Hermione's footsteps ground to a halt.
It wasn't because the snoring portrait of a knight at the end of the corridor was blocking her path, nor because she had suddenly remembered a forgotten assignment.
It was her wrist.
On her left wrist, the silver bracelet—a narrow ring woven from incredibly fine magical wire and etched with miniature runes—burst into a blinding flash of crimson without any warning.
The brightness of the red light intensified from a faint glow to a piercing glare in less than half a second, dyeing the small gap between the bracelet and her skin a blood-red hue. The light even saturated the fabric of her school robes, projecting a blurry red halo onto the dark grey wool.
The bracelet was vibrating.
It was a faint but high-frequency tremor, as if a microscopic hummingbird were trapped inside the silver wire loop, frantically beating its wings against the walls.
Hermione's pupils contracted sharply.
Her first instinct was that the bracelet was broken.
But the last time it malfunctioned, it was blue.
This was red.
Blue meant "Attention."
Red meant...
Hermione's heart skipped a beat.
The thud was so powerful she could hear it echoing against her eardrums.
Red meant "Danger."
Standing in the middle of the corridor, staring at the persistent crimson glow on her wrist, her brain switched from "false alarm" to "emergency" in a heartbeat.
The proof was in the vibration frequency.
A malfunction would be intermittent—two seconds of buzzing, one second of silence—a typical sign of runic resonance error.
But this vibration was continuous.
No breaks.
Constant frequency.
Constant intensity.
This was the "Highest Level Alert" mode Jerry had programmed into the bracelet, triggered only when the wearer's biological resonance detected a sharp, terminal decline in Jerry's life force.
Jerry was in real danger.
Hermione turned and sprinted.
The hem of her school robes flared out in a semi-circle as she whirled around.
Her leather shoes hammered against the stone floor in a rapid clack-clack-clack-clack, the sound amplified in the empty corridor like a drum being beaten in a frenzy.
She ran toward the Clubroom.
The secret room on the seventh floor of Hogwarts, modified by the Room of Requirement, its entrance known only to the club members.
Corridor.
Corner.
Stairs.
Another turn.
Hermione's breathing grew ragged as she ran, her bushy brown curls trailing behind her, several strands plastered to her forehead by a fine sheen of sweat.
The seventh-floor corridor.
The wall.
She reached the seemingly ordinary stone wall. She didn't have time to pace back and forth three times according to the standard procedure; she slapped her palm directly against the stones. The red light from her bracelet bled into the cracks of the masonry...
The wall split open.
A door took shape rapidly—dark, heavy wood engraved with the club's emblem materialized out of thin air.
Someone was already standing at the door.
Liliana.
On her left wrist, she wore the same silver bracelet as Hermione.
It was pulsing with the same red light.
Her right hand was clenched tight around the bracelet, her knuckles white from the strain, her entire hand trembling.
Liliana wore the standard Hogwarts uniform, but it produced a vastly different visual effect on her than on other girls her age.
The fabric of her robes was stretched tight over her chest, forming two incredibly full mounds—proportions that were far too lush for a young witch, causing tiny tension wrinkles to form between the buttons of her blouse.
A heavy harvest on slender branches.
The moment Liliana saw Hermione, those large, light-brown eyes filled with tears, swimming with a mixture of terror and desperation.
"Hermione... the bracelet... Jerry..."
Her voice was broken, as if she had too much to say but her throat was choked with anxiety, leaving her with only three fragmented words.
Hermione stopped in front of her.
"I know."
Her tone was fast but steady.
Footsteps echoed from the distant corridor.
Two sets.
The rhythms were different—one was a flurry of small, frantic steps, the other a long-strided, low-frequency power walk.
Hannah burst around the corner of the stairs.
Her blonde hair was a chaotic cloud around her head, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson from the exertion. The hem of her robes had hiked up above her knees from the speed of her run. She held her left hand high—the silver bracelet on her wrist glowing with the same red light as Hermione's and Liliana's.
"I saw it... the bracelet... it's red...!"
Liliana's voice was shrill, nearly breaking.
Three paces behind her, Cho Chang arrived with a relatively composed but equally urgent stride.
She was taller than the other three—nearly five foot seven—her silhouette lean but curved.
Her bracelet was also glowing red.
She didn't wave her wrist around like Hannah, but she glanced down at it frequently, her focus fixed forward.
The four of them converged at the door of the Clubroom.
Hermione didn't waste a second.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Everyone inside. Close the door."
Liliana, Hannah, and Cho Chang filed in.
The door clicked shut behind Cho.
Hermione drew her wand—vine wood, dragon heartstring core, ten and three-quarter inches—and leveled the tip at the four walls. Her wrist flicked four times in rapid succession.
Four protective charms were cast within two seconds.
Each spell formed a semi-transparent, differently colored film of magic over the walls—blue, gold, silver, grey—the four layers overlapping to seal the room into an independent space completely isolated from the outside world.
Then, she pointed her wand at the floor.
An Extension Charm.
The interior of the room expanded to five times its original size in an instant.
The ceiling rose from three meters to six, and the four walls receded at least four meters outward.
The room, originally the size of a standard classroom, became a spacious hall nearly on the scale of a small auditorium.
In the center of the room—something that existed long before the Extension Charm—was a magical array about three meters in diameter, formed by silver metal lines embedded into the stone floor.
That was the array Jerry had left behind.
The pattern was incredibly complex—concentric circles, regular polygons, intersecting lines, and runic sequences—nested layer upon layer, densely covering the entire three-meter circle. The silver lines reflected a cold glint under the light of her wand.
Hermione walked to the edge of the array and crouched down.
She pressed her right hand onto the outermost silver line.
"Activus."
The array flared to life.
The silver lines lit up starting from the point of contact, spiraling inward in a calculated sequence. Every line, every rune, and every node activated in turn, emitting a faint, silvery-white glow.
Three seconds later, the entire array was fully engaged.
The silvery light surged upward from every line, converging about a meter above the floor into a blurry, constantly shifting mist of light.
That mist was the sensory interface.
Through this interface, one could sense the position and status of the target—Jerry—who shared a resonance connection with the array.
Hermione pressed both hands onto the silver lines.
She closed her eyes.
Mana poured from her palms into the array's circuitry, conducting, splitting, and merging along those complex silver patterns until it concentrated into a directional sensory probe at the core node.
The probe pierced through the walls of Hogwarts. It pierced through the Scottish Highlands. It pierced through the surface structure of reality itself...
She found it.
Jerry's life signal.
Faint, but present.
The corner of Hermione's mouth had just begun to relax in relief...
Then her face turned pale.
Cold.
A bone-chilling sensation, conducted backward through the silver lines—a chill that didn't belong to any known magic—invaded her palms, her wrists, her forearms, and deep into her body.
That chill wasn't just physical cold; it was a conceptual, freezing shadow emanating from "Death" itself.
Hermione's brain decoded the information carried by that chill in a heartbeat.
The space Jerry was in was dying.
Oxygen was depleting. The spatial structure was collapsing. The residual energy constituting that miniature world was decaying at an irreversible rate.
the shadow of death was enveloping him.
Hermione's fingers tightened on the silver lines.
She opened her eyes.
Three pairs of eyes were staring at her.
Liliana stood to the right, hands clenched to her chest. Tears were spilling over her lids, running down her rounded cheeks to her chin and leaving wet tracks on her collar.
Her lips were trembling, making her already youthful face look even more fragile.
Hannah stood to the left, her blonde hair a messy tangle, the flush on her face lingering.
Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.
Her eyes were red, but she stubbornly held back the tears at the rim of her lids, refusing to let them fall.
Cho Chang stood directly opposite the array.
Her expression was calmer than the others, but Hermione noticed her right hand was shaking slightly. That hand was currently pressed against her own left wrist where the bracelet glowed red, her fingers unconsciously stroking the silver surface.
"Jerry is still alive."
Hermione spoke those words first.
The shoulders of the other three relaxed simultaneously—an involuntary, primal reaction to the phrase "still alive."
"But the space he's in is collapsing. The oxygen is running out."
Their shoulders tensed once more.
Liliana's tears flowed even harder.
Her mouth opened several times, trying to speak, but each time only fragmented gasps came out. Finally, she said nothing and just shook her head violently, as if trying to reject the information.
Hannah's fists tightened further, her knuckles turning white.
Cho Chang stopped stroking her bracelet. Her dark eyes fixed on Hermione, carrying a clear question...
"Do you have a way?"
Hermione took a deep breath.
"I do."
She stood up from the side of the array.
"A Teleportation Array."
"It will send me directly to Jerry's location."
"And then I'll bring him back."
Even as she spoke, she was already moving, pulling a piece of chalk from the inner pocket of her robes—a special chalk made from a mixture of goblin silver and phoenix ash, designed specifically for drawing high-level magical circles. She crouched on the floor and began rapidly sketching a new pattern in the empty space beside Jerry's sensory array.
She knew the structure of a Teleportation Array by heart—Jerry had taught it to her. An outer circle, an inner circle, four cardinal anchors, eight connection lines, and sixteen stabilization runes. Her hand flew across the floor, the silver lines of the chalk emitting a faint fluorescence in the dim room.
She calculated as she drew.
A Teleportation Array requires three things: the pattern, the mana, and a medium.
She was drawing the pattern.
She could provide the mana herself, and any deficit could be supplemented by Cho Chang, whose mana reserves were much more abundant than the younger girls'.
The medium...
The medium for a Teleportation Array must be a substance that shares biological resonance with the target.
Ideally, the target's blood, but she didn't have Jerry's blood on hand.
The next best option was tissue fragments containing DNA—hair, nails—but their resonance strength was often unstable. For a long-distance, cross-dimensional jump, there could be coordinate errors.
The strongest medium—other than blood—was reproductive cells.
Bodily fluid.
Hermione's hand paused as she drew the final rune.
Her face flushed crimson in the glow of the silver lines.
Then, she reached into the deepest part of the left inner pocket of her school robes—a hidden compartment sewn with a close-fitting charm that was invisible from the outside...
Her fingers touched a small, soft, sealed packet.
She pulled the item out.
A condom.
Tied shut at the end.
Filled with...
A milky-white, viscous liquid, made warm by the heat of her own body where it had been kept.
Jerry's seed.
When Liliana and Hannah saw what was in Hermione's hand, their expressions shifted subtly. Liliana's tears stopped for a moment, her light-brown eyes widening into circles as a blush crept across her cheeks.
Hannah's mouth parted as if to say something, but she swallowed it back.
Cho Chang's expression didn't flicker. She simply glanced at the condom, then met Hermione's eyes and gave a small nod—a signal of "I understand, proceed."
Hermione didn't hesitate.
She brought the condom to her lips.
Her teeth clamped down on the knotted end of the latex. The thin membrane was squeezed and deformed between her incisors before she gave it a sharp yank...
Pop.
The seal was bitten open.
Jerry's cum surged out from the breach.
A rich, familiar scent that made Hermione's nose and throat react simultaneously filled the air—warm, carrying that faint salty and musky undertone unique to Jerry's essence.
That scent triggered a cascade of reflex physiological responses in Hermione's nervous system: her pupils dilated slightly, her salivary glands accelerated, and her heart rate jumped two beats.
She inverted the condom, aiming the breach downward.
The thick, milky fluid flowed slowly from the opening—not fast, due to its high viscosity—dropping one bead at a time onto the center of the Teleportation Array.
Every drop of semen, the moment it contacted the silver lines of the array, produced a faint flash of light—the magical feedback released as the biological resonance established a connection.
Hermione emptied the entire contents of the condom onto the array.
About five milliliters of milky-white liquid.
It spread outward along the silver lines at the center of the array like living white ink, seeping into every rune and every node.
The color of the array was changing.
After absorbing the cum, the silvery-white lines gradually transformed into a warm, pale golden light. This gold was different from the slime on Cassiopeia's tongue; it was purer, brighter, like liquid sunlight flowing through the array's channels.
The Teleportation Array was active.
Hermione tossed the spent condom aside and walked into the dead center of the circle.
She cast one last look at the three girls behind her.
"I'm bringing him back," Hermione said.
Then she sat down.
She sat cross-legged in the center of the array.
The golden lines, soaked in Jerry's fluids, glowed faintly beneath the hem of her school skirt.
She closed her eyes.
Her hands rested flat on her knees.
"Transmitto."
Golden light erupted from every line of the array simultaneously...
Hermione's body turned transparent in the glare, then blurred, and then vanished.
Ashen grey.
In the first second after the teleportation was complete, Hermione's visual system only received that one piece of information—ashen grey, saturating her entire field of vision, devoid of depth, a grey composed of the residual matter of a dead world.
Then came the air.
Thin.
Dry.
Air that smelled of dust and old books.
Breathing became difficult; the oxygen content in every lungful was clearly insufficient, and Hermione's lungs gave an unsatisfied twitch at the first breath.
Then came the sound.
In that thin, oppressive air, a sound was echoing continuously and rhythmically.
Wet.
Sticky.
Carrying the dull undertone of flesh impacting flesh...
Squish... squish... squish...
Hermione's eyes fully adjusted to the dim, ashen light.
She saw it clearly.
In the wreckage of this dead miniature world, about fifteen meters long, eight wide, and four high, in the center of the narrow space enclosed by grey walls and a cracked floor...
Jerry was on top.
A woman with short, dark-blonde hair was beneath him.
The woman's combat robes had been torn open from collar to waist, the dark grey fabric peeling back to reveal the black, skin-tight athletic undershirt beneath.
The undershirt had also been pushed up past her chest, fully exposing her plump breasts—splayed slightly to the sides by her supine position—in the ashen micro-glow.
The lower half of her combat robes had been hiked above her waist as well.
Her knickers were yanked to one side, and her stockings—black, Auror-issue tactical silk, thicker than ordinary hosiery but still semi-transparent—had been ripped with a long tear at the root of her thighs.
In the center of that tear...
Jerry's hips were pumping.
Squish...
The woman's body was jolted upward an inch with every thrust.
With every withdrawal...
A string of blended fluids pulled into silver threads from the shaft, stretching and thinning in the stagnant air before snapping, landing on her inner thighs and the floor.
The woman—Mia—had her hands pressed against Jerry's back.
Ten fingers clawed into the fabric of his suit jacket, her nails sinking through the material and into his skin.
Her combat boots—standard-issue brown high-tops with hard soles—were locked tightly around Jerry's lower back, the tread patterns leaving grey scuffs on his white shirt.
Her face was turned to the side, her short blonde hair scattered across the ashen ground.
Her mouth hung open. Her dark green eyes were half-lidded.
Her expression...
It wasn't pain.
It certainly wasn't pleasure.
It was a state of blank, dazed stupor caused by a sensory overload too intense for her brain to process.
Hermione stood at the landing point of the teleportation array—about four meters away—her bushy brown curls fluttering in the residual air currents of her arrival...
She watched the scene.
The red light on her bracelet was still flashing.
But Hermione's attention was now entirely elsewhere.
Her brown eyes were wide, her lips parted in shock.
Jerry's hips didn't stop.
Squish... squish... squish...
"Jerry!"
Hermione's voice exploded in the dying miniature world.
The thin air made the sound sluggish, as if wrapped in cotton, but in a space only fifteen meters long, it was clear enough.
Jerry's hips stopped.
He propped his upper body up over Mia, his hands braced on the ground on either side of her shoulders, and turned his head toward the source of the voice.
His black hair was soaked with sweat, plastered in strands to his forehead. His cheeks bore a flush from the violent exertion.
His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths, each exhale releasing a cloud of white vapor into the thin, cold air.
He saw Hermione.
Four meters away.
Bushy brown curls.
Hogwarts school robes.
The silver bracelet on her left wrist still pulsing with red light.
A smile broke across Jerry's face.
The way he smiled—in a wreckage of a world nearly void of oxygen, right after a fight and a fuck with an Auror captain—was so relaxed and natural, as if he'd simply bumped into a friend in a school corridor.
"I knew you'd come for me."
As he spoke, his right hand left the ground and reached for Mia's chest—those plump, exposed breasts heaving with her ragged breaths. He spread his fingers, grabbing her left orb and kneading it with raw force.
His fingers sank into the soft tissue, squeezing the mound out of shape until rounded arcs of flesh spilled between his knuckles.
Mia's body shivered at the squeeze; her consciousness was a blur of semi-lucidity and haze. Her green eyes were half-open, pupils unfocused, her mouth slightly agape as a faint, ambiguous protest escaped her throat.
Jerry let go.
He began to withdraw from Mia's body.
Squish... pop...
The process was accompanied by continuous wet sounds.
With every inch he retracted, the vacuum suction between his shaft and her inner walls produced a faint pop, while a small gush of mixed fluids was squeezed from the junction, trailing down Mia's inner thighs.
Just as the tip was about to clear her...
Mia moved.
Her right knee slammed upward.
The movement was without warning, going from static to full impact in zero point two seconds—the hard guard of the combat boot carrying the full explosive power of an Auror captain's lower body...
It struck Jerry square in the crotch.
Specifically, it hit the two balls that had just slid free from the root of Mia's thighs.
Thud!
The sound was dull and heavy.
Jerry's entire body arched under the blow, his waist folding forward as his abdominal muscles went into a violent spasm. A strangled, agonizingly suppressed grunt was caught in his throat...
"Ngh...!"
Pain surged from below straight into his gut, a level of agony enough to paralyze any man instantly...
But at that same moment...
The crushing pressure on his testicles triggered a violent, involuntary physiological reflex.
Fluid erupted from his tip.
It didn't "leak." It didn't "seep."
It sprayed.
Like a high-pressure hose.
The first burst shot from his head so fast it formed a visible milky arc in the ashen gloom. The stream left Jerry's crotch at a thirty-degree angle, crossing the four-meter distance...
And hit Hermione right in the face.
Splatt!
Thick, hot, and shockingly voluminous milky fluid slapped onto Hermione's face.
The first jet hit her left cheek, leaving a band of thick white cream nearly two centimeters wide from her cheekbone to her chin.
The second followed less than zero point three seconds later, hitting her forehead and the bridge of her nose. The fluid split along her nose, some seeping into the edge of her left eye socket, some trailing down her nostrils to her upper lip.
The force of the third burst weakened slightly, but it still had enough range to land at the junction of her chin and neck, the warm fluid meandering down her throat and into the collar of her school shirt.
Hermione's face was covered in Jerry's seed.
Her brown eyes blinked through the gaps in the white liquid.
Then...
Her tongue came out.
It was as natural as breathing.
The tip started from the right side of her lips, sliding across the curve of her upper lip to the left, curling the thick, milky fluid into her mouth bit by bit.
The familiar taste.
Salty.
Slightly musky. Carrying that rich, unique scent that belonged only to Jerry.
The moment the taste hit her buds, it was like a switch had been flipped; her salivary glands went into overdrive, her pupils dilated, and her heart skipped three beats.
She licked every drop from the corners of her mouth.
Then she swallowed.
Gulp.
Four meters away, Jerry was still doubled over, hands clutching his crotch, his face twisted between the lingering pain and the involuntary afterglow of the ejaculation.
Mia's knee remained raised, but her strength was spent. That strike had been her final act of defiance. Her green eyes went completely unfocused, her head lolling to the side as her consciousness faded.
Jerry straightened up.
Traces of pain still marred his features, his brow furrowed and his mouth pulled down, but his hands had left his crotch.
He pressed his left palm toward Mia's neck in a silent gesture...
Even in this dead world where magic was suppressed by over ninety percent, his wandless casting could still muster enough power for a simple Stunner.
A faint, nearly invisible pulse of blue light seeped from his palm, hitting the side of Mia's neck.
Mia's body went limp.
She was out cold.
Jerry bent down, grabbing Mia's right ankle—the leather of the combat boot creaking under his grip—and began dragging her toward Hermione.
Mia's body was hauled across the ashen floor.
Her combat robes—already mostly shredded—rustled and scraped against the ground.
Her torn stockings peeled back from the rifts at her thighs, exposing large patches of skin wet with fluids and sweat. Her short blonde hair dragged through the fine ashen dust.
Jerry dragged Mia to Hermione's feet.
He let go of her ankle.
Mia's leg hit the floor with a soft thud.
The two of them stood face to face.
Jerry's trousers were still caught around his mid-thighs. His long spear, having just fired, was still in a state of semi-erection, over twenty-five centimeters from base to tip. The shaft was coated in a sticky film of his own fluids, Mia's juices, and sweat, which was beginning to dry.
The head was a bruised, deep red, with a final, congealing bead of milky-white liquid hanging at the tip.
Hermione reached out her right hand.
She spread her fingers and pressed them against the side of his shaft.
Her hand slid slowly from the mid-section down to the base, feeling the throbbing pulse of the engorged veins beneath her palm before sliding back up to the head.
"To think we were worried you were in some kind of danger."
Hermione's voice came from a face still dripping with his seed, her tone a mix of relieved relaxation and simmering irritation—like a cat owner who finds their lost pet was just in the neighbor's yard stealing snacks.
"I didn't expect to find you here doing this."
Her finger paused at the coronal sulcus, her thumb scraping away a small glob of congealed fluid from the fold.
Jerry looked down at her.
His lips quirked into a smirk. There was no guilt or embarrassment in that look, only a calm "you caught me and I don't care" attitude.
He raised his right hand and reached for the top of her head.
He threaded his fingers into her bushy curls and gave them a firm, messy rub.
"Mmh. Good work."
His hand was coated in a cocktail of fluids—his own, Mia's, and sweat. As he ruffled her hair, he methodically smeared the sticky mess into every curl.
Her hair became damp and heavy under the moisture, its natural bounce collapsing as the strands matted against her forehead and cheeks.
Hermione didn't pull away.
She even tilted her head back slightly to give him better access.
Her face was dripping with cum. Her hair was matted with it. A small patch of her collar was soaked through.
But she was smiling.
A small, relieved, peaceful smile.
Jerry was safe.
That was enough.
Her gaze drifted down from his face, past his chest and abdomen, landing on his crotch.
From Mia's brutal knee strike, the area was now visibly, unnaturally swollen and red.
The skin had shifted from its normal tone to a bruised, dark crimson, the surface puffy and looking a size larger than usual.
Hermione's brow furrowed.
She squatted down.
Then, she dropped to her knees on the ashen floor in front of him.
Her face—still covered in his fluids, with damp curls plastered to her cheeks—was now level with his crotch.
From her perspective, looking up from below, the semi-erect spear looked even more monstrous.
The shaft rose from the base, a thick, fleshy column curving slightly to the left, terminating in the mushroom-like swell of the head.
Hermione's focus wasn't on the shaft—at least, not yet. Her eyes were fixed on the two red, swollen balls below.
She stuck out her tongue.
The tip tentatively touched the surface of the left testicle.
The skin of the scrotum was hyper-sensitive in its swollen state; the moment her tongue made contact, Jerry's thigh muscles tensed involuntarily.
Hermione didn't pull back.
She used the flat of her tongue—not the tip—the broader, softer surface, and gently smoothed it over the skin. Then, at a speed so slow it was barely perceptible, she licked upward from the bottom of the sac.
The temperature and moisture of her tongue provided an instant soothing effect, like applying a warm, wet compress to a burn.
Slurp...
The sound was an extremely faint, wet friction between her tongue and the scrotal skin.
Hermione licked from the bottom of the left ball to the top, then shifted to the right, repeating the motion with the same pressure and speed.
Left and right.
Slow.
Tender.
With a clear medicinal intent.
But at the same time...
Inevitably...
A little witch, kneeling on the floor with a face covered in cum and hair matted with fluids, was methodically licking Jerry's bruised balls.
Jerry looked down at her.
He moved his right hand from her head and gripped the base of his semi-erect cock, pressing the entire length downward...
The shaft came to rest against Hermione's face.
Starting from her chin, running along her nose, all the way to her forehead.
The weight of it, even semi-soft, provided a heavy, warm pressure made of flesh and blood. The layer of not-yet-dry fluids on the shaft pressed against her skin, mixing with the cum already on her face.
The width of it covered nearly half of her face. From her left cheek to her nose, her skin was completely obscured by the diameter of the meat. Her right eye was hidden; only her left eye peeked out from the edge of the shaft, her brown pupil looking up at him.
"You bad boy... Jerry!"