The corridor at the corner of the Slytherin dungeon's side hall remained deserted.
Jerry tucked the slender, emerald-green Quick-Quotes Quill into his pocket. He had barely taken a few steps down the damp flagstone path when the door of a public restroom nearby, hung with a wooden "Out of Order" sign, suddenly opened a crack.
Before Jerry could clearly see the movement inside, a pale, slender hand suddenly reached out from the crack and clamped firmly around his wrist. The force was startlingly strong, the fingers practically digging into his flesh. A muffled, dragging force followed, yanking Jerry bodily into the dim restroom.
Bang!
The wooden door slammed shut heavily. An incredibly practiced, silent Muffliato and Colloportus charm instantly blanketed the entire door panel, cleanly shutting out the sounds of footsteps from the corridor outside.
There were no lights on in the restroom, only a thin sliver of sunlight seeping in through a high window.
The young girl leaning against the door panted heavily, her voluminous brown curls looking somewhat disheveled from emotional agitation. Hermione Granger pinned Jerry's shoulders in a death grip, trapping him between herself and the door panel. Her brown eyes, which usually radiated rationality and wisdom, were currently filled with a dense, glittering light, and an unnatural flush rimmed her eye sockets.
"You finally came back..."
Hermione's voice carried an intensely suppressed hoarseness, her lips trembling slightly. Her hands slid up Jerry's neck, seizing the hair at the back of his head in a death grip, pressing him down right in front of her face.
"Half a month... a full half a month! Where did you go? No replies to letters, nowhere to be found! Do you know how I spent this past half month?"
Pinned against the door by her, Jerry raised an eyebrow, his gaze sliding down her slightly skewed Gryffindor tie.
"Miss Know-It-All Granger, why are you acting like a Dark Wizard blocking the road to mug someone?"
"Cut the crap with me!"
Hermione cried out coquettishly; her eyes locked onto Jerry's lips, and she threw herself forward as if possessed, biting ruthlessly into Jerry's lips. Her kiss possessed no technique to speak of, only an almost venting-like suction and grinding. Her tender tongue forcefully pried open Jerry's teeth, frantically searching and spiraling inside.
A scent mixing sweetness and anxiety instantly permeated the air.
Hermione's legs went weak; her body plastered against Jerry's frail physique, her lower abdomen heaving violently. As she kissed Jerry forcefully, she let out faint swallowing sounds; she was like a traveler who had been thirsty in the desert for over a dozen days, desperately drawing out the residual warmth and breath within Jerry's mouth.
A long time passed before Hermione pantingly released his lips. A transparent thread of saliva stretched between their lips, eventually snapping in the air.
"Not enough... not enough at all..."
Hermione's hands slid down Jerry's chest, her trembling little hands pressing against Jerry's belt buckle. A light bordering on obsession gleamed in her eyes; the image of the rigorous, proud top student was thoroughly ripped to shreds in this moment by the roaring instinct of desire within her.
"During this time... my magical core has been feeling empty every day! Without the nourishment of your bodily fluids, I can't even sleep at night! All my dreams are about the smell down there!"
As Hermione complained incoherently, she dropped straight down to her knees onto the wet flagstone floor with a thud.
She couldn't care less that her school skirt trailed in the puddles; her two hands deftly ripped open the button of Jerry's pants. Her slender fingers, trembling with anxiety, yanked Jerry's underwear along with his pants all the way down to the roots of his thighs.
That massive object, already in a semi-engorged state, instantly sprang out, hitting Hermione's cheek.
The forearm-thick shaft radiated steaming heat; the purplish-red coronal head was the size of a fist, and the crevice at the tip still bore the faint white foam and clear liquid left over from his recent copulation with Rita. That intense, primal masculine scent flooded Hermione's nasal cavity, making her whole body tremble violently.
"This is the smell... I've been going crazy missing it..."
Without the slightest hesitation, Hermione opened her mouth, threw herself forward, and took that massive, scalding head directly into her mouth.
Slurp!
An incredibly loud, piercing wet sound exploded in the empty restroom.
Jerry's meat pillar was simply too huge. Even with Hermione opening her mouth wide, the corners of her mouth stretched tight and taut, she could only barely swallow the better half of the coronal head. The thick, hard flesh forcefully propped open her lips, pushing her cheeks out into two exaggerated bulges.
Like a starving glutton, Hermione frantically licked and circled her tongue around the scalding slit. She struggled to contract her throat, trying to swallow this monster even deeper. But every time the coronal head hit the back of her throat, it induced a violent physiological gag reflex.
Nausea and extreme satisfaction exploded simultaneously within her.
Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, Hermione looked up at Jerry, her hands firmly gripping his inner thighs, bobbing her head up and down even more desperately.
Squish... smack... squish...
The side hall restroom was instantly filled with rich, wet sounds.
Because Hermione hadn't received nourishment for a long time, the craving within her had long since built to a critical point. Her saliva surged endlessly from beneath her tongue, enveloping the thick, hard shaft. Because her mouth was stuffed too full to swallow, massive amounts of bodily fluids, mixed with the sweet scent of Jerry's pre-cum, slid wildly down from the corners of her mouth.
The clear liquid went drip-drop onto the floor, turning the flagstones around her knees into a complete mess.
"Mmh... gulp... ha-ah..."
Hermione let out incoherent whimpers in the gaps between swallowing and spitting. Her tongue nimbly scraped back and forth along the thick, bulging veins on the side of the meat pillar; every time she licked down the crevices to the base, it made Jerry's waist twitch slightly involuntarily.
Looking down, Jerry watched the normally haughty and rigorous Gryffindor top student currently kneeling between his legs like a bitch in heat, her mouth gaping wide as she desperately sucked on his lower body, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
He reached out and pressed down on Hermione's voluminous brown curls, his fingers threading through her hair, pushing forcefully forward.
"Granger, aren't you quite formidable when answering questions in class? Why can't you even swallow a single stick right now?"
Pushed by him, the whites of Hermione's eyes showed slightly; her throat constricted again, lodging the coronal head dead tight at the entrance of her esophagus. The intense feeling of suffocation made her feet kick wildly on the floor, but not only did she not pull back, her two little hands hugged Jerry's buttocks, actively cooperating with Jerry's downward press, burying her head even deeper.
"Swallow... I can swallow it..."
Hermione panted coquettishly in the gap of pulling her head back, saliva drawing silver threads down her chin.
"Give it to me... give me all of your bodily fluids! You are not allowed to leave a single drop for any other woman!"
She threw herself back on, gripping the heavy sacs below with both hands, kneading vigorously. Her little mouth acted like a water pump supercharged with magic, pumping frantically back and forth along the shaft.
Due to the massive range of her movements, the rough meat pillar frequently rubbed against her wet oral cavity, producing series of sharp, piercing smack-smack sounds.
Hermione even utilized the faint magic power she had been researching recently, condensing a layer of warm, stimulating magical effect on the tip of her tongue, stimulating Jerry's sensitive nerves.
Being subjected to this out-of-control, maddened display of hers caused Jerry's eyes to darken.
Gripping Hermione's head with both hands, his waist began to thrust forward at high frequency. Explosive power erupted from his frail body; every downward plunge stuffed the thick meat pillar entirely into Hermione's tightly stretched mouth, colliding with the walls of her throat.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Massive amounts of saliva were squeezed into white foam, piling up around the corners of Hermione's mouth.
Hermione's eyes lost focus; her entire body was trembling. She drowned in the pleasure of having her oral cavity brutally filled; her lower abdomen twitched frequently, and the inner thighs beneath her skirt were long since soaked into a puddle.
"It's coming... give it to me... hurry!"
Hermione let out an incoherent plea; her little mouth tightly enveloped the coronal head, the tip of her tongue pressing against the slit, spiraling wildly.
Jerry's waist sank abruptly, shoving the thick object to the absolute deepest point, his hands pinning Hermione's head dead tight, preventing her from retreating even an inch.
Thick, scalding liquid instantly erupted from deep within the slit.
Massive spurts of scalding bodily fluids acted like a high-pressure nozzle, blasting directly into the depths of Hermione's esophagus.
"Mmh——! Gulp... gulp..."
Hermione's eyes instantly flew wide open, her pupils constricting. Forced to open her throat, she took large gulps, swallowing this long-awaited thick nectar. That liquid, carrying a searing temperature and a unique overtone of magical power, slid down her esophagus into her stomach, instantly transforming into a warm stream of light that radiated toward her limbs and bones.
With every massive gulp swallowed, Hermione's delicate body convulsed violently.
The massive amount of liquid that couldn't be swallowed in one go overflowed from the corners of her mouth, hanging from her snow-white chin, dripping tick-tock onto the collar of her chest.
A long while later, the eruption finally subsided.
Jerry slowly withdrew that still-erect, thick meat pillar from her mouth.
Pop!
A loud popping sound echoed in the quiet restroom.
Hermione lay prone on the ground, panting heavily, a mixture of white foam and clear liquid hanging from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were full of the vacancy and haziness of satiation, her cheeks flushed as red as if they were bleeding.
She stuck out her tongue, carefully licking the remaining few drops of liquid from the corners of her mouth back in; she even sucked clean the tiny bit that had stained her fingers.
"Ha-ah... finally... I'm alive again..."
Hermione leaned limply against Jerry's leg, resting for quite a while before standing up from the floor.
She took out a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. Looking at Jerry's massive object still standing erect in the air, a flash of slyness and coquettishness passed through her eyes.
"Just eating my fill with my mouth won't do... I have something good to show you."
As Hermione spoke, she pulled that vine-wood wand from her pocket. Her lips parted slightly; her eyes revealed a complex look, intertwining the unique pride of a top student with uninhibited wantonness.
"You weren't here this past half month, but I haven't been idle. Aside from researching curses, I combined the Body Growth Magic from advanced Transfiguration with the Undetectable Extension Charm used for stealth."
"Growth Magic?" Jerry raised an eyebrow, reaching out to pinch her still-trembling little cheek.
"Watch."
Hermione gave a coquettish huff, pressed the tip of her wand against her chest, and softly chanted an incredibly complex Transfiguration incantation.
The next second, an astonishing scene unfolded.
The standard Gryffindor middle-school uniform Hermione wore was instantly stretched and widened by an invisible force. Accompanied by a faint sound of bone growth and friction, Hermione's originally slender, petite young girl's body began to shoot up and develop at a rate visible to the naked eye!
Her legs became incredibly long and firm; her previously slightly chubby waist thinned out; the twin peaks on her chest expanded rapidly like blown balloons, pushing the white shirt out into an incredibly exaggerated, full curve. Her voluminous brown curls lengthened, cascading over her now-broadened, slender shoulders.
Within a few short seconds, Hermione transformed from a seventeen-year-old high school girl directly into an astonishing beauty, nearly 1.85 meters tall, with a bursting, voluptuous figure, radiating the ultimate charm of a mature woman!
Standing in front of her, Jerry's already slight build now only reached Hermione's chest.
"How about it? Little hero?"
The grown-up Hermione spoke, her voice becoming incredibly mellow and enticing, carrying a languidness unique to mature women. She looked down at Jerry from her high vantage point, her eyes full of excitement over this physical contrast.
Before Jerry could speak, Hermione waved her wand again.
"Invisibility Cloak—Omni-Extension!"
A transparent ripple of magic power instantly expanded from the tip of her wand, thoroughly enveloping both her and Jerry within it. The two figures in the restroom vanished into thin air instantly, even the scent of bodily fluids and the sound of footsteps in the air completely masked.
The next second, the grown-up Hermione extended two full, strong arms, effortlessly lifting the frail Jerry entirely off the ground!
Jerry's legs naturally wrapped around the outsides of Hermione's long thighs; that thick, hard meat pillar pressed unhindered against Hermione's tall, mature lower abdomen. Pinning Jerry's frail body dead tight against her full, towering chest, Hermione supported Jerry's buttocks with her two large hands, holding him in her arms like holding a child.
"Let's go; I'll take you out for a stroll."
Hermione whispered into Jerry's ear, her mature aura exhaling warm breath.
The locked restroom door was pushed open soundlessly.
To the outside world, the corridor was completely empty; only a faintly perceptible, light breeze swept past.
The grown-up Hermione held the frail Jerry, stepping with silent strides, walking straight out of the restroom and stepping onto the bustling main corridor of Hogwarts.
People were coming and going in the corridor.
A few Gryffindor students were gathered together discussing this morning's Daily Prophet, loudly arguing while holding Jerry's moving photograph.
"Did you hear? Jerry single-handedly repelled several dozen senior wizards from the enemy side!"
"Real or fake? He clearly looks so small and frail..."
The instant they brushed past each other, the grown-up Hermione hugged Jerry tighter, smiling as she walked right through the middle of those students. Her body was tall and full; due to the effect of the invisibility magic, the students only felt a warm breeze rise beside them, completely unaware that the hero they idolized was currently being held in the arms of a grown-up, brown-haired female top student in an incredibly shameful posture!
Jerry wrapped his hands around the back of Hermione's broad, soft neck, his frail body pressed against her scalding form. He let out a wicked chuckle, reached out one hand, thrust it directly into the unbuttoned collar of Hermione's shirt, and pressed it against that incredibly soft, full mound of flesh that had grown so large, kneading forcefully.
"Mmh..."
In the middle of the bustling crowd, the invisible Hermione's delicate body trembled violently, nearly humming out loud. Biting her lower lip tightly, her large hands holding Jerry's buttocks pressed forcefully; her long legs went slightly weak, yet she still took steady strides forward.
"Don't move around... there are people all around..." Hermione pleaded in a very low voice near his ear, her voice entirely filled with irrepressible desire.
Not only did Jerry not withdraw his hand, but he also thrust the other hand in as well, his two hands wantonly kneading and playing with her massive, full chest, pinching it into various exaggerated shapes. At the same time, that thick meat pillar hanging in the air continuously rubbed back and forth against Hermione's long inner thighs and abdomen with the sway of her walk, drawing out waves of sticky wet sounds.
The two of them passed all the way through the main corridor, walked across the Grand Staircase, and even ran head-on into the castle caretaker Filch, who was searching everywhere with a rag in his hand.
Filch sniffed, looking over suspiciously, but saw nothing, turning away while cursing under his breath.
Hermione sneaked through the air, holding Jerry, enjoying this ultimate thrill right in broad daylight, under the very noses of countless schoolmates. She walked briskly along the subterranean corridor; her chest was flushed red layer upon layer from Jerry's kneading, and her nether regions had long since become a flooded disaster zone.
Finally, the two stopped in front of the heavy wooden door of the club activity room.
Leaning against the door panel, Hermione dispelled the invisibility and growth magic.
Her body rapidly shrank back to its original size; she collapsed limply into Jerry's arms as if exhausted, panting heavily, her eyes completely filled with infatuation and attachment for Jerry.
After the click of the activity room's heavy door locking sounded, the minute vibrations in the air completely subsided.
Hermione patted the wrinkles on the hem of her top, raising her hand to gather the stray brown curls by her ears back behind her head.
She grabbed Jerry's palm, pulling him straight past the wooden screen hung with herbal specimens on the outside, stopping in front of the seemingly seamless stone wall at the very back of the activity room.
Her wand tapped lightly three times on the third uneven stone texture in the corner; a layer of dark gold magical light patterns instantly surfaced on the stone skin.
The stone wall rumbled open to both sides, revealing a wide staircase extending downward; an incredibly intense metallic smell mixed with the unique bitter aroma of boiled herbs rushed to their faces.
"Come in, my little Commander-in-Chief."
Hermione pulled Jerry down the stairs. The underground storage room, originally used merely to store old brooms and discarded cauldrons, had now been completely knocked through and expanded.
The entire underground hall was a full half the size of the Great Hall; Ever-Burning Daylight Charm crystals were embedded in the four walls, lighting the interior brilliantly.
Dead center in the hall, golden light almost blinded the eyes. Countless Galleons were piled haphazardly on the flagstone floor like a small hill; the Flying Broomstick emblem engraved on every single coin gleamed with an enticing luster under the magical light.
Beside the pile of gold coins, hundreds upon thousands of sealed shipping crates forged from hardwood were stacked neatly, reaching straight to the five-meter-high ceiling.
Hermione took two steps to the pile of gold coins, bent down, and grabbed a full handful of Galleons. She then raised her arm, letting the gold coins clatter down through her fingers, smashing against the mountain of gold, echoing with a crisp, piercing sound of impact.
"Forty-seven thousand Galleons exactly. And this is just the net profit cleared last Sunday."
She turned around, crossing her arms over her chest, naturally leaning against the edge of a half-open wooden crate nearby. She wore an almost proudly unbridled smile on her face, her long legs crossed, the corners of her eyes tilted upward.
"During the half month you were missing, the market for Quidditch World Cup merchandise turned upside down long ago. Everyone can barely save their own lives right now; who has the mind to go buy those glowing Quidditch team badges and Flying Broomstick models?"
Jerry stepped over a few scattered wooden crates, walked to the pile of Galleons, casually picked up a gold coin, and flicked it with his fingertip. The gold coin spun rapidly in the air, emitting a whirring sound as it cut through the air, before landing securely back in his palm.
"So you tore down the factory?"
"Tore it down? That's the kind of stupid thing a mediocre wizard would do."
Hermione huffed; a slender finger extended and poked forcefully against Jerry's chest.
"I dismantled and reorganized our three wand-sleeve production lines and seven automated alchemy assembly lines for sewing cloaks. Those automatic molding machines used to carve anti-counterfeiting magical runes on wood and fabric were modified by me into embossing devices for powerful alchemical charms. They don't produce team badges anymore; they stamp Shield Charms and Flame-Freezing Charms onto hard lead plates day and night without stopping."
As she spoke, she bent down and took a palm-sized black iron box from a wooden rack against the wall.
Hermione pried open the clasp of the iron box; inside were neatly arranged twelve oval-shaped, silver-grey metal flakes. The surface of the flakes was carved with incredibly microscopic light-deflecting magical runes, faintly exuding a bone-chilling cold scent.
"Take a look." Hermione shoved the iron box into Jerry's arms, resting her hands on her hips. "What the front lines lack most aren't killing curses, but hard gear that can save lives. These 'Portable Hardened Shield Flakes,' sewn into the inside of an Auror's shirt, will automatically trigger a physical deflection force field within half a second upon receiving any blunt force trauma or high-potency Dark Magic other than the Killing Curse. When the people from the Ministry of Magic's Wartime Procurement Department saw the samples, their eyes nearly popped out of their heads; the procurement price they offered is eight times that of the original Quidditch team badges."
Jerry picked up a metal flake and examined it, his fingertips tracing the smooth engraved runes on its surface.
"Nice craftsmanship. It seems Hogwarts' Transfiguration classes can no longer satisfy your ambitions."
"Save it!"
Hermione glared at him coquettishly, took two steps forward, reached out, grabbed Jerry's tie, and yanked it forcefully toward her. The distance between them instantly shortened to a mere two inches; Hermione's breath, carrying the scent of herbs, puffed directly against Jerry's cheek.
"Do you think I wanted to coop myself up in this sunless basement dealing with those sticky potions every day? I couldn't contact you! Rosters of Aurors killed in action were sent back from the front lines every day, and the Daily Prophet published sensational battle reports every day! I didn't know if you were dead or alive in the East; all I could do was work my fingers to the bone!"
Her voice sounded somewhat vicious, but the fingers gripping the tie were slightly white from gripping too hard.
Hermione raised her other hand and patted a whole row of sealed, glazed vats nearby. The vats were filled with a thick, deep blue liquid; tiny bubbles constantly gloop-glooped to the surface.
"See these? Full-Spectrum Hemostatic Gel and Soul-Soothing Draught. I modified the automatic fermentation vats originally used for brewing Butterbeer and sodas. The Ministry of Magic's antique Curse-Breakers are still using the most primitive cauldrons to brew potions pot by pot; they can't even produce ten bottles in a whole day. Using magic-conductive pumps plus climate-control arrays, I can produce a full fifty vats in one day!"
Jerry looked over following her direction; extremely complex copper pipes and valves were connected beneath those glazed vats, and several metal stirring rods, enchanted with the Perpetual Labor Charm, were rotating highly efficiently inside the vats.
"You are openly stealing the rice bowls of St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic's Potions Department." Jerry smiled, smoothly wrapping his arm around her slender waist and pulling her a bit closer into his embrace. "Aren't you afraid Margaret will accuse you of operating an illegal wartime materials business?"
"Would she dare?"
Hermione lifted her head, her chin held high, her lips curling upward into a mocking arc.
"One-third of the hemostatic potions currently on the front lines are secretly shipped from here. If she dares investigate my factory, three combat brigades on the front line will go on strike tomorrow due to a lack of medicine. Besides, the kickbacks I give her are substantial enough—so much so that every time that fat woman sees my owl letters, she smiles so wide her mouth reaches her ears."
As she spoke, she turned around, naturally sitting down onto a large lacquered wood table nearby that was piled high with ledgers.
Hermione's legs dangled naturally in the air; her school skirt spread to the sides with her movements, exposing a large swath of snow-white, firm thigh skin. She reached out, grabbed a thick leather ledger, and slapped it loudly.
"Look at this ledger! Aside from supplying hard materials to the front lines, I also secretly acquired four black-market alchemy workshops located on the back streets of Diagon Alley. The Heavenly Secrets Pavilion's wand self-detonation arrays gave me inspiration—although those magical treasures of the Cultivation world are powerful, their internal array nodes are extremely fragile. I had those workshops work overtime to rush-produce a type of 'High-Frequency Magic Power Disrupter'; throw it into an enemy formation, and it generates intense magic power turbulence within a ten-pace radius."
The more Hermione spoke, the more excited she became. Propping her hands on the edge of the table, leaning forward, those long legs involuntarily clamped and released in the air.
"Although these disrupters burn out after a single use, they are an absolute nightmare for those Cultivators accustomed to precisely controlling their flying swords using spiritual Qi. The batch that just left the factory last week has already been entirely pre-ordered by the Frontline General Headquarters."
Jerry watched Hermione sitting on the table, talking eloquently. The normally rigid, rule-abiding top student of the house, now nourished by money, power, and exceptionally high alchemical talent, radiated an astonishing tension and a dangerously beautiful allure.
He took a step forward, squeezing directly into the gap between Hermione's legs.
His frail body pressed against her tall, full form; Jerry reached out, took the ledger from her hand, and casually tossed it behind him. The heavy ledger smashed onto the pile of gold coins, knocking over dozens of Galleons with a clatter.
"The accounts are very clear, Boss Granger."
Jerry raised his hand; his slender fingers hooked onto Hermione's slanted Gryffindor tie and gave it a forceful downward tug.
"However, I recall that when we first partnered to open this company, the contract stated very clearly—major strategic pivoting requires the verbal authorization of the major shareholder. You unilaterally converting all the Quidditch production lines into an arms factory... shouldn't you give the major shareholder an explanation?"
Pinned between his legs, Hermione leaned backward against the desk piled with parchment.
Her long legs naturally wrapped around Jerry's waist, her ankles lightly crossing and locking at the small of his back. A scalding pink flush instantly rose on her face, which had just been full of the majesty of a strong businesswoman.
"An explanation? What kind of explanation do you want?"
Hermione gave a coquettish huff; her little hands unceremoniously slipped under the hem of Jerry's old shirt, reaching around to his lower back, her fingertips forcefully kneading and pinching the firm muscles of his lower abdomen.
"These forty-plus thousand Galleons are entirely in your name; the property rights of the factory bear your name, and even the large seals on those frontline procurement contracts are your private crest. I've worked for you for a whole month for nothing—not only managing the business for you, but also covering up your truancy records at school—and now you come running to me demanding an explanation?"
The more she spoke, the more aggrieved she felt. Her legs scissored forcefully around Jerry's waist; arching her back upward, she slammed her full chest heavily against Jerry's chest.
"Do you know how many people out there are keeping their eyes on us? The Order of the Phoenix wants to dig up our background through the Daily Prophet; the Ministry of Magic wants to forcibly nationalize our factory! If I hadn't diluted the shares through a dozen layers using twenty dummy shell companies, all you'd see coming back today is a Ministry of Magic seizure order!"
"So?" Jerry lowered his head, his lips pressed close to her burning earlobe, his voice low and carrying a wicked smile. "What kind of compensation does our CEO Granger desire?"
"Stop playing dumb with me!"
Hermione opened her mouth and bit down hard on Jerry's neck. She didn't really use force; her teeth clamped onto that small patch of tender flesh and ground against it a few times, bringing a wave of numbing tingles.
"I want you to make up for everything you didn't give me enough of in the side hall earlier! Also, that purple-haired otherworldly woman... you must explain her to me clearly; by what right can she follow you into the Slytherin dormitory?"
Hermione's tone carried heavy jealousy and domineering possessiveness. She cupped Jerry's jaw with both hands, forcing him to look at her.
"Now, Mr. Major Shareholder, go over there and get me a bottle of freshly manufactured top-tier Restoration Potion to moisten my throat. My throat is still dry right now from being stretched by that monster of yours in the restroom earlier!"
Jerry raised a shallow eyebrow, casually plucking a delicate potion bottle glowing with a faint purple radiance from the wooden rack nearby. He pulled out the cork, clamped it directly between his teeth, then leaned down, once again sealing Hermione's chattering little mouth.
In the private reception room at the very back of the Slytherin dungeon dormitory, the green flames in the fireplace flickered slightly, casting shadows on the corners of the walls that stretched long and short.
The brass potion stirrer on the table was still slowly rotating on its own, emitting a faint clinking sound.
Jerry had just finished buttoning the top two buttons of his shirt when the heavy lacquered wood door of the reception room was pushed open a crack with extreme practiced ease.
Draco Malfoy swaggered over the threshold, sloshing an unlabelled, dark amber liquor bottle in one hand, carrying two bulky, wide-mouthed goblets in the other.
"I knew you were definitely hiding in the dormitory."
Draco kicked the door shut back-handed with his heel, hooking the bottom edge of the door panel with his toe to push the deadbolt into place. He wore an immaculately tailored dark grey casual suit, his blond hair combed neatly, but the indolence in his brow that he only showed in front of acquaintances was completely undisguised as he spoke.
He walked over to the leather sofa in the center of the room, didn't stand on ceremony at all, plopped his legs directly onto the hardwood coffee table in front of him, and smashed heavily backward into the cushions.
"After leaving the Great Hall, the entirety of Slytherin has been looking for you. Those idiots over in Gryffindor are still spreading rumors that you've been detained by the Ministry of Magic, while you're doing just fine, secretly enjoying yourself alone in here."
As Draco spoke, he popped the cork off the liquor bottle in his hand.
A strong, pungent aroma of cheap hard liquor instantly dispersed the residual bitter scent of herbs in the air. That fiery smell, carrying a hint of scorched malt and pressurized distillation with dragon's blood, rapidly permeated the cramped room.
"Try this." Draco set the liquor bottle on the coffee table, pushing one of the wide-mouthed goblets in front of Jerry. "I stole it from my dad's private collection in the back alleys. There are only three casks of this in all of Britain; it's exclusively used to wet the whistles of those veteran Aurors on the front lines who can't spit out a single good word."
Jerry stepped over a few old books scattered on the floor, walked over, and sat down on the single armchair opposite him. He casually picked up the goblet, lowering his head to sniff that pungent, scalding scent of liquor.
"Bringing your dad's private stash to treat me; Young Master Malfoy is so generous today it feels like a trap."
"Trap my ass." Draco huffed, raised his hand and poured his own goblet more than half full, then grabbed the goblet and took a massive gulp, tilting his head back.
The hard liquor went down his throat; the burn made the veins on his neck bulge slightly. Draco smacked his lips, wiped the corner of his mouth with his forearm, and slammed the goblet heavily onto the coffee table with a smack.
"I came to find you to drink my sorrows away. Do you know that the moment this morning's Daily Prophet came out, my dad smashed two antique vases at home?"
Jerry raised a shallow eyebrow, holding his goblet and taking a small sip. The scalding liquid slid all the way down his esophagus, like a tiny flame bursting open in his stomach.
"Smashed vases? Because of that empty title of Commander-in-Chief Margaret hung on me?"
"What else?" Draco slapped the armrest of the sofa, leaning his body toward Jerry, his tone full of mockery. "That bunch of old purebloods associated with my dad have been pimping themselves out every day in the Wizengamot, trying every which way to withhold the Department of War Mobilization's budget. And what does that fat cow Margaret do? She gets squeezed so hard by you in front of the whole school this morning she doesn't even have her panties left, directly handing over fifty thousand Galleons to the Frontline Orphans Fund."
At this point, Draco couldn't hold it in himself, bursting into a pfft of laughter.
He leaned back into the sofa, crossing his legs, the goblet in his hand tilting slightly with the sway of his body.
"My dad was cursing Margaret out as a stupid pig at the breakfast table, saying she went for wool and came home shorn. But... Jerry, that move you pulled in the Great Hall today was too tough. Putting the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic directly on the roasting spit; even I have to clap and cheer for you."
"Cut the flattery." Jerry finished the liquor in his cup, reached out, grabbed the bottle, and refilled it for himself. "Down to business. There's absolutely no way you'd be loitering in the Slytherin dormitory when you don't have class; what exactly are you looking for me for?"
Draco dropped the unbridled smile from his face.
He pulled a thick, heavy envelope from the inner pocket of his suit.
The envelope used extremely exquisite, heavyweight cream-colored parchment; a large chunk of delicate black sealing wax was stamped on the flap, the seal clearly embossing the two-headed snake crest of the Malfoy family.
Draco casually slid the envelope across the coffee table, bumping it against the base of Jerry's goblet.
"My mother told me to deliver this."
At this point, Draco's tone carried a few hints of faint perplexity. He reached up and pinched his own chin, his eyebrows drawing together.
"Speaking of which, it's really weird. My mother returned from inspecting St. Mungo's last night, and her whole state of being seemed quite off. Normally, whenever she comes back from places that have been blown to bits, she absolutely has to take a massive bath and throw a tantrum for half a day. But last night after she returned to the manor, not only did she not utter a single curse word, she actually drank half a bottle of red wine in her study, which is unprecedented."
Jerry's fingers were exceptionally steady as he tore open the sealing wax, his face revealing not the slightest flaw.
Draco was still muttering to himself, raising his hand and downing another half-goblet of hard liquor.
"First thing this morning, she ordered the butler to completely clean the manor's great hall again, and even had the white peacocks in the back garden scrubbed spotless with charms. Then she wrote this invitation personally, insisting that I deliver it into your hands myself."
Draco leaned forward, his chin resting on his forearm, his tone carrying the teasing banter of acquaintances.
He dropped his laugh, extending a finger to point at the invitation in Jerry's hand.
"Next Saturday evening, Malfoy Manor Summer Banquet. This isn't one of those petty student gatherings; my dad has invited every single pureblood family I can think of. Even those old bones who haven't left their houses in years have been sent cards this time."
Jerry held the invitation and tapped it against his palm, his voice calm. "Your Malfoy family is making such a big move at this crucial juncture; aren't you afraid the Ministry of Magic will suspect you of secretly colluding with the East?"
"Suspect? Let them suspect!"
Draco let out a cold sneer, the corners of his mouth pulling into an incredibly authentic Malfoy-style arrogance.
He extended a hand, waving it in the air as if wiping away something dirty.
"Right now the front lines are being beaten to a pulp; the rosters for survivor benefits sent back by the Auror Office every day are thicker than our class schedules. That faction is clamoring every day for universal conscription, wanting to send all wizards over sixteen to the front lines to act as meat shields for those Cultivators. If my dad doesn't step up soon and consolidate the interests of the old pureblood families, in a few days the Ministry of Magic will dare to march straight into the basement of Malfoy Manor to audit our vaults!"
Draco grabbed the liquor bottle and directly gulped down two large mouthfuls straight from the neck.
The hard liquor flushed his cheeks a bit red; those eyes, which normally always carried a sense of superiority, now revealed a rare clarity and resoluteness.
"Jerry, I'm inviting you this time, not in my capacity as the heir to the Malfoy family currying favor with some 'Wartime Hero.' I'm speaking to you as a friend—you must come."
Draco slammed the liquor bottle heavily onto the table.
"Right now, Hogwarts is full of spies. You are standing at the highest point, but everything beneath your feet is hollow. You need a solid pillar that truly sinks into the ground."
He reached out and patted Jerry's shoulder; the force transmitted from his palm was steady and solid.
"Malfoy Manor is that pillar. As long as you stand on our side, the purebloods can withstand at least half the wartime scrutiny for you in the Wizengamot. Those petty people who want to stab you in the back in the shadows will have to think about whether they can endure the counterattack of twenty pureblood families on their vaults and supply chains before making a move against you."
Jerry looked down at the invitation in his hand.
The stationery emitted an extremely elegant, cold fragrance—not the scent of ordinary parchment, but the cool, cold fragrance Narcissa usually dabbed behind her ears.
The corners of Jerry's mouth curled up slightly; he closed the invitation and casually tucked it into the inner pocket of his shirt.
"The liquor is good. I accept the invitation."
"That's right!"
Draco grinned broadly, reaching out and giving Jerry's shoulder a hard punch.
He grabbed the two goblets again, filled them with liquor, raised his hand, and clinked his goblet heavily against Jerry's.
Gulp.
The two simultaneously swallowed the scalding hard liquor.
Draco wiped his mouth, collapsing entirely back into the sofa, tugged at his tie, and his tone returned to its usual uninhibited, swaggering tune.
"Right, who do you plan on bringing with you to the banquet that night?"
Jerry shot him a glance, tossing his empty goblet back onto the table.
"Mind your own business, Malfoy."
The atmosphere in the room completely relaxed.
Draco leaned against the sofa, dragging Jerry from chatting about the latest magical item supplies on the front line, to the price differences of potions in the Hogwarts underground black market, to the antiques that had been sitting in the Malfoy Manor wine cellar for hundreds of years.
The liquor bottle gradually emptied.
The sky outside darkened accordingly; the green firelight from the hearth swirled across the two of them, firmly imprinting the silhouettes of the two young wizards onto the stone wall of the basement.