Malfoy's earth-shattering roar plunged the entire arena into a bizarre, deathly silence.
The cheers, screams, and chattering all vanished in an instant.
Every eye—spectators, referees, and competitors alike—shifted simultaneously from the victor by the chessboard to the flushed first-year standing in the stands.
After a brief moment of silence, the crowd exploded.
There were cold, mocking laughs, disdainful boos, and angry curses.
Of course, a few people wore expressions of curiosity and approval.
"What utter nonsense!"
In the Ministry officials' section, a middle-aged wizard with a ruthless face stood up abruptly, pointing down at Malfoy. "The Elven Wisdom spell is the most profound branch of Blessing Magic. That kind of spell merges with the recipient's soul; it is absolutely impossible to detect! Stop trying to seek attention here."
His words immediately drew a wave of agreement, with many nodding their heads in approval.
This was almost a universal consensus in the wizarding world.
Cassandra's face twisted slightly with anger.
However, before she could speak, a cool and melodious voice rang out through the venue.
It was Katherine.
She stood up elegantly, her calm gaze fixed on Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy, do you have evidence? Slandering a champion of the tournament is a very serious accusation. If you have proof, please bring it out for everyone to see."
Malfoy's confidence was clearly lacking; his lips trembled. But thinking of his impending fate of bankruptcy, he gritted his teeth, stiffened his neck, and said, "O-Of course I do!"
"Very well." Katherine nodded, then gave a light flick of her wand.
A soft light erupted from her wand tip, enveloping Malfoy.
The next second, Malfoy's image was enlarged and projected clearly into the air above the arena. Every subtle expression on his face and every hesitant glance was exposed to tens of thousands of watching eyes.
Still standing on the throne, Orion's face had turned somewhat dark, but he maintained a composed expression on the surface, even spreading his hands toward the projection in the sky. "Detect whatever you want. The innocent remain innocent. I did not cheat."
In the corners of the stands, those wizards who had bet on Orion in the underground pool began to whisper accusations.
"Is this guy Malfoy? Can't handle a loss, so he claims the other guy cheated?"
"Exactly. He probably just doesn't want to pay up. He's looking for trouble!" These voices weren't loud, but in this delicate atmosphere, they were like needles stabbing into Malfoy's heart one by one, further increasing the pressure on him.
Just as Malfoy was about to be crushed by this mountain of pressure, a familiar voice, like a ghost, rang clearly in his ear:
"It's okay, Malfoy. Everything is handled. Release it according to the incantation I taught you."
It was Jerry!
Jerry's voice acted like a shot of adrenaline, instantly dispelling all the panic and hesitation in Malfoy's heart.
He took a deep breath, and his previously cowering eyes became firm again.
Meanwhile, in the VIP seats at the highest point of the arena, the atmosphere was equally tense.
"Professor McGonagall, are your Hogwarts students always this arrogant?"
"Clearly, before the match began, we conducted complete anti-cheating scans on all players. Now, he performs such a stunt for attention. This is a direct insult to the fairness of the entire tournament!"
This wizard was an official from the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
But clearly, his purpose in attacking now wasn't necessarily to uphold so-called fairness and justice.
Professor McGonagall's face darkened. Her stern gaze caused the surrounding temperature to drop several degrees.
She was about to speak, but before she could, Amelia, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sitting beside her, put down her teacup. She slowly turned her head and looked at the speaking official with a gaze so calm it was hair-raising.
"What?"
Amelia's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority. "Do you have an objection?"
Those few simple words caused the smug expression on the official's face to freeze.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something to save face.
Click! A crisp sound rang out.
Rita Skeeter, who was frantically taking photos of Malfoy's image in the sky not far away, also turned her spectacle-clad face.
The Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand danced excitedly on the parchment, while her magic camera had already turned its lens. The green flash aimed precisely at the official's face, flashing several times without mercy.
"Don't move, sir!"
Rita spoke in her cloyingly sweet voice. "I find your viewpoint just now very interesting. Perhaps it could be tomorrow's front-page headline for the Daily Prophet? I've even thought of the title—'Ministry Official Publicly Questions the Judgment of the Head of Law Enforcement.' What do you think?"
The words at the official's lips were like a stone blocking his throat, forcibly choked back.
His face turned blue and white. Facing the embodiment of magical law and the embodiment of public opinion, he didn't dare say another word and could only sit back down dejectedly.
Amelia's gaze didn't linger on the now-irrelevant official for even a second.
Her sight swept over the crowd, locking onto a corner of the distant stands with the precision of a hawk.
There, a middle-aged wizard was quietly rising from his seat, attempting to slip away in the crowd.
It was Barnes, one of the top sixteen players in this tournament who had also shown extraordinary levels in previous matches.
"It seems more than one fish has taken the bait," Amelia muttered to herself, her lips curling into a cold arc.
Amelia turned her head toward Selina, who was sitting upright nearby.
The Department Head from the Ministry currently had her arms crossed, her pretty face tight. Her sharp eyes were staring dead at the arena below, her jaw pulsing slightly. She looked like she was watching someone, but in reality, her eyes were completely vacant.
God knows what she was thinking.
Clearly, she was still gritting her teeth over being toyed with by that little brat Jerry earlier. Her whole being radiated a low-pressure aura of "I am very pissed off."
"Oh, look at our great Lady Wizard Selina!"
Amelia spoke in a slightly teasing tone. "It looks like you've got a stomach full of fire with nowhere to vent. Why not take this chance to stretch your limbs?"
Amelia casually tossed a slip of paper.
"This is an arrest warrant. On the grounds of 'suspected use of prohibited Blessing-class spells in an official event'."
Selina extended two slender fingers, catching the drifting paper with an elegant posture.
She glanced at the content, then shot a cold look at the figure in the distance walking faster and faster. A disdainful snort escaped her nose.
The next moment, she didn't waste any more breath.
Selina's figure blurred instantly in her seat, wobbling like a reflection in water, and then she transformed into an almost undetectable shadow, vanishing silently from the spot.
Amelia watched the direction where Selina had disappeared, shook her head with a bit of amusement, and whispered to Professor McGonagall beside her:
"It looks like her anger hasn't dissipated yet!"
"Hmph!" Professor McGonagall emitted her signature nasal sound of obvious dissatisfaction.
"I would hope she could be more professional rather than bringing personal emotions into her work. Whether at the Ministry or at Hogwarts, it is not her private dueling ground."
While they were having their brief conversation, the situation at the arena had reached its most critical point.
Malfoy, projected in mid-air, felt all his hesitation vanish after receiving Jerry's assurance.
Malfoy took a deep breath. Under the gaze of tens of thousands, he raised his wand without delay, the tip pointing straight down at Orion, who was still sitting comfortably on his throne.
Immediately after, Malfoy exerted all his strength and loudly recited an ancient, tongue-twisting incantation—the very spell Jerry had transmitted to him to reveal the truth.
Accompanying Malfoy's chant, a ball of bright blue light erupted from his wand tip, tracing a beautiful arc through the air as it shot toward Orion.
However, the expected scene of exposing the cheating did not occur.
The blue light had no effect on Orion whatsoever.
In the stands, the expressions of many experienced wizards turned strange.
A wave of whispering spread through the crowd.
This was because they recognized the magic's vibration and structure—it wasn't a detection spell or an attack spell at all. It was a rather sophisticated spell used for long-distance voice transmission.
"What is he doing? That's a voice transmission spell!"
"My god, does he think we're all idiots? Using a voice transmission spell to accuse someone of cheating?"
Malfoy became a ridiculous joke in everyone's eyes.
Jeers and mocking boos came from all directions, merging into a noisy wave of sound that hammered against Malfoy.
In the aerial projection, his flushed face now looked more like a clown's.
By the chessboard, Orion was stunned at first, and then he erupted into unbridled laughter.
He laughed so hard his body bent, his face full of contempt and disdain.
"Is that it? This is your so-called evidence?" Orion shouted at the top of his lungs.
But at that very moment, a teasing voice rang out without warning and with absolute clarity directly inside Orion's mind.
It was a voice only Orion could hear.
"The game is just beginning."
It was Jerry's voice.
Immediately following it was an extremely short incantation.
Orion's laughter stopped abruptly.
In an instant, a complex and ancient leaf mark composed of emerald light flashed violently on Orion's forehead!
The light was so striking it seemed as though it were being projected from the depths of his very soul.
At the same time, behind him, a massive phantom of a tree, composed of pure magic, rose from the ground!
The phantom was lush with foliage, radiating an ancient and majestic aura, nearly touching the ceiling of the arena.
This sudden, visually impactful scene caused all the voices in the arena to vanish once more.
The mockery, the laughter, the chatter... everything stopped.
Tens of thousands of wizards, whether supporters or opponents, stared dumbfounded at the miracle-like scene in the center of the arena, their faces written with disbelief.
Click! Click!
Rita Skeeter's magic camera, flashing with green light, clicked its shutter incessantly like a maniac, faithfully recording this stunning scene.
The Quick-Quotes Quill floating beside her was writing furiously on the parchment, so fast it nearly sparked.
"Hohoho..."
Rita watched the scene and let out a peculiar laugh. "It looks like I lost."
There wasn't a hint of dejection in her voice for losing the bet; instead, it was filled with the excitement of discovering a major news story.
But Professor McGonagall, sitting next to Rita, heard the other meaning behind her words. She immediately glared at her fiercely and warned in a low, unquestionable tone:
"No kissing!"
"Heeheehee!"
The sky-high phantom of the magical tree in the center of the arena was like a silent declaration, thoroughly shattering everyone's doubts.
That pure and majestic life aura and the pressure originating from ancient nature were things no magic could imitate.
"My god... that really is the Elven Wisdom Blessing!"
"That Malfoy was actually telling the truth!"
It really was elven magic!
The nature of the matter underwent a fundamental transformation in this instant.
This was no longer the unreasonable tantrum of a first-year; it was a scandal of the most heinous nature—cheating in a top-tier tournament.
Jerry didn't care about the noise in the arena or Malfoy's moment of glory.
Jerry was just a salesman hiding behind the scenes, responsible for handing over the sharpest knife.
Jerry lightly patted his hands, as if brushing off non-existent dust, then performed a nimble flip, jumping back onto the soft, comfortable large bed in the Hospital Wing, pulling the blanket over himself.
Resolving Orion, that major thorn in his side, had put him in an exceptionally good mood.
Although the system hadn't announced the total completion of the mission yet, he guessed it likely had to do with the bet with Rita.
After all, the terms of the bet included a passionate kiss from that female reporter.
And the accounting book Jerry had left in Rita's hands.
But that didn't matter; the biggest trouble had been settled.
Jerry's entire plan was flawless, leaving very few traces pointing to himself.
On the contrary, Madam Pomfrey, Hermione, Professor McGonagall, Amelia, and even Rita... the witnesses and evidence were all there, and everything had happened in full view of the public.
And Jerry himself?
Jerry had been staying peacefully in the Hospital Wing the entire time, hadn't he?
As Jerry was thinking comfortably, the door to the Hospital Wing was pushed open gently.
It was Hermione.
The little witch poked her head in, looking back into the corridor sneakily as if she were hiding from someone or feared being followed.
After confirming it was safe, Hermione slipped in quickly and closed the door behind her.
Having done all that, Hermione sighed in relief and then walked with a brisk, almost hopping gait to Jerry's bed.
Hermione's cheeks were a beautiful shade of red—it was unclear if it was from running fast or something else.
"I'm sorry, Jerry!" Hermione whispered with a bit of embarrassment. "Did I... did I take too long?"
Jerry immediately put on a slightly pale face, weakly shaking his head at Hermione, though a gentle smile hung on his lips. "It's fine. The Slytherin dungeon dormitories are indeed like a maze."
"That's true!" Hermione nodded vigorously and cutely, as if she completely agreed with Jerry's statement.
Then, Hermione reached her small hand into the pocket of her wizarding robe, which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, and began to rustle around.
A moment later, Hermione pulled out a set of neatly folded clothes—a brand-new undershirt, a clean pair of underwear, and a high-quality new robe from Jerry's wardrobe.
Jerry looked at the fresh set of clothes in Hermione's hands, his face showing a look of gratitude, though a trace of undetectable cunning flashed in his eyes.
"Thank you so much, Hermione. You've really helped me out."
Jerry thanked her sincerely first, and then he tentatively tried to sit up from the bed.
However, Jerry had only propped up half his body before he let out a suppressed gasp. His movement paused, and his face "just right" displayed an expression of pain as if he had tugged on an invisible wound.
Seeing this, Hermione immediately leaned in with concern. "Jerry? Are you alright? Does the wound hurt again?"
"I'm fine... it's just... it's still a bit difficult to move." Jerry gave her a somewhat forced smile, his voice carrying a quality of weakness. "Madam Pomfrey's potions are very effective, but she said it's best not to make any large movements. I'm afraid... I might have trouble dressing myself."
After saying this, Jerry looked at Hermione with a pleading and slightly helpless gaze, handing over the clothes.
"So... Hermione, could I trouble you to... help me?"
Jerry's words, filled with a bit of innocence and dependence, were like a small stone thrown into the lake of Hermione's heart, instantly creating ring after ring of ripples.
The little witch's face turned red in a flash.
It was a moving crimson that spread from her neck all the way to her ears.
In Hermione's mind, that heart-pounding scene from not long ago surfaced uncontrollably.
Helping him dress... didn't that mean... she'd have to touch that place again?
And even... help Jerry tuck that thing into... his underwear?
Just thinking of that image made Hermione feel her body go soft. A strange, numbing sensation crawled up from her tailbone, making her lower abdomen tighten slightly.
Hermione's fingers, clutching the set of clean clothes, tightened involuntarily, her knuckles turning white.
Jerry peeked through his eyelids, stealing a quick glance at her.
The expression on his face remained one of frank innocence, as if he were merely asking for a perfectly normal favor.
"I... I..."
Hermione's lips moved slightly as she tried to find a reason to refuse. but seeing Jerry's "pale" face and his expectant gaze, she couldn't bring herself to say no.
Ultimately, a fierce battle between shyness and kindness took place in her heart, and the latter won out.
She gave a nearly inaudible "Mmm," agreeing to it.
"Alright... I'll... help you!"
Hermione, face red and head lowered, took the neatly folded clothes from Jerry's hands.
Hermione's fingertips felt hot, especially when they touched the men's underwear; the soft cotton fabric seemed to carry a scorching temperature.
Taking a deep breath as if having made a decision, Hermione sat down on the chair by the bed.
This posture allowed Hermione to look directly at Jerry, who was lying on the bed.
"Then I... I'll start..."
Hermione's voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz. After speaking, she didn't dare look into Jerry's eyes and cast her gaze on the thin blanket covering him.
Hermione reached out a trembling small hand, pinched a corner of the blanket, and peeled it up bit by bit.
As the blanket was removed, the boy's flat and firm lower abdomen was revealed first. Going further down... Hermione's breath caught in her throat.
It was tilted slightly upward, with a single crystal drop of liquid still hanging at the tip.
It swayed slightly up and down with Jerry's steady breathing.
Hermione felt like her face was hot enough to burn. She quickly lowered her head and frantically picked up the clean underwear.
She stretched the waistband of the underwear with both hands, trying to aim the opening at the base of the massive spear, wanting to slip it on in one go.
However, things were far from being as simple as Hermione had imagined.
Hermione carefully brought the stretched underwear closer, but that thing was simply too hard and too erect. No matter how she adjusted the angle, she couldn't smoothly get it into the elastic opening.
The full head always got stuck on the edge of the soft fabric, stubbornly refusing to enter even a fraction of an inch.
After several failed attempts, a layer of fine sweat had broken out on Hermione's forehead.
Hermione's hands became hot and clammy from nervousness and exertion.
Hermione could clearly feel her knuckles inevitably brushing against the scorching shaft of that long spear as she adjusted its position. That hard, rough texture made her heart beat even faster.
This wasn't working...
Hermione bit her lower lip and stopped the ineffective movements of her hands.
She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down, her mind racing for a solution as if she were solving a complex Potions problem.
When she opened her eyes again, there was more steadiness in her gaze.
Hermione gave up on the futile "slipping on" method.
This time, Hermione first rolled the waistband of the underwear. Using the thumb and index finger of her left hand, she stretched the opening as wide as possible, forming a taut ring.
"Jerry... you relax a bit..."
Hermione said in a nearly inaudible voice, unsure if she was speaking to Jerry or herself.
Next, Hermione applied slight pressure with her palm, pushing downward.
This movement was very clever.
Hermione didn't try to suppress the hard object directly. Instead, by pressing on the muscles at its root, she skillfully changed the angle of its erection, making it tilt slightly downward.
Now!
Seizing the moment, Hermione's left hand followed up quickly. She brought the stretched elastic ring over at a tricky angle, first catching the massive, slightly lowered tip, and then, following the downward pressure, she yanked it down hard!
"Mmh..."
Accompanied by the sound of fabric being stretched to its limit and an ambiguous muffled groan from Jerry, that massive, hard-to-tame long spear was finally successfully and completely tucked into the small pair of underwear by Hermione, using a method that was almost like "wrapping" and "storing."
After finishing all this, Hermione looked as if she had used up all her strength. She collapsed onto the carpet by the bed, gasping for air.
Hermione's hands were still trembling slightly, her palms covered in sweat. The tightly wrapped outline was forming an astonishing bulge beneath the underwear.
Hermione took a long, deep breath—one that seemed to take all the strength out of her body. She leaned against the edge of the bed, the soft carpet catching her limp body.
Hermione's heart was still thumping wildly in her chest, and the temperature of her cheeks showed no sign of dropping.
She raised her still-trembling right hand, wanting to use the back of it to cool her burning cheek.
Just then, an unconscious action occurred.
Hermione placed the fingers that had just performed the high-difficulty task in front of her nose.
An extremely faint, lingering scent quietly entered her nostrils as she breathed.
It was a very peculiar smell—carrying a hint of raw, boyish masculinity, mixed with a tiny bit of... an indescribable, faint milky fragrance.
The smell wasn't unpleasant; on the contrary, it felt strangely reassuring.
It felt so familiar...
Hermione tilted her head slightly, her beautiful eyebrows knitting together.
Where had she smelled this scent before?
Fragments of memory flew through her mind, but she couldn't quite piece together a complete picture.
Jerry looked at the little witch slumped on the carpet with crimson cheeks and rapid breathing, a smile flashing in his eyes.
"Thank you, Hermione."
"Without you, I really wouldn't have known what to do today."
Hermione looked up and saw Jerry smiling at her, his eyes clear and frank, as if everything that had just made her heart race was merely a normal act of mutual assistance.
Hermione's face turned several shades redder. She stood up from the chair with some embarrassment, patted the wrinkles on her wizarding robe, and muttered softly, "It's nothing... we're friends, after all..."
To hide her embarrassment and to shift her attention away from that heart-pounding event, Hermione's "overachiever" instinct immediately took over.
"By the way, Jerry..."
Hermione suddenly leaned in closer, her tone becoming serious. "Since we have time now... I actually have a few questions about Ancient Runes I'd like to ask you. I saw a variant of the 'Protection' rune in a book; its structure seems to subvert traditional energy circuit theory, and I haven't been able to figure it out..."
Hermione naturally steered the conversation toward her favorite academic field.
To her, discussing magical problems was much easier and more comfortable than dealing with these emotions that left her at a loss.
Jerry had just used his wand to draw the core of that rune variant's energy circuit in the air and was about to explain the cleverness of its subversive design when the door to the Hospital Wing was pushed open with a loud bang.
A flurry of footsteps approached. Malfoy strode in like a peacock that had just achieved a massive victory and was eager to show off his spoils.
Malfoy had an exceptionally excited flush on his face, and his platinum-blond hair seemed to shine even more brightly than usual.
As he walked, Malfoy triumphantly smoothed out non-existent wrinkles on his expensive wizarding robe, his grin nearly reaching his ears.
"Jerry! You simply cannot imagine!"
Malfoy's voice was loud and excited, completely ignoring Hermione, whose train of thought had been interrupted and who was now frowning at him. "We succeeded! Completely and utterly succeeded! The entire arena went wild!"
He rushed to Jerry's bedside, gesturing wildly as he described the scene outside, spit nearly flying:
"Do you know? Those tens of thousands of wizards out there! Soon—no, right now! They'll be spreading everything that happened today to the entire magical world! Rita Skeeter's camera was flashing so much it nearly exploded! Tomorrow—no, maybe even in tonight's Daily Prophet evening edition, we'll be the headline!"
Malfoy's excitement wasn't just because of his personal moment in the spotlight; it stemmed from a massive political victory.
Malfoy lowered his voice, but the excitement in his tone hadn't diminished a bit: "This time, those pointy-eared bastards have truly taken a massive fall!
You have no idea, my father mentioned before that there are many in the Ministry who are dissatisfied with that damn alliance treaty!
If it weren't for the pressure on the front lines and the influence of Dumbledore's lot, who would want to stand on equal footing with those arrogant, self-righteous Forest Elves?"
He grew more animated, his pale fingers waving through the air:
"Now it's perfect!
Those ungrateful wretches actually dared to stick their hands into our internal wizarding competitions!
And the Wizard's Chess Championship of all things!
That is a tradition with hundreds of years of history!
They thought they could use cheating methods to let trash like Orion and Baslong win?
That is the most blatant insult to us wizards!"
A nearly fanatical light flickered in Malfoy's eyes as he looked at Jerry, his expression like that of a practiced orator: "Think about it, today it's just a chess match, but if they had succeeded... what next? Would it happen at the Quidditch World Cup?
Or even the highest-level Wizarding Duel competitions?
By then, would our wizarding glory not be trampled under the feet of these despicable outsiders?
This is something we absolutely cannot allow to happen. The glory of wizards must never be violated by other races."
Jerry rolled his eyes inwardly.
If it weren't for the fact that you still have utility, I'd be considering how to silence you and make you the scapegoat right now.
Of course, Jerry didn't say this out loud, nor did he bother to deflate Malfoy's surging vanity at this moment.
Jerry simply turned his head calmly and extended his index finger, tapping lightly on a complex and exquisite rune hanging in the air.
"Hermione, pay attention to this part!"
Jerry's voice remained steady, carrying the focus unique to explaining academic problems. "This energy node is the key.
It doesn't follow the closure principle of traditional circuits; instead, it constructs an open-ended energy siphoning port. This is the core that subverts traditional design..."
It wasn't until Hermione nodded thoughtfully, carving the key point into her mind, that Jerry acted as if he had just noticed Malfoy, speaking in a lukewarm tone: "It's you who's showing off, Malfoy, not 'us'."
With a single sentence, he removed himself from this spotlight-driven revelry.
Hermione was stunned for a moment, not quite grasping the deeper meaning in Jerry's words.
Malfoy, however, seemed to be reminded of something. He slapped his own mouth and turned to Hermione with an exaggeratedly apologetic expression.
"Oh, look at me, how incredibly rude!"
He bowed slightly, his tone more polite than ever before: "Miss Granger, please forgive my earlier impudence."
Given Malfoy's past arrogance, he would usually hold nothing but contempt for a "Mudblood" like Hermione, feeling that even looking at her would dirty his eyes.
But right now, seeing Jerry and Hermione so close, intimately discussing advanced magic, Malfoy naturally chose to extend his favor to her by association.
Hermione had never seen this Malfoy—who usually looked at everyone through his nostrils—show such a... friendly attitude toward her.
She immediately felt uncomfortable all over, but considering Jerry was sitting right there, she nodded politely: "It's alright, Mr. Malfoy."
Malfoy then turned back to Jerry, suggesting enthusiastically: "To celebrate this historic moment, Jerry!
Tonight is on me. Let's go to the Three Broomsticks for a massive feast!"
"Fine," Jerry nodded simply, then turned to Hermione beside him, issuing a gentle invitation: "Come with us, Hermione. Let's celebrate."
A look of hesitation immediately appeared on Hermione's face.
She was, after all, a Gryffindor student. Celebrating with Slytherins... and with Malfoy as the leader?
If Ron or Harry found out, heaven knows what their reaction would be.
However, when she met Jerry's gaze, all her reservations began to waver.
Those eyes were bright and deep, carrying a warmth and expectation that was hard to refuse.
Being watched by Jerry like that, Hermione felt her heart skip a beat again. The words of refusal were stuck in her throat, unable to be voiced.
Finally, after a brief internal struggle, she gave a soft nod.
"Alright..."
The air was thick with a heavy scent, a mix of ozone and dust.
Dozens of Hogwarts professors, high-ranking Ministry officials, and solemn elite Aurors stood quietly before a scene of total ruin.
This had originally been an unremarkable two-story building, but now it had been completely leveled by an unimaginable, terrifying force, leaving only scorched, sunken foundations and scattered rubble.
But the most heart-palpitating aspect of these ruins wasn't the physical destruction, but the violent elemental fluctuations still swirling in the air, refusing to dissipate.
It was like a silent storm, allowing every wizard present to clearly feel the echoes of magic being torn and twisted; some even felt a stinging sensation on their skin.
"...The last place they appeared was right here."
The high-ranking Auror in charge of surveillance, a man named Baz, reported to Amelia, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in a dry voice.
Fine beads of cold sweat covered his forehead, and his face was as pale as parchment.
"Ma'am, all of my subordinates... have vanished.
According to the final records of the Marauder's Map, their light dots were right here... and then they just disappeared."
A deathly silence fell over the area, broken only by the rustling of wind through the treetops.
Everyone understood what this meant.
The Marauder's Map could not be deceived. These Aurors hadn't simply gone missing; they had likely... evaporated from the face of the earth.
Amelia pursed her lips tightly. Ignoring the shock of her subordinates, she raised her wand and aimed it at the center of the ruins where the spatial fluctuations were most violent.
"Revelio Spatium!"
The tip of her wand shot out a soft, silver-white light, attempting to outline a door in the air.
The light touched the unstable space, triggering a ripple. The shape of a door flickered a few times like a flickering lightbulb with a bad connection, then with a sizzle, it extinguished completely.
Amelia frowned. She could feel that the other end of this spatial gate—the independent space known as the "Secret Realm"—had had its structure utterly shattered.
It was like trying to open a cloth bag that had been shredded into pieces; even if you found the opening, reaching inside would only yield void. You could no longer touch the intact fabric that once held objects.
"It's no use!"
Amelia lowered her wand, her tone grave as she spoke to Dumbledore beside her. "The space beyond no longer exists. It has been completely erased."
"Was it a Forbidden Curse?"
A sharp, excited voice rang out unseasonably.
Rita Skeeter was like a fly scenting blood, her Quick-Quotes Quill dancing frantically on her little notebook.
Her flash went click, freezing Amelia's grim expression.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Director Bones, such total destructive power—does this mean a powerful Dark Wizard has used a legendary Forbidden Curse?"
Snape shot her a cold glance, saying nothing.
His dark gaze turned toward the edge of the crowd, to Baslong, who was kneeling on the ground like a puddle of mud.
With a casual wave of his hand, Snape used an invisible force to snatch Baslong into the air, making him fly uncontrollably to Snape's feet before slamming hard onto the ground.
"Snape..." Baslong's voice was full of terror.
Snape ignored his pleas, coldly pressing the tip of his wand against the man's forehead.
"Legilimens."
One bright, silver thread after another was slowly but cruelly pulled from Baslong's temple like living things.
Baslong's body spasmed violently, his eyes losing focus and his expression becoming increasingly vacant, as if his soul were being peeled away along with these memories.
The extracted silver threads gathered and intertwined in mid-air, then suddenly erupted with light, forming a series of shimmering, dynamic images.
The images flowed rapidly, pulling everyone present into Baslong's memories.
Everyone there saw it clearly.
The silver light and shadow spread out in the air, constructing a world they had never seen before.
It was a vibrant forest sanctuary, where towering ancient trees with lush foliage blotted out the sun. The ground was covered with soft moss and glowing mushrooms, and colorful points of light floated in the air like a fairyland.
However, what unfolded within this fairyland was a scene that made one's skin crawl.
They saw several Forest Elves, handsome of face yet utterly cold in expression, standing in the center of the sanctuary.
Their fingers moved as if plucking invisible harp strings. Streams of emerald-green magic, carrying a hypnotic halo, flowed from their fingertips, transforming into a thin mist that enveloped the Aurors and Hogwarts students lured there.
The Aurors shrouded in the mist had hollow eyes, standing like puppets and abandoning all resistance.
The young wizards, meanwhile, looked on with faces full of confusion and longing, as if immersed in the most beautiful dream, allowing the elves to implant false instructions and memories into their minds.
The entire process was silent, yet more insidious than any evil curse.
When the last silver thread dissipated in the air and the images collapsed, the crowd emerged from the disturbing memory into a deathly silence.
The usual gentleness was gone from Dumbledore's blue eyes. He frowned deeply and turned to Professor McGonagall.
She understood immediately, nodding with a heavy face and reporting in a low but clear voice: "The list has been verified, Albus.
This time... seventeen students are missing. Fourteen from third to fifth year, and three from sixth and seventh year.
Additionally, the two elven exchange students remaining in the castle have already been secured."
Amelia waved her hand, cutting off the rest of the report.
Looking somewhat exhausted, Amelia said to Professor McGonagall: "Minerva, hand the two elves over to my people. You can handle the cleanup here."
Amelia glanced at the completely destroyed spatial anchor point and continued: "There is no point in investigating further here. The sanctuary used for the crime has been destroyed. Reconstructing such a stable space would be nothing short of a miracle.
It's just a shame..."
A trace of regret flashed in the eyes of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Each of these secret realms is a small, underdeveloped world with its own unique ecology and laws. To have it completely ruined like this is a bit of a... waste of a god-given treasure."
Dumbledore withdrew his deep gaze from the ruins. He nodded in agreement with Amelia's handling and issued instructions in an unquestionable tone: "Block the news. Minimize the significance of the event. I will handle the rest."
He scanned the gathered Ministry officials and professors, his voice steady but carrying a weight that couldn't be ignored:
"I've just returned from the front. You may not know the latest situation yet.
We've discovered an entirely new world cluster in the outer crystalline space.
The Ministry and the International Confederation of Wizards will be busy very soon. We don't have the energy to be entangled in these matters."
Finally, his gaze fell on the names of the missing students, a flash of genuine sadness and self-reproach appearing on his face.
"As for those students who are missing and... sacrificed, I will write to their families personally. It was indeed my mistake to agree to bring these elves into the school."
The Three Broomsticks was teeming with people, the air thick with the sweet scent of Butterbeer and the angry roars of losers.
"Damn Orion!"
"Damn Baslong!"
"Those two useless bastards! If they didn't have the skill to compete, why did they have to cheat? They made me lose a whole semester's worth of pocket money!"
Similar curses rose and fell, nearly lifting the roof off the tavern.
In the center of this chaos, Malfoy stood like a victorious general, haughtily standing by a table covered in gold coins and parchment.
When a poor soul approached with a long face, handing over a betting slip printed with "Prophet's Pool," Malfoy didn't even lift an eyelid. He simply used the tip of his wand to flick the scrap of paper away contemptuously.
"What Prophet's Pool?"
He sneered, his voice not loud but clearly cutting through the surrounding noise. "I only recognize the pool opened by me, Malfoy.
Bringing this kind of unknown junk to me for a payout?
Is your brain stuffed with fluxweed?
I told everyone the pool was closed. It was your own greed that made you fall for that scam. When did I ever say that pool was mine?
I couldn't even manage my own pool!
And anyone with a brain knows those odds weren't normal. But since you're so pathetic, here's a Galleon. I can at least buy you a beer."
Crabbe and Goyle stood on either side of him like two gate guards, sipping mead while pouring heavy bags of Gold Galleons clatteringly onto the table to count the winnings for the lucky few who bet correctly.
Piles of golden Galleons formed little mountains and were sent out by the handful, with no expression of pain on their faces.
Compared to what Malfoy had earned, this expenditure was a mere drop in the ocean.
He tossed a gold coin casually, dismissing the guy with the Prophet's Pool ticket.
Malfoy patted Goyle's arm with satisfaction, signaled them to continue, then turned and elegantly pulled aside the curtain of a quiet private booth and walked in.
Unlike the noise outside, the booth was quiet, with only the faint sound of paper rubbing.
Jerry was sitting on a soft sofa. The small table in front of him held no drinks, but was covered in a layer of Gold Galleon drafts radiating a faint magical glow.
Each of these notes, issued personally by Gringotts goblins, represented a staggering amount of wealth.
Jerry was unhurriedly sorting them by denomination, his movements as practiced as an experienced old banker.
Sitting opposite him, Hermione was completely starstruck.
Her clever brown eyes were as wide as saucers, her mouth slightly agape, nearly forgetting to breathe.
She had never, in any book or any imagination, seen such a massive amount of wealth!
Those weightless slips of paper, and the meaning behind the numbers scrolling upon them, were so heavy they left her mind blank.
How... how much money was this?
Hermione swallowed hard, calculating silently in her head. This money could likely buy several shops in Diagon Alley, or even... an entire street!
Malfoy swept aside the curtain and walked in, still carrying that spirited energy from outside, but his voice immediately took on a complaining tone: "Jerry, I really don't understand why you gave those idiots who bet at the 'Prophet's Pool' a Gold Galleon?
Those damn bastards betrayed us for a rival pool. Why should we use our own money to appease them?"
Jerry didn't even look up, his fingers still nimbly dancing over the gold-rimmed drafts.
He casually sorted out a stack of considerable thickness and flicked it toward Malfoy.
The stack of drafts landed steadily on the table in front of Malfoy like a flock of golden butterflies.
"That's your twenty percent," Jerry said flatly. "As for the gold distributed to the 'Prophet's Pool' gamblers, just deduct it from my share."
He finally looked up, glancing at Malfoy who was still brooding over the "loss," and explained unhurriedly: "Always leave a way out, Malfoy.
They are greedy, but what can we do to them? Wipe them all out? We can't kill everyone, and who's to say we won't need them in the future?"
Jerry's voice wasn't high, but it carried an insight far beyond his years, causing Malfoy to quiet down subconsciously.
"Leave a line in everything so we can meet again.
Besides, we've made a fortune this time. There were at most a few thousand wizards betting at the 'Prophet's Pool'. Even if we truly give out a few thousand Galleons, it won't hurt us.
Furthermore..." A meaningful smile curled Jerry's lips. "How many people do you think can actually swallow their pride to claim a single Galleon? Their money is already gone. If they lose face over a tiny bit of consolation money, that would be the real embarrassment!"
As Jerry spoke, he neatly tucked the final and largest stack of drafts into a refined, dedicated bag enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm.
Malfoy nodded thoughtfully, seemingly convinced by Jerry's mature and practiced logic.
He stopped obsessing over the small change and picked up a large pitcher of honey Butterbeer from the table, pouring a full glass for Jerry and then politely pouring one for Hermione as well.
"Come, a toast to our victory!"
The three clinked glasses. Soon, under the combined effects of alcohol and victory, Malfoy began to talk more, his tongue growing heavy. Before long, his head slumped onto the table as he fell into a deep sleep.
This wasn't because he had a low tolerance for alcohol, but because Jerry had slipped a few drops of a colorless, odorless potion into his glass while pouring.
Only Jerry and Hermione remained in the booth.
Perhaps due to the alcohol, Hermione was much bolder than usual.
Her beautiful eyes were watery, and two lovely flushes bloomed on her cheeks, making her look like a ripe apple, cute and enticing.
Holding her glass, she unconsciously leaned closer to Jerry. With a hint of drunken coyness, she said in a soft, glutinous voice: "Jerry... can I... can I borrow some money from you?"
"Oh?" Jerry raised an eyebrow. "How much do you want?"
"Twenty... twenty Galleons will do..." Hermione held up two fingers, gesturing with some embarrassment. "I've seen several rare editions on Ancient Runes, but... they're too expensive... I haven't been able to bring myself to buy them..."
Looking at Hermione's flushed little face and her yearning eyes, Jerry smiled.
He didn't agree directly. Instead, he raised his glass and gestured to her: "It's possible, but... you have to finish this glass."
Hermione looked at her half-full beer, then at Jerry. After a moment's hesitation, she summoned her courage, tilted her head back, and downed the rest of the beer.
"There... finished it..."
Hermione put down the empty glass, swaying it with a bit of pride.
"Well done." Jerry stood up, picking up the empty pitcher. "I'll go get some more wine."
With that, Jerry walked out of the booth.
The warmth from the alcohol spread from Hermione's stomach to her entire body, eventually gathering in her cheeks and ears, leaving her feeling warm and cozy.
Hermione's head felt heavy, and her thoughts became slow and soft, like a water-soaked sponge.
Time passed minute by minute.
Jerry's figure failed to reappear.
At first, Hermione simply felt a bit bored, tracing circles on the wine-stained table with her finger.
But gradually, a thought popped into her alcohol-soaked brain and expanded rapidly:
Did... did something happen to him?
The thought made it impossible for her to stay seated.
Hermione put down the glass, propped her hands on the edge of the heavy wooden table, and tried to use the leverage to stand up.
However, as her body left the sofa, a violent wave of dizziness hit her, and the entire booth seemed to sway before her eyes.
Hermione's legs went soft, and her knee knocked against the table leg with a dull thud.
"Mmh..."
Hermione steadied herself, clutching the table. She closed her eyes for a good while to re-adjust to standing. Her calves felt weak; every step was taken with extreme care, like a baby learning to walk.
She extended one hand to brace against the rough walls of the booth, while the other reached out vaguely, inching toward the exit.
That short distance of a few steps felt exceptionally long at this moment.
Finally, her fingertips touched the heavy velvet curtain used to block out the light.
She grabbed the soft fabric as if it were a lifesaver, pulling it open just enough to squeeze her unsteady body through.
Outside was a dim corridor leading to the storage room and the back door.
Just as Hermione reached the corner of the corridor, she heard a series of strange, suppressed gasps.
Curiously, she poked half her head out. By the faint light peeking through a door crack, she saw a scene that made her heart stop.
Jerry was leaning against the corner wall, his back to her.
His pants were down at his knees, and one hand was rapidly stroking up and down his magnificent long spear.
Jerry's head was tilted back slightly, muffled groans escaping his throat. As his hand movements grew faster, white liquid began to pulse from the tip of that thing.
He seemed to reach his peak quickly, his body arching violently as stream after stream of thick, milky-white liquid—scented with a hint of cream—sprayed entirely into the empty beer glass he held in his other hand.
The thick liquid nearly covered more than half the glass.
Having finished, Jerry unhurriedly pulled up his pants. He then picked up a pitcher of beer nearby and poured some into the glass filled with his essence. The rich liquid of the Butterbeer quickly mixed with the white discharge, emitting an even stranger aroma—a blend of cream and malt.
Jerry gave it a few quick stirs, then held the "special blend" beer with a smirk, turning to walk back to the booth.
Hermione jerked her head back, bracing against the wall, and stumbled back to her seat, pretending nothing had happened.
Just as she settled, Jerry walked in holding the "new wine."
"Here, yours." He handed the spiked beer to Hermione.
The glass of beer was placed before her, the dense, thick white foam nearly overflowing the rim, radiating the unique sweetness of Butterbeer mixed with an even richer, more familiar... creamy scent carrying body heat.
Hermione felt a slight tickle in her heart. She took the heavy glass; it felt warm in her hand.
She tilted her face, which was already exceptionally beautiful due to the alcohol, her slender neck stretching into a graceful arc.
"Cheers!"
Jerry watched Hermione with a smile!
The grin on his face was impossible to suppress.
"Che... ers..."
The rim touched Hermione's moist lips. She closed her eyes as if having made a decision and began to swallow in large gulps.
The cold, smooth beer entered her mouth first, its sweetness making her squint with comfort.
But soon, as the glass tilted further, something completely different slid in.
It was a... warm, viscous, thick liquid with a faint salty-fishy taste.
It was much heavier than the beer, settled at the bottom. Now, as Hermione swallowed, large clumps of it surged uncontrollably toward the back of her throat.
"Mmh... ugh..."
Hermione's swallowing motion stalled.
The thick liquid was simply too sticky, like a glob of undissolvable gel, blocking her sensitive throat.
Her instinct was to spit it out, but more beer flooded in, carrying those things and forcing her to swallow.
Hermione's throat moved with effort, every swallow proving exceptionally difficult. The slippery texture coated the root of her tongue and rubbed against her esophagus, causing a strange burning sensation to rise in her lower abdomen.
Because she drank too fast and because of the obstruction of the foreign matter, some beer mixed with white discharge flowed from the corner of Hermione's mouth, forming a glistening trail that slid down her chin and dripped onto the wizarding robe at her chest, soaking a small dark patch.
Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, whether from choking or something else. Her small hands gripped the glass tightly, her knuckles turning white.
Finally, after several difficult, nearly half-choking, half-swallowing gulps, she swallowed every last drop of the liquid mixed with the "special ingredient."
Hermione put down the empty glass, letting out a satisfied gasp that carried a hint of a sob.
She wiped the corner of her mouth indiscriminately with the back of her hand, but her tongue tip poked out uncontrollably to lick her lips, which still held that special flavor.
"Does it taste good?"
"Jerry's flavor... is so... good!"