The Quidditch World Cup was declared indefinitely suspended forty-seven minutes after the explosions.
When this news was broadcast simultaneously across the entire wizarding world via the Magical Wireless Network, the two hundred million wizards listening fell into silence almost concurrently.
That silence was heavier than any scream or cry, for every wizard understood what it meant.
In the four hundred and twenty-two editions since its inception, the Quidditch World Cup had never been interrupted for any reason.
War had not interrupted it, plagues had not interrupted it; even when Grindelwald swept a storm of blood across the European continent, the World Cup went on as scheduled.
It was the spiritual totem of the wizarding world.
Now, that totem was shattered.
Emergency recall orders from major wizarding schools were issued almost simultaneously.
Hogwarts' owls swarmed out in full force within the first hour of the explosion, each carrying a parchment scroll with the same message: All students are to return to school immediately, no exceptions.
Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, Mahoutokoro... seventeen major wizarding schools entered a state of wartime alert at the same time.
Gates were locked, entry and exit were forbidden, and all extracurricular activities were canceled.
Because the people who had died were not combat wizards.
The vast majority of the over twenty thousand spectators sitting in Sectors C and B were ordinary wizards.
They were bakers, tailors, apothecaries, sorters at the Owl Post Office, landladies of small shops in Diagon Alley, young people fresh out of Hogwarts without jobs, and grandmothers bringing their grandchildren to their first Quidditch match.
They couldn't fight; they could barely even cast a Disarming Charm straight.
They were the most ordinary, mundane, yet indispensable components of that massive cluster of wizarding worlds.
The entire reason hundreds of wizarding combat regiments, Auror forces, and Ministry Law Enforcement Patrols existed was to protect these people.
And the Cultivation World had dropped bombs on their heads.
Six hours after the explosion.
The highest decision-makers of the MACUSA, the European Ministry of Magic, and the Asian Heavenly Dao Alliance—the three major magical authorities—completed an unprecedented trilateral joint conference via emergency magical communication.
The meeting lasted only nineteen minutes.
Nineteen minutes later, three identical declarations of war were issued simultaneously to the entire wizarding world.
The core content of the declaration consisted of only one sentence: An Exterminatus order is issued against any world within the Cultivation World community; surrender in any form will not be accepted, to consecrate with blood the civilian wizards who perished in the explosions.
This was not diplomatic rhetoric.
It was not a deterrent. It was not a bargaining chip.
This was an order for genocide.
Hogwarts.
Professor McGonagall sat in her chair behind the desk, her hands resting on the surface, her ten fingertips pressing deeply into the grain of the oak.
Her square spectacles were taken off and placed on the desk, a tiny crack visible on one of the lenses.
She had just returned from an emergency meeting at the Ministry of Magic.
The fire in the hearth burned brightly, but her face was colder than the night outside the flames.
Click.
The office door was pushed open.
Jerry walked in.
His one-meter-twenty height made pushing the door look like he was moving a wooden board larger than himself.
He walked up to the front of the desk, and because he couldn't reach its height, he walked straight around to the side of McGonagall's chair.
Professor McGonagall did not look up.
"Emily Vance is dead."
Her voice was flat, like she was reading a list.
"Sitting in Sector C, Row Seven. With her husband. Both of them are gone. Not even bodies left."
Jerry stood beside her chair, looking up at her profile.
"And Simon Phillips. That boy who just graduated from Gryffindor last year, the one always tripping in the corridors. He took his girlfriend to the match. The girlfriend survived; he didn't. A piece of the stands pierced his chest."
Professor McGonagall's fingers tightened on the desk.
"And old Dunbar. Old Dunbar, who taught History of Magic for thirty years. After retiring, he loved watching Quidditch; he never missed a World Cup. Sector B, Row Three. Right next to the second explosion point."
She finally looked up.
Without the barrier of her glasses, her green eyes were bloodshot, the rims red.
But she wasn't crying. Her expression was something more terrifying than weeping—an anger and grief compressed to the absolute limit, ready to explode at any moment.
"The people at the meeting argued for half a day, arguing entirely about how to divide war zones, how to split interests, who strikes which world first, and how to distribute post-war resources."
Her teeth ground together audibly.
"Over twenty thousand people are dead. And they are discussing the distribution of interests."
Jerry didn't speak.
He reached out his hand, his small palm resting on the back of McGonagall's left hand, which was braced on the desk.
Professor McGonagall's fingers twitched.
"Minerva."
Jerry called her name.
Professor McGonagall looked down at the small hand covering hers.
Her lips moved, as if wanting to say something, but ultimately only a very faint, nasal grunt squeezed from her nose.
Jerry's hand moved from the back of her hand and grasped her wrist instead.
He gave a gentle pull, and McGonagall's body obediently slid from the chair, kneeling on the carpet beside the desk.
This posture finally brought her line of sight level with the standing Jerry.
The two faced each other.
Professor McGonagall's green eyes looked at Jerry's grey eyes from close range.
"There is something wrong with this attack."
Jerry spoke.
Professor McGonagall's brow twitched.
"Infiltrating the Quidditch World Cup stadium simultaneously, initiating self-detonation simultaneously. This requires extremely precise intelligence support and organizational coordination.
The Sect Alliance of the Cultivation World is a disorganized mess; they can't even manage unified command, how could they possibly plan a terrorist attack of this caliber?"
Jerry's right hand slid down from McGonagall's wrist, his fingers trailing down the front of her dark grey robes, unfastening the third button.
Professor McGonagall's breathing hitched for a beat, but she didn't stop him.
"Furthermore, the timing of the detonation was chosen at half-time. Not during the match when the spectators are most densely packed, but during half-time.
During half-time, many spectators leave their seats to buy things or use the restroom. The actual occupancy rate of Sectors C and B was probably only around seventy percent."
The fourth button was unfastened.
The front of McGonagall's robes fell open in a V-shape, revealing the white shirt worn underneath.
The fabric of the shirt was very thin; through the cloth, the outline of her breasts and the lines of her bra could be seen.
"If the goal was to inflict maximum casualties, they should have chosen to detonate during the fiercest part of the match.
At that time, everyone is in their seats, their attention entirely focused on the pitch; no one would notice someone gathering energy next to them."
Jerry's fingers continued downward, unfastening the fifth button.
The front of the robes opened completely, exposing the white shirt from collar to waist.
His palm pressed against McGonagall's lower abdomen; through the thin fabric of the shirt, he could feel the slight tensing of her abdominal muscles due to nervousness.
"They deliberately chose half-time to detonate..."
Jerry's hand slid down from McGonagall's lower abdomen, his fingertips touching the hem of the dark grey knee-length skirt beneath her robes.
His fingers hooked the edge of the skirt and slowly lifted it.
"This is not a simple terrorist attack."
The hem was lifted to mid-thigh.
Professor McGonagall wore a pair of opaque black pantyhose, the fabric clinging tightly to the muscle lines of her thighs.
Jerry's palm covered her inner thigh; through the thin nylon of the pantyhose, his palm registered a firm and warm touch.
Professor McGonagall's breathing became rapid.
Her hands braced on the carpet behind her, her upper body leaning back slightly, the line of her neck pulling into a smooth arc in the firelight of the hearth.
"Jerry... now is not the time..."
"You need to relax."
Jerry's fingers moved upward along her inner thigh, his fingertips touching the junction where the pantyhose met her panties.
His fingers pressed against that spot through two layers of fabric.
"Mmh..."
An incredibly faint moan leaked from Professor McGonagall's throat.
Her thighs involuntarily clamped together, trapping Jerry's palm between them.
Jerry's fingers didn't stop.
Through the double layer of nylon and cotton, he used the pad of his finger to slowly draw circles on that spot.
The friction of the fabric produced an extremely faint rustle in the quiet office.
Jerry's fingers slowly traced circles over that slightly feverish area, through the nylon of the pantyhose and the cotton of her panties.
Every time the pad of his finger passed over that faint slit, Professor McGonagall's thighs would involuntarily clench, clamping his small hand tighter.
Her breath spilled from her nose, carrying a suppressed heat, her white shirt pushing out two distinct arcs with the rise and fall of her chest.
"Someone wants to drag the entire wizarding world into this."
Jerry's tone was completely disconnected from the movements of his fingers; the former was as calm as reading a textbook, while the latter was making a thirty-something woman go weak all over.
His fingertip found that small nub covered by two layers of cloth and gave it a gentle press.
"Ah... what, what are you saying..."
"The Sect Alliance of the Cultivation World can't even manage unified taxation, do you think they could plan a precise operation where three Nascent Soul cultivators infiltrate the Quidditch World Cup and detonate simultaneously?"
Jerry pressed his index and middle fingers together, pinching that small nub through the fabric and rubbing it slowly up and down.
The nylon of the pantyhose generated a faint static electricity from the friction, stimulating that area which had already begun to grow damp.
"Mmh... then who do you think... it was..."
Professor McGonagall's voice was broken, her green eyes losing focus, a thin layer of sweat forming on her arched neck.
Her hands braced on the carpet behind her, her fingers gripping the pile of the rug, her knuckles white.
"I don't know. But the motive is very clear."
Jerry's fingers accelerated the frequency of his rubbing, the friction sound between fabric and skin becoming denser.
A faint squish, squish sound of water seeped through the gap of the double-layered fabric.
"The main opponent of the Cultivation World community is Su Chan's Asian Ministry Heavenly Dao Alliance. The European Ministry of Magic and MACUSA have been standing by watching.
Now, with a terrorist attack, a trilateral declaration of war, an Exterminatus order. Who benefits the most?"
Professor McGonagall bit her lower lip, desperately trying to keep her brain on a thinking channel, but with every rub of Jerry's fingers, her thoughts would short-circuit for a moment.
The crotch of her pantyhose was already soaked with the liquid she herself had secreted; the dark grey nylon turned a deeper shade in that area, clinging tightly to the contours of her plump lips.
"Are you saying... Su Chan?"
"Cannot be ruled out. But not necessarily."
Jerry's fingers moved from that nub, sliding downward along the liquid-soaked slit.
His fingertips probed the indentation between her lips through the wet double-layered fabric, pressing gently.
"Su Chan does need allies. The Asian Ministry can barely hold on fighting the Cultivation World community alone; pouring all the profits from her Quidditch bookmaking syndicate isn't even enough to burn.
If she can drag Europe and North America into it, the pressure will lessen considerably."
Squish.
Through the wet fabric, Jerry's fingertips felt the soft, slightly parting edges of that entrance.
He used the pad of his middle finger to press against that spot, slowly applying pressure.
The fabric was pushed in a small fraction by his finger, embedding shallowly into that slit along with the panty fabric beneath it.
"But Su Chan doesn't have this capability," Jerry continued, his finger maintaining that semi-embedded position, rubbing gently back and forth.
"The self-detonation of three Nascent Soul cultivators requires three cultivators willing to die.
Cultivators fear death more than anything; the entire purpose of their cultivation is immortality.
To make three Nascent Soul old monsters willingly self-detonate—the organizational and brainwashing capability required for that is beyond Su Chan's reach."
Professor McGonagall's waist slumped; her entire body shifted from a half-sitting posture to half-lying on the carpet, her legs involuntarily spreading wider.
Jerry's fingers continued to work between her legs, the soaked pantyhose and panties producing continuous wet sounds beneath his fingertips.
Her shirt pulled out from the waistband of her skirt due to her leaning back, exposing a section of fair, taut lower abdominal skin.
"Then... mmh... who could it be..."
"Some faction within the Cultivation World."
Jerry's free left hand pressed against McGonagall's bare lower abdomen; his palm pressed against her skin, feeling the slight spasm of her abdominal muscles under his touch.
"A faction hoping for full-scale intervention from the wizarding world.
It might be a sect within the Cultivation Alliance wanting to use a full-scale wizarding invasion to eliminate their own rivals.
Or it could be some third party, belonging neither to the wizarding world nor the Cultivation World, wanting both sides to destroy each other."
Jerry's right hand finally made a bolder move.
His index finger hooked the fabric at the crotch of the pantyhose and gave a forceful tear.
Rrrrip.
A hole was torn in the nylon fabric.
The white cotton panties inside were exposed, the crotch already soaked completely transparent with liquid, clinging to the skin, outlining everything underneath clearly.
Jerry's fingers probed through the torn hole, pressing directly against those two plump, scalding lips through the final layer of soaked panty fabric.
"Ah... Jerry..."
"Minerva, listen to me."
Jerry's fingers pushed the soaked panty fabric to the side, his fingertips finally making direct contact with that slick, continuously secreting skin.
His middle finger slid slowly up and down that slit; every time it passed the entrance, it would pause slightly, probing in shallowly with the fingertip before withdrawing to continue sliding upward.
Squish... squelch... slurp...
The wet sounds were exceptionally clear in the quiet office.
The fire crackled in the hearth, intertwining with those wet sounds.
"You withdrew from the Order of the Phoenix, and resigned as Head of Gryffindor. But you still have your voting rights at the Ministry."
Jerry's middle finger stopped at the entrance; his fingertip pressed against that slightly parting, soft opening, rotating slowly to apply pressure.
"Mmh... yes... I still have a seat on the Wizengamot..."
Professor McGonagall's voice had completely changed pitch; her breathing was chaotic, every word seeming squeezed out from between her teeth.
Her hands moved from the carpet to Jerry's wrist, but not to push him away; instead, she gripped his wrist, as if confirming his presence.
Jerry's middle finger pushed in slowly.
Plop.
The fingertip sank in past the first knuckle.
"Mmh..."
Professor McGonagall's waist arched, her abdominal muscles tensing, the muscles of her inner thighs spasming.
Jerry's finger was tightly enveloped by the warm, wet inner walls; that soft yet powerful contracting sensation conducted from his fingertip to his palm.
"Do not vote yet."
Jerry's middle finger continued deeper, the second knuckle sinking in.
His finger curled slowly within that tight tunnel, the pad pressing against the rough, sensitive area on the upper wall.
"Ah... why..."
"The European Ministry of Magic has still not completely swallowed the Pseudo-Olympian Pantheon world community."
Jerry's fingers began to move in and out rhythmically; every insertion dragged out a small stream of liquid, producing a squishing sound.
"Although Zeus was defeated, and Apollo's head was chopped off by Fudge and turned into a Quaffle, the remnant forces of Mount Olympus still exist.
There are at least thirty subsidiary worlds that haven't been completely cleared.
Poseidon's marine world group is still resisting, and no one dares enter Ares's war plane to this day."
Jerry's index finger joined in.
Two fingers plunged side-by-side into Professor McGonagall's body, stretching that entrance wider.
His fingers curled alternately inside, as if playing some instrument, rhythmically pressing against the most sensitive area of her inner walls.
Squish-squelch-slurp-squish...
The wet sounds became denser.
Massive amounts of liquid were squeezed out from the gap between the two fingers and the vaginal walls, trailing down McGonagall's gluteal cleft onto the carpet.
"Under these circumstances, launching an all-out war against the Cultivation World community?"
Jerry accelerated the frequency of his fingers.
"That's fighting a war on two fronts with limited resources.
The Pseudo-Olympian remnants in the West haven't been wiped out, and in the East, they have to face a Cultivation World community three or four times larger than Olympus.
The European Ministry only has so many combat wizards; splitting them across two fronts means doing poorly on both."
Professor McGonagall's body trembled continuously under the manipulation of Jerry's fingers.
Her shirt had pulled completely free of her skirt waistband, bunched up in wrinkles beneath her breasts.
The white bra was faintly visible through the thin shirt fabric; her two nipples stood erect from excitement, pushing two small bumps against the shirt.
"Then what do you think... ah... should be done..."
"Investigate." Jerry's fingers plunged violently to their deepest, his fingertips pushing against that soft entrance, pressing hard.
"Ah!"
Professor McGonagall's waist snapped up, her entire body convulsing violently as if electrocuted.
A gush of warm liquid erupted from her body, splashing over Jerry's palm and running down his wrist onto the carpet.
Jerry did not withdraw his fingers.
He maintained his deep position, letting the afterglow of McGonagall's orgasm slowly fade on his fingertips.
"First figure out the background of these three self-detonating cultivators.
Which sect they belong to, who sent them, how many middlemen were involved.
Until these questions are answered, the Exterminatus order is just a piece of waste paper."
Professor McGonagall lay on the carpet, her chest heaving violently, her green eyes staring at the ceiling, her pupils not yet fully refocused.
Jerry's two fingers were still buried inside her; he could feel the inner walls contracting in waves in the afterglow of her orgasm, as if sucking on his fingers.
"You're right..."
Her voice was hoarse, bearing the specific languor and exhaustion following an orgasm.
"The Exterminatus order is too hasty... that fool Fudge... he's only thinking about how to look tough to the voters... he hasn't considered the consequences at all..."
Jerry slowly withdrew his fingers.
Pop.
Two dripping wet fingers slid out of Professor McGonagall's body, dragging out a small stream of transparent liquid.
His fingers were covered in her bodily fluids, gleaming wetly in the firelight.
Jerry wiped his fingers on McGonagall's inner thigh, then stood up straight.
"When is the Wizengamot vote?"
"The day after tomorrow." Professor McGonagall remained lying on the carpet, showing no intention of getting up. "The Exterminatus order requires a two-thirds majority in the Wizengamot to officially take effect. Fudge is already canvassing for votes."
"Your vote is crucial. Your personal influence in the Wizengamot can sway at least fifteen to twenty votes."
Professor McGonagall finally propped herself up and sat.
Her robes hung open, her shirt was wrinkled, the crotch of her pantyhose was torn with a large hole, her panties were skewed to the side; she was an unmitigated mess.
But her green eyes had regained their clarity; the sharpness belonging to a political animal had returned to her pupils.
"You want me to vote against it?"
"I want you to abstain."
Jerry walked over to the desk, stood on his tiptoes to grab a piece of gingerbread, and took a bite.
"Voting against it will make you a target. Over twenty thousand people just died; if you jump out and oppose the Exterminatus order, tomorrow's front page of the Daily Prophet will nail you to the pillar of shame.
Abstaining is different; abstaining means 'I need more information to make a judgment.' This is a reasonable and responsible position."
Professor McGonagall looked at the small figure standing by her desk, on his tiptoes eating gingerbread, and her lip twitched.
"When did you become so savvy about politics?"
"I've always been savvy," Jerry said vaguely through a mouthful of gingerbread. "I was just too lazy to use it."
Professor McGonagall stood up from the carpet and adjusted her clothes.
The torn hole in the pantyhose couldn't be repaired, so she simply vanished the entire pair with her wand, standing bare-legged in her office.
She bent down to retrieve her square spectacles from the floor, put them back on her nose, and used a finger to repair the crack on the lens.
"I will abstain."
She walked behind the desk and sat back in her chair.
The leather seat still retained the warmth from when she had sat there earlier.
She pulled open a drawer, took out a stack of parchment and a quill, and began writing something.
"But I need you to give me a reason. A reason I can lay out on the table at the Wizengamot.
Saying 'someone is pulling strings behind the scenes' is too vague; without evidence, no one will believe it."
"I will find the evidence." Jerry grabbed another piece of gingerbread from the desk. "The body of the third suicide bomber I intercepted is still in Sector E.
Although I forcibly extinguished his Nascent Soul, I should still be able to extract some information from the residual soul fragments.
I need the Ministry to grant me disposal rights over that corpse."
"I can arrange that." McGonagall's quill flew across the parchment.
"I'll apply for autopsy rights under the guise of Hogwarts alchemical research, using academic channels, bypassing Fudge's office."
"There's one more thing."
Jerry finished his second piece of gingerbread and dusted the crumbs from his hands.
"From Su Chan's end, I need her to provide internal intelligence on the Cultivation World's Sect Alliance. Especially a list of those extremist sects capable of organizing suicide attacks."
"You plan to contact her directly?"
"Tonight."
Professor McGonagall's quill paused, and she looked up at Jerry.
"Be careful. That woman, Su Chan, is far more dangerous than you imagine."
"I know." Jerry hopped down from the edge of the desk he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach, his two feet landing on the carpet with a soft thump.
"But right now, she needs me more than anyone else. The order of Crystal Golems hasn't been delivered yet; she won't dare do anything to me."
Jerry walked toward the door and pulled open the heavy oak door that was far too large for him.
"By the way, Minerva."
He looked back over his shoulder.
"That wet stain on your carpet, remember to clean it up."
Professor McGonagall looked down at the dark, slowly spreading wet patch on the carpet beside her desk.
The blood rushed to her face, burning instantly from the base of her neck to the tips of her ears.
"Get out."
The corner of Jerry's mouth curled up as he grabbed the door handle and walked out.
His small figure disappeared around the corner of the corridor, leaving only a sliver of candlelight seeping through the crack of the door and the crackling sound of the fire in the office hearth.
Jerry pushed open the door to his dormitory.
Before the door was even fully open, he saw the situation inside the room.
Catherine was standing in the middle of the room, frantically fumbling with the buttons of her uniform.
She had already changed into the formal uniform of a Ministry of Magic intern: a tailored dark-blue robe, a silver Ministry badge pinned to her chest, and black low-heeled leather shoes on her feet.
Her long hair was hastily tied into a high ponytail, with a few stray strands escaping the hair tie and hanging by her ears.
Her cat ears were pinned flat against the top of her head in an angle that conveyed nervous anxiety.
Her cat tail protruded from the opening at the back of her uniform, the fluffy white long tail swishing frantically back and forth behind her.
The rapid frequency of the swishing was a sign of her agitation.
"Catherine."
Jerry walked into the room.
Catherine snapped her head around.
Her large emerald-green eyes lit up the instant she saw Jerry, but the light was immediately covered by anxiety.
"Little pervert Master! You're back!"
Her fingers were still wrestling with the fourth button, completely failing to align the button with the hole.
"Where are you going?"
Jerry closed the door and walked up to Catherine.
He looked up at her—four-foot-nothing against five-foot-seven—his line of sight landing exactly on the silver badge on the chest of her uniform.
"The Ministry issued an emergency notice!" Catherine's voice was rushed and frantic, her cat ears swiveling constantly back and forth.
"All active staff, including interns, must return to the Ministry as quickly as possible to await orders. We just received the message the moment the Floo Network was restored."
She finally managed to fasten the fourth button, but the fifth one got stuck again.
Her fingers became clumsy with nervousness, her fingertips slipping repeatedly.
Jerry reached out and gently pushed her fingers aside.
He stood on his tiptoes, his small fingers accurately slipping the button into the hole.
Click.
Buttoned.
Catherine looked down at him, a layer of moisture welling up in her green cat eyes.
"Little pervert Master... things seem really serious outside... the Ministry has never issued an emergency notice of this level before... even interns are being recalled..."
"I know."
Jerry helped her adjust the collar of her uniform, his fingers tucking the stray strands by her ears behind her cat ears.
"Come here."
He opened his arms.
Catherine bent down, sending her body into Jerry's embrace.
Because of the massive height difference, the posture of this hug was somewhat comical.
Catherine had to practically fold herself in half to let Jerry's arms wrap around her waist.
Her face was buried in the crook of Jerry's neck, her snow-white long hair falling down to cover most of his body.
Jerry's face was sandwiched between Catherine's neck and shoulder, allowing him to smell the faint milky scent unique to her feline bloodline.
"Meow..."
Catherine let out an incredibly faint, weak meow in his arms.
Jerry's right hand slid downward from Catherine's waist, crossing the hem of her uniform, his palm resting on the long white tail extending from the back of her clothes.
His fingers traced upward along the base of her tail.
The fur at the base of the tail was shorter and denser than on the rest of the tail, and the skin beneath was thinner, more tender, and more sensitive.
Jerry's fingers tightened at that spot, gripping the base of the tail firmly.
"Mmh!"
Catherine's body instantly went rigid.
"Ah... little pervert Master... don't... I have to leave right now..."
Catherine's voice became syrupy and soft, carrying the uncontrollable, coaxing tone unique to the feline bloodline when a sensitive spot was stimulated.
Her tail thrashed frantically in Jerry's palm, the fluffy white fur brushing against the back of his hand and wrist.
Jerry did not let go.
His fingers slid down a tiny bit from the base of the tail, arriving at the area directly beneath it.
That was the boundary zone between the tail and the buttocks, hidden by the skirt of the uniform.
Jerry's fingers slipped beneath the skirt, his fingertips slipping past the edge of the cat-paw printed cotton panties Catherine wore underneath.
His middle finger gave a light poke at that exact spot directly beneath the base of the tail.
"Ah!"
Catherine's body sprang up violently as if electrocuted.
That spot was far too sensitive.
Directly beneath the base of the tail was one of the areas with the densest nerve endings in the feline bloodline.
Just a light poke from Jerry's finger caused Catherine's entire tail, from base to tip, to puff up into a massive white bristle brush.
Catherine's face flushed crimson instantly.
From her forehead to the base of her neck, a deep red flush spread like spilled paint.
Her green cat eyes were filled with moisture, her lips slightly parted, revealing two small fangs.
"Little pervert Master, you!"
Jerry withdrew his hand from beneath her skirt, stepped back, and looked up at her.
There was no trace of the ambiguous expression that should have accompanied that action on his face.
"Be careful."
He said.
His voice was flat, his tone serious.
Catherine looked at him.
Her face was still red, her tail still puffed, and her thighs were still weak.
But she saw what was in Jerry's grey eyes.
He wasn't teasing her.
He was marking her.
Just as a feline leaves its scent on the boundaries of its territory, Jerry used his fingers to leave the trace of his touch on the most private part of her body.
The meaning was very clear... You are mine. Come back alive.
Catherine's green eyes blinked twice, forcing the moisture back.
She nodded.
"Mmh. I will be careful, little pervert Master."
She turned and walked toward the fireplace in the corner of the dormitory.
The flames in the hearth turned emerald green when she picked up the Floo powder.
Catherine stepped into the fireplace, her white long hair and fluffy cat tail fluttering in the green flames.
"Ministry of Magic, Main Hall."
She stated her destination clearly.
The green flames surged upward, engulfing Catherine's figure.
A second later, the flames died down.
The fireplace was empty.
Jerry stood before the fireplace, watching the fading green embers.
Then he turned and walked toward his bed.
He needed to contact Su Chan.
The intelligence on the Cultivation World could not be delayed any longer.
He pulled the communication Two-Way Mirror from beneath his pillow and was just about to activate it.
The fireplace flared up again.
Green flames surged upward once more.
Jerry's hand paused.
Catherine had just left; who would come to his dormitory through the Floo Network at a time like this?
Within the green flames, a high heel appeared.
A black, patent-leather stiletto with a heel at least twelve centimeters high.
The toe of the shoe emerged from the flames first, stepping onto the flagstone floor in front of the fireplace with a crisp clack.
Followed closely by the other.
Clack.
Two high heels stood side-by-side at the edge of the fireplace.
Then, a woman's silhouette walked out from the green flames.
She was very tall.
Cassiopeia.
As she stepped out of the fireplace, the green flames died behind her, and the entire room returned to the illumination of candlelight.
Jerry stood in the center of the room, still holding the Two-Way Mirror.
He looked up at this mother-in-law who had just stepped out of the fireplace.
Cassiopeia looked down, her deep green eyes staring at Jerry.
A highly dangerous arc hooked the corners of her mouth.
Then, she raised her right foot.
That right foot, clad in the black patent-leather stiletto, extended forward toward Jerry.
The tip of the shoe accurately stepped onto the crotch of Jerry's trousers, landing right on that spot which bulged slightly due to its staggering size even in a resting state.
"Ugh."
Jerry grunted.
Cassiopeia's sole crushed down on the bulge.
The black patent leather reflected a cold luster in the candlelight, the toe of the shoe pressing against Jerry's crotch, applying downward pressure with an incredibly slow, deliberate force.
The fabric of the trousers caved in under the tip of her shoe, encasing the meat-root inside, which was shockingly thick even in its slumbering state.
"Jerry."
Cassiopeia's voice was very low, carrying an unquestionable, oppressive weight belonging to a superior.
That voice wasn't like Professor McGonagall's strictness, nor like Su Chan's cold arrogance; it was a more private desire for control, belonging to power dynamics within a family.
"Long time no see."
She bent down.
The twelve-centimeter heels made her bending motion visually striking.
The front of her black robes parted slightly as she bent, revealing the deep green silk shirt she wore underneath and a section of collarbone so fair it was almost sickly.
Her face drew close to Jerry's face.
Deep green eyes met grey eyes at extremely close range.
"Did you send another batch of Crystal Golems to Su Chan?"
Jerry did not answer.
His grey eyes looked at Cassiopeia, his expression flat.
The dangerous arc at the corners of Cassiopeia's mouth deepened.
Her right foot applied more force against Jerry's crotch.
The sole of the shoe crushed against the shaft of the meat-root beneath the trousers, slowly pushing forward from the base to the position of the head.
That thing was so thick even in its slumbering state that the sole of Cassiopeia's shoe could not completely cover it.
The tip of her shoe pressed against the outline of the glans, rubbing back and forth with a grinding, twisting motion.
"Mmh..."
An incredibly restrained, muffled grunt escaped Jerry's throat.
The fabric of the trousers began to heat up under the friction of Cassiopeia's sole.
The friction between cloth and skin produced a tantalizing, scratching stimulation, and that slumbering behemoth began to awaken at a speed visible to the naked eye.
"Not talking?"
Cassiopeia's voice turned cold.
She straightened her back, standing before Jerry.
Then she used the toe of her right shoe to hook the waistband of Jerry's trousers and gave a downward yank.
Swoosh.
The trousers were pulled down to his knees.
That thing sprang free from the restraint of the trousers.
It hadn't fully erected yet, but was already in a semi-hard state.
The thick shaft curved slightly downward, the head a dark red color, the surface covered in a thin layer of pre-cum.
Even in a semi-erect state, its size was already large enough to make one's scalp tingle.
Cassiopeia looked down at it.
Her deep green eyes lingered on that thick meat-root for two seconds.
"Every time I see this thing, I find it quite unbelievable."
Her tone carried the cold detachment of evaluation, as if scrutinizing a collectible rather than a youth's private parts.
"To think something this big could grow inside such a small body."
She raised her right foot again.
This time, she kicked off the high heel on her right foot.
A foot clad in black silk stockings was pulled from the patent-leather shoe.
Cassiopeia had beautiful feet.
The shape was slender, the arch of the instep elegant, and the five toes were neatly aligned beneath the wrapping of the black silk.
The fabric of the stockings was incredibly thin, almost semi-transparent, allowing the fair skin and pale pink toenails underneath to be seen.
She stepped that silk-clad foot onto Jerry's exposed meat-root.
The sole pressed against the front of the shaft.
A slick, frictional sensation was generated between the fabric of the stocking and the skin of the meat-root.
The temperature of Cassiopeia's sole was slightly lower than a palm's, and that cool touch made Jerry's meat-root jump slightly.
"Speak."
Cassiopeia's sole began to move back and forth.
Sliding from the head to the mid-section of the shaft, then from the mid-section to the base, and then back again in reverse.
Every slide was extremely slow, producing an incredibly faint rustle between the silk fabric of the sole and the skin of the meat-root.
"Mmh..."
Jerry's breathing grew heavier.
Under the stimulation of Cassiopeia's sole, the thing began to rapidly engorge and swell, going from semi-erect to a full, raging stand.
The thick shaft stood straight up like an iron rod, pushing Cassiopeia's sole upward from beneath.
"Still not talking?"
The corner of Cassiopeia's mouth hooked into a smile.
She kicked off the high heel on her left foot as well.
Two feet clad in black silk stockings simultaneously stepped onto Jerry's meat-root.
The left foot stepped on the base of the shaft, the right foot stepped on the front section.
The soles of the two feet sandwiched the thick meat-root between them, applying pressure from both sides.
The friction of the silk fabric against the meat-root produced a much denser rustle.
Then her two feet began to move alternately.
When the left foot pushed forward, the right foot pulled back.
When the right foot pushed forward, the left foot pulled back.
The two feet moved simultaneously in opposite directions, creating a twisting, frictional force along the shaft of the meat-root.
Rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle...
The sound of silk rubbing against flesh became even denser.
Jerry's meat-root continued to expand under the pincer attack of the two feet, veins bulging and snaking along the shaft to their limit, the color of the head turning from dark red to deep purple.
Pre-cum began to seep from the meatus, dampening the silk fabric on the sole of Cassiopeia's right foot, leaving a small, dark wet mark on the stocking.
Squish.
The liquid made the friction even smoother. The rustle turned into a wet squish, squelch sound.
Cassiopeia's toes curled inside the stockings, clamping onto the coronal sulcus of the head.
Her five toes acted like five nimble fingers, rubbing back and forth along the edge of the glans.
"Mmh..."
Jerry's body began to tremble slightly. His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.
"Are you going to talk or not?"
The sole of Cassiopeia's right foot crushed against the very tip of the head, repeatedly grinding the softest part of her arch against the meatus.
That spot was one of the most sensitive areas on the entire meat-root; the fabric of her stocking was soaked with pre-cum, and every grinding motion produced a wet sound.
Squish. Squelch. Squish.
"What do you want to know?"
Jerry finally spoke.
His voice was still steady, but the rhythm of his breathing was much faster than usual.
"The Crystal Golems." Cassiopeia's feet didn't stop, continuing to slide alternately along the shaft. "How many did you send to Su Chan? What did you exchange them for?"
Jerry fell silent for two seconds.
Cassiopeia's toes clamped tight on the head and gave it a hard rub.
"Ah."
Jerry's hips thrust forward involuntarily.
"Five thousand."
He admitted.
The movement of Cassiopeia's feet paused for a beat.
"Five thousand?"
A flash of genuine shock crossed her deep green eyes.
"How many were in the last batch? And it let her conquer seventeen resource worlds on the periphery of the Cultivation World. Five thousand!"
"She intends to launch a full-scale offensive." Jerry's voice returned to calm. "To punch through the second ring defense line of the Cultivation World and directly threaten the core worlds."
Cassiopeia's feet resumed their motion, but the rhythm slowed, turning into the casual, subconscious friction of someone deep in thought.
The soles of her feet slid slowly back and forth over Jerry's meat-root; the silk fabric and the lubrication of the pre-cum produced soft water sounds with every slide.
"What did you exchange them for?"
"Exclusive mining rights to three resource worlds. Fifty years."
Cassiopeia's eyebrow arched.
"Which three?"
"Spirit stone mining worlds on the periphery of the Cultivation World community. I will not tell you the exact coordinates."
Cassiopeia's toes drew a circle on the head.
Squish.
"Jerry." Her voice grew deeper. "You reached a deal with Su Chan worth... five thousand Crystal Golems, plus the mining rights to three resource worlds... a conservative estimate puts that transaction at several million gold Galleons.
Without notifying me!"
Both her feet applied force simultaneously, clamping Jerry's meat-root even tighter, and the speed of the friction accelerated.
Squish-squish-squish...
Jerry's grey eyes watched her.
"Are you here representing the family? Or representing yourself?"
Cassiopeia's feet paused for a second.
"Is there a difference?"
"Yes." Jerry's voice was faint. "If it's the family, I will provide you with a formal business report through official channels.
If it's yourself..."
He looked down at those two black-silk-clad feet stepping on his meat-root.
"You already have your answer."
Cassiopeia stared at him for three seconds.
Then she smiled.
The smile was very shallow, just a slight upward curve at the corners of her mouth, but a satisfied light shimmered in her deep green eyes.
"You are becoming more and more like your mother."
Her feet resumed their movement.
This time, her actions were much more forceful.
The two silk-clad feet clamped tightly onto Jerry's meat-root, rubbing rapidly up and down with the softest parts of her soles.
The pre-cum on the stockings had completely soaked through the fabric, making the soles of her feet extremely slick; every rub produced a loud, wet sound.
Squish-squish-squish-squish...
Jerry's breathing began to grow heavy.
His hands had given up resistance, hanging at his sides, his fingers trembling slightly.
The meat-root throbbed continuously under the rapid rubbing of Cassiopeia's two feet; the veins on the shaft bulged to their limit, the head expanding into a massive, dark-purple mushroom shape, pre-cum pouring constantly from the meatus.
"The production capacity of the Crystal Golems." Cassiopeia continued to ask questions while rubbing. "What is the current monthly output?"
"Unlimited." Jerry's voice began to break.
"How much time is needed for five thousand?"
"Six weeks..."
"How much of the front-line situation on Su Chan's end do you know?"
"What she told me... you already know... the Cultivation World community... over four thousand worlds... three hundred million combat cultivators..."
Cassiopeia's toes once again clamped around the coronal sulcus of the head, twisting and rubbing hard.
"Mmh..."
Jerry's hips thrust forward again.
"What is your take on today's terrorist attack?"
"Someone manipulating things behind the scenes... trying to drag the entire wizarding world into war..."
"Who?"
"I don't know... still investigating..."
Cassiopeia's two feet accelerated to the limit.
Squish-squish-squish-squish-squish...
The wet sounds became frantic.
Her soles slid across Jerry's meat-root at high speed, whipping the pre-cum into a fine white foam that clung to the silk fabric and the shaft of the meat-root.
Jerry's body began to shake violently.
"Are you close?"
Cassiopeia's voice carried a condescending teasing.
Jerry gritted his teeth.
Cassiopeia's toes clamped around the very front of the head, all five toes applying force simultaneously, enveloping that bloated, at-the-limit head amidst her silk-wrapped toes.
SQUELCH...
An incredibly loud, wet friction sound.
"Mmh..."
Jerry's hips thrust violently forward.
Sssshh!
A thick burst of white liquid erupted from the meatus, spraying directly onto the soles and toes of Cassiopeia's feet.
It completely coated her toes and soles in a layer of thick, sticky white liquid.
The fluid seeped through the gaps in the silk, dampening the skin underneath.
"Tch."
Cassiopeia looked at her foot, smeared in white liquid, and let out a click of her tongue that could have been disgust or satisfaction.
She moved her foot from Jerry's meat-root, stepping back onto the floor.
The fluid-stained stocking left a wet footprint on the flagstone.
Jerry stood in place, his chest heaving, his breathing not yet fully settled.
Cassiopeia bent down and picked up her black patent-leather stilettos from the floor.
She didn't rush to put them on; instead, she held the shoes, standing before Jerry barefoot in her fluid-stained stockings.
"Five thousand Crystal Golems, the mining rights to three resource worlds."
She repeated the contents of the deal.
Jerry looked up at her.
"Be careful! I will cover your ass!"
Cassiopeia slipped her feet back into the high heels; the fluid-stained stockings squished into the patent-leather shoes, producing a wet squelch.
"But you owe me a favor."
Jerry was silent for a second.
"What favor?"
Cassiopeia had already turned and was walking toward the fireplace.
Her back was ramrod straight, the hem of her black robes trailing in an elegant arc across the flagstones.
"We will discuss that when this matter is finished."