Chapter 2640 - Ch: 68-73

Chapter 68

"Did you see that, Jerry?"

Malfoy's breathing was slightly rapid with excitement as he pointed at the Giant stone statues, his eyes flashing with undisguised ambition. "This is no ordinary game!

I heard from my cousins in the family that the scale of this Wizards Chess tournament is unprecedented!"

He leaned closer and lowered his voice, but his smugness didn't diminish in the slightest. "It's not just the current students. I heard that even elite Wizards who have already graduated and joined the Ministry of Magic or even the frontline legions are coming back to participate!

This is no longer a simple competition; this is a carnival!"

Malfoy's gaze swept over the silent Giants, as if he could already see himself standing on the podium.

"If you can get a good ranking, not only will you get rich rewards from the Ministry of Magic, but you might even... even get a direct opportunity to work in the War Department of the Ministry of Magic!"

He paused, his tone filled with longing and certainty. "Because being good at Wizards Chess, to some extent, means... you have an excellent strategic mind and commanding talent!

At a time like this, that's more important than any O.W.L. results!"

(The Ordinary Wizarding Levels, abbreviated as O.W.L.s, is the first major test that fifth-year students at Hogwartsface.

It is not a simple test, but a comprehensive examination designed to assess students' mastery of basic knowledge and practical operation abilities in various magical subjects—ranging from Charms and Transfiguration to Potions, Herbology, and even Defense Against the Dark Arts.

O.W.L. results directly determine whether students can continue to take certain advanced courses after entering their sixth year, and are closely related to their career development after graduation.

In past years at Hogwarts, high O.W.L. scores were almost a stepping stone to entering various departments of the Ministry of Magic, and even becoming elites in all walks of life.

Doing well meant a bright future and endless possibilities.)

Just as Malfoy was speaking with high spirits, a gentle yet undeniably powerful voice, amplified by magic, echoed clearly across Hogwarts. It was Dumbledore's voice.

"Good morning, everyone at Hogwarts."

His voice seemed to penetrate all the noise, causing all the young Wizards to instinctively quiet down and look up toward the Castle's main tower.

"I am sure you have all noticed these new 'big guys' on campus.

Indeed, just as many of you have guessed, a grand Wizard Chess Tournament is about to kick off on our beautiful campus.

But before that, there are a few points that need to be clarified."

Dumbledore's voice paused, giving the students time to process.

"First, for safety and fairness considerations, eligibility for this tournament is limited to students in their third year and above.

Lower-year students, please treat this as a valuable opportunity to observe and learn."

"Second, and most importantly!"

Dumbledore's tone took on a hint of seriousness. "During the tournament, all classes will proceed as usual. I expect every student to show up to their classes on time.

Rest assured, your Professors, as well as our caretaker Mr. Filch, will be paying extra attention to those young Wizards who try to'steal lessons' by the chessboard and neglect their studies.

As for the consequences, I don't think you would want to find out."

Finally, Dumbledore's voice returned to its usual, kindly tone with a hint of playfulness.

"One last thing: looking at the sky, breakfast is almost over.

I strongly advise you all to head to the Great Hall quickly and fill your bellies with pumpkin juice, bacon, and porridge.

After all, whether playing chess or attending class, a starving brain is not a good companion.

Well, children, have a wonderful day."

As his voice faded, the magical energy permeating the air dissipated as well, and the entire campus buzzed with noise once more.

The young Wizards chattered, their expressions varied, but most followed the Principal's advice and began to flock toward the Great Hall.

Jerry had little interest in "Wizards Chess," which was modified from chess and featured pieces that fought on their own.

Consequently, he knew very little about the history of Wizards Chess, let alone those so-called famous professional players.

However, Malfoy beside him was clearly a fanatical enthusiast.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"

Malfoy talked incessantly, spitting as he walked quickly toward the Great Hall. "Previous tournaments were at most intra-school, or invited people from the other two schools.

But this time is completely different. This is a selection process directly led by the War Department of the Ministry of Magic!

Look at those Giant pieces outside. They are all driven by ancient magic, the kind only used in real professional arenas!"

Jerry just listened noncommittally, his gaze sweeping over the excited crowd around them.

"Did you know that we, Slytherin, have produced many chess masters?"

Malfoy's face was full of pride. "The seventh-year Prefectfrom two terms ago, Orion Blackwood, was the undisputed chess king of Hogwarts back then!

I heard he was recruited directly by the legion after graduation, and he'll definitely be back to compete this time!

He's a huge favorite to win the title!"

Orion Blackwood.

Jerry's steps did not falter in the slightest, but this familiar name still made his eyes flicker slightly.

Cassandra's arrogant boyfriend.

"Is he that good?" Jerry asked casually.

"Of course!"

Malfoy immediately chimed in, "His playing style is just like him—highly aggressive. He's great at opening with the 'Queen's Gambit,' sacrificing minor pieces to build an irreversible offensive!

It's said that before he graduated, he played a game against Professor McGonagall, and in the end... it was a draw!

Just think about it, what kind of concept is drawing with Professor McGonagall!"

As they spoke, the two had already arrived at the entrance of the Great Hall.

The moment he stepped into the Great Hall, Jerry keenly noticed that today's atmosphere was completely different from usual.

There were far more people in the Great Hall than usual. In addition to students wearing the robes of the four houses, there were also many adults dressed in various wizarding robes.

They were either gathered in small groups whispering, or sitting alone at the dining tables with their own travel chessboards in front of them, their fingers moving rapidly over them in silent deduction.

These people carried an aura entirely different from the students—some were as steady as mountains, while others were sharp and prominent. They were clearly off-campus players who had come for this tournament.

Jerry's gaze swept casually through the crowd, and he was quickly drawn to a corner by the Hufflepuff table.

A petite figure was sitting there. Even the loose school robes could not conceal her chest curves, which were extremely well-developed and highly disproportionate to her youthful face.

That was Liliana, a Hufflepuff girl in the same year as Jerry. She was gentle and lacked much of a presence, but her unique, busty-baby-faced figure always drew extra glances.

She wasn't tall, but the heavy mounds of soft flesh on her chest forced her to keep her back perfectly straight when sitting.

And at this moment, sitting beside Liliana was an unfamiliar young woman.

The woman looked to be in her early twenties at most. Her soft, brown hair was draped casually over her shoulders, and with a gentle smile on her face, she was whispering something to Liliana.

She wore a form-fitting travel robe, and her astonishing bust size was not inferior to Liliana's at all, perhaps even surpassing it.

Due to her sitting posture, the fabric over her chest was stretched tight, outlining two full, rounded curves that seemed ready to burst through her clothes, casting a small shadow on the long table.

"Jerry!"

A slightly timid voice came from the Hufflepuff table.

Liliana, who was trying to explain something with a troubled look to the woman beside her, spotted Jerry with her sharp eyes. As if finding a savior, she quickly waved to him.

At her greeting, the unfamiliar woman beside her also looked over in the direction of her gaze.

When Jerry's appearance was reflected in her clear eyes, her expression visibly froze for a moment, her gaze becoming somewhat vacant, as if she were thinking about something completely unrelated to the current scene.

"Sister!" Seeing Jerry walking over, Liliana quickly tugged at the woman's sleeve and whispered, "That's Jerry Rosier. I told you about him before, the one... do you remember?"

Jerry walked over to the table and gave a polite nod. "Good day, Liliana."

His gaze naturally fell upon the unfamiliar woman.

"Oh, oh! I remember!"

The woman seemed to have just snapped out of her own world. She stood up in a bit of a flurry and gave Jerry a gentle, slightly apologetic smile. "Hello, Mr. Rosier. I am Liliana's sister. My name is Alicia."

As soon as Alicia spoke, Jerry noticed her peculiar habit.

Alicia's body would unconsciously sway slightly to the rhythm of her words, like a metronome.

This unconscious movement made her already magnificent chest bounce up and down along with it, forming a sight that was hard to ignore.

"Hello, Miss Alicia." Jerry maintained a perfect smile on his face.

"Liliana said you are very... very good at solving some... troublesome problems."

As Alicia spoke, her gaze began to drift again, as if a fierce chess deduction was simultaneously taking place in her mind.

Alicia shook her head, trying to focus her attention back. "Um... I... I have a chess position that has troubled me for a long time. Everyone says it's a 'dead end,' but I always feel... I always feel there must be a way to solve it..."

As Alicia spoke, the amplitude of her body's swaying grew slightly larger, and the two full mounds of soft flesh on her chest followed with even more intense, dizzying fluctuations.

Liliana watched her sister from the side, her youthful face written all over with helplessness.

Liliana quietly tugged at Alicia's sleeve, trying to get her to pay attention to the occasion, but Alicia's entire mind was clearly immersed in that virtual chessboard, showing absolutely no reaction to her sister's hints.

Seeing Jerry's overly calm gaze, Liliana felt her cheeks burn. She had no choice but to lower her voice and explain to Jerry in a complex tone that was both apologetic and carried a hint of pride:

"I'm sorry, Jerry... My sister... whenever she encounters anything related to chess, she becomes like this. She can't think of anything else."

Liliana paused, seemingly hesitating whether to continue, but finally mustered the courage to add, "Don't look at her like this... Actually, she works in the War Department of the Ministry of Magic."

These words made Jerry's eyebrows twitch imperceptibly.

Seeing that he seemed interested, Liliana continued in a low voice, "She is... a commander.

A very powerful war Witch who often has to personally go to the front lines to command battles.

Her colleagues at the Ministry of Magic say she is a once-in-a-century strategic genius, but... as soon as she leaves the battlefield or the command room, she..."

Liliana helplessly pointed at Alicia, who was still unconsciously swaying as she contemplated the chess position, causing her chest to heave like turbulent waves, with a "you see what I mean" expression on her face.

At this moment, Alicia was completely oblivious to the private conversation between her sister and Jerry.

In her beautiful large eyes, what was reflected seemed no longer the scene of the Great Hall, but a battlefield composed of sixty-four black and white squares.

She continued to speak to herself in a sleep-talking tone:

"...The opponent has only a king and a knight left, while we still have a rook and three pawns. It looks like a guaranteed victory, right?

But the opponent's knight occupies an absolutely perfect defensive spot. No matter which angle my rook attacks from, it will be perfectly blocked by the joint defense of the king and knight. And my pawns... if my pawns take just one step forward, they will immediately change the offensive and defensive dynamics of the entire board, plunging me into a desperate situation instead... This is unreasonable, absolutely unreasonable..."

The more she spoke, the more excited she became, and the frequency of her body's swaying grew faster. The full mounds of soft flesh tightly wrapped in her robe bounced up and down elastically in a dazzling display.

Jerry's understanding of Wizards Chess was limited to knowing the rules and how to move the pieces, but he knew almost nothing about deep tactical gameplay.

This genius Witch from the War Department of the Ministry of Magic had unwittingly thrown him an opportunity to show off his intellect, but he couldn't catch it at all.

Just as he was pondering how to politely avoid this topic, a clear and confident male voice came from behind him.

"That is not a dead end, Miss Alicia.

Your line of thinking was wrong from the very beginning."

Jerry and Liliana turned around at the same time, only to see a tall young man slowly walking over.

Completely ignoring Jerry and Liliana, the young man walked straight up to Alicia. With a charming smile on his face, he continued in an unquestionable tone, "The key to the problem is not the opponent's knight, but your three immobile pawns.

They restrict the movement of your rook and block your own path to victory."

Alicia's body stopped swaying from her contemplation. She looked up, and her somewhat vacant eyes finally refocused as she gazed at Orion with a hint of confusion.

Orion enjoyed her focused gaze and unhurriedly revealed the answer, "So, what you need to do is not think about how to use the rook to attack, but... sacrifice it."

"Sacrifice?"

Alicia's lips parted slightly, this line of thinking clearly completely beyond her expectations.

"Exactly!"

Orion nodded confidently, "Move your rook to a position where the opponent's king and knight can easily capture it, but are forced to do so.

Use the sacrifice of the rook to forcibly break their perfect joint defensive formation and force the opponent to move. Once they move and a crack appears in their defenses, your three pawns, which were originally a hindrance, can drive straight in. At that point, victory is yours."

His words flowed smoothly, full of powerful logic and persuasiveness.

Alicia's eyes lit up instantly. It was the ecstasy of a chess fanatic finding a kindred spirit, the dead end suddenly clearing up.

She stopped swaying her body and instead clasped her hands together, looking at Orion with almost worshipful eyes. "Sacrificing the rook to gain the initiative... So that's how it is! So that's how it is!

How did I not think of that!"

Chapter 69

"I'm glad I could help." Orion bowed slightly, full of grace. "Orion Blackwood.

Perhaps we can find some time later to play a real game?"

"Sure! Yes!" Alicia agreed without hesitation.

Jerry watched this scene quietly from the side, a meaningful smile playing on his face.

Cassandra's boyfriend was eagerly pursuing another Witch from the Ministry of Magic right in front of him—one who possessed an equally magnificent chest.

This was... truly interesting.

Finding an empty seat at the Slytherin table, Jerry let his gaze linger for a moment on the chatting pair before finally looking away.

Just as he picked up his butter knife, a figure sat down quietly beside him. It was Catherine, who had just returned with her breakfast.

She glanced left and right to make sure no one was paying attention to them, then leaned forward slightly. Underneath the table, she quickly and discreetly slipped a cold, smooth little object into Jerry's hand.

"What is this?"

Jerry lowered his eyes, looking at the faintly glowing, milky-white crystal-like Phantom Stone in his palm, asking despite already knowing the answer.

"Little Pervert Master."

Catherine lowered her voice, a blush that only Jerry could decipher—both shy and flattering—creeping onto her face. She gave a playful wink, a small snicker playing at the corner of her lips. "You'll find out once you go back and look. It's a surprise that I... I mean, Cassandra, prepared for you."

Jerry shrugged noncommittally, casually slipping the Phantom Stone into his pocket before slowly starting on his breakfast.

His gaze swept over the various external chess players of different styles in the Great Hall. He asked, seemingly at random, "Why haven't I heard anyone mention such a massive tournament before?"

Catherine followed his gaze, shook her head, and regained her usual expression. "I don't know either.

I didn't hear any rumors at all. It's as if... the Ministry of Magic decided on it at the last minute.

There wasn't a single word about it last night, and then everything changed first thing this morning."

Jerry leisurely sliced the sausage on his plate with a fork, his mind working rapidly.

Led by the Ministry of Magic, with elite Wizards from the front-line legions participating, lucrative rewards, and opportunities to directly enter core departments... The scale of this tournament had far exceeded the scope of a mere'school activity.'

And where there are people, there is desire. Where there is fame and wealth, there is gambling.

A thought flashed through his mind like lightning, causing his sausage-slicing hands to pause for a moment.

"Are there any betting pools?"

He asked without looking up, his tone as casual as if he were asking about today's weather.

"Betting pools?"

Catherine, who was taking small bites of her bread, was clearly taken aback when she heard this.

Her delicate brows furrowed slightly, seemingly unable to comprehend Jerry's intent immediately.

She thought about it for a good while, following her usual line of thinking, before hesitantly shaking her head.

"Probably... not," she said, her tone uncertain. "For this kind of official tournament, the Ministry of Magic bans private gambling.

And... and there wasn't even any advance notice for this tournament, so the Black market bookies wouldn't have had time to organize anything..."

Before she could finish, she saw Jerry set down his cutlery and wipe the corner of his mouth with a napkin. A smile she knew all too well—like a shark catching the scent of blood—spread across his face.

"Just because they haven't opened one doesn't mean we can't."

Jerry said with a light chuckle, "Since the official channels don't have one, we'll provide one for them."

"Since the official channels don't have one, we'll provide one for them."

After saying this, Jerry unhurriedly pulled a folded piece of high-quality parchment from the inner pocket of his robes.

He gently unfolded the parchment on the table and slid it in front of Catherine.

It was a Gringotts draft.

On it, written in the ornate and complex calligraphy unique to Goblins, was a string of numbers. With just a fleeting glance, Catherine saw an amount that would make any adult Wizard's breath catch—a whopping ten thousand Galleons.

The golden ink shimmered dazzlingly in the morning light, as if possessing some kind of magic capable of drawing in one's very soul.

"It's enough to just run it among the students," Jerry's voice was quiet, yet it carried an unquestionable weight. "I'll provide the capital."

Catherine's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

She had never seen such a massive fortune laid out so casually on a breakfast table.

For a student, this figure was no longer just money; it was an almost astronomical concept.

Catherine could even feel her throat go dry, her heart racing uncontrollably.

Yet, that initial shock and greed were quickly suppressed by her reason.

Catherine blinked hard, forcing her gaze away from the bank draft to look at Jerry.

"But... but I..."

Her voice was a bit dry as she shook her head. "I don't know anything about Wizards Chess at all. I don't even recognize all the famous professional players. I probably don't know... much more than you do.

I can't help you calculate the odds, and I can't help you... run this."

Seeing Catherine's state of being both enticed by the massive sum and terrified by her own lack of ability, Jerrysuddenly smiled.

The smile held no mockery or dissatisfaction; instead, it was filled with an indescribable warmth and approval.

Jerry refolded the draft worth ten thousand Galleons and unhurriedly put it back into his robe pocket.

"It's fine," Jerry's voice was light and gentle.

This "It's fine" made Catherine instantly breathe a sigh of relief, but a trace of guilt and anxiety welled up in her heart, fearing she would disappoint her Little Pervert Master due to her incompetence.

However, none of the displeasure she anticipated appeared on Jerry's face.

On the contrary, watching her flustered state gave Jerry a strange sense of satisfaction.

She was quite cute.

Just like a kitten being teased by its owner; it clearly wanted to pounce on the dangling ball of yarn, but knowing its paws weren't long enough to reach, it could only watch longingly and shake its head honestly.

This honesty, this self-awareness of her own limits, was far more valuable than the foolishness of those who put on brave faces just to save face.

Before Jerry's thoughts could linger too long on the concept of her being "one of his own," a figure wearing an elaborate Gothic gown suddenly appeared by the table.

And sat down unceremoniously on Catherine's other side.

It was Cassandra.

Cassandra's appearance instantly froze the relatively relaxed atmosphere.

Her outfit today was clearly meticulously prepared.

However, her signature smoky makeup looked a bit messy right now, her eyeliner seemed slightly smudged, and beneath her carefully drawn eyes was an unmistakable, unhideable redness.

She had clearly just been crying not too long ago.

The smile on Catherine's face vanished without a trace, replaced by an undisguised coldness and disgust.

She didn't even turn her head to look at Cassandra, merely scraping the remaining sauce on her plate with a butter knife, her voice sharp and biting:

"What, did you finally come to your senses and want to take that Phantom Stone back?

Sure, just return the five hundred Galleons to me.

Do it now, while there's still time."

Jerry watched all this with great interest.

He continued cutting the steak on his plate, but his gaze fell on Cassandra's face.

Looking at her red-rimmed eyes that even heavy Gothic makeup couldn't hide, and seeing her stubborn yet fragile appearance, he actually found her a little... cute.

Of course, he said nothing outwardly, concentrating solely on tackling his breakfast as if the low-pressure storm brewing next to him had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Cassandra kept her head down the entire time, her long hair falling to obscure most of her face. Under Catherine's sarcasm, her shoulders seemed to hunch even tighter.

After a long silence, she finally spoke in a barely audible voice, as if squeezing the words out of her throat:

"Could you... lend me another thousand Galleons?"

"Ha!" Catherine immediately let out a short, sharp sneer. She finally turned her head, looking at Cassandra as if she were a joke. "Are you treating me like an ATM?

...Why don't I just tell you that Gringotts is actually owned by my family, and you can just go in and grab whatever you want? How about that?"

These words were like sharp knives, stabbing deeply into Cassandra's already crumbling self-esteem.

Cassandra buried her head even lower, her expression filled with shame and embarrassment. In a voice that was almost pleading, she whispered with a slight tremble:

"Please, Catherine... I really need this money... I... I'll find a way to pay you back as soon as possible..."

Catherine was about to say something even sharper to sting her, but under the table, the tip of a leather shoe tapped her shin with moderate pressure.

The movement was very subtle, but Catherine understood instantly.

She swallowed the words at the tip of her tongue and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her purely emotional mockery had vanished, replaced by a cold, business-like scrutiny.

She turned her head to look directly at Cassandra.

"It's not impossible to lend it to you."

"But I'm no philanthropist," Catherine's voice steadied.

"If you want money, you have to pay a price.

"Furthermore, for a principal of one thousand, we need to write down clearly in Black and white how the interest is calculated and when it will be repaid."

She paused, her gaze turning sharp. "Most importantly, you must explain clearly what you are borrowing this money for.

"If it has anything to do with Dark Wizards or contraband, I won't give you a single Knut.

"I don't want to inexplicably end up in a lawsuit with the Ministry of Magic."

This structured and aggressive interrogation made the already deeply ashamed Cassandra even more at a loss.

Cassandra's gaze instinctively drifted into the distance, landing right on Orion Black, who was chatting merrily with Alicia.

She looked at the charming smile on her boyfriend's face—a smile that was not directed at her.

Cassandra's lips parted slightly, as if something were stuck in her throat.

After hesitating for a moment, she finally seemed to make up her mind. Lowering her head again, she whispered:

"Wizards who have already graduated from school need to pay an entry fee as a ticket to participate in the tournament... Orion, he wants to participate in the tournament, so he's borrowing money from me."

Fearing that Catherine wouldn't believe her, Cassandrahurriedly added, "You know how good Orion's chess skills are!

"The last time he participated in a similar competition, Orion achieved an excellent result of seventeenth place!

"This time... Orion said that as long as he can make it into the top ten, the prize money will exceed ten thousand Galleons. When that time comes... he'll definitely be able to pay you back!"

Hearing this, Jerry grinned, put down his cutlery, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood up.

"Excuse me."

Without explaining where he was going, he simply left them with a view of his back as he walked straight toward the Great Hall's exit.

Only after his figure disappeared did Catherine turn her gaze back to Cassandra, who still had her head lowered. The mocking curve at the corner of Catherine's mouth grew even more pronounced. "What, still raising money for your Prince Charming?

"How truly touching.

"But let me tell you, his affection is utterly worthless."

Cassandra bit her lip and remained silent.

"Come with me!"

Catherine stood up and looked down at her. "There's a shortcut. It just depends on whether you... have the guts."

With that, she didn't wait for Cassandra's response and walked straight toward the girls' bathroom.

Cassandra hesitated for a few seconds, but in the end, like a puppet on a string, she silently followed.

The bathroom was completely empty, with only the dripping of a faucet echoing clearly against the ancient stone walls.

Catherine walked straight to the innermost stall, pushed open the door, and motioned for Cassandra to enter.

Cassandra walked in, bewildered. The cramped space gave her a sense of oppression.

Catherine followed her inside, locking the stall door behind her, and then gestured with her chin toward the stone wall connecting to the adjacent stall.

"Look there."

Cassandra looked in the direction she indicated, only to find that at about waist height on the wall, a hole about the size of a fist with relatively smooth edges had appeared at some unknown point.

Chapter 70

The inside of the hole was pitch Black, making it impossible to see where it led.

"W-What is this?" Cassandra asked, a bit at a loss.

Catherine didn't answer her. Instead, with a playful smile, she commanded, "Squat down."

Cassandra hesitated, but under Catherine's cold gaze, she still humiliatedly bent her knees, her long Gothic dress spreading out on the floor.

The moment she squatted down completely, there was movement inside the Black hole in the wall.

A thick, menacing shaft slowly and inexorably extended from the hole, hanging straight in front of Cassandra.

The shaft was fully engorged, red, and menacing, with a trace of glistening fluid already seeping from the slit at the tip.

Veins pulsed along its thick shaft, which seemed to hold endless strength and heat with every slight throb, but a strong, musky scent belonging solely to a young boy washed over her, causing Cassandra's breath to catch instantly.

It was Jerry's!

Cassandra had seen it before, so she recognized it immediately.

After all, a shaft of this size was simply too iconic.

"Do you see it?"

Catherine squatted down as well, a mischievous smile on her face.

She reached out with her slender fingers and, as if playing with a beloved toy, gently traced a circle around the tip of the shaft, then scraped her nail against the pulsating veins.

Under her practiced teasing, even more fluid seeped from the tip of the shaft.

Catherine held her fluid-stained finger before Cassandra's eyes, and then said to her:

"You have fifteen minutes."

Her voice was very low, full of seduction: "Use any means necessary to make its owner ejaculate.

As long as you do it, I'll lend you that thousand Galleons, interest-free. All Orion has to do is return the Principal to me after the tournament is over."

She looked at Cassandra's slightly parted mouth in shock, her smile growing even more wicked: "But... if you can't do it, then after fifteen minutes, every minute of overtime will add fifty Galleons in interest.

Well, do we have a deal or not?"

Chapter 32: Senior, Is This Your Mother?

Beyond the oppressive silence of the bathroom stall, inside the narrow, dark water pipes behind the wall...

A silver-gray tabby cat was moving forward silently with elegant yet vigorous steps.

This was Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Transfiguration Professor, and... the nominal top-seeded player in this Wizard Chess Tournament.

Just moments ago, when she attempted to enter the Great Hall through the staff passage, she had almost immediately caused a minor commotion.

The reporters' flashing cameras, the warm greetings from Ministry of Magic officials, and the adoring gazes of the students surrounded her like an invisible net.

In order to reach her next classroom on time and avoid these unnecessary hassles, she decisively chose this ancient passage hidden within the Castle's wall cavities, known only to Minerva McGonagall and a few elderly staff members.

As a cat, Minerva McGonagall's senses were far sharper than in her human form.

She could hear the distant clanging of House-elves busy in the kitchen, and smell the ancient scent of dust mixed with magic wafting through the air.

However, just as she passed the section of the wall where the girls' bathroom was located, some discordant sounds reached her ears.

It wasn't the sound of dripping water, nor the weeping of a ghost, but... human voices, deliberately kept low.

McGonagall stopped in her tracks, her ears twitching alertly.

The source of the sound was very strange. It didn't seem to come from inside the bathroom, but rather... from inside the wall itself.

McGonagall curiously approached the wall and sniffed it.

An unfamiliar, human scent seeped from behind a stone brick that seemed to fit perfectly.

McGonagall gently nudged the stone with her front paw—it was actually loose.

Out of a teacher's sense of responsibility and concern for the Castle's security, McGonagall deftly used her paws and head to push open a crack in the disguised stone brick, slipping inside nimbly.

The sight before her caused her feline pupils to instantly contract into two vertical slits.

Inside the wall, a narrow space had actually been temporarily carved out by some clever Transfigurationspell, just large enough for a person to stand.

At this moment, Jerry was standing with his back to her, his trousers pulled down to his knees. That magnificent, terrifying shaft, completely disproportionate to his age, extended through a newly opened hole in the wall, reaching into the adjacent girls' bathroom stall.

And from the other side of the hole came the intermittent, hushed conversation and tense breathing of two girls.

As an experienced Witch who had lived for many years, McGonagall understood almost instantly what was happening.

The fur all over her body was about to stand on end!

Absurd! Simply utterly absurd!

Doing this kind of... shameless thing in a girls' bathroom at Hogwarts!

McGonagall instinctively wanted to transform back into her human form, rush out, and severely punish these audacious students using the strictest school rules.

However, when McGonagall clearly saw that the back belonged to Jerry, her impending anger inexplicably stalled.

It was him...

For some reason, once the culprit's identity was confirmed as Jerry, the pure, teacherly anger in McGonagall's heart quietly transformed into a much more complex and private emotion.

A kind of... curiosity that she herself couldn't quite explain.

She wanted to see what kind of tricks this little guy was playing.

Thus, Professor McGonagall, who should have been the upholder of order, quietly withdrew her body and covered the stone brick, leaving only an almost imperceptible gap.

She crouched in the dark pipe like a true, highly patient feline, quietly and with great interest observing everything with her eyes that remained bright even in the darkness.

Cassandra squatted on the floor, her body seemingly frozen.

She couldn't tear her gaze away from the magnificent shaft right in front of her.

The thing was filled with a primal, highly aggressive vitality. Every slight throb felt like a hammer blow to her already fragile nerves.

Her pure-blood noble upbringing, family honor, the reserve and morality instilled in her since childhood... all of it turned into a giant, silent mockery at this moment.

She had never imagined that one day she would face a man's desire in such a humiliating manner.

Her breathing grew rapid and shallow, her chest heaving, yet she felt as if she couldn't draw in a single breath of air.

All color drained from her face, which was adorned with exquisite Gothic makeup, leaving only a hint of dark red on her lips, which were now being bitten hard by her own teeth.

Looking at her state, Catherine's smile deepened even further.

She seemed to thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of trampling a proud pure-blood noble underfoot.

"What's the matter?

Still hesitating?"

Catherine's voice, like a viper's tongue, hissed into Cassandra's ears, "I must remind you, the clock is ticking.

Tick-tock... tick-tock... your Orion is still waiting outside for his entry fee.

Look at how happily he's chatting."

Catherine's words were like a needle, precisely piercing Cassandra's sorest spot.

She instinctively looked up. Though separated by a wall and a door, Orion's passionate smile—one she hadn't seen in a long time—as he directed it toward Alicia, vividly surfaced in her mind.

It's for him...

This thought was like a powerful drug, forcibly injected into Cassandra's near-collapsing mind.

Cassandra closed her eyes, her long, thick eyelashes trembling incessantly, as if making a final struggle.

When Cassandra opened her eyes again, there was no hesitation left in those beautiful eyes, only a desperate resolve of burning her bridges and... deep humiliation.

"Fine..." she squeezed out from between her teeth, her voice so raspy it didn't sound like her own.

"That's more like it." Catherine smiled with satisfaction, even reaching out to pat her shoulder like a reward. "Begin, my young lady.

Let me see how far you can go for your love."

Cassandra ignored Catherine's mockery.

Cassandra took a deep breath, and the musky smell mixed with a young boy's sweat and desire made her feel waves of nausea.

Suppressing her discomfort, Cassandra stiffly nudged her knees forward, drawing closer to the shaft that already seemed somewhat impatient from waiting.

Her delicate hands reached out somewhat hesitantly.

When her fingertips first touched the shaft, even through a thin layer of lace, she could feel a firm, scorching texture unlike normal human skin.

Cassandra's movements were green and clumsy.

Imitating what she had seen somewhere, she cupped the thick shaft in her palm and began to stroke it up and down.

Her movements were completely erratic, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. Rather than teasing, she was more like completing a task that made her sick.

"Oh?

Is this how our noble Miss Black serves a man?"

Catherine's voice rang out coldly beside her, "Your movements are even clumsier than a House-elf's in the kitchen.

This must be how you made Orion lose interest in you, right?"

These words caused Cassandra's movements to freeze, and her grip unconsciously tightened a bit.

Behind the wall next door, Jerry seemed to feel this forceful squeeze and let out a muffled groan.

Immediately after, the slit at the tip of the shaft suddenly stretched wide, and a stream of fluid, much thicker and clearer than before, gushed out, sliding down the curve of the head and wetting Cassandra's palm.

Seeing this liquid, Cassandra felt as if she had found a lifeline. She immediately let go, a look of relief appearing on her face.

She thought... it was over.

"Is that it?" She looked up at Catherine, her voice carrying a hint of pleading.

Looking at her naive expression, Catherine burst out laughing, as if she had just heard the funniest joke.

"My dear roommate, don't tell me you can't even distinguish pre-ejaculatory fluid from a man's actual release?"

Catherine's smile was filled with pity and disdain. "You want to call it a day with just this little bit?

Are you insulting me, or are you insulting... it?"

Before her words even faded, Catherine suddenly made her move. She grabbed Cassandra's long hair from behind and pushed down hard!

Cassandra had no time to react at all before her entire face was forcefully pressed right onto the shaft that was still dripping with fluid.

Her lips, coated in dark red lipstick, were forced to deeply envelop the burning head.

The heavy, musky smell and slimy texture instantly filled her mouth, causing her stomach to churn violently.

A painful whimper escaped from the depths of Cassandra's throat as she struggled violently.

The massive head forced open Cassandra's lips and teeth, roughly pressing against her soft palate, almost completely filling her mouth.

The intense foreign body sensation and feeling of suffocation made her instinctively gag. Tears welled up uncontrollably from the corners of her eyes, washing away her already smudged smoky makeup and leaving her looking even more disheveled.

Her hands flailed wildly in front of her, trying to grab onto something to push herself away, but one hand was pinned down hard by Catherine's knee, while her other hand could only feebly slap against the cold stall wall.

"Mmph... l-let... let go..."

Muffled, incoherent protests escaped from her lips, mixing with saliva squeezed out by the shaft as it dripped down the corner of her mouth.

"Let go?

I'm actually helping you, my young lady."

Catherine's voice was right in her ear, filled with joyful malice.

Instead of letting go, she increased her force, gripping Cassandra's hair and starting to control her head, moving it back and forth over the thick, hard shaft.

"Look, like this... use your throat to take it, don't bite with your teeth, you idiot."

While "guiding" her, Catherine forced Cassandra's head to make swallowing motions.

With every pull backward, Cassandra got a brief moment to catch her breath, but it was immediately followed by a deeper, rougher thrust.

The shaft rubbed against her tongue, and the hard head repeatedly slammed against her sensitive throat, triggering wave after wave of violent gagging.

"Tsk, tsk, truly useless."

Catherine seemed highly dissatisfied with Cassandra's clumsy reactions.

She temporarily stopped the movement, but still held Cassandra's head down firmly, making it impossible for her to break free.

Then, she used her other hand to pinch Cassandra's chin, forcing her to lift her face.

The phallus, made slippery and unbearable by saliva and mucus, temporarily exited Cassandra's mouth.

Catherine admired Cassandra's face, which was covered in tear stains, saliva, and a vacant expression.

Then, manipulating the still-pulsing phallus, she slowly rubbed its hideous head against Cassandra's face.

Catherine's voice carried a tone of impatient urging. She glanced at her wrist, and although there was no watch, she seemed to be calculating the time.

"Five minutes left!"

Catherine coldly announced, "My dear young lady, you don't have much time left.

For every minute that passes, the interest will increase by fifty Galleon.

Just think about it, by the time you scrape together enough money, your Orion will likely be holding someone else, celebrating his victory."

This sentence was like an ice pick, stabbing fiercely into Cassandra's heart.

Cassandra no longer hesitated in the slightest. She bent down, voluntarily opened her slightly swollen lips, and took the hideous phallus back inside.

This time, it was no longer passive endurance.

For that one thousand Galleon, for Orion, Cassandra forced herself to overcome the disgust and humiliation that stemmed from her very marrow and began to actively please the thing in front of her.

Cassandra even clumsily licked the coronal edge of the glans with her tongue, attempting to suck with her lips and rub with the inner walls of her mouth.

The cubicle was instantly filled with sounds that made one blush.

The slippery "slurp, slurp" sounds Cassandra made while taking the phallus in and out, mixed with the retching and whimpering caused by her discomfort, echoed in the cramped space. Cassandra's body rocked back and forth with the movement of her mouth, and her elaborate Gothic skirt rubbed against the floor, making a "rustling" sound.

However, no matter how hard Cassandra tried, the phallus only became more erect and engorged. The meatus at the tip continuously secreted more prostatic fluid, yet there was no sign of it ejaculating.

"Tsk, is that all you've got?" Catherine's mockery rang out again.

Cassandra's movements paused, and a feeling of despair surged into her heart like a tide.

Time was ticking away second by second, and Cassandracould feel that the patience of the boy behind the wall was reaching its limit.

No... I must succeed!

In an instant, a crazy thought occupied her mind.

She jerked her head up, took a deep breath, and then, as if going to her death, lunged her entire body forward toward the phallus!

"Mmph—hnn!"

A shrill, forcibly stifled cry of sorrow erupted from the depths of Cassandra's throat.

This time, it was no longer just a superficial attempt.

Cassandra closed her eyes, abandoning all resistance and technique, and let the thick phallus break through her throat's defenses, thrusting fiercely all the way down to the bottom!

It was an unprecedented feeling of expansion, one that almost tore Cassandra apart.

The hard glans rudely crushed against the sensitive soft tissue of Cassandra's throat, as if it were going to pierce right through her esophagus.

The intense feeling of suffocation caused Cassandra's vision to black out in waves. Her stomach churned, and physiological tears gushed out wildly like broken strings of pearls.

Cassandra's body twitched violently. Her hands gripped the cold wall tightly, and her fingernails made a "creaking" sound from the force.

However, this deeply humiliating, self-mutilating deep throat act brought the most direct result.

Jerry, behind the wall, suddenly stiffened.

A long-suppressed, low grunt erupted from his throat.

Almost at the same time, Cassandra felt the phallus deep in her throat begin to twitch and pulsate violently and rhythmically!

"Hhh... hhh..." Cassandra didn't even have time to pull the thing out.

A stream of scalding, thick liquid with a heavy, fishy smell, like a volcanic eruption, struck the depths of Cassandra's throat with great force.

The amount of liquid was astonishing; the first wave of impact left Cassandra's mind completely blank.

Immediately following were the second wave, the third wave... The continuous flow of heat could not be fully contained by Cassandra's throat, and mixed with her own saliva and tears, it overflowed from the corners of her mouth, ran down her chin, and dripped onto her black dress.

Jerry's phallus continued to ejaculate in her throat for nearly ten seconds before it finally stopped.

When Catherine finally let go and Cassandra collapsed to the floor like a pile of mud, she was in a state of utter disarray.

Cassandra knelt on the ground, coughing and retching violently, gasping for mouthfuls of cold air.

Her face, the corners of her mouth, her hair, and her elaborate, ornate Gothic dress were covered in white, viscous bodily fluids, emitting a scent she would never forget for the rest of her life.

Accompanied by a sticky "pop" sound, like pulling a cork out of a wine bottle, the phallus that had ravaged Cassandra's throat finally slowly withdrew from the hole in the wall and disappeared into the darkness.

On the wall around the hole, there were still a few streaks of semi-transparent white liquid that had splashed up from the force, slowly sliding down.

Catherine stood up and looked down at Cassandra, who was sprawled on the floor, with a gaze as if she were looking at a pile of used, worthless trash.

Catherine pulled out the Gringotts draft for one thousand Galleon that she had prepared in advance from her pocket. She loosened her fingers, letting the light parchment drift down like a falling leaf, spinning until it landed right on top of Cassandra's hair, which was stained with bodily fluids.

After doing all this, Catherine seemed unsatisfied.

Catherine squatted down again, extended her index finger, and gently scraped Cassandra's cheek, which was covered in semen, collecting some of the still-warm and viscous liquid.

Then, under Cassandra's gaze, which was filled with humiliation and emptiness, Catherine brought her finger to her mouth and elegantly licked the substance off with the tip of her tongue, as if she were tasting some top-tier dessert.

"Not bad!"

Catherine left this airy comment, stood up, straightened her robes, and without looking back, opened the cubicle door and walked straight out.

The sound of footsteps faded away in the empty restroom.

Meanwhile, Jerry, behind the wall, silently cast a Non-verbal Spell. His body turned into a phantom, passed directly through the thick stone wall of the Castle, and vanished without a trace.

From beginning to end, Jerry never noticed that in the pipe space just above his head, a pair of green cat eyes had been taking it all in.

In the dark pipes, Professor McGonagall, transformed into a tabby cat, let out a suppressed growl from her throat.

Professor McGonagall watched the student in the cubicle, who looked almost as if she were soaking in bodily fluids. She watched Cassandra's elaborate, ornate Gothic dress being stained by the foul liquid, and the heavy, pungent, fishy odor in the air even penetrated the cracks in the stone wall, drilling into her nostrils.

As a cat, her sense of smell was amplified countless times.

That scent... was simply too heavy.

McGonagall twitched her nose slightly, and a strange heat—one that she herself felt ashamed of—rose from the depths of her body.

She had no choice but to forcefully suppress this untimely physiological reaction. Daring not to look another second, she turned around silently and, with the fastest speed, like a silver-gray bolt of lightning, traveled through the dim pipes, fleeing from this place of trouble.

However, at the very last moment before McGonagall left, a whisper that only she could hear, filled with disbelief, leaked out from her cat mouth:

"So big, so much... how is this possible..."

---

Today's Potion Class was held in the cold and damp underground classroom.

Unlike other classes, Potion Class was almost a collective activity for the entire Slytherin House. Students from higher and lower grades were squeezed together, making the already crowded classroom seem even more packed.

The air was filled with the mixed smells of various strange medicinal herbs and boiling cauldrons. The torches burning on the walls cast flickering light and shadows, making the students' faces appear in and out of the light.

Although the excitement of the Wizard Chess Tournamenthad not yet passed, the entire classroom was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

The source of this order was not Professor Slughorn, who had not yet arrived, but the two female Prefects sitting in the center of the first row—Isabella and Fiona Shafiq.

As the head and deputy Prefects of the seventh year, their very existence was a form of invisible authority. Under their calm gaze, no one dared to speak loudly.

Just then, the classroom door was pushed open.

Catherine walked in unhurriedly, holding the heavy "Advanced Potion-Making".

There was not a hint of anything unusual on Catherine's face. Her steps were steady, as if everything that happened in the restroom this morning were just a nightmare that had nothing to do with her. She walked straight to the first row, sat down in the empty seat next to Isabella, and placed her book on the table.

The moment Catherine sat down, the delicate nose of Isabella, who was beside her, twitched slightly.

A very faint scent, yet one that carried a certain unique, fishy sweetness and the smell of bodily fluids, drifted into her nostrils, now and then.

This scent... was very familiar.

Isabella's gaze lingered on Catherine's face for a few seconds. A trace of inquiry flashed in her deep eyes, but she ultimately said nothing.

She just elegantly opened her textbook and asked in a nonchalant tone, "Where is Cassandra? She's going to be late too."

Catherine let out an inaudible scoff. She twirled a lock of her hair with the end of her quill. Her voice was not loud, but it was clear enough for the few people around to hear: "Who knows? Perhaps... she's hiding in some corner, showing off her affection with her promising 'chess player' boyfriend."

As soon as she finished speaking, the classroom door was pushed open again.

The person who walked in this time was Cassandra.

She had changed into a clean school robe and reapplied her makeup. The iconic smoky makeup covered her red, swollen eye sockets, making her look no different from usual, only her complexion was paler than usual.

Cassandra kept her head down, walking hurriedly, as if she wanted to find the most inconspicuous corner to hide in.

However, the moment she passed the first row of desks and walked by Isabella, Isabella's movements stopped.

That familiar scent, once again, and with absolute clarity, drilled into her nostrils.

If what was on Catherine was just a lingering, faint trace, then what Cassandra brought with her was simply a storm of scent.

The scent was so rich that it was as if it had just been stained from the source. It penetrated the freshness of the soap and the cover of her perfume, domineeringly declaring its existence.

It was a very unique scent, mixed with two completely different aromas.

It had both the faint, milky fragrance of fresh milk and the fresh, grassy scent of crushed grass after the rain clears.

These two scents intertwined, forming something highly aggressive that could easily stir up one's most primitive desires.

Isabella's pupils shrank sharply.

Isabella finally remembered this scent.

Isabella slowly turned her head, her gaze locked, pinned firmly onto Cassandra's slightly flustered back.

Then, Isabella's gaze slowly moved back to the face of Catherine, who was beside her, pretending to be absorbed in her book.

Fiona Shafiq was sitting on the other side of Isabella.

She keenly noticed her companion's subtle yet unusual behavior.

Seeing Isabella's head first turn toward Cassandra, who had walked past them, her gaze like a falcon, locked onto the other girl's flustered back.

Then, Isabella's head turned back with a look that could almost be described as cold scrutiny, her gaze falling on the face of Catherine, who was turning the pages of her book beside her.

Throughout the whole process, Isabella's expression did not change in the slightest, but Fiona read a hint of danger in her slightly narrowed eyes.

What was going on?

Fiona was a bit confused.

She leaned slightly toward Isabella, lowered her voice, and was just about to ask.

However, before her words could be spoken, the heavy oak door of the underground classroom was pushed open from the outside.

Accompanied by a dull "creaking" sound, a figure walked in against the light from the corridor.

It was a woman wearing a well-tailored dark green robe. Her posture was upright, her face serious, and her long black hair was meticulously coiled at the back of her head. As she walked, she carried an unquestionable air of authority.

Her footsteps were very light, but every step seemed to fall on the hearts of all the students present, making the already quiet classroom sink into a silence that was almost stagnant.

Everyone looked up, curiously sizing up this strange, powerful Witch.

Fiona, like everyone else, cast her gaze over. But at just one glance, the expression on her face changed from confusion to astonishment.

The calm self-restraint she had always maintained as a Prefect cracked at this moment.

"Mother?"

A very light, almost inaudible whisper escaped from her lips.

That's right, the person who walked into the classroom was actually her mother, a high-ranking official at the Ministry of Magic who was usually so busy she was almost never seen.

That Witch known as "Mother," who was Fiona's mother—Eleonora Shafiq—just glanced at her daughter indifferently. There was not a hint of warmth in her eyes, only the scrutiny of a superior toward a subordinate.

She did not respond to Fiona's whisper but walked up to the podium and tapped the table lightly with her wand.

"Bang!"

A crisp sound made all the students sit up straight unconsciously.

"It seems Horace has taught you well; at least you still understand classroom discipline."

Eleonora's voice was cold and flat, without any emotional color. "Let me introduce myself; I am Eleonora Shafiq.

From today on, I will be taking over from ProfessorSlughorn as your Potion Class teacher."

Chapter 72

A subtle, irrepressible stir rippled through the classroom.

Although Professor Slughorn was somewhat biased, he was generally a kind and amiable old man, and his classes were relatively relaxed.

But this woman before them, just by standing there, radiated an oppressive aura that made it hard to breathe.

Eleonora seemed to have anticipated the students' reaction; she scanned the room, letting her gaze linger briefly on her daughter, Isabella, and several other heirs of pure-blood families, before continuing in the tone of an official announcement:

"I presume some of you are feeling confused.

Let me explain briefly.

Just last week, the Hogwarts Board of Governors officially passed the latest education reform act proposed by the Ministry of Magic."

"The core of the act is that, in order to better prepare everyone to adapt to the increasingly complex social environment after graduation, important courses closely related to practical combat, such as Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, will no longer be taught by scholars who remain in their ivory towers conducting research."

Eleonora paused, her sharp gaze sweeping over every young face.

"Instead, it will be us."

Eleonora's words were concise, "A group... of Wizards who have just come down from the 'front lines,' who truly understand how to use magic to fight and to survive. You may call us War Wizards, or, simply call me ProfessorShafiq."

"Starting with my class, you will no longer waste your time brewing those flashy Potions that only serve to please examiners.

What you will learn is how to create, in the shortest amount of time and with the most limited materials, things that can truly save your life or kill your enemies at a critical moment.

I hope everyone is mentally prepared."

Eleonora's words echoed through the underground classroom, each syllable like a cold stone striking the students' hearts.

There was a deathly silence in the classroom; the relaxed atmosphere previously brought about by the tournament had been completely replaced by an unprecedented sense of solemnity.

War Wizards... front lines... kill your enemies. For most students who had grown up in peacetime, these words were too distant and too heavy.

Fiona straightened her back, placing her hands flat on the desktop, looking more focused than ever, fully embodying the posture a Prefect should have.

But only Fiona knew that under the pressure of her mother's tangible gaze, her fingertips were icy, and her heart was beating uncontrollably fast.

In Fiona's heart, her mother had never been a symbol of warmth, but a mountain.

A mountain that stood there forever, towering into the clouds, cold, hard, and silent.

Every effort Fiona had made since she was a child—achieving every "A."

Becoming the Prefect, maintaining impeccable conduct...

Everything was just to climb one small step up this mountain, hoping to receive even a momentary glance and recognition from the summit.

However, the higher Fiona climbed, the more she could feel the mountain's majesty and the height she could never reach.

That sense of suppression made Fiona feel constant fear, terrified that if she did anything less than perfectly, she would fall from the place she had worked so hard to climb, back into the abyss.

In this suffocating atmosphere, the classroom's heavy oak door was pushed open with a "creak" once again.

A figure sauntered in lazily.

It was Jerry.

Eleonora's gaze, like two ice-tempered searchlights, instantly locked onto the uninvited guest at the door.

Eleonora did not raise her voice; her tone remained flat, yet it carried an unquestionable chill.

"This student, you are late."

However, the laziness and rudeness expected did not appear.

Jerry did not hesitate in the slightest; he walked quickly to the podium, bowed slightly, his voice filled with sincere apology: "I am very sorry, Professor, I apologize for my lateness.

I had to handle some personal matters, which delayed me."

Jerry did not know the other person's name, but that "Professor" was spoken with humility and standard etiquette.

This completely different reaction surprised the students in the classroom who had been preparing to watch a show.

There was still no expression on Eleonora's face, but her sharp, hawk-like gaze lingered on Jerry for a longer time.

Eleonora ignored his apology and simply spoke flatly: "Since you know you made a mistake, I assume you wouldn't mind making up for the missed lesson by participating in the practical work?"

"Of course I don't mind, Professor.

It is my honor."

Jerry replied immediately; his answer was quick and decisive, without the slightest hint of reluctance at being forced.

He took the initiative to walk up to the podium, stood in the position Eleonora designated, straightened his back, and waited for instructions.

Eleonora walked around him, her scrutinizing gaze as if she were evaluating a rare magical material.

Just as she passed by Jerry, his nose twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Professor!" he suddenly spoke, his tone carrying a hint of uncertain inquiry, "Please forgive my presumption, but is that the scent of a mixture of moonstone powder and dragon blood on the hem of your robes?

I only read about it in a rare copy of 'The Most Potent Potions'; the combination of these two materials, without magical catalysis, produces a unique scent similar to licorice and metal."

Once these words were spoken, even Eleonora's steps faltered.

She turned her head, looking at the boy before her properly for the first time.

Her eyes were no longer just scrutinizing; there was now a hint of unexpected curiosity.

A student who looked like a first-year, actually able to distinguish such a rare and inert material combination solely by smell?

"Your sense of smell and knowledge base are both more outstanding than I anticipated."

Eleonora's voice had a slight tremor for the first time; although still cold, it was less indifferent, "Very talented."

"It seems choosing you as my assistant was the right decision."

Eleonora turned around and said to the students below: "The first lesson of Potions in wartime is identifying and utilizing the 'materials' most easily obtained from our own bodies.

Today, we will demonstrate an efficient tracking and marking Potion."

Eleonora picked up an empty crystal vial, turned to Jerry, and revealed an inscrutable smile.

"The potency of this Potion is directly related to the freshness and vitality of the core material.

A robust, life-force-filled male bodily fluid is the key to its success.

And you!"

Eleonora's gaze swept over Jerry, this time not with implied humiliation, but with an evaluation bordering on appreciation, "Having just engaged in sufficient... 'activity,' the life energy within your body is at its peak of activity.

Without a doubt, you are the most perfect specimen provider for today."

These words made Cassandra bury her head even lower in the audience.

However, Eleonora did not actually make Jerry provide that kind of "specimen" in class.

Eleonora simply took out a small silver knife and deftly cut a small lock of hair from the top of Jerry's head.

"Besides the core material, a tracking Potion also requires a clear 'anchor point.'

Hair is the best choice."

As she spoke, she dropped Jerry's hair into a cauldron that had already been prepared on the table.

The subsequent demonstration was a completely new experience for all the students in the classroom.

Eleonora's movements were dazzlingly fast, with not a single word of unnecessary explanation, without a hint of hesitation.

The addition of materials, the control of the flames, and the technique of stirring were all as precise as a textbook.

She didn't even chant a single spell; many steps that required magical catalysis were completed through some special technique.

Jerry stood to the side, watching intently.

He could understand at least forty percent of the steps, but precisely because he understood, he was even more aware of how terrifying the Potions expertise of the woman before him was.

Just as Eleonora reached out to stir one last time with a glass rod, Jerry's gaze was drawn to a ring on her hand.

It was a cat-shaped silver ring, with two tiny obsidian stones inlaid where the cat's eyes would be, exquisitely crafted and ancient in style.

The demonstration ended quickly.

The Potion in the cauldron finally took on a translucent, gel-like state that slowly writhed as if alive.

"Demonstration complete."

Eleonora used a cleaning spell to restore the podium to its original state, then waved at Jerry, "Return to your seat."

Jerry nodded, walked down from the podium, and sat down in an empty seat next to Malfoy.

"Hey, Malfoy!"

He lowered his voice, "What is the name of this new female Professor?"

Malfoy glanced at him, his tone carrying a hint of confusion: "You don't even know who she is?

Eleonora Shafiq, a prominent figure in the Ministry of Magic.

A Witch of master-level Potions."

Eleonora... Shafiq.

The moment this name entered Jerry's mind, it perfectly overlapped with a fragment deep in his memory and the style of the snake-shaped ring he had just seen.

On the Rosier Family's ledger, this name was indeed there...

"Ding-dong!"

[System Notification]: Daily quest triggered.

[Quest Name]: The War Witch's Old Debt

[Quest Objective]: Confirm a 30,000 Galleon old debt with Eleonora Shafiq within twenty-four hours, and successfully recover no less than 70% of the debt (i.e., 21,000 Galleons).

[Quest Reward]: Passive skill [Intermediate PotionsAffinity], 50 Family Prestige Points.

[Failure Penalty]: [Failure Penalty]: Acquire permanent negative status [War Witch's Resentment].

[Status Effect — Deadly Mark]: Eleonora Shafiq will view you as a threat that must be eliminated.

Outside the protection of Hogwarts school rules, you will become her priority test subject for all her lethal Potions.

Her initial hostility towards you will be permanently locked as [Endless Enmity].

Looking at the lines of scarlet penalty clauses before him, Jerry's eyelid twitched involuntarily.

Before he had time to digest the penalty of this life-or-death quest, Eleonora on the podium made a new move.

Eleonora picked up the crystal vial filled with the translucent, gel-like Potion, her sharp eyes suddenly turning to Jerry who had just sat down, a flash of coldness seeming to flicker deep in her gaze, similar to a signal that "the test begins."

Immediately after, under the astonished gaze of the entire class, Eleonora flicked her wrist and smashed the crystal vial down hard!

"Crash!"

The crisp sound of shattering was exceptionally harsh in the deathly silent classroom.

The crystal vial shattered into pieces, and the translucent, gel-like liquid inside, which had been writhing as if alive, splashed out instantly.

But eerily, the viscous liquid did not flow on the ground like ordinary liquid; instead, the moment it touched the ground, it turned into a colorless and odorless mist, rapidly evaporating and disappearing.

However, this was only the beginning.

The very next second after the Potion vial shattered, a soft yet distinct pale green light burst forth from Jerry's body.

The light did not come from his skin or clothing, but seemed to seep out from every cell and every blood vessel inside his body.

The light was not blinding, but it carried a penetrative quality that could not be blocked by anything, shrouding his entire person, like a glowing, incredibly clear human target in the dark of night.

She looked at the glowing Jerry, her lips curling into a cold arc.

"And now, Student Jerry, you are that torch."

Her voice echoed in the classroom, "Stand up, turn around, and let everyone see the effect of the Potion clearly."

The order was unquestionable.

Jerry took a deep breath and stood up from his seat.

As Jerry stood up, the pale green light shrouding him seemed to become even brighter and more penetrative.

Jerry's well-fitting Slytherin school robes, under the transmission of the light, turned into a layer of translucent gauze.

The students let out a suppressed gasp.

Under the light, Jerry's body silhouette was clearly outlined.

His figure was still thin, his shoulders not broad, his limbs slender, still carrying the delicate feeling characteristic of a young man.

Chapter 73

However, on this adolescent frame, something seemed out of place.

The most eye-catching part was between Jerry's legs.

The soft green light ruthlessly pierced through the fabric, displaying the outline of the object between Jerry's thighs with startling clarity, even with a sense of three-dimensionality, before the entire class.

It was a massive, shockingly large phallus, completely disproportionate to Jerry's age and build.

Even in a soft, flaccid state, it still presented a heavy, highly prominent silhouette.

Both its length and girth far exceeded that of a boy, and even surpassed the dimensions most adult Wizards should have.

It hung there quietly, like a part belonging to a Giant that had been wrongly installed on a delicate model.

The breathing of several girls in the front row of the classroom hitched.

Cassandra's expression became incredibly complex, as if the memory of being roughly filled not long ago had begun to haunt the depths of her body again.

Isabella narrowed her eyes slightly, her gaze lingering on that astonishing outline for several seconds, revealing a mixture of assessment and shame in her eyes.

Even Fiona, who was usually calm and self-possessed, could not help but avert her gaze, a trace of an unnatural blush appearing on her cheeks.

"Did you see that?"

Eleonora's voice was like a scalpel, precisely dissecting the scene before her. She was not moved in the slightest by the exposure of that massive object, simply saying in a pure, researcher's tone: "The light of the Marking Potionwill preferentially attach to the body of the marked person."

"Just like this!"

Chapter 33: Wait, things shouldn't have developed this way, Professor!

For Wizards with talent, Potions was indeed a course full of the joy of exploration.

Jerry was one of them.

To Jerry, this subject was like the most precise chemical experiment, filled with infinite possibilities.

Every fusion of materials, every movement of magic, seemed to trigger a wonderful reaction in his heart. Jerrycould foresee the changes in color, smell, and even form of the Potion in the cauldron, as if they were no longer cold recipes and formulas before him, but individuals with life.

Jerry watched Eleonora Shafiq's demonstration with rapt attention, not missing a single detail; his brain greedily absorbed all knowledge like a sponge.

He even occasionally wrote down some symbols and shorthand that others couldn't understand in his notebook, the corners of his mouth occasionally curling into a smile of excitement after encountering a difficult problem, or a sudden realization.

This did not mean that Jerry had a very high talent for Potions.

It was just because, in his personal information bar, a 'Potions Beginner' tag had appeared.

This allowed him to keep up with Eleonora Shafiq's train of thought faster.

However, for those little Wizards with mediocre talent, or those who hadn't found resonance in this subject, every minute and every second of Potions became a torment.

Eleonora Shafiq's machine-like, precise, and efficient teaching style had no procrastination or fun to speak of, directly throwing them into a deep sea of high intensity and high thresholds.

Obscure and difficult theories, extremely complex magicinfusion techniques, and the pressure of potential mistakes leading to cauldron explosions turned the class into a long and boring torture.

Before the course was even halfway through, low snoring had already risen one after another in the classroom.

The eyes of the vast majority of students seemed frozen, staring blankly at their notes or looking vaguely out the window, but in fact, their pupils had already lost focus.

Their necks remained stiff in the same posture for a long time, until they couldn't resist the sleepiness, and their heads would suddenly drop, hitting the desktop heavily with a dull thud, drawing chuckles from surrounding classmates, followed by falling into a new round of dead silence and lethargy.

Looking around, not only the lower-grade students, but even those seventh-year senior students who should have been knowledgeable and strong-willed, more than half looked exhausted, their eyes drifting.

They might force themselves to take notes, but the nibs of their pens slid randomly across the paper without any order, and the sloppy handwriting could not form any meaningful content at all.

A few boys had completely given up resistance, lying on the tables and entering dreamland, even beginning to emit slight snoring.

Even Isabella, the Prefect who was usually energetic and strived for perfection, couldn't help but rub her brow, forcing herself to refocus her attention on the podium.

Only Catherine and Fiona were still trying hard to maintain a proper sitting posture, but the confusion and exhaustion that occasionally appeared in their eyes also indicated their inner struggle at this moment.

Indeed, Fiona was almost forcing herself to maintain one hundred percent focus.

Her back was straight, and her quill moved rapidly on the parchment, recording every key point.

But this was only because it was her mother standing on the podium.

However, her furrowed brows and occasionally pausing pen tip still exposed her difficulty in keeping up with Eleonora's rhythm.

On the other hand, the situation with Catherine was even more complex.

To be fair, in this classroom, if one were to say whose Potions talent could be compared to Jerry's PotionsBeginner tag, I'm afraid it was only Catherine.

Not to mention her attainments in Curse-breaking; being able to single-handedly crack the ancient curses of Gringotts' deep vaults was enough to prove that Catherine's understanding of the essence of magic had already far exceeded her peers.

In Potions, Catherine was an out-and-out "unorthodox" genius.

Without guidance from famous teachers, relying solely on self-study from various forbidden books and ancient texts, Catherine could already concoct violent poisons that even Dark Wizards in Knockturn Alley feared.

But at this moment, this self-taught genius felt unprecedented difficulty.

Catherine's difficulty was completely different from those sleepy students.

She could understand every knowledge point Eleonorataught, and even understand the logic behind those seemingly crazy recipes.

The problem was that what Eleonora taught was a complete, harsh, and standardized "war system."

Every step, every infusion of magic, was quantified to the extreme, emphasizing absolute efficiency, stability, and reproducibility.

And Catherine's Potions was an "art" full of spirituality, intuition, and personal style.

Catherine was accustomed to adjusting recipes according to the subtle differences in materials and her own current inspiration; her successes often carried a touch of improvisation.

Now, Eleonora was effectively forcing Catherine to abandon her own wild-growing but effective "crude methods," to learn a seamless "standard procedure" like a military manual.

This made Catherine feel like a hunter accustomed to fighting with a dagger in the jungle, but who had been forced into a phalanx, required to be like everyone else, using the same angle and the same force to thrust a spear.

Catherine could understand the power of this system, but to completely reverse her own thinking pattern made her feel an unprecedented stagnation and discomfort, as if her hands and feet were bound by invisible shackles.

This made her doubt her own talent, which she was proud of, for the first time.

Just at this moment, a hand was raised without warning, interrupting Eleonora's explanation, which was as smooth as an order for a forced march.

It was Jerry.

He also felt the same feeling.

What Eleonora taught was undoubtedly powerful and efficient, but it was a system that stripped away all personal spirituality and turned Potions into a pure, cold war engineering discipline.

Every step was precise to the millisecond, and every magicoutput was quantified into standard units.

For ordinary Wizards, this might be a shortcut to quickly form combat effectiveness, but for people like him and Catherine who were gifted and accustomed to freely splashing inspiration in the ocean of Potions, this system was like a beautiful but completely ill-fitting shackle, forcibly locking their uninhibited talent into a standardized mold.

This was a key point Jerry had found.

It was also an opportunity to complete a daily task.

This suddenly arrived daily task only gave Jerry twenty-four hours, which meant Jerry didn't have more time to dawdle.

The only breakthrough point was now.

Jerry had to use the way she was most proud of and could best understand to crack a fissure in her heart.

Facing Eleonora's emotionless questioning, Jerry did not back down in the slightest.

As a first-year student who had just enrolled and hadn't even learned all the basic spells, his actions, in the eyes of everyone, were tantamount to seeking his own death.

"Professor!"

Jerry's voice remained steady, "What you have demonstrated is the result."

"But Potions, or indeed any true discipline, has its core in the process, in understanding."

"You require us to replicate your every movement precisely, like a group of well-trained House-elves, yet you are stingy with explaining the principles behind these actions, and why such wonderful resonance occurs between the materials."

"This can indeed create qualified 'products,' but it will never cultivate a true 'master.'"

These words plunged the entire classroom into a dead silence.

Even Malfoy looked at Jerry with the eyes of someone looking at a madman.

A first-year student, lecturing a long-established Witch of Potions on how to teach?

Eleonora's eyes narrowed slightly, a look that would only appear when a beast was locking onto its prey.

The lines of Eleonora's mouth tightened even more, and her voice was three degrees colder than before: "Then, Mr. Rosier, in your opinion, what is true 'teaching'?"

Eleonora deliberately emphasized the title "Mr. Rosier," as if reminding him that what he represented was the family behind him.

"Practice." Jerry spat out two words.

Jerry reached out and pointed to the remaining Potionmaterials on the podium.

"No matter how much theory there is, it is not as convincing as a successful concoction."

"Since you believe your system is the most efficient, and I believe that spirituality and understanding are the soul of Potions."

"Then, why don't we verify it ourselves?"

His voice was not loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears.

"Let's use the Tracking Potion you just demonstrated."

"You provide the materials, and we start at the same time."

"You use your standardized procedure, and I use my method."

"Finally, let the effect of the finished product speak for itself."

The entire classroom was silent.

All the sleepy students now widened their eyes, all sleepiness gone.

A first-year student, in the first class, launched a public, dignity-betting Potions duel against a new Professor with unfathomable strength.

Eleonora did not answer immediately.

She just looked at Jerry; in those deep eyes, something seemed to be stirring under a frozen lake.

The silence in the classroom was so oppressive that it made people breathless, and even breathing became a sin.

A few seconds later, Eleonora suddenly smiled.

It was not a warm smile, but rather like the cold light reflected by a blade under moonlight. The corners of Eleonora's mouth just lifted slightly, forming a cold and hard arc.

"Commendable courage, Mr. Rosier."

Eleonora's voice was calm, but carried an unquestionable pressure, "Or, extremely stupid."

Eleonora walked out from behind the podium, the sound of her high heels hitting the floor sounding like a countdown to death, each step treading on the students' hearts.

Eleonora paced to Jerry's desk, looking down at him from a superior position.

"Since you are so confident, thinking that your bit of wild'spirituality' can challenge a'system' tested by countless wars, then, the challenge needs a price."

Her gaze swept across the room.

"If you lose, Slytherin will be deducted fifty points because of your arrogance."

"And you!" Eleonora's gaze locked back onto Jerry's face, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness: "To let you deeply experience what'standardized' power is, you need to drink the Transfiguration Potion I personally concocted in front of the whole class and turn into a mouse."

"The duration is twenty-four hours."

Turn into a mouse, twenty-four hours.

This punishment was far more vicious than deducting points. It deprived a Wizard of their dignity, turning him into the weakest, most humble creature, at the mercy of others.

Everyone gasped.

Eleonora looked at Jerry, waiting for him to back down.

"I agree."

Jerry's answer had no hesitation. He met Eleonora's gaze and calmly accepted this bet that could be called humiliating.

"Very good."

Eleonora nodded, seemingly satisfied with this result.

Eleonora turned and walked back to the podium, flicking her wand gently, and a brand-new cauldron and a full set of materials automatically flew to the empty table in front of Jerry, exactly the same as the set on her podium.

"Then, let's begin."

Eleonora's voice returned to coldness, "Let's use the topic of our class—the Efficient Tracking and Marking Potion."

"Let's see how much your'soul' is actually worth."

Just at the moment Eleonora announced the start and was about to deal with the materials, Jerry spoke again, interrupting her.

"Wait, Professor."

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