Crystal Golems—within the wizarding world, these have always been considered strategic-grade resources.
This is not only due to the extreme difficulty of their manufacture and the rarity of the licenses required to produce them.
It is more because behind every golem lies a unique recipe, researched through the blood, sweat, and tears of a particular workshop.
These recipes constitute the core competitiveness of a workshop and the very foundation of its existence in the world.
Why was it that the Rozier family's Crystal Golems were once coveted by thousands, only to eventually become a target for universal condemnation?
The world believed it was because the Roziers had pushed the craftsmanship of golems to the absolute limit, enabling the stable, large-scale production of powerful artifacts.
Some even speculated that the Rozier family had integrated ancient Dark Arts into the golems, allowing them to drain the user's life force to enhance their effects.
However, the truth was that the Rozier craftsmanship possessed one specific, terrifying ability: "Spell Replication"!
Mentioning this necessitated the mention of Forbidden Curses.
The words "Forbidden Curse" in the magical world are like a divine decree, signifying world-ending power that can rewrite the course of wars and even subvert the laws of the world.
That is not a power that ordinary wizards can touch or master.
Only those with transcendent talent and a vast, ocean-like mental capacity can catch a glimpse of its depths.
It requires a wizard to resonate their spirit with the powers in the deep universe; every casting is like a literal burning of one's self.
The "Spell Replication" of the Rozier Crystal Golems did not merely copy ordinary spells; if the materials met the standard, it could replicate even Forbidden Curses.
This meant that a Forbidden Curse could be "stored," "mass-produced," and used by any wizard possessing a Rozier golem!
It shattered the inherent balance of magical power and completely overturned the rules of the wizarding world.
Taboo magics that once required a staggering price to release could now be replicated with a sufficiently powerful crystal… it was more bone-chilling than any other form of magic.
The pumpkin carriage creaked to a halt in front of the Three Broomsticks.
Meiting Kim straightened her body from Jerry's lap, adjusting her wizard robes which he had wrinkled.
Her expression had returned to its usual coldness, but deep within those phoenix eyes, there remained an untraceable trace of daze and the excitement of being aroused.
Meiting Kim moved her legs off Jerry's thighs, swept a haughty glance over him without a word, and was the first to push open the door, stepping down with those long legs wrapped in black silk.
Jerry followed her out slowly.
Though the sun was bright, the pub was surprisingly quiet. As mentioned before, there weren't many upper-year students at lunchtime, giving the two of them a private atmosphere akin to a secret rendezvous.
They found a secluded booth and sat across from each other.
Meiting Kim elegantly picked up the menu but did not order immediately. Instead, she used those aggressive phoenix eyes to stare straight at Jerry, as if silently urging him.
Jerry was not to be outdone. He braced his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly, and raised three fingers of his left hand, pointing his slender, youthful fingertips into the air.
"Three conditions."
His voice was pitched low, carrying a mysterious allure: "Since the Professor is interested in being the first guest of the Rozier Workshop, we need to discuss the details of this transaction."
Meiting Kim's lips curled into a faint, meaningful sneer. "Oh?
So Mr. Rozier knows how to negotiate rationally?
I thought you only knew how to solve problems with your 'wildness'."
Her gaze dropped to Jerry's crotch, where the towering shape beneath his school robes remained conspicuous even while seated.
Jerry didn't feel the slightest bit of shame at her words.
He merely gave a light smile, one that carried a teenager's characteristic mischief and a desire for control that had long since surpassed his age.
His youthful face now radiated a strong confidence that seemed capable of seeing through everything.
"Wildness is, of course, the most direct and effective way to solve a problem!"
Jerry's tone carried a hint of philosophical weight: "But for a guest like the Professor who 'understands value,' I am happy to negotiate in a more 'civilized' manner."
As Jerry spoke, his fingers unconsciously rubbed the trousers that had been ground by her high heels. "Since we are to waive that exorbitant procurement tax, then Professor, your 'sincerity' must be sufficiently weighty."
As he spoke, he curled his first finger down slightly, pointing the remaining two at Meiting Kim, his eyes full of naked scrutiny and provocation.
He didn't explicitly say what "sincerity" referred to, but his gaze, his tone, and everything that had just happened in the carriage were already an unspoken hint.
"Point one!"
Jerry pointed his curved index finger at Meiting Kim, his voice steady and magnetic. "It concerns the core materials needed to replicate Forbidden Curses.
Professor, you should be well aware that even for a Rozier family with a restored license, those materials are not easily obtained.
Especially under the Ministry's tight supervision, every purchase and every refinement draws countless greedy eyes.
For example, a certain incredibly stupid Deputy Director of the Auror Office has been eyeing me like a hawk, desperate to devour the last scion of the Rozier family."
Jerry provocatively scanned Meiting Kim's expression, watching for the almost imperceptible twitch of her muscles.
This seemingly casual sentence struck the core—if the Roziers were to conduct this trade openly, the difficulty would be comparable to ascending to heaven.
"However..."
Jerry's mouth curled into a mysterious arc, leaning closer to Meiting Kim. His lower body, hidden beneath the tablecloth, seemed to thrust upward silently, hinting at a restless erection. "What if the materials could be obtained through Asian Department channels?
What if the Ministry high-ups could turn a blind eye to it?
Then the Rozier family would be happy to waive that so-called 'procurement tax,' because by comparison, this 'peace of mind' is worth far more than mere money."
Jerry finished speaking and, without waiting for Meiting Kim's response, curled his second finger down.
His fingertips gently rubbed against the curved index finger, as if silently outlining some taboo agreement.
"Point two concerns our mode of cooperation."
Jerry's gaze became sharp, piercing into Meiting Kim's all-seeing eyes: "The Professor should know that once a golem capable of replicating Forbidden Curses reappears, the shock it triggers won't be something a simple Asian Department can suppress."
Jerry paused, his tone carrying the arrogance unique to the young: "Rather than following that tedious and complex 'official channel' and letting those rats take a cut, I prefer a 'secret pact.'
But that implies risk, and such risk requires a covenant strong enough to suppress any upheaval."
Jerry's gaze roamed over Meiting Kim's face, finally resting on her sexy lips.
"I need to see with my own eyes the true mastermind behind the Professor, the one who actually calls the shots on this deal.
Only then can we reach an unspeakable contract that provides security to both parties."
As Jerry spoke, he leaned forward again, nearly touching Meiting Kim's perfectly defined face.
"And one last thing."
Jerry pulled all three fingers into his palm, his finger pads gently stroking the muscles beneath her robes that had tightened from tension.
His gaze carried a bit of doubt, a bit of scrutiny, and a curiosity that struck deep into the soul.
"On my body, something very strange has appeared."
Jerry's tone became low and mysterious, carrying a rare hint of youthful confusion and powerlessness: "A 'mark' from a deity.
It is very powerful, and it carries certain bizarre abilities.
I can feel that the energy fluctuations it contains do not belong to the wizarding system."
Jerry's hand slid upward slowly, finally stopping on Meiting Kim's shoulder.
His clear yet deep eyes locked onto her gaze, not allowing her the slightest evasion.
"I need the Professor to teach me how to suppress this power.
It is powerful, yet strange and dangerous.
You are knowledgeable; I believe you must have researched such sudden occurrences."
"Those are my three conditions."
Jerry's fingertips lightly rubbed the fabric of Meiting Kim's shoulder with an unquestionable force. "As long as the Professor agrees, then when the Rozier Crystal Golem Workshop opens, you, and the excellency you represent, will certainly be the first guests!
And I guarantee the treatment you receive will be unprecedentedly generous."
Meiting Kim's breathing became increasingly rapid. She knew that each of these three conditions was as heavy as a mountain. Especially the first two, which had already exceeded her authority as an exchange professor.
She had come to Hogwarts with a mission far deeper than a teaching exchange, but these three conditions were things even her superiors would need to weigh carefully.
Meiting Kim did not give an immediate reply.
Silence enveloped them like an invisible web.
The occasional noise from other patrons in the pub felt distant at this moment.
Jerry seemed to see through her hesitation. He gave a light laugh, one carrying a teenager's specific slyness and a winner's composure.
He slowly withdrew his hand from her shoulder and leaned back, opening up the ambiguous space between them.
"No need to rush, Professor Kim."
Jerry's voice rang out again, carrying a sense of total relaxation, as if all the previous high-tension negotiation was just a trivial joke: "The workshop is still in the process of being built. It will be a long time before it truly enters production. You can take your time to consider."
Saying this, he raised his hand again, signaling the waiter to come and take their order.
The office door was pushed open a crack by a stealthy hand, emitting a slight creak.
Jerry poked his head in, his youthful face carrying a hint of cunning and anticipation unbefitting his age.
"Hey!" he whispered, like a cat looking for a treat.
"Professor, were you looking for me?"
Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her massive oak desk. Her back was as straight as a taut bowstring, her dark green wizard robes were meticulous, and her brown hair was pinned in a flawless bun.
She was looking down, grading papers, her quill scratching against the parchment. She seemed not to notice the uninvited guest at all.
Hearing Jerry's voice, the movement of her hand only paused for a second before she finished writing the last word.
Then, she slowly set down the quill and looked up. Those sharp, feline eyes looked through her square-rimmed glasses and landed coldly on Jerry.
No answer, no expression.
McGonagall simply stared at Jerry with those eyes, as if scrutinizing a young cub that had blundered into her territory, oblivious to the danger.
Jerry felt a surge of excitement. This familiar, aggressive scrutiny made the lust that had been stirred by Meiting Kim earlier rear its head again.
He walked in obediently, closing the heavy door behind him and deliberately letting the lock make a soft click.
McGonagall still didn't speak.
She simply stood up and walked around the wide desk, the sound of her high heels striking the stone floor clear and rhythmic.
She walked up to Jerry, her tall stature carrying a powerful sense of oppression.
She looked down at him, her eyes still a mask of icy indifference.
McGonagall reached out, her hand going straight down to land on the part of Jerry that was standing tall with excitement.
Through the fabric, she used her finger to insultingly flick the tip of the giant object.
Jerry's body shuddered, a current of electricity shooting from his lower abdomen to the top of his head.
"Did you... enjoy your lunch, Mr. Rozier?"
Her voice was cold and flat, like she was asking about a difficult Potions problem: "I seem to... smell a vulgar perfume that does not belong at Hogwarts."
Jerry pressed tight against the door, rubbing against the wood.
He said somewhat awkwardly, "It was alright. Did the Three Broomsticks get a new chef?"
Jerry tried to use this to dodge the sharpness in her words.
"Hah!"
McGonagall let out a cold laugh, a sound like an ice pick scraping glass—sharp and freezing.
She didn't answer his question. Instead, she suddenly raised a leg. Her long, powerful thigh, tightly wrapped in flesh-colored stockings, struck Jerry's lower abdomen like a leopard's claw, pinning him with a punishing force.
The thick, elastic muscle pressed hard against Jerry's thick, rigid meat-root beneath his school uniform.
As McGonagall's thigh thrust upward, the hem of her dark green robes was mercilessly lifted.
The edge of her black lace panties was faintly visible in the gap between her robes and stockings, half-revealing a neatly trimmed brown thicket and the tiny droplets of nectar seeping out from excitement.
That private and tempting view, carrying a strong scent of exclusivity, declared her sovereignty.
"A new chef?"
McGonagall's voice dropped an octave, carrying a dangerous hoarseness. Her breath sprayed against Jerry's ear, carrying a unique musky scent: "When did Mr. Rozier's appetite become so... difficult to satisfy?"
Her other hand wasn't idle either, suddenly grabbing Jerry by the collar and dragging him downward.
Jerry was forced into a half-bow. The tall McGonagall used her straightened knee to violently smash into Jerry's bulging crotch.
Bang!
With a muffled thud, the knee-strike landed solidly on Jerry's giant object.
Even through the uniform, the agonizing pain was enough to make Jerry's mind go white for an instant.
He groaned, his body arching in a spasm, like a wildcat having its tail stepped on.
McGonagall showed no intention of stopping. She suddenly raised her foot in its high heel, her toe hooking Jerry's ankle before mercilessly tripping him backward.
Thud!
Compared to this mature, powerful woman, Jerry's frame was simply too youthful.
He was tripped off-balance, his body falling heavily backward against the door, making a dull impact.
The entire office seemed to shudder.
But before he could slide down the door, McGonagall aggressively pressed her body against him.
Her legs wrapped around Jerry's waist like vines, the muscles of her thighs beneath the silk stockings tightening, pinning him against the door.
"My dear Mr. Rozier!"
McGonagall's face was nearly plastered to Jerry's ear, her hot, wet breath making his earlobe flush instantly.
Her voice was low and magnetic, every word feeling like it was grinding against Jerry's heart: "It seems you have plenty of energy. You went to Hogsmeade to 'taste' another 'chef's' dishes and came back with your spirit still so high, hmm?"
McGonagall took a sharp breath, gripping Jerry's collar tighter. The scent of perfume was even stronger in her nostrils now.
Her cat-like eyes narrowed, her sharp gaze looking ready to swallow Jerry whole.
She didn't slap him, nor did she use magic; she chose a more primal and humiliating form of punishment.
McGonagall hooped Jerry's waist with one hand, pressing his majestic, uniform-bulging member directly against her lower abdomen. Through the thin fabric, she felt its scalding, full pulse.
"Since your 'mouth' has eaten its fill, shouldn't your 'part here' receive a bit of a... lesson?"
As McGonagall spoke, her thighs suddenly tightened. Those thighs in flesh-colored stockings acted like iron pincers, deathly clamping Jerry's thick meat-root and full testicles.
"Mmh!" Jerry's muscles stiffened instantly, his brain going completely blank.
Being squeezed so crudely by the crook of those powerful thighs, the intense pressure nearly made him break into a cold sweat from the pain.
In McGonagall's eyes, there was a flash of wild excitement and an uncontrollable desire for possession.
Her thighs repeatedly tightened and relaxed. That powerful friction and squeezing felt like punishment one moment and temptation the next.
She wasn't stroking or caressing him; she was using the power of her flesh to declare her absolute authority and her inviolable territory.
As McGonagall clamped and rubbed time and again, Jerry felt his crotch-giant was almost whimpering.
The pain of being squeezed by her full thighs gradually mixed with an ultimate, unbearable pleasure, making the head of his spear feel like it was going to swell and burst.
He felt a wet, hot fluid seep from his urethra, staining his crotch a darker color.
"Little bastard!"
McGonagall cursed under her breath, but there was a hint of excitement in her curse that even she hadn't noticed.
She pinned Jerry hard against the door, her thighs still tightly clamping his desire. That firm, flexible touch was enough to drive Jerry insane.
"Professor, I was wrong!"
She heard Jerry's plea for mercy.
McGonagall's thigh muscles relaxed slightly, but her legs remained like an iron hoop, imprisoning Jerry between the door and her hot body.
She didn't let him go. Instead, she leaned closer, her nose nearly touching Jerry's cheek. In those sharp cat eyes, her cold fury nearly turned physical.
"Do you know who that woman is, Rozier?"
McGonagall's voice was very low, carrying a texture like metal scraping: "Meiting Kim... she is the confidante of the Director of the Asian Magical Department. She is a probe they have thrust into Hogwarts, into the British magical world.
We and they have never been friends."
As she spoke, Jerry could clearly feel her thigh muscles tighten again. That punishing squeeze made his breath hitch.
"These past few years of the so-called exchange student program look peaceful on the surface, but in reality?"
The corner of McGonagall's mouth curled into a sneer: "It is nothing more than a game of testing each other's bottom lines. The factions within the Ministry have long been divided into three, and the infighting has never ceased.
And you, without a word, sit at a table to eat with someone from the opposite side and offer yourself up as a bargaining chip.
Do you think the name Rozier now allows you to walk through Hogwarts as you please?"
Jerry finally understood.
His brain, which had been confused by the waves of swelling and pleasure from his clamped member, finally cleared.
This wasn't just simple jealousy; he had accidentally stepped into the murky political swamp of the Ministry high-ups.
Looking at McGonagall's face, which grew even more cold and beautiful in her anger, Jerry took a deep breath and decided to hide nothing.
"It seems I was played by her!"
Jerry's voice was steady, lacking the panic expected of an eleven-year-old: "But she also revealed her purpose."
Following this, Jerry recounted every detail of his negotiation with Meiting Kim at the Three Broomsticks.
From the first condition—using Asian Department channels to bypass British Ministry supervision for core golem materials.
To the second condition—establishing a secret, unofficial sales contract and demanding to meet the true mastermind behind her.
However, when mentioning the third condition, Jerry cleverly changed "suppressing divinity" to "mastering a newly encountered special energy skill not belonging to the wizarding system," thereby covering up information regarding the system's mission.
When she heard Jerry say "Crystal Golems that can replicate Forbidden Curses," McGonagall's legs clamping him finally released completely.
McGonagall stepped back. The desire and anger on her serious face vanished, replaced by a deep thought mixed with astonishment.
She walked back to her desk and sat down, her hands interlaced on the desktop, her eyes staring at Jerry like she was re-evaluating the value of an "item."
"Replicating... Forbidden Curses... I thought that technique had been lost with the death of the old Rozier. I didn't expect you to actually know it."
McGonagall repeated the words slowly, then her eyebrows shot up: "It seems the wizarding legions under the Asian Department have run into big trouble in the world cluster they are responsible for."
Jerry asked curiously, "Are the world clusters we face different?"
"Of course they are different."
McGonagall's voice regained its usual calm, but the information within it made Jerry's heart shudder.
"To maintain the Ministry's principle of a unified front and avoid internal splitting over resources, hundreds of years ago, the three major Departments—Asia, America, and our Europe—divided their respective directions of expansion.
The world clusters explored and conquered by our respective wizarding legions are completely separated."
McGonagall paused, seemingly organizing her thoughts.
"For our European Department, the greatest threat we currently face is that pseudo-god pantheon calling itself 'Olympus.'
We are in a standoff phase; small-scale conflicts are constant, but a full-scale war is impossible in the short term. It may... even be impossible for one to ever start."
"But the Asian Department!"
McGonagall's eyes grew solemn: "According to internal intelligence exchanges, they are facing an incredibly massive Cultivation World cluster.
The natives who call themselves 'Cultivators' possess a power system completely different from magic—powerful, bizarre, and numerous.
Unlike us, they have long since entered a state of full-scale war with that Cultivation World. The two sides are locked in a stalemate with heavy casualties.
This explains why Meiting Kim is so desperate to buy golems capable of replicating Forbidden Curses from here. You know very well what that means in a war of that scale."
"And the American Department?" Jerry pressed.
"America..."
McGonagall sighed: "A dozen years ago, while expanding into a High-Magic world, they suffered a disastrous defeat. Their vitality was severely damaged.
So for all these years, they haven't had the strength to expand into new worlds. They can only maintain colonial rule in the clusters they've already occupied, slowly recovering.
Meanwhile, they also send experienced wizarding legions to our theater and the Asian theater to assist in combat and learning... Why are you asking so many questions?
You aren't really thinking of selling her the Crystal Golems, are you?"
"Hmm?"
McGonagall had been seriously analyzing the situation, her gaze carrying the wisdom and vigilance of a former legion commander.
However, her words cut off abruptly when Jerry leaned close to her like a young stud.
Jerry's body tilted to press against McGonagall's side waist. That long-since high-soaring giant object, like a piece of iron finding a magnet, accurately and regularly thrust against McGonagall's flat yet elastic lower abdomen through his heavy school uniform fabric.
Once, twice, three times... every thrust carried a carnal heat that clearly transmitted to her sensitive skin through her soft dress and tight panties. McGonagall's brow gave an almost imperceptible twitch.
"The Crystal Golem market has long been carved up by the major pure-blood families, like pieces of territory already claimed."
Jerry's breath sprayed against the side of her neck, carrying a youth's characteristic crispness, yet rendered increasingly ambiguous by the heat in his crotch.
"Even if I rebuild the Rozier Workshop, who knows how many Galleons I'd have to sink into greasing palms and opening up markets?
Rather than struggling in the low and mid-range markets, it's better to go straight for the high-end route and do this kind of... strategic business."
Jerry chuckled, using his thick meat-root to powerfully bump McGonagall's lower abdomen once more.
McGonagall's eyes remained calm, as if she were entirely unaffected.
However, the hand that had just been holding the quill now reached out involuntarily. Through the fabric of his trousers, she unhesitatingly grabbed Jerry's high-towering desire.
Her thumb and index finger exerted force together, and with a playful intent, she viciously pinched the swollen, bursting tip.
Jerry's body suddenly stiffened, and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head with that single twist.
The sensitive nerves at the tip of his spear were violently stimulated; a wave of numbness mixed with pain instantly swept through him, forcing a sharp intake of breath.
"Are you that strapped for cash?"
Professor McGonagall's voice was light and airy, as if she were discussing a trivial matter that had nothing to do with her.
But the strength in her palm didn't diminish at all, repeatedly twisting the burning, throbbing giant in her hand with a cold and dominant rhythm.
Jerry struggled to suppress the instinctive tremors from deep within his body, though a rakish smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He tilted his head, his nose gently brushing against McGonagall's smooth cheek, sensing the heat hidden beneath that cold skin.
"I'm not hurting for it right now!"
Jerry shrugged, his voice turning hoarse with excitement, almost a whisper, "But if I just sit around eating through my savings, they'll run out eventually. Besides..."
Jerry leaned in closer, his nose pressing against her auricle as his hot breath invaded her ear, sending a wave of goosebumps down her neck.
The massive thing she was toying with felt like a wronged little beast, constantly throbbing and expanding in her palm as if in silent protest and attraction.
"I still have to provide for you, don't I, Professor?"
Jerry's voice was heavy with teasing, but his eyes were filled with naked possessiveness.
The hand climbing her waist grew restless; through her wizard robes, his fingertips explored with aggressive curiosity, stroking up to her full buttocks and tracing circles on her soft peaks, hinting at their ambiguous relationship.
The meat-root beneath McGonagall's hand throbbed violently again due to his teasing; her eye gave a tiny twitch and she pursed her lips, her tone remaining flat: "I don't need you to provide for me."
"But you are my woman!"
Jerry said with unquestionable authority, his voice carrying the dominance and arrogance of a young man.
He suddenly lowered his head and directly kissed McGonagall's cold, tightly pressed lips.
Jerry's teeth bumped somewhat recklessly against her lips, but he didn't back down for a second.
His tongue seized the opening, prying her teeth apart with savage force and sweeping through every inch of her mouth.
McGonagall's tongue entangled with Jerry's passion, and a familiar sense of wet heat and sweetness instantly filled the air.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling slightly at this possessive, deep kiss.
Her hand, still acting out of punishment, squeezed the desire that had ballooned again from the kiss, her fingers repeatedly grinding and pressing against the tip.
"If I don't provide for you, who will?"
Jerry's tongue ravaged her mouth, their lips and teeth clashing with sticky water sounds as if he wanted to swallow her whole.
He took the opportunity to thrust his body forward again; the giant object tightly gripped by McGonagall slammed heavily into the depths of her palm.
McGonagall was kissed into a state of rapid breathing, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shut tight.
When the wet, intense kiss ended and they pulled apart, a thread of silver saliva stretched between them.
McGonagall's breath was still ragged, and a trace of dazed longing finally appeared in her cold gaze.
She slowly opened her eyes, staring into Jerry's eyes which flashed with wild light, and said in a slightly raspy voice: "Then get ready. You're accompanying me to a banquet tomorrow night."
Jerry lightly licked her lips, which were swollen from his ravaging, and asked with lingering affection, "What banquet?"
"The Ministry of Magic's Thanksgiving Banquet, of course!"
McGonagall's voice regained some of its usual sternness, but it was laden with an unmaskable, seductive "push-and-pull" quality.
The hand holding his desire didn't let go at all; instead, it moved down to the base of his meat-root and shoved upward several times with a powerful, punishing force.
Thump! Thump!
The full spear slammed heavily against McGonagall's abdomen deep inside his trousers; with every impact, he could feel the taut muscles of her stomach.
"Keep this thing of yours under control!"
McGonagall's gaze fell on Jerry's eyes, which were dazed with excitement and arousal: "That place is full of hungry wolves and starving tigers; I don't want to find you the next day already sucked dry."
Her words were half warning and half the naked seduction of a mature woman. She stared at Jerry with sharp eyes full of possessiveness, as if warning him—or perhaps reminding him—not to mess around with other women under her nose.
Before she finished speaking, McGonagall lowered her head.
Her knees, wrapped in tight silk stockings, pressed against Jerry's thighs as her cold, beautiful face leaned enticingly close to his thick crotch; her cold, dark green robes brushed against his burning desire, creating a stimulus of mixed fire and ice.
Jerry's breath hitched instantly.
He felt McGonagall's cold nose first gently touch the tip of his massive desire through the fabric; the contact was so clear and intense.
Then, her soft lips, carrying a hint of chill yet wrapping around his heat, slowly and tentatively took the fabric covering the head of his cock into her mouth.
"Hiss..." Jerry couldn't help but gasp.
McGonagall's lips moved rhythmically around the cloth.
She didn't unzip him directly; instead, she chose to tease him through the fabric, an ultimate act of provocation.
First, Minerva used her tongue to feel the friction of the trouser material, then bit by bit, using her teeth in coordination with her lips, she ground and sucked that small patch of cloth—and the shape of the head within it—inside her mouth.
Squelch...
A clear, sticky water sound came from his crotch.
That was McGonagall's saliva soaking through the fabric, wetting Jerry's massive, burning desire.
The warm moisture seeped through the soft cloth and pores to his glans, bringing waves of numbing pleasure.
McGonagall's breath was heavy and steady as her entire oral cavity rhythmically enveloped him.
Deep in her throat, she let out a tiny, suppressed low growl, like a lioness enjoying a predatory feast.
McGonagall's lips, with amazing flexibility, completely swallowed the bulge of the head through the trousers, and she began to move her mouth up and down slowly, using her cheeks to create suction.
"Mmh... Professor..."
Jerry gripped the armrests of the chair deathly tight, his knuckles turning white. His body trembled violently from the extreme stimulation, and the giant thing held in McGonagall's mouth throbbed and expanded even more frantically, as if it would tear through the trousers entirely.
McGonagall's movements were slow and rhythmic; every suck and every grind brought a pleasure that was precise to the extreme.
Her aloof, cat-like eyes lifted slightly, staring through her glasses at Jerry's face, which was distorted with pleasure; her eyes were filled with the satisfaction of a conqueror.
McGonagall's movements became increasingly rapid.
No longer satisfied with slow grinding, she intensified her sucking power.
Her warm mouth became a high-speed vortex; every gulp and spit carried a powerful suction, drawing the cloth—now soaked with saliva and Jerry's own pre-cum—deep into her throat before spitting it out again.
Squelch, squelch, slurp, slurp...
The water sounds grew louder and more urgent in the quiet office.
Jerry's body was completely out of control; his hips began to instinctively thrust forward, trying to send himself deeper into that warm, slippery abyss.
"Ah... Professor... no... I'm coming..."
Broken moans mixed with a sobbing tone escaped Jerry's throat.
His fingers clawed at the door frame until they were white from the strain; he felt like he was nailed to a cross, enduring the sweetest torture.
McGonagall seemed to hear his plea for mercy, but the desire for conquest in her eyes only burned brighter.
Her tongue suddenly thrust hard inside her mouth, the entire flat of it like a branding iron pressing heavily against the most sensitive tip through the cloth, and then she sucked upward with all her might.
"Aaahhh!"
Jerry's body arched violently like a bow drawn to its limit as a scorching torrent, enough to melt him entirely, erupted fiercely from deep within his lower abdomen.
The surging bodily fluids hit the thick school trousers with staggering force.
The dark fabric was instantly stained even darker, becoming hot, wet, and heavy.
Immediately after, at the spot McGonagall was still sucking, milky-white and viscous liquid began to seep out through the sturdy stitching along the center of the trousers.
It started as just a few white traces, but soon, with Jerry's continuous and violent spasms, more and more fluid was squeezed through the needle holes, gathering into streams of turbid white that flowed slowly down the texture of the pants.
The musky, pungent scent unique to a young man instantly filled the room.
McGonagall didn't let go.
She felt the scalding liquid hitting the root of her tongue and her oral cavity through the fabric, feeling the powerful pulses one by one. Not until Jerry's body stopped twitching did she release the completely soaked cloth with an air of total possession.
She lifted her head, and that face, usually so stern and noble, was now stained with the traces of lewd passion.
Glistening saliva clung to the corners of McGonagall's mouth; her eyes held the supreme satisfaction of a predator after a perfect meal.
McGonagall looked at the messy white stains on Jerry's crotch, her cold cat-eyes shimmering with excitement.
She stuck out her pink tongue, like an elegant feline licking its trophy.
Then she leaned down, her tongue-tip landing precisely on the seam where the most fluid had seeped out.
Lap... lap...
McGonagall didn't show the slightest hint of disgust; her tongue was soft and flexible, following every line of the stitching to curl those seeping, viscous fluids into her mouth bit by bit.
She licked it extremely clean, sweeping away every white mark on the trousers along with the salty, wet taste remaining on the fabric.
McGonagall's tongue was soft and nimble, following every fluid-soaked seam of Jerry's school trousers, curling the seeping viscous liquid into her mouth bit by bit.
She licked it perfectly clean, like a proud cat grooming its fur, sweeping away all the white traces and the residual salty scent.
That perpetually rigorous face now carried a certain sated look of someone who had tasted the marrow.
McGonagall straightened up and picked up a transparent glass petri dish from her desk, then, right before Jerry's half-startled, half-embarrassed gaze, she gently parted her lipstick-stained lips.
"Pfft!"
She spat all the viscous, still-warm fluids from her mouth into the small petri dish.
The liquid in the dish swayed, reflecting a lewd luster.
"Someone reserved this with me a long time ago, hehe."
McGonagall's voice carried a rare, girl-like lighthearted laugh, but her eyes flashed with the cunning of a witch: "I can't just keep it all for myself."
As she spoke, McGonagall held the petri dish out to Jerry, her fingertip lightly tapping the transparent glass wall. "Don't you agree, Mr. Rosier?"
"Senior?"
"Is there something you need?"
Cho Chang didn't answer Hermione's question immediately. Her narrow, phoenix-like eyes flashed with a complex light—a mix of indescribable jealousy, alarm, and uncontrollable curiosity.
She simply stared straight at Hermione, her gaze sliding slowly down from Hermione's youthful face to her still-flat chest, then even further down... as if trying to see through the clothes to find the source of what had been making her toss and turn.
Hermione felt a bit creeped out by her gaze and shifted uncomfortably.
Even though Cho Chang was now considered a fourth-year student at Hogwarts, she always carried an exotic charm as an exchange student from the Asian Division.
That night in the bathroom, she had been slumped on the floor from intoxication, but she hadn't completely lost consciousness.
In her blurred state, her mind felt like it had been dropped into a boiling cauldron of potions; though chaotic, she had unexpectedly retained a sliver of clarity toward certain extreme sensory stimuli.
She had seen that boy, similar in age to her own younger brother, pinning Hermione down like a fierce young beast.
Hermione's fair skin looked even more alluring against her torn clothes, and between her writhing legs, a thick, breathtaking object was standing tall—the size was simply beyond imagination!
It was a massive thing with bulging veins and a head as full as a ripe mulberry.
Cho's boyfriend, though possessing a sturdy build, a handsome face, and a relatively prominent background—outstanding among his peers—seemed completely dull after the terrifying scene she had witnessed.
Hermione's heart tightened at Cho's overly focused gaze; she instinctively took half a step back, her body turning slightly to the side.
Cho's gaze seemed to have magic, sticking to her and making her feel an invisible pressure, though she couldn't say exactly what was wrong.
"Hermione..."
Cho finally spoke, her voice carrying the characteristic gentleness of the southern waters, mixed with a trace of seemingly accidental sorrow, "I have some... private questions I'd like to talk to you about.
It's not convenient to speak here." Her gaze swept across the noisy corridor and quickly returned to Hermione's face, her eyes showing just the right amount of "difficulty."
Hermione looked at Cho; although she felt the expression was odd, she had always been fond of this senior from a foreign land.
Cho performed excellently in class, was gentle and polite, and possessed a temperament that fused Eastern classical beauty with Western youthful vitality.
"Of course, Senior."
Hermione agreed immediately, "Let's go to the library; it's quiet there."
She didn't think anything else of it, assuming Cho was facing some difficult problem or personal trouble.
Cho bit her lower lip gently as if hesitating, but soon nodded. A lock of her medium-length black hair slid down by her ear, just covering the flash of shrewdness in her eyes. "Good... the library."
Her voice was soft, yet it carried an undetectable sense of anticipation.
The two walked side-by-side toward the library; along the way, Cho seemed somewhat preoccupied.
Her gaze drifted toward Hermione from time to time, especially toward her youthful chest and between her legs as they swayed with her stride.
Cho's family situation was far below that of other Hogwarts students.
Her family wasn't considered a prominent pure-blood line in Asia; they were just a small family dependent on certain major powers.
Having been immersed in an environment that valued power and status since childhood, she had long ago learned how to observe and how to climb.
In the library, they found a secluded corner. Cho carefully pulled out a heavy book of spells—not to read it, but to create an invisible barrier between them, making the conversation feel more private.
"Hermione!" Cho lowered her eyelids slightly, her long lashes casting faint shadows on her pale cheeks. her voice carried a hint of feigned fragility, "Do you think... it's hard for us exchange students from the Asian Division to integrate into life at Hogwarts?"
Hermione was taken aback, then shook her head: "Not at all, Senior.
Everyone likes you; you're excellent."
"Is that so?" A trace of undetectable gloom flashed in Cho's eyes, "But I always feel... out of place.
Our spell system back home is different from here, and there are many things I need to adapt to slowly.
And... you know, I don't come from a pure-blood family after all. Back in the Asian Division, I was... on the margins. Coming here, I'm always worried about getting into trouble."
As she spoke, she stole a glance at Hermione and found that she indeed looked sympathetic.
"Senior Cho, you're being too sensitive." Hermione comforted her earnestly: "No one here will look down on you because of your background. Hogwarts is a place that respects talent."
Cho gave a forced smile, her gaze unconsciously landing once again on the book Hogwarts: A History stacked in front of Hermione.
She knew well that in the Asian magical world, background determined your ceiling, while talent and hard work were merely the passes to see if you could reach that ceiling.
Her Asian classmates also studying at Hogwarts either came from ancient pure-blood families or had proud family fortunes.
And she was just a "civilian" who had barely squeezed in based on talent.
"Hermione, you really are a kind girl."
Cho sighed softly, and then her tone suddenly became somewhat casual, as if mentioning it in passing, "By the way, that night... that Jerry, is he a Slytherin student?"
This seemingly casual question from Cho was like a pebble dropped into the calm lake of Hermione's heart, instantly creating ripples that only she could feel.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, but her good upbringing and superior intelligence allowed her to steady herself quickly.
She looked up, a polite smile belonging to a junior on her face.
"Yes, he's in Slytherin. Jerry Rosier."
Hermione answered in as flat a tone as possible, as if merely stating an insignificant fact.
But only she knew that the moment she said the name, her legs tightened for no reason, and a familiar, indescribable ache surged up from her tailbone, making her almost unable to sit still.
To hide her abnormality, she immediately steered the conversation away.
"But speaking of which, Senior, your boyfriend is also great!"
Hermione's tone grew lighthearted, her eyes filled with sincere envy: "I've seen him play Quidditch; he's tall and strong, very handsome too. Many girls whisper about him."
Hermione meant these words sincerely.
However, hearing Hermione's praise, Cho's face didn't show much joy.
She merely smiled faintly, the smile carrying a trace of imperceptible loneliness and... disdain.
"Is that so?
He is... indeed quite good."
Cho's casual, almost perfunctory "He is... indeed quite good" left Hermione's prepared words of praise stuck in her throat.
She keenly felt that Senior Cho didn't seem that satisfied with her boyfriend, but since it was a private matter, she couldn't say more.
"The Rosier family is a very ancient pure-blood family, right?"
Cho seemed not to notice Hermione's awkwardness and naturally brought the topic back, her beautiful phoenix eyes staring at Hermione with probing curiosity. Her voice dropped even lower, as if sharing a secret, "Slytherin students... I always feel they have an indescribable aura about them, different from us. That Jerry... what kind of person is he normally?"
Hermione hadn't expected her to follow up and was momentarily at a loss for words.
Should she say he was dominant? Savage? Or that he was actually... very good at taking care of people?
None of the answers seemed quite right.
While she hesitated, she subconsciously fiddled with the chain on her wrist.
It was a very delicate silver bracelet strung with a small bead that looked like obsidian.
The moment Hermione's finger touched the bead, Cho's eyes lit up.
"My God, Hermione!" Her voice was filled with a perfectly measured, non-aggressive surprise and admiration: "This bracelet... it's beautiful."
As she spoke, she naturally leaned forward, getting closer. A faint scent, like gardenias, wafted into Hermione's nose.
Cho reached out with her well-maintained hand, nails trimmed round and neat, and very gently cradled Hermione's wrist as if admiring a peerless treasure.
"Can I... see it?" Cho's tone carried a hint of a cautious request that made it impossible to refuse.
Cho's fingers lightly brushed over the black bead, and the cold touch caused a trace of undetectable heat to flash in her eyes. As a fellow pure-blood wizard, she could clearly feel the massive, pure magical power contained within this seemingly ordinary bead.
This was absolutely not a common item one could buy in a shop; it was far more advanced than the so-called "artifacts" her father cherished.
A sharp emotion, a mix of bitterness and longing, instantly seized her heart.
This Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born who would stumble while carrying too many books—how could a "Mudblood" deserve such a treasure?
The poisonous vine of jealousy spread frantically in Cho's heart, but her facial expression grew even more tender and concerned.
"Hermione, this bracelet... it's too precious."
She let go of her hand, but her gaze still didn't leave the bead. Her tone was filled with "looking out for you" concern, "Its magical fluctuations are very strong. Wearing it like this makes it easy to be targeted by people with ill intentions. I'm not trying to scare you; I'm serious.
You... you must take good care of it."
Hermione was moved by her sincere gaze and concerned tone; she subconsciously nodded, her liking for this senior increasing another few notches.
"Thank you, Senior. I'll be careful."
"This... was a gift from him, wasn't it?
Jerry Rosier."
Cho asked seemingly casually, while tidying her own hanging hair, as if she were just voicing a simple deduction.
Hermione's cheeks flushed instantly, and she gave a vague "Mmh," effectively confirming it.
"That's so nice!"
Cho sighed softly, half in lament and half in hint: "To receive such a thoughtful gift.
Unlike the things he gives me—always just Quidditch tickets and Chocolate Frogs."
She complained, but her phoenix eyes inconspicuously glanced at the bracelet on Hermione's wrist.
That obsidian bead was calm and reserved, yet it radiated a soul-stirring magical fluctuation—a weightiness that only high-level magical items could possess.
Hermione blushed, wanting to say something but stopping herself.
She looked at the unassuming yet precious bracelet on her wrist, feeling a bit wronged.
How was this the "most thoughtful" gift?
She didn't tell Cho that this was actually the most "low-key" of all the magical jewelry Jerry had given her.
Hermione pursed her lips, and just as she was about to speak, Cho "understandingly" cut her off.
"But Hermione, since Mr. Rosier is so good to you, you have to hold on tight."
Cho leaned forward, bringing her face close to Hermione's ear, her warm breath brushing the auricle with an indescribable ambiguity.
"Boys like him are very popular at Hogwarts... I'm just giving you a little advice as a senior."
After she finished, she stood up and gently closed the heavy book of spells.
As she left, she rested her right hand gently on Hermione's shoulder, leaving behind an elegant and understanding silhouette.
However, right at the library entrance, just as Cho stepped out of the heavy oak doors, she brushed past Li Xue coming from the opposite direction.
Li Xue's face still bore a trace of a well-nourished flush and her lips were slightly swollen, clearly having just ended a pleasant tryst.
Li Xue's gaze accidentally caught Cho; she smiled friendly and was about to say hello when she noticed Cho's eyes staring straight at her neck.
Li Xue subconsciously touched her own throat, where she wore a slender but exceptionally luxurious platinum necklace.
The pendant of the necklace was a thumb-sized, flawlessly pure diamond; its facets refracted the sunlight coming from outside the library, shining with a blinding brilliance.
Most strikingly, a tiny, slowly flowing golden rune was faintly visible inside the diamond, radiating a soul-stirring magical fluctuation—this wasn't just ordinary jewelry, but a powerful magical amulet.
Even among pure-blood families, Li Xue's background wasn't top-tier. Though she had many pursuers, none could easily gift such precious jewelry containing such powerful magic.
However, Cho didn't need to think twice to know where this thing came from... likely from that little young master of the Malfoy family.
A spicy, lemon-sour jealousy surged from Cho's chest, instantly burning her heart and lungs.
A flash of disbelief crossed Cho's phoenix eyes, followed immediately by even more intense greed and unwillingness.
"What a beautiful diamond!"
Li Xue gave a light laugh and said: "Of course, it was the most expensive one in the shop. You deserve one too, my dear best friend!"