Inside the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the noise of discussion almost threatened to overturn the dome painted with a virtual starry sky.
The long tables were laden with a sumptuous lunch, but the atmosphere revealed an indescribable weirdness—almost half of the first-year little wizards were rubbing their temples, while the other half stared blankly at the pumpkin juice in front of them.
Draco Malfoy's condition was obviously terrible. His platinum blonde short hair, usually groomed meticulously, was a bit messy now, with a few strands hanging over his forehead. Due to the severe headache, his pale face looked even more bloodless.
"I swear, it feels like an adult Hungarian Horntail performed a clumsy tap dance inside my skull!"
Draco muttered, his brows locked tight together. His right hand weakly held the table knife, mechanically cutting the steak in front of him, which was somewhat tough due to being overcooked, making harsh friction sounds.
He was completely unaware of how absurd the events in that dungeon had been. In his perception, that class simply resulted in a mass magical shock due to an "alchemical accident" by Professor Eleanora.
Hera's cleanup methods were extremely brilliant. She not only erased everyone's immediate memories except Jerry's but even fine-tuned the magical fluctuations in the air through divine power, making everything look like an accident caused by magic pressure overload in the classroom.
Jerry sat opposite him, his complexion not looking much better—although this was mostly feigned, the feeling of weakness as if his body had been hollowed out was real.
He half-squinted, his whole person lazily sinking into the bench, and let out an extremely deep yawn, even squeezing out a few physiological tears from the corners of his eyes.
Just as Jerry was performing his exhausted appearance, at the other end of the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley was staring dead at him. His mouth was stuffed full of roast chicken legs, cheeks bulging like a hamster, but those eyes flickered with prudence and vigilance inconsistent with his age.
His gaze slowly moved from Jerry's face to Hermione beside him.
"Hermione, why aren't you eating anything?"
Ron asked vaguely, food scraps nearly spraying out of his mouth. "Madam Pomfrey said you all just had a mild magical shock and should eat more to replenish your strength.
Your complexion... is a bit strange."
Hermione Granger's body stiffened abruptly. Her fingers holding Advanced Potion-Making tightened subconsciously, knuckles turning white.
Hermione didn't look up, answering in an extremely faint, almost inaudible voice: "I'm not hungry, Ron. No... no appetite at all."
Hermione was indeed not hungry; one could even say Hermione felt her stomach was unprecedentedly "full."
That milky white liquid, filling a large test tube, viscous like condensed milk yet carrying scalding magical temperature, was currently wriggling slowly and heavily in her stomach.
Wrapped in her stomach acid, it wasn't digested immediately. Instead, like a living mass, it stubbornly emitted continuous heat, making her entire lower abdomen warm, as if carrying a boiling hot water bottle.
Whenever Hermione smelled the greasy scent of roast meat or the sweet aroma of pumpkin juice on the table, that familiar, unique taste belonging exclusively to Jerry—fishy, salty, and carrying a hint of musk—would uncontrollably rise from the depths of her throat.
That taste seemed to still coat the back of her tongue and esophagus with a thin film, giving her a physiological nausea towards any other food.
Hermione felt like a python that had just eaten a full meal. Every cell in her body was filled with that domineering nutrient full of masculine aura, making her lazy and unable to lift a finger.
"So weird!" Ron muttered and didn't ask further, but his hand quietly reached into the pocket of his old robe, which was washed somewhat white.
His fingertips touched a cold, rough black stone with polished smooth edges.
The stone seemed inscribed with some imperceptible runes. In the darkness of the pocket, as Ron's finger pressed, a dim red light, extremely weak and almost undetectable by magic, flashed in the groove of the runes.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Hogsmeade Village, in the silent, unnaturally dense Black Forest magically catalyzed outside the Rosier Workshop.
Two figures wearing chameleon cloaks that blended almost perfectly with the environment were lurking silently on the high canopy like cheetahs. They were Fred and George Weasley.
"Signal received, George." Fred lowered his voice, his eyes flashing with a calmness and focus completely different from usual, belonging only to professional breakers.
"Let's start." George was concise. A slender silver probe inlaid with a constantly rotating cat's eye stone appeared in his hand at some point.
"Spell Analysis—'Spiderweb Echo'!"
George tapped the probe gently in the air in front of him.
The cat's eye stone at the tip of the probe stopped rotating abruptly, then radiated circles of invisible sound wave ripples outward violently.
These ripples, like bat echolocation, silently touched the layer of warning arrays set up by Jerry outside the workshop, which were complex to a hair-raising degree.
Ding... ding ding... dong...
Countless extremely subtle feedback information was transmitted back to the cat's eye stone through the vibration frequency of the sound waves, then converted into lines of rapidly scrolling ancient runes projected on George's retina.
"Defense structure identification complete." George's voice was terribly calm. "The main structure is the 'Shadow Moon Three-Phase Interlocking Ban', accompanied by at least seventeen 'Mana Spike Backlash Traps' and three 'Mental Confusion Camouflage Layers'. The setter is an absolute genius... or a madman."
"Genius? Madman?" Fred sneered. He pulled out a scroll tanned from dragon skin and covered with alchemical matrices from his waist. "In front of us brothers, they are just toys waiting to be dismantled.
Start synchronization cracking."
With a whoosh, he unfolded the scroll in mid-air. The scroll hovered automatically, and the alchemical matrices on it lit up instantly like an activated circuit board.
"Magic frequency synchronization... Reverse Resonance Matrix activated!"
Fred's hands quickly formed complex seals on the scroll. "George, give me the core node frequency of the 'Shadow Moon Ban'!"
"Azimuth 3-7-11, resonance frequency is... 77.34 in 'Hertz-Merlin' units!"
"Received!"
Fred's wand pointed sharply at the center of the scroll, injecting an extremely thin yet stable magic beam like a laser.
"Hold it steady!
I'm starting to strip the first layer of camouflage! Reverse Melting Curse!"
As he chanted, a faint silver halo rippling like water began to emerge on the edge of the originally invisible defensive array outside the workshop.
Under the effect of the "Reverse Melting Curse," the halo began to become thin and transparent at a speed visible to the naked eye, as if a thick layer of oil stain was being silently dissolved by a strong detergent.
This process was extremely quiet and efficient, triggering no alarms at all. The skillfulness of the technique was far beyond the cracking method of their mother, Molly, which relied on experience and brute force testing.
A few minutes later, the outermost layer of mental confusion camouflage was completely stripped away.
"Second layer, Mana Spike Traps." George's voice came. His probe had already locked onto those deadly traps hidden in the array nodes. "Ready, Fred?
We have to cut their power supply lines simultaneously, like defusing a bomb."
"Three..."
"Two..."
"One!"
The brothers spoke in unison, wands pointing to different directions at the same instant.
Two equally thin spells with completely opposite attributes—one "Extreme Cold Freeze," one "Inert Neutralization"—precisely hit the magic sources of those seventeen traps.
Zzzt!
A sound like hot oil poured into ice water rang out. Those mana spikes, which would have erupted with deadly attacks upon touch, were instantly silenced under the pincer attack of the two spells, turning into a pile of harmless, shimmering magic dust.
"Beautifully done." Fred praised, fine beads of sweat seeping out on his forehead. "Now, only the last door remains.
George, find the structural weakness of the drainage system. We're going in from the 'dirty place'."
Their movements were smooth as floating clouds and flowing water, full of tacit understanding and precision. The cracking ability displayed had far exceeded people's perception of the Weasley family's "prank-loving kids."
They were like two sharpest scalpels, carefully slicing open Jerry's seemingly impregnable steel fortress layer by layer...
Listening to Malfoy's incessant chattering, Jerry, who knew nothing yet, yawned again and said somewhat helplessly:
"Alright, Draco.
You should thank the ancestors of the Malfoy family for blessing you that you can still sit here cutting steak."
Jerry propped his cheek weakly, poking the mashed potatoes on the plate with a fork, his tone carrying a detached coldness and instruction: "This tells you that no matter who it is, even if a professor gives you a strange potion, don't pour it into your mouth recklessly.
The wizarding world never lacks self-righteous mad geniuses. They don't care if a student's skull gets blown off."
Malfoy shrugged. The movement pulled his tight nerves, making him hiss in pain, but he still nodded obediently.
"You're right, Jerry.
That bitter taste... I don't want to taste it a second time in my life.
Professor Eleanora really went too far this time. Even she fainted herself. I heard Madam Pomfrey is still pouring Invigoration Draught down her throat in the dungeon."
Malfoy curled his lips, seeming to want to relieve the stinging pain in his head by changing the subject.
Malfoy looked left and right, confirming no one was paying attention to this side, then suddenly lowered his voice, leaned forward, and a greedy light unique to opportunists flashed in his eyes.
"Hey, Jerry, listen to something serious.
Do you know what date it is a month before next summer vacation?
The Quidditch World Cup Championship!
The current qualifiers are about to start. The Ministry has already leaked word that since Hogwarts has one of the most standard arenas with the highest protection level, some important qualifiers and side matches will be held here.
This is an excellent opportunity. Should we take advantage of this momentum and set up an even bigger... underground betting pool?"
As Malfoy spoke, his fingertips unconsciously traced the symbol of leverage on the tablecloth.
He was obviously not satisfied with the Galleons earned from the Wizard's Chess tournament earlier. The pleasure of manipulating odds and watching gold coins roll into his pocket made him temporarily forget his headache.
Hearing this, Jerry raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't show the interest Malfoy expected. He reached out for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth, a maturity terrifyingly calm revealing itself in his deep pupils.
"Quidditch Championship?"
Jerry shook his head, his tone as cold as a basin of ice water poured over the head. "Draco, I advise you to put away those unrealistic fantasies.
I don't know much about Quidditch, but that doesn't mean I can't see the situation clearly.
The influence and attention of an event of this scale are hundreds and thousands of times higher than the Wizard's Chess tournament. Do you think those old underground betting pools that have struggled in Diagon Alley and the black market for decades are vegetarians?"
Under Malfoy's slightly stiff gaze, he stood up unhurriedly, straightened his small suit, and looked down condescendingly at this companion still living in simple campus calculations.
"Behind those big events stand predators with backgrounds deep enough to reach the International Magical Trading Standards Association.
Our previous tricks look like children playing with mud in their eyes.
If we mess around unprepared, we might step on the bottom line of those old guys.
When something happens, it won't be solved by deducting a few house points in school... Those people, when killing competitors, won't go soft just because your last name is Malfoy.
Besides, don't forget, last time we only earned a tiny bit of Galleons, and it already attracted the attention of interested people. If not for..."
Jerry didn't continue, but the warning implication was already glaring.
Draco Malfoy let out a long sigh. His brow, originally furrowed from headache, now drooped, looking somewhat dispirited.
He pushed the piece of steak, cut into fragments, to the side. The silver fork made a harsh sound rubbing against the ceramic plate, as if venting his shattered dream of getting rich.
"Fine, I just mentioned it casually, Jerry."
Draco mumbled, the last flame of unwillingness in his eyes completely extinguished under Jerry's cold gaze. "I know you're right. Those guys who eat people without spitting bones are indeed much harder to deal with than the professors in school... I don't want to make my father's days in the Ministry harder because of these few Galleons."
Watching him look dejected from being rebuffed, Jerry knew that although this little dragon had many schemes, he wasn't stupid enough to gamble the Malfoy family's future.
"Since you understand, put away your amateur thoughts.
Your current task is to become stronger, not to be a gambler found everywhere."
Jerry said while straightening his coat.
Jerry's somewhat childish yet cold face turned slightly, looking at Crabbe and Goyle who were trying to stuff the remaining pudding into their mouths.
"Stop eating, Goyle, Crabbe."
Jerry's voice was low and powerful. "After class this afternoon, you three come with me to the workshop.
Draco, it's time for you to see what a real wealth production base is.
Underground betting pools only bring quick money. If you really want your parents to look at you with respect, the alchemy workshop is the true way out."
Hearing the word "workshop," a light flashed again in Draco's eyes.
He had long heard that Jerry built a massive alchemy workshop in Hogsmeade but had never been able to see the full picture.
The afternoon sun sprinkled somewhat lazily on the clean stone roads of Hogsmeade. This all-wizard village, famous in the wizarding world, appeared exceptionally solemn today due to the completion of a new building.
The outer wall of the Rosier Workshop was built of polished blue-grey rocks. A shield-shaped sign forged from pure gold hung at the main entrance, clearly engraved with the "Special License for Crystal Golem Manufacturing" officially issued by the Ministry of Magic.
In front of this factory, which had just been built and hadn't truly started operation yet, hundreds of student apprentices from Slytherin and even some from Ravenclaw were lining up neatly according to Jerry's previous request.
Mixed in the rear of the crowd, Ron, whose eyes always carried a bit of silliness, now held a cold solemnity.
Ron watched Jerry walk toward the workshop like a king inspecting his territory. His fingers in the robe pocket tightly gripped that cold black stone.
Ron used his fingernail to scrape hard three times in a specific rhythm on an imperceptible rune on the stone.
Almost at the same instant, in the dim Black Forest outside the workshop, hidden in the dense branches of a giant owl perch tree, Fred felt a sudden, sharp pain in his palm like ants biting.
He opened his palm. A black stone of the same material, tied with a red thread, was trembling slightly in his palm lines. The crack on the stone surface, soaked with his mother's blood, was flashing with an ominous, intermittent dark red light.
"He's going in, George."
Fred's voice was pressed extremely low, like dead leaves rubbing in the wind. "Ron's signal. The target is preparing to enter the workshop core area."
George swung over silently from another branch like a civet cat. He looked at the blood stone in Fred's hand, his face, usually wearing a mischievous smile, now full of rare seriousness.
"Just now in the first round of cracking, the outer 'Shadow Moon Ban' was trickier than we expected. The core interlocking runes are variants from the long-lost 'Nicolas Flamel Manuscripts'.
I almost used up half a bottle of Mental Stabilizer." George wiped the cold sweat oozing from his forehead, his face somewhat pale. "This place... is simply a dragon's den."
Fred didn't speak, just rubbing the dark red bloodstain repeatedly with his finger pad.
That was the trace left by the Bloodline Tracking Sorcery they performed not long ago at the huge risk of being tracked by the Ministry.
The result of the divination made the brothers feel like they had fallen into an ice cellar.
The red line representing their mother Molly Weasley's life trajectory pointed twistedly and painfully to this area shrouded in magical fog, and then stopped abruptly before a powerful divination isolation array like a barrier.
"I know it's a dragon's den." Fred finally spoke, his voice hoarse, carrying an unquestionable determination. "But, Mom is inside.
You felt it, George. When that blood stone finally pointed here... that wail."
George fell silent.
Of course he remembered. At the last moment of the spell completion, that stone even emitted a subtle mournful sound like a dying small beast before being completely blocked by the anti-divination array here.
That was their mother, enduring some unimaginable pain.
Members of the Weasley family might love joking and be informal, but that persistence and protection for family in their bones was their most indestructible bottom line.
"We can't wait any longer."
George pulled out a thinner and longer Mithril probe inlaid with an "Eye of the Abyss" from his waist bag, his eyes becoming sharp as knives. "The outer isolation array is too strong; we must go in.
As long as we can break into the interior of the workshop, the interference of the array will weaken, and we can use the bloodline sorcery to pinpoint Mom's location again.
Once confirmed, we use the emergency Portkey to contact Arthur, or even Dumbledore directly."
This was gambling with their lives.
"Then let's risk it." Fred stuffed the blood stone back into his embrace, also taking out his wand and a row of alchemical rune tubes flashing with various colors attached to his arm. "For Mom!"
"For Mom." George repeated in a low voice.
Under the night sky, two "little lions" driven to desperation, the biggest troublemakers of Hogwarts, finally revealed their most primitive fangs belonging to Gryffindor hidden under the mask of jokes.
A faint light lit up at the tip of the "Eye of the Abyss" probe in George's hand, beginning to vibrate at a new, stranger frequency, as if looking for the only possible, tiniest crack in that seemingly impregnable defense system...
And at the main entrance, as the heavy automatic magic door engraved with complex stabilization runes slid slowly to the sides with a rumble, Jerry led Draco's trio through the front of the crowd, stepping into this forbidden land full of alchemical charm first.
Squelch... Zzzt...
"Everyone, look clearly at the restriction line under your feet!"
Jerry stood on the suspended operation platform on the second floor, his voice low and extremely intimidating.
Just as the apprentices were shocked by the giant transmission pistons ten meters high and the dense precision gears inside the factory, a thin, gloomy black figure appeared silently at the edge of the stone door.
That black robe, never changed, swept through the air like bat wings. Severus Snape stepped into this industrial miracle built by Jerry with an unprecedented sharp aura.
The apprentice camp, originally whispering, fell into dead silence instantly.
Whether it was the few first-year little wizards scared pale or those fourth and fifth-year seniors who usually boasted of bravery, the moment they saw that sallow, deep face, they collectively took a step back subconsciously. That was the absolute fear dominated by Snape for a long time.
However, today's Snape showed extremely unusual peace.
His black eyes, always full of meanness and disgust, actually vaguely revealed a light named "vitality" when scanning the rows of crystal golem assembly lines glowing with cold metallic light being debugged in the center of the workshop.
"Not bad... extremely precise logic nesting."
Snape uncharacteristically didn't spray venom, even waving his hand at the group of scared-silly students, signaling them to follow. Then his black back figure disappeared into the main control area first to familiarize himself with that set of assembly lines.
Jerry stood on the platform, watching Snape's pace which was much lighter than usual, a trace of mockery and clear insight flashing in his eyes.
He knew very well that this tragic man who originally lived in ashes had finally found the fuse to reignite the fire of life after discovering Lily Potter wasn't dead.
"Alright, Draco."
Jerry raised his hand, waving at the dumbfounded Draco trio, signaling them to stand into the dark mass of apprentice crowds below as well.
"Professor Snape!" Jerry's voice wasn't loud but echoed clearly in every corner of the workshop. He made an inviting gesture to the Head of House below. "As the specially engaged 'Chief Crystal Golem Caster' of our Rosier Workshop, I think there is no one more suitable than you to give these future craftsmen their first enlightenment class."
The corner of Snape's mouth seemed to twitch. It was an extremely complex expression, mixing a slight pleasure of being recognized and a scrutiny of the new identity outside the title of "Professor."
He didn't say much, just using his unique pace like a bat gliding, silently ascending the main control platform on the second floor.
For a moment, the breathing of all apprentices below stagnated, as if half the air had been sucked away.
"Close your mouths that make stupid noises, and put away your curiosity that is poorer than a troll's brain."
Snape's voice was like poison-quenched ice, instantly pulling the atmosphere back to the terrifying Potions class at Hogwarts. "In my workshop, discipline and precision are above all else.
Any single mistake could turn you into a puddle of protein solution smoking with foul stench!"
As he spoke, his wand drew a complex trajectory in the air.
In the center of the platform, a semi-finished crystal golem base was lifted by an invisible force, hovering in mid-air.
It was a humanoid skeleton carved from high-purity magic crystal, possessing smooth muscle lines, the internal magic circuits clearly visible like ghostly blue blood vessels.
"Do you think Crystal Golems are just those expensive toys in shops that can dance and sing?"
Snape sneered, fingertips tapping on the chest of the crystal skeleton. "Stupid! The true Crystal Golem is the ultimate creation of Alchemy and Runology!
It is power, it is efficiency, it is the extension of absolute obedience! Its essence is a 'quasi-life form' that achieves autonomous action by inscribing runes and infusing mana!"
He began to explain systematically.
From the selection of crystal material—must be "Starlight Blue Crystal" capable of withstanding high-intensity magic scouring—to the cutting and polishing of the skeleton, and then to the most core step—"Inscription of Magic Circuits."
"Look here!"
Snape's voice rose abruptly. He magnified a section of the circuit at the golem's spine with his wand. "This is the 'Secondary Energy Shunt Circuit'. Its function is to precisely distribute the energy of the core magic source to every joint of the limbs.
If the rune carving here has a deviation of even one-thousandth of a millimeter, the result is that when your golem swings its fist, what blows up is its own head!"
Snape's explanation was extremely detailed, even personally demonstrating how to carve runes on the crystal surface with a special "Magic Etching Pen," his movements precise as a top surgeon.
In this moment of breathless silence, Jerry walked down the platform silently.
He moved through the crowd like a ghost, finally stopping beside Hermione Granger.
This most serious girl in the audience was lowering her head, the quill in her hand sliding rapidly on her thick parchment, recording every detail of Snape's explanation in her graceful handwriting, even tracing some ancient runes with odd pronunciations stroke by stroke.
Jerry's lips curled into a playful smirk. He said nothing, simply standing there quietly.
The intense, aggressive masculine scent radiating from his body, like invisible tentacles, quietly drilled into Hermione's nostrils.
It was a domineering smell: a mix of the saltiness of sweat, the musk of body fluids, and a primal, beast-like scent.
Hermione, who was writing furiously, suddenly stopped her quill, leaving a heavy ink blot on the parchment.
Her body stiffened.
Hera's divine magic had cleansed her memories, making her forget everything that happened in the classroom.
However, that full test tube of high-concentration life essence belonging to Jerry, which Hermione had forcibly poured into her stomach, had long since permeated her blood and nerves. Every cell in Hermione's body had developed an indelible, ingrained physiological dependence on this taste.
"Mmh..."
An extremely faint, suppressed whimper escaped Hermione's throat.
She felt her body heating up from the inside. A familiar, irresistible craving, like a bursting dam, instantly drowned her reason.
Waves of unbearable emptiness and spasms came from deep within her lower abdomen. Her mouth uncontrollably began to secrete saliva, and the back of her tongue recalled that fishy, salty taste she had tasted.
Hermione couldn't help herself; almost instinctively, she leaned her body toward the source of that scent.
At some point, a layer of imperceptible magical aura shrouded Jerry, like a thin mist, distorting the surrounding light and perception.
In the eyes of others, Jerry and Hermione still maintained a safe social distance.
But under that magical veil, Hermione's soft body was already pressed tightly against Jerry.
Her face, which had appeared somewhat cool due to her focus on studying, was now flushed with a sickly red.
Hermione dared not look up, only pressing her cheek against Jerry's arm, greedily and with all her might breathing in the soul-stirring scent coming from under his clothes.
Squelch... hiss...
Extremely subtle water sounds rang out between their pressed bodies.
Hermione felt a hot stream slide down from her crotch, wetting her brand-new panties and stockings.
She was so ashamed she felt like fainting, but her body's instinct drove her to make even more excessive movements.
Jerry felt the changes in the girl's body beside him, and the smile on his lips deepened.
He knew Hermione's addiction had kicked in.
He extended a hand, seemingly casually putting it in his trouser pocket, but under the cover of the magical barrier, his hand went around behind Hermione, pressing precisely on her round buttocks, tensed from nervousness.
"Ah!"
Hermione's body trembled violently as if electrocuted. Through her school skirt and panties, she could clearly feel the heat and irresistible power from the boy's palm.
That hand made no further moves, just pressed there steadily, as if declaring ownership.
"Je... Jerry..." Hermione's voice was as thin as a mosquito's, carrying a tearful tone and pleading, "I... I feel bad..."
Jerry didn't speak, only tightened the five fingers of the hand pressing on her buttocks slightly, giving a forceful squeeze.
The elastic fleshiness satisfied him greatly.
At the same time, the fingers of his other hand, inside his own trouser pocket, gently teased the giant object that had become hot and hard again due to Hermione's reaction, through the fabric.
Although it was just a light touch through the cloth, the heavy weight and hard texture of that giant object still sent waves of familiar distending pain to Jerry's lower abdomen.
He could feel the wet, hot tip beginning to secrete sticky, fishy liquid again under the friction of the fabric.
Inside the "Mimicry Shielding Charm" personally set up by Jerry, time and space seemed to have folded weirdly.
Outside, Snape's low, hoarse voice continued to strike the air rhythmically, every utterance of a professional term accompanied by the rustling sound of apprentices' quills scratching parchment. Yet within this invisible transparent bubble, Hermione's last shred of reason was finally burned to ashes by the repeated impact of Jerry's extremely strong male musky scent.
"Hah... hah... give it... must give it to me..."
Hermione at this moment had none of her usual arrogant top-student aura.
Her face, written with shame yet twisted by desire, almost impatiently pressed against Jerry's crotch, which bulged to an alarming degree.
Hermione's slender fingers trembled. Due to excessive force, her fingertips almost dug into Jerry's expensive suit fabric.
With a tooth-aching, harsh sound of the zipper being violently unzipped, the long spear—originally somewhat purple-red, scalding, and hard as a block of pig iron due to being pent up for too long—popped out with a snap, carrying a burst of extremely strong heat mixed with the previous residual fishy musk, and smacked ruthlessly against Hermione's forehead close at hand.
This was an extremely grotesque and visually shocking scene: Jerry looked down, his waist and abdomen still carrying a bit of childishness, yet erect there stood a dark purple giant object with completely distorted proportions, several times thicker and longer than his own arm.
"Woo!"
Being hit head-on by this heavy weapon like a small battering ram, Hermione's pupils shrank violently in fright.
But urged by the addiction rooted deep in her bloodline, her shame lasted less than a second before being covered by that extreme, crazy craving.
Then, disregarding the amazing circumference, she opened her small cherry lips abruptly.
Squelch, squish!
Because Jerry's spear was simply too thick, Hermione had to struggle extremely hard to stretch her jawbone until her jaw joint made a slight click sound, barely swallowing half of that colossal tip.
That squeezing sensation, warm, elastic, yet full of endless destructive power, instantly filled her entire oral cavity, even pushing her cheeks outward into deformation.
The extremely textured sound of intense friction between flesh and mucous membrane echoed within this narrow shielding charm.
"Too big... gulp... Jerry's taste... all... I want it all..."
Because the depths of her throat were poked straight to the bottom without mercy by that thick spear, Hermione's tears flowed down her flushed cheeks, a product of physiological nausea mixed with extreme pleasure.
Her tongue wrapped deathly tight around those throbbing veins, assisting the negative pressure of her mouth, desperately scraping those liquids carrying the fragrance of potions and male turbidity.
In this almost suffocating stimulation, Jerry closed his eyes, feeling waves of wet, hot, tight sucking sensation rushing straight to his cerebral cortex along the sensitive tip.
Even with Jerry's strong self-control, this service derived from Hermione's extreme depravity made him feel the pressure accumulated in his lower abdomen for a long time reach the breaking point of bursting the dam in that instant.
However, just as Jerry intended to thrust his hips and fill Hermione completely right under the cover of this array, the red light of indulgence in the sea of desire at the bottom of his eyes suddenly stagnated violently.
Ding!
An extremely subtle magical fluctuation, perceivable only by the array owner, vibrated violently along the "Shadow Moon Monitoring Array" he buried outside the Hogsmeade workshop.
That layer of cold alarm signal devoid of any emotion instantly cut off the control of lust over his brainstem.
Jerry's pupils returned from unfocused to a deep, unfathomable coldness in that instant.
He could feel that in the direction of a well-camouflaged forest, several faint magic cyclones with extremely strong concealment properties were trying to violently dismantle the gap in the array barrier from the vent of that drainage system.
The workshop had just obtained the license, and even the first golem hadn't come off the production line yet, but someone couldn't wait to see the inside of this cake.
Jerry's hand grabbed forcefully in Hermione's messy brown hair. Disregarding that the other party was at the peak of swallowing pleasure, he pulled his body out of that wet heat violently, bringing out a long string of turbid, foamy silk threads.
Hermione collapsed on the ground as if her spine had been removed. Due to Jerry's sudden, near-plundering rough withdrawal, her oral cavity still maintained that cramping sensation of being forced to expand to the limit. Long, crystal silk threads carrying turbid white foam hung from the corner of her mouth, slowly dripping down her chin onto the school badge on her chest.
Jerry's eyes were calm, not creating a single ripple because of this moving picture before him.
Jerry pulled out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, which still carried a faint scent of cologne.
Without bending over, he just squatted down, pinched Hermione's chin with two fingers, forcing her to lift that face covered in slime and tear stains.
Reflected in Hermione's pupils was Jerry's cold, condescending face.
Jerry used the handkerchief with a force devoid of emotion, almost like wiping an object, wiping hard across Hermione's lips, chin, and cheeks.
The slightly rough fabric scraped across the girl's tender skin, even raising a slight red mark. Jerry wiped away the turbid white mucus mixed with saliva and his own body fluids bit by bit. Finally, the corner of the handkerchief precisely wiped across the griffin house badge on her chest that had been soiled, representing the glory of Gryffindor.
The entire process was so quiet that only the swish sound of fabric rubbing against skin could be heard.
After cleaning up, Jerry stood up and readjusted his collar, which didn't have a single wrinkle.
He looked down at Hermione, the corner of his mouth hooking into a gentle arc.
"Have a good class, Miss Know-It-All."
After that, Jerry casually zipped up his trousers, covering the hideous meat blade that was still jumping restlessly inside the trouser leg, almost bursting the fabric. He turned and walked through the quiet apprentices still listening to Snape's lecture, toward the heavy iron door deep in the workshop covered by layers of shadow magic.
At the very bottom of the workshop was a completely sealed negative pressure laboratory for "processing dangerous materials."
The air here was filled with a damp rubber smell, the slight saltiness of sweat, and some kind of fanatical male musk like a beast.
Molly Weasley was lying prone on the cold, specially made rock slab floor.
Her voluptuous and extremely tense mature body was now tightly wrapped in a set of highly reflective, pervertedly tight black latex puppy gear.
Because the latex texture lacked elasticity extremely, Molly's wide hips and massive breasts were strangled into fleshy contours with extreme visual impact.
A stainless steel collar with sharp spikes was locked on her throat, and a heavy black-gold dog chain hung at Jerry's feet.
Most blasphemously, in a small round hole cut out at the tail of the latex suit, a huge black panther tail was firmly stretching open her rear. With her heavy panting brought by the werewolf bloodline, that furry tail was trembling and swaying incessantly.
"Mmph... woo woo..."
Molly lay on the ground, her face somewhat unfocused due to potion infusion.
When she heard Jerry's steady and rhythmic footsteps, those eyes, slightly red due to the implanted werewolf bloodline, actually flashed with a trace of uncontrollable expectation.
"It seems you behaved very obediently today, Mrs. Weasley."
Jerry walked up, stepping casually on the back of Molly's hand, which was resting on the ground and tightly strangled by rubber gloves, twisting his toe slightly with force.
"Guh... Mas... Master..."
Molly let out a light cry due to the suffocation. She actively twisted her voluptuous buttocks, like a real hound, trying hard to nuzzle her face against Jerry's still-bulging crotch.
Her breasts, tortured by that pair of violently vibrating, electrified magnetic nipple clamps into bright purple-red, bounced and pushed weakly inside the latex suit with her every crawling movement, making slap, slap dull fleshy sounds.
Jerry sneered. He felt the fluctuations outside the array getting closer.
He grabbed the ears of the latex hood on Molly's head, yanked her head up violently, and forced her to look at a magic surveillance screen on the wall.
On the screen, Fred and George were carefully cutting open the last layer of grille, trying to slide down that narrow ventilation duct into the space above this secret room.
"Look, Mrs. Weasley," Jerry's voice was like the most biting winter snow, "your two genius sons are working tirelessly to rescue their long-lost mother.
Say... if at this moment, I let them see what you look like now..."
Jerry extended a hand, patting Molly's huge buttocks, which were forced to stick up due to long-term prostration, with extreme contempt.
"No... don't... don't let them see..."
Molly's originally firm will collapsed completely in that instant.
That last sense of dignity as a mother was replaced by an extreme shame like falling into an abyss. However, under the submissive instinct toward the aura of the strong, almost morbidly brought by the werewolf bloodline, her lower abdomen uncontrollably felt a pleasure named despair.
Jerry wasted no time.
He roughly untied the last trace of restraint again. That long spear, becoming even more swollen due to the dual effects of killing intent and desire upon sensing "intruders," whipped heavily against Molly's tear-stained cheek with a thud due to the bouncing force.
"If you want to keep your reputation, it depends on whether you can... make them hear not a single sound later."
Jerry grabbed the chain of the collar with one hand and yanked it upward violently.
Molly was forced to lift her buttocks, presenting a standard, even somewhat exaggerated high-arched crawling posture on the ground.
"Squelch... squish..."
Due to Molly's tension and that perverted fear, deep in her skirt hem, that valley tightly strangled by the crotch of the latex suit was already a wet mess.
Those sticky body fluids flowed down the roots of her thighs, which were trembling constantly due to fear, coating the black latex shell with a shiny sheen.
Jerry showed no tenderness at all.
The iron chain dragged on the cold rock floor, making bursts of crisp and harsh clatter sounds.
Jerry, like walking a disobedient hound, almost roughly dragged Molly from the center of the internal control room to the wall in the northwest corner.
This was where the workshop's magic pipelines and ventilation system were most dense. The wall was only a thin layer of soundproof rock board. On the other side was the ventilation shaft her two sons were trying their best to infiltrate.
The chill penetrated through the wall, making Molly's body, tightly wrapped in latex, tremble incessantly. She could even hear the extremely subtle creak of metal tools scraping pipes and the familiar, suppressed-to-the-limit breathing sounds coming from the other side of the wall.
It was Fred and George.
They were right there.
This realization, like a sharp blade quenched in ice, stabbed ruthlessly into Molly's heart, freezing the blood in her whole body in an instant.
"Do you hear that, my Mrs. Weasley?"
Jerry's voice rang close to her auricle. That warm breath made her feel like falling into an ice cave. "They are less than a meter away from you.
Say, if I make you scream now, what will they do?
Will they rush in regardless of everything, trigger the hundreds of curses I set up, and turn into two pieces of charcoal, or will they be scared away immediately, leaving their mother here..."
"No... don't... please..." Molly's teeth chattered uncontrollably. She lifted that face interwoven with tears and sweat, looking despairingly at this demon behind her who was even younger than her sons.
Molly knew that what Jerry said, he would do.
"Then prove your value." Jerry released the chain, but that meat blade, extremely heavy due to congestion, pressed emotionlessly like a branding iron on her voluptuous butt cheeks, tensed from fear.
"Your sons are using an ancient bloodline magic to track you, wanting to make my place their target.
Now, I want you to cooperate with me and put on a good show."
Jerry's other hand became free and began to outline a strange pace in the air, extremely complex and flashing with silver and blood-colored light.
That was a reverse spell technique that could twist, deflect, and then graft the incoming bloodline detection power onto another innocent magic source.
"I want you... now... to stick your ass up actively, just like you wait for Arthur in the Burrow.
The more involved you are, the faster I cast the spell.
If they discover your location before I finish the spell..." Jerry paused, his tone becoming like the Siberian wind, "then I can only deal with these two uninvited little troubles first."
"Of course, rest assured, before they discover you, they won't hear anything."
This was a naked threat, but also the only way out.
For Fred and George, Molly knew she had no choice.
She closed those eyes dimmed by despair. The last tear belonging to the identity of "Molly Weasley" slid down. When she opened her eyes again, only a numb obedience belonging to a tamed beast remained inside.
Molly actively, even with a bit of fawning, pressed her body lower, supporting the ground with her elbows, and unreservedly stuck that round, full buttocks wrapped in black latex, appearing extremely voluptuous, toward the boy behind her.
She even mimicked those lewd postures Arthur saw in Muggle magazines in her memory, trying hard to twist her waist, making that deep groove outlined by the latex suit present more clearly before Jerry's eyes.
This posture exposed every curve on her body completely, full of undignified catering and humble begging.
That tail with the plug pulled out swayed uneasily behind her. Every shake brought out more slippery liquid mixed with the scent of uneasiness, wetting a patch of the ground.
"Very good..." Jerry was very satisfied with her posture at this moment.
He pressed one hand on Molly's amazingly broad waist-hip junction, feeling the elastic tightness coming from that mature flesh, while his other hand had already completed the final rune construction of the spell.
"Now!"
As the last syllable fell from Jerry's mouth, that cluster of silver-red spell light hummed and instantly merged into the wall. Almost at the same moment, his waist sank downward abruptly.
Accompanied by a tooth-aching, dull tearing sound of fabric and flesh being forcibly propped open, that colossal object, long beyond the normal category, without any preparation or transition, like a heavy hammer for siege, buried itself root and all into that deep passage which had become unusually wet and warm due to its owner's active dedication.
"Ugh!!"
The severe pain, as if splitting the entire body in half from the middle, and the feeling of fullness from being filled made Molly almost scream out.
But thinking that her children were just behind the wall, Molly bit the inside of the rubber ball gag hard with her teeth, blocking all screams dead in her throat, only emitting a painful whimper like an injured beast.
Inside the narrow ventilation duct filled with the smell of rust, the air seemed to solidify into substance, pressing people breathless.
Fred curled his long legs. Because the space was extremely cramped, his knees almost touched his chest. His hands produced an uncontrollable spasm due to maintaining magic output for a long time.
In his palm, that blood stone carrying the last hope was in a weird high-frequency vibration.
"Hold on, Fred." George's lowered voice echoed repeatedly between the metal walls of the duct, carrying an infinitely amplified sense of urgency. "Just a little bit more... as long as we penetrate that layer of deep isolation, we..."
However, just as that red light carrying the guidance of mother-son bloodline tried to forcibly hit some invisible barrier, the situation reversed terrifyingly.
Crack!
"Damn it! Reflected!"
George's arm was burned by scattered magic sparks. Under the gap of that black robe, the skin instantly split open a scorched trace.
He almost screamed out this cruel fact, "It's grafting!
This vicious ancient method... it's misleading our perception!"
Fred gripped that shattered stone, which had completely dimmed and was full of cold cracks, deathly tight, his eyes full of struggling disbelief.
His fingertips seeped blood due to the backlash of power just now, mixing with the sweat in his palm, smearing a layer of slipperiness on the shattered stone.
"No... no! It was clearly here just now!"
"The sound it made just now was like Mom crying... that resonance of blood thicker than water can't be faked!"
Just now, under that thin board, he seemed to hear some vague, dull impact sound and that slippery squelch sound similar to water friction.
Fred's hand, covered with tiny cuts, had quietly touched the blasting rune tube at his waist.
"Calm down, Fred!" George grabbed his wrist violently. That injured finger joint clicked due to hitting the back because of excessive force. "Look here!
This is the final pointing of the 'Bloodline Grafting Reflection'!"
George desperately slapped a piece of magic rune paper flashing with flowing light onto that pile of shattered blood stone residue.
Those stone chips that were completely scrapped now actually seemed attracted by magnetic force, slowly piecing together a blurred outline on the rune paper.
With a few subtle click friction sounds, that mass of dark red light and shadow jumped slightly in the void a few times, and then on that narrow map, locked onto a direction extremely firmly.
That was the deepest part of the Forbidden Forest.
"This... this is..." Fred was stunned.
In that vague sensing, in that forest full of dark creatures, an extremely huge but chaotic vital sign was carrying this magic fluctuation entangled due to bloodline.
That aura was so real, carrying a wildness and fanaticism after being provoked.
"It's a migrating Acromantula... or a higher-level arthropod monster."
George's voice carried three parts gladness and seven parts fear. "Its magic band is oscillating at high frequency due to this grafting magic; that's the reason the divination was misled!
Those damn dark wizards must have used some residual tissue inside that giant spider to create this illusion that Mom is still nearby!"
As he spoke, he pulled his still-stunned brother backward forcefully.
"Are you crazy?
Fred!
Wake up!
Jerry Rosier is indeed a little bastard we hate, and his workshop is indeed full of illegal secrets. But this 'Bloodline Reflection' is top-tier dark magic... If you believe he can set up this kind of trap that even Dad can't crack, then we might as well surrender!"
George's words were like a basin of ice water poured over Fred's head that was about to explode.
Yes, Jerry Rosier.
"Go... go!
Fred!"
George's voice became urgent and stern. "Staying here is suicide every second!
If the bloodline magic confirms she is not in this range, then there is no meaning for us to sacrifice here!
We have to go to the Forbidden Forest. While that monster hasn't left the school range, we have to go there to find Mom!"
Fred stared dead at his palm in the darkness.
Due to the power impact just now, he seemed to still feel that trace of warm and fishy touch after being reflected back.
That feeling was strange, not like simple magic feedback, but more like some extremely viscous, scalding, and aggressive liquid staining his soul in that instant.
But he ultimately compromised before this iron fact.
Since the result of the Bloodline Sorcery pointed to the distant Forbidden Forest, then this workshop beneath him, in his cognition, turned back into a forbidden land full of dangerous traps.
But having nothing to do with Molly Weasley.
"...I know."
And on this side of the wall, listening to that gradually fading rustle sound, the corner of Jerry's mouth hooked into a cold arc.
Jerry knew that the suspicion here had been completely cleared.
And this great mother beneath him, because of this "performance" of actively sacrificing herself to protect her children, had completely degenerated into his most loyal bitch that he could manipulate at will.
He no longer had any scruples. Pinching Molly's waist, inside her mature and warm body that had been stretched to the limit, he began a new round of slow but extremely heavy grinding, like declaring sovereignty.
Every deepening was like branding his own indelible mark on this voluptuous flesh.