The iron door deep within the emergency channel was blasted outward, concaved and deformed by the explosive array, its broken latch hanging from the edge of the doorframe.
From the smoke drifting in the corridor ahead, the buzz-cut wizard and the thick-rimmed glasses wizard darted out from around the corner, one after the other.
The buzz-cut wizard carried an iron fire extinguisher pipe ripped from the wall; the one with thick-rimmed glasses had a slumping right shoulder, clearly suffering a dislocation from being slammed into the private room ceiling earlier.
"Boss!" The short-haired wizard reached out to grab Moody's arm. "The side entrance defense line is scattered; Auror patrols are converging on the third floor..."
"Don't touch my arm." Moody's voice sounded like an iron bucket being dragged across a gravel road—so hoarse the syllables were barely discernible. He pressed his palm hard against the flesh of his neck, forcing his windpipe to open a sliver. "Go first. Watch your feet. That kid buried sensory arrays in the underground pipes; don't step on the drainage grates."
The thick-rimmed glasses wizard walked ahead, his left arm half-shrunken against his side, his right hand gripping his wand to probe the way. The three of them hurried down the stairs of the emergency channel. The steps were covered in flakes of spalled concrete; Moody's brass prosthetic struck a clang with every step down, echoing far into the narrow stairwell.
When they reached the landing between the first basement level and the second, the water pipes on the wall suddenly began to shudder violently.
A two-foot square opening was torn into the top of the sewage pipe. Two thick arms reached out of the opening first, followed by a tall wizard hoisting a heavy lacquered wood trunk. That was Miller, the leader of the second team tasked with raiding the potion storage. He wore a plumber's uniform covered in black grime, and a bloody gash was torn across his cheek—clearly grazed by a backlash curse while prying open the potion storage's defensive arrays.
Behind him, two other team members were using a zip-line to haul three tightly sealed heavy leather trunks down from the ventilation shaft. The trunks let out the faint clinking of glass bottles as the pulleys rolled.
"Got it?" Moody stopped in his tracks, his left hand still clutching his neck; his magical eye spun violently in its shattered socket, locking onto the trunks.
"Half the climate-controlled storage room." Miller spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. "Sedatives, Skele-Gro, and four hundred bottles of high-grade Curse-Breaking Concentrate. It's all here. But the anti-theft powder in the storage room got loose; Davies got coated in the whole package."
The wizard helping pull the zip-line in the back looked up; his entire face glowed with an eerie, fluorescent green light in the dim underground pipes... That was St. Mungo's most notoriously difficult anti-theft dye curse; once stained, you'd light up like a beacon under any detection spell for three days.
"Can't wash it off?" The short-haired wizard sniffed.
"Wash my ass, this stuff is mixed with dragon bile." The fluorescent green-faced Davies muttered a curse, hoisting the last trunk down and dropping it onto the floor tiles. "Almost got my ribs snapped by a security curse at the shaft entrance just now. Boss, why is your neck twisted like that?"
"Shut up, grab the trunks." Moody wasted no words, taking a large step forward with his right leg directly onto the iron tracks of the underground sewer. "Take the water maintenance channel. Three minutes to Ventilation Shaft Number Three. Sebastian's Portkey is waiting at the shaft."
The six men split into two rows. Miller and Davies carried the two heaviest potion trunks in the middle; the short-haired wizard took point, sweeping away several mutated water rats crawling through the pipes with Stunning Spells. The air in the underground sewer was damp and foul-smelling; water surged forward over the iron grates beneath their feet, submerging the soles of their boots.
Moody brought up the rear. His right leg dragged through the water, the brass axle emitting a sharp screech of friction with every turn. Because of the damage to his throat, he couldn't speak loudly continuously; every time he needed to adjust the route, he used the wand in his left hand to tap against the iron pipes of the sewer... one tap meant speed up, two taps meant press against the wall to evade monitoring from the street level above.
Reaching the end of the water maintenance channel, an abandoned water pumping station appeared ahead.
A rust-mottled iron ladder led straight up to a square access hatch on the ceiling. Miller climbed up first, using a crowbar to pry the top iron cover open a crack; the night wind and drizzle from outside poured in through the gap.
"Outside is clear. The streetlights are dead; it's the blackout Sebastian arranged." Miller called down.
The trunks were hauled up one by one with ropes. Davies and the short-haired wizard climbed out of the shaft first, then tossed the rope down, looping it around Moody's waist. Moody didn't stand on ceremony; relying on the pull of the rope and the grip of his own left hand, he forcefully dragged his cumbersome prosthetic out of the underground shaft.
Climbing out of the shaft revealed an abandoned scrapyard located in London's East End. Mountains of rusted car shells and scrap iron were piled up everywhere. Rain battered against the sheet metal with a chaotic clatter.
Sebastian, wearing a dry black trench coat and holding a black umbrella, stood beside an abandoned van. In his hand was a rusted iron kettle... That was the pre-set Portkey.
"Four minutes late." Sebastian checked his pocket watch, his voice perfectly steady, devoid of any fluctuation. "McGonagall's dirigible patrol has already set up a perimeter in the sky three kilometers away. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement received the signal from St. Mungo's exterior wall and is currently searching the entire city for residues of the Anti-Disapparation string."
"As long as we got the potions." Miller slapped the pigskin trunk. "This volume is enough to supply the front line for two months."
"Counting down from three." Sebastian held the iron kettle out in the middle. "Everyone reach out and hold on tight."
The six men, along with the three heavy potion trunks, converged simultaneously. Moody grabbed the kettle's handle with his intact right hand, Davies pinched the spout with his glowing green fingers, and Miller and the other two held the potion trunks down in a death grip.
"Three, two, one."
An immense force violently yanked from deep within their navels. The scenery of the entire scrapyard warped and stretched violently in the rainy night, before vanishing completely with a muffled sonic boom.
The tearing sensation of spatial rotation lasted for about three seconds.
The group crashed heavily onto a dry wooden floor. The air was no longer filled with the foul stench and rainwater of London's underground sewers, replaced instead by a rich scent of herbs, aged wood, and the crackle of firewood burning in a hearth.
This was a safe house cabin located on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, bound by layers of secrecy laws. The room was large; the surrounding walls were plastered with parchment that concealed magic power, and explosive potion vials for defending against external enemies were piled in the corners.
Miller and Davies crashed onto the floor, the potion trunks slamming down heavily beside them with a loud thump.
"Damn Portkeys... every landing feels like getting kicked in the ass by a troll." Davies rubbed his lower back and sat up; the green fluorescence radiating from him lit the cabin's living room an eerie, sickly green.
Moody picked himself up from the ground; his prosthetic slipped on the wooden floor, nearly causing him to fall again. He reached out to brace himself against the adjacent wooden table, opened his mouth, and broke into a violent coughing fit; every cough brought up a small puddle of clotted blood containing black particles, which landed on the floor and emitted a faint, sizzling burn.
From an upholstered, high-backed chair near the living room window, a man slowly stood up.
He wore deep purple robes, the hem embroidered with a dark gold star pattern. Half-moon spectacles hung on his somewhat crooked nose; his azure eyes appeared profound and tranquil under the dim firelight of the hearth.
Dumbledore.
The Headmaster held no teacup in his hands, nor did he wear his usual genial smile. His expression appeared somewhat grim in the firelight; his gaze swept over the people in the cabin, finally landing on Moody's blood-soaked collar.
"Alastor."
Dumbledore spoke; his voice was low and gentle, yet carried a weight that suppressed the clamor of the entire room. He stepped over the heavy potion trunks, walking straight toward Moody leaning over the table.
"A bit more tragic than anticipated."
"We got the supplies, Albus." Moody forced his head up, the shattered magical eye in his socket still flashing with a faint blue light. "Half the potion storage. Enough to handle the front lines."
"Compared to the supplies, your lives are equally important."
Dumbledore drew that world-renowned Elder Wand from his sleeve. The wooden surface of the wand bore distinct knobby protrusions, gleaming with a dull, natural luster in the firelight. He made no superfluous casting motions; he merely flicked his wrist casually toward the thick-rimmed glasses wizard on the far end.
A beam of silver-white light, gentle as moonlight, burst from the tip of the wand, enveloping the thick-rimmed glasses wizard's dislocated shoulder. With a soft click, the wizard's misaligned bones automatically reset themselves within the light; the excruciating pain vanished instantly, replaced by a wave of warm, soothing comfort. The wizard froze for a moment, then hurriedly rotated his arm, a look of disbelief appearing in his eyes.
Immediately after, Dumbledore adjusted his wand slightly, pointing it at Davies, who was covered in fluorescent green.
The silver-white light transformed into a fine mist of water, flowing rapidly across the surface of Davies's skin. That anti-theft dye, supposedly mixed with dragon bile and un-washable for three days, dissolved and adhered at a rate visible to the naked eye under the silver light of the Elder Wand, ultimately transforming into a clump of dark grey, dry particles that fluttered down from Davies's clothes and skin.
"Go wash up in the next room, Davies." Dumbledore said gently.
Davies touched his face, finding the fluorescence completely extinguished; overjoyed, he bowed to Dumbledore and retreated into the side room along with the two other lightly injured team members.
Only Moody, Sebastian, Miller, and Dumbledore remained in the living room.
Dumbledore walked up to Moody, looking down at the black-purple wound on Moody's neck. His eyes narrowed slightly; his fingertips hovered an inch above the wound in mid-air, sensing the residual aura of the otherworldly demonic technique within.
"This is not any kind of Dark Magic we are familiar with."
Dumbledore's tone carried a rare note of gravity. "No malice attached with emotion, only pure, overbearing power meant to destroy meridians and flesh. From the Jiuyou Abyss of the East?"
"That kid used it." Moody spat out the bloody saliva in his mouth, leaning against the edge of the table and sitting on a wooden stool. "Wandless casting, point-blank ambush. His angle of attack was more vicious than the Ministry of Magic's top assassins. Half my magical eye was ruined by him."
"Sit still, Alastor. Don't move."
Dumbledore gently rested the tip of his wand an inch above the wound on Moody's neck.
Without chanting any complex incantations, threads of thick radiance resembling molten silver spilled from the tip of the wand, slowly seeping into Moody's damaged skin.
The instant the radiance touched the black-purple clotted blood, a piercing hiss rang out in the cabin. Those black demonic energy particles lingering deep within the muscle fibers were stripped and extracted bit by bit by the silver light, floating in mid-air before turning to ash.
Moody's body convulsed violently. This healing was not without pain; the aching numbness of regenerating flesh intertwined with the excruciating pain of forcibly extracting foreign energy, causing veins to pop out across his forehead. His hands gripped the edge of the wooden stool in a death grip, his fingers pinching deep indentations into the thick wood.
"Endure it for a moment." Dumbledore's voice remained steady; his eyes were boundlessly focused, his wand tracing incredibly complex geometric trajectories in the air with imperceptible movements.
Following the flow of the wand, the shattered thick tendon in Moody's neck began to reconnect and heal like a thread being guided. The black-purple swelling on the surface of his skin subsided at a rate visible to the naked eye, returning to its original pale skin tone.
His windpipe cleared; Moody took a long, deep breath of the herb-scented air, his chest heaving violently.
Having healed the severe injury on his neck, Dumbledore turned his wand toward the magical eye in Moody's right socket.
The tip of the Elder Wand tapped lightly against the glass sphere of the magical eye. A thread of tiny silver runes seeped into the interior of the magical eye following the wand; the broken brass gears and shattered optical crystals spun rapidly and reassembled themselves under the effect of the magic. A few seconds later, the previously dim and malfunctioning magical eye once again burst with bright blue light, rolling nimbly within the socket, its omnidirectional field of vision fully restored.
Having finished all this, Dumbledore withdrew his wand, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to Moody.
"Your body is no longer suited for such high-intensity, head-on clashes, Alastor."
Moody took the handkerchief, forcefully wiping away the blood and plaster dust from his face; his magical eye rolled to look at the three potion trunks on the table.
"On the chessboard, no one can stay in a safe place forever, Albus. That Jerry kid is no longer the little wizard who just ran away from Hogwarts half a year ago. In the Cultivation world, he learned how to divide the battlefield into three, four layers to scheme against us. If I hadn't prepared purely physical Blast Spheres today, the entire Breach Team would have been wiped out inside that purple-haired woman's Blood Butterfly Array."
Sebastian stepped forward, pulling a high-backed chair to the table and sitting down, legs crossed, his fingers interlaced and resting on his knee.
"According to intelligence just received, McGonagall has locked down the fourth floor of St. Mungo's. Narcissa Malfoy took over the on-site investigation with a Ministry of Magic emergency Auror squad. The Anti-Disapparation string and explosion residue we left behind have all been logged into the records by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Barring any surprises, Margaret's proposal at the Department of Mobilization will face inquiries from the Wizengamot first thing tomorrow morning."
"Let them inquire." Moody let out a cold snort, glaring at Sebastian with his revitalized magical eye. "We got the potions. Without this batch of psychiatric concentrates, the wizards on the front lines who suffered spiritual shock from Cultivators would completely collapse across the board within three days. A legal battle can be fought for half a year without yielding a result, but the lives on the front line can't wait half a year."
Dumbledore paced over to the wooden trunks, extending a slender finger to stroke the seal on the lacquered wood.
"The sensory array Jerry left in the emergency channel linked to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement indicates he anticipated we would take drastic measures from the very start," Dumbledore said calmly. "He was paving the way for Miller and McGonagall, attempting to use the Ministry of Magic's internal legal procedures to hamstring the Order of the Phoenix's operations. This is an exceedingly far-sighted strategy."
"A pity he didn't anticipate my true target was the underground potion storage." Moody bared his teeth, revealing a smile laced with the scent of blood. "He thought he schemed three steps ahead of me on layer one; in reality, I pulled the rug out from under him on layer zero."
"Did you truly pull the rug out, Alastor?"
Dumbledore turned around, his azure eyes looking quietly at Moody through his half-moon spectacles.
"Jerry's probing spell covered the entire building, yet it conveniently missed the underground climate-controlled layer. With his caution, do you think this was an oversight on his part, or an exit he deliberately left for us?"
The atmosphere in the cabin froze for an instant.
Miller, who was organizing the trunks, stopped his hands, looking up at Dumbledore in surprise. Sebastian's brow furrowed slightly as well, his index finger tapping nimbly twice against his knee.
Moody's magical eye constricted violently.
"Are you saying... he knew we were going to hit the potion storage?"
"He doesn't need to know what we are going to hit." Dumbledore walked to the fireplace, picked up a poker, and stirred the firewood inside, making the fire burn brighter. "He only needs to know that the Order of the Phoenix, for the sake of frontline material support, would absolutely not return empty-handed.
"If he had completely sealed us in on the fourth floor, leaving no room for profit, then the escalating conflict would immediately detonate on the front lines. But he left a visual blind spot at the underground potion storage, allowing us to obtain the desperately needed supplies, while he simultaneously seized total advantage legally and in the court of public opinion."
Dumbledore turned his head, looking at the deep in thought Moody; his tone was even, but every word carried heavy weight.
"He secured the moral and legal high ground, and we secured heavy potion trunks. In the ensuing war of public opinion, the Order of the Phoenix will have to bear the infamous reputation of 'attacking medical facilities and violently robbing frontline supplies'. This was the retreat route he prepared for you, Alastor."
Moody fell silent for a long time. He looked down at his left hand, which had finally returned to normal, the knuckles white from gripping too hard.
"This kid... is even more ruthless than I imagined. Not only does he want to win the battle in front of him, but he also wants to hold all the moral cards for what comes next."
"This is war, Alastor." Dumbledore put down the poker, slipping his hands back into the pockets of his voluminous robes. "When he begins combining the Cultivation world's endgame mindset with the rules of the wizarding world, we are no longer facing a student with weaknesses."
"Then what do we do next?" Miller couldn't help but ask. "Do we still publish the exclusive interview in the Daily Prophet?"
"Publish it." Sebastian spoke, his eyes cold. "Use the headline as planned. Classify the conflict as 'A Misunderstanding and Emergency Action During an Extreme Rescue Operation'. Since we got the supplies, we must muddy the waters of public opinion. We cannot let McGonagall and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement unilaterally control the narrative."
"Albus, when do you plan to meet him personally?" Moody suddenly looked up at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore walked to the window and pushed open a corner of the wooden shutter. The night wind outside blew in, ruffling his long, silvery-white beard. The distant mountains of Hogsmeade presented an undulating silhouette in the dark night, starlight faintly visible between the clouds.
"It is not yet time." Dumbledore's voice was as light as a breeze. "The fluctuations from the Boundary River are becoming increasingly frequent. The karmic pull of the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion is probing the barrier of the wizarding world."
He turned around, looking at everyone in the room.
"Everyone has worked hard tonight. Hand the potion trunks over to the frontline supply team, and then return to your respective safe houses. In the coming days, London will not be peaceful."
Moody stood up, grabbed his wand resting against the table, and his brass prosthetic leg resumed its steady, thumping rhythm on the wooden floor. He didn't say another word, turning and walking toward the back door of the safe house. Miller and Sebastian also hoisted the potion trunks and followed close behind, leaving the cabin.
The firelight in the hearth gradually dimmed, leaving only red-hot embers radiating residual heat.
Dumbledore stood alone by the window. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small, antiquated, bronze-colored circular compass. The needle of the compass did not point north or south; instead, it spun erratically across the dial, finally pointing faintly toward the east... the direction leading through the Boundary River to the Cultivation world community.
The dust in the fourth-floor corridor of St. Mungo's hadn't yet settled, and the magical aftershocks from the direction of the emergency channel still vibrated faintly in the air.
Accompanied by the crisp sound of marching footsteps, a full squad of eight regular Ministry of Magic Aurors in pitch-black uniforms stepped over the shattered bricks and crossed the breached wall.
Walking at the very front was not a frontline Ministry commander, but a noblewoman draped in a deep blue suede robe with silver trim.
Narcissa Malfoy held a slender white birch wand in her hand. Her neat blonde hair was pinned behind her head with a few dark silver hairpins; even stepping over rubble, her posture remained elegant and composed.
She did not represent the Order of the Phoenix. Instead, in her capacity as Special Security Inspection Consultant for the Ministry of Magic, she had brought the Ministry emergency Auror squad stationed near Diagon Alley to the scene at the very first moment.
The instant she stepped into the corridor, Narcissa's gaze bypassed the floor covered in plaster powder and the signs of battle, landing squarely upon the boy standing at the door to the private room.
"Squad, fan out. Lock down the stairwells above and below, and the emergency channel exit.
"Examine the walls for magic power residue; collect all traces of explosives and Dark Magic. Without my permission, no reporters are allowed to enter the fourth floor for the time being."
She issued commands to the Auror squad behind her in a flat tone, her eyes never leaving Jerry. The squad leader offered a bow of acknowledgment and immediately led his subordinates to deploy and search along both sides of the corridor. Narcissa took a few steps forward, stepping over the shattered floor tiles to arrive in front of the private room. Her gaze swept downward from Jerry's slightly frail shoulders; after confirming he had no obvious wounds or bloodstains on his person, that tightly strung, elegant face quietly relaxed a fraction.
"You appear completely unscathed."
"The one-eyed freak left a little souvenir, but I didn't let him gain the upper hand."
Jerry tucked the wand in his hand back into his waistband, leaning casually against the broken doorframe. He was nearly half a head shorter than Narcissa; wearing only a thin, old shirt, his figure appeared quite slight in front of the tall, noblewoman in high heels. Narcissa took a small step forward; her slender fingertips gently pushed his shoulder, her tone carrying a light reproach reserved only for when they were alone.
"Come outside to speak. The corridor is full of Aurors' eyes."
She turned and pulled open the door to an adjacent, intact private caregiver restroom, turning sideways to motion for Jerry to enter. Jerry raised an eyebrow and obediently slipped inside. Narcissa followed him in, closing the heavy door back-handed, simultaneously casting a silent Colloportus and Muffliato charm. The lock clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the Aurors searching outside.
The restroom space wasn't particularly lavish; a sink and a large bronze mirror sat against the wall. The faucet above the sink wasn't shut tight, dripping cool beads of water with a tap-tap sound.
The instant the door locked, Narcissa dropped the icy mask of the aristocratic lady. She took a step forward, her long, fair arms wrapping directly around the back of Jerry's neck, pulling his entire body into her embrace. Jerry's forehead pressed against the soft fabric just below her collarbone, the elegant, cool fragrance she wore distinctly reaching his nose.
"No word for half a month, and you cause such a massive commotion the moment you return. Do you have any idea how fast my heart was beating when I received the news?"
Her palm stroked the back of Jerry's head, her fingertips threading through his slightly disheveled black hair, sliding all the way down his nape to caress his slender back. Held tightly in her embrace, Jerry reached out and wrapped his arms around her slender waist, forcefully squeezing those lush curves through the luxurious robes.
"Missed me?"
"What do you think, you little pervert."
Narcissa lowered her head, her cool lips pressing directly against his. Her kiss carried the urgency of a long-awaited reunion and a touch of possessiveness; her long tongue probed nimbly, intertwining with his. Jerry stood on his tiptoes to meet her; his hands trailed upward along the sides of her waist, slipping inside the deep blue robe, pinching the soft flesh beneath her ribs through her thin blouse.
Narcissa let out a soft moan, releasing his lips. Leaning back slightly, she looked down, panting lightly, at this young lover who was a good deal younger than herself. Her face was flushed with a shallow pink from emotional agitation, her eyes revealing a coy charm and seductiveness absolutely impossible to witness at Malfoy Manor under normal circumstances.
"Look at this physique of yours; you're clearly still an undergrown little thing. How is it that every time you make a move, you're more ruthless than those Aurors."
"A small physique doesn't mean I'm small everywhere else. Aren't you the one who knows that best?"
Jerry's lips curled into a wicked grin; his right hand slid directly up her skirt. Her long thighs were clad in cold, smooth pantyhose; the metal suspender clips possessed a rigid texture beneath his fingertips. Touched by him, Narcissa's legs clamped tight; she subconsciously leaned against the edge of the sink, her back pressed against the cold mirror.
"The sink is too hard..."
"Then sit on it."
Jerry took a step forward, his hands supporting the round base of her thighs, lifting forcefully upward. Although his stature was slight, having undergone the dual tempering of the Cultivation world's spiritual Qi and magic power, the explosive strength in his arms far exceeded that of an ordinary wizard. Narcissa let out a gasp as she was effortlessly lifted by him, naturally sitting down on the wide basin countertop.
Her long legs naturally parted on either side of Jerry's waist, the hem of her deep blue robe spreading outward like blooming petals. Narcissa wore lace-trimmed panties today, which were already somewhat damp from the arousal of their reunion. Jerry reached out and pulled that thin piece of fabric to one side; the cool air immediately made Narcissa's delicate body tremble slightly.
"Wait a moment... the Aurors are still searching in the corridor right outside..."
"The Muffliato charm is thick enough; they can't hear."
Jerry spoke as he unfastened his own belt. That massive object, completely disproportionate to his slight build, sprang out; the coronal head was swollen red and shiny, and pre-cum had already seeped out to form a small pearlescent drop. Narcissa glanced down, the corner of her eye twitching slightly; her long fingers subconsciously gripped Jerry's collar tight.
This massive physical contrast always filled her with a genuine sense of trepidation amidst her infatuation. The boy before her looked as frail as a Hogwarts student who hadn't even graduated, yet this colossal object in his crotch managed to thrash her within an inch of her life every single time.
"You... monster..."
Narcissa panted softly, her hands bracing the edge of the sink, actively lifting her hips to meet him. Jerry gripped the thick shaft; the tip ground a few times against her wet labia, drawing out a faint, sticky wet sound.
The water droplets from the faucet fell with a tap-tap, intertwining with the soft sounds of impact as the two bodies on the countertop drew close.
Jerry pushed with his waist, thrusting fiercely forward.
The massive coronal head brutally forced open the tight channel, squeezing inside with overwhelming momentum. Narcissa arched her slender neck; her fair hands gripped Jerry's shoulders in a death grip, her long nails sinking into his flesh through the old shirt. Her mouth gaped open, but at the very last moment, she forcefully swallowed the scream about to burst from her lips, reducing it to an incredibly suppressed exhalation.
The flower path was too narrow. For a meat pillar this abnormally thick, every single entry was a process of forced widening. The vaginal walls were stretched utterly flat, the soft folds inside ruthlessly crushed over; a sensation of aching fullness instantly swept through Narcissa's entire body.
"Too full... Jerry... slower..."
Narcissa's voice carried a hint of a sob, physical tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Her legs wrapped tightly around Jerry's waist, her long toes tense, feeling that colossal object fill the absolute deepest void of her body bit by bit.
Jerry did not stop. His hands firmly pressed against the smooth inner sides of her thighs, forcing her legs even further apart. His frail body pressed tightly against her lush, tall physique; his lower abdomen collided frequently with her pubic bone, producing a series of crisp, sticky smack-smack sounds.
"Didn't you say you missed me? Can't take it already?"
Jerry whispered teasingly in her ear, while simultaneously his hips began to thrust rapidly.
The range of his entry and exit was massive; every time, he nearly withdrew completely, leaving only the very tip hanging between her hot, wet labia, before using the momentum to slam the entire length back to the bottom. The sensitive cervix deep within the flower path was frequently rammed and crushed by the thick coronal head, bringing wave after wave of numbing, electric pleasure.
Narcissa's head rested against the mirror; the cold glass formed a stark contrast with the scorching heat of the back of her head. With Jerry's high-frequency thrusting, the already damp interior of her flower path secreted more and more bodily fluids; dragged out of the entrance by the thick shaft, they churned out crisp, squelching wet sounds where their bodies connected.
This sound was exceptionally clear and jarring in the quiet restroom.
"Bastard... the wet sounds are too loud..."
Narcissa reached out for the faucet behind her, her trembling fingertips twisting the tap open. Tap water immediately gushed from the brass pipe, washing down the basin of the sink, masking the shameful wet sounds of copulation on the countertop.
Watching her trying to maintain the dignity of a noblewoman while simultaneously being completely consumed by pleasure, the smile on Jerry's lips deepened. Freeing one hand, he reached out and grabbed Narcissa's chin, forcing her to look down at the point of their connection.
The deep blue hem was bunched up on both sides; her fair, long thighs were spread wide open. That terrifyingly thick meat pillar was brutally withdrawing and plunging within the wet crevice. Every time it went deep, it would drag the everted tender flesh deep into the flower path, subsequently squeezing out a large swath of transparent juices mixed with white foam, dripping down the roots of her thighs onto the sink.
"Look, Mrs. Malfoy. Your body is much more honest than your mouth."
"Shut up... you bad seed..."
Narcissa bit her lower lip, her eyes somewhat unfocused. This intense contrast of "a small horse pulling a big cart" caused her to sink deeper and deeper every single time. It was clearly a boy a full cycle (12 years) younger than herself, yet right now he was like a ruler controlling everything, rampaging wildly within her body with the most primal, most formidable power.
Jerry accelerated the rhythm of his thrusts.
An unbelievable impact force erupted from his frail body; every downward plunge felt as if he were trying to embed himself completely within her. The coronal head swept across every single sensitive wall of flesh within the narrow flower path; the tip ground against the core protrusion on the inner wall, forcing Narcissa into a state where, as if all her bones had been removed, she collapsed limply onto Jerry's shoulder.
Her two hands pressed in a death grip against Jerry's lower back; her long legs swung ceaselessly to the rhythm of his thrusts.
The tap water in the sink splashed loudly; water droplets splashed onto the cuffs of his pants and the hem of her skirt, wetting a small patch. The connection point on the countertop was flooded with glistening water; the sticky bodily fluids, mixed with the squeezed-out foam, slowly slid down along the edge of the countertop.
"Jerry... I can't take it... I'm close..."
Narcissa's breathing became incredibly ragged. Her hands hugged Jerry's neck tightly; she opened her mouth and bit down on his shoulder. She didn't bite hard; she merely clamped down on that piece of shirt fabric with her teeth, using it to suppress the scream about to tear from her throat.
The interior of the flower path began to convulse violently.
Layer after layer of flesh walls strangled that thick object like countless tiny mouths, attempting to stop its entry and exit. The cervix deep within contracted even more violently, spraying jets of scalding, cloudy fluid, ruthlessly irrigating the coronal head swollen to its absolute limit.
Extreme pleasure instantly spread from the focal point of their connection to Narcissa's entire body. Her eyes rolled up slightly; her body spasmed violently. Her toes curled tightly together, and her entire lower abdomen shuddered involuntarily with the arrival of climax.
Feeling the strangling force inside that threatened to snap him in half, Jerry's eyes darkened.
He did not pull out. Instead, he forcefully shoved the entire meat pillar to the absolute deepest point; the coronal head pressed dead tight against that open small mouth, his hips maintaining the highest frequency of microscopic friction.
The smack-smack-smack of impact was as dense as a sudden squall.
"Give it to me... give it all to me..."
With a low growl from Jerry, the object in the deepest recess suddenly swelled a size larger. Thick, scalding semen sprayed like a high-pressure nozzle, jet after jet blasting into Narcissa's convulsing depths.
"Mmh!"
Narcissa's lips released Jerry's shoulder; her entire body arched into a beautiful curve. The afterglow of climax, combined with the dual stimulation of a massive volume of scalding semen pouring in, assaulted her fragile nerves, leaving her unable to even breathe. Massive amounts of bodily fluids mixed with semen overflowed from the entrance that could no longer close completely, streaming wantonly down the roots of her thighs, turning the water stains on the countertop into a complete mess.
Only the rushing sound of water and their heavy panting remained in the restroom.
A long time later, the spasms of climax gradually subsided.
Narcissa leaned vacantly against Jerry's embrace, her hair somewhat disheveled and scattered over her shoulders, a few strands of golden silk sticking to her sweat-drenched cheeks. Jerry slowly withdrew that still-erect, thick object from her body.
The instant it left, it drew out an exceptionally loud popping sound.
Ploosh.
A massive volume of mixed fluids accumulated inside surged out as the object was withdrawn, splashing onto the tiles of the sink.
Narcissa shot him a weak glare, extending a long finger to tap him lightly on the forehead.
"Making such a mess every time... how am I supposed to go out and face those Aurors later?"
Jerry casually grabbed a clean towel from the side, dampened it with warm water from the countertop, and bent down to gently wipe away the mess on her inner thighs and between her crevices. As he wiped, he looked up, revealing a wicked grin.
"Mrs. Malfoy, would you like me to help you with a Scouring Charm?"
"Just wipe it clean with your hands, and cut the chatter."
Narcissa huffed, but allowed him to serve her. Only after Jerry wiped the fluids clean did she slide down from the sink, supporting herself on Jerry's shoulders. The instant her feet touched the ground, the aching numbness from the roots of her thighs made her body sway slightly; Jerry quickly steadied her waist.
Narcissa rolled her eyes at him, reaching out to straighten her somewhat disheveled robes. She drew her wand from her waist, used it to fix her stray hair in the mirror, and pinned her blonde hair back up with the silver hairpin. Her originally damp nether regions returned to a dry state under the effect of the Scouring Charm, but that soreness from being thoroughly filled and violently pounded still served as a clear reminder of everything that had just occurred.
She stood in front of the mirror. The bashfulness and seductiveness on her face faded rapidly within a few seconds, replaced by that noble, glamorous, inviolable image of Mrs. Malfoy.
Jerry had also sorted his pants out, fastening his belt tight.
Narcissa turned around, reached out to straighten Jerry's skewed shirt collar for him, her fingertips brushing lightly over his collarbone.
"That bunch from the Order of the Phoenix won't let this go. Moody was severely injured tonight, but he stole what was in the potion storage; there will be major moves within the Ministry of Magic very soon. Be careful."
"He stole the potion storage, which provides McGonagall with the perfect excuse." Jerry smiled. "What about you? You led a team over here and didn't catch the sheep; how are you going to explain yourself to the Ministry when you get back?"
"I am here to assist in investigating the attack, not to arrest anyone."
Narcissa raised her chin elegantly, reaching out and dispelling the Colloportus and Muffliato charms on the door.
"Let's go, little one. If we stay any longer, the Aurors outside will think I've been interrogating you in here."
The lock clicked open. Narcissa resumed her dignified and solemn posture, stepping elegantly out of the restroom in her high heels. Jerry, with his hands in his pockets, followed unhurriedly behind her, a meaningful smile hanging on his lips.
The Aurors in the corridor outside were still diligently cleaning up the scene, completely oblivious to what kind of exhilarating secret contest had just concluded between the noblewoman consultant leading them and that frail-looking, black-haired boy.