As Jerry plopped down onto the bench beside Katherine, a complex scent unique to a boy his age—a mix of grass and the faint musk of last night's frenzy—quietly drifted into her nose.
Katherine didn't turn to look at him. She maintained the impeccably elegant posture expected of a Slytherin prefect.
With a silver knife, she was meticulously cutting a piece of golden pumpkin pasty on her plate. Every movement was precise, calm, and noble.
However, her knuckles gripping the knife were slightly white from force.
"I thought our house's first-year genius had been devoured, bones and all, by some enthusiastic senior or... female professor last night, and wouldn't make it to breakfast this morning."
Katherine's voice carried her usual lazy, magnetic, dominant tone. It sounded emotionless, as if stating an irrelevant piece of trivia.
But only those who knew her best could hear the icy, suppressed jealousy beneath that overly steady tone.
Jerry heard it. He chuckled, not scared in the slightest. Instead, he boldly shifted closer until their thighs were pressed tightly together under their robes.
He could clearly feel Katherine's thigh muscles tense instantly.
"How could that be, my good Senior?"
Jerry lowered his voice, lips almost brushing Katherine's small, exquisite ear. "I saved my strength just for you to 'enjoy' tonight."
As he spoke, he placed the vial of pale blue potion McGonagall had given him on the table. Then, his not-so-large hand deftly slipped under the table and reached deep into the skirt of Katherine's green Slytherin robes.
Katherine's hand cutting the pasty paused for a second but immediately resumed its elegant motion, as if nothing were happening under the table.
Only her slightly reddened earlobes and the subconscious closing of her legs betrayed her true feelings.
Jerry's hand was as nimble as a slippery fish.
He easily bypassed her firm, elastic, voluptuous thighs wrapped in black stockings, accurately finding the mysterious garden covered by silk panties—already muddy and wet from his approach.
Squelch...
An extremely faint but incredibly clear wet sound rang out between them.
Katherine's fingers hadn't even touched it directly; just a gentle press on the wet garden entrance through the thin fabric caused the honey fluid, suppressed all night, to eagerly permeate the last barrier, soaking the small piece of cloth completely.
Katherine's breath hitched. She almost lost her grip on the knife.
Under the table, she could clearly feel how honestly her body welcomed the little pervert master's invasion.
Jerry's fingers began to circle the soaked area with moderate pressure, enjoying the slippery, soft touch.
Simultaneously, he leaned into Katherine's ear and quickly explained what happened last night in a tone both innocent and aggrieved.
As Jerry spoke, he used his fingers to trace an extremely exaggerated shape on the wet fabric.
This action made Katherine tremble uncontrollably.
"Bestialization Potion!"
"And it grew barbs?"
Just imagining it made the trickle of honey between her legs burst into a flood.
Zzzzt...
More fluid seeped out, sliding slowly down her inner thigh.
Katherine could even feel the warm liquid dampening the bench beneath her.
Finally, she put down her knife and fork and turned her head. Her beautiful eyes held a lazy charm and undisguised possessiveness.
She extended her free hand under the table as well, grabbing the giant object that had begun to awaken and tent his trousers due to Jerry's story and her body's reaction.
Through layers of fabric, Katherine could feel its astonishing size and scorching heat.
"So..."
Katherine's voice grew huskier. She leaned into Jerry's ear, licking his lobe lightly, her breath like orchids. "...My little pervert master was used as a 'stud' by a bunch of vixens all night, and now he's just an empty shell?"
Her fingers pinched the base of his giant hard, with ill intent.
Facing Katherine's malicious provocation, Jerry just rolled his eyes lazily, wearing a rogue expression that said, "Say what you want, I enjoyed it anyway."
However, the next second, Katherine, holding him under the table, stiffened violently. A sharp, rapid intake of breath escaped her throat, as if she had been bitten.
"Hiss..."
Instead of letting go, her hand tightened.
Stimulated by Katherine's soft hand and the lingering drug effects in his body, Jerry's giant, initially awakened only by memory and teasing, began a new round of uncontrollable, crazy expansion.
Like an enraged beast, it savagely carved out space in his trousers.
The keratinized barbs, grown under the Bestialization Potion and hard as tiny cat claws, now stood erect with the engorgement of the meat root.
They easily pierced the thin fabric of his school trousers, their tips digging into Katherine's tender palm with scorching, aggressive force.
The pain wasn't intense; it was more like a sharp, powerful, wild tease.
Every barb tip was like a tiny probe, forcibly injecting a scorching, masculine boyish aura under her skin.
This feeling was a hundred times more stimulating than simple touching, instantly igniting all the desires hidden in her body.
Waves of numbing itchiness came from her palm. The tiny red dots pricked into her hand didn't scare Katherine; instead, they stimulated her deeper parts to gush more, surging love fluids.
Jerry felt the stiffness of Katherine's body and the increased heat from her palm.
He also sensed the restless power of the Bestialization Potion trying to rise again.
Daring not to delay, he grabbed the pale blue Bloodline Activation Potion from the table, uncorked it, and downed it in one gulp.
The cold liquid slid down his throat like a clear spring, instantly extinguishing the evil fire inside.
He could clearly feel the manic power that wanted to break all restraints being soothed, combed, and gathered by a gentle yet powerful force.
Although the size of his meat root didn't shrink immediately, the feeling of imminent explosion eased significantly.
Katherine keenly sensed the change in his body.
The lazy expression on her face vanished, replaced by the burning obsession and possessiveness of a hunter seeing a peerless treasure.
Katherine grew bolder.
The hand still holding Jerry's giant deftly undid his trousers and reached directly inside.
The warm, thick, hideous giant with a ring of hard barbs fell completely into her palm without obstruction.
The rough barbs scraped her soft palm, bringing waves of intense, scalp-tingling pleasure.
Instead of fear, Katherine stroked the raised barbs one by one with her fingertips, feeling their shape and hardness as if caressing a rare treasure.
She looked up, her seductive eyes watery. Chuckling, she spoke to Jerry in a new tone filled with extreme teasing: "Should I call you... Mr. Beast now?"
"Aren't you scared?"
Jerry was surprised. He thought the thing would frighten her.
Hearing this, Katherine rolled her eyes at him with infinite charm, looking enchanting to the bone.
"My little pervert master is so forgetful!"
She dragged out her tone, then corrected herself as if remembering something. "Oh, no, it should be... my Mr. Beast now."
Katherine leaned into Jerry's ear, her breath causing shivers on his skin.
"Did you forget? I am also... a witch modified by the 'Cursed Kitten' bloodline."
Her voice dropped extremely low, filled with the triumph of a successful prank and an undisguised, naked sexual suggestion.
"I can grow barbs inside too, you know!"
Just as the two flirted recklessly under the table, enjoying their exclusive, forbidden thrill, a slightly weary figure approached.
Ofina sat down gracefully on Jerry's other side, holding a steaming cup of coffee.
"Good morning, Katherine. And you, Jerry." Her voice carried an imperceptible rasp, sounding like she hadn't slept well.
Katherine just raised her eyelids lazily in response.
Jerry grinned at her. "Good morning, Senior."
However, beneath the calm and harmonious picture above the table, a more secretive and bold ritual was unfolding.
As Ofina sat down, her hand not holding the coffee naturally dropped, slipping into the shadows of the tablecloth.
Her movement was calm, her target clear.
Ofina's palm easily found the scorching giant already held in Katherine's hand, pulsing restlessly.
Without hesitation.
Ofina's hand covered it directly, side by side with Katherine's, creating a two-pronged attack from left right.
Two hands—equally delicate and soft but different in style—wrapped together around the meat root bursting with astonishing heat and size.
Katherine's hand held lazy possessiveness, while Ofina's seemed more calm and focused.
The feeling was weird yet filled with a thrilling sense of ritual.
Katherine didn't stop her; she even adjusted her grip so Ofina could hold it more comfortably and completely.
Jerry said nothing, just squinting comfortably, enjoying the double delicate wrapping sensation from different directions.
"You don't look so good!" Katherine finally spoke, glancing at the obvious dark circles under Ofina's eyes. Her voice held well-disguised concern. "What, didn't sleep well last night?"
Before Ofina could answer, Katherine rolled her eyes charmingly, a knowing, mischievous smile on her lips, answering for her. "I saw you leave the banquet early last night with that Gryffindor goody-two-shoes prefect. Tell me, which hidden corner did you go 'play' in?"
Ofina just yawned wearily, seeming too lazy to bicker.
Just then, she noticed the empty Bloodline Activation Potion bottle on the table.
Almost simultaneously, Ofina's palm under the table clearly felt the rough, highly aggressive touch of the barbs.
Ofina's hand stiffened violently; the coffee cup in her other hand shook slightly.
Her tired eyes filled instantly with shock and weirdness. She looked at Jerry incredulously, as if asking: What is this situation?
Jerry had to lower his voice and briefly recount last night's experience of being set up and drugged.
After listening, the expression on Ofina's face became extremely complex.
Shock, realization, and a trace of... indescribable jealousy.
Ofina was silent for a moment before finally answering Katherine's previous question, as if unloading a burden.
"Don't mention it!" Ofina's voice was full of fatigue. "Just as I walked out of the hall, my mother stopped me with a Patronus. Said my father... was seriously injured on the front lines."
Ofina took a large gulp of coffee; the hot liquid seemed to give her some strength.
"I traveled all night to the secret ward at St. Mungo's. Luckily, it was just serious injuries; his life is saved. I rushed back this morning, almost missed breakfast."
"Is the front line situation that bad?"
Katherine put down her tea cup, leaning forward slightly, voice lowered, brow furrowed with concern. "I read the Daily Prophet last week; it said the situation was basically stable..."
Ofina shook her head, fingertips unconsciously rubbing the warm cup wall. "There's a limit to what the papers can print!"
She sighed, the steam from the coffee reflecting in her eyes. "The real battle line is stretched very long, the pressure is immense. Father was ambushed during a border patrol... St. Mungo's Healers spent a lot of effort to stabilize his injuries."
Ofina paused, looking out at the gloomy sky. "Mother said accidents like this... are becoming more frequent."
Though tired, when mentioning the war, Ofina's deep eyes involuntarily revealed the gravity belonging to a Pure-blood elite.
Her hand holding Jerry's meat root tightened unconsciously, as if trying to draw strength from this vibrant life force.
"Also, it's not just my father's side!"
Ofina lowered her voice, sounding like it came from under a frozen lake. "All world nodes facing the Pseudo-Olympian pantheon along the entire 'Typhon Barrier' defense line have seen large-scale friction recently. The 'Tears of Hecate' where my father is stationed is the most intense. Those armored demigods somehow got a batch of Hydras corrupted by abyssal energy. Their venom can even corrode the shadow barriers unique to my father's legion."
Her description made Jerry and Katherine's expressions serious.
The lively breakfast atmosphere in the Great Hall seemed cut off from them.
"My father was splashed on the leg by the self-destructing poison sac of a 'Bone-Eroding Hydra' he had cornered. That poison is extremely weird, acting directly on the magical origin. If not for my uncle using the Burke family's secret 'Shadow Displacement' to forcibly strip the poison, Father's entire leg would have turned to nothingness by now."
Ofina paused, seeming to recall the lingering stench of rot in the St. Mungo's ward. "The battlefield there is full of broken golem wreckage and the golden-glowing corpses of demigods. The sky is dyed weird colors by spells of different attributes. What flows on the ground isn't blood, but glittering liquid mixed with divinity and magic. Although the wizard casualty rate isn't too heavy yet, the allied forces and slave legions we hired are disappearing in organized units almost every day..."
Meanwhile, at the other end of the Great Hall, by the Gryffindor table, a witch with bushy brown hair was stirring her oatmeal absently.
Hermione Granger was not in a good mood today.
She had searched the entire Thanksgiving ball last night but hadn't seen Jerry.
She had prepared a small surprise.
Result: gift not given, person not seen. Hermione had been depressed all night.
Now, she finally saw that familiar figure at the Slytherin table.
He was sitting with the two most famous witches in Slytherin.
Reason told Hermione this was nothing. She understood the logic.
But understanding was one thing; feeling was another.
The sour feeling was like accidentally drinking spoiled lemon juice, spreading from her stomach to her throat.
Watching Jerry smile that familiar, slightly cunning and roguish smile at the two Slytherin witches, Hermione felt her heart being squeezed by an invisible hand.
Her gaze shifted uncontrollably between the three.
She noticed both their hands were under the table, doing unseen things.
But their shoulders were almost pressed tight against Jerry's.
That distance far exceeded the safe range for friends.
An irritability unfamiliar to Hermione arose spontaneously.
She suddenly felt her anticipation last night was ridiculous.
With resentment, Hermione slammed the crumpled Daily Prophet onto the table, the noise startling Ron beside her.
"Merlin's beard, Hermione, what are you doing?"
"Nothing."
Hermione answered coldly, picking up her oatmeal and stabbing the bottom of the bowl with her spoon as if it were a certain smiling face.
Ron was scared by Hermione's sudden anger, nearly dropping the sausage in his mouth.
Mumbling incoherently, he swallowed with difficulty and leaned in with a confused face.
"Hey, Hermione, what's wrong?"
He lowered his voice, face full of concern. "Is it... was yesterday's Ancient Runes homework too hard? Don't worry, worst case we don't hand it in. What can Snape do to us?"
Saying this, Ron forked a piece of crispy bacon from his plate and offered it to Hermione diligently, like coaxing a temperamental little sister.
"Here, eat something, don't be mad. Look, today's bacon is cooked just right, crispy and fragrant."
Looking at Ron's face—covered in crumbs, sincere but appearing a bit dim-witted—Hermione's irritation grew.
She turned her head away sharply, dodging the greasy bacon, and said coldly, "I don't want it!"
Ron froze awkwardly at the rude rejection.
He scratched his red hair, looking innocent.
He didn't understand why Hermione, fine a second ago, was now like a Blast-Ended Skrewt under a curse.
However, the moment Hermione met Ron's clear, confused eyes, a strange thought hit her without warning.
She looked at Ron.
She saw how he unreservedly showed his emotions, said what he liked loudly, ate what he wanted in big mouthfuls, and cared for friends in the most direct way.
Everything about Ron was so simple, direct, and passionate.
Then she looked at herself.
She was used to wrapping herself in books and rules, analyzing everything with reason and logic.
She liked Jerry, but only secretly prepared gifts, silently looking for him in the crowd.
She got jealous seeing him close to other girls, but could only sulk here alone, venting by stabbing oatmeal.
If... if she could be more enthusiastic and proactive like Ron?
Would she get more of Jerry's attention?
Instead of just watching from afar like now, letting her imagination run wild in her own world.
This thought was like a stone thrown into stagnant water, stirring ripples in Hermione's heart.
Just as Hermione fell into unprecedented internal struggle, the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall opened silently.
The noisy breakfast atmosphere paused instantly. Silence fell.
Everyone looked at the door.
Albus Dumbledore, wearing deep purple robes embroidered with silver stars, walked in slowly.
His silver hair and beard shone in the morning light. Behind half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes were calm and deep, seeming to see everything.
His pace wasn't fast, but every step carried a reassuring, unquestionable power.
However, what truly made everyone hold their breath was the person following Dumbledore.
Isabella.
She had changed out of her school robes into a tailored red dress representing her family.
Isabella followed closely behind Dumbledore, her golden hair swaying gently like liquid gold.
Under the stunned gaze of the entire school, Dumbledore didn't go to the staff table but walked straight to the podium with the golden owl statue.
Isabella followed, standing quietly by Dumbledore's side, facing the students.
Everyone realized an important announcement was coming.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. His gentle voice, amplified by a silent spell, echoed clearly in every corner, grabbing everyone's attention.
"Good morning, everyone."
His gaze swept slowly over the four house tables, pausing briefly on Slytherin.
"I think many students still remember the wonderful... impromptu performance at the Thanksgiving banquet within the school last night."
Dumbledore smiled meaningfully at the word "impromptu." "That was not just a visual feast, but a display of profound understanding and perfect control of ancient magical rituals."
At the Slytherin table, everyone subconsciously straightened their backs.
"But what I want to talk about is not the performance inside the school last night. Rather, the performance outside the school, at the Ministry of Magic's Thanksgiving Banquet. The protagonist of which was our Slytherin Prefect, Isabella!"
Dumbledore turned, looking at the girl beside him with appreciation and praise. "The magical talent Isabella displayed, her precise control of complex spells, and the composure and elegance she maintained under immense pressure far exceeded my expectations for a seventh-year student."
He raised his hand, announcing loudly, "For this, I award Slytherin House... one hundred points!"
Whoa!
Thunderous cheers and applause erupted from the Slytherin table.
Katherine and Ofina smiled with shared glory. Under the table, their hands squeezed Jerry's meat root simultaneously, as if sharing the fruits of victory.
Meanwhile, the Gryffindor table was shrouded in oppressive silence and unwilling commotion.
One hundred points! A full one hundred points!
But Dumbledore's next words plunged the hall into dead silence, even cutting off Slytherin's cheers.
"However, the impact of Miss Isabella's outstanding performance is not limited to this."
Dumbledore's tone became incredibly solemn. "Just this morning, I received an urgent owl from Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge. After overnight consultation with senior members of the Wizengamot, the Ministry unanimously agrees!"
He paused, building up to the bombshell.
"The magical strength displayed by Miss Isabella has completely and far exceeded the scope measurable by O.W.L.s or even N.E.W.T.s. Making her take these standardized exams would be a waste of her talent."
The hall was in an uproar. Everyone's eyes widened in disbelief.
No need to take O.W.L.s?
What kind of concept was that?
"Therefore!"
Dumbledore raised his hand, suppressing the noise. His voice carried unprecedented solemnity: "Approved by a special Ministry decree, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is honored to announce: Miss Isabella will no longer need to participate in any form of wizarding level exams. Effective immediately, she is formally granted the status and qualification of an adult wizard!"
This news exploded like a bomb in the hall.
"Th-this is impossible!" Harry Potter looked dazed.
"Merlin's beard..." Ron's mouth opened wide enough to fit an egg.
Dumbledore's voice continued, placing the final, most brilliant halo on this honor.
"Miss Isabella is the first student in the last fifty years, and the second in a hundred years, to receive this honor at Hogwarts. She has brought supreme glory and resounding fame not only to herself and her family, but to Hogwarts! Let us be proud that our school could cultivate such an outstanding witch!"
At the moment Dumbledore finished speaking, Isabella took a step forward, lifted the hem of her dress, and performed an impeccable curtsy, befitting a top-tier Pure-blood family, to all the teachers and students.
Isabella's face showed no trace of arrogance or ecstasy, only a calm serenity inconsistent with her age, as still as water.
It was as if all of this was only natural.
In this moment, her image in the hearts of all the students was elevated infinitely, becoming sacred and unreachable.
The instant Isabella slowly straightened up and her gaze leveled forward again, an extremely subtle movement occurred, almost undetectable.
Isabella's eyelashes trembled slightly. Her focus swept across the end of the Slytherin table—where a boy was currently "flanked" by two female Slytherin prefects—at a speed almost too fast for the naked eye.
That gaze was like an invisible thread carrying a faint electric current. It crossed most of the Great Hall, lingering on that figure for less than a thousandth of a second, before quickly retracting, returning to that calm, ancient-well serenity.
The whole process was lightning-fast and traceless.
The vast majority of people present, including the students watching her with fanaticism, jealousy, adoration, and other complex emotions, and even Dumbledore standing beside her, did not notice this fleeting anomaly.
Only Katherine and Ofina, sitting beside Jerry, keenly caught the scrutinizing gaze projected for that instant due to their proximity and a certain woman's intuition.
Under the table, both their hands tightened simultaneously.
The other person, and the only one who truly "saw" the full picture of this action, was Jerry himself.
The moment Isabella's gaze swept over him, another tiny movement, deliberately suppressed in the shadow of the podium, occurred.
In the blind spot of the crowd's vision, the corner of Isabella's mouth, painted with pale pink lip gloss, tilted upward in a minuscule arc known to no one.
Immediately after, a small, moist tongue tip, like a curious pink snail, poked out from between Isabella's slightly parted lips. Not lightly, not heavily, but with a trace of aftertaste, she licked the corner of her dry mouth.
It was a gesture full of suggestion and provocation.
Isabella seemed to be tasting an invisible delicacy perceivable only to herself.
That gaze, that lick, was silently declaring to Jerry:
See, all this glory is because of you. And the fruit of this glory tastes... excellent.
After completing this action that only Jerry could fully read, all micro-expressions vanished from her face instantly. She reverted to that holy, noble, unreachable goddess.
No one else noticed.
In response to Isabella's silent, victor-like declaration, Jerry raised the steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
Without smiling, he lifted the cup an inch toward Isabella with a lazy, casual gesture only peers share, as if silently saying: Cheers to you, my... Senior.
Then, he downed the coffee in one gulp and set the cup down.
As Dumbledore and Isabella walked down from the podium, the suppressed atmosphere in the hall finally broke, returning to noise.
Students gathered in twos and threes, discussing this event worthy of Hogwarts history in the most enthusiastic terms.
Breakfast continued amidst this excitement and discussion.
Amidst the tacit, increasingly bold movements of Katherine and Ofina under the table, Jerry finished the remaining food somewhat absent-mindedly.
After breakfast, students left the Great Hall one after another, preparing to start the day's classes.
Katherine and Ofina also went to class. Although Isabella no longer had to take the Standard Wizarding Tests, they were not exempt.
While following the flow of people out, Jerry fished his timetable from his pocket and glanced at it.
With just one look, Jerry felt his head swell.
"Damn it!" Jerry couldn't help cursing in a low voice. "How could I forget about this?"
The timetable clearly stated that this morning was the Magical Dueling Class, which only occurred once every two months.
The class itself wasn't scary; what was scary was the professor teaching it.
It wasn't any permanent professor at Hogwarts, but the Queen of Gods, Hera, disguised as a visiting professor under the pseudonym "Hess."
Thinking of that woman, Jerry felt a dull ache between his legs.
When Jerry walked into the spacious hall converted into a dueling classroom, the figure giving him a headache was already standing like a queen on the high dueling platform in the center of the room.
Today's "Professor Hess" was dressed more aggressively and oppressively than ever.
She wore a black wizarding robe in the style of a Hogwarts professor, but the cut had been boldly modified. It was tailored extremely slim, perfectly outlining her mature, voluptuous curves that bordered on exaggeration.
The robe wasn't fastened but left open, like black wings spread by a deity.
Beneath the robe, her breathtaking attire was truly revealed.
It wasn't a traditional shirt, but a women's suit waistcoat so tight it looked like a second skin. The dark grey fabric had a silky sheen.
The waistcoat was strained tight by three buttons, forcefully pushing up and gathering her two magnificent, illogical snowy peaks from below and the sides.
The deep cleavage squeezed out, and the round, full upper hemispheres ready to burst forth, formed a suffocating visual impact.
It seemed that if she took a deep breath, those few fragile buttons would fly off on the spot.
On her head, she didn't wear the pointed hat common among professors, but an exquisite hairband made of platinum and moonstone, resembling a laurel wreath. It tied her thick black hair high, further highlighting her arrogant, divine queenly temperament.
The slit at the hem of her wizarding robe unreservedly revealed her long, powerful legs wrapped in top-quality black stockings.
The sheen of the stockings followed the tight muscle lines of her calves all the way up, finally disappearing into the forbidden depths of her skirt.
And the black high heels on her feet, with heels at least ten centimeters high, made a crisp click, click sound with every step on the stone dueling platform, seemingly striking directly at every male student's heart.
Wildness and intellect, divinity and desire formed a contradictory yet deadly perfect unity in her.
While watching "Hess" on the platform, Jerry walked slowly to his own spot.
Below the dueling platform were tables for potion brewing.
For Jerry, who already knew what "Hess" intended to say in the first class, the purpose of these brewing stations was clear.
[Mission Chain: Thanksgiving Feast, all completed.]
[Calculating rewards...]
[Family Prestige +550.]
[Obtained Special Potion Recipe: 'Nectar of Charm'.]
[Obtained Magic Music Score: 'Variations of Stars and Moon'.]
[Obtained Special Item: 'Phantom Hand'.]
[Obtained Clothing Blueprint: 'Charm Tuxedo'.]
[Issuing Extra Rewards...]
[Large Magical Item: 'Deck of Fate' has been stored in your personal space.]
[...Hera capture progress extra boost... boost complete.]
A ridiculous thought flashed through Jerry's mind.
"Unforgettable ballroom dance performance"?
When did...
Jerry recalled the process of last night.
Giving nine witches unforgettable drinks—completed.
Forming a band with magical phantoms to play piano—completed.
Using "Phantom Hand" to steal more than seven panties and stockings—also completed.
But dancing... he hadn't stepped onto the dance floor all night.
Unless...
An absurd but seemingly only reasonable explanation surfaced in his mind.
Unless the system judged that his crazy, chaotic, hearty three-person "dance" with Vera and Amelia in that room last night was an "unforgettable ballroom dance performance."
That really is... a pleasant surprise.
After all the students stood before their potion stations.
The crisp sound of high heels on the stone floor echoed in the large classroom like a precise metronome.
"Dueling is not just the blasting of spells."
"Hess's" voice wasn't loud but carried unquestionable authority, clearly reaching everyone's ears. "A true duelist must be their own best Healer. On a rapidly changing battlefield, you have no time to wait for others to save you."
And today's lesson content was the rapid brewing of an emergency healing potion—"Essence of Dittany" (White Dew).
Students from the four houses were scattered, each occupying a cauldron, burying their heads in processing the ingredients on the table.
"Hess's" patrol route seemed random, but finally, those long legs wrapped in ultimate black silk stopped by Jerry's desk.
An aggressive scent, a mix of expensive perfume and mature female body fragrance, enveloped Jerry instantly.
Jerry didn't even need to look up to feel the scorching gaze that seemed to see through him inside and out.
"Mr. Rosier!"
"Hess's" voice sounded above Jerry's head, carrying a playful scrutiny. "Your knife work seems... a bit absent-minded."
Jerry was cutting a Graphorn horn with a silver knife, a key ingredient for White Dew.
He paused at her words, looking up to meet those deep eyes full of teasing.
"Hess" didn't give him a chance to speak.
She leaned down, placing one hand on the edge of Jerry's table. This action brought her thrilling chest, forcibly gathered by the waistcoat, almost brushing against the back of Jerry's head.
And her open wizarding robe acted like a black screen, perfectly isolating the two from the surrounding gazes.
"Like this..."
"Hess's" other hand reached over. Instead of taking the knife from Jerry, she covered the back of his hand holding the knife in an irrefutable gesture.
Her palm was warm and soft, nails trimmed perfectly and painted an elegant dark red.
Her hand wrapped around his, guiding him to control the silver knife.
"...Use force, be decisive, find that most fragile point precisely, and then... cut in."
"Hess's" voice dropped extremely low. Every word seemed ground out from deep in her throat, carrying a hot breath that blew on Jerry's ear.
Following the rhythm of her words, "Hess" controlled his hand to cleanly split the hard Graphorn horn in two from a very tricky angle.
"Professor?"
"Hmm?"
"How is the ankle you sprained yesterday feeling now?"
"Hess" seemed not to expect Jerry to ask such a "mood-killing" question in this atmosphere.
But immediately, the arc of her lips became more playful.
"Thanks to you!" Her voice carried a lazy rasp. "After applying the 'White Dew', it's completely healed. Even... stronger than before."
Before her voice fell, the high-heeled foot clad in black silk suddenly exerted force.
"Hess's" ankle turned flexibly. Using her slender but explosive arch, she slid up Jerry's trouser leg.
Her movement was precise and bold. The tip of the high heel was like a precise scalpel, accurately finding the position of his zipper, then gently pushing upward.
Through layers of fabric, the outline, erect to the point of hideousness, was clearly traced by the shoe tip.
Jerry's body jolted violently at her bold action.
Just as he thought this "professor" would do something even more outrageous on the spot, "Hess" suddenly straightened up.
The astonishing softness pressing against his back vanished instantly, leaving only a void with residual warmth.
"Your potion technique is fairly standard!"
"Hess" returned to that indifferent teacher tone, voice just loud enough for surrounding students with pricked ears to hear. "But heat control still needs practice. Remember, potion juices easily lose activity at high temperatures."
With that, she walked toward the next desk on her click, click high heels without looking back, leaving Jerry with a view of her voluptuous, swaying back.
Jerry breathed a sigh of relief, but his heart stirred—it seemed the affection increase was quite high. But immediately, he felt a bigger problem.
"Hess's" teasing, close yet distant, was like pouring a barrel of fierce oil on a pile of dry wood.
McGonagall said that even with the Activation Potion, it would take nearly a month to completely suppress it.
Damn Amelia!
He could only sit stiffly on the stool, using the cauldron and the pile of ingredients on the table as cover, praying this damn side effect would pass quickly.
However, things went contrary to his wishes.
A hesitant, concerned voice sounded beside him.
"Jerry? You... why is your face so red? Are you feeling unwell?"
Jerry started, turning his head sharply.
At some point, Hermione Granger, holding her cauldron with a semi-finished potion, was standing by his desk.
Her brows were knitted tight, her intelligent brown eyes full of worry.
"I'm fine."
Jerry's voice was a bit dry. He subconsciously leaned closer to the table, trying to hide his awkward physiological reaction. "Potion fumes, it's a bit stuffy."
"Stuffy?" Hermione looked around in confusion. "But I feel fine... Look, your forehead is all sweaty. Are you really okay? Do you want to see Madam Pomfrey?"
"Really fine, Hermione." Jerry forced a smile. "Maybe... didn't sleep well last night. By the way, how is your potion coming along? Need any help?"
He tried to change the subject.
Hermione seemed convinced. She placed her cauldron on the empty spot next to Jerry, looking a bit distressed. "I feel like I didn't process the Sopophorous beans well enough. Look, they keep sinking to the bottom, can't blend evenly with the moonstone powder."
Saying this, she naturally turned sideways and bent down, wanting to observe the situation in Jerry's cauldron more closely and compare it with hers.
To see the potion state clearly, Hermione leaned her entire upper body against the edge of the table.
And the position she stood in happened to be between Jerry's legs.
Hermione's body was sideways to Jerry. Her buttocks, clad in the grey school skirt—still green but showing early signs of girlish curves—were right there, defenseless and close, hovering in front of Jerry's high-pitched "tent."
Only a few thin layers of fabric separated them.
Jerry's breath stopped instantly.
He could smell the faint, pleasant scent of parchment and grass from Hermione's hair.
He could even feel the airflow from her slightly rising and falling breath.
Time seemed to slow down at this moment.
The sounds of other students cutting ingredients, the glug-glug of boiling liquid in cauldrons, and "Hess's" authoritative guidance in the distance all seemed to fade into background noise.
Just then, perhaps to see better, Hermione moved a small step forward.
Just this small step.
Hermione's soft, elastic, youthful buttocks in the pleated skirt gently brushed against the tip of the hard, scorching giant on the verge of eruption.
"Hiss!"
Jerry sucked in a cold breath, muscles all over his body tensing instantly.
That touch was like the most potent catalyst, snapping his already taut nerves completely.
Hermione felt the anomaly too.
As if burned, her body stiffened abruptly, her cheeks turning beet red instantly.
Hermione knew exactly what she had touched.
"J... Jerry... you..."
Hermione's voice was as faint as a mosquito. She didn't dare stand up immediately to create distance, fearing the movement would attract attention, nor did she dare maintain this posture, because that thing... that thing was pressing straight, unreservedly, and aggressively between her butt cheeks.
Jerry steeled his heart and made an incredibly bold decision.
Instead of retreating, he nudged Hermione's calf gently with his knee. Simultaneously, his upper body leaned forward slightly. In a rapid voice only the two of them could hear, he whispered in her ear: "Hermione, don't move! Listen to me, pretend we're discussing a problem. Move your body... a bit closer. Yes, use your skirt... to cover me!"
Hearing Jerry's urgent but relatively calm voice, Hermione immediately did as he said, shy but excited.
Suppressing shame and panic, Hermione leaned back slightly.
Her fragrant buttocks pressed more tightly against his hideous giant.
Squelch...
A faint, sticky wet sound came from between Hermione's legs.
Just this friction and squeezing through the fabric caused an uncontrollable, unfamiliar instinctual reaction in Hermione's body.
A warm stream gushed from the deepest privacy of her body, instantly soaking her panties, even sliding slowly down her inner thigh.
"Ah..." Hermione let out a moan suppressed to the limit, legs going weak, nearly losing her balance.
Jerry immediately steadied her with his knees.
"Potion... right, discuss the potion..."
Jerry's voice began to tremble too. Forcing himself to look at the cauldron, while controlling his body, he guided intermittently: "Your... your heat is too high... moonstone powder can't... can't directly contact high heat..."
Like a puppet, Hermione cooperated, casting her gaze at the cauldron, responding unconsciously: "Mmh... okay... I know..."
Jerry began to thrust his hips slowly, with small movements.
Each time deeper, harder, squeezing into the crack of Hermione's soft buttocks.
Separated by two thin layers of fabric—Jerry's trousers, and her panties and skirt—Jerry could clearly feel the softness and tightness of Hermione's buttocks, and the scorching, slippery touch caused by arousal.
The feeling was too strange.
Shame, tension, thrill, and a... unprecedented, unfamiliar pleasure. Hermione's entire lower body became numb and hot, as if bitten by countless ants.
About ten minutes later!
"Her... Hermione..."
Jerry's breathing became heavy. His sweat dripped onto the table beside the cauldron, evaporating instantly in the heat. "Pass... pass me that thick test tube..."
With trembling hands, Hermione took the thickest test tube made of opaque brown glass from the rack and handed it to Jerry.
This was usually used to store finished potions that decomposed easily in light.
Jerry took the tube. The moment he took it, using his body as cover, he unzipped his trousers with lightning speed.
With a soft poof, the long-confined, hideous beast finally broke free.
The dark purple, vein-covered massive body expanded another circle the instant it touched the cool air.
The massive head at the tip, held high from excessive congestion, was constantly secreting clear, sticky fluid.
Hermione's gaze inadvertently glanced down, catching this shocking sight.
Her pupils dilated instantly; her breath stopped.
"How... did it get bigger!"
In the split second she was dazed, Jerry made a bolder move.
The next second.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
Streams of amazingly concentrated scorching liquid, carrying a rich musky scent, sprayed violently from the hideous tip like a bursting dam.
The volume of fluid, accumulating all the side effect energy of the Bestialization Potion, was beyond imagination.
The scalding turbidity hit the inner wall of the test tube with huge impact, making dull sounds.
In just a few seconds, that thick, opaque brown test tube was filled to the brim by Jerry.
Through the brown glass, one could even see the sticky liquid swaying slowly inside.
After doing all this, Jerry collapsed on the stool as if drained of all strength, panting heavily.
And Hermione was finally released.
Her body was limp, legs trembling uncontrollably, standing only with the support of the table.
Hermione's gaze fell on the test tube filled with unknown liquid that Jerry had placed on the table.
Her cheeks burned, heart pounding wildly.
A crazy thought, one she couldn't even believe herself, suddenly occupied her entire mind.
In a moment unnoticed by anyone.
Hermione reached out a trembling hand and picked up the heavy test tube, still warm with Jerry's body heat.
She pulled the cork. A rich, unique scent belonging to the boy hit her face, making her dizzy.
Then, under Jerry's stunned gaze, Hermione closed her eyes. Tipping her head back as if drinking the most precious potion, she aimed the tube at her thirsty, slightly parted lips.
Her movement was so smooth and natural, as if she weren't drinking this in front of the entire grade's teachers and students, but drinking a glass of warm milk.
Hermione's white neck arched slightly. With her swallowing, the peristalsis of her esophagus could be clearly seen under the skin of her slender throat, sending it gulp by gulp into her stomach, her throat sliding up and down.
When the last drop slid down her throat, Hermione slowly lowered her arm and placed the warm test tube back on the table almost soundlessly.
Her lips, unusually full and red from the swallowing, gleamed with a moist, lewd watery sheen.
A very thin thread of white liquid spilled from the corner of her mouth, sliding down slowly like a silver silk.
Instead of wiping it with her hand, Hermione extended her small, flexible tongue tip. With extreme detail and a hint of aftertaste, she rolled the silver silk into her mouth.
Then, she licked her entire lips carefully, ensuring no trace was left.
After doing all this, Hermione let out a soft, satisfied sigh.
At this moment, a sound, not loud but clearly audible, came from Hermione's slightly parted, rosy lips.
Burp!
It was a satisfied belch full of rich liquid and air.
A strange scent—a mix of the unique musk of male hormones and the sweet saliva in Hermione's mouth—spilled out with this belch, lingering in the small, ambiguous space between them.
After the burp, Hermione's cheeks instantly dyed a deeper crimson. But in this flush, there was no awkwardness or shame, only the laziness and satiety of being well-fed.
Looking at Jerry's eyes filled with shock and disbelief, Hermione's lips curved up slightly, revealing a smile pure as an angel but speaking words like a devil.
Her voice was soft and light, like sharing a sweet secret known only to the two of them.
"I'm full!"
"Full of what, Miss Granger?"
This voice, like a cold wind from the polar ice caps, instantly blew away the ambiguous, warm atmosphere rising between them.
Hermione froze violently. The lazy, misty flush on her face faded instantly as if doused with cold water, replaced by extreme pallor.
She turned around stiffly, inch by inch, and sure enough, saw the face she respected and feared.
Hera, or "Professor Hess," had arrived at their table unnoticed.
Arms crossed, looking down at them, her deep eyes no longer held the teasing of watching a show, but a cold indifference like examining two lab mice mating on a dissection table.
Her gaze swept back and forth between Hermione's lips, still gleaming with abnormal water, and the empty brown test tube on the table with white slime still hanging on its inner wall.
"I... I..." Hermione's mind went blank.
She was completely unable to fabricate any reasonable lie to explain this absurd scene before her.