Jerry's decisive departure felt like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the somewhat rebellious flame Hermione had finally managed to ignite in her heart.
She sat at the Gryffindor table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal with a spoon, feeling a sense of emptiness.
She had no appetite at all; her mind was filled with Jerry's profile from earlier.
Jerry hadn't seen her.
He hadn't noticed her at all.
This realization brought a strong sense of loss to Hermione.
How much courage had Hermione mustered today to put on these fishnet stockings?
With what mixture of shame and anticipation had she walked through the long corridors to get here?
It all felt like a pantomime performed for the blind.
Hermione didn't want anyone to know the little secret hidden beneath her heavy robe; that would make her feel ashamed.
But contradictorily, how she wished that secret could be discovered by Jerry—and only Jerry.
Hermione had even mentally rehearsed the scene countless times: in some deserted corner, Jerry would inadvertently catch a glimpse of the mesh peeking out from the hem of her robe. What kind of expression would appear on his usually calm face? Surprise? Astonishment? Or perhaps a hint of playfulness?
Just imagining it was enough to make Hermione's heart race and her cheeks burn.
This mischievous desire to tease him and see him lose his composure even surpassed simple attraction.
Just as Hermione was sinking deeper into these contradictory thoughts, unable to extricate herself, a figure sat down on each side of her, interrupting her wild musings.
"Hey, Hermione."
It was her roommates, Padma and Parvati.
"What are you thinking about? Your oatmeal is about to be stirred into a pot of potion paste."
Parvati nudged her gently with an elbow, her tone teasing.
Padma seemed more attentive. She glanced at Hermione's somewhat red cheeks and lowered her voice to ask, "Are you okay?
We ran into Harry and Ron on our way here.
They looked quite worried. They said you were acting a bit strange this morning and ran off without a word, so... they specifically asked us to come check on you."
So it was them... A warm current flowed through Hermione's heart, but it was followed by an even greater sense of guilt.
Hermione subconsciously clamped her legs together, afraid that these roommates who lived with her day and night would discover some clue from her unnatural sitting posture.
Padma's concern warmed Hermione, and Harry and Ron's worry made her feel a trace of guilt.
But what followed was an even stronger, almost irrepressible sense of guilt.
Hermione clamped her legs tighter unconsciously. The subtle friction beneath her robe made her heart tremble with fear.
"I... I'm fine, just a little hungry."
Hermione answered vaguely, lowering her head to tap the rim of the bowl with her spoon, not daring to meet their eyes.
"Good to hear."
Parvati laughed heartily, then, as if remembering something, reached up and gently stroked her neck.
Hermione glanced inadvertently and saw a silver-white chain hanging quietly around Parvati's neck. At the end of the chain hung a small, exquisite crescent-shaped pendant inlaid with a light blue gemstone.
Seeing this, Padma also immediately brushed her long hair aside, revealing a pendant of the same style around her neck, only with a red gemstone.
"Is this... a gift from an admirer?"
Hermione felt her throat go a bit dry, and her voice sounded somewhat hoarse.
Parvati glanced at Hermione, seemingly detecting a trace of strangeness in her tone, but didn't think much of it.
She just stroked her necklace pendant with a shy smile and replied softly, "Mmh... let's just say it's a token of affection."
Padma was more direct: "That's right! It took quite a bit of effort. Hermione, you shouldn't always focus on books. Sometimes, when you meet someone you like, you have to be bold!"
She emphasized her tone, turning sideways to look at Hermione, her eyes full of encouragement. "You must make a bold move! If you like someone, fight for them. Hesitation will only make you miss the opportunity!"
Hermione looked at the sparkling necklaces around their necks, feeling as if something were blocking her heart.
Unwillingness, confusion, and even a trace of jealousy that Hermione was unwilling to admit surged into her heart like a tide.
Hermione's cheeks flushed, not only because of the shame brought by their words but also because of the strong feeling of being outdone.
A bold move?
Hermione silently repeated Padma's words in her heart.
Wasn't wearing these fishnet stockings today her courageous attempt at a "bold move" on Jerry?
But Jerry hadn't spared her a single glance.
No!
It was stupidity!
Hermione evaluated herself inwardly.
She began to blame herself.
Yes, a bold move... but what kind of boldness was this?
She had wrapped herself from head to toe in a heavy wizarding robe. Let alone the carefully prepared fishnets, even her ankles might not be visible.
Why did she expect Jerry to have X-ray vision, to see through layers of fabric and discover her hidden little surprise?
Hermione mocked her own cowardice and naivety.
No.
A thought, like a vine sprouting from a crack in a rock, spread rapidly in Hermione's mind.
She couldn't just let it go.
That unwillingness overwhelmed her shame and timidity. Hermione pushed away the oatmeal in front of her; she wasn't eating it. She stood up, supporting herself on the table, her movement so decisive that it startled Padma and Parvati beside her.
"Hermione, where are you going?" Parvati asked in confusion.
But Hermione didn't answer. She just took a deep breath, as if expelling all hesitation from her body.
She turned and walked quickly out of the Gryffindor table area, her eyes searching rapidly through the crowd. She remembered the direction Jerry and Katherine had left—they were heading toward the Great Hall's main doors.
The silver chain connecting to the collar felt somewhat cold in Jerry's hand.
He didn't pull hard, just holding it casually, as if it weren't a chain binding a girl, but merely a leash for walking a pet.
Katherine walked ahead like a vigilant sentry, her gaze constantly scanning the surroundings.
They chose an extremely secluded path behind the Herbology greenhouses.
This place was rarely visited. The damp stone path was covered in moss, and waist-high bushes on both sides provided excellent cover.
But for the naked Cassandra, this was still hell.
The cold air wrapped around every inch of her skin without obstruction, giving her goosebumps all over.
The stone path underfoot was uneven; tiny gravel ground against her knees and palms, sending sharp, pricking pain.
Blindfolded, all her senses were focused on hearing and touch.
She could only crawl on all fours like real livestock, relying on the slight, almost imperceptible guiding force from the collar to judge the direction forward.
"Faster, don't dawdle." Katherine's voice came from ahead, devoid of any warmth.
Cassandra's body shrank back, and she immediately sped up her crawling.
Because of this movement, Cassandra's buttocks drew a fair arc in the air. With the forward motion of her body, the two full cheeks trembled slightly.
Suddenly, a vague sound of talking and laughing came from the direction of the greenhouses in the distance. It sounded like a group of passing students.
Cassandra's entire body froze. Like a frightened rabbit, she instantly stopped all movement, lying flat on the ground, not daring to move a muscle.
She desperately held her breath, trying to shrink her massive frame into the smallest possible ball, as if this could merge her with the surrounding shadows. Her ears pricked up, carefully distinguishing the source and distance of the sound.
Jerry stopped walking, and the chain in his hand stilled as well.
He just quietly watched the naked body at his feet, trembling slightly with fear.
Katherine walked behind Cassandra, bent down, and flicked her finger neither lightly nor heavily against Cassandra's buttock cheek, which was tense from nervousness.
Cassandra's body jolted as if electrocuted. A strange warm current, mixed with shame and stimulation, shot up from her tailbone straight to the top of her head.
The sound of talking and laughing grew closer. Cassandra could even hear a few familiar female voices.
Cassandra could imagine that once discovered by them in this state... the result would be worse than death.
Extreme fear and shame, like two invisible hands, gripped Cassandra's heart tightly.
Her breathing became rapid and chaotic, and the blood in her body seemed to flow backward.
However, at this moment when her spirit was pushed to the limit, a contradictory, shameful reaction occurred deep within Cassandra's body.
Cassandra's lower abdomen began to spasm uncontrollably. A stream of slippery, warm liquid slowly gushed from between her legs, sliding down the skin of her inner thighs and dripping onto the cold stone path, leaving a small dark stain.
Her body began to convulse slightly—a physiological reaction close to orgasm caused by excessive tension.
She bit her lower lip hard to prevent the shameful moan about to escape her mouth from leaking out.
From her blindfolded eyes, physiological tears slipped uncontrollably, soaking the black cloth strip.
Fortunately, the group of students just passed by on another fork in the path, and the voices soon faded away.
After confirming it was safe, Katherine used the tip of her shoe to gently kick the side of Cassandra's waist, who was still twitching slightly on the ground.
"Get up, keep moving."
Cassandra lay on the ground, drained of strength, gasping for air.
She could feel the stickiness between her legs and smell the shameful scent belonging to her in the air.
"Get up, keep moving."
It took all of Cassandra's strength to prop up her limp body again. She could feel the stickiness between her legs and smell the shameful scent belonging to her in the air.
However, Katherine didn't let her start crawling immediately.
Katherine stepped forward, squatted down, and with a critical gaze bordering on inspecting goods, examined the water stain on the stone path beneath Cassandra.
"What a disobedient bitch!" Katherine's voice carried a trace of cold mockery. "Just a little stimulation, and you can't control yourself, leaking water everywhere."
From the pocket of her robe, she took out a silver, teardrop-shaped metal object.
One end of the object was round and smooth, while the other end was inlaid with a small black gemstone that still glinted gloomily in the shadows.
Katherine dipped two fingers into the still-wet slippery liquid on Cassandra's thigh, then smeared the cold, slimy fingertips onto the rounded tip of the metal object.
Although Cassandra couldn't see, she could hear the subtle sounds and feel Katherine's approach. Her ominous premonition made her instinctively want to close her legs and clamp her buttocks.
But her resistance was futile.
Katherine used her knee to pry open her legs, then held down her lower back with one hand, immobilizing her.
The other hand held the cold metal object.
"Mmh!"
The icy touch of the metal tip made Cassandra's body arch upward violently as if pricked by a needle.
Cassandra tried to struggle, but Katherine's hand held her firmly like an iron clamp.
Katherine didn't give Cassandra any time to adapt.
With a twist of her wrist, she pushed the cold metal butt plug, covered in Cassandra's own fluids, inch by inch into her body.
Cassandra let out a sorrowful cry blocked in her throat, like a small beast.
Her fingernails dug deep into the cracks of the stone path, and her entire body twitched violently due to the foreign sensation of being forcibly stretched and torn.
Katherine didn't stop until the black gemstone base completely fitted between her tense buttock cheeks before releasing her hand.
Now, that small black gemstone shone with a cold light on her fair skin like a mark of humiliation.
"There!"
Katherine stood up, clapped her hands, and revealed a satisfied expression. "This way, you'll learn how to clamp tight and not leak things everywhere."
She handed the chain back to Jerry again.
Cassandra lay on the ground, trembling all over.
She could clearly feel the cold and heavy foreign object inside her body.
Every slight movement caused by the rise and fall of Cassandra's breathing brought a stimulation that almost drove her mad, yet was mixed with humiliation and pleasure.
"Let's go."
Jerry's flat voice still echoed in the air. Cassandra struggled to prop up her body; the cold foreign object inside her reminded her of her humiliation with every movement.
However, before they had walked a few steps, the sound of rapid footsteps came from the path behind them.
It was Hermione.
Hermione rushed through the path interlaced with greenhouses and bushes, her eyes locked straight on Jerry's back.
The hem of Hermione's robe lifted slightly with her somewhat flustered steps.
That layer of looming black mesh flashed a dark light in the sun like a ghost.
Almost the moment Katherine heard the footsteps, she pushed Cassandra and hissed, "Hide if you don't want to be discovered."
Cassandra scrambled and rolled into the depths of the dense bushes beside the path.
The plug inside her made a muffled sound as she rolled, and the strange feeling of fullness made her instinctively curl up into a ball.
Cassandra's blindfolded eyes couldn't see anything; she could only feel the fine branches and leaves scraping against her naked skin.
Hermione caught up, stopping barely two or three steps behind Jerry.
Her breathing was a bit rapid, and a layer of flush appeared on her cheeks.
"Jerry..."
Hermione's voice carried a trace of uncertainty. She wanted to say something, but didn't know where to start.
Hermione subconsciously adjusted her stance, letting the hem of her robe slide up a few more inches without leaving a trace, trying to expose more of her carefully prepared "little secret" to Jerry's line of sight without being too obvious.
She lowered her head slightly, pretending to arrange the corner of her clothes, but her gaze secretly peeked at Jerry through her bangs.
Jerry stopped walking. He turned around, his azure eyes landing calmly on Hermione's face.
"Hermione, good morning. Are you also here for the Magical Plants class?" Jerry's voice carried his usual flatness, betraying no emotion.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. He really didn't notice.
That bit of deliberately displayed fishnet was probably no different from ordinary socks in Jerry's eyes. This annoyed Hermione, but what she felt more was a sense of loss from being ignored.
"I... yes, I'm also here for class..."
Hermione racked her brains to find an excuse, trying to prolong the conversation.
Hermione's fingers unconsciously picked at her palm, and her body became increasingly tense.
While speaking, Hermione took another small step forward. The hem of her robe swayed slightly again, and that touch of dark mesh finally became more obvious in the breeze than before.
This time, Jerry's gaze finally shifted down slightly.
He quietly looked at Hermione's calves wrapped in black fishnet stockings.
The mesh pattern outlined the lines of Hermione's legs, looming at the edge of her robe.
The lack of emotional fluctuation in his eyes made Hermione uneasy, but the next second, Jerry's action made Hermione's heart miss a beat.
Jerry slowly raised his hand and reached toward Hermione's body.
Hermione froze completely. Her mind went blank, and all thoughts solidified at this moment.
Hermione knew she should dodge, should scream, but this body under Jerry's gaze was like it had been hit by a Petrificus Totalus, unable to move a muscle.
A thrill of nervousness and anticipation shot from the soles of her feet to her scalp.
Without any warning, Jerry's fingers directly touched the side of Hermione's robe.
With just a slight force, Jerry effortlessly pulled Hermione's seemingly strict Hogwarts robe open to the side.
Hermione's body was completely exposed to the air.
She was wearing only a white shirt shorter than her skirt hem and a simple pair of panties. Her fair legs, without any cover at this moment, were directly wrapped in mesh stockings glowing with a deep black luster.
The coarse mesh pattern divided the skin of her legs into tiny diamond shapes, appearing exceptionally alluring.
Hermione only felt a sudden gust of cold wind pouring in from both sides of her body, making her shudder slightly.
Jerry's gaze calmly scrutinized the legs wrapped in black mesh.
Hermione's mind was blank. Shame burned like fire on every inch of her exposed skin.
She wanted to cover herself with her hands, but her limbs felt as heavy as lead, unable to move.
Jerry squatted down, bringing his line of sight level with Hermione's thighs.
Then, Jerry reached out his hand.
The thin calluses on his fingers gently touched the top of Hermione's thigh.
Hermione's body trembled violently as if hit by an electric current.
Jerry ignored her reaction. His finger hooked onto the thin layer of lace.
Then, with a slow yet unquestionable force, he began to roll the fishnet stocking down from Hermione's thigh, circle by circle.
The rough mesh scraped against Hermione's sensitive skin, bringing waves of strange tingling.
Hermione could clearly see her skin breaking out in tiny red spots from nervousness after the black mesh retreated.
Riiip!
A crisp sound of fabric tearing rang out.
That layer of tough mesh was instantly torn open like a fragile spider web under his merciless force.
A huge tear extended from the root of Hermione's thigh all the way to her ankle, completely exposing Hermione's fair leg skin with hints of muscle lines.
Hermione sucked in a breath of cold air, her body leaning back slightly due to this sudden, somewhat rough action.
Jerry didn't stop.
Using the same method, he tore open the stocking on Hermione's other leg.
Now, those two tattered black mesh strips still hung on her legs, swaying gently with the breeze, making her look even more wretched than before, yet also adding a strange beauty of having been ravaged.
Jerry looked up, his face full of smiles.
He extended a finger, using the tip to gently trace the edge of the torn opening on Hermione's leg, feeling the rough break of the stocking and the smooth touch of her skin.
"This kind of thing..."
Jerry leaned close to Hermione's ear, his voice pressed very low, carrying a scorching breath, "is too much of a hindrance."
Jerry's other hand stroked up along Hermione's bare calf, finally stopping on her inner thigh, pinching neither lightly nor heavily.
"I still think!"
Jerry's finger pad rubbed slowly on that most tender skin, his tone full of teasing, "Black silk, white silk, or wearing nothing at all would look better!"
Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows, Katherine had already placed a foot wearing a black leather shoe on top of Cassandra's head.
She used the tip of her shoe to contemptuously lift Cassandra's chin, forcing her into a humiliating posture of looking up.
"Useless thing!"
Katherine's voice was low and cold. "Do you know the consequences if someone sees you?"
Katherine bent down. The leather shoe on her foot, carrying mud and grass clippings, was slowly removed by her thumb and index finger.
That fair and elegant foot was directly exposed in front of Cassandra's face without any cover. Katherine's toes were slender and round, the nails painted with a layer of dark red polish, emitting an enticing luster in the sparse light of the bushes.
Katherine used her toe to gently tap the cloth strip blindfolding Cassandra, then commanded: "Stick out your tongue. Start from my big toe and lick it clean for me."
Cassandra's body began to tremble slightly again.
The sense of humiliation overwhelmed everything.
However, the stimulation brought by the foreign object inside her body and Katherine's cold command left her unable to resist.
Cassandra opened her mouth, extending her hot, wet tongue tip to touch Katherine's toe, which carried a cool temperature.
"Deeper, bitch," Katherine commanded softly.
Cassandra's tongue tip was forced to extend further. She wrapped her entire tongue surface around a toe and began to suck meticulously.
Katherine's sole moved slightly on her face; that tender sole occasionally brushed against her cheek.
At the same time, Katherine's other hand roughly grabbed Cassandra's hand.
Her cold fingers, with unquestionable strength, forcibly guided Cassandra's palm, slowly and firmly moving it to that private place between Cassandra's thighs that was already slippery and messy.
"Do it yourself!"
Katherine's voice rang in Cassandra's ear like the whisper of a venomous snake.
Cassandra's fingers were forced to make contact, clearly feeling the stickiness there, soaked by the mucus she had secreted.
Under the pincer attack of the foreign object inside, the humiliation of forced service before her eyes, and the familiar touch coming from under her hand, Cassandra's fingertips began to tremble involuntarily.
Waves of strange heat rose again in Cassandra's lower abdomen. Moisture gushed out from her body once more, soaking her fingers and the valley entrance even more wet and sticky.
Shame and pleasure, like two completely opposing flames, intertwined in her body.
Jerry looked at Hermione.
"What do you think?"
Hermione's brain had almost stopped thinking; she could only nod subconsciously.
Jerry looked at her submissive appearance and smiled.
The ring on his finger flashed with light.
Hermione only felt a strange sensation rising from her lower abdomen.
Immediately after, her panties seemed to suddenly come alive.
It began to move on its own.
It wasn't a large movement, but an extremely subtle and continuous wriggling and friction.
The thin cotton fabric ground against the most sensitive area of Hermione's lower abdomen over and over again.
Every rub brought a wave of itchiness that made her scalp tingle.
Hermione's breath caught. She instinctively wanted to use her hand to hold down the mischievous thing, but her wrist was gently held by Jerry.
"Stand still."
Jerry's voice remained flat.
Hermione could only allow that unspeakable, shame-filled stimulation to spread continuously through her body.
Hermione's waist began to go soft, and her legs became unsteady, relying only on the strength of Jerry holding her wrist to support her body.
In the bushes not far away, Katherine watched Hermione's soul-lost appearance, secretly spat at Jerry, and then refocused her attention on the person beneath her.
Katherine adjusted to a comfortable position, leaning against a tree trunk, then spread her legs and used her toe to lift Cassandra's chin.
"Your turn to work, bitch."
Katherine pressed Cassandra's head directly toward the space between her legs.
Cassandra's face was forced to bury into that warm jungle carrying a faint fragrance.
"Lick."
A single-word command left Cassandra daring not disobey in the slightest.
She extended her tongue, carefully licking that moist petal through the panties.
For a time, only subtle and blush-inducing water sounds remained in the bushes.
On the other side, Hermione felt like she was going crazy.
The itch in Hermione's body became stronger and stronger, forcing her to twist her waist unconsciously, trying to relieve it, but causing the fabric to rub even more vigorously.
Hermione looked at Jerry's young yet strangely charming face in front of her, and a crazy idea occupied all her thoughts.
Hermione stood on tiptoe, disregarding reserve and shame. She extended her arms, wrapped them around Jerry's neck, and pressed her slightly parted, flushed lips forcefully onto his.
Hermione's kiss lacked technique, like a lost fawn, simply gnawing and grinding based on instinct.
Jerry accepted Hermione's kiss with total composure.
He even adjusted his posture to match her height.
Just as Hermione's consciousness was being turned upside down by this deep kiss, inside the bushes, Cassandra's body also reached a breaking point.
Under Katherine's merciless pressure and commands, Cassandra was forced to use her mouth and hands to send the other to the clouds.
And Cassandra herself, amidst those endless movements mixed with humiliation and stimulation, suddenly arched her body violently. A powerful spasm erupted from deep within her lower abdomen, draining her last ounce of strength.
But what followed was not merely limpness.
Accompanied by that intense convulsion, a burst of warm liquid sprayed violently from between her legs.
The force of the stream was not small; it bypassed her own fingers and splashed directly onto the hem of Katherine's expensive wizarding robes and her bare feet.
The trace of laziness and satisfaction on Katherine's face solidified instantly.
She looked down at the wet patch on her legs and the increasingly thick, fishy-musky scent belonging to Cassandra in the air. Her gaze turned into shards of winter ice in an instant.
"You... filthy bitch."
Katherine's voice was devoid of any emotion.
Cassandra, slumped on the ground, hadn't even recovered from the afterglow of her orgasm when her vision went dark. A massive force stomped down hard on her neck.
It was Katherine's foot.
"Ugh!"
Cassandra's breath was cut off instantly.
She could only let out the stifled, pathetic cry of a dying chick.
Cassandra's face turned beet-red from lack of oxygen. Her hands instinctively reached for Katherine's ankle, trying to push away the lethal pressure. But Cassandra's pathetic strength was laughable in the face of Katherine's rage.
Katherine ignored her struggle, merely looking down at her with cold eyes.
Then, right in front of Cassandra, she unhurriedly lifted the hem of her own robes and used two fingers to hook the edge of her panties.
Katherine didn't take them off immediately; instead, she pulled them down slowly. The thin layer of lace fabric slid over her flat stomach, revealing the neatly trimmed black forest beneath.
Immediately following, a stream of warm water, carrying a sharp, pungent musky stench, poured down from above.
The golden liquid of humiliation drenched Cassandra's face with pinpoint accuracy.
The warm urine flowed down Cassandra's forehead, washing over her tightly closed eyes blinded by the cloth, streaming over the bridge of her nose, and finally pooling on her lips.
Suffocating, Cassandra could taste the salty, acrid, and musky flavor, forced to swallow a portion of it.
The stream didn't stop, continuing downward to drench Cassandra's neck and chest.
The golden liquid flowed wantonly over Cassandra's fair skin, washing away the mud and grass clippings she had picked up while crawling on the ground.
The urine gathered on Cassandra's snowy peaks, which were still erect from her climax, forming small puddles before following her cleavage all the way down across her abdomen.
Ultimately, part of it seeped into Cassandra's secret valley, while the rest flowed along her inner thighs and onto the cold stone floor.
Cassandra was being thoroughly "cleansed" by Katherine.
It wasn't until Katherine finished her venting that she slowly lifted her foot.
Cassandra immediately sucked in deep gulps of fresh air, accompanied by violent coughing.
She curled into a ball on the ground, soaked to the bone, radiating a mix of two different nauseating scents, discarded like trash in the shadows of the bushes.
Just then, from the end of the path not far away, a clear conversation drifted over.
"...I'm positive it's this way, Harry. I saw them walking over here."
It was Ron's signature voice, laced with a bit of complaining.
"Quiet down, Ron."
Harry's voice was much more composed.
This familiar sound was like a bucket of ice water dumped over Hermione's head.
Hermione's eyes, which had been misty from arousal and magical stimulation, regained clarity instantly.
As if hit by an electric shock, she tore herself away from Jerry and took a large step back.
Her hands frantically tried to pull her torn robes together to hide her bare legs and... and that pair of panties on her abdomen that made her want to die of shame.
Harry and Ron's figures appeared at the corner of the path in the very next second.
When they saw the scene before them, both of them froze.
Hermione stood there in complete disarray, her cheeks still bearing an abnormal flush. Through the gap in her robes she hadn't yet closed, her white shirt and bare thighs were visible.
And standing before her was the one person they least wanted to see—Jerry Rosier.
Harry was the first to react.
When he saw Hermione's obvious look of being bullied, a surge of rage rose from his heart.
The Boy Who Lived showed a striking, undisguised loathing for Jerry for the very first time.
"Rosier, what do you think you're doing!"
Harry's voice was cold and hard.
Ron took a step forward, acting like a wall as he gallantly blocked Hermione from Jerry, shielding her behind him.
He glared at Jerry, his face turning a deep red.
"I knew it was you! What did you do to Hermione?"
Facing their interrogation, Jerry simply tidied the collar Hermione had messed up, an unhurried smile remaining on his face.
Just as he was straightening his clothes, Hermione, shielded behind Ron, suddenly went stiff.
She felt the tension of her panties suddenly vanish under the influence of magic, causing the thin fabric to slide downward.
Hermione let out a suppressed gasp. She didn't even care about closing her robes anymore; she clamped her legs together with all her might, barely stopping the final, most lethal humiliation.
Hermione's face turned from red to a pale white in an instant.
Extreme shame and a spark of rage at being toyed with in public made her look up.
Over Ron's shoulder, she gave Jerry a fierce glare.
However, in that gaze, anger only occupied a small part; the rest was pure pleading.
She was begging Jerry to let her go.
The rims of her eyes were red, and a thin layer of moisture had already formed.
Jerry blinked, the smile on his lips deepening.
"What did I do?"
Jerry spoke in a tone so flat it bordered on contempt. "I was merely discussing some academic issues with Miss Granger."
Jerry took a step forward, his gaze passing over Ron's shoulder to look at Harry.
"Harry Potter, besides the bit of good luck your mother's blood left you, what else are you capable of?"
Then, he turned his gaze to the fuming Ron, the sarcasm in his voice becoming even more pronounced.
"And you, Weasley... what right do you have to stand before me with such high-and-mighty airs? Don't forget, you're just a half-blood who crawled out of nowhere. Strictly speaking, that pathetic bloodline of your family was polluted long ago."
That vicious remark about bloodlines was like two heavy punches to the faces of Harry and Ron.
Harry's expression turned grim.
He hated it most when people attributed his survival to so-called "luck."
As for Ron, he was provoked almost to the point of jumping by the "half-blood" comment.
"Liar!" Ron's face turned the color of pig liver. He was practically screaming. "The Weasley family has been pure-blood for generations!"
"Oh? Is that so?"
Jerry's tone was full of theatrical, exaggerated surprise. "Then you'd better go home and ask your parents about that great-grandmother from a Muggle family who is never mentioned. Oh, I forgot. Such scandals that stain the family bloodline... they probably wouldn't tell you."
"Shut up! Don't you dare insult my family!"
Ron trembled with rage, drawing his wand as if to charge.
Harry grabbed him, holding him back. Harry's face was equally dark, but he was far more level-headed than Ron.
"Rosier, take it back."
Harry's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority. "Otherwise, I don't mind letting you taste my 'luck' right here."
"Harry, don't stop me! I'll show him a Weasley isn't to be messed with!" Ron was still struggling behind Harry.
Jerry watched their righteous indignation, his smile only growing wider.
He was enjoying their anger as if watching a monkey show.
"What? Did I strike a nerve, and now you want to get physical?"
He spread his hands, looking perfectly innocent. "I'm only stating a fact. The pedigrees of pure-blood families aren't as haphazard as you Gryffindors. Every generation's blood is meticulously recorded."
Those words were like a fuse, instantly detonating Ron's fury.
Clearly, he wasn't as ignorant as he seemed.
"At least we aren't the descendants of Death Eaters!"
Ron finally broke free from Harry and lunged a step forward. He pointed his wand right at Jerry's nose, shouting with spit flying, "You lowly Slytherin! Your whole family are lapdogs for Dark Wizards! What right do you have to judge anyone's bloodline, you Dark Wizard's bastard!"
That was the most vicious curse Ron could think of.
He thought those words would at least cause a crack in Jerry's breezy mask.
However, Jerry didn't even blink.
The smile on his face actually deepened—a look of pity, as if watching a child throw a tantrum.
"Death Eaters?" Jerry repeated the word slowly, as if savoring it. "Ah, that is indeed a supreme honor—pursuing pure power and eternal order. That is far more meaningful than hiding under the protection of others and living off charity and pity, wouldn't you agree, Weasley?"
"You—!"
Ron was beyond words, ready to scream a curse.
Just in this daggers-drawn, hair-trigger moment, a gentle female voice came from nearby.
"Children, wands are not allowed near the greenhouses."
The group looked toward the sound to see a young woman wearing glasses walking out from behind a row of tall potted Mandrakes.
She looked to be in her early thirties, hair tied back, wearing a rough cloth gardener's outfit stained with a bit of dirt. She held a small silver hand trowel.
This new female Herbology professor was named Professor Green, the one who had just replaced Professor Sprout.
Green's gaze swept over the students, finally landing on the two wands Harry and Ron were still holding up.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, put your wands away. I trust you don't want to spend the first week of the new term in detention for brawling in the corridor?"
Professor Green's voice remained gentle, but the weight in her words was undeniable.
Harry and Ron exchanged a look and reluctantly put their wands away.
"Alright, run along now. Class is about to start."
Professor Green waved her hand as if shooing away a few small birds.
Then, she looked specifically at Hermione, a trace of concern in her eyes. "Miss Granger, you don't look well. Are you feeling unwell?"
"I... I'm fine, Professor."
Hermione's voice was weak. She was still clamping her legs together for dear life, not daring to move.
"Good. Head to the classroom then!"
Under the professor's urging, Harry and Ron had no choice but to leave with Hermione.
Before leaving, they didn't forget to turn back and give Jerry a fierce glare.
Now, only Jerry and the new Professor Green remained on the path.
Katherine, still in the bushes, had silently dragged the half-dead Cassandra away via another route the moment Professor Green appeared.
Professor Green watched the three Gryffindors walk away supporting each other. Especially when looking at the dark-haired boy with round glasses, her eyes hidden behind the lenses revealed, for a split second, an incredibly complex mix of tenderness and pain.
But that emotion was scrubbed away by Professor Green instantly.
When her gaze returned to Jerry, that fleeting warmth had vanished completely, replaced by a cold, clinical scrutiny, like a doctor observing a specimen.
To her, the boy named Rosier was more than just a Slytherin student.
Jerry was a remnant of that dark era, the descendant of the people who had destroyed her original life.
The blood flowing through Jerry—the elegance and arrogance of a pure-blood aristocrat—made her feel a physiological disgust.
Professor Green knew that people like this were like the most poisonous vines in a greenhouse; they appeared beautiful and harmless, but they would entangle everything around you when you weren't looking, sucking all the nutrients dry.
The only way to deal with such a vine was to rip it out by the roots before it fully matured.
However, the smile on Professor Green's face didn't change. She looked at Jerry and adjusted her glasses. "Mr. Rosier, Magical Botany is about to begin. Don't be late."
It was a perfectly normal reminder, but when Jerry heard those words, his pupils constricted slightly.
Jerry stared at this seemingly harmless woman.
In that instant, a purple light not of this world seemed to flash deep within Jerry's pupils.
In the vision of Jerry's Eye of Slaanesh, the emotional fluctuations radiating from this woman were nothing like the gentleness and concern she showed on the surface.
It was a clump of pure, viscous, undisguised malice.
That malice was so intense it was like facing a mortal enemy.
This woman wants to kill me.
Jerry reached that conclusion in an instant.
Just then, a cold, electronic voice that only Jerry could hear rang in his mind:
[Emergency Mission Triggered: Alchemy and Eternal Life]
[Mission Description: Rumors of the Philosopher's Stone, capable of turning lead to gold and producing the Elixir of Life, have appeared at Hogwarts.]
[Mission Objective: Participate in the struggle for the Philosopher's Stone in any form.]
The cold voice didn't end there, continuing in a tone devoid of ripples to state the stakes:
[Mission Reward: Family Prestige +500, Unlock Special Skill [Midas Touch].]
[Failure Penalty: Death.]
Despite the internal storm, Jerry's expression didn't change a bit. He simply gave a slight, stiff nod and offered a standard, polite smile. "Of course, Professor. I wouldn't dream of being late."
The fire in the fireplace suddenly turned from orange-red to an eerie emerald green, spinning as it rose.
An elegant figure stepped out of it unhurriedly.
She wore a well-tailored black robe, her golden hair tied meticulously behind her head. A reserved, detached smile of the aristocracy sat on her face.
It was Narcissa Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy, who had been waiting by the fireplace, immediately rushed forward.
"Mother!"
Malfoy gave Narcissa a solid, large hug, burying his face in her neck like a child who hadn't grown up.
Being suddenly hugged by her son caused Narcissa's smile to stiffen for an instant.
Draco's chest was pressing tightly against her own, and the pressure brought a wave of uncomfortable, aching tightness.
Thank goodness... thank goodness she had put thick enough cotton pads in her bra before leaving home.
Otherwise, the warm milk being secreted continuously would likely have soaked a large patch of her expensive robes by now.
Narcissa pretended nothing was wrong, gently patting Malfoy's back with a tender, maternal expression.
But from an angle Malfoy couldn't see, Narcissa's legs gave an awkward, subtle squirm.
To avoid the Ministry's surprise searches, she had inserted that smooth, cold anal plug into her body before leaving.
The presence of the foreign object became clearer with every step she took, making her feel as if something was constantly pulling at her from behind.
"Now, Draco, you're a young wizard now."
Narcissa smiled, gently pushing her son back to straighten his slightly crooked collar.
"Mother, you haven't been back to Hogwarts in a long time, have you? Let me show you around." Draco suggested excitedly. Being able to show off his current domain to his mother made him incredibly proud.
"Of course!"
Narcissa nodded with a smile.
Led by Draco, the mother and son walked side by side toward the heart of the castle. Narcissa listened with interest to her son's stories about school, while struggling to maintain her impeccable, elegant stride, making sure no one could see the shameful secret hidden within her body that could ruin her reputation.
As they were about to set off, the fireplace beside them flickered again without warning. Green flames rose once more.
Following that, a figure even taller than Narcissa stepped gracefully out of the fireplace.
It was a witch who also looked to be in her early thirties, her skin so pale it was almost transparent.
She wore a dark green velvet robe, tailored far more boldly than traditional wizarding robes, tightly wrapping her mature and shapely curves. The robe was embroidered with complex and magnificent silver snake patterns.
On her head, she wore an exquisite little hat tilted to one side, adorned with a vibrantly colored peacock feather.
Her outfit was undoubtedly flamboyant, yet her demeanor was quite reserved.
Her gait carried a lazy elegance, and the smile on her face was a perfectly measured, polite but distant arc.
Narcissa stopped, the maternal warmth on her face fading rapidly, replaced by the impeccable social mask of a pure-blood noblewoman.
"Is that you, Narcissa?"
The woman spoke first, her voice like fine silk, smooth and pleasing to the ear. "Oh, wait, look at my memory. I should call you Mrs. Malfoy now."
"Cassiopeia, it's been a long time." Narcissa responded with a smile, her tone flat and devoid of emotion. "I didn't expect to run into you here."
This woman, Cassiopeia, was the mother of the Slytherin seventh-year Prefect, Isabella.
She and Narcissa had known each other since their student days. Although they weren't roommates, they had a decent acquaintance.
"Yes, what a coincidence."
Cassiopeia smiled. "I'm here to bring Isabella a few things. And this must be your son, Draco? What a handsome young man."
"Madam, a pleasure." Draco nodded politely.
"Hello, young Mr. Malfoy."
Cassiopeia's gaze circled the mother and son before landing back on Narcissa's face, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. "Speaking of which, we haven't seen much of each other since graduation, Narcissa. You're exactly the same as before—haven't changed a bit."
Before she finished speaking, the fireplace that had just gone out flashed with brilliant green light once more.
This time, the flames seemed more violent and unstable than the previous two.
Immediately following, a somewhat plump figure in a hand-knitted sweater stumbled out of the flames. It was Ron's mother, Molly Weasley.
And in her hand, she was clutching another woman tightly.
The woman she pulled out was clearly struggling to adjust to this method of travel.
The moment she landed, her legs went soft and she nearly collapsed. Her face was deathly pale, and she couldn't stop coughing.
She was Hermione's mother, Mrs. Granger.
As an ordinary human, Mrs. Granger looked to be a well-maintained noblewoman of excellent temperament.
But at this moment, her face was written with pure shock from this supernatural mode of travel.
She gripped Molly's hand like a lifesaver, her body still trembling slightly.
"Oh, dear, it's alright, it's alright."
Molly comforted her, patting the soot off her back. "The first time is always like this. You'll get used to it after a few more tries."
Their appearance caused the atmosphere in the room to drop to freezing point instantly.
The smiles on Narcissa and Cassiopeia's faces solidified completely the moment they saw Molly Weasley.
When their gazes shifted to Mrs. Granger, who radiated a "Muggle" aura, that solidification turned into undisguised loathing.
Molly had once been a Hogwarts student as well—a Gryffindor.
She was no stranger to these two pure-blood witches who practically dripped with "We Are the Most Noble" attitude.
In her student days, as Molly Prewett, she had frequently clashed with Narcissa and Cassiopeia, the "Queens" of Slytherin.
Now, seeing these two old enemies, the maternal warmth of a housewife vanished from Molly's face.
The corner of Molly's mouth hooked into an undisguised, disdainful smirk.
"Well, look who it is."
She spoke up, her voice clear and carrying that direct, Gryffindor spark. "If it isn't the two 'Grand Ladies'? What's the matter? After so many years since graduation, you still can't let go of the school and came back to wallow in nostalgia?"
In truth, Molly's appearance shared almost no resemblance to her son, Ron.
Molly was tall, and while years of managing a household had left her somewhat lean, her figure remained upright and firm.
She wore a somewhat old checkered long dress. The fabric looked cheap, but it was kept impeccably clean and ironed without a single wrinkle, actually setting off an excellent temperament.
Beneath her hem, her calves clad in black stockings were visible, the lines tight and graceful.
Molly stood there casually, one hand still supporting the bewildered Mrs. Granger. Yet the confidence and toughness radiating from her bones meant that in terms of presence, she didn't lose a single inch to the two ladies built on Gold Galleons opposite her.
Molly's sharp, clear voice was like cold water dumped onto the loathing frozen on the faces of Narcissa and Cassiopeia, stirring a ripple of displeasure.
Cassiopeia's mouth curled into a sneer. She sized up Molly's body from top to bottom, then let her gaze drift vaguely to the anxious Mrs. Granger beside her.
"Oh, Molly. It's Molly Weasley, I see."
Cassiopeia dragged out her words, the mockery in her eyes thick enough to be tangible. "I thought a 'Hero Mother' like you, who has given birth to an entire litter, would be so trapped in housework she wouldn't even be able to crawl out of a fireplace."
Her words were biting and direct, giving Molly no chance to retort.
Immediately after, she deliberately spoke to Narcissa in a flat yet arrogant tone, loud enough for Molly to hear perfectly:
"But honestly, Narcissa, look at Molly. After so many children, her figure has actually remained... well, not completely ruined."
Cassiopeia's tone carried a mock surprise, as if she were discussing something incredible. "They say the poorer you are, the more you breed. It seems the saying is true. Being poor... besides breeding, there isn't much else to do."
A rare look of agreement appeared on Narcissa's frost-cold face.
She didn't speak directly, but simply flicked her gaze toward Molly—a look filled with naked contempt.
It was as if she were saying: In this life, you're only worthy of living such a 'barren' and 'laborious' existence.
However, the smile on Molly's face didn't vanish; instead, it grew more brilliant. Yet that smile held no warmth, only a cold, razor-sharp edge.
Her gaze drifted unhurriedly from Cassiopeia's face to Narcissa's, and finally landed on Draco Malfoy, who was being shielded by his mother.
She looked Draco up and down as if appreciating an interesting exhibit.
"Speaking of which, Narcissa!" Molly's voice rang out lazily, every word carrying a malicious drawl. "Your son has certainly turned out to be quite the looker. This platinum-blond hair is truly beautiful."
Then, without any warning, Molly's tone shifted.
"Except..."
She tilted her head, a perfectly timed look of feigned confusion on her face. "Why is it that I see no resemblance whatsoever between him and Lucius when he was young? I remember clearly—Lucius's face was a bit longer, and his eyes weren't nearly this... round."
That sentence was like a silent slap, hitting Narcissa right in the face.
"Molly!"