Time always passes quickly.
A month and a half passed in a flash, and everything seemed to return to the right track.
Time was like a bullet, flying relentlessly straight ahead.
The boring Hogwarts, the noisy Halloween party.
The upcoming N.E.W.T.s for the seventh-year wizards.
Or the Christmas that all the little wizards had been looking forward to for a year, which was just around the corner.
All were merely the bullseyes pierced by this bullet called time.
Deep within the alchemy workshop in Hogsmeade, the air was filled with a pungent smell of intertwining sulfur and mercury vapor.
Draco Malfoy was standing in front of an obsidian workbench pitted by corrosion. His robe sleeves were rolled up tightly, and his exposed arms were covered in dull clay and dark metal powder.
In front of him, a crystal golem about fifty centimeters tall, slightly bloated in form, was emitting a weak and unstable blue light.
The torso of this golem was forcibly sintered from rough slag mixed with crystal powder, its surface as rough as withered tree bark.
The parts connecting the limbs were not the precise universal gears used in high-level constructs, but crude pistons poured from molten scrap iron and contaminated mercury.
Its head didn't even have facial features, only a deep crack caused by uneven cooling.
Malfoy's hands, usually pampered, were now clasped on the core groove behind the golem. He quickly pushed a low-level magic beast crystal core with chaotic energy and even fine cracks on the surface into the slot welded from iron sheets.
Hum!
A low and harsh metal friction sound rang out.
With the embedding of the crystal core, the runes drawn on the golem's torso, imprinted with "ink" mixed from cheap bat blood and mercury, began to light up one by one.
Due to the inferior materials, the process of magic transmission appeared exceptionally difficult.
Dark red streams of magic crawled sluggishly in those rough engraved lines, occasionally bursting with a few harsh electric sparks.
"With this as the core, reshape the iron body.
Move!"
Malfoy chanted the last activation spell in a low voice, while his wand tapped heavily on the center of the golem's crack-filled head.
The golem's originally stiff metal limbs trembled violently. From the bubble gaps produced by poor smelting, a small amount of dark cold liquid began to seep out.
Immediately after, the crystal golem, which looked like it would disintegrate at any time, actually emitted a hoarse hydraulic exhaust sound. Its severely disproportionate arms raised abruptly, bringing up a burst of rotten water vapor, and then stepped forward steadily with its first step, heavy soles hitting the stone floor with a crisp sound.
Although the golem's movements were slow and the processing power of its logic core was extremely low, only able to execute the simplest "step" and "swing fist" commands, under this piling of cheap materials, its core actually maintained the energy cycle for more than three minutes without collapsing. This was already considered a small miracle in alchemy theory.
"Jerry! Look quickly!"
Disregarding the dirt on his hands, Draco turned around abruptly, pointing at the golem that was clumsily swinging its iron arm and smashing a waste wooden box beside it into pieces.
His eyes were bloodshot, but his face showed an unnatural flush due to intense excitement; his whole person seemed immersed in some huge sense of achievement.
Jerry leaned against the shadow of the workshop entrance, looking at the "mud" construct that, although ugly, low-level, and full of flaws, indeed possessed preliminary combat capabilities.
A glint flashed in Jerry's pupils.
Jerry straightened up, slowly pacing to Draco's side.
Jerry didn't delve into the waste of materials but reached out and patted Draco's dust-covered shoulder extremely rarely. His gaze locked on the golem's lower limb structure capable of autonomous balance, his tone full and sincere.
"This is what I want.
Draco, you not only successfully simplified the compatibility array of the crystal core but even found the balance point of the magic cycle under this cheap ratio.
Among those so-called old guys in the wizarding world, who would dare imagine that a stable combat unit could be made from this kind of 'trash'?"
Jerry paused, his eyes carrying a penetrating approval and expectation: "With this talent for magic circuit modification, if the ancestors of the Malfoy family saw this era-crossing 'steel toy,' they would probably feel ashamed of their inferiority.
This series, let's call it the 'Malfoy Type I'."
Draco puffed out his chest. Due to this most direct and high praise from Jerry—a peer who was almost a miracle even in his eyes—the fatigue from continuous high-intensity experiments vanished, and his eyes flashed with unprecedented ambition and drive.
The flush on Draco's face didn't deepen because of this "supreme" praise; instead, it slowly receded a bit as if poured over by a basin of cold water.
In his grey eyes, usually full of pure-blood aristocratic arrogance, what flowed at this moment was a self-knowledge mixed with fatigue, relief, and sobriety.
He shook his head; even his platinum blonde short hair was stained with unknown black dust.
He laughed self-deprecatingly. There was no pride or complacency in that smile; instead, it carried a frankness like surviving a disaster.
"Jerry, stop praising me."
Malfoy's voice was somewhat hoarse, obviously the result of not resting well for several days and nights. "I know my own level best.
To make such a barely moving piece of junk, how many Galleons did I burn?"
He pointed to the mountain of scrap piled in the corner of the workshop—completely scrapped, oddly shaped construct wreckage. They were like silent tombstones, silently recounting countless previous failures.
"Honestly, if I couldn't make a guy that can walk two steps on its own today, I probably would have really given up on this damn crystal golem making path.
The Malfoy family has never produced an idiot who wasted nearly a month and a half, failed one hundred and thirty-seven times in a row, and still didn't repent."
Jerry looked at him, the approving expression on his face unchanged.
He seemed to have long predicted Draco would have such a reaction.
"Give up?"
Jerry repeated the word softly, then shook his head slowly.
Jerry stepped forward, not looking at the swaying "Malfoy Type I," but casually picked up a piece of iron burnt black and completely devoid of magic conductivity from the pile of waste.
"Draco, every piece of scrap iron we throw away, every gram of crystal we burn, is not waste."
Jerry's voice was calm but carried an unquestionable power.
He held the scrap iron in front of Draco.
"They are data, steps to eliminate wrong options.
Every explosion of failure, every burnout of magic circuits, every disintegration of construct joints, is telling you which road is impassable."
His gaze moved away from the scrap iron, falling back into Draco's grey eyes, deep and bright.
"And now!" A trace of imperceptible fanaticism appeared in Jerry's voice. "You are already standing at the top of those one hundred and thirty-seven steps.
You used countless failures to pave the only correct road to success."
He let go, allowing the scrap iron to fall to the ground with a clang, then reached out and patted Draco's shoulder heavily again. This time, his tone was filled with command-like expectation.
"The next thing is not to make 'one'."
"But ten, a hundred, a thousand..."
Jerry walked slowly behind the "Malfoy Type I" crystal golem.
Jerry extended a finger, sliding gently over the golem's rough joints sintered from metal and clay. His finger pad touched that uneven texture, his tone revealing a calmness of overall planning:
"Draco, you have to understand, a single success is often accompanied by huge contingency.
If we were pursuing a work of art, then these one hundred and thirty-seven failures would be the cost.
So, those so-called 'bad results'—such as short circuits in magic loops, abnormal noises in joints, overheating of cores—when combined at this moment, they are no longer fragments of failure, but the most detailed guide to avoiding pitfalls in your hand."
Jerry turned around, casually tore off a stain-covered blueprint from the operating table, handed it to Draco, signaling him to note it down.
"Every opportunity for improvement is hidden in that pile of burnt scrap iron.
Your previous success merely represents that you touched the door to the end in that maze full of death and explosions.
But this is not the end, but the starting point of a higher level.
Because when you face ten, a hundred of these golems starting at the same time, you will find that the tiny flaws originally covered up will be magnified exponentially.
Those originally seemingly insignificant 'bad results', in front of a huge base number, may evolve into a perfect disaster."
Jerry paused. There was no smile in his dark green eyes, only a transparency and fanaticism that saw through the essence of alchemy.
"But this is right.
We need to face these predicaments piled up by failures.
Because only by dealing with countless trivial, annoying failures can you truly master the essence of standardization.
Overcoming every failure node is a step upward on that level."
Draco took a deep breath of air filled with metallic rust smell. His shoulders, which had drooped somewhat due to excessive fatigue, straightened again.
He felt that his defenses originally built by bloodline, glory, or simple pride were being reshaped by Jerry's pragmatic alchemy view built solidly on data and scrap iron.
"I understand, Jerry."
Although Draco's voice still carried a bit of huskiness, the looming wavering disappeared.
He wiped the black soot off his face casually, his eyes nailing back onto the ugly golem. A steady light lit up at the tip of his wand, beginning to outline in the void those rune paths he had practiced countless times in his mind.
"I will modulate all magic nodes. Since the inferior materials cannot bear precise control, I will expand the tolerance range.
I can walk around these one hundred and thirty-seven pits even with my eyes closed in the future."
Looking at Draco in this state, Jerry showed a satisfied, extremely rare look of approval.
"Very good.
The first batch of raw materials, totaling three hundred tons, will be delivered to the warehouse in batches before curfew tomorrow night.
Use them freely.
If you need more materials, tell me directly. I believe you have the aptitude to become a Crystal Golem Master!"
After Jerry finished speaking, he disappeared again into the deep shadow at the workshop entrance.
He could feel that the residual potency of the "Beast Transformation Potion" in his body actually had a certain extremely docile subsidence under the stimulation brought by Draco's primitive, low-end, yet vibrant industrial spark.
Jerry walked through the unpredictable corridor, not stopping anywhere, but walked straight to a seemingly ordinary wall made of common stone bricks.
His fingers tapped lightly on the wall seven times in a chaotic, complex sequence.
Accompanied by an almost inaudible sound like bone friction, the solid wall slid silently inward, revealing a pitch-black hole only allowing one person to pass.
Inside the hole was not stone, but a warm and slightly elastic dark purple biological tissue, the surface covered with fine, constantly contracting patterns.
Jerry didn't hesitate at all, stepping in.
The "wall" behind him closed instantly, cutting off all aura.
The scene before his eyes was completely different from the ancient magic castle. This was a cold and efficient hell factory constructed entirely of biological and mechanical logic.
The air was filled with a strong, unique smell mixed with ozone, molten metal, and some sweet humus.
The light was dim. The only light source came from the assembly line itself—those operating biomechanical machines, and the fleeting sparks burst out when they processed materials.
This was the true trump card of Jerry's workshop, a massive, independent, and self-operating underground manufacturing base.
In Jerry's field of vision, hundreds of parallel production lines were neatly arranged.
These production lines were not driven by steel or magic; their components were creepy, living creatures.
Peculiar insect-like creatures, each as tall as a person and possessing six limbs, were working with a near-perfect, mechanical rhythm.
Their bodies were wrapped in dark chitinous armor flashing with metallic luster. Two pairs of sturdy hind legs were firmly fixed like rivets on the ground composed of proliferating flesh, providing them with unparalleled stability.
They had no eyes; the head was just a smooth bone panel for receiving biological signals.
Their other two pairs of forelimbs had differentiated into completely different forms.
One pair was huge bone blades like mantis scythes, the edges flashing with ghostly blue cold light, sharp enough to cut most alloys at the molecular level.
The other pair was smaller and finer, composed of dozens of needle-like tentacles that could move independently, used for the most precise operations.
At this moment, a production line was running at high speed.
Below the head of a "Worker Bug," an organ similar to a nozzle opened abruptly, and a stream of high-temperature, bright silver liquid metal was sprayed precisely into mid-air.
The moment it touched the special gas in the workshop, this mass of liquid began to cool and solidify at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Almost at the same time, the huge scythe-like bone blade of another "Worker Bug" beside it swung an afterimage. A crisp sound like cutting glass rang in the air.
That metal block still in mid-air, not yet fully formed, had been precisely cut and shaped into a perfect leg bone conforming to the simplified blueprint.
Immediately after, a third "Worker Bug" caught this bone still carrying residual heat with its fine tentacle limbs and, with a precision surpassing any craftsman without a hair's breadth of error, installed it onto a golem skeleton being assembled on a slowly moving "conveyor belt" composed of proliferating muscle tissue.
The welding process was equally biological—it secreted an acidic liquid with strong adhesive and metal melting properties from its mouthparts, perfectly fusing the two parts into one the moment it touched the contact point.
From spraying material to cutting and shaping, then to precision assembly, the whole process was completed in one go within three seconds, without any superfluous movement, like a cold program repeated billions of times.
Jerry walked slowly forward in this symphony composed of ding-ding-clang-clang cutting sounds, hydraulic exhaust-like hissing, and the collision sounds of metal parts assembly.
Thousands of low-quality crystal golems that had completed basic assembly stood quietly at the end of the production line, like terracotta warriors waiting for review.
Their appearance was exactly the same as the original version of the prototype Draco painstakingly created, but whether it was surface smoothness, joint fit, or the fluency of internal magic circuits, they far surpassed the latter, reaching the most perfect limit this material could present.
This was Jerry's "System Reward"—skipping all the long and painful processes of learning, practicing, and trial and error, directly endowing him with the most original, most perfect understanding and manufacturing ability for the concept of "Low-Quality Crystal Golem."
He didn't need to spend decades mastering every variation like Snape, nor did he need to experience hundreds of failures to fumble for a formula like Draco.
Because what Jerry mastered was "Creation" itself.
But this "Creation" had limits.
Jerry could only be king in the low-quality field. For those medium and high-quality golems requiring higher-level materials and more complex laws, his current knowledge reserve could not yet analyze and replicate them.
But so what?
When the quantity was huge enough to cause qualitative change, so-called "quality" became a laughable pseudo-proposition.
The "Worker Bugs" noticed Jerry's entry, but their movements didn't pause or change at all.
Their bio-radars scanned his existence, confirmed Jerry's highest authority identity, and then continued to devote all computing power to endless production.
They were absolutely loyal, emotionless, the most perfect tools.
Jerry ignored these creations like precision instruments. He passed through the roaring industrial zone, and the scene before his eyes underwent earth-shaking changes again.
The hard ground composed of metal and solidified body fluid ended here, replaced by a vast, soft, and warm purple creep.
He had entered deeper into this underground space, a true nest core expanded hundreds of times by him using the top-tier Undetectable Extension Charm.
This was an absolute forbidden zone; even Old Henry's pervasive house-elf magic couldn't pry into a bit of it.
Jerry stepped barefoot on the creep.
Underfoot came a soft and elastic touch like stepping on the skin of some living creature.
The surface of the creep was covered with huge and thick vein-like networks, in which biological energy emitting ghostly blue fluorescence flowed, providing a steady stream of power for the entire massive underground factory.
The industrialized metal smell in the air disappeared, replaced by a smell of life mixed with soil, fungi, and some indescribable sweetness.
The ding-ding-clang-clang production sounds still came from the assembly line behind, but in this area, those sounds seemed absorbed and distorted by some invisible force field, becoming distant and blurred.
Replaced by a low, rhythmic throbbing sound like the heartbeat of a giant beast, converging from the depths of the creep, from all directions of the cave.
The moment he stepped on the creep, Jerry felt a familiar will, tangible as substance, shrouding down from the endless darkness overhead.
It was a prying indescribable by language.
It had no malice, no emotion, more like a massive supercomputer scanning and analyzing every cell of his body, every inch of his soul, and all information he brought back from the outside world in an instant.
The familiar feeling finally made the corner of Jerry's tight mouth hook into an extremely tiny arc.
He slowly extended his right hand toward the deep darkness overhead that seemed capable of swallowing all light.
This was a signal, a ritual, a greeting from a child to a mother.
In the darkness, some behemoth began to stir.
At first, only a few fleshy tentacles, light as catkins but thick as an adult's arm, hung down from the shadow of the dome, swaying gently in front of him.
Immediately after, the outline of that darkness began to become clear. A figure huge beyond imagination, seeming to occupy the entire upper half of the cave, was leaning down toward him with a posture full of endless majesty and maternal compassion.
Hum!
The air began to vibrate; that wasn't sound, but a pure mental resonance ringing directly in Jerry's mind.
First to meet the eye was its "Face."
That was not a face any human or known creature could possess.
In the center of a structure composed of smooth, dark purple bone armor like an inverted crown, inlaid was an aggregate composed of hundreds, or even thousands of independent hexagonal compound eyes flashing with ghostly light.
Each of these compound eyes was like an independent, deep star. They turned simultaneously, reflecting Jerry's tiny figure thousands of times. They had no pupils, yet seemed capable of seeing through the river of time, insight into the essence of all things.
Below this starry expanse of compound eyes was a series of complex, precise mouthparts like the internal components of a clock.
They were tightly closed at this moment, but Jerry knew that when they opened, they were enough to swallow and decompose an adult fire dragon in an instant.
Its main body did not rely on walking but was connected and suspended in mid-air by countless thick, throbbing biological cables from all directions of the cave.
These cables, like the root system of a giant tree, plunged deeply into the walls of the nest, transporting the energy of the entire underground space to it continuously.
Its body was a huge, bloated, nearly semi-transparent flesh sac, its size comparable to the main castle of Hogwarts. Through that thin, constantly wriggling sac wall, one could vaguely see it was filled with pale yellow liquid like amniotic fluid.
In the liquid, countless tiny, developing embryos, as well as larger, already formed "Worker Bug" larvae, were floating with the flow of liquid.
This was the source of life, the furnace of creation, the heart of the entire swarm.
It was the highest will of this Tyranid branch magically modified and localized by Jerry, the one and only, supreme—Broodmother.
Facing Jerry's outstretched hand, the Broodmother's massive body continued to descend slowly.
A forelimb, the slenderest, longest, like carved from white jade, slowly unfolded from its chest covered by heavy carapace.
The structure of this limb was exquisite to the extreme, its tip sharp as a top surgeon's scalpel, but at this moment, its movement was as gentle as a lover's caress.
The tip of that jade-white bone blade hovered above Jerry's palm, separated by only a millimeter.
Neither human nor bug moved again.
But in this absolute quietness, a communication deeper and more complex than any language was proceeding rapidly between the consciousness of Jerry and the Broodmother.
Observations from the outside world, the humiliation and pleasure on Su Chan, Draco's growth and transformation... everything was received, analyzed, and filed by the Broodmother like a data stream.
A moment later, the tip of that jade-white limb finally landed gently on Jerry's palm.
Cold, hard, yet carrying a feeling of absolute trust connected by blood.
Immediately after, the Broodmother's "face" composed of thousands of compound eyes descended a few more inches, almost touching Jerry's face.
Its complex mouthparts opened slightly, emitting a burst of low, complex, inhuman "language" like the intertwining of dragon roar and phoenix cry.
The voice echoed in Jerry's mind, translated directly into the purest form of will he could understand.
[Bloodline... hunger...]
[Need... more... nutrients...]
[Where... is... the new... hunting ground?]
That will, pulsating with greedy instinct, surged through Jerry's consciousness. Even with absolute mental control, the most primitive biological essence—the urge to "devour"—made the Tyranid Broodmother restless at this moment.
Its hundreds of pairs of compound eyes rotated, emitting a violence powerful enough to distort the very air.
Massive limbs scraped against the rocky walls, leaving grooves deep enough to see bone as rock debris rained down.
Jerry stood upon the biological carpet of the creep, his expression cold and stern.
Jerry knew well the current predicament of this Broodmother.
It was not merely a product of magical modification; it was a gold-swallowing beast.
According to the plan, a nest of this magnitude should have been placed in the foolproof Blackfeather Castle.
However, the legacy of the old family hidden within Blackfeather Castle was far more sensitive than this underground industrial cluster.
Blackfeather Castle was the foundation, and he could not allow even a one-in-ten-thousand chance of exposure.
Following the veins of the creep outward, there were rows of massive, semi-transparent membrane-like organs.
They looked like giant eggshells buried deep in the earth's crust, filled with a yellowish-green, potent acid.
Through the wriggling thin film, Jerry could see a chilling sight: a dozen massive bodies, dozens of kilometers high, were being soaked in the acid.
Those were War Giants from the East; even in death, their skin shimmered with a dark gold metallic texture.
This epidermis, rumored to be able to withstand the breath of a dragon, was originally the dream material for any Dark Wizard.
Even cutting off a single piece of the spine and refining it slightly would yield a necromantic heavy weapon capable of toppling cities.
But at this moment, these former masters of the battlefield had completely lost their dignity.
Their massive heads had been melted away, their chest cavities were hollow, exposing internal skeletal structures that resembled labyrinths.
As the acid boiled, the Giants' flesh and blood were dismantled bit by bit by the highly efficient digestive enzymes secreted by the Broodmother, turning into the purest biomass and trace metals.
The price of these Giant corpses was staggering.
Due to the strict monitoring of various Ministries of Magic, every smuggled corpse was obtained through countless layers of disguise and black-market trade.
Jerry calculated the consumption rate of the materials; though the Broodmother was still in its infancy, its digestive organs were like a black hole connected to the void.
"Insatiable thing," Jerry whispered to himself, yet he remained at the edge of the creep, gently tapping the drooping forelimb of the Broodmother with his fingertip, attempting to soothe the waves of physiological rage.
After calming the Broodmother, Jerry turned around.
The low-end assembly line behind him froze in an instant.
It was an absolute command of stillness transmitted by the Broodmother's will.
In this region ruled entirely by biological instinct, all production made way for Jerry's actions.
He sat cross-legged before a raised circular platform of creep.
This was the convergence node for magic within the Broodmother's body. Jerry took a deep breath, held his hands level, and closed his eyes.
"Synthesis."
In an instant, a deep, dark green radiance overflowed from his palms.
Synthesis was not a simple gluing process; it used external magical pressure to forcibly twist the microscopic arrangement of matter, compressing and reorganizing the essence of two or more low-level golems.
Performing this spell required extremely precise mental control.
Jerry's fingers traced lines in the void, overlapping each one onto the fragile framework of the golem.
The synthesis began.
Two low-level golems were pulled into the center of a gravity field that was nearly tangible.
The surrounding air emitted a piercing screech, like metal grinding against metal.
Inferior crystal creaked under the massive pressure, and several shards of crystal cores, lacking sufficient strength, exploded into grey dust at the edge of the glow.
Jerry's movements remained steady.
His palms faced each other, and two streams of magic at different frequencies pulled an unstable arc between them.
The crude bodies of the golems began to melt.
In the intense light, the two golems became semi-transparent, like liquid metal.
The dull soil and impurities were pushed to the edges bit by bit.
However, the Synthesis spell was not always merciful.
At the very moment the semi-transparent body was about to take shape, a minute conflict of energy fluctuations occurred within the crystal circuits that should have fit perfectly.
This was the most fatal flaw of Synthesis: the lower the quality of the materials, the higher the chance that internal impurities would cause the final product to collapse.
In the next second.
The light failed to solidify.
With a muffled poof, the golem torso that was about to form abruptly disintegrated into a cloud of crystal dust and shattered iron shells.
The synthesis had failed.
The warm debris fell onto the purple creep.
A failure of this magnitude would be enough to make any alchemist cough up blood in heartbreak, as it meant expensive magic cores and massive man-hours had gone down the drain.
But Jerry's expression didn't flicker even a fraction of a millimeter.
He slowly withdrew his hands, not even looking at the remains on the floor.
Almost as soon as the failure occurred, a suction hole opened in the creep. The pile of meaningless scrap iron and shattered crystals was instantly swept up by fine capillary tentacles and slid rapidly along the veins.
A pleasant, low growl echoed from the Broodmother in the distance.
To the Broodmother, these residues, rich in the alchemist's trace magic, were excellent snacks.
Though they could not be converted into perfect biological building material, they were more than enough to replenish the concentration of her digestive fluids.
This was why Jerry dared to "gamble" so recklessly here.
In this place, there was no concept of waste, only "finished products" and "nutrients."
Jerry extended his hands once more, his movements even faster this time, as several low-level golem frames were tossed into the air simultaneously.
Within his pupils, that mad, dark green light ignited once more.
Under the gaze of the Broodmother's countless compound eyes, a new round of devouring and reshaping began.
When the last ray of orange-red sunset was swallowed by the spires of Hogwarts Castle, the green gems in the massive hourglass carved with the Slytherin silver snake were almost gone.
The atmosphere of the banquet was at its peak, the air a mixture of scorched roast meat, sweet pumpkin juice, and the chattering of hundreds of students.
Jerry dragged his exhausted body out of the castle shadows and into the noisy light.
the high-intensity mental strain in the underground nest had left him with a fatigue that reached deep into his soul.
He served himself a thick-cut black pepper steak and some mashed potatoes with gravy, sitting in a relatively secluded corner of the Slytherin table.
Despite the remote corner, Jerry—the first-year student with a growing reputation—still drew many eyes.
Jerry ignored the gazes of awe and curiosity, simply picking up his silver cutlery and cutting his food with silent, mechanical precision. The blade sliced through the steak fibers with a regular, faint sizzle.
Just then, a light, familiar fragrance, like lily of the valley, accompanied a breeze and stopped beside him.
"Little lecherous master!"
Katherine's voice pulsed with unsuppressable excitement, like a kitten that had discovered a new toy.
She set her plate down next to Jerry with a clang and slid onto the bench beside him, her body pressing tightly against his.
Katherine didn't rush to eat; she leaned into Jerry's ear, her warm breath making his earlobe itch. She lowered her voice, but her eyes shone brighter than the thousand magical candles in the Great Hall.
"This year's N.E.W.T. exams are set at the Frontline!"
"This means that as long as I pass, I'll earn direct military merit and can skip the tedious reviews to join the officer selection for the frontline legions!"
Jerry's right hand, cutting the steak, paused abruptly at the word "Frontline." His silver fork scraped a sharp, piercing sound against the white porcelain plate.
He looked up, and in his bottomless dark green eyes, a rare trace of confusion appeared.
He set down his cutlery and turned slightly toward Katherine, asking: "Which frontline?
Has a new Material Plane battlefield been discovered?
As far as I know, haven't most conflicts between world clusters been forcibly paused due to the proximity of the 'False God Frontline'?
The only active one left should be the direction facing the False Olympic Pantheon."
"That's exactly the one!"
Katherine nodded excitedly. She speared a pea with her fork but didn't eat it, just gesturing with it in her hand. "For this N.E.W.T., all senior students must enter a world controlled by the forces of the False Olympic Pantheon for their assessment!
Each student will be given a specific mission: hunting designated 'mythical creatures,' destroying an altar, or infiltrating for intelligence... as long as the mission is finished, you pass the practical exam!"
Jerry fell silent. He picked up his fork again but didn't look at the steak. His lips pressed into a thin, straight line.
He knew well that the N.E.W.T.s were never games in a greenhouse; every year, students were left behind forever in other worlds during practical combat.
But this time, throwing them directly into an active, high-stakes war zone... were Dumbledore and the Ministry truly planning to use human lives to filter the future pillars of society?
He glanced at the ecstatic Katherine beside him. Her beautiful face was full of longing for the future and the desire to build a legacy.
An emotion he had never felt before—something like "worry"—wrapped around his heart like a very faint spiderweb.
Perhaps it was a case of "love me, love my dog," but he didn't want this pretty, clingy kitten of his to be scratched by unknown claws in a strange world.
However, the thought was fleeting.
Jerry knew clearly that Katherine was not a canary content to be locked in a golden cage.
She had chosen to be the right hand that stood beside him, not a vase that only existed to please him in bed.
If that was the case, then that battlefield of death and mud was the trial ground she had to cross.
Just as he himself had to use the blood of his enemies in that sea of corpses to wash away the notorious reputation of the Rosier family.
At that thought, the fleeting solemnity on Jerry's face vanished, replaced by his usual, slightly wicked smile.
He cut a small piece of juicy steak and fed it to Katherine with his own fork.
Katherine blinked, then obediently opened her mouth and ate the steak.
"If you want to go, then go," Jerry said, his voice quiet but filled with absolute affirmation. "Remember, in a world like that, trust no one—not your teammates, and not the mission briefings.
Always prioritize your own life above all else."
Jerry looked at Katherine's eyes, which had brightened significantly at his words, and continued: "However, I have great confidence in you."
Jerry leaned forward slightly, speaking in a volume only they could hear, using a tone that was almost romantic to tell an extremely wicked joke.
"After all, you could even conquer a powerful, greedy, and difficult wizard like me in bed, leaving me defeated and in tatters..."
He reached out beneath her smooth silk robes and gave Katherine's tight, perky buttocks an unnoticed squeeze, feeling the muscle tense instantly and hearing the suppressed moan from her throat.
"...What could a mere N.E.W.T. practical exam possibly be compared to that?"
Katherine's response to this flirtation was even more direct and aggressive. She shifted her body slightly, using her wide Slytherin robes as cover. In the middle of the crowded Great Hall, she boldly reached down with the hand that had been sliding across Jerry's stomach and gripped the cluster that was burning hot from her teasing.
While feeling Jerry's now dangerously rhythmic thumping in her palm, she leaned her nose against his, her eyes flashing with a near-insane worship and possessiveness.
"Of course, my little lecherous master."
Though her voice was low, it carried a satisfied huskiness. She felt the weapon in her hand, the 'dragon,' jumping more cheerfully in her palm. The heavy, iron-hard weight made her every nerve sing with joy: "I can even ride a greedy and ruthless 'dragon' like you; a mere test is indeed nothing to me."
Katherine mischievously used her nail to lightly scrape Jerry's most sensitive tip through his underwear, causing the young wizard's breathing to hitch visibly. Then, she reluctantly let go, her expression turning somewhat resentful and her tone dropping. "It's just... such a shame.
I originally thought I could spend this Christmas watching the snow with my little lecherous master, but the plans are all ruined now."
Katherine complained, a jealousy born from the inability to have Jerry all to herself. She then gave a self-deprecating laugh and added: "I heard there will be 'Observers' accompanying us for the evaluation. With those old farts watching, I doubt I'll even have many chances to write letters."
Jerry listened to the kitten's complaints absentmindedly, his gaze no longer on her.
His eyes swept across to the end of the long table, settling on a bush of messy, curly brown hair.
Hermione Granger had abandoned her usual 'Know-It-All' diligence today. Before her sat a plate of thick-cut steak that had been sliced but was almost untouched.
The girl's small face, usually full of calm and knowledge, appeared pale and gloomy. Her brown eyes stared uneasily at the wooden table, and her slender fingers gripped her fork deathly tight. She seemed to have no appetite at all, and even when Neville and Harry beside her discussed their plans for the Christmas break, she didn't interject as she usually would.
The moment Jerry's gaze swept over her, Hermione seemed to have an incredibly sharp bioelectric reaction.
Hermione snapped her head up. Her bloodless face was instantly covered in an intense, sickly flush the moment she met Jerry's cold, mocking, and scrutinizing eyes.
That flush spread rapidly from Hermione's cheeks to her small earlobes, and even her slender neck showed a faint throb in the veins.
Hermione quickly looked down and stabbed her fork into a piece of cold mashed potato, her body trembling uncontrollably from the surge of desire.
He already knew the source of Hermione's "loss of appetite."
After dinner, Jerry declined Katherine's invitation for a walk by the Forbidden Forest and entered the cold, damp, sunken corridor leading to the dungeons alone.
The walls here were lined with dim torches, casting long shadows across the rough stone bricks. With the end of the term approaching, most students were in the towers or common rooms for intense revision. The corridor was so silent that the only sound was the clicking of his leather boots on the stone floor.
However, as he rounded a corner with a large statue, a black shadow suddenly lunged out from the darkness.
Jerry didn't dodge, and he certainly didn't pull his wand, because the familiar, nauseating yet intoxicating scent of desire had already locked onto him.
Bang!
Jerry's back hit the cold wall hard.
Since Jerry had grown a few centimeters again, his forehead was perfectly positioned to feel the rapid, burning breath from the girl opposite him.
Hermione Granger had completely lost the poise of a top Gryffindor student.
She extended two trembling hands and pressed them firmly against the wall on either side of Jerry's shoulders, pinning him in the hard recess in a perfect 'Kabedon.'
Her hair was even messier due to her excessive emotional state. Her brown eyes were clouded with a thick mist, and at the bottom was a mad, desperate dependence.
"Jerry..." Hermione's voice carried an obvious sob and a moan as she pressed herself against him. "Christmas break... my family is already prepared for you to come over."
She buried her face in the crook of Jerry's shoulder. Due to extreme craving, her body was spasming incessantly. "My dad... he went to London to order the highest-quality turkey.
And my mother, Mrs. Granger... she even ordered three sets of very special Christmas outfits to welcome you.
She wants to repay you for your 'after-class tutoring' of me.
Only, she doesn't even know that I've already become like this for you..."
As she spoke, Hermione's hands slid down from the wall.
To prove her sincerity to Jerry, she boldly lifted her wide, plaid skirt in the freezing corridor.
Above a pair of pure white lace stockings that were pulled tight into her upper thighs, at the junction of that dazzling white skin, Hermione's movements, driven by desire, became very direct.
She pulled the skirt aside.
Between those white stockings and the full soft flesh of her inner thighs, a pair of bright red, extremely thin lace panties—so thin they vaguely showed the shadow of her private parts under the dim corridor lights—were wrapped around her pussy, which was already a soaking wet mess.
Accompanied by her heavy panting, she pulled a familiar object from her side pocket—the silver-white precision-engineered insulated cup.
Click.
The sound of the lid opening echoed clearly in the empty corridor.
Hermione looked at Jerry with eyes full of near-humble begging and craving.
As the lid opened, a faint, musky scent drifted from the mouth of the cup.
Jerry glanced down. The crystal-clear, thick body fluid that had been inside was gone, with only a thin layer of residue dried to the bottom of the cup, thanks to Hermione's frantic consumption over the last few days.
"So this is the reason for your lack of appetite?"
Jerry reached out and pinched Hermione's chin, which was trembling up and down from shame and pleasure, forcing her to look him in the eye. "It seems you've drunk the entire 'stock' of Jerry until not a drop is left, Hermione."
Hermione didn't resist at all. Her tongue licked her dry lips, her voice as weak as a kitten's meow. "Fill it... please.
Everything inside my body is empty.
Without the nourishment of these fluids, I can't even focus on the knowledge in those two books."
Feeling the heat radiating from the girl's seductive body, Jerry felt no pity, only the pleasure of dominance.
Because of the 'Beast Transformation' mania that had only recently settled in his body, Hermione's lewd and proactive sacrifice greatly satisfied a certain desire of his.
Jerry reached out and, through the thin fabric of her high-quality shirt, cruelly and arrogantly pinched the nipple of Hermione's right breast, kneading and pulling it with force.
"Ah! It hurts..."
Hermione's long legs clamped tightly around Jerry's thigh, and she let out a heart-stopping moan. Her pussy was likely already a muddy swamp by now.
"Fill it?" Jerry's voice was exceptionally cold in the shadows. "I can.
But Miss Granger, you must pay the price for your greed and your offense."
He increased the pressure on her nipple until the soft flesh beneath his fingers felt as hard as a stone before continuing:
"Going to your house for Christmas... I have a new condition. My condition is—in that house, from the moment I step through the door until the moment I leave, you, Hermione Granger, are not allowed to wear any form of underwear beneath your skirt. Not even a single thread.
You must sit beside me in that naked state at all times."
He felt Hermione's body stiffen violently, followed by an even more intense spasm.
"And your mother, the elegant Mrs. Granger." Jerry's tone carried an ultimate malice of lewdness. "I won't let her wear any panties either.
Even beneath her favorite cashmere dress, she will show me her pussy in its most primitive, lewd, and exposed state."
"...I promise... I promise everything..." Hermione had completely lost her reason now, and the insulated cup in her hand was shaking.
She obediently and quickly dropped to her knees.
Right there, at the dangerous turn of the corridor where Filch and Mrs. Norris could pass at any moment.
With the shloop sound of the zipper.
Hermione's warm fingers couldn't wait, reaching out with a tremble to release the beast forged by Slytherin's top-tier craftsmanship from Jerry's crotch.
Swollen with desire, the moment the hideous object regained its freedom, it struck Hermione's red-stained lips with a heavy, intense, and aggressive masculine musk.
Hermione didn't hesitate, not even bothering to fix her red panties that had slipped to her knees. She opened that pink, soft mouth, usually used for teaching complex spells, and greedily and roughly forced the entire, throbbing large weapon into her mouth.
"Mmph... woo!"
The massive impact forced her eyes wide. A physiological spasm occurred deep in her throat from the extreme filling. Large, crystal tears slid from the corners of her eyes, running down her shame-reddened cheeks and into her collar.
But Hermione didn't pull back. Instead, she gripped Jerry's thighs with both hands and, with a near-suicidal fervor, began to please Jerry madly with her tongue and throat in the shadows of the corridor.
During that long and suffocating swallowing and spitting, the liquid known as desire surged and splashed deep within Hermione's agile throat.
A few minutes later.
"Hiss!" Jerry gripped Hermione's head, his fingertips digging deep into her messy, brown curls.
In that instant, he ruthlessly emptied the scalding, magma-like body fluid he had been storing for so long, shooting it all directly into Hermione's fully stuffed throat.
Because there was so much, the thick fluid overflowed from the corners of Hermione's mouth, pulling an extremely lewd silver string of saliva.
Afterward.
Following Hermione's near-suffocating swallow and a scalp-numbing sucking sound.
Jerry snatched the insulated cup from her hands.
Under the girl's greedy gaze, though she didn't dare utter a single complaint, another massive, thick, and magically potent stream of white body fluid fell in a beautiful arc, accurately and heavily hitting the bottom of the cup, filling it bit by bit once more.
Jerry looked at the cup, now heavy and warm from the streams of fluid, a cruel, victor's smirk on his face.
"Take it, Hermione. Remember, drink sparingly on the way back to London.
Because during this Christmas... you'll have plenty of chances to beg for it from me in person."
Hermione sat paralyzed on the floor, sticky residue still on her lips, her face beautifully flushed from the suffocation.
"Yes, Jerry!"