The bell for the first morning class had not yet rung, but a strange smell was already permeating the air.
Sweet. A sweetness carrying the tang of blood. It was as if someone had overturned an entire sugar factory inside a slaughterhouse; the scents of caramel and rust churned together, seeping in through every window, every corridor, and every stone crevice of Hogwarts Castle.
The first-year young wizards were the first to notice the anomaly; their noses were sharper than those of the upperclassmen, not yet dulled by years of Potions classes. A few Hufflepuff girls ran out of their dormitories covering their noses, their faces bearing looks of confusion and slight nausea.
The portrait of the Fat Lady in Gryffindor Tower frowned, incessantly fanning her painted nose with a handkerchief. The fireplace flames in the Slytherin dungeon turned dark red, as if some component in the air had altered the chemical reaction of the fire. The bronze eagle knocker of Ravenclaw Tower let out an uneasy creak and automatically bolted the door lock.
Students surged toward the Central Courtyard from all directions.
And then they stopped.
On the flagstone floor of the Hogwarts Central Courtyard, lay a dragon.
A red one.
Measuring over thirty meters from the tip of its snout to the end of its tail, its wings were folded on both sides of its body, and the area of each wing membrane was large enough to cover a classroom. Its scales were deep crimson, each the size of an adult's palm, their surfaces shimmering with a greasy, wet luster. Four thick legs were curled beneath its abdomen, its talons embedding into the crevices of the courtyard's flagstones and cracking several of them. Its head rested on its front claws, both eyes closed, and its mouth hung slightly open, revealing two rows of interlocking teeth, each as long as a forearm.
Its chest heaved slowly.
Breathing.
With every exhalation, the airflow blasting from its nostrils kicked up a small cloud of dust on the courtyard's flagstones. That sweet, bloody scent was emanating from its body, the concentration rising sharply as the distance shortened; students standing at the edge of the courtyard could already feel a sweetness at the base of their tongues.
But there was something wrong with this dragon.
Its breathing was too regular. Inhaling for three seconds, exhaling for three seconds, with a one-second pause—repeating in a cycle, accurate to a mechanical degree. A living creature would not have such a precise breathing rhythm; even in the deepest sleep, there would be minute fluctuations in breathing. This dragon's breathing was as if its parameters had been set by some external force, executing according to a program.
There were no micro-tremors in the muscles beneath its scales. When a living dragon sleeps, the muscle groups beneath its skin twitch from time to time, the tip of its tail occasionally flicks, and its eyeballs roll beneath its eyelids. This dragon's body was completely still; aside from the mechanical heaving of its chest, there was no spontaneous movement whatsoever.
It appeared to be in a deep slumber.
But it was not sleeping. Because sleep requires consciousness, and this dragon had no consciousness. Its head was empty; there was no soul driving the electrical signals of its neural network, no dreams projecting chemical reactions onto its cerebral cortex. It was merely a biological vessel spawned by the Tyranid Mother Bug, an empty shell waiting to be filled.
Professor Flitwick was the first teacher to arrive at the edge of the courtyard. He stood behind a stone pillar, his short body almost completely hidden by it, exposing only half of his head and a hand gripping a wand. The tip of his wand glowed with a pale blue detection light, sweeping over the red dragon three times.
Professor Sprout jogged over from the direction of the greenhouses, her apron still stained with dirt and Mandrake sap. She clutched a pair of pruning shears and a wand in her hands, holding both up to her chest as if she hadn't yet decided which one to use.
Professor Slughorn stood beneath the archway of the corridor, holding a still-steaming cup of morning tea. He squinted at the behemoth in the courtyard, the expression on his face caught somewhere between academic curiosity and survival instinct.
The students were herded into the cloisters surrounding the courtyard by the professors using hand gestures and low-voiced commands. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at the giant red dragon through the gaps between the stone pillars. The lower-year students squeezed behind the upper-year students, standing on their tiptoes to look out. A few Gryffindor boys tried to edge forward, only to be yanked back by the collars of their robes by the girls behind them.
The red dragon moved.
Its front claws slid across the flagstones, its five talons scraping five white scratch marks into the stone surface and emitting a teeth-aching screech. Its head lifted about half a meter from its front claws, the scales on its neck rubbing against each other during this movement, producing a clatter like metal colliding.
A suppressed shriek erupted from the cloisters.
The tip of Professor Flitwick's wand shifted from pale blue to a bright white; an offensive spell had already coalesced at the tip. Professor Sprout threw aside her pruning shears and gripped her wand with both hands. Professor Slughorn set his teacup on the ground and pulled a second wand from the inner pocket of his robes, holding one in each hand.
"All students, step back! Fall back to the end of the corridor!"
Professor Flitwick's voice, amplified tenfold by a Sonorus Charm, echoed above the courtyard.
The red dragon's mouth opened.
The two rows of forearm-length teeth parted, the distance between the upper and lower jaws widening enough to let a carriage pass through. The interior of the mouth was a deep crimson, the tongue laid flat against the lower jaw, its surface covered in a viscous, transparent liquid. A much stronger, sweet and bloody scent surged from deep within its throat like an invisible wall, forcing the few professors in the very front to take a half-step back.
From inside that massive mouth, a person walked out.
The sound of high heels stepping on the red dragon's tongue was very crisp. Clack. Clack. Clack. Three steps, walking from the position of the throat to the tip of the tongue.
Professor McGonagall stood inside the red dragon's open mouth. The hem of her emerald-green wizard robes hung to her ankles, her silk-clad legs wearing black high heels, her square spectacles perched properly on the bridge of her nose, and her black hair coiled into an immaculate French twist. There was no trace of slime, blood, or injury on her body; every fold of her wizard robes was as neat as usual, and the patent leather surface of her high heels was even reflecting light.
She stepped down from the tip of the red dragon's tongue, her high heels landing on the courtyard's flagstones with a clack.
The courtyard was so quiet you could hear the sound of the wind blowing past the stone pillars of the cloisters.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at her.
Professor McGonagall lightly tapped the cuff of her wizard robes with her wand, as if brushing off a non-existent speck of dust. Then she turned to the hundreds of dumbfounded faces in the cloisters.
"In light of the impending war, and considering that everyone seated here will become a participant in this war in the future."
Her voice was clear and steady. She didn't use an amplification charm, yet every word transmitted precisely to every corner of the courtyard.
"Hogwarts will be offering a new course."
She paused for a second.
"Bionics."
Her green eyes looked past the courtyard toward a certain spot on the right side of the cloisters, and she gave a slight nod.
A gap appeared in the middle of the crowd.
Malfoy walked out from that gap. His platinum-blonde hair was combed immaculately, his Slytherin green tie was knotted properly, and every single button on his school robes was fastened to the very top. His pace was neither fast nor slow, his back straight, his chin lifted slightly, his grey-blue eyes looking straight ahead, and the corner of his mouth hung with a perfectly measured curve that was neither arrogant nor humble.
He walked across the courtyard, passed the still-dazed professors, and arrived in front of the red dragon's open mouth. He looked up at the two rows of forearm-length teeth and the layer of viscous, transparent liquid inside the oral cavity, without so much as a furrow of his brow.
He took a step and walked right into the red dragon's mouth.
The sound of high heels stepping on the tongue was replaced by the sound of leather shoes stepping on the tongue. Tap. Tap. Tap. He walked along the surface of the tongue toward the throat, the soles of his leather shoes occasionally slipping on the slime-covered tongue, but his pace constantly maintained the same rhythm and posture, as if he were walking a path he had already walked a hundred times.
Professor McGonagall raised her wand, aiming the tip at the top of the red dragon's head.
A transparent beam of light shot from the tip of her wand, covering the red dragon's skull.
The scales, bones, and meninges on top of the red dragon's head turned transparent layer by layer, as if hit by a giant See-Through Charm. Hundreds of pairs of eyes looked through the transparent skull and saw the scene inside the red dragon's cranial cavity.
A massive brain.
Dark red brain tissue filled the entire cranial cavity, its surface covered in sulci and gyri, with pale yellow cerebrospinal fluid pooling in every groove. The surface of the brain was pulsing slightly, a pulsing synchronized with the rhythm of a heartbeat; every throb caused a subtle ripple across the surface of the brain tissue.
Malfoy stood directly in front of the brain.
His leather shoes stepped on the bony platform at the base of the cranial cavity; right in front of him was that massive, pulsing, dark red organ covered in viscous cerebrospinal fluid. The smell of the brain tissue surged at him from point-blank range, the sweet and bloody scent so intense it was dizzying.
Malfoy reached out his right hand, pressing his palm flat against the surface of the brain.
Squelch.
His palm sank about two centimeters into the surface of the brain tissue. Dark red brain matter squeezed out from between his fingers, and pale yellow cerebrospinal fluid trickled down his wrist, dripping onto the cuff of his school robes.
He did not hesitate.
He pushed his entire arm into the surface of the brain; his elbow submerged, his shoulder submerged. The brain tissue emitted continuous squish-squish sounds under the pressure of his body, and massive amounts of cerebrospinal fluid were squeezed out from the contact surface, drenching his school uniform. His platinum-blonde hair became smeared with fragments of dark red brain matter, and his grey-blue eyes took one last look at the hundreds of contorted faces outside the transparent skull before being swallowed by the brain tissue.
Screams, dry heaves, and terrified gasps erupted in the cloisters. Several lower-year girls covered their mouths and turned away; one Hufflepuff boy threw up straight behind a stone pillar.
Malfoy's body sank inch by inch into the brain. The brain tissue was like a living quagmire, actively wrapping around his body and pulling him inward. His chest submerged, his waist submerged, his legs submerged. Finally, it was those leather shoes covered in cerebrospinal fluid, which lingered on the surface of the brain tissue for a second before being swallowed up.
The surface of the brain closed back up, returning to its original form, the pulsing rhythm unchanging.
The courtyard was quiet for three seconds.
The red dragon's body gave a shudder.
That shudder started from the tip of its tail, transmitted all the way forward along its spine, passing through its hind legs, waist, front legs, neck, and finally reached its head. Beneath the transparent skull, that dark red brain suddenly pulsed violently; the pulsing frequency abruptly accelerated from once a second to three times a second. The grooves on the surface of the brain tissue deepened and widened during the rapid pulsing, and pale yellow cerebrospinal fluid overflowed from the sulci, forming a flowing liquid surface inside the cranial cavity.
The red dragon opened its eyes.
Two massive eyeballs rolled in their sockets, the irises a grey-blue.
The color of Malfoy's eyes.
The red dragon's four legs braced against the ground, and its body slowly stood up from its prone position. The thirty-meter-long body cast a massive shadow over the courtyard, covering half of the cloisters. Its wings unfurled from its sides, the wing membranes making a flap-flap-flap sound as they spread, like a giant sail shaking open in the wind. The wingspan exceeded forty meters, the wingtips nearly touching the stone pillars on both sides of the cloisters.
It lowered its head, its massive grey-blue eyes looking at the tiny humans in the courtyard.
It opened its mouth.
"Feels alright. Just a bit disgusting."
Malfoy's voice emerged from the red dragon's throat, amplified dozens of times by the resonance of the massive oral cavity, vibrating so intensely that the flagstones in the courtyard trembled slightly.
Professor McGonagall drew her wand from her sleeve.
Her stance changed. The heel of her shoe ground into the flagstone as she took a half-step back with her left foot, pointing the toe of her right foot toward the red dragon, her center of gravity falling between her two feet. The hem of her green wizard robes lifted slightly with this motion, revealing her silk-clad calf and ankle. She placed her left hand behind her back and held the wand in her right, the tip pointing diagonally toward the ground, the angle of her wrist relaxed. Her entire posture was like a conductor waiting for the music to start.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you ready?"
The red dragon's massive grey-blue eyes blinked once. That blinking motion carried a sense of relaxation that was completely discordant with a thirty-meter-long giant reptilian creature.
"Anytime."
Professor McGonagall's wrist flicked.
"Stupefy."
A beam of red light shot from the tip of her wand, so fast it left only an afterimage in the air. The beam accurately hit the red dragon's chest, striking against two overlapping scales.
Smack.
The red beam of light exploded into a fist-sized cluster of light on the surface of the scales, then dissipated. Not even a single scratch was left on the surface of the scales. The red dragon's body didn't move an inch; its massive grey-blue eyes looked down at the spot on its chest where it had been hit, then looked back up at Professor McGonagall.
"Didn't feel a thing."
The students in the cloisters let out a low gasp of amazement. The Stunning Spell was the most basic of offensive spells, but a Stunning Spell cast by Professor McGonagall was enough to knock down a fully-grown troll.
Professor McGonagall's expression did not change. Her wrist rotated three times in rapid succession, her wand tip drawing three arcs in the air.
"Expelliarmus. Petrificus Totalus. Reducto."
Three beams of light shot out almost simultaneously—red, grey, and white. The three ribbons of light intertwined as they flew toward the red dragon's body, hitting the root of the left wing, the front leg joint, and the side of the neck, respectively.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three explosions rang out simultaneously. The three beams of light detonated into three blossoms of differently colored light on the surface of the scales. Shattered fragments of magical energy splashed in all directions like fireworks, landing on the courtyard's flagstones and emitting a fine crackle-crackle sound.
The red dragon's wing root did not dislocate, its front leg joint did not stiffen, and no cracks appeared on its neck.
"Tickles a bit."
Professor McGonagall withdrew her wand, tip pointing upwards, and spoke in the tone of a lecture.
"This is the Red Dragon among the Chromatic Dragons. Of course, this is a weakened version spawned by the Tyranid Mother Bug; its size is only one-third of an adult Red Dragon, and its various physical parameters are about forty percent of the original."
Her high heels took two steps on the flagstones as she walked around to the side of the red dragon. The red dragon's massive grey-blue eyes tracked her movement, its head tilting slightly, the scales on its neck rubbing against each other with a clattering sound.
"Even as a weakened version, its bones, skin, flesh, and scales possess extremely high magical resistance."
She raised her wand, pointing the tip at the red dragon's abdomen.
"Incendio."
A stream of orange-red flames erupted from the tip of her wand. The diameter of the pillar of fire exceeded one meter, its temperature so high that even the students at the edge of the courtyard felt a wave of heat wash over their faces. The flames lasted for a full five seconds, burning the scales on the red dragon's abdomen until they glowed a bright, cherry red.
After the flames ceased, white smoke billowed from the scales on the red dragon's abdomen. Their surface color had shifted from deep crimson to dark orange, but three seconds later, they returned to their original deep crimson.
"It can withstand the vast majority of spells. Against powerful spells, it also possesses an immunity of over sixty-five percent."
Professor McGonagall's wand traced a complex rune in the air.
"Shower of Arrows."
Hundreds of silver magical arrows shot out from the rune, pouring down onto the red dragon's body like a metallic rainstorm. The sound of the arrows striking the scales was so dense it blended into one continuous noise—ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding—like someone striking a giant bronze gong with a hammer. The silver arrows ricocheted, snapped, and shattered against the scales; the fragments tumbled through the air and fell onto the courtyard flagstones, laying down a thin layer.
The red dragon's body swayed slightly under the rain of arrows. Its left front leg took a half-step back, its talons scraping a deep groove into the flagstones.
"That one hurt a little."
Malfoy's voice emerged from the red dragon's throat, carrying a trace of complaint.
Professor McGonagall put away her wand and turned to the students in the cloisters.
"What you have just seen is the core content of the Bionics course. Through the biological vessels spawned by the Tyranid Mother Bug, wizards can inject their consciousness into them to control these biological entities in combat. The controller's own body remains safely inside the cranial cavity of the biological entity, receiving the multiple protections of the skull and brain tissue. Even if the biological entity is destroyed in battle, the controller can detach at the final moment and return to their own body."
The red dragon sneezed behind her, two plumes of white smoke blasting from its nostrils and blowing a few stray hairs on the back of Professor McGonagall's head up into the air. Without even turning her head, Professor McGonagall used her left hand to tuck those stray hairs back behind her ear.
"Mr. Malfoy is the first tester to complete consciousness injection. His performance during the injection process proves that even a first-year student, as long as their mana reserves meet the standard, can control a Tyranid biological entity."
The red dragon's massive grey-blue eyes blinked twice when Professor McGonagall said "first-year." Its head lifted slightly higher, its neck straightening a bit. That posture was identical to Malfoy's reaction when being praised in the corridors.
"Of course, the Red Dragon is only one of the biological entities the Tyranid Mother Bug can spawn. Depending on the battlefield requirements, there are other types of biological vessels available to choose from. The specific varieties and characteristics will be explained in detail during the official course."
Professor McGonagall slipped her wand back into her sleeve and folded her hands in front of her.
"Students of all years may apply to join the Bionics course."
A buzz of discussion immediately erupted in the cloisters. A few Gryffindor boys were already shoving each other, their faces filled with eagerness to try. The Ravenclaw students were whispering rapidly to one another, their quills already scratching notes furiously into their notebooks. Over on the Hufflepuff side, someone raised a hand, then hesitantly lowered it. The expressions of the Slytherin students varied; some leaned expressionlessly against the stone pillars, while the corners of others' mouths had already begun to curl into smiles.
"However."
Professor McGonagall's voice suppressed the murmurs.
"Every applicant must sign a magical contract. The contents of the contract include three clauses: First, any risk of mental damage that may occur during the consciousness injection process is borne by the applicant themselves. Second, the right to use the Tyranid biological entities belongs to Hogwarts; unauthorized control without permission is forbidden. Third, all technical details of the Bionics course are classified as top secret; anyone who leaks them will be subjected to the Memory Charm and permanently expelled."
Her green eyes swept over the hundreds of young faces in the cloisters.
"The application forms will appear on the notice boards of each House during breakfast tomorrow. Think it through clearly before you sign."
The red dragon slowly laid down behind her. Its thirty-meter-long body rested once again on the courtyard's flagstones, its massive grey-blue eyes half-closed, the tip of its tail tapping idly against the ground, every beat making the flagstones emit a dull thump.
"Professor McGonagall."
The red dragon's mouth opened a crack, and Malfoy's voice emerged from inside. The volume was much lower this time, as if deliberately hushed.
"How do I get out?"
Professor McGonagall turned her head and glanced at the red dragon.
Her green eyes looked through the lenses of her square spectacles, meeting those massive grey-blue dragon eyes for two seconds.
Malfoy, of course, knew how to get out. This was already his third consciousness injection test; he could operate the exit sequence with his eyes closed. The reason he asked this question was that the exit process required climbing out of the dragon's mouth, his entire body coated in cerebrospinal fluid and mucous secretions, his hair hung with fragments of dark red brain matter, his school uniform soaked and clinging to his body—looking as if he had just been regurgitated from the digestive tract of a giant beast.
Coming out like that in a laboratory was fine.
Coming out like that in front of hundreds of schoolmates, the dignity of the Malfoy family would be utterly ruined.
Professor McGonagall read the meaning in those massive grey-blue eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched, and she withdrew her gaze, turning to face the students.
"Today's demonstration ends here. All students, return to your classrooms for your lessons."
Her high heels clicked twice on the flagstones, clack, clack, and she walked toward the castle's main entrance without looking back.
The red dragon lay prone in the courtyard for three seconds.
Its massive grey-blue eyes rolled left and right, confirming that the students in the cloisters were dispersing under the urging of the professors. A few Gryffindor boys were still looking back over their shoulders, only reluctantly turning to leave after Professor Flitwick tapped them lightly on the back of the head with his wand.
When the last silhouette around the courtyard disappeared around the corner of the corridor, the red dragon's four legs braced against the ground, and its body rose from its prone position. Its wings spread on both sides of its body, the wing membranes snapping taut as the flight muscles around its shoulder blades contracted.
Boom.
The thirty-meter-long giant red dragon took off from the Hogwarts central courtyard, the downdraft generated by its flapping wings sweeping the residual silver arrow fragments and dust on the plaza into a miniature whirlwind. The red dragon's body carved an arc through the sky above the castle, crossing over the spire of the Astronomy Tower, and flew in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.
As its wingtip brushed past the Astronomy Tower, the weather vane at the top was spun three times by the slipstream.
When Professor McGonagall walked into the castle's main entrance, she heard the sound of flapping wings overhead and the fading sound of the wind. She looked up; the red dragon's silhouette had already shrunk into a red dot on the horizon.
The corner of her mouth curved up; she withdrew her gaze and continued walking.
The sound of her high heels echoed in the empty corridor. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. The rhythm was even, neither rushed nor slow. She passed the door of the Transfiguration classroom, passed the door of the staff room, stopped in front of an oak door at the end of the corridor, and pushed it open.
Jerry was sitting on her desk.
His two short legs dangled off the edge, swinging. In his hand, he held a piece of toffee he had fished out of the sugar bowl on the desk, peeling the wrapper. His grey eyes watched Professor McGonagall walk in, and the corners of his mouth turned up.
He popped the toffee into his mouth, freed both hands, and applauded.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
The applause echoed in the office, the rhythm very slow, with about a second between each clap.
"Congratulations, Professor. You finally don't have to just teach Transfiguration anymore."
Professor McGonagall closed the office door and locked it behind her back. Click.
She turned around, facing Jerry who was sitting on the desk. The hem of her green wizard robes lifted slightly with her turning motion, her silk-clad calves flashing beneath the skirt. She placed her wand on the rack by the door, lifted both sides of her wizard robes with her hands, bent her knees slightly, and lowered her head.
A standard lady's curtsy.
"Then how should I thank you?"
Her voice carried a smile, her green eyes looking up at Jerry from beneath her lowered eyelashes.
The curtsying posture lasted for only a second.
The next second, her body lunged forward.
Her hands braced on either side of Jerry's body, her palms pressing flat against the desktop, boxing Jerry entirely between her arms. Jerry's back hit the stack of half-graded homework scrolls on the desk; the scrolls scattered upon impact, rolling to the edge of the table. He lay flat on his back on the desk, Professor McGonagall's body hovering over him, the front of her green wizard robes hanging down, turning the space between them into a semi-enclosed tent.
Her face was very close to Jerry's. The lenses of her square spectacles reflected the daylight from the window, her green irises magnified behind the glass. Her breath, carrying the aftertaste of morning tea, brushed against Jerry's face.
Jerry lay on the desk, looking up at Professor McGonagall hovering above him. Her body was twice his size; from his perspective, the collar of her green wizard robes was open, the fair skin below her collarbone and the heaving of her chest inches away.
"This is actually you helping me out, too."
Jerry's voice came from beneath her body, carrying a slightly muffled texture from being boxed in.
"The Tyranid Mother Bug never had a suitable place to be kept. Putting it in the Rozier Alchemy Workshop is too conspicuous, and putting it in the Room of Requirement isn't safe enough. Now, by packaging its products as a new Hogwarts course, the storage problem is solved."
Professor McGonagall's right hand lifted from the desk, her fingers hooking the hem of Jerry's hoodie, pushing it up. The fabric of the hoodie rolled up along Jerry's abdomen, exposing the boy's flat lower stomach and the skin at the lower edge of his ribs. Her palm pressed against his abdomen, her fingers spreading out, covering most of the area from his navel to his chest.
"There's another benefit." Jerry continued, grey eyes looking at the ceiling. "Defining the Tyranid biological entities as teaching tools completely blocks the path for certain people who want to throw them directly onto the battlefield. Teaching tools fall under Hogwarts' jurisdiction; the Ministry of Magic has no right of requisition."
Professor McGonagall's hand slid down from Jerry's abdomen, her fingertips crossing his navel and diving into the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Although it is indeed more suited for war."
Jerry's voice paused for a beat when Professor McGonagall's fingers touched his cock.
"But war is temporary; education is long-term. The value of the Tyranid Mother Bug shouldn't be consumed by a single war."
Professor McGonagall's fingers grasped that cock which had already begun to engorge with blood inside his waistband. Her palm pressed against the side of the shaft, feeling it throb and swell thicker in her grasp. Her thumb drew a circle at the very tip of the glans, the pad of her finger rolling over the meatus; a small drop of pre-cum seeped out, dampening her fingertip.
Squish.
Her hand began to slowly stroke him, from the base to the tip, and from the tip back to the base. The waistband of his sweatpants was stretched open by her wrist, and every stroke caused the elastic band to snap lightly against Jerry's waist.
"So you planned it from the very beginning." Professor McGonagall's voice came from above Jerry, carrying a tone of realization. "Having me teach this course, making Hogwarts the sole legal institution to use Tyranid biological entities."
"The plan was made by Malfoy." Jerry's voice became a bit unsteady as Professor McGonagall accelerated the frequency of her stroking. "I just provided the technical support."
Squelch... squish... slurp...
The wet sounds rang out in the office; the secretion of pre-cum increased as the stroking continued, making the contact surface between Professor McGonagall's palm and Jerry's cock increasingly slick.
Professor McGonagall released her hand and propped her upper body up from Jerry. She stood up straight, her high heels tapping on the floor, reached for the belt of her wizard robes, and unfastened the buckle. The green wizard robes slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet.
Underneath the robes was a white shirt and a grey pencil skirt, the shirt tucked into the waistband, clearly outlining her waistline. Stockings extended from beneath the hem of the pencil skirt all the way down to her high heels.
She bent down, grabbed the waistband of Jerry's sweatpants with both hands, and yanked them down to his knees. That fully erect cock sprang free from the restraint of the waistband, pointing straight up, casting a shadow in the daylight of the office that was completely disproportionate to Jerry's size.
Professor McGonagall glanced at that thing, her green eyes behind her square spectacles blinking once.
She hiked up the hem of her pencil skirt, pulling it up to her waist, revealing her stockings and garters, as well as the bare skin at the root of her thighs above the garters, unhindered by any fabric. Her panties were a white cotton style, simple to the extreme, forming a stark contrast with Cassiopeia's set of black lace erotic lingerie.
She used one finger to pull the crotch of her panties to the side.
Then she straddled the desk.
Her left knee kneeling on Jerry's left side, her right knee on his right, her two silk-clad thighs gripping Jerry's waist.
"Mmh."
Her waist continued to sink, sinking in inch by inch. The inner walls of her vaginal canal were forced to expand under the invasion of the massive object; warm liquid was squeezed out from the junction, trailing down the shaft.
Squish...
When she sat all the way down, their bodies were pressed completely together. Jerry lay on the desk, Professor McGonagall straddling his waist, the cock buried deep inside her body. Her hands braced on the desk on either side of Jerry's chest. Her square spectacles slid down her nose slightly during her downward-looking motion, her green eyes looking at Jerry beneath her from over the top rim of the frames.
Her hips began to sway.
"The Ministry's side..." Professor McGonagall's voice squeezed out from between gasps. "Will they investigate the source of the Tyranid Mother Bug..."
"They won't be able to trace it." Jerry's voice was also breathless. "The biological signatures of the Tyranid Mother Bug have no records in the Ministry's database."
Smack-smack-smack-smack-smack-smack...
Professor McGonagall's body tensed after a few final violent sways; massive amounts of liquid gushed from their junction, soaking Jerry's waist and a patch of the desk.
"Mmh, ah..."
Her upper body went limp, collapsing onto Jerry. The fabric of her white shirt clung to the fabric of Jerry's hoodie, their chests heaving against each other. Her face was buried beside Jerry's neck, her scattered black hair draped over his shoulders, her breath brushing his ear.
Jerry picked up the fallen square spectacles from the desk and put them back on the bridge of Professor McGonagall's nose. The earpieces slid into the hair above her ears, the lenses covered in a thin layer of fog.
"There's one more thing."
Professor McGonagall lay on him, letting out a muffled "mmh".
"I want to review the list of the first batch of students for the Bionics course."
The corridor of St. Mungo's was filled with the smell of disinfectant potions and fresh lilies.
Jerry stepped out of the Floo Network fireplace, patted the green powder off his robes, and looked up at the room number at the end of the corridor. Fourth floor, Genetic Curses Department, Ward 407. He walked down the corridor, his sneakers making light tap-tap sounds on the white flagstone floor, passing several wards with doors ajar. The low murmurs of Healers instructing patients to take their medicine and the clinking of potion bottles came from within.
The door to Ward 407 was slightly ajar.
When Jerry pushed the door open, the first thing he saw was a woman's back.
She stood by the hospital bed, body leaning slightly forward, hands braced on the edge of the bed, looking down at the person in the bed. She wore a deep blue modified qipao, the mandarin collar fastened to the very top of her neck, the waistline cinched tightly to outline the smooth curve of her back. Her long black hair was coiled into a low bun, secured with a silver hairpin from which dangled a teardrop-shaped emerald. Her height was nearly double Jerry's; as she stood by the bed, the slit of the qipao perfectly exposed a small section of skin just above her left knee.
Cho Chang's mother, Mama Cho.
Jerry stood at the door, his grey eyes sweeping over the details of the ward.
Cho Chang was sleeping soundly in the bed. Her complexion was much rosier than before the surgery, her lips having recovered from a pale grey to a normal pink. The vital signs monitoring crystal ball at the head of the bed emitted a steady green light, meaning all parameters were perfectly normal. On the medical chart at the foot of the bed, the section for "Blood Malediction" had a red ink line struck through it by the Healer, with the words "Cleared" written next to it.
Cho Chang's mother's right hand rested on Cho Chang's hand, her thumb slowly stroking her daughter's knuckles. Her shoulders trembled slightly the moment Jerry pushed the door open, but she did not turn around.
Jerry walked into the ward, closing the door behind him.
"Mr. Rozier."
Cho Chang's mother finally turned around.
Her eyes were black, the same color as Cho Chang's, but the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and the crease between her brows revealed her age. There were no tear tracks on her face, but the rims of her eyes bore a faint red ring—the trace of having cried and then carefully dried her eyes. Her lips were pressed into a line, her jaw muscles tight, as if forcefully suppressing some emotion.
"The surgery was successful."
Jerry's voice was flat, stating a fact.
Cho Chang's mother's shoulders slumped. The degree of the slump was very small, but Jerry saw it. The dignified posture she had maintained throughout the entire surgery showed its first crack in that moment.
"The blood malediction that has plagued the Chang family for five generations." Her voice was very soft, so soft it was almost like she was talking to herself. "Her father died from this curse; I thought Cho would too..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
Jerry walked to the other side of the bed, looking down at the sleeping Cho Chang. Her breathing was steady and long, her chest rising and falling slowly with the rhythm of her breath, her long black hair scattered on the pillow, the curly ends resting on her shoulders.
Jerry's grey eyes shifted from Cho Chang's face to Cho Chang's mother. "The remaining zero point three percent has already been marked by her immune system and will be naturally metabolized within three months."
Cho Chang's mother's right hand lifted from Cho Chang's hand and pressed against her own chest. Her fingers clenched the frog buttons at the collar of her qipao, her knuckles white.
"Mr. Rozier."
"Mmh."
"How should I thank you?"
Jerry tilted his head slightly.
"I recall your family holds two hereditary seats on the Wizengamot. At the vote the day after tomorrow, abstain."
Cho Chang's mother's black eyes looked at him, silent for three seconds.
"I can do that."
Jerry nodded, turning to leave.
"Wait."
Cho Chang's mother's voice came from behind. Jerry stopped and turned his head.
Cho Chang's mother walked around the bed and came to stand in front of Jerry. She was much taller than him; standing before him, he had to tilt his head back to see her face. She looked down at him. There was a look in her black eyes that Jerry couldn't quite read—a look that mixed gratitude, relief, and an impulse that had been suppressed for a long time and was finally released.
She knelt down.
Both knees dropped directly onto the flagstone floor of the ward with a dull thump. The slit of the qipao completely fell open with this motion, exposing her entire left leg from the knee to the root of her thigh, the color of her skin glowing bright white against the deep blue qipao.
Her hands reached for Jerry's waist.
"Cho Chang's mother."
"Call me Qiu Yu."
Her fingers hooked the waistband of Jerry's sweatpants and pulled down. Jerry's hands were tucked into his hoodie pockets. His grey eyes looked down at the woman kneeling before him, not stopping her actions.
The sweatpants slid down to Jerry's thighs.
Qiu Yu's black eyes stared at that thing for two seconds. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes relaxed slightly, her lips parted, and an incredibly faint gasp leaked from between her teeth.
"The medical bill for Cho's surgery at St. Mungo's is twenty-four thousand gold Galleons." Her right hand grasped the shaft of the cock, her five fingers wrapping around the thick cylinder, her fingertips just barely failing to meet. "I cannot afford this sum. And Mr. Rozier waived this fee."
Her left hand reached around from the outside of Jerry's thigh to the back, her palm supporting those two heavy balls, her fingers gently kneading them.
"I have nothing with which to repay you. The abstention vote on the Wizengamot is merely a political transaction; it does not count as gratitude."
Her face drew close to the cock, her nostrils flaring twice as she inhaled the masculine scent emanating from it. Her eyelashes fluttered, her black eyes looking up at Jerry from below.
"Let me thank you in this way."
Her tongue darted out.
(Omitted...)
Her lips were still clamped around the shaft, not letting go. Her tongue slowly swirled the residual bodily fluids in her mouth, rolling every single drop down her throat and swallowing.
Glug... glug... glug...
Three swallows.
Her lips slowly slid off the shaft, making a soft pop as the tip withdrew from her mouth. There were still traces of white fluid residue hanging at the corners of her mouth, and a few un-wiped drops of liquid spotted her chin and the chest of her qipao.
She looked up, her black eyes looking up at Jerry from below.
"Thank you, Mr. Rozier."
Jerry's right hand released from her hair; the silver hairpin was still securely in her bun, not having been pulled out. He pulled his sweatpants back up to his waist.
"The Wizengamot vote. Don't forget."
Qiu Yu stood up from the floor. Having knelt on the flagstones for too long, she swayed slightly as she stood. She used the cuff of her qipao to wipe the fluid residue from the corner of her mouth and straightened her ruffled collar.
"I won't forget."
Jerry turned and walked toward the door of the ward. He pulled the door open, stopped before stepping out, and turned his head to glance at the sleeping Cho Chang in the bed, then looked at Qiu Yu standing by the bed.
"After Cho wakes up, let her rest well.
Do not let her use any magic-consuming spells for three months."
Qiu Yu nodded.
Jerry walked out, the ward door closing behind him, making a soft click.
The corridor was still filled with the smell of disinfectant potions and fresh lilies. Jerry walked back the way he came, his sneakers making tap-tap sounds on the white flagstone floor.
He passed a window; outside was London's grey sky. His reflection mirrored in the glass, his small figure occupying only the lower half of the window frame's division.