The long corridor appeared somewhat dim under the illumination of deep green magical torches. The air was filled with the peculiar fragrance of old canvas mixed with expensive spices.
On both sides, the originally solemn paintings of the Louvre came to life under the immersion of magic.
Those French noblewomen in golden frames lifted their skirts one after another, laughing coquettishly as they leaned close to the frame edges, their gazes unscrupulously sizing up the three people walking slowly toward them.
A touch of rich, fiery red walked in the deep gallery. The hem of the red dress swayed violently left and right with the model's catwalk. The sound of silk rubbing against the roots of her thighs seemed exceptionally clear in the quiet corridor.
It was Narcissa's sister, Vera, a more flamboyant Pure-blood witch.
Straw-golden curly hair bounced slightly with her steps. Even on such a solemn occasion, she walked as if proceeding to a private date. Her voluptuous buttocks, wrapped in tight velvet, undulated violently in outline due to the sway of walking, as if ready to jump out of the fabric constraint at any moment.
Narcissa could feel the arm in her embrace was shockingly hot; Vera was always in an inexplicable state of excitement.
Ahead, McGonagall's fitted dark blue evening gown swayed gently with her movements. The fabric rubbed against her round back, outlining the fullest curves of a woman in her thirties.
Jerry walked preferentially by McGonagall's side.
Vera suddenly called out to Professor McGonagall ahead.
"Minerva, long time no see. The moonlight of France seems to make you more alluring?"
Vera's voice echoed in the gallery, carrying a sticky magnetism.
She twisted her body closer. That red evening gown was made of extremely thin velvet, clinging tightly to her full body.
Every curve seemed to be provoking the surrounding air. Especially when walking, the fabric at the root of her thighs was squeezed and rubbed, making a slight, rhythmic silk friction sound.
That pile of snowy white chest, due to the extremely low and tight neckline, shook violently while walking. Two soft mounds swayed left and right with her steps.
"Vera, your flamboyance really hasn't changed a bit."
McGonagall stopped, tone flat, but straightened her body calmly, meeting Vera's dangerous red lips.
Vera smiled. Her gaze lingered on McGonagall for less than three seconds, then shifted downward rapidly, finally fixing on the boy standing beside McGonagall.
A nearly greedy heat rose instantly in her emerald eyes. Her hot gaze circled repeatedly on the part of Jerry's robe that obviously propped up a large bulge.
At this moment, Narcissa was holding Vera's other arm. As almost all of Vera's body weight pressed on Narcissa, that mass of warm red dress soft flesh was squeezing Narcissa.
"Is this the rumored... sole heir of the Rosier family?"
Vera exhaled, that mature female body scent hitting Jerry's nose directly.
She released Narcissa, twisted her hips around to Jerry. Due to similar height, her massive heaving chest almost brushed against Jerry's lapel.
Jerry looked composed, not flustered by the approach of this mature woman.
Gaze sizing up Vera deeply, that sight was like an invisible hand rubbing on the surface of the other party's thin gown.
"Hello, I am Vera!"
A polite and distant smile appeared on Jerry's face. He nodded slightly, gaze level with Vera's aggressive emerald eyes.
"Good evening, Ms. Vera!"
Jerry's voice was calm and waveless, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, not stirring up any ripples but making the pool water appear deeper.
Jerry's head turned slowly and elegantly to the side. His deep gaze accurately captured Narcissa's dodging grey eyes, locking her firmly.
Seeing Jerry, a faint shame flashed immediately in Narcissa's eyes standing aside.
"Mrs. Malfoy! Nice to see you again. Our chat last time was truly delightful."
Narcissa's fingers curled unconsciously, grasping her expensive skirt edge tightly.
She felt Vera's viper-like eyes scanning her face.
Narcissa tried hard to maintain her noblewoman demeanor, throat sliding slightly.
That wet sound only Narcissa could hear became increasingly obvious while walking due to the dampness of her lower body, like fragmented water sounds lingering between her thighs.
Looking at her sister's awkward face, the arc of Vera's mouth widened.
"What a... vibrant child."
Vera licked her lips, staring straight at Jerry.
Jerry smiled and tilted his head, not dodging but taking a half step forward.
His thin chest faintly pressed toward this fiery mature woman. That outline, increasingly obvious due to gravity, cast an aggressive shadow under the light.
The skirt hem of Professor McGonagall's dark blue velvet evening gown, carrying a breeze, slid just right between Jerry and Vera.
Her eagle-like eyes swept over Vera, then landed on Narcissa's red cheeks.
"Vera, long time no see."
McGonagall's voice was cool and carried an unquestionable power, diverting Vera's gaze from Jerry's tight robe front just right. "Didn't expect the 'hospitality' of the Black family has expanded to swallow the entire Louvre."
Vera's smile turned cold in an instant. She withdrew the hand resting on Jerry's shoulder, fingertips curling her golden hair ends disdainfully, as if she had just accidentally touched something dirty.
"Oh, Professor McGonagall."
She dragged out her tone, eyes full of sarcasm. "I thought you would only be active in dusty libraries or boring classrooms. Didn't expect you'd be willing to wear a somewhat 'presentable' evening gown for this secular 'feast' today." Her gaze paused briefly on McGonagall's well-tailored dark blue gown, eyes carrying contempt for "mediocrity." "Only... your taste seems to need some 'guidance' from excellent fashion designers to keep up with the times!"
McGonagall's response did not retreat. Her tightly pursed lips didn't even tremble.
"My taste, Vera, at least ensures that no 'exhibits' like some people appear around me—behavior and clothing equally flamboyant, but empty inside."
"You!"
Vera's face finally changed. Her breathing became heavy, chest heaving violently under the red dress, as if truly angered by the contempt in McGonagall's words.
That oppression became stronger instantly. She stared dead at McGonagall, gaze seeming to want to ignite her, or calculating something.
A moment later, Vera suddenly restrained all anger, raised her head, and let out a short, mocking chuckle.
"Professor McGonagall's mouth is as sharp as ever. It seems we can't continue chatting."
Vera yanked Narcissa's arm abruptly; the force almost made Narcissa stagger.
"Let's go, Cissy, Draco!"
Vera dragged Narcissa away without looking back. Those high heels knocked out rapid and loud sounds on the smooth marble floor; the skirt hem swung across the corridor like flames.
Dragged by Vera hurriedly, Narcissa had no time to say anything. Only when leaving, her somewhat ashamed and complex gaze met Jerry's briefly across Vera's figure.
Draco stared dumbfounded at the scene of the two adults exchanging sharp words.
Until Vera dragged Narcissa far away, he seemed to wake up suddenly, bowing hurriedly to Professor McGonagall.
"Good evening, Professor McGonagall."
He stammered a sentence, then turned to roll his eyes helplessly at Jerry, lips mouthing "what the hell" silently, then chased after them without a word.
Professor McGonagall glanced at Jerry, a complex look imperceptible flashing in her eyes. Finally, she just snorted lightly, turned, and continued walking toward the banquet hall.
"Let's go too, Jerry! Meeting such a bitch is really... unpleasant!"
Continuing forward, the oil paintings around them gradually changed from portraits of French noblewomen to magnificent historical scrolls and mythological scenes symbolizing love and the sea of desire.
The figures in those paintings, sorrowful or ecstatic, lingering in clouds or mingling in the mortal world, were endowed with life by magic.
They blinked, conveying the beauty of art and magic interwoven with silent language.
The unique mixed scent in the air faded gradually, replaced by a permeating faint wine aroma, indicating the destination, that luxurious banquet hall, was close at hand.
At the entrance hall about to enter the main banquet hall, several stiff human sculptures attracted attention.
They maintained various comical postures, like actors frozen in a certain moment.
These were a few Muggles who accidentally broke into the magical world. After discovering the bizarre scenes here, they were cast with temporary Petrification Curses for attempting to peep or steal.
They were cleverly placed in some corners, integrated with the surrounding decorations, waiting for the banquet to end, memories cleared, then sent back to the Muggle world silently, as if nothing had happened.
And in front of this luxurious gate, Jerry saw a familiar figure again.
She wore a dark Auror uniform wrapping slender and powerful limbs, but over it was a deep red velvet robe embellished with complex gold patterns, making her look valiant yet not losing feminine softness and nobility.
That robe was tailored fit; her chest rose and fell slightly with her breath.
Her hair was combed up neatly, revealing a smooth forehead and exquisite features. A pair of bright eyes were sharply scrutinizing every invitation handed over.
It was the Auror Office Captain, Mia.
Beside her stood a team of uniformed Aurors. They looked serious, watchfully observing the guests coming and going.
Authorized by the Ministry, they were responsible for the security of this high-standard dinner tonight.
When Jerry approached with Professor McGonagall, Mia's gaze just moved away from an exquisite invitation.
Her sight lingered on Professor McGonagall for a moment, then moved to Jerry's face.
A trace of imperceptible ripple crossed Mia's bright eyes, but was soon replaced by a just-right smile. That smile was like morning mist, neither overly enthusiastic nor losing etiquette.
"Good evening, Professor McGonagall, Mr. Rosier."
Mia's voice carried a well-trained steadiness, but vaguely revealed some more intimate meaning.
"Mia, hard work."
Professor McGonagall nodded slightly, responding to Mia's greeting. Immediately, Jerry handed over the invitations of the two deftly.
"Identity confirmed. Hope you enjoy tonight's dinner."
Crossing the entrance hall, the moment they stepped into the banquet hall, noisy human voices and lavish scenes wrapped the two instantly.
This was no ordinary banquet hall. The main exhibition hall of the Louvre was thoroughly transformed by magic, as if falling into a fairy tale theater built of candy and gems.
Overhead was no longer cold crystal chandeliers, replaced by a ceiling clustered with countless shimmering crystal candies like huge gems.
Those candies weren't static. They rotated slowly, sprinkling colorful halos. Every beam of light carried a cloying scent, mixing with the fragrance of champagne, fresh flowers, and expensive perfumes in the air, forming a sensory impact that made people tipsy.
The marble floor underfoot was now covered with a soft and elastic carpet, woven with lifelike vine patterns. Whenever someone passed, those vines would sway gently, as if welcoming guests.
The edge of the carpet was also inlaid with a circle of "neon light strips" carved from glowing preserved fruit jelly. Those jelly light strips flashed like living things with the rhythm of the music, emitting a faint sweet smell of fruit.
In the center of the hall, where sculptures or artworks should have been displayed, was now a fountain carved from a huge fondant cake.
In the center of the fountain was a glamorous Tiramisu Goddess. She wore a veil of cocoa powder, holding a vanilla cream holy grail in her hands.
Gushing from the holy grail was not water, but mellow nectar carrying the fragrance of liqueur chocolate. The nectar slid down the goddess's soft curves, finally gathering in the giant frosting pond below, attracting guests to step forward and taste with exquisite silver spoons.
The surrounding walls were shrouded in translucent magic curtains, projecting the Louvre's most famous artworks.
But these paintings were cast with more exquisite magic. Mona Lisa's mouth was no longer a mysterious smile; she was now blowing a kiss to the guests with a charming smile.
The arm of the goddess waving the flag in Liberty Leading the People also turned into a ribbon pulled from soft caramel. The ribbon fluttered in the wind; the sweet smell of caramel seemed truly audible in the air.
These "living" artworks constituted a huge stage background, making every guest feel like a member of some grand drama.
In a distant corner, a huge "French Romance" themed sculpture was quietly performing a "restricted" magical show.
That should have been the Cupid sculpture in the gardens of Versailles, but now it was magically carved into a pair of intertwined bodies.
They were carved from crystal clear crystal sugar. With the change of soft lighting, those translucent bodies shone with alluring luster under the light.
They embraced lingeringly. Every tense muscle, every twisted bone was carved lifelike.
Most blushing was that these crystal sculptures were not completely static. When a guest happened to walk by, that pair of entangled limbs would wriggle slightly, making a sweet creak sound, as if implying an endless lovemaking.
Guests shuttled among them. Gentlemen's wizarding robes were no longer dull black but changed into gorgeous formal wear embroidered with gold threads, silver threads, and glowing stardust.
Ladies' skirt hems were like blooming flowers. Evening gowns of various styles competed to bloom. Laughter and conversation merged into a pleasant buzz, echoing in the hall like a never-ending dream.
Professor McGonagall led Jerry down a few steps covered with soft moss-colored carpet, walking toward the center of the banquet hall.
The surrounding air was filled with wonderful food aromas. Occasionally, floating exquisite snacks could be seen in mid-air.
There were piles of macarons, each emitting alluring fruit scent. They danced mischievously in the air, tempting passing guests to reach out and take them.
On transparent crystal trays lay candied berries shining with glimmer. Each berry seemed cast with magic, emitting weak lights of different colors, as if wrapping stars within.
In the distance, a rockery piled up with huge cream puffs and cream stood, studded with sugar-coated fruits in gold and silver foil.
The "peak" of that rockery was rotating slowly. Every rotation, several caramel apples or fruit tarts would slide out from the "cave" on the mountainside, flying straight into the guests' palms, bringing a burst of surprised low cries.
Just then, a faint scent of wine suddenly spread in the air, carrying a trace of coldness and the mellowness of fruit.
Looking up, under the candy gem-like dazzling dome of the banquet hall, countless petite frosting fairies waved translucent wings, holding crystal clear glasses in their arms, flying lightly and quickly.
Their movements were elegant and precise, filling glasses of colorful liquor without spilling a drop, then flying to different wizards with the breeze, handing the mellow wine to them.
Professor McGonagall just raised her hand gently, and a glass of Flame Champagne overflowing with golden yellow bubbles flew automatically into her palm. Fire seedlings loomed in the wine, emitting a unique fragrance of citrus and slight spiciness.
And what flew automatically into Jerry's hand was a Butter Honey Beer bubbling with fine foam, color warm, carrying sweet malt aroma, obviously the organizers also considered the needs of teenage guests.
Jerry took the Butter Honey Beer, a polite smile on his lips, but the corner of his eye inadvertently swept a corner.
There, a figure was hiding behind a Roman column piled with huge candies in an extremely comical posture, holding a retro-styled yet exceptionally exquisite camera, like an alert cat, constantly looking for the best shooting angle, clicking the shutter, but the lens didn't have the glaring light of a flash.
She didn't turn on the flash; all photos seemed captured silently, making her appear somewhat sneaky in the toast-exchanging banquet.
Rita Skeeter also wore an evening gown today. Dark green silk wrapped her slender body, skirt trailing on the floor, setting off her not-so-proud height even more petite.
Only a head taller than Jerry, the posture of bowing slightly to hide at this moment made her look even more comical.
A head of carefully groomed blonde curly hair trembled slightly with her sneaky movements. Those eyes with heavy eyeshadow flickered with a malicious shrewd light, capturing every detail in the banquet alertly and excitedly.
When Professor McGonagall appeared with Jerry, Rita's eyes lit up instantly. Hand raised the camera unconsciously, aiming at the two, finger already on the shutter.
However, Professor McGonagall seemed to have telepathy. Her gaze happened to turn to Rita's hiding direction at this moment.
It was an almost imperceptible eye contact. The corner of Professor McGonagall's mouth hooked into a light, yet playful smile. That smile wasn't a kind greeting to Rita, but more like an invisible warning, carrying drops of chill.
Rita's movement froze in mid-air. The excitement and malice on her face were quickly replaced by a complex expression.
Rita stuck out her pink tongue quietly, with a bit of annoyance, a bit of dread, and finally lowered the camera dejectedly.
Rita didn't want to experience the taste of growing a furry tail from an unknown part again.
Glaring fiercely in Professor McGonagall's direction, then shrinking back behind the Roman column, muttering a few words—Damn Minerva, thanks a lot!—continuing her lightless "hunting" work.
Professor McGonagall exchanged a few pleasantries with several Ministry officials with Jerry. She responded to compliments from all sides appropriately. Even in this illusion built of candy, her steadiness was immovable as a rock.
After the greetings, she turned to look at Jerry, appearing somewhat soft in the blurred light.
"Jerry, I need to talk to a few important figures. You can wander around here freely and feel the atmosphere."
McGonagall's voice maintained her usual tone, but added a few points of imperceptible softness. "But, the matter mentioned before..."
McGonagall didn't finish, but subconsciously extended her tongue tip, licking gently along her full lower lip.
That action carried a charm unique to mature women, natural and seductive.
McGonagall's gaze landed on Jerry's overly wide formal robe.
Those moist lips seemed to carry some warning meaning, yet also seemed to unconsciously reveal some secret desire.
Her eyes retracted immediately, falling on Jerry's eyes. The clear voice sounded again, every word knocking on Jerry's heart.
"Don't forget."
Professor McGonagall didn't say what matter, but Jerry understood the warning in her words instantly.
McGonagall finished speaking and stayed no longer. Her dark blue evening gown skirt swung, merging into the crowd, leaving Jerry standing alone.
He shook the Butter Honey Beer in his hand, gaze turning to Rita Skeeter's hiding place again.
Rita's blonde curly hair was shaken exceptionally lively by her. At this moment, she was bowing like a cheetah ready to hunt, a pair of eyes with heavy eyeshadow flickering with malicious shrewd light behind spectacle lenses.
She wore that dark green silk evening gown, outlining her petite body with curves. Although only a head taller than Jerry, the looming curves under that body revealed a different kind of charm in the interplay of light and shadow.
She focused on capturing every photo that could become a headline, seeming completely unaware of Jerry's approach.
Jerry walked over silently. Only when his boyishly thin figure almost completely shrouded Rita did he stop behind her.
"Miss Skeeter!"
Jerry's voice sounded in her ear, carrying a trace of teasing laziness. "Taking photos sneakily isn't something glorious. What, is the Daily Prophet short of big news recently?"
Rita shivered at this sudden voice, almost dropping the camera in her hand.
She turned around in panic, blonde curly hair drawing an arc in the air. The usual slyness and shrewdness on her face faded instantly as she looked up at Jerry's boyish face with a gentle smile.
Rita quickly recovered her composure as a legendary reporter. That originally somewhat panicked face was instantly plated with a professional and calm expression.
Her petite body re-arched almost synchronously. Left hand raised the camera steadily, aiming at the center of the banquet, pressing the shutter seemingly inadvertently.
"Yo, Young Master Rosier."
Rita's tone became playful, carrying a knife-like teasing unique to her: "Didn't expect you, a young gentleman, also have this hobby of 'sneak attack'?"
As Rita spoke, she half-turned. Those heavily made-up eyes flowed with a trace of teasing shrewd light.
Although short, relying on the tall Roman column, Rita's figure was almost completely blocked by it; only Jerry could take her all in.
"Was that kiss last time... sweet?"
Rita's voice was pressed very low, carrying an ambiguity only the two could hear clearly. While speaking, her tongue tip swept gently over her lips painted with dark red lipstick. That action carried a fatal temptation, like a venomous snake preparing to hunt.
Jerry listened to her words, the smile on his lips deepening.
Jerry didn't answer immediately. He just brought the cup of Butter Honey Beer bubbling with pale yellow foam to his lips and took a sip gently.
Beer slid down the corner of his mouth. Jerry rolled it into his mouth with his tongue tip, savoring that cloying sweetness.
"Sweet."
Jerry approached Rita. His voice was low and magnetic, carrying a depth extremely inconsistent with his boyish appearance: "Sweeter than this mead."
Male hormones flaunting youthful life breath pressed over overwhelmingly. Rita only felt a dry mouth.
She forced herself to stabilize her mind, ignoring that power making her heart tremble inside, but reached out and grabbed Jerry's hand holding the beer mug.
Rita inserted her fingers into the gaps of Jerry's fingers lightly and skillfully, ten fingers interlocked. That petite palm was completely wrapped by his large hand, forming a perfect fit. Rita's fingertips scratched Jerry's palm gently, causing a burst of numbness.
"Then why don't you feed me a taste too, Young Master Rosier, to see how sweet it is?"
Rita tilted her face up, obvious expectation in those eyes. Her vermilion lips parted slightly, revealing a mature female temptation, implying she wanted to taste more than just wine.
Jerry didn't hesitate at all.
He gripped Rita's small hand tightly, finger pad rubbing her soft palm lightly, then tilted the wine glass in his hand slowly.
Golden foam flowed out slowly with the liquor, along the cup wall, then along Jerry's fingers, sliding bit by bit toward Rita's slightly parted lips.
Following his gesture, Rita held the beer carrying Jerry's body temperature in her mouth. The warm liquid carrying the cloying sweetness of honey and the richness of butter slid down her throat.
Tongue tip inadvertently swept Jerry's finger pad; that moist and soft touch made Jerry's finger tremble slightly.
Rita finished the beer slowly, her gaze never leaving Jerry's face.
When the glass was completely empty, Rita licked the foam at the corner of her mouth gently with the tip of her tongue, movements carrying a nonchalant flirtation.
"Indeed... very sweet."
She commented softly, her voice carrying an almost inaudible pant.
Just in this sticky atmosphere of affection and ambiguity, Rita's other free hand suddenly moved.
Her movement was as fast as an illusion, pulling a small magic camera, almost palm-sized, from a hidden pocket in her dark green gown.
A silent glimmer flashed.
She didn't even look through the viewfinder, just relying on a reporter's instinct to aim the lens at their intertwined hands and her own slightly upturned face, still bearing a trace of moisture at the corner of her mouth.
That photo accurately captured the most evocative moment: the boy's broad palm, the woman's slightly parted red lips, and the ambiguous posture hinting at intimate feeding.
After doing all this, Rita slowly put the camera away, playing with it with her fingertips, that sly smile reappearing on her face.
She leaned closer, her petite body almost completely pressed against Jerry. through several layers of fabric, she could clearly feel the astonishing outline below the boy's waist and abdomen, forcefully poking against her lower abdomen with every breath.
"I believe!"
Rita's breath carried warm alcohol fumes, spraying gently on Jerry's auricle. Her voice was like a lover's whisper, yet carried the danger of a viper spitting venom: "McGonagall must have told you not to mess around with women."
Rita's fingertip, holding that small camera, tapped lightly on Jerry's chest, as if knocking on his heartbeat.
"Tell me!"
Rita licked her lips, slightly dry from excitement, making a subtle wet sound. "If I give her this photo, what will she turn you into? A slug? Or a... mmh... that can never get hard again?"
Facing this explicit threat, Jerry's expression didn't change at all. That steadiness far beyond his age made him seem like a piece of obsidian absorbing all light and heat.
His body didn't retreat; instead, he leaned forward another inch. Before Rita could react, a wet, hot, and soft thing, carrying the sweetness of beer and the unique scent of a boy, swept gently yet irresistibly over her full lips painted with lipstick.
That was an extremely frivolous lick.
Jerry's tongue tip swept away the last trace of foam on her lips, and also swept away all the threats in her words.
He tasted the slight bitterness of that lipstick grease and the sweetness of her saliva, then retreated slightly, deep eyes staring straight at her.
"What do you want to do?"
Jerry's voice was low and steady, as if discussing the weather rather than responding to a threat concerning his future.
Rita's heart skipped a beat at his bold, almost rude action, but a brighter smile bloomed instantly on her face, revealing a row of white teeth.
She chuckled, the laughter rolling in her throat, carrying the pleasure of a mature woman discovering interesting prey.
"Interesting kid."
Rita didn't mind the fleeting wet touch on her lips. Instead, she felt this boy was trickier and... more tempting than she imagined.
Rita didn't continue to entangle on this topic. Instead, she turned around, pointing her slender index finger of her free hand to a corner opposite the banquet hall.
"See her?"
Rita's tone returned to that knife-like sharpness.
Jerry looked in the direction she pointed. In a corner with relatively sparse flow of people, an exceptionally tall witch was holding a wine glass alone, appearing somewhat out of place.
Her robe was plain grey, style old-fashioned, appearing exceptionally shabby among the beautifully dressed beauties.
But these clothes couldn't cover her amazing body proportions at all, especially those legs, unreasonably long. Even just standing, one could see their firm and slender outlines.
She wore a tall, pointed traditional wizard hat, making her stand out even more in the crowd.
Most striking was that she wore flesh-colored stockings on those long legs. The stockings were tight, luster delicate, and on the garter belt on the outside of her right thigh, a wand was inserted straight.
That image mixed meticulous staidness with bursting eroticism.
"Evelyn Grey!"
Rita's voice was full of undisguised contempt, "Chief Reporter of Witch Weekly, a bootlicker who only knows how to sing praises. My nemesis."
Rita withdrew her hand, then placed it gently on Jerry's thin chest, drawing circles on his pectoral muscle through the fabric.
"Look at her prudish appearance, truly appetite-spoiling."
Rita leaned closer, her petite body almost completely sticking to Jerry, saying in a volume only he could hear: "Go, think of a way to prank her. Make her make a big fool of herself, preferably falling on her back, or spilling that glass of wine all over her ridiculous hat. As long as you give me a chance to take exclusive photos of her most wretched state..."
Rita paused here. The hand wandering on his chest slid down intentionally or unintentionally, finally stopping at the part under his robe that had long propped up a huge tent due to their intimacy.
Rita's palm gently covered that scorching, hard outline through the thick fabric.
"...This photo," she shook the small camera in her hand, "I'll pretend it never existed."
Rita's palm kneaded that huge shape neither lightly nor heavily, feeling the thrilling size and power transmitted through the fabric.
Under Jerry's robe, that giant object seemed to swell another circle due to her touch, hardness terrifying.
Rita met Jerry's bottomless gaze.
Her throat moved, making a subtle, wet swallowing sound.
"Not only that..." Rita licked her lips, eyes flashing with undisguised desire, "I can also let you taste something... ten thousand times sweeter than mead. How about it, Mr. Rosier, do you take this deal?"
Jerry didn't speak, but the smile on his lips deepened.
He suddenly extended his arms, broad palms wrapping directly around Rita's slender waist. With a gentle yet irresistible force, he lifted this 'little' woman, slightly taller than himself, steadily. Rita's petite body was airborne almost instantly; her legs were forced to close, soft buttocks pressed tightly against Jerry's waist and abdomen.
The moment Rita let out a short cry of surprise due to this sudden movement, the edge of the blue ring on Jerry's left hand slid just right across the curve of Rita's buttocks.
The cool touch of the ring slid gently over her tight flesh-colored stockings. Like an invisible hand, before she felt it, the last piece of cloth covering her shame under Rita's dark green gown had slid off silently, skillfully hooked by the magic ring on Jerry's fingertip, disappearing into his cuff.
Since Rita wore tight stockings and was held powerfully in Jerry's arms, her tender buttocks were completely in a vacuum state through the thin gown and stockings, yet she was unaware.
She was just shocked by Jerry's sudden strength, arms wrapping around his neck unconsciously, letting his small hands support her waist tightly.
Jerry's gaze still lingered on Rita's red lips, slightly parted due to shock.
Although the woman in Jerry's arms wasn't as voluptuous as ordinary mature women, she had a kind of slender bony beauty. Especially when lifted like this, those originally somewhat short legs appeared slender and full of temptation.
Jerry's huge part was now pressing tightly against her soft lower abdomen, transmitting undisguised temperature and hardness through the fabric.
"If I help you!"
Jerry's voice sounded low in her ear, breath hot: "Don't you have any other special rewards?"
Rita's cheeks flushed slightly. Held by Jerry like this, the private parts of two bodies fitting closely separated only by a layer of fabric, that feeling of being completely controlled she had never experienced sent a burst of numbness from deep within her heart.
Feeling the amazing grandeur of Jerry's lower body, Rita swallowed a mouthful of saliva unconsciously, throat making a subtle water sound.
"Do it first, then we'll talk."
Rita grinned with a light laugh, desire in those eyes undisguised.
She fished out a glimmering crystal only the size of a fingernail from the other pocket of her gown, stuffing it casually into Jerry's chest pocket.
"Remember to crush this crystal before preparation!"
Rita whispered in a voice only the two could hear: "I'll aim the camera at you immediately."
Jerry put Rita back on the ground gently. His small palm lingered on her waist for a last instant, finger pad rubbing lightly over that soft fabric, as if silently confirming something.
Rita's feet touched the ground; her petite body staggered, then stood firm.
Jerry seemed unaware of this, calmly tidying his slightly messy wizarding robe.
With a light flick of his cuff, the movement of hiding the trophy was extremely fluid, unnoticed by anyone.
Then, he raised the empty Butter Honey Beer mug in his hand, nodded to Rita, and turned to walk toward that tall witch.
Rita watched Jerry's back until he was about to merge into the crowd, then pressed her chest with her fingertip satisfiedly, lips curling into a playful arc.
Jerry walked with steady steps, shuttling between the guests coming and going.
Jerry's boyishly thin figure was particularly conspicuous in the crowd.
The mixed aroma of champagne and desserts in the air became richer, intertwining with those lights and shadows flowing with desire, forming a picture of debauchery.
A small ball of soft, slippery fabric was being held in his palm.
That was Rita's panties. The texture was fine silk, color matching her evening gown, dark green.
The fabric was extremely thin, touch cold, like a small piece of flowing night in his fingers.
Jerry rubbed it unhurriedly with his thumb and index finger, feeling the unique, delicate texture of silk carrying life-like elasticity.
It still retained Rita's body temperature, and a mature scent slightly musky, mixed with her expensive perfume and body odor.
When the pad of Jerry's thumb slid slowly across the core area of the panties, a touch completely different from the surrounding silk came from his fingertip.
That was a small patch of slight dampness, carrying some warmth and stickiness.
This was undoubtedly the trace left by her body's most honest reaction during the intimate flirting with him just now.
A playful, victor-like smile blossomed quietly on the corner of Jerry's lips, then quickly faded.
He put this trophy carrying secrets into the inside pocket of his robe calmly.
"One!"
"Six more to go!"
Just as Jerry kept walking, his palm emptied slightly.
Immediately, a new glass of Butter Honey Beer landed steadily in his hand, foam fine, emitting enticing sweet scent.
Jerry finally stopped beside a huge rockery made of crystal clear candy ice sculptures, which was exactly the corner Rita pointed out.
Evelyn Grey, the witch Rita called "nemesis," was standing there alone.
Evelyn's figure was undoubtedly outstanding, tall, slender. Even wearing the plainest grey robe couldn't cover the slender curves provoking reverie underneath.
Especially striking were her legs, seeming much longer than ordinary people's. Standing straight there now, tightly wrapped in flesh-colored stockings.
The stockings glowed with enticing luster under the light, setting off the tight muscle lines of the legs just right.
Evelyn held a glass of deep red wine, expression serious, eyes cold, as if tasting some bitter memory rather than enjoying this moment of luxury.
Jerry walked up, keeping an appropriate distance between him and Evelyn, not approaching rashly.
He nodded slightly, polite and graceful.
"Good evening, Ms. Evelyn."
Jerry's voice carried a boyish clarity, attracting her attention just right.
Evelyn looked down. Those eyes like cold pools swept over Jerry without any emotion.
She merely pursed her thin lips shining with wine light gently; lips moist and full.
Then, she withdrew her gaze, landing on the wine glass in her hand again, no response, nor any gesture of wanting to communicate.
Her expression clearly wrote "Strangers Keep Away." That was a nearly perfect indifference, freezing all possibilities of approach.
Jerry didn't mind, a playful smile curling his lips.
He knew this coldness was just a disguise. The colder the appearance, the more it showed something hidden deep inside.
He took a small step forward, speaking again, voice pressed lower, carrying a private invitation.
"Ms. Evelyn, don't you want to know... some scandals about Rita Skeeter?"
This name obviously touched Evelyn's cold shell.
Evelyn's fingers holding the wine glass tightened imperceptibly. The liquid in the glass rippled due to this tiny movement, reflecting her sharp eyes.
Evelyn looked up slowly, a contemptuous arc appearing on her lips.
That laughter was extremely light, as if just breath spilling from her throat, yet carried an indescribable irony.
Evelyn's gaze, like a sharp searchlight, started from Jerry's hair tip, all the way down, sweeping over his young and powerful body, skimming over the looming bulge under his robe, finally returning to his face.
"Mr. Rosier!" Evelyn's voice was low and calm, carrying a magnetism unique to mature women, audible only to Jerry: "Did you chat happily with her just now?"
Evelyn's tongue tip traced a circle gently between her lips and teeth. That action carried a trace of looming teasing.
On Evelyn's cold face, an extremely faint but very alluring expression appeared at this moment.
"So..." Her voice became lower, carrying a temptation that made one indulge in it, "Why should I trust you?"
Just as Evelyn's teasing voice fell, a dusty memory gate in Jerry's mind was suddenly flushed open.
This cold face before him, this tall figure, this temperament rejecting people thousands of miles away... he remembered.
Hog's Head!
At that time, that bitch Selina was arrogant, and this woman stood quietly behind her like a loyal shadow.
Later, when he sneaked into the private room and pressed the feigning-drunk Hera under him to play wantonly, this woman was sleeping dead drunk on a sofa not far away, sleeping posture bold, the hem of her grey robe lifted a corner, revealing a section of tight calf wrapped in flesh-colored stocking.
At that time, all his attention was on Hera's body. He didn't look much at this drunkard, thinking she was plain.
Now, looking carefully in this brilliantly illuminated banquet hall, Jerry realized he was very wrong back then.
This woman wasn't not beautiful; on the contrary, her features were exquisite and profound, carrying a classical beauty.
Only her body seemed cast with a clever concealment spell. This spell couldn't make her invisible, but could greatly weaken her presence in others' eyes, making people subconsciously ignore her appearance and figure, treating her as an ordinary background board.
So that's it.
A woman who knows how to use magic to hide her beauty must hide things far deeper than appearance in her heart.
Figuring this out, the smile on Jerry's face became more composed.
He stepped closer again. The distance between the two was close enough for him to smell the unique scent on Evelyn mixed with red wine mellowness and coldness.
His thin body almost formed a barrier, isolating Evelyn from the noisy environment around, creating a private space belonging only to the two of them.
"If say!" Jerry's voice pressed lower, carrying a just-right mystery, "You aren't interested in some privacy of Ms. Rita..."
He paused deliberately, observing Evelyn's reaction.
Sure enough, a ripple flashed in her eyes; fingers holding the wine glass tightened a few points more.
Jerry leaned to her ear. Warm breath blew on her sensitive auricle. He spat out that key name in a volume only she could hear, almost a breathy voice: "...Then I think, what about Selina's?"
This name was like a key, instantly opening the gate of Evelyn's frozen castle.
Evelyn's body stiffened obviously. In those eyes that had maintained coldness and contempt, true emotional fluctuations appeared for the first time—that was a light mixed with surprise, wariness, mockery, and a trace of unconcealable interest.
Evelyn didn't speak immediately but drank the remaining red wine in the glass in one gulp.
That deep red liquid slid down her graceful neck into her throat. Evelyn's Adam's apple rolled, making a subtle and sexy swallowing water sound.
That action carried a decisiveness like burning one's boats.
After drinking, she put the empty glass casually on the candy rockery beside her, then turned around, facing Jerry frontally with her tall body.
"Let's hear it."
Her cold eyes seemed covered with a thin layer of water mist due to excessive alcohol, appearing somewhat misty, but the mockery deep in her pupils was real.
Facing Evelyn's gaze, Jerry didn't speak, just raising a confident smile on his lips.
His right hand, having just completed "theft," reached into his wide robe pocket calmly at this moment, fumbling unhurriedly.
A moment later, a smooth, cold black crystal only half the size of a fingernail appeared in his palm.
That crystal reflected deep luster under the dazzling light of the banquet, carrying a mysterious power that could not be ignored.
Evelyn's breath hitched abruptly.
Her gaze was attracted like iron to a magnet, locking completely on that crystal.
As a senior reporter not weaker than Rita, she certainly knew what this was—a Recording Stone, a rare magical product capable of recording magical images.
Evelyn's hand extended almost instinctively. Slender fingers carrying an unquestionable force grabbed straight toward the Recording Stone in Jerry's palm.
However, a second before her fingertips touched the crystal, Jerry's palm struck first, gripping her extended hand accurately and powerfully like iron pincers.
From a distance, this looked like a pair of friends with a huge age gap shaking hands politely or chatting intimately, harmonious without any abnormality.
Jerry's thin stature formed a sharp contrast with Evelyn's slender physique.
Her palm was only half-wrapped by Jerry, but palm to palm fitted tightly.
Finger pads touching, Jerry could feel the firm bones and strength contained under the cold skin of her palm.
Just the moment their palms touched, the Recording Stone in Jerry's palm began to heat up slightly.
That temperature transmitted through his broad palm to Evelyn's cold fingertips, then upward.
Evelyn's pupils contracted instantly because a powerful magic was invading her visual senses in a way she couldn't understand.
In her misty eyes already covered with a layer of water mist, a clear and weird magical image emerged out of thin air. Only she could see it clearly.
It was a dim secret room.
In the picture, Selina was held at wand point, forced to kneel on a cold stone platform. Her body was whipped high by a black leather whip. Every lash was accompanied by a shrill cry of pain, but soon, that cry of pain turned into panting mixed with whimpering and excitement.
And the one abusing her was surprisingly Jerry.
The picture flashed rapidly like fast-forward, from Selina's initial humiliation of forced whipping, to later a weird longing and desire gradually igniting in her eyes, then to role reversal, Selina pressing a wand against Jerry's jaw, forcing him to open his mouth for oral sex. The picture was extremely chaotic and twisted. The two whipped each other, performed oral sex on each other, beat each other. Every extremely intimate action carried a creepy violence aesthetic, making it indistinguishable between torture or enjoyment.
For a moment, Evelyn could almost hear the water sounds echoing in that secret room and the muffled sounds of flesh impact.
Although the picture was accelerated, Evelyn saw every action, every expression clearly and plainly. She even saw the red swollen marks whipped on Selina's once proud face, and the reason completely defeated deep in those eyes, replaced by a tamed, chaotic excitement carrying a trace of masochism.
Evelyn's face flushed red bit by bit. Her originally cold face was dyed with two unnatural crimson patches.
That was shame, shock, and moreover a desire aroused by strong stimulation.
"Selina... she definitely doesn't know about this thing..."
Evelyn's voice became a bit hoarse, breath unstable. She could imagine what devastating blow this footage would deal to Selina once made public. This was no longer an ordinary scandal; this was a terrible secret capable of destroying a person completely.
Jerry looked at the expression on her face, the smile on his lips deepening.
He knew he had caught her "Achilles' heel."
While Evelyn was still immersed in that shocking footage, Jerry's palm released suddenly.
He retrieved the Recording Stone from Evelyn's fingertips, putting it back into his pocket unhesitatingly in front of her.
The moment that crystal disappeared, the magical image before Evelyn's eyes dissipated as well.
The whole world returned to the noisy banquet, leaving only Evelyn's violently beating heart and the faint wetness deep in her lower abdomen.
"Of course she doesn't know." Jerry's voice was casual, as if stating a simple fact.
Saying this, he withdrew his gaze. With that calm appearance, as if he had just completed a trivial transaction, he turned to leave.
Evelyn's reaction was amazingly fast. Almost instinctively, she took a long step forward.
That amazingly long leg wrapped in flesh-colored stocking, like an elegant and resolute barrier, blocked directly in front of Jerry, blocking his way.
Her tall body looked down condescendingly at the boy much shorter than herself. That layer of cold disguise in her eyes cracked at this moment, replaced by an urgent and unquestionable dominance.
Because of this urgent and large movement, the hem of her plain grey robe was naturally thrown open a gap.
In that fleeting moment, a flash of bright color completely contrary to her cold and hard temperament was briefly exposed to Jerry's eyes.
Under that layer of tight flesh-colored stockings glowing with delicate luster, a small piece of pink fabric with exquisite lace trim was wrapping her mysterious private zone tightly.
Sure enough, a contrast bitch!