Dawn had not yet torn open the dark clouds hanging over Hogwarts' Black Lake.
The air already reeked of gunpowder mixed with feverish, scorched fanaticism.
In front of the four long tables in the Great Hall, students with flushed, excited faces had already packed every seat.
Thud! Thud!
Hundreds upon hundreds of owls poured down from the high vents in the ceiling like a vast grey cloud!
Stacks of the *Daily Prophet* special edition slammed onto plates and goblets like rain, splashing hot milk and peanut butter everywhere.
"It's out!
The *Daily Prophet* second-edition special is out!"
A fourth-year Gryffindor boy didn't even bother to chew the bread in his hand. He ripped open a paper and bellowed at the top of his lungs:
"The pure-blood sword tempered in the flames of war!
Draco Malfoy will face the retired tournament Seekers of the Deathsworn in the opening match of the All-Star Invitational!"
"Oh my god, look at this layout!" a Hufflepuff girl shrieked as she leaned in. "Skeeter wrote it!
Front-line potions have been cut off. The Ministry is preparing to forcibly expand the conscription age after the second reading of Bill Fourteen!
The anti-magic commemorative badges and propulsion-array coats exclusively sponsored by the Malfoy family are now the only life-saving military gear left for sale in all of Britain!"
"They're insane! Black-market potion prices across Europe have tripled again!"
"The queues outside Diagon Alley and Gringotts stretch all the way to the Thames!"
At the very front of the Slytherin table,
Draco wore a sharply cut black-wood tactical robe.
Both sleeves were rolled high up his arms, exposing the hard muscle of his forearms. In his right hand he clutched half a buttered toast.
Listening to the wave after wave of gasps filling the Hall, Draco's pale face stretched into a proud smile.
He shoved the toast into his mouth, planted one foot on the crossbar of the bench, and slammed his hand hard onto Crabbe's massive shoulder!
Smack!
"Did you hear that, Crabbe! Goyle!"
Draco's voice rang out loud enough to drown half the noise in the Hall.
"Every wizard in Europe is watching me! This is the opening match! You two better stomp those propulsion arrays into the dirt!
The second the game starts, use your bodies to smash the two professional tournament players opposite us!
Anyone who falls and embarrasses me—don't expect me to go easy."
Crabbe's mouth was stuffed full of roast sausages. Draco's slap made his neck shrink. He mumbled thickly, "Got it!
Malfoy!!
High-altitude collision—snap their ribs for sure!"
Goyle's bald scalp gleamed with sweat in the morning light. He slammed the metal shield plate he had been polishing hard onto the table!
The goblets rang with a deep hum!
"Damn right!"
Two steps behind Draco, in the shadows,
Jerry stood with both hands in the pockets of his coat, leaning casually against a stone pillar beside the Slytherin table.
A lollipop dangled from his mouth. Thin threads of white smoke drifted out with his breath.
Jerry rubbed his slightly sore neck and glanced sideways at the radiant Draco.
"Draco."
Jerry's voice was flat.
Draco's whole body jerked. The arrogant expression on his face vanished in an instant.
"What is it, Jerry!"
"Stop bragging to these two meatheads."
"Gringotts has already posted the three-hundred-thousand-Galleon odds across Europe.
Those retired tournament flyers didn't come here to play ball with you. You understand what that means?"
Draco swallowed. A vicious light exploded in his eyes!
He slapped the collar of his tactical robe hard. Inside it was sewn the reduced-power, extended-range magic interference device Hermione had modified overnight!
"Relax, Jerry!"
Draco lowered his voice. Every word dripped with bloodthirsty pleasure:
"The moment I close to within fifty yards on my broom—
the interference device burns!
Every enchantment on every flying broom on the pitch dies!
Crabbe and I have been drilling bare-handed combat in the training hall for half a month. We've been waiting for this day."
"Fine. Go check the brooms. Don't let any equipment fuck-up happen." Jerry waved a hand.
Draco immediately called Crabbe and Goyle, grabbed the heavy broom cases, and charged out through the Great Hall doors toward the training grounds on the rear slope.
Jerry watched the three of them disappear. A playful curve touched the corner of his mouth.
The opening match of the All-Star Invitational was nothing more than the fuse for the storm about to engulf the entire wizarding world.
And at this very moment—
Hundreds of miles from Hogwarts, deep beneath London, and far away at the headquarters of the European Wizarding Parliament in Geneva, two other colossal black clouds were accelerating toward collision!
In the deepest underground vault of Malfoy Manor—long since emptied of its century-old wine collection—
Cold, damp stone walls held more than a dozen black-magic torches that stank of rancid oil.
Dozens of silent deathsworn stood in ranks in the shadows. They wore unmarked black coats, short blades and heavy front-line wands buckled at their waists.
Their faces were expressionless. Exposed skin carried dense scars from blades and curse burns. They radiated the thick stench of blood that only men who had piled corpses on the front lines between both worlds could carry.
At the huge square table in the center of the vault,
Old Nott wore an ink-black silk robe. His face, dry and wrinkled like ancient bark, looked especially sinister in the torchlight. He held a delicate silver knife and slowly scraped the filth from under his nails, producing a series of teeth-aching clicks.
Opposite him, Lucius Malfoy paced restlessly back and forth across the stone floor.
His aristocratic tactical robe was unbuttoned at the chest. He gripped his walking stick so tightly the metal head struck the ground with heavy thuds.
"Nott!"
Lucius stopped and lowered his voice:
"That old fox Dumbledore has already applied to the Wizengamot for a special search warrant!"
Old Nott didn't even lift his head. The silver knife sparked faintly against the edge of a nail.
"Search warrant?
What are you panicking about, Lucius."
Old Nott's voice was as rough as two stones grinding together.
"A search warrant only takes effect if… the War Office still has spare time to bother with your manor."
He raised his head. A venomous sneer split his withered face.
"The moment Rita Skeeter's article hits, every pure-blood family in Europe will know the Ministry intends to forcibly seize their private property and young heirs to use as trench-filler on the front!"
Seated on the other side of the table, the heads of the Greengrass and Bulstrode families both let out cold laughs.
Greengrass slammed a thick parchment roster onto the table with a sharp crack:
"Two hundred deathsworn pulled back from the front are already in position on the third underground level of the Ministry!"
He tapped the roster hard with two fingers.
"The moment the All-Star match of the Tournament begins, every eye in Europe will be locked on the odds! Our men will move at once, seal every entrance and exit on the fourth underground level, and turn Kingsley's thirty Aurors into target practice in the corridors!"
Lucius listened to the blood-soaked plan. The hand gripping his stick trembled slightly. Fear and endless greed and fanaticism burned in his eyes!
"Good! Excellent!"
He swung the stick hard:
"Of those three customs shipments of tournament spirit-herbs and bone-mending gel, keep half for ourselves. Let the black-market dealers jack the price of the other half another threefold!
If those penniless Aurors from the War Office can't even afford clotting gel, I'd like to see what they plan to fight us with!"
"One more thing."
Old Nott put away the silver knife, planted one hand on the table, and pushed his dry body upright.
"The grand delegation from the European Wizarding Parliament… arrives in London by magical airship tomorrow at dawn!"
Cold light flashed in his eyes:
"The financial magnates and temple senators of the Tournament are already issuing a final ultimatum to Dumbledore in the Parliament hall because we cut the front-line quotas!
If they don't receive the debt collateral from the Wartime Procurement Office by next Wednesday, they will freeze every logistics treasury the wizarding world holds on the European continent!"
"Internal and external crisis…
Dumbledore the Supreme Commander… has reached the end of the road!"
The all-or-nothing counterattack of twenty-eight ancient pure-blood families had finally sprung the trap!
At the same time—
In a remote underground chamber of the Order of the Phoenix,
the atmosphere was so heavy it could have been wrung out like water.
In front of the enormous map of the wizarding world hanging on the wall, the heavy wooden table was buried under urgent front-line reports and blood-stained, shattered wands.
Bang!
Alastor Moody smashed a fist down on the table!
The force tipped over the ink bottle. Black ink flooded across the edge of the map!
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
Moody's wooden leg stamped furiously on the floor, producing sharp clacks.
The magical eye embedded in his socket spun wildly. The scar on his left cheek twisted into a vicious snake from pure rage!
"I laid three layers of anti-magic arrays by the Black Lake!
Used four high-rank Aurors from the War Office! Finally pinned that otherworld female cultivator!"
Moody roared, spittle flying across half the table:
"Then the bitch used some goddamn natal ice-seal technique!
Froze herself inside a block of black ice even a sledgehammer can't crack!
I've got her locked in a lead box at Safehouse Three, but she hasn't given a single word of testimony!"
Kingsley Shacklebolt stood beside the table, face iron-hard.
He wore a deep-blue tactical Auror robe, both hands clasped behind his back, body straight as a stone tower.
"Moody, calm down."
Kingsley's voice was low and steady, full of force:
"No testimony doesn't matter.
Old Nott and Malfoy think their work is seamless. The moment the search warrant arrives, we can haul that traitor ice straight onto the Wizengamot judgment seat!"
He turned and jabbed a finger hard at the fourth underground level of the Ministry on the map!
"I've already arranged everything.
When the opening All-Star match starts, six veteran cadres pulled back from the front will infiltrate the VIP boxes disguised as Tournament national-team sparring partners!"
Killing intent surged in Kingsley's eyes:
"You personally take command of high-altitude security over the pitch, Moody!
The second Draco Malfoy or any of those Tournament deathsworn dares detonate dark-magic devices on the field, you knock him off his broom with a heavy anti-magic curse on the spot!
The War Office Auror corps will then blood-wash the VIP boxes and tear the defensive-equipment agency rights of the Malfoy and Nott families to shreds right there!"
"Good! That's the order I've been waiting for!"
Moody bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty laugh and swung his thick black wand hard through the air!
"I'll blow that Malfoy brat's broom into sawdust!
Let every wizard in Europe see how ridiculous the little tricks of pure-blood families look in front of the War Office!"
---
Cassiopeia Rosier wore an extremely eye-catching deep-red tight lace dress.
The cut was daring to the extreme—large stretches of snow-white skin on her back completely exposed to the air. The tight waistline ran straight down, outlining her thick, heavy, violently swaying full ass with every step.
Her long, fleshy legs in high heels hammered an enticing rhythm on the stone floor.
Behind her followed four new-noble female witches from the front-line War Office and two female officers from Beauxbatons' front.
Every one of them wore tactical leather armor and high-rank cloaks still bearing traces of battle. Their faces carried the cold arrogance forged in front-line slaughter, yet when they looked at Cassiopeia's swaying mature back, their eyes held both wariness and dependence.
Cassiopeia stopped and turned around.
Her stunning face wore a soul-stealing, wicked smile.
She extended her extremely special forked tongue—like a snake's—and slowly licked a circle around her bright-red lips, letting out a damp, bone-melting low laugh.
"Ladies."
Cassiopeia's voice was husky and full of seduction:
"You've all heard the news that the front-line fighting has greatly decreased…"
The four new-noble witches exchanged glances. The short-haired female Auror at the head stepped half a pace forward and rested one hand on the Damascus short-blade at her waist:
"Director! The cultivators on the front have withdrawn. The old Aurors of the War Office are preparing to pull troops back to defend London! Once Bill Fourteen passes, Kingsley will reclaim every black-market quota and potion channel they left for us on the front!"
The short-haired Auror's eyes burned red. Her voice was pure resentment:
"We witches who crawled out of piles of corpses—why the hell should we hand our war spoils over to those fat old men in the Wizengamot!"
"Well said!"
Cassiopeia laughed coquettishly. Her huge snow-white breasts heaved violently under the lace neckline, throwing waves of soft flesh.
She stepped forward, lifted the short-haired Auror's chin with slender fingers, and almost touched the woman's nose with her forked snake tongue.
"So… the night after next."
Cassiopeia lowered her voice. It dripped with endless degradation and wanton temptation:
"In the private club on the third underground level of the Ministry… this Director has prepared an extremely special 'private gathering' for all of you."
Her palm slid down the Auror's leather-armor chest and pinched hard at her waist.
"At that time… a 'big boss' who possesses absolute power and supreme authority will attend in person."
Pink magical light rose in Cassiopeia's eyes:
"As long as you drink the 'Saintess Nectar' at the gathering and throw yourselves into the big boss's arms… never mind mere war-spoils quotas—even those vacant seats of interest at the full European Wizarding Parliament next Wednesday… will be yours!"
The front-line female witches heard the crushing promise of endless profit. Their breathing instantly grew heavy!
They clenched their fists. Greed and madness completely lost control in their eyes!
"Everything according to the Director's arrangement!" the witches answered in low unison!
Cassiopeia turned, high heels clicking as she pushed into her office and locked the door behind her.
She leaned against the door panel, both hands groping her own thick, firm ass through the lace dress, and exhaled hot, damp breaths:
"Jerry… my little sex demon… I've fed and caged all these meritorious war bitches for you… the night after next… let's see how you use that big cock of yours… to conquer them one by one!"
Out in the corridor, the notification runes announcing the arrival of the European Wizarding Parliament delegation flared with dazzling gold light on the stone walls!
Three major camps, each with their own schemes!
The curtain of the World Tournament's opening All-Star Invitational rose with a deafening roar alongside the European Wizarding Parliament!
The storm had reached its peak!
---
The wooden door of the third-floor Transfiguration office creaked open from outside.
Darius Diggle held an old quill and strode quickly across the thick wool carpet.
Hestia Jones followed close behind, a few drops of freshly melted night dew still clinging to the hem of her black cloak. The two of them stopped directly in front of the black-wood desk.
Behind the desk, Minerva McGonagall was bent over grading fifth-year Transfiguration essays.
The tip of her red-ink pen drew a sharp corner on the parchment. She didn't even look up.
"Minerva! The War Office and the front-line legions are a complete mess right now!"
Diggle slapped both hands on the edge of the desk and leaned forward.
"All seventeen senior spies of the Tactical Reconnaissance Corps were true disciples you taught with your own hands! On the front they only recognize your orders as their teacher—they refuse to listen to the Ministry or Kingsley's chaotic deployments!
If you're willing to return to the Order of the Phoenix and take command again, reassemble those children into a sharp blade, we can seize the potion channels from the Wizarding Parliament in minutes!"
Hestia stepped half a pace forward as well, one hand on the wand holster at her waist, voice extremely urgent.
"Your prestige in the legions is ten times stronger than those high officials in the Logistics Department!"
McGonagall's pen tip stopped.
She calmly inserted the red-ink pen into the ink bottle, folded both hands on the desk,
and the severe, solemn face showed not the slightest ripple.
"Finished?"
McGonagall's voice was as cold as sunken stone at the bottom of the Black Lake.
She stood, removed the square-framed glasses from the bridge of her nose, and took a clean handkerchief from her robes to wipe the lenses.
"When Dumbledore started using students as chess pieces, I cut every tie with the Order of the Phoenix clean.
Whatever banner those front-line spies fly and whose orders they follow—that is their own choice.
Don't try to chain me with the teacher-student affection of the past."
McGonagall put the glasses back on and grabbed the witch's hat from the rack with one hand.
"Get out of my office.
Don't force me to Transfigure the two of you into the chimney of the corridor fireplace."
Diggle's face changed drastically. He still wanted to speak. McGonagall flicked her right index finger once. The black-wood door slammed open with a violent bang! A swift blast of wind pressure forced both of them bodily out of the doorway. The door crashed shut behind them and the anti-magic lock snapped home instantly!
McGonagall stood at the door for a moment, straightened the green gem brooch at her collar,
then turned and walked down the stone steps with steady strides, heading straight for the deepest part of the Slytherin dungeons.
Inside the private suite, green magical fire flickered weakly.
McGonagall used a practiced secret rune to slide the heavy stone door open without a sound.
In the center of the large bed, Jerry lay on his side on the soft pillows, sound asleep.
His upper body was bare, revealing long, tight lines of muscle. Coat and outer trousers lay carelessly on the carpet at the foot of the bed. Only half a thin blanket covered him. His breathing was even and steady.
McGonagall tossed her witch's hat onto the nearby round chair.
She unbuttoned her outer robe, pulled the ink-green long robe off her shoulders, and draped it over the wooden rack at the head of the bed. She was left in only a thin close-fitting shirt and a tight black skirt.
She swung her long legs—sheathed in dark stockings—onto the soft mattress and knelt directly on the bed.
The soft padding sank under her weight.
McGonagall moved her knees forward alternately, heading straight for Jerry's lower body.
She yanked the thin blanket aside, pinched the elastic waistband of Jerry's thin underpants, and yanked them down hard!
Snap!
A thick, purple-red monstrous cock sprang free and bounced violently in the air!
Hot steam rose in McGonagall's always-serious eyes.
Without the slightest hesitation she stretched both palms forward, pinned Jerry's solid thigh muscles hard, and slammed her entire face down onto the skin above his pubic bone!
She opened her delicate lips and bit down on the huge swollen head!
Slurp!
An extremely crisp, wet sound exploded in the quiet room!
McGonagall stretched her tongue out long and licked a savage circle around the coronal ridge, swallowing every drop of the scalding pre-cum into her throat! Then she forced her small mouth to its absolute limit and thrust her head upward along Jerry's lower abdomen!
Gluck!
"Gulp…!"
McGonagall's cheeks were forcibly stretched into high bulges; two extremely obvious curved outlines pressed up under her fair skin!
In his sleep Jerry's waist jerked hard!
The extremely tight, wet heat wrapping and sucking at his lower body made him open his eyes at once.
Jerry looked down and saw the professor who was normally so majestic at Hogwarts—whom even Dumbledore treated with respect—kneeling between his legs like a starving bitch in heat. That proud, severe face was pressed hard against his pubic bone while she pumped her head up and down with all her strength!
Slurp! Squish! Gluck! Squish!
Extremely thick, piercing wet sounds echoed wildly through the sleeping suite!
McGonagall's small hands tightly cradled Jerry's heavy balls. Her tongue madly wrapped and stroked the thick shaft inside her mouth. Thick streams of saliva poured from the corners of her lips and soaked the collar of her shirt!
"Well, well, Professor McGonagall."
Jerry half-sat up. A strong, wicked smile curved his mouth.
He stretched out his right arm and dug all five fingers straight into McGonagall's neatly coiled grey curls!
His fingers pressed down hard!
"Can't sleep in the middle of the night so you came to my bed to play vacuum pump?"
"Gulp… squish… nnngh…!"
McGonagall was forced down until her entire face smashed against Jerry's abs. A hot, wet passive moan tore from the depths of her throat!
The enormous cock rubbed and thrust madly inside her throat, making her esophagus spasm and go numb!
McGonagall struggled to pull her small mouth off the massive cock, dragging out a long, glistening strand of thick saliva.
She wiped the white foam from the corners of her lips. A layer of glaring, pathological flush covered her delicate face as she glared up at Jerry.
"Don't talk shit with me, you little sex demon!"
McGonagall pressed both palms on Jerry's knees and panted heavily:
"Diggle and Hestia just barged into my office trying to persuade me to return to the Order of the Phoenix and take command!
They said the front-line tactical reconnaissance spies were all taught by me and wanted me to lead a team to seize the potion channels from the Wizarding Parliament!"
Jerry rubbed her hair a couple of times, voice lazy:
"What did you tell them?"
"What the fuck would I tell them!"
McGonagall gave a cold laugh, leaned forward, and pressed her full, firm white tits hard against the side of Jerry's leg.
"I told them to get the hell out!
Those front-line spies can live or die for all I care. Right now the only thing I serve is this big cock of yours!"
With that!
McGonagall actively aimed her small mouth at the purple-red, glistening cockhead again and swallowed hard!
Gluck!
She took the entire length once more!
McGonagall's hands clamped hard on Jerry's waist flesh. Her head pounded between his thighs like a pestle crushing medicine!
Slurp slurp slurp!
Squish squish squish!
Extremely thick wet sounds filled the room!
McGonagall completely abandoned every last shred of a senior professor's dignity. Her tongue madly licked the thick veins. Her throat forced the huge cockhead down again and again, producing teeth-aching sounds of flesh colliding!
Jerry leaned back against the pillows, right hand pressing the back of her head, and rhythmically thrust his hips upward!
Every thrust smashed his pubic bone hard against McGonagall's delicate face!
"Professor, those front-line spies listen to you… that's a good card to hold."
Jerry's tone was calm.
"At the second reading of the bill next Wednesday, tell those spies to sit back and watch the show. Don't let them become stepping stones for Old Nott and Kingsley."
"Nnngh… gulp… whatever you say… everything you say…!"
McGonagall cried out in broken, muffled gasps between the violent deep-throat thrusts!
Jerry's waist slammed upward hard!
Boom!
Thick, scalding ropes of pre-cum and white semen erupted violently deep in McGonagall's throat!
"Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!"
McGonagall's eyes rolled slightly white. Her throat contracted and swallowed hard under the powerful jets, gulping the hot fluid into her stomach. What she couldn't swallow overflowed from her chin in thick white streams and soaked a large patch of the carpet!
After a long moment,
McGonagall pulled her mouth free and collapsed weakly across Jerry's legs, panting hard.
She wiped the white foam from her lips, licked the remaining fluid clean with her tongue, and the once-severe face was filled with the satisfaction and wantonness of being thoroughly conquered.
"Little sex demon… tonight… I'm sleeping right here."
McGonagall hummed coquettishly and pulled the thin blanket over both of them.