The main gates of the manor were enchanted with at least seven different welcoming spells tonight.
Whenever a guest stepped onto that pathway paved with liquid silver, the magical lampposts on both sides would automatically bloom with colors corresponding to the guest's family crest... the silver-green of the Malfoy family, the deep purple of the Nott family, the emerald-gold of the Greengrass family, the dark red of the Parkinson family... These lights intertwined in the night sky into a flowing, resplendent tapestry belonging to the world of pure-blood aristocrats.
Jerry stood at the entrance of the manor's main hall, with Cassiopeia right by his right hand.
Tonight, Jerry wore a pitch-black tailcoat woven from a blend of elven silver thread and Acromantula skin. This suit was specially tailored by Cassiopeia from "Merlin's Needle," the top wizarding tailor shop in Paris. The fabric presented a subtle color shift from pure black to deep purple under different angles of light.
Pinned to his collar was a Black family crest brooch... a silver snake coiled around a crescent moon, the black diamond embedded in the snake's eye refracting a cold, ghostly glint in the candlelight.
The tailoring of the suit perfectly fit Jerry's figure, which still carried a boyish frame but had already begun to take on the contours of an adult male.
The proportions of his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs were perfectly magnified by this suit, making him look less like a teenager waiting to be engaged and more like a young monarch inspecting his territory as he stood among those pure-blood aristocrats in their fine garments.
Cassiopeia stood beside him, one hand resting lightly on Jerry's forearm.
Tonight, she chose a dark green floor-length gown woven from the tentacle silk of abyssal jellyfish. When still, the fabric presented a steady, almost black dark green, but whenever she took a step, rings of fluorescent blue ripples, like the bioluminescence of deep-sea creatures, would rise at the hem. They spread all the way up from her ankles, passed her astonishing waistline outlined by the corset, and finally disappeared into the shadow of a neckline so deep it could swallow one's gaze.
Hanging around her neck was the "Tears of the Serpent Queen" necklace, passed down through generations of the Black family... seven emerald teardrops purified by alchemy, each sealing a sliver of a soul fragment from a Black ancestor.
The pendant of the necklace fell exactly in the deepest part of the cleavage formed by her two plump breasts, swaying gently with the rise and fall of her breath.
"Stand straight, raise your chin half an inch."
Cassiopeia's lips barely moved, yet her voice was delivered accurately into Jerry's ear. "The old hag from the Parkinson family is looking at you. Her eyes are more venomous than a counterfeit-detection charm."
Jerry slightly adjusted his posture, the corners of his mouth hooking into a perfectly measured arc that seemed neither overly enthusiastic nor arrogant and rude.
Guests were pouring in continuously.
The first to arrive was the Malfoy family.
Lucius Malfoy walked at the forefront. His signature platinum-blonde long hair was tied high tonight with a diamond-studded snake-bone hairpin, revealing that sharply contoured, aristocratically pale face with a touch of sickliness. Every time his walking stick struck the silver pathway, it emitted a crisp, ceremonial metallic clack.
And Narcissa Malfoy, who was holding his arm, wore an outfit tonight that was enough to make all the noblewomen present pale in comparison.
Narcissa's long blonde hair draped over her shoulders, every single strand looking as if it had been washed by moonlight. Her face, which always carried a bit of cold aloofness, now wore a proper smile. But when her gaze swept past Jerry, a highly concealed, complex emotion that only the parties involved could read flashed in those ice-blue eyes.
"Cassiopeia, congratulations."
Narcissa's voice was like silk gliding over ice. She stepped forward and gave Cassiopeia a standard cheek-kiss greeting between pure-blood aristocrats. "Isabella is a good girl, and Jerry is worthy of her."
"Narcissa, you are too polite."
Cassiopeia returned the equally elegant cheek-kiss. The two women's cheeks lightly touched in the air, their respective perfumes blending in that instant of intersection into an intoxicatingly rich fragrance. "Though this ice phoenix feather dress you are wearing today... I'm afraid it must have emptied out the Malfoy family's haute couture workshop, right?"
Narcissa gave a soft chuckle but didn't answer.
She stepped aside to reveal the spot behind her.
Draco Malfoy followed behind his parents with a reluctant expression on his face. He wore a silver-gray suit similar in style to his father's but clearly more youthful, his platinum-blonde hair combed meticulously. When he passed by Jerry, the two exchanged a tacit look.
"You're screwed, mate."
Draco said at a volume only Jerry could hear, and then was lightly tapped on the back of his head by Narcissa's fan handle from behind. He obediently shut up and walked into the hall.
Arriving closely after the Malfoy family was the Nott family.
Old Theodore Nott was one of the Death Eaters best at hiding himself. Tonight, he wore a dark gray robe so plain it seemed deliberate, the only decoration being the black-iron Nott family crest at his collar. His face wore an eternal, stone-carved expression of indifference, and he made almost no sound when he walked.
But the woman accompanying him was exactly the opposite.
Mrs. Nott!
Cecilia, whose maiden name was Rowle... was one of the first noblewomen to start drawing attention tonight.
She was in her early forties, but due to the unique magical nourishment of pure-blood families, she looked thirty-five at most.
She wore a burgundy, tight-fitting gown spliced from fire salamander leather and velvet. That fabric would emit an extremely subtle "crackle" sound, like flames licking firewood, when she moved. Her figure was famous in pure-blood aristocratic circles for being "voluptuous"... this was not a euphemism, but a genuine compliment.
Both her bust and her hips had reached breathtaking proportions, yet her waist maintained a slender thinness upheld by magical body sculpting. This extreme contrast made her every step full of visual impact.
"Jerry, darling."
When Cecilia walked up to Jerry, she proactively extended her right hand, which wore a ruby ring. Her voice was low and magnetic. "That set of alchemical tools you gave Theodore last time, he absolutely loved them. If you can treat your fiancée the same way you treat your friends after the engagement, Isabella will certainly be very happy."
Jerry took her hand and performed a standard hand-kiss. His lips lingered on the knuckles of that hand for exactly one second... no more, no less, perfectly fitting the pure-blood etiquette's standard of respect for an "elder's wife."
"You flatter me, Mrs. Nott."
The corners of Cecilia's mouth hooked into an ambiguous smile, and then she took old Nott's arm and walked into the hall.
Next was the Greengrass family.
Mr. Greengrass was a senior advisor in the Ministry of Magic's Department of International Magical Cooperation, a typical pure-blood politician. But what truly drew attention tonight were the two daughters behind him.
Daphne Greengrass wore an emerald-green satin slip dress. The luster of that fabric flowed along the lines of her slender yet strong body with every step she took. Her dark hair was braided into a thick plait resting on her right shoulder, the end secured with an emerald snake-head pin. Her expression was cold and reserved; as she passed by Jerry, she merely gave a slight nod.
And her younger sister, Astoria, was much more lively. This little girl, who had just entered her third year at Hogwarts, wore a pale-gold puffy dress. She trotted all the way up to Jerry, loudly said, "Happy engagement, little brother Jerry," and was then grabbed by the back collar and dragged away by her older sister.
The Parkinson family, the Crabbe family, the Goyle family, the Flint family, the Bulstrode family... one pure-blood family after another filed in. The matriarch of every family was meticulously dressed up.
And the figure weaving and socializing among the wives of these pure-blood families like a fish in water was, naturally, Professor McGonagall.
Minerva McGonagall had arrived very early tonight. As Jerry's nominal guardian, her status at this engagement banquet was second only to Cassiopeia herself. She wore a sharply tailored dark gray velvet suit... the top was a waist-cinching, double-breasted suit jacket with silver buttons, paired with a matching knee-length skirt below. Minerva McGonagall's legs were still wrapped in those signature gray silk stockings, her feet stepping in a pair of mid-heeled black patent leather shoes.
She sat in an armchair near the fireplace on the east side of the hall, holding a glass of champagne in her hand, talking in a low voice with Mrs. Greengrass sitting opposite her.
"Isabella's grades in all subjects during her time at school have been in the top three of her year, especially in Transfiguration and Potions."
McGonagall's tone carried an undisguised satisfaction. "As a Slytherin prefect, her leadership abilities have also been recognized by all the professors.
Most importantly, her family background—the pure-blood lineage of the Black family—cannot be matched by a second in the entire British magical world."
Mrs. Greengrass... a middle-aged woman with a gentle face, wearing a light blue dress with floral embroidery... nodded slightly. "It is indeed a well-matched marriage. Although that boy Jerry's style of doing things is sometimes a bit too... bold, when it comes to family background and strength, he is more than a match for Isabella."
McGonagall took a sip of champagne, a smile carrying a certain hidden sweetness appearing at the corners of her mouth that only she herself could detect.
She cast her gaze toward the silhouette of the teenage boy wearing the pitch-black tailcoat at the entrance of the hall. The candlelight illuminated Jerry's sharply contoured profile.
McGonagall's finger gently traced a circle around the rim of her champagne flute, then withdrew her gaze and continued to chat with Mrs. Greengrass about those decent but boring topics regarding educational philosophies and family heritage.
The flood of guests continued to pour incessantly into the main hall of the manor.
The welcoming lampposts on the silver pathway suddenly erupted at this moment with a blinding, almost provocative scarlet light. That was the crest color of the Rose family.
Cassiopeia was holding her champagne flute and conversing in a low voice with Narcissa. The moment her peripheral vision caught that burst of red light, the curve of her mouth pressed downward by half a millimeter, almost imperceptibly.
"She's here."
Cassiopeia's voice was so soft it sounded like she was talking to herself.
Narcissa followed her gaze. A subtle flash of knowing comprehension passed through her ice-blue eyes, and then she took a half-step back with extreme elegance, blending into the crowd behind her with her wine glass, as if a drop of water vanishing into the surface of a lake.
The woman walking from the end of the pathway was named Vivian Rose.
Although the Rose family was not as illustrious and prominent as the Malfoys or the Blacks, when it came to the purity of their pure-blood lineage, they could easily rank in the top ten among the old aristocratic families.
Vivian was in her early forties and exquisitely maintained. Her face, balancing between cold glamour and meanness, always wore an "I am nobler than you" expression.
Tonight, she wore a pearl-white mermaid gown. The fabric was a top-grade blend of moonlight silk and unicorn mane. Every inch of the cloth emitted a soft, silvery-white halo like moonlight under the lamps. The dress clung tightly to her still excellently maintained body curves, cinching all the way from her chest down to her waist, and then flaring out below her hips into a gorgeous mermaid hem.
Around her neck hung a necklace strung with thirty-six black pearls. Every pearl was the size of a quail egg, allegedly dismantled from the crown of a deep-sea merman.
Her hair was coiled into an extremely complex high bun inlaid with crushed diamonds, exposing that section of fair, almost transparent nape.
Vivian's legs were wrapped in a layer of extremely expensive white silk stockings with a pearlescent sheen. She stepped in a pair of silver stiletto heels encrusted with crushed diamonds; every step she took was like stepping on crystal shards.
But what truly made Cassiopeia's eyes turn cold was not Vivian's attire.
It was the necklace on Vivian.
Those thirty-six black pearls were originally supposed to be in the Black family's vault. Twenty years ago, there was a transaction involving magic crystal mining rights between the Black family and the Rose family.
Vivian's husband used a tampered contract to forcibly carve a large chunk out of the Black family's assets.
That black pearl necklace was purchased with those stolen funds. For this woman to wear it tonight to attend Jerry's engagement banquet was no different from slapping the Black family in the face in front of all the pure-blood families.
Vivian strode into the hall with a confident and aggressive pace. Her gaze swept over the guests present, the corners of her mouth constantly maintaining that sickening, condescending smile. When she saw Cassiopeia, that smile even became more pronounced.
"Cassiopeia, darling."
Vivian proactively walked over, opening her arms in a gesture for a cheek-kiss greeting.
Her perfume was strong and aggressive; it was the kind specially formulated by the most expensive perfumers in pure-blood aristocratic circles, carrying a scent meant to declare territory.
"Congratulations, you finally found a good son-in-law. To tell you the truth, I was always worried whether any family would be willing to betroth their daughter to him, given Jerry's... special background."
The air in the room instantly froze for half a second.
On the surface, this sentence was a congratulation, but in reality, every single word was like a poisoned needle.
Cassiopeia's expression did not change at all.
She even cooperatively met Vivian's cheek-kiss; the two women's cheeks lightly touched in the air.
"Vivian, your necklace is truly beautiful."
Cassiopeia took a half-step back, her gaze falling on that string of black pearls. "But don't you feel that... tonight's lighting makes these pearls look a bit... dull?"
She reached out her left hand, her slender fingers seemingly casually reaching to touch that necklace.
Simultaneously with this action, her right hand tilted slightly.
Just a tiny bit.
But that tiny tilt was enough to cause the 1847 vintage red wine in her hand—a Black family private reserve, a deep red color like fresh blood—to slide from the rim of the glass in a precise arc.
Splash.
The red wine landed on Vivian's chest.
That patch of deep red liquid spread rapidly along the pearl-white moonlight silk fabric, like a blood-red rose blooming on snowy ground.
The wine flowed down from her collarbone, seeping all the way down along that cleavage tightly wrapped by the gown, dyeing that originally flawless white area into a shocking, deep crimson.
Vivian's smile shattered within that second.
"You!"
She looked down at that expanding wine stain on her chest, her lips trembling violently from anger and humiliation.
The moonlight silk fabric had one fatal flaw... it was extremely absorbent to liquids, and once stained by dark-colored fluids, it was almost impossible to remove completely with a Scouring Charm. This meant that this gown, worth tens of thousands of Galleons, was ruined.
"Oh my."
Cassiopeia let out a perfect, apologetic gasp.
Her expression was flawlessly executed... slightly parted lips, slightly raised eyebrows, and a hand covering the corner of her mouth... every detail conveyed the message that "this was completely an accident." "I am so, so sorry, Vivian! I don't know what happened to this wine glass, it just suddenly slipped."
Cassiopeia reached out her hand, making a gesture to help Vivian wipe it off, but her fingers merely lightly touched that wine stain, actually smearing the red wine even further, even implicating the waist area of Vivian's dress.
"Don't touch me!"
Vivian abruptly took a step back, her hands, maintained as tender as ivory, tightly clutching the edge of her skirt. "You did this on purpose, Cassiopeia!"
"On purpose?"
Cassiopeia tilted her head slightly. An extremely brief, blade-like cold light flashed in her eyes, but the corners of her mouth always maintained that proper smile. "Vivian, you're overthinking it. But, I truly am sorry; I'm afraid an ordinary Scouring Charm won't be able to handle this level of stain. Jerry..."
She turned her head, looking at the teenage boy who had been standing by her side silently observing all of this.
"Take Madam Rose to the dressing room to change her clothes. There should be a spare gown in her size in the manor."
Jerry's expression constantly maintained that subtle balance unique to youths: seemingly innocent, yet hiding a shrewdness underneath.
He gave a slight nod, then turned to Vivian, whose face was currently flushed red with anger and shame.
"Madam Rose, please come with me."
Jerry extended his right hand, palm up, making a standard guiding gesture. His sharply contoured face looked dashing in the candlelight, and those pitch-black eyes carried an apparently completely sincere concern belonging to a youth.
Vivian bit her lip, her gaze sweeping back and forth between Cassiopeia's flawless smile and Jerry's extended hand.
Dozens of pure-blood aristocrats present were observing this scene out of the corners of their eyes. If she threw a tantrum in public right now, she would only be making a fool of herself.
"...Lead the way."
Vivian squeezed out two words through her gritted teeth, then lifted her wine-soaked skirt hem and quickly followed after Jerry.
Jerry led Vivian through a corridor decorated with elven silver thread behind the main hall.
The magical wall sconces on both sides of the corridor lit up automatically as they passed, and extinguished automatically after they walked away, as if the entire manor was providing a hidden path for this "clothing change."
The dressing room was located in the west wing of the second floor of the main building.
Jerry pushed open that heavy door inlaid with ebony and silver, turning sideways to let Vivian enter first.
This dressing room was different from the one he had used with Cassiopeia and her daughter last night.
It was somewhat smaller, but the decorations were more exquisite. Three walls were covered by solid, floor-to-ceiling magical mirrors; the mirror surfaces had an auto-adjusting light function, capable of perfectly simulating any natural lighting condition from dawn to dusk.
In the center of the room sat a semi-circular mahogany dressing platform, on which seven or eight spare gowns of different styles and colors hung neatly.
Click.
Jerry closed the door behind him.
Vivian stood in front of the dressing platform, her back to Jerry.
Her shoulders trembled slightly from suppressed anger. That meticulously coiled high bun had loosened a few strands due to her rapid walking just now, the loose hairs trailing down onto her fair nape.
The wine stain on her gown had already spread to an extremely disastrous extent.
From her chest to her waist, large swaths of the pearl-white fabric had turned varying shades of dark red.
Due to the semi-transparent nature of the moonlight silk, the wine-soaked areas became even more transparent.
Under the multi-angled reflections of the three floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the dressing room, the outline of Vivian's underwear could be faintly seen... it was a white French corset bra with complex lace patterns, currently struggling to contain her.
Vivian reached back to grab the zipper of the gown, but because the dress design was a high-slit mermaid style, the zipper was located slightly below the dead center of her spine; with the arm span of a single person, it was very difficult for her to reach.
Vivian tried three times, and every time she only vainly grabbed a handful of air behind her back.
"Let me do it."
Jerry's voice came from behind her.
Vivian froze.
She whipped her head around, seeing Jerry standing less than two paces away from her.
The youth's expression was still that polite, concerned smile. Those pitch-black eyes were looking at her back... more accurately, looking at that zipper she couldn't reach.
"I can do it myself..."
"Madam Rose, the zipper on this dress is a specialized invisible clasp for moonlight silk. If you yank it hard, it will tear the fabric."
Jerry's voice was calm and full of professionalism. "I will help you unzip it, and then you can change by yourself."
Vivian hesitated for two seconds.
She turned back around, revealing that section of her back decorated with wine stains and stray hairs.
"Hurry up."
Jerry stepped forward.
His fingers rested on the starting end of that zipper. That spot was right below the nape of Vivian's neck; his fingertips inevitably touched that small patch of bare skin at the hollow of her neck.
Vivian's shoulder blades tightened involuntarily.
Jerry began to slowly pull the zipper down.
Zzzzt...
As the zipper teeth slid through the special fabric of the moonlight silk, it emitted an extremely fine sound, like fingernails scraping across silk.
With the downward movement of the zipper, Vivian's back was exposed inch by inch.
First were those two shoulder blades, still firm due to years of maintenance, then that elegant groove on either side of the spine, followed by the back clasp of her corset bra... three rows of white hooks spanning across the center of her back, firmly securing that pair of heavy breasts.
The zipper continued downward, passing the narrowest part of her waist, revealing that section of her side waist skin which bore pale pink marks from corset indentations.
Finally, the zipper stopped right above her tailbone.
This position was exactly at the height of the waistband of her panties.
After the zipper was completely opened, Jerry could clearly see the upper edge of those white lace panties, and below the edge of the panties, that section of the upper curve of her buttocks tightly wrapped in white silk stockings, beginning to show a plump arc.
"Alright, the zipper is open."
Jerry's voice lacked any fluctuation. He took a step back, but didn't turn around.
Vivian reached out and grabbed the two shoulder straps of the dress, peeling that pearl-white gown, already ruined by the wine, off her shoulders. The sound of the fabric sliding off was exceptionally clear in the quiet dressing room... it was a soft "rustle" carrying a certain wet texture. The gown slid down along her body curves; as it passed her chest, it was slightly obstructed by the protrusion of the corset bra, then continued downward, passing her waist, her hips, and finally piling up at her ankles.
At this moment, Vivian was only wearing that white lace corset bra, a matching pair of lace panties, and a pair of pearl-white thigh-high silk stockings that extended from her toes all the way up, wrapping to the roots of her thighs. Having lost the constraint of the gown, her figure displayed a voluptuousness completely different from when she was fully dressed. The cups of the corset bra were clearly struggling to support that pair of breasts which, due to gravity, expanded slightly outward; the breasts spilled over the top edges of the cups in a soft arc. Her waist maintained the slender thinness upheld by magical body sculpting, but her hips were extremely broad and rounded. The bands of the white silk stockings dug deeply into that mass of plump buttock flesh, squeezing out a highly fleshy bulge.
Vivian turned her head slightly, wanting to say, "You can leave now."
Then, in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, she saw Jerry.
More accurately, she saw that... completely unignorable outline at the crotch of Jerry's dress trousers.
Because Jerry's suit tonight utilized extremely form-fitting tailoring... that was the "display effect" Cassiopeia had specifically requested... it outlined a scalp-tingling arched bulge at the crotch. Even in a completely unengorged state, that thing occupied the entire space from the waistband to the middle of his thighs. The fabric of the trousers was stretched nearly transparent in that spot, making it possible to faintly discern the basic outline of that thick, sturdy shaft, as well as the arc-shaped projection of that massive coronal head at the tip.
Vivian's breathing stalled in that instant.
Her gaze, as if hit by a Freezing Charm, was nailed to that incredible bulge.
How could this be possible?
This was just a teenage boy.
But that thing between his legs completely did not belong to this age group. It didn't even belong in the realm of adults.
Vivian had seen the bodies of teenage boys. As the wife of a pure-blood family, she was not entirely inexperienced in marriage. But her husband's size, compared to this terrifying presence in Jerry's crotch, was like comparing a candle to a lighthouse.
"Madam Rose?"
Jerry's voice pulled her back from her stupor.
Vivian abruptly lifted her head and found Jerry looking at her. Those eyes carried a subtle, half-smiling expression.
He knew what she was looking at.
A heat mixed with shame and some indescribable warmth rose from Vivian's abdomen, darting up her neck and cheeks.
"You... you turn around first."
Vivian's voice was a bit weak.
"Of course."
Jerry nodded.
But his turning motion was extremely slow. During the process of turning, he seemingly unintentionally reached out to straighten the hem of his suit. This action caused his palm to slide downward from the waistband over the surface of that bulge... the fabric tightened slightly under his palm, and the outline of that giant object became even clearer in this instant. One could even see the paths of several thick blood vessels swelling due to engorgement on the shaft.
From Vivian's throat came an extremely faint, nearly inaudible swallowing sound.
Jerry completed his turn and stood with his back to her.
"Take your time choosing, Madam. If you need help with buttons or zippers, please don't hesitate to call me."
His voice was still polite, even carrying a trace of casual nonchalance.
Vivian stood in front of the dressing table. Her fingers rested on a deep purple velvet spare gown, but those fingers were trembling slightly.
Not out of anger.
The dressing room was so quiet that only the sound of two people breathing remained, along with the countless reflections of Vivian and Jerry in the three floor-to-ceiling mirrors, silently confronting each other in the magical candlelight.
Vivian's gaze uncontrollably fell again on Jerry's reflection in the mirror—that figure with his back to her. Even from a rear view, the tailored suit faithfully outlined the highly impactful proportions between the youth's firm, narrow waist and broad shoulders. And below the waistline, due to the posture of his turn, that massive object formed a thick, snake-like winding bulge on the side of his trouser leg, extending all the way from his crotch to his inner thigh.
Vivian closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She picked up that deep purple spare gown and began to put it on. But her fingers, which had grown clammy due to some unspeakable emotion, slipped three consecutive times while trying to fasten the buttons.
"Need some help?"
Jerry's voice rang out again.
Vivian bit her lower lip.
"...The buttons on the back, I can't reach them."
Jerry turned around.
His pace toward Vivian was neither fast nor slow, every step landing on a precise rhythm. When he stood behind Vivian, the distance between them was less than half a foot.
Jerry's fingers rested on the first silver button on the back of that deep purple gown.
Vivian could feel Jerry's breath fanning against her exposed nape, carrying a scent unique to a youth—clear and cool, yet hiding a certain scorching energy.
And below her waist, a hard, scalding, heavy object pressed impartially into the exact center of her round, plump gluteal cleft through two layers of fabric.
Vivian's body went stiff.
That thing was too big.
Even through Jerry's suit trousers and her thin lace panties, she could still clearly feel the astonishing heat of that meat-pillar, its heavy weight, and the pulse throbbing constantly upon it like a second heart. It started from the position of her tailbone, extending upward along her gluteal cleft, the tip even reaching her waist. What this length signified, Vivian's brain completely refused to process rationally in that moment.
"First button is done."
Jerry's voice was as calm as if reporting the weather. "Four more to go."
His fingers moved to the second button. During this slightly bending motion, his crotch naturally thrust forward a fraction.
"Mmh..."
An almost inaudible muffled groan squeezed from Vivian's nasal cavity. That scalding, massive object, in the process of pushing forward, squeezed her lace panties inward along with the flesh of her buttocks, creating a scalp-tingling friction within that hidden crevice.
"Second button."
Jerry's fingers continued to move upward. The third button, the fourth, the fifth... the fastening of every single button was accompanied by an extremely minute forward and backward sway of his body that could almost be explained as "subconscious." And every one of those sways would cause that giant object pressing against Vivian's buttocks to produce a heavy, oppressive grind.
Sizzle... smack...
The sound of fabric rubbing against fabric was infinitely amplified in the quiet dressing room.
"Alright, all buttoned up."
Jerry took a step back, and that massive object slowly withdrew from Vivian's gluteal cleft, leaving behind a scorching trail branded by body heat that could be felt even through the fabric.
Vivian turned around.
Her cheeks were flushed crimson, her breathing rapid, and those eyes—watery from some intense emotion—stared dead at Jerry.
Jerry, on the other hand, merely tilted his head slightly, revealing a perfect, flawless, polite smile belonging to the heir of the Black family.
"Madam Rose, we should head back. The banquet cannot be without your presence for too long."
He extended his right hand again, palm facing up.
Vivian looked at that hand, then glanced at Jerry's face, and finally... her gaze involuntarily slid downward again to that still-conspicuous bulge at his crotch.
When Vivian's fingers rested in Jerry's palm, that subtle trembling hadn't completely subsided.
The two of them walked side by side through that corridor decorated with elven silver thread, the light from the wall sconces casting alternating patches of light and shadow on their silhouettes. Vivian's pace was much slower than when she came, and the tapping sound her diamond-encrusted silver stilettos made on the marble floor had also become soft and hesitant. Her newly changed deep purple velvet gown clung tightly to her body curves; because this spare dress was about half a size smaller than her original one, the fabric was stretched tighter around her chest and hips, pulling those voluptuous lines into an even more oppressive silhouette than before.
And in her mind, the sensation of that scalding, massive object grinding against her gluteal cleft through the fabric still lingered. That temperature. That weight. That beast-like presence completely unbefitting a teenager.
Vivian shook her head hard, trying to shake these images out of her mind.
When they stepped back into the banquet hall, everything looked no different than before they left. Guests were gathered in twos and threes talking, holding various drinks in their hands. Those floating candelabras maintained by magic rotated slowly beneath the vaulted ceiling, shedding warm, soft golden light.
Jerry released Vivian's hand, giving a slight nod in a standard gesture of taking leave.
"Madam Rose, I wish you a pleasant evening."
Then, he turned and walked in the direction where Cassiopeia was located, his pace unhurried, his back straight, that pitch-black tailcoat fitting him like a suit of armor.
Vivian stood alone at the edge of the hall, took a deep breath, and put her "pure-blood noblewoman" mask back on.
She needed a drink.
A waiter-elf by the dessert table floated over silently carrying a silver tray. On the tray sat over a dozen drinks of various colors... golden mead, amber firewhisky, and a row of pale pink liquid served in exquisite crystal glasses.
Vivian's hand reached for the closest pale pink drink. It looked like a common sparkling rosé; fine beads of condensation clung to the glass, gentle bubbles rising, emitting a sweet, fresh floral scent.
She picked up the glass and drank more than half in one breath.
The icy liquid slid down her throat, bringing a comforting sense of refreshment. Vivian closed her eyes, letting that coolness dilute the residual feverish heat from the dressing room just now.
She didn't notice that at the other end of the hall, Cassiopeia was watching her pick up that drink.
The corners of Cassiopeia's mouth hooked into an extremely tiny arc.
Dissolved in that pale pink drink was a colorless, odorless potion... a variant of "Veritaserum."
It wasn't a truth serum. It wouldn't force the drinker to speak the truth.
What it did was more insidious, and much more malicious.
Over the next twenty minutes, it would slowly lower the drinker's control over their own emotions and physical reactions.
In plain terms, anyone who drank this thing would unknowingly become unable to hide their true feelings. When they wanted to blush, they would blush; when they wanted to drool, they would drool; when they wanted to stare at something, their gaze would be fixed as if nailed down, unable to look away.
And the drinker themselves would be completely unaware of this loss of control.
Cassiopeia, holding her own wine glass, strolled leisurely through the crowd toward where Vivian was located.
"Vivian, changing into this purple dress actually suits you better than that white one just now."
Cassiopeia's voice was as gentle as a casual chat between old friends. She stood beside Vivian, her gaze seemingly carelessly sweeping over the hall.
Vivian stiffly twitched the corners of her mouth.
"Save your hypocritical pleasantries, Cassiopeia."
"Don't say that."
Cassiopeia gave a soft chuckle, reaching out to pat Vivian's shoulder, the action as intimate as true best friends. "By the way, did Jerry take good care of you? Although that boy isn't very old, he's always been thorough in his actions."
Vivian's fingers involuntarily tightened on the rim of her glass. She wanted to say, "That son-in-law of yours is nothing but a wet-behind-the-ears brat," but the image that surfaced in her mind was that of the dressing room—that shockingly hot, hard object pressed dead center in her gluteal cleft, suffocating even through layers of fabric.
"...It was alright."
Vivian's answer was dry.
"Alright?"
Cassiopeia tilted her head slightly, the arc of her mouth lifting a fraction more. "That's wonderful. To tell the truth, I've always felt that Jerry possesses an aura... how should I put it... that exceeds his age. Don't you think?"
Vivian didn't answer, but her gaze involuntarily crossed over Cassiopeia's shoulder, searching for Jerry's figure in the hall.
She found him.
Jerry was standing by the fireplace, chatting with young Nott about something. The candlelight hit his face from the side, illuminating that rugged line from the bridge of his nose to his jaw like it was carved with a knife. He seemed to have said something interesting; the Nott opposite him laughed, while Jerry himself merely twitched the corners of his mouth, revealing a faint smile carrying a bit of maturity. That pitch-black tailcoat presented a deep purple luster in the firelight of the hearth, clinging tightly to that torso which, although still a teenager's build, already possessed the initial sense of masculine power.
Broad shoulders.
Narrow waist.
Long legs.
And that... crotch bulge, the general outline of which could still be discerned even in a standing posture, through the dark fabric of the suit trousers, under these conditions of distance and lighting.
Vivian found her gaze nailed to that spot.
She wanted to look away, but her eyeballs refused to execute her brain's command.
The potion had begun to take effect.
"This boy Jerry,"
Cassiopeia seemed completely oblivious to the direction of Vivian's gaze, continuing to speak in that chatty tone, "has been more mature than his peers since he was a child. Not just mentally, but physically as well."
Vivian's Adam's apple bobbed. She picked up her glass and took another sip of that nearly empty pink drink.
"I don't care..."
"Is that so?"
Cassiopeia's gaze finally turned to Vivian's face. Those emerald-green eyes flashed in the candlelight with a cold, cruel light unique to a predator. "But your eyes tell me you care very much."
Vivian's cheeks suddenly burned up.
That redness wasn't the kind of slight flush that could be fobbed off with "the lighting is too warm," but a bright, vivid crimson rushing straight from the base of her neck to her forehead, as if she had been stripped naked in public.
The potion wouldn't allow her to hide this physiological reaction.
"What nonsense are you talking about..."
"Vivian."
Cassiopeia suddenly stepped closer, her lips almost touching Vivian's auricle. That scent, a mixture of the abyssal jellyfish tentacle silk fabric and the Black family's exclusive perfume, enveloped Vivian like a soft net. "Just now in the dressing room, did you feel something?"
Vivian's breathing stalled for a beat.
"When Jerry was helping you with the zipper, did he accidentally touch you?"
"No."
Vivian's answer blurted out, but her voice produced an extremely obvious quaver on the word "No," a quaver that even terrified herself.
Cassiopeia smiled.
Not that polite smile of social occasions, but a genuine smile, spreading from the depths of her eyes to the corners of her mouth, full of a sense of control.
"You know, Vivian,"
Cassiopeia straightened up, took a step back with her wine glass, her voice returning to normal volume... a volume just enough to be heard by guests within a two or three-meter radius, "I've always thought you are a woman of great taste. Your appreciation for beauty is famous in pure-blood noblewoman circles. So I'm very curious..."
She turned around, facing the hall, and raised her wine glass, pointing it from afar at Jerry by the fireplace.
"Do you think 'our' Jerry is handsome tonight?"
The potion was surging joyfully in Vivian's bloodstream.
It rendered Vivian completely unable to control the expression on her face.
That shock and feverish heat triggered by Jerry's astonishingly massive object, suppressed in the dressing room, now entirely flooded her face.
Her face was as red as if it were on fire.
Her eyes uncontrollably sought out Jerry's figure again, and this time, her line of sight locked directly onto Jerry's crotch... that bulge which appeared even more three-dimensional and shocking under the side lighting of the fireplace.
She stared at it for three full seconds.
In the social etiquette of pure-blood aristocrats, three seconds was enough to constitute a public scandal.
Cecilia Nott covered her mouth with her fan, but the unhideable fire of gossip flashed in those eyes.
Mrs. Greengrass coughed lightly, lowering her head to drink her tea, but the curve of her mouth betrayed her.
Professor McGonagall merely raised her eyebrows slightly, then gave Cassiopeia a look with an extremely complex expression. That expression contained three parts comprehension, two parts helplessness, one part hidden smugness, and four parts evaluation of "You woman truly will stoop to anything."
Vivian finally realized what she was doing.
She whipped her head away, but it was already too late.
Those three seconds of staring had been seen by everyone.
And even more fatal, when she turned her head, due to the potion stripping away her physical control, her lips parted slightly uncontrollably... it was a subconscious, desire-filled conditioned reflex, like seeing a piece of peerless, delicious cake.
"Vivian, are you alright?"
Cassiopeia's voice was full of concern. "Your face is so red, are you feeling unwell? Do you want Jerry to accompany you to rest a bit more?"
"No need!"
Vivian practically shouted those two words. Her voice echoed briefly in the hall, drawing even more curious glances.
Vivian's hands gripped her wine glass in a death grip, those long legs wrapped in white silk stockings clamped tightly together beneath the hem of her dress.
Vivian could feel her inner thighs becoming wet at a completely uncontrollable speed.
The potion didn't even let this go.
And by the fireplace, Jerry seemed to have finally noticed the commotion over here.
He turned his head, those pitch-black eyes crossing the crowd, accurately meeting Vivian's gaze.
Then he smiled slightly.
It was a completely innocent, polite smile, even carrying a bit of bashfulness unique to a youth.
But Vivian's brain completed a dangerous logical leap in that moment...
This smile, plus that giant object in the dressing room pressing into her gluteal cleft, hot as a branding iron, plus those seemingly unintentional words of Cassiopeia's just now that were actually rubbing salt into her wounds with every sentence...
These fragments pieced together in her mind into a complete image that brought her reason to the verge of collapse while making her body scream frantically.
I want to conquer this boy.
This thought nailed itself into Vivian Rose's brain without warning, like a red-hot iron spike.
Not to passively endure.
Not to be ground against, oppressed, awed to the point of being unable to speak clearly by that mind-boggling size like in the dressing room.
But to conquer.
With the methods and experience of a mature woman, to press this arrogant boy beneath her, make him submit.
Let him know what a real woman tastes like.
Let him know that the women of the Rose family are not vases to be toyed with casually.
Once this thought took root, it spread through Vivian's consciousness at an astonishing speed, like Devil's Snare cast with a Growth Charm.
Her breathing became rapid.
Her pupils began to dilate.
The force of her fingers on the wine glass was so great her nails nearly embedded into the crystal.
And Cassiopeia was standing just two steps behind her, watching Vivian's exposed shoulder blades trembling slightly due to some intense emotional fluctuation.
Cassiopeia raised her own wine glass and took a gentle sip.
The sweetness of the liquor spread on the tip of her tongue, like the taste of victory.
The clamor of the banquet hall reached a certain subtle climax in this good show meticulously orchestrated by Cassiopeia.
Vivian Rose held that empty pink drink, the crimson flush on her cheeks lingering, her legs clamped tightly together, maintaining the last shred of a pure-blood noblewoman's dignity with an almost stiff posture. Every few seconds, her gaze would uncontrollably drift toward Jerry's direction by the fireplace, and then violently snap back like being burned by fire.
And Jerry himself, having finished exchanging pleasantries with Nott, picked up a glass of firewhisky and unhurriedly made his way through the crowd.
His line of sight did not rest on Vivian.
Instead, it fell on the back of Narcissa Malfoy.
Narcissa was currently standing by the dessert table on the east side of the hall. Her slender fingers pinched an elf-baked almond cookie as she engaged in what appeared to be a completely unnutritious chat with Mrs. Parkinson. Her long, moonlight-blonde hair draped over her shoulders; that ice phoenix feather dress shimmered with a cold blue-white light under the floating candles above the dessert table.
Jerry placed the glass of firewhisky on the nearest table, then walked straight toward Narcissa's direction. His pace wasn't fast, but every step carried a clear, unavoidable intentionality.
Narcissa seemed to sense something.
Those ice-blue eyes of hers flickered slightly the moment Jerry approached. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly, hiding that pinhead-sized glass vial deeper into her palm.
"Madam Narcissa."
Jerry stopped beside her, his voice polite and flat. "Are the almond cookies over here at the dessert table a bit stale? I smell a strange odor."
Narcissa turned her head, looking at Jerry.
The two people's gazes intersected in that instant.
Narcissa's expression was flawless—gentle, proper, carrying a trace of an elder's affection for a junior.
But her pupils contracted.
"Not at all, they taste very good."
Narcissa answered with a smile. "Have you had too much whisky? Is your nose failing you?"
"Perhaps."
Jerry smiled. "By the way, Madam Narcissa, could I trouble you to help me check if the ladies' restroom in the west wing of the second floor needs some new scented candles? Cassiopeia instructed me to pay attention to these details, but it's not proper for me to go in alone to check."
This request was perfectly reasonable, but when Narcissa heard the words "west wing of the second floor," her pupils contracted again.
That was the most secluded area in the manor.
"Of course."
Narcissa placed the dessert plate in her hand back onto the table. The movement was so smooth that no one noticed her fingers had already transferred that tiny glass vial into the hidden pocket of her dress while setting down the plate.
The two of them left the hall, one after the other.
Walking through that corridor decorated with elven silver thread, up the spiral staircase to the second floor, through a long gallery hung with portraits of past Black family matriarchs, finally stopping in front of that restroom door framed in white marble at the end of the west wing.
Jerry pushed open the door, turning sideways to let Narcissa enter first.
The specifications of this restroom far exceeded those of an ordinary restroom.
On the white marble vanity sat over a dozen magical scented candles of different fragrances. The walls were built of semi-transparent magical crystal bricks, allowing one to see the situation in the outside corridor from within.
The floor was warm, a comfortable temperature continuously maintained by some kind of Heating Charm.
Narcissa walked to the vanity, reached out, and picked up a candle, pretending to inspect it.
Click.
The sound of the door lock engaging behind her.
Immediately followed by three layers of Silencing Charms sequentially covering the entire space, a buzz— sound spreading like ripples on water.
Narcissa's fingers stopped on the candle.
She didn't turn around, but her spine went rigid.
"Narcissa."
Jerry's voice came from behind.
This time, there was no honorific "Madam."
Nor the respectful "you."
Just a single name.
And when this name was spoken from Jerry's mouth, it carried a signal that Narcissa's body recognized before her brain did—it was the unquestionable summons of a master to his property.
Narcissa's knees went weak.
She braced herself using the edge of the vanity, her knuckles turning white from the exertion.
"Jerry... we're at a banquet right now, it's not appropriate..."
"Turn around."
Narcissa's body executed this command before her brain could make a judgment.
She turned around, her back leaning against the vanity, facing Jerry.
Jerry stood three paces away from her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his suit trousers. His expression was calm, those pitch-black eyes like two bottomless wells, swallowing the reflection of Narcissa's entire being.
"That pink drink."
Jerry cut straight to the chase. "What did you put in it?"
Narcissa's breathing became rapid.
Her lips parted and closed. In those ice-blue eyes flashed struggle, fear, and some deeper submission, as if chained.
"V... Veritaserum variant."
Narcissa's voice was very soft, so soft it was almost swallowed by the background noise of the Silencing Charm. "A modified version... not a truth serum. It lowers the drinker's control over their own emotions and physiological reactions. The duration is about forty minutes, without any aftereffects. Afterwards, the drinker themselves will not realize they were drugged."
Jerry's expression did not change.
"Who told you to dose her?"
Narcissa's lips trembled slightly.
"Cassiopeia."
"Why?"
This question was like a key, opening the floodgate that had been tightly shut in Narcissa's heart. Her body leaned forward slightly, her hands unconsciously wringing together. The fabric of that ice phoenix feather dress emitted a faint rustling sound in her nervous movements.
"Because of the proposal."
Narcissa took a deep breath, her voice beginning to become coherent. "Proposal Number 317 of the Pure-Blood Families Joint Council—a motion regarding the establishment of a 'Pure-Blood Affairs Advisory Committee' within the Ministry of Magic. The essence of this proposal is to establish a power organ directly controlled by pure-blood families within the Ministry of Magic.
"On the surface, it's merely 'advisory' in nature, but in actual operation, this committee will have veto power over all Ministry of Magic policies involving the interests of pure-blood families.
"By passing this proposal, Cassiopeia will be able to directly embed the influence of the Black family into the core of the Ministry of Magic's decision-making with a legal identity."
Narcissa paused, licking her dry lips.
"This proposal requires the unanimous consent of all twelve founding families of the Pure-Blood Joint Council to take effect. Eleven families have already voted in favor, including Malfoy, Nott, Greengrass, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Flint, Bulstrode, Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley. The only one to vote against..."
"The Rose family."
Jerry finished the sentence for her.
Narcissa nodded.
"Vivian Rose. She has voted against it three consecutive times at the council. Her reason is that the establishment of this committee would overly concentrate power and be detrimental to small and medium-sized pure-blood families.
"But everyone knows her true reason is the personal grudge between her and Cassiopeia.
"That mineral transaction twenty years ago forged a blood feud between the two families. Vivian would rather damage her own family's interests than allow any proposal beneficial to the Blacks to pass..."
Jerry listened to Narcissa's entire statement.
The restroom was quiet for several seconds.
"You did well."
Jerry finally spoke.
Narcissa looked up, a gleam of relief flashing in those ice-blue eyes.
"But next time, before executing Cassiopeia's orders, report to me first."
Jerry's voice wasn't heavy, but every word carried an undeniable weight. "You are mine. Before you are Mrs. Malfoy, before you are Cassiopeia's chess piece, you are first and foremost mine."
Narcissa's legs completely lost their strength under the impact of this sentence. Her back slowly slid down along the edge of the vanity, her knees bending, her entire body slowly kneeling onto that warm white marble floor.
"Yes... Jerry."
Jerry looked down at Narcissa kneeling on the floor. The light of the wall sconce fell on her moonlight-blonde hair, enveloping that face—appearing exceptionally soft due to submission—in a warm halo.
He reached out his hand, his fingertips gently brushing over the crown of Narcissa's head.
"Go back. The banquet isn't over yet."
Narcissa tremblingly stood up, lowered her head, and backed out of the restroom.