural, as if it were some extraordinary delicacy.
"Hogwarts is no fairy-tale Castle, Little Master."
She looked up, her eyes soaked in desire looking seriously at Jerry, "For us upperclassmen, especially Slytherinstudents, this place is more like... a bottomless pit for burning money."
She shifted to a more comfortable position, kneeling at Jerry's feet, her arms around his thighs, pressing her face against them as she continued to explain:
"First is the academic pressure. By the fifth and sixth years, the pressure of exams becomes immense.
To get good grades, relying on textbooks alone is far from enough.
We need a large number of spellbooks and high-grade Potion materials for practice.
And more precise alchemy tools to assist with experiments.
These things aren't provided in textbooks, and the school's public resources are never enough; you can only spend your own money to buy them.
A rare annotation of Ancient Runes might cost dozens of Galleons."
"Second is the social cost."
Catherine's cheek rubbed against Jerry's thigh as if she were acting spoiled: "What kind of place is Slytherin?
It's a gathering place for the pure-blood elite.
Here, the material of the robes you wear, the brand of the quill you use, where you went on holiday... these are all reflections of your social circle and status.
No one wants to be isolated, so everyone is struggling to keep up appearances.
A small birthday party, with gifts and outfits to arrange, might cost a month's income for an average wizarding family.
Not to mention the expenses needed to grease palms and manage connections."
"Finally, and most importantly—paving the way for the future."
Catherine's voice lowered, carrying the realism of someone who had been through it: "Want to enter the Ministry of Magic after graduation?
Want to go to Gringotts?
Or want to join a powerful alchemy guild?
It's absolutely impossible without connections and Galleons.
Internship recommendation letters need 'arranging,' the first decent job after graduation needs'sponsorship,' and wanting to study under a master to learn unique skills requires an astronomical 'tuition fee.'
Orion Blackwood isn't an isolated case; he's a microcosm of the vast majority of ambitious but ordinary-background graduates.
So, many students start from the sixth year trying every possible way to make money, legal or illegal... as long as they can get Galleons, they're willing to do anything.
An infatuated soul like Cassandra, who threw in all her parents' pension, is actually considered... quite simple."
Just as Catherine was using the tip of her tongue to meticulously lick the base of Jerry's thigh, expressing her submission and gratitude, a clear, steady, and rhythmic sound of footsteps suddenly came from the far end of the corridor.
*Tap... tap... tap...*
The sound approached from afar, echoing in the empty corridor, each step striking their hearts.
This was definitely not the sound of a student passing by; it was more like a Professor or an inspector on a routine patrol.
Catherine's body stiffened instantly, the charm and obsession on her face quickly replaced by a trace of panic.
She instinctively tried to get up but was held down by Jerry's hand on her shoulder.
"Don't move."
Jerry's voice remained steady, without a hint of panic.
He quickly scanned the abandoned classroom; the only exit was the door facing the corridor. Rushing out now would be no different from walking into a trap.
The footsteps drew closer, already at the door.
Jerry didn't hesitate; his free hand drew his wand and gave a light flick toward himself and Catherine, who was still kneeling before him, instantly casting a silent Disillusionment Charm.
Their figures didn't completely disappear; instead, like a drop of ink in clear water, they quickly became blurred and distorted, eventually turning into two masses of "mimicry" indistinguishable from the color and texture of the wall behind them, perfectly blending into the shadows of the corner.
Almost the second after the spell took effect, the classroom door was pushed open with a creak.
A figure wearing lecturer's robes walked in; it was Professor Binns of History of Magic.
Of course, it was the ghost of Professor Binns.
He floated in mid-air, his translucent body appearing somewhat illusory in the afternoon sunlight.
He scanned the room with his hollow eyes, seemingly checking if any students were secretly dating or engaging in any prohibited activities here.
Catherine held her breath, not daring to move. She could even feel the chilly aura belonging to the dead as Professor Binns floated past.
She knelt at Jerry's feet, her face still stained with those slippery fluids, her body pressed tightly against Jerry's leg, her heart almost jumping out of her throat.
Professor Binns floated around the classroom once, found nothing unusual, then turned and floated back out, the sound of his footsteps (or rather, the echo he was accustomed to leaving from his lifetime) gradually fading away.
Only after confirming there was no more sound in the corridor did Jerry lift the Disillusionment Charm.
After a distortion of light and shadow, their figures reappeared.
Catherine let out a long sigh of relief, her whole body going limp as she slumped onto the floor, her chest heaving violently. Those short dozens of seconds were more thrilling than robbing Gringotts.
Jerry adjusted his clothing, tucking the now semi-soft cock back into his trousers.
He looked down at Catherine's disheveled yet enticing appearance and said, "Alright, get up, little kitten. You should go wash your face."
Catherine looked up, a smile mixing lingering fear and excitement on her face.
She nodded obediently and stood up, leaning against the wall.
"Yes, Little Pervert Master," she answered softly, then added, "Transfiguration Class is about to start; you should go to class too."
Having said that, she gave Jerry one last deep look, turned, and quickly walked out of the classroom, hurrying toward the girls' lavatory.
Jerry unhurriedly straightened his robes, and after confirming there were no suspicious marks on him, he also walked out of the classroom, heading in another direction—toward the Transfiguration Class, setting his pace.
Chapter 28: Is Transfiguration Class Really Like This?
Jerry walked slowly toward the Transfiguration Class.
For a Wizard, the importance of Transfiguration Class was self-evident.
Chapter 59
It is not like Charms Class, where you simply learn how to wave a wand and recite incantations to produce specific effects.
Transfiguration touches upon the more core essence of magic—changing the very existence of matter itself.
A Wizard's mastery of Transfiguration directly reflects the depth of his understanding of the magical world, the strength of his willpower, and the precision of his magiccontrol.
Low-level Transfiguration involves turning beetles into buttons.
Whereas high-level Transfiguration can create objects out of thin air, alter terrain, and theoretically, even touch upon the forms of life.
This is magic that can truly "change heaven and earth," and it is the foundation of all profound magic.
Any Wizard who wishes to make a name for himself in the magical world must possess extremely high talent and knowledge in Transfiguration.
Jerry was naturally well aware of this; the library of the Rosier Family contained a vast number of rare books on profound Transfiguration and the principles of material conversion, which he had long since memorized.
When he arrived at the door of the Transfiguration Classclassroom, he stopped.
The classroom door was open, many students were already seated inside, and Professor McGonagall was standing at the podium, preparing today's lesson plan.
Everything seemed perfectly normal.
However, Jerry keenly sensed that something was wrong.
From the open doorway to the inside of the classroom, it felt as though there was an invisible, transparent barrier.
The air there was slightly distorted, just like a road scorched by the hot sun in summer.
A few lower-year students were blocking the doorway, stretching out their hands as if wanting to pass through, but as soon as their hands touched that area, they were pushed back by a gentle yet irresistible force; no matter how hard they tried, they could not step even half a step into the classroom.
This was Professor McGonagall's first test.
She never set complex riddles or door locks that required specific incantations to open.
The test always pointed directly to the core of Transfiguration.
This invisible barrier was not a simple defensive spell like "Protego," but a sophisticated form of spatial Transfiguration.
It changed the "concept" of the space within the doorway, turning it from a "passageway" into a "barrier."
Trying to pass by breaking it with brute force was the most low-level idea and would be directly judged as failing.
The correct approach was to understand the essence of this barrier and "respond" to it using the same principles of Transfiguration.
You needed to use your own magic to convey a clear Transfiguration "will" that belonged to you to this barrier.
That is, "I understand your form, and now, I will change my own form to pass through you."
Jerry watched the students at the doorway, sweating profusely and at their wit's end, and a faint smile curled at the corners of his mouth.
He did not draw his wand; he simply put his hands in his pockets, strode forward, and walked straight toward the invisible barrier.
Just as his body was about to touch the area of distorted air, he closed his eyes.
In his mind, his body form was no longer a fixed flesh-and-blood body, but had turned into a wisp of formless, intangible... wind that could pass through any gap.
This was not a true Animagus transformation, but a pure, self-concept conversion on the level of will.
The next second, Jerry passed through the barrier without any obstruction, as if it had never existed, and walked into the classroom with ease.
Professor McGonagall at the podium also raised her head, and those green eyes, always carrying a scrutinizing look, met Jerry's gaze for a fleeting moment.
In McGonagall's eyes, there was a trace of imperceptible approval.
Jerry found an empty seat in the classroom and sat down. This was a first-year class; most students were still blocked outside the door by the invisible barrier. Only a few students, who were clearly upperclassmen—likely teaching assistants there to earn credits or pocket money—were already sitting in the corner of the classroom.
However, right in the middle of those teaching assistants, Jerry saw a figure he had not expected.
Cassandra.
Cassandra was also wearing the dark robes of a teaching assistant, sitting there quietly, her expression as cold and indifferent as ever, like an exquisite ice sculpture.
But when Jerry's gaze swept over her, Cassandra's eyes met his, and that deliberately maintained calm was instantly broken.
Cassandra's pupils contracted, and her breathing hitched.
It's him.
This brat from the House of Rosier.
An absurd and shocking image flashed through Cassandra's mind like lightning—Catherine kneeling on the ground, head tilted back, her mouth stuffed full with a massive, hideous phallus that was completely incompatible with the boy's age and stature...
Cassandra's gaze uncontrollably slid from Jerry's still-youthful face down to his small, thin body, which was almost half as short as her own.
The intense sense of incongruity and physical contrast caused a flush of heat to rise uncontrollably on her cheeks.
Shame, embarrassment, and an indescribable, strange emotion surged into her heart instantly.
However, this shame was quickly replaced by another, stronger emotion—suspicion.
Cassandra remembered his surname, Rosier.
A thought, like a wildly growing vine, quickly coiled around Cassandra's brain, which had become somewhat paranoid due to a lack of money.
What if... what if this Jerry Rosier was not as simple as he appeared on the surface?
The Rosier Family had already fallen.
As an eleven-year-old orphan, where would he get so much money to keep a vain senior student like Catherine?
And how could he afford those expensive magical potions?
The only explanation was that he still had connections with the Dark Wizard forces of his family that were lurking in the shadows!
Once this thought appeared, it could no longer be suppressed.
The way Cassandra looked at Jerry changed completely.
The shyness stemming from catching them in a private affair quickly cooled, transforming into a sharpness mixed with greed and scrutiny.
In her eyes, Jerry was no longer a precocious, lecherous little boy, but a potential, walking treasury of Galleons.
Catherine might not just be kept by him; she was very likely a member of that Dark Wizard organization as well!
As long as she could find evidence of their connection to the Dark Wizards and report it to the Ministry of Magic... that high bounty would be enough for Orion to gain a firm footing in the Auror Office!
Cassandra suddenly felt a bit guilty again.
"How could I be so... sigh!"
In order to scrape together the money her boyfriend needed, Cassandra felt she was going crazy.
After the students standing at the doorway finally all came in.
Professor McGonagall stepped onto the podium, her steps elegant and solemn.
Her deep green Professor's Wizard robes covered her completely from neck to ankle, with no exposed skin; even her hair was meticulously pinned up, not a single strand out of place.
The fabric of the robes was thick and understated, tailored properly, displaying both her authority as a Professor and a sense of inviolable tradition and conservatism.
Her expression was calm and professional; one could not tell at all about the seductive maturity of last night.
"Good morning, first-year students."
Professor McGonagall's voice was clear and magnetic, echoing in the classroom, "Welcome to HogwartsTransfiguration Class."
"Transfiguration is one of the most exquisite, complex, and dangerous branches of all magical disciplines."
"Anyone who takes Transfiguration lightly will pay a heavy price."
Her gaze slowly swept over every student in the classroom, finally resting on Jerry for a fleeting instant, a pause that was almost imperceptible.
"Today, we start with the basics."
"Can anyone tell me what the four main directions of Transfiguration are?"
Several hands were raised high in the classroom immediately.
A freckled boy was given permission and stood up nervously: "Inanimate object Transfiguration, animate object Transfiguration, cross-species Transfiguration, and, uh... untransfiguration!"
Professor McGonagall nodded slightly: "Well answered, Mr. Finnigan of Gryffindor."
"These four categories of Transfiguration cover everything we will learn in the next seven years."
"And today, we are going to perform the most basic inanimate object Transfiguration."
Professor McGonagall paused and took a match out of her pocket.
That ordinary wooden match looked particularly small in her slender fingertips.
"Turn a match into a needle." Professor McGonagall calmly stated today's incantation and goal.
"The incantation is 'Veraverto'."
"It requires clear thinking, firm willpower, and precise magic control."
Professor McGonagall looked at the whole class, "I know this sounds simple, but the essence of Transfiguration lies in your understanding of the object's nature and what you wish it to become."
"Remember, the change in appearance is secondary; the transformation of the essence is key."
Professor McGonagall waved her wand gently, and the incantation was spat out clearly and fluently from her mouth—"Veraverto!"
With a soft "pop," the match twisted slightly in her hand and then disappeared.
In its place was a silver-gleaming sewing needle, with a sharp point and a small eye, refracting a cold luster in the sunlight.
After the demonstration, Professor McGonagall signaled for the students to begin practicing.
The freshmen took out their wands one after another, referring to the diagrams in the textbooks, and gestured clumsily.
The classroom was soon filled with the whispering of "Veraverto" one after another, as well as various failed products—broken matches, matches that smelled burnt, and matches that had only changed half their shape.
Even a few students accidentally turned their matches into mushy sawdust.
"Veraverto!"
"Sigh, failed again!"
An annoying whisper came from behind Jerry, accompanied by quiet complaints.
He didn't even need to turn around to hear whose voice it was—the Patil Sisters of Gryffindor, Padma and Parvati.
The twin sisters looked almost identical, like exquisite dolls carved from the same mold.
Both of them had high golden ponytails that swayed behind their heads with their irritable movements.
The only thing that could distinguish them might be the stockings on their legs.
Padma was wearing clean white stockings, while Parvatichose mysterious black ones.
At this moment, the sisters were frowning at the match on the table; clearly, they did not have much talent for Transfiguration.
"Parvati, you're reciting the incantation wrong; it should be 'Veraverto,' not 'Varaverto'!"
Padma, wearing white silk stockings, corrected her; her own match had only bent slightly, with a little black smoke coming from the tip.
"I know! I said it right!"
Parvati, wearing black silk stockings, retorted unconvinced, and she waved her wand vigorously, "Veraverto!"
The half-needle, half-match object in front of them shook violently, and then with a "poof," it turned into a small, squirming, pink earthworm that wiggled around on the tabletop.
"Oh! Merlin!"
Both girls let out a scream of disgust at the same time and hurriedly jumped away from their seats, as if it were not a harmless little earthworm, but a deadly venomous snake.
Their movement was neither too loud nor too quiet, just enough to attract the attention of several students around them.
The Patil Sisters' cheeks flushed red instantly, both from embarrassment and shame.
Their eyes subconsciously swept forward and happened to see Jerry's back.
As soon as they saw Jerry, the shame and annoyance on their faces immediately transformed into undisguised disgust.
"Hmph, look at that Rosier; he definitely can't do it either."
Parvati lowered her voice and said viciously to her sister, "What can people from Slytherin do besides using vicious spells?"
Although Padma didn't speak, she pursed her lips tightly and nodded in agreement.
The two of them, by unspoken agreement, cast gloating looks at Jerry, as if expecting to see him make a fool of himself so they could wipe away their previous shame.
"Veraverto!"
In the noisy classroom, the sound of incantations rose and fell, but there were few successful examples.
For first-year students, Transfiguration was indeed a significant hurdle.
Chapter 60
Professor McGonagall's gaze swept over the students who were struggling, having only managed to transfigure half a wood shaving or a wriggling worm, and her eyebrows knitted together imperceptibly.
"Very well, it seems everyone needs some assistance today."
Her cool voice echoed throughout the classroom, "Teaching assistants, please move among the desks and provide some guidance to the first-years."
Following Professor McGonagall's instruction, the older teaching assistants rose one after another and began to weave between the students.
Cassandra also rose from her seat, but she did not head toward the first-years who needed help; instead, she walked straight toward Jerry, though she ultimately did not approach him and instead sought out a Slytherin first-year.
The Patil Sisters' eyes lit up.
The teaching assistants being allowed to leave their seats gave them the opportunity to mock Jerry.
They exchanged a glance, slipped away from the table where a small earthworm was wriggling, and like two agile Gryffindor lionesses, dashed over to Jerry's desk in a few strides.
"Hmph, Rosier, let's see how you turn a match into a needle!"
Parvati crossed her arms, her golden ponytail swinging from side to side with her haughty posture.
She deliberately raised her volume, drawing curious glances from several students nearby.
Padma reached out directly, picked up the sewing needle Professor McGonagall had just transfigured in front of Jerry, and flicked it lightly with her fingertip, producing a crisp metallic clink.
On that identical face was an expression of blatant provocation: "I bet you can't even transfigure an ordinary match."
Jerry put down the match he was about to cast a spell on and looked up. On his fair, youthful face, his eyes were as deep as an ancient well.
He slowly shifted his gaze from the needle at Padma's fingertips to Parvati's slightly tense face.
"How about we play a game?"
Jerry smiled, a smile full of bewitching charm that seemed completely at odds with his current age and stature, as if a devil who held all the secrets of the world resided within the body of an innocent child.
Parvati and Padma were stunned; no one had ever dared to speak to them like this, especially not a Slytherin they despised.
Parvati snorted coldly and lifted her chin arrogantly: "What game? What tricks are you trying to play?"
"It's simple." Jerry kept his hands in his trouser pockets, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice. His voice, like a magical viper, quietly slithered into the sisters' ears, wrapping around them softly yet firmly, "Let's bet on whether I can turn this needle into a match, and then turn the match back into a needle."
He extended his fingertip and tapped lightly on the sewing needle in Padma's hand.
Parvati laughed mockingly: "That's it? Do you think you're Professor McGonagall? Forget about changing it back and forth; it would be good enough if you could even transfigure a match!"
"That's why it's a bet!"
The Patil Sisters exchanged a glance. Instead of feeling ashamed or annoyed, a mischievous smirk mixed with disdain and anticipation appeared on their faces.
Making Jerry Rosier make a fool of himself in front of the whole school? This was simply a perfect opportunity delivered to their doorstep.
"Fine, Rosier," Parvati crossed her arms like a proud little peacock, "What are we betting? If you lose, don't go crying."
"It's very simple," Jerry smiled, a smile that they perceived as full of foolish overconfidence, "If I fail... I will crawl through your legs, how about that?"
This proposal made the sisters' eyes light up instantly.
They could almost imagine the scene: this annoying Slytherin boy crawling between their legs like a dog; what a satisfying sight that would be.
"It's a deal!" Parvati said quickly, fearing Jerry might go back on his word.
Padma was more cautious. She stepped forward and asked, "Then what if you win? Although that's impossible."
Jerry's gaze turned to Padma. He suddenly lowered his body, leaned into her ear, and whispered in a breathy voice that only she could hear: "If I win... before dinner today, you two go find a place where no one is around, take off the underwear you are wearing right now... and give it to me, and you must not wear any underwear when you eat dinner."
Padma's body trembled slightly.
A strange flush spread across her fair cheeks, not out of anger, but stemming from this unheard-of, absurd request that carried a hint of taboo.
She subconsciously glanced at her sister; Parvati was looking at her with curious eyes, clearly having not heard what they were saying.
Although the whisper was soft, it was like two stones thrown into a calm pool, creating invisible ripples in two other corners of the classroom.
Not far away, Cassandra, acting as a teaching assistant, had kept her gaze locked on Jerry like a hawk from the very beginning.
Although she could not hear the sound, relying on her keen observation skills, she almost accurately interpreted several key phrases from Jerry's lip movements and the strange flush on Padma's face.
"...underwear... give to me."
On the other side, Professor McGonagall, who was patrolling the aisle, had also noticed the commotion, her sharp eyes hidden behind square lenses.
As an experienced master of Transfiguration, her perception was far superior to ordinary people.
That whisper, laden with teasing and commanding undertones, was like a tiny feather that precisely tickled her keen sense of hearing.
Professor McGonagall's steps did not falter, and the expression on her face did not change, but her thin lips pressed into a straight line.
"In your dreams!"
Padma came back to her senses; although her voice was not loud, it was full of shame and anger.
Just as Parvati wanted to ask her sister what exactly Jerryhad said, Jerry unhurriedly took out the two large earrings made of pure gold and inlaid with rare gemstones from the inner pocket of his robes.
"Clink."
The earrings were placed gently on the table, and the crisp sound seemed to strike at the sisters' very hearts.
The dazzling golden light and the brilliant radiance of the gemstones instantly sucked away both their reason and their sense of shame.
The sisters' breathing stalled.
They stared fixedly at the pair of earrings, flames of greed burning in their eyes.
"If I win, these two earrings will also be yours."
Jerry's voice rang out again, like a devil's contract, full of irresistible temptation.
Padma and Parvati exchanged a glance.
In their view, Jerry had absolutely no chance of succeeding.
This was simply a bet they couldn't lose!
Not only would they get this priceless jewelry, but they would also get to watch this detestable Slytherin suffer humiliation before them.
Padma took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in her heart. She puffed out her small chest and nodded at Jerry.
Parvati revealed a bright and gloating smile and announced loudly: "Fine, Rosier, we bet with you! I hope you can look good when you crawl!"
As soon as Parvati finished speaking, Padma leaned into her ear and, in a very low voice, quickly told her about the additional condition Jerry had proposed regarding the "underwear."
Parvati's gloating smile froze on her face, and immediately, a flush identical to her sister's spread from the base of her neck to the tips of her ears.
"He... he also wants our..." Parvati's voice was as thin as a mosquito's buzz, carrying a hint of disbelief.
"It's just to give them to him before dinner, and then... not wear underwear to eat dinner."
Padma's voice was also very soft. She forced herself to remain calm and added: "Anyway, he can't possibly win. We just need to wait and watch him make a fool of himself, and then we can get that pair of earrings."
The younger sister nodded and straightened her back again, but in the gazes they cast toward Jerry, apart from the malice of expecting him to fail, a strange sense of tension—which they themselves hadn't noticed—unconsciously mingled in.
The surrounding noise seemed to have quieted down.
The Patil Sisters, the thoughtful Cassandra, and Professor McGonagall behind the lectern—who appeared calm but had in fact taken in everything—all eyes were focused on Jerry's small figure.
Jerry seemed oblivious to the surrounding gazes.
He reached out and picked up the cold sewing needle from between Padma's still somewhat stiff fingers.
He did not immediately recite the spell but placed the needle in his palm, tapping the needle body rhythmically and gently with the index finger of his other hand.
"Clink... clink... clink..."
The crisp metallic sound echoed within a small radius.
He seemed to be communicating with the needle, using magic to perceive its essence—hard, cold, condensed.
Then, he began to construct the concept of a "match" in his mind—loose wood fibers, warm touch, and a sulfur head containing the potential for combustion.
He was not forcibly twisting it, but rather engaging in a kind of... persuasion.
Persuading the metal to return to its more primitive, wood-like form that belonged to the earth.
"Veraverto."
The spell was uttered in a volume that was almost a whisper, and his wand didn't even have a noticeable movement.
A miracle occurred.
The silver-gleaming sewing needle made no sound, nor did it twist violently; it was like a piece of ice dropped into warm water, beginning from the tip, smoothly and softly "melting."
The silver metallic luster faded, replaced by the warm, soft color of wood.
The hard form became soft, and finally, a complete, ordinary match with a sulfur head lay quietly in Jerry's palm.
The entire process was smooth and fluid, full of an indescribable harmony and aesthetic beauty.
The Patil Sisters' breathing stopped. The smiles on their faces froze, replaced by a blank expression. Cassandra's brow furrowed even deeper; this level of understanding of Transfiguration could not possibly be that of an eleven-year-old child.
Behind Professor McGonagall's lenses, a flash of sharp light passed through her green eyes.
Jerry ignored their reactions. He picked up the match that had just been transfigured back and placed it on the table again. This time, he couldn't even be bothered to raise his wand; he just lightly tapped the end of the match with his fingertip.
"Veraverto."
An equally soft spell.
The match underwent a silent change once again; the wood grain contracted and condensed, the color deepened, and finally, it transformed back into a sharp, silver-gleaming sewing needle on the tabletop.
Two transformations back and forth, flawless.
After finishing all this, Jerry looked up and revealed an innocent, childlike smile at the stunned Patil Sisters.
"It seems I've won."
He said softly, then pointed to the two gold earrings on the table, "These are yours. As for your... things, I hope to see them appear on my desk before dinner."
Parvati's face turned pale, then flushed, her pretty face twisted by shock and humiliation.
She looked at the flawless sewing needle on the table, then at Jerry's face with its faint smile, and a surge of anger rushed up from the bottom of her heart.
"I... we..." She stammered, then as if finding some excuse, her voice suddenly rose, "Who knows if you played some trick! This isn't fair! We don't accept this!"
She grabbed the gold earrings on the table, making a gesture as if to throw them back to Jerry, but the heavy texture and the cold touch made her hand stop in mid-air, unable to let go.
This wasn't just welching on a bet; it was more like a display of bluster and unreasonable tantrum.
"Parvati!"
Her sister Padma hurriedly pulled her, her face full of panic.
"Accept what, young ladies?"
A calm, stern voice with a Scottish accent suddenly sounded behind them.
The Patil Sisters' bodies stiffened simultaneously; they turned around mechanically, as if they had been hit by Petrificus Totalus.
Professor McGonagall had arrived at their desk without them noticing.
She was scrutinizing them sharply, her gaze moving back and forth between the sisters' flushed faces, the earrings on the table, and the sewing needle.
"Professor... Professor McGonagall..." Padma's voice was trembling.
"I have witnessed a very... brilliant display of Transfiguration."
Professor McGonagall's tone betrayed no emotion. She turned to Jerry and said, "Mr. Rosier, performing a reversible secondary transformation on a non-living object is a topic for the third-year final exam. You have completed it excellently. Ten points to Slytherin."
Then, her gaze fell back onto the Patil Sisters, a gaze that seemed capable of piercing through their robes and seeing all the embarrassment and calculations in their hearts.
And I also saw that you seem to have some... objections to Mr. Rosier's results?"
Professor McGonagall's voice was very low, but every word struck the sisters' hearts like a small hammer. "I have no intention of inquiring into private agreements between students."
"However, students of Gryffindor should understand the meaning of 'keeping one's promise.'"
"Since you have made an agreement with someone, you must have the courage to accept the outcome."
"Or are you saying that you believe your own words are just like those failed Transfiguration spells, capable of being twisted at will and entirely worthless?"
These words made the two competitive girls feel more embarrassed than any punishment.
Parvati's face turned completely liver-colored; she bit her lip tightly and could not say another word.
Padma hung her head in shame, wishing she could find a crack in the ground to crawl into.
Professor McGonagall did not say anything more; she just gave them a deep look, then turned and walked back to the podium, as if everything that had just happened was merely a small interlude.
But for the Patil Sisters, this was already the final verdict.
Jerry smiled, picked up the two gold earrings, and gently placed them into Padma's slightly trembling hands.
"This is for you, remember!"
He reminded them softly in a voice only they could hear.
"Bang!"
An ill-timed noise interrupted the subtle atmosphere in the classroom; the heavy wooden door was pushed open violently, echoing as it slammed against the stone wall.
The attention of the entire class, including the Patil Sisterswho had just stuffed the earrings into their pockets, was drawn over.
Three figures came rushing in, panting and stumbling.
Leading them was a red-haired, freckled boy whose robes were askew and whose tie was loose.
Following closely behind him was a thin boy with round glasses and messy black hair, the lightning scar on his forehead visible.
At the very back was a girl with bushy brown hair; she looked like she was about to cry, trying to smooth out the wrinkles on her robes as she ran.
It was Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger.
They were clearly late.
They had also coincidentally encountered the shifting paths within the Castle that occurred at certain intervals, so they had gotten lost and run all the way here.
At this moment, they were holding their knees, gasping for breath, their faces full of the panic and disarray typical of new students.
The classroom fell into a dead silence.
"We... we got lost, Professor..."
Harry explained, breathless. He looked up at the podium and met Professor McGonagall's eyes, which had become colder and sharper than sewing needles.
Professor McGonagall walked slowly down from the podium. Her flat shoes made no sound on the stone floor, yet they brought a mountain-like pressure upon the three of them.
"Lost?"
Her voice was cold to the point of being caustic. "Perhaps I should turn you into a map? That way, at least you would be of some use. Gryffindor, five points deducted for your tardiness."
Hermione's face turned deathly pale, and Ron hung his head even lower, not daring to look into the Professor's eyes.
After sternly dealing with the three late Gryffindors, Professor McGonagall waved her hand for them to find empty seats. The atmosphere in the classroom became even more solemn due to this small disturbance.
Her gaze shifted and landed on Jerry. "Mr. Rosier, come here."
She said in an unquestionable tone, "I have some rare books in my office that we will need for the practical lesson later; help me bring them to the podium."
Under the complex gazes of the entire class, especially the Patil Sisters and Cassandra, Jerry stood up calmly and followed Professor McGonagall into the private office next to the classroom.
The office door closed gently behind him, cutting off all outside gazes and sounds.
It was a tidy room full of academic atmosphere, with bookshelves filled with various profound books on Transfiguration.
As soon as Jerry walked in, before he could clearly see the surroundings, he saw a scene that even surprised him.
Professor McGonagall's dark green Wizard robes, which had been wrapped tightly from head to toe, faded in color and substance before his eyes like ink dropped into clear water, becoming completely transparent in just a second or two, leaving only a nearly invisible outline.
Beneath the robes was a well-maintained, mature, and charming female body.
She was only wearing a simple set of off-white lingerie with cute lace, which outlined her full breasts and firm waist and hip curves vividly.
Professor McGonagall seemed completely unconcerned about her exposure; she bent over to organize a stack of heavy books on the floor. This posture placed her round, perky buttocks directly facing Jerry, with the flesh of her buttocks under her panties straining into an alluring curve.
"Mr. Rosier!" She said while organizing the books, using her unique, cool, and oppressive voice, as if nothing had happened. "If I am not mistaken, you cheated in class just now, didn't you? Did you use those magic accessories you are wearing that have special functions?"
Jerry looked at her back, which rose and fell slightly as she bent over, and her clearly visible body beneath the transparent robes, his eyes showing not the slightest ripple.
"I did not, Professor." He denied it calmly.
Professor McGonagall straightened up and turned to face him, her sharp eyes fixed on him. "Is that so? Then, show me your ability, Mr. Rosier. Use your own magic, not external objects, and transform this needle again. If you cannot do it, or if I find any trace of external assistance, Slytherin will have twenty points deducted."
She was forcing him to show his true strength.
Jerry smiled.
Jerry did not look at the needle; instead, his gaze fell on Professor McGonagall's mature, full private area, wrapped in off-white cotton panties.
Jerry did not even raise his hand; he simply moved a thought.
Professor McGonagall was preparing to observe his spellcasting movements, but suddenly felt a strange sensation of fabric twisting around her lower body.
McGonagall looked down and saw that the panties she was wearing seemed to have a life of their own; the straps on both sides automatically loosened, and the fabric, under the influence of magic, rapidly elongated and twisted, turning into two thin, tough ropes that lightning-fast wrapped around to her back, tying tightly at the backs of her knees, binding her legs slightly backward.
The core piece of fabric of the panties rapidly shrank and hardened between her legs, turning into a smooth, egg-shaped object that pressed perfectly and tightly against her most sensitive private spot.
A vibrator, ingeniously constructed from her own panties, was thus firmly fixed onto her.
"You..."
Professor McGonagall's pupils contracted. She was just about to scold him, but saw a faint, thin blue electric spark flash and disappear on Jerry's fingertip.
"Hum!"
The vibrator fixed at the backs of her knees by the ropes began to vibrate at a high frequency without warning.
"Mm-ah..."
A violent and unfamiliar sensation of tingling pleasure, like a bursting flood, instantly surged from the base of her thighs, piercing through her entire back, and reaching her brain.
Professor McGonagall's voice uncontrollably let out a short, suppressed moan. Her body stiffened suddenly, and her legs subconsciously clamped shut, but this only caused the vibrating vibrator to embed itself deeper and tighter into her private parts.
McGonagall's waist arched forward involuntarily, her legs trembling slightly, and that mysterious garden, under the sudden, intense stimulation, instantly bloomed without any defense.
It was an area groomed extremely cleanly and neatly, without a trace of excess clutter.
Two full and fleshy labia presented a healthy, dark pink color unique to mature women, a shade that was somewhat deep but not ugly, like a ripe peach.
Under the pressure and friction of the vibrator, they opened slightly, revealing the more delicate, moist labia minora inside.
The shape of the entire vulva was extremely beautiful, like a clam shell closed just right.
Along with the vibration, crystal-clear nectar was secreted rapidly, making the surrounding area bright and slippery.
The vibrator continued to vibrate, and the faint humming sound seemed particularly clear in the quiet office.
"It seems... I underestimated you, Mr. Rosier."
Professor McGonagall's voice carried a slight, unsteady panting. She held onto the edge of the desk, trying to steady her legs, which had gone weak.
That intense, unfamiliar pleasure was continuously assaulting her nerves, causing an unnatural flush to rise on her face, which was usually so serious.
Jerry just watched her quietly, saying nothing, and did not stop the little prank.
After a while, Professor McGonagall finally managed to adapt to the continuous stimulation.
McGonagall took a deep breath, and her sharp green eyes regained some of their former majesty, but deep in her eyes, there was a trace of complex emotion that Jerry could not understand.
"It seems I blamed you wrongly; you did not cheat."
McGonagall said in a declarative tone, as if confirming to herself, and as if announcing to Jerry.
McGonagall did not blame Jerry for his audacious act; instead, she reached out and, with somewhat slow movements, untied the ropes tied at the backs of her knees.
The vibrator, which had been transformed from her panties, stopped vibrating, slipped down from her moist private parts, and was steadily caught in her hand.
McGonagall glanced at the small object, which was stained with her own body fluids and glistening.
Then, she made a move that even surprised Jerry.
McGonagall walked up to Jerry, her mature, voluptuous body, beneath the transparent robes, presenting itself almost naked before his eyes.
She bent over slightly and, without allowing any argument, stuffed the vibrator, which still carried her body heat and scent, into Jerry's slightly open mouth.
Just as the vibrator entered Jerry's mouth, the Transfiguration spell Professor McGonagall had cast upon it seemed to reach its time limit, or she had actively lifted it.
"Puff."
With a soft sound, the hard, smooth vibrator instantly changed back to its original form—a piece of soft, off-white cotton fabric soaked wet with body fluids.
The rich, slightly fishy scent unique to a mature woman instantly filled Jerry's mouth and nasal cavity.
Professor McGonagall's face was very close; Jerry could even see his own face, holding the panties, reflected in her green eyes.
"I hope you can keep this up!"
Chapter 29 The Nude Loan Plan!
Lending, for the Rosier Family, was a traditional business as old as magic itself.
It was not simple money lending, but an art of establishing control and dominance using debt as a medium.
The thick ledger Jerry carried with him was the most straightforward proof of this "art."
The leather cover of the ledger was worn, but on the parchment inside, written in ink that never faded, were densely recorded the staggering debts issued before the fall of the Rosier Family. The names of the debtors were spread throughout the entire wizarding world, including many pure-blood families that were still famous today.
However, as the Rosier Family fell apart after being labeled as "Death Eaters," this ledger turned from a powerful asset into a worthless piece of paper that could not be cashed in.
Wanting to collect these old debts was an almost hopeless task for an eleven-year-old child without any power.
Although he had already recovered a portion of them through some forceful means.
But compared to the massive ledger, it was only a drop in the bucket.
However, he now had a new idea, which was to lend money within Hogwarts.
This idea did not come out of thin air.
In his exchanges with Catherine, he had heard her talk more than once about the classmates in the school who lived beyond their means to buy luxury goods and magicaccessories.
This made Jerry realize for the first time that even in a secluded magic school, the demand for money was just as strong.
What really made him make up his mind was his observation of Cassandra.
When he learned that this Deputy Prefect from Slytherinwould spend the substantial compensation left by her parents on her boyfriend without hesitation, a flash of light seemed to pass through Jerry's mind.
He saw through the essence. These little Wizards in Hogwarts, regardless of their background, wealth, or talent, were essentially the same—they were a group of teenagers dominated by desire and hormones, with no concept of financial management.
They would borrow money to own the latest Nimbus broomstick, they would borrow money to have more face on a date in Hogsmeade, and they would borrow money to buy some contraband from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
This was a perfect market—closed, information-asymmetric, and full of potential customers.
Here, he did not need to face those cunning adult Wizards.
However, to put this plan into practice, he still needed a perfect entry point, a "first customer" who could quickly open up the market and accurately solve the current crisis.
Jerry's gaze involuntarily turned again toward that figure in the teaching assistant's seat—Cassandra Warrington.
The alarm sound of the system task seemed to still be echoing in his ears, every word stinging his nerves like a needle.
And the fuse that attracted this hungry wolf was precisely Cassandra's suspicion.
A cold sneer curled on the corner of Jerry's mouth.
He must break free from this net, or even turn the tables and make this net his own weapon.
And his loan plan was the "scalpel" tailor-made to achieve this goal.