After a whole night of bumping and advancing, crossing unknown dimensions and world barriers, the Hogwarts Express—no, it could no longer be called an Express, this steam train modified specifically for expedition—finally arrived at its destination on Christmas morning for Katherine and her seventh-year Hogwarts classmates. But here, the night of the Frontline World had just deepened.
This was a world extremely rich in products.
The air was filled with a peculiar scent of soil and metal particles, proving that it not only possessed fertile plains stretching for thousands of miles and surging rivers but also hid inexhaustible mineral deposits deep underground.
Thinking back, this land once bathed in the glory of the False Olympic Gods, serving as their resource treasure house, providing abundant food and minerals.
However, with the strong rise and expansion of the Wizarding Civilization, this world was no longer the exclusive territory of the gods but had turned into a frontline of confrontation.
Wizards established solid strongholds here, marking this place as a grey zone where two powerful civilizations wrestled.
The train slowly pulled into a wizard stronghold that rose from the ground on this fertile land.
At first glance, it was a spectacle interwoven with magic and technology—wizard towers of various colors, some towering into the clouds, piercing the chaotic sky, others heavy and steady, rooted in the earth like rocks.
They echoed each other, forming an indestructible magical barrier protecting the entire stronghold, as if silently declaring the ownership of this land.
The runes on the tower bodies flashed with lustrous light in the night, like countless vigilant eyes patrolling everything around.
And the platform where this steam behemoth finally docked was inconceivably located at the top of one of the largest and most majestic wizard towers.
When the car body came to a complete stop and the doors opened with a hiss, a night wind carrying the unique chill of the otherworld but full of vigorous vitality blew in. Katherine walked out of the carriage with the flow of people; under her feet was cold and hard magical steel plates, and above her head was arcane brilliance as bright as day.
Standing on the platform atop the tower, looking out with the help of the dazzling and grand light of the wizard tower, golden colors rushed into view as far as the eye could see. Those were large patches of golden rice fields stretching endlessly, spread out in layers like waves on the vast plain. Even in the dead of night, one could seemingly see the heavy ears of grain on them, refracting the fluorescent light cast by the wizard tower.
In the distance, the river wound like a silver snake, rippling in the night, outlining the bones of the earth.
However, the night was night after all; its power was heavy and profound. Although the light of the wizard tower could illuminate the square inch of land in front, setting it off like a dream, it ultimately could not penetrate the farther sky. The scenery further away was swallowed by thick darkness, leaving only blurred outlines and endless unknowns, hinting that there were more secrets hidden in the shadows on this fertile land.
Most of the students looked tired, with the weariness of a sleepless night, but their eyes flashed with the curiosity and excitement of young people for the new world.
They walked off the train in twos and threes, whispering, breathing the air of this otherworld, and feeling the strange energy fluctuations coming from the top of the tower under their feet.
The tranquility and richness of this land seemed out of place with the "frontline" and "confrontation" they heard about when they came, but it added a few points of eerie tension.
A steady and majestic voice, accompanied by familiar footsteps, came from the end of the platform.
"Welcome to Frontline Stronghold No. 7."
Accompanied by these declarative words, a familiar yet somewhat different figure walked slowly out of the light and shadow in the distance.
It was Albus Dumbledore.
He was no longer wearing that colorful wizard robe, replaced by a dark blue robe deep enough to suck in the night, but exquisite golden rune embroidery could still be seen at the collar and cuffs, the symbol of the Wizard Stronghold Commander.
His silver-white long hair and beard were still combed meticulously even in this distant otherworld. His azure eyes scanned every student's tired yet curious face gently but sharply through the half-moon glasses.
Behind him followed two equally familiar figures.
Rubeus Hagrid, whose body was larger than any window in the wizard tower, was carrying his giant backpack at this moment, rubbing his hands uneasily. Those black beetle-like eyes were full of worry for these young people about to face the test.
And the other was Severus Snape.
This gloomy Potions Professor wore a well-tailored black wizard suit, deep as midnight. His iconic greasy black hair appeared even more lifeless under the brilliance of the magic tower.
He ignored everyone, just quickly scanning every student with his habitual mean and sharp gaze, as if calculating their chances of survival—and not holding much hope for it.
"Children!" Dumbledore's voice carried a strange soothing power in the night wind atop the tower, but his words struck everyone's heart like a heavy hammer. "I know you are curious, and perhaps a little tired.
You thought this was a simple practical exam, expecting to show your skills here, capture a few strange beasts of the otherworld, or solve some small magical conflicts, and then return home in glory."
Dumbledore paused, those wise eyes becoming exceptionally deep, as if capable of insight into everything.
"Wrong." Dumbledore shook his head slowly, his tone suddenly becoming serious. "Big mistake."
Hagrid shifted his feet uneasily, letting out a muffled grumble, as if wanting to interrupt Dumbledore, but ultimately held back.
Snape crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth outlining a sarcastic arc.
"This land you stand on was once one of the many worlds of the False Olympic Pantheon, an incomparably rich resource world."
Dumbledore's voice echoed atop the tower, accompanied by the howling of the night wind. "This place abounds in rare magical ores, contains endless herbs and treasures, and has vast fertile fields enough to feed tens of millions of living beings.
Wizards call it the 'Land of Wealth', while the False Olympic Pantheon calls it the 'Land of Sacrifice'.
But now, it has only one name—'Confrontation Frontline'."
Dumbledore waved his big hand, pointing to the plain outside the stronghold swallowed by darkness, where only golden outlines could be vaguely seen.
"Your mission is no longer a practical exercise in the traditional sense, but a true sense of—Deep Infiltration and Target Capture."
Dumbledore emphasized the words "Deep Infiltration." "You will do your best to integrate into this world controlled by the False Olympic Pantheon, to understand their culture, their society, their false god beliefs.
You must use every possible means to establish strongholds and weave networks here until you can approach and capture your respective targets quietly!"
The students looked at each other, the fatigue on their faces instantly replaced by shock.
Integrate?
Infiltrate? This sounded more like a top-level mission for the Ministry's elite Aurors, or even the Espionage Department, rather than their graduation practical exam!
"These targets, without exception, are not ordinary people."
Dumbledore's voice became low and magnetic, seeming to carry the power of magic in every word. "Among them, some are the princes and nobles of this world. They rule the mortal world, the grace of false gods flows in their veins, and they hold powerful otherworld armies and unimaginable wealth in their hands.
Others are Demigods specially placed here by the False Olympic Pantheon, born with fragments of divine power, with abilities no less than any top wizard!"
"As for the more difficult ones..." Dumbledore's words carried a trace of imperceptible solemnity. "They may even include the False God Main Bodies living in this world, directly taking orders from the False Olympic Main Gods!
They enjoy true godhood and possess power unimaginable to mortals, far exceeding any magical creature or wizard you can currently imagine!"
A suppressed sense of fear began to spread among the students. Demigods? False Gods? This was simply a narrow escape from death, or even sending them to their deaths!
A contemptuous "humph" came from Snape's nasal cavity, seeming to mock the cowardice of these future wizards.
"I understand your concerns."
Dumbledore saw the students' reactions; a trace of depth flashed in his blue eyes. "But Hogwarts has never cultivated flowers in a greenhouse, but excellent wizards who can bloom with unique light in any harsh environment.
The Ministry of Magic needs your strength and wisdom."
"Of course, the difficulty of the mission will be allocated according to each of your abilities," he continued. "For those tricky targets far beyond what an individual can face, the Ministry will issue them to multiple students together. You can act alone or form teams to complete them together.
As long as it can be confirmed in the end that the completion of the mission is related to you, whether it is providing key intelligence, designing exquisite traps, or capturing the target personally, it will be regarded as successfully completing the exam."
"As for the scoring mechanism..."
Dumbledore stopped. He looked at the vast plain in the distance, eyes so deep as if looking through endless time and space. "The score of this practical exam will be personally graded by the Ministry of Magic, which will directly affect your future career development.
Higher scores not only mean your excellent performance during school but will also win you an extremely high starting interview score in the subsequent interviews with the Ministry or related departments.
This means you will obtain those important positions with bright futures more easily than wizards graduating in the same period."
"Of course, we encourage completing targets independently." Dumbledore pointed out the core with his slightly sly tone. "This will undoubtedly earn the highest score.
But safety always comes first. Remember, our purpose is to capture the target, not to become the target."
"Now, before you set off, Hagrid and Professor Snape will distribute necessary supplies and preliminary disguise guidance to you."
Dumbledore said, that calmness carrying a trace of unquestionable command. "Good luck, children.
May Merlin guide you."
As soon as his voice fell, Hagrid took out packages shrunk by the Shrinking Charm one by one from his backpack heavily.
Hagrid's massive body shuttled clumsily among the students, occasionally hitting the edge of the wizard tower beside him, making dull sounds.
Worry was on Hagrid's face, but he still tried hard to squeeze out a smile, carefully stuffing each package into the students' hands. Those thick fingers appeared somewhat stiff due to excessive caution.
"Oh, lads and lasses of Hogwarts!"
Hagrid's loud voice was much more restrained than usual, revealing a fatherly care. "Merry Christmas!
And, good luck with the exam!
Although... although this doesn't sound like a Christmas blessing, nor like a normal exam, you are the best! Must pay attention to safety. Courage is important, but saving your life is more important! If you encounter enemies you really can't handle, remember, run quickly!"
Every sentence he said, he would scratch his head somewhat uneasily, as if instructing his own children going on a long journey.
Snape, who followed closely behind, slid past silently like a black ghost.
Snape held a row of test tubes in his hand, containing potions of various colors emitting strange light.
His movements were precise and efficient. Every bottle of potion fell accurately into the students' hands without a single superfluous movement or a word of nonsense.
His face was still pale and gloomy. Those black eyes scanned every student reaching out tremblingly coldly, as if scrutinizing whether they were worthy of this precious life-saving talisman.
"Take these!"
Snape's cold voice was low and suppressed, like the hissing of a snake. "'Reviving Draught' can quickly restore your clarity after being mentally attacked; 'Blood-Replenishing Potion' can stop bleeding and quickly replenish blood when you lose too much blood, lest you are stupid enough to bleed dry without knowing it.
Don't spill them, idiots.
These are not the products of your crude Potions class."
When Snape walked to Katherine and Ophelia, his gaze paused rarely at that moment.
Snape first glanced at Ophelia, lips pursing imperceptibly.
Then, those pitch-black eyes nailed dead on Katherine's face.
Snape took out a small obsidian bottle carved with complex runes from his inner robe. Unlike other transparent glass test tubes, this bottle was opaque, seeming to contain some substance with undercurrents inside, emitting a disturbing yet incredibly powerful aura.
"I know Jerry has already given you plenty of life-saving items!" Snape's voice was lower than just now, carrying a unique complex emotion only the few of them could detect. "However, take this well.
Its value far exceeds your imagination." He stuffed the obsidian bottle into Katherine's hand. Katherine only felt a cold power carrying ancient aura surge into her palm along the bottle, making her shudder uncontrollably.
Snape immediately added a sentence, voice carrying obvious sarcasm and a trace of helplessness even he himself hadn't noticed: "This way, even if something happens to you, Jerry can't easily find trouble with me."
With that, Snape ignored Katherine's slightly confused expression, directly threw a bottle of 'Blood-Replenishing Potion' and a Reviving Draught to Ophelia, then continued walking forward without looking back, his back figure still as cold and determined.
The departure of Hagrid and Snape allowed the students to relax a little, but they also realized the arduousness of this mission.
Katherine and Ophelia also hurried to find a corner with no one around.
The two looked at each other and gripped the Shrinking Charm packages in their hands tightly. Taking a deep breath, chanting the spell silently, the packages began to expand rapidly under the action of magic, finally unfolding into huge canvas backpacks with a bang. Inside were stuffed various survival supplies: emergency rations, camouflage cloaks, retractable tents, universal spell scrolls, and even a magical compound bow cast with a Weightlessness Charm, with rows of refined steel arrows neatly stacked beside it.
Ophelia couldn't wait to take out her mission scroll from the top layer of the backpack—it was an ancient parchment, marked with target information in both otherworld characters and Wizarding language.
She unfolded it eagerly. By the arcane brilliance falling from the top of the wizard tower, a striking name came into view:
Target: Heracles
Identity: Demigod of the False Olympic Pantheon, Son of Zeus.
Abilities: Possesses dual bloodlines of mortal and god, flesh body but infinitely strong, nearly invulnerable. Masters fragments of the God of War divinity, skilled in war and combat.
Weaknesses: Troubled by human emotions, irritable and proud. Reacts strongly to honor and praise.
Features: Often wears lion skin as a crown, holding a giant club.
Capture Difficulty: S-Rank
Extra Tip: This target usually acts alone, but once angered, may summon the power of the False God System.
Seeing the name "Heracles," Ophelia's pupils shrank violently, face turning pale instantly.
Heracles! That was the Demigod famous for the Twelve Labors in mythology!
Although there was the qualification of "False Olympic Pantheon" in front, the power of a Demigod was definitely not something a seventh-year student could easily match.
S-Rank capture difficulty was even more chilling.
Katherine also unfolded her mission scroll.
The text on her parchment was also written in two languages, but at the beginning, there was an extra line of heart-stopping note—[Top Secret, Burn After Reading, Any Leaker Will Be Punished for Treason by the Ministry of Magic.]
She suppressed the shock in her heart and moved her gaze to the target.
Target: Demeter
Identity: Goddess of Harvest and Agriculture, One of the Main Gods of the False Olympic Pantheon.
Abilities: Controls the authority of life and land, can make all things flourish or wither, thousands of hectares of fertile fields are all within her thought. Divine power is vast, far exceeding ordinary False Gods.
Weaknesses: Has a deep obsession with descendants, especially Persephone.
Features: Often appears in a long robe holding wheat ears, often accompanied by young attendants.
Capture Difficulty: X-Rank (Exceeds conventional rating, handle with caution)
Extra Tip: This target has a large number of believers in the mortal world; their power of faith can significantly enhance divine power. Her whereabouts are erratic, but during sowing or harvesting seasons, she often manifests in wheat fields or farms to celebrate with mortal believers.
Often stationed and strictly protected by servants of the False God System and her descendants.
Katherine looked at the "X-Rank" rating and the words "Goddess of Harvest and Agriculture" on the scroll, only feeling her scalp go numb.
This was impressively a true, living False Deity!
And a pivotal existence in the False Olympic Pantheon!
Her mission difficulty was simply astronomical, a world of difference compared to Ophelia's S-Rank.
A chill rushed straight up Katherine's spine from the bottom of her heart.
All the fine hairs on her body stood up. This was no longer nervousness, nor just fear, but a heart-penetrating clarity.
Katherine understood; behind this was definitely not accidental. This was clearly a long-premeditated "targeting."
Targeting her.
The reason needed no words.
That name, like an invisible spell, emerged in her mind—Jerry.
Jerry, Dumbledore must be wary of him, even to the point of helplessness.
Katherine knew well that the relationship between her and Jerry had never been a secret at Hogwarts. They were intimate partners, each other's most trusted existence.
And now, Dumbledore couldn't touch Jerry directly, so he turned the spearhead to her, to the people around Jerry who might be regarded as "wings."
This was a conspiracy.
A dark and cold conspiracy she had never thought would happen to Dumbledore since she was a child.
After all, in the hearts of all little wizards, Albus Dumbledore, this name, was the embodiment of light and justice.
He was wise, powerful, kind, the patron saint of the wizarding world, the most reliable guide in all predicaments.
She didn't even dare to think deeply that this Headmaster with a lofty status in her heart would actually push a graduating student into such a narrow escape situation to clear a potential threat.
Katherine was unwilling to believe, yet had to believe.
The "X-Rank" rating on the scroll and the target identity—One of the False Olympic Main Gods, Demeter, silently declared this bone-chilling coldness and cruel reality.
Snape looked at Dumbledore beside him. That pale face remained expressionless, but his voice carried a rare heaviness, even a trace of... questioning.
"If I make the two of them hand over those crystal golems!" Snape's gaze swept over the direction of Katherine and Ophelia. He spoke very slowly; every word seemed to be carefully weighed. "Is it possible to change their mission targets?"
However, Dumbledore didn't turn back.
He didn't even make a sound of response.
He just turned his back to Snape and all the students present, taking steps towards the passage deep in the wizard tower.
His steps were slow and steady, without a trace of hesitation or fluctuation, as if he simply hadn't heard Snape's proposal carrying a trace of protest and worry.
The huge stone passage of the wizard tower opened silently for him under the action of magic, and closed with a boom after he walked in, leaving only a deep darkness with no end in sight, and Dumbledore's receding back figure without any sound.
His silent refusal was more majestic and decisive than any scolding or punishment.
Snape stood in place, gazing at that coldly closed stone door. His back figure appeared unusually lonely and proud under the brilliance at the top of the wizard tower.
Snape's tightly pursed thin lips trembled slightly, seeming to want to say something more, but finally, it only turned into a long, heavy sigh.
This sigh was particularly clear in the night wind.
It contained suppressed helplessness, anger powerless to reverse the situation, and some kind of final compromise to fate.
Snape said no more, just crossed his arms again like a cold bystander, disappearing into the shadows again until the last student left hurriedly with their respective tasks.
Christmas morning, in the master bedroom of the Granger home, sunlight carrying a cold temperature slanted onto the soft large bed through the gap in the heavy curtains.
Jerry woke up from a deep and satisfied sleep.
Jerry's eyelids trembled slightly, opening slowly. After adapting to the dim light, the first thing he felt was the warm and heavy touch on his thigh.
He turned his head slightly, looking down.
Hermione.
At this moment, she was resting quietly on his thigh in an extremely docile, extremely sunken posture.
Thick and fluffy brown curly hair was like splashed brown ink, spreading messily at the root of his thigh, blocking most of the light.
Her small face was slightly deformed by squeezing, but her lips were shaped by the night and her thirst into a perfect posture of holding but not spitting.
Pink lips wrapped tightly around his—that long spear which still appeared unusually thick and carried a slight swelling feeling even after a night of devastation and release was completely immersed in her wet, hot, and soft oral cavity at this moment.
Jerry lowered his head, almost melting his gaze on Hermione's face revealing unparalleled fragility and obedience at this moment.
Hermione's eyelashes, long and curled, like two small fans, were trembling up and down with her shallow breathing at this moment.
Hermione was pretending to sleep. Not just pretending to sleep, but Jerry was woken up precisely because Hermione pulled out the long spear and took it into her mouth not long ago!
Hermione's small nose wings twitched slightly. Every breath carried wet and hot water vapor, brushing gently over Jerry's body, making Jerry feel an indescribable numbness.
Jerry could feel her tongue tip circling unconsciously, licking his long spear back and forth.
Occasionally, Hermione's mouth would suck gently, making a tsk sound, carrying a rich aftertaste belonging to him, then quieted down again, just incorporating Jerry's existence as part of her dream.
That was an extremely intimate lingering with sweet water sounds.
Hermione's tender throat was rolling up and down with her swallowing and breathing at this moment.
One could almost imagine how the soft and sensitive flesh deep in Hermione's throat wrapped tightly around his long spear, swallowing that thick long spear completely.
Hermione was still a virgin. Although last night, Hermione's eyes flashed with equally crazy and eager light.
But Hermione's most private passage, that last line of defense leading to the deepest part of Hermione's maiden body, was preserved under Jerry's merciful indulgence.
Too early!
At least wait until after the seventh year.
However, with Mrs. Granger, it was a different story.
Gemini said
Jerry's gaze slowly moved up from the hickeys on Hermione's neck, past her messy brown curls, and finally rested on the voluptuous body lying on his other side.
Mrs. Granger, Hermione's mother—once a strict and proud lady—was now lying curled up beside him in a state of near collapse.
In the dim morning light, her naked body was a shocking sight.
The pristine white sheets were a mess, tangled from her violent tossing and turning, her intense writhing and lingering touches. Large swathes of wrinkles lay like the aftermath of a wild party.
Even more striking were the marks on Mrs. Granger's skin.
Her shoulders, neck, and even her high-arched waist were densely covered with red marks of varying depths.
Some were hickeys intentionally left by Jerry, like seals declaring his sovereignty, dark purple with bruised blood, making the surrounding skin look even paler and more fragile.
But more were bruises left by her own unconscious twisting, the scratching of her nails, or Jerry's deliberately rough handling. These marks intertwined to form an abstract, evocative painting, thoroughly dyeing Mrs. Granger's once noble and elegant body with a color of depravity and debauchery.
Most staggering were Mrs. Granger's nipples, which Jerry had "played with" all night.
They stood high, like two fresh, plump, overripe red cherries, unusually swollen and engorged.
The nipples had been sucked to nearly twice their normal size. The tips were wet with saliva and still bore traces of crystal fluid that hadn't been wiped away. In the morning light, they shimmered with an unnatural, almost painful, alluring sheen, silently recounting every rough and extreme caress they had endured the night before.
The skin of her breasts was also sucked pink, dotted with a rash of red spots, as if the slightest touch would trigger a sharp shiver.
Even in sleep, Mrs. Granger's legs could not fully close.
They were spread limply to the sides in an extremely indecent posture.
Her most private area was half-hidden under the quilt, but even through the thin sheet, Jerry could clearly sense the thick scent.
He could clearly hear a faint, sticky, continuous squelch... squelch... sound coming from between Janet's still half-open legs.
It was the sound of fluid flowing out.
Even after a night of settling, Mrs. Granger still couldn't close completely. A large amount of white or transparent liquid was flowing out slowly, continuously, and uncontrollably from her forcibly rubbed passage.
The liquid trickled down the gap of her inner thighs, leaving winding, wet trails on the sheets, the final testament to Mrs. Granger's overflowing state last night.
Aside from the muddy bed in front, her tail—red and swollen from cruel baptism—maintained a subtle, semi-open posture even in a relaxed state.
Jerry could even see that deep within the wrinkled, red swelling, there seemed to be traces of crystal, sticky liquid carrying his temperature. Occasionally, due to her slight body movements, a small bit would tremble out, only to be greedily sucked back in by the surrounding tender flesh walls.
It was a hole that had been thoroughly opened and completely filled; even without current cultivation, it could not return to its once tight and closed appearance.
Jerry reached out extremely slowly and moved Hermione's head, which was still holding his spear in her mouth, away from his thigh.
His movements were careful, afraid of breaking Hermione's pretense.
When he withdrew his meat-root, the part that had been wrapped in Hermione's mouth all night made a soft pop sound, carrying the sticky sensation of a water film being peeled away.
Jerry's spear was covered in crystal wet marks from Hermione's saliva, appearing even more striking and hideous in the morning light.
Jerry looked at the corner of Hermione's mouth, slightly open and glistening with moisture after leaving the meat-root, then at the traces left on his spear by her gentle sucking all night.
Jerry didn't get up directly. Instead, he lowered his center of gravity slightly, letting that massive, scalding spear—covered in clear fluid and the girl's body scent—press unhesitatingly against the opening of Mrs. Granger's wet, eroded passage.
Janet's body was as limp as mud due to the extreme excitement and subsequent fainting, but Jerry's sudden touch, carrying wet heat and a sense of foreign object, still made her body—modified to be extremely sensitive—shiver uncontrollably and slightly. A delicate pant, as if from the depths of her soul, as thin as a mosquito's buzz, escaped from her dry lips, almost inaudible.
The pleasure and shame of last night invaded Janet's dried consciousness like a tide again.
Mrs. Granger opened her eyes a slit, her blurred vision trying hard to see clearly what was happening in front of her.
When she glimpsed that hideous giant object beating restlessly at the entrance of her most private flower path as if possessing life, an emotion mixed with morbid craving instantly occupied all of Mrs. Granger's brain circuits. Mrs. Granger's body was completely out of her will's control, now emitting a low hum of thirst.
"Awake, dear Mrs. Granger."
Jerry whispered in her ear, his voice carrying a demonic seduction.
His finger slid down Janet's hot navel until it touched the edge of Mrs. Granger's wet mysterious garden.
Jerry didn't rush to enter but rubbed rhythmically with his fingertips, as if playing with an exquisite piece of art belonging only to him.
Under that tender and teasing touch, Mrs. Granger's legs opened uncontrollably to both sides, like a carefully cultivated flower waiting for the bee's arrival.
The entrance of the passage, due to this slight friction, began to secrete more clear love juices, hanging crystal clear on the blooming tender flesh, flashing with alluring wet luster.
"Last night... you performed very well. Mrs. Granger." Jerry smiled softly. At the same time, his huge spear, with a domineering momentum enough to drown everything, pressed down slowly yet incomparably firmly towards that muddy and empty abyss.
"Mmh... ah... no..." Mrs. Granger's moan was completely shattered by his heavy entry. That huge meat pestle, after a night of filling, was still shocking in size at this moment.
Squelch, hiss, slide!
Every deepening of that thick spear was accompanied by sticky friction sounds that made one blush.
Mrs. Granger felt completely penetrated, her intestines churned up. An indescribable pleasure of fullness, mixed with intense tearing sensation, erupted from the deepest part of Mrs. Granger's body.
That thick phallus, carrying Jerry's unique boyish body temperature, gave Mrs. Granger an illusion of coming back to life.
Jerry didn't enter immediately, just embedding the huge spear completely in Mrs. Granger's warm and moist body, letting Mrs. Granger fully bear this heavy, ultimate filling sensation.
He lowered his head, lips almost touching her earlobe slightly open due to pain and pleasure, and asked in a low voice: "I'm curious, Mrs. Granger... last night when you resisted, what you shouted was that you wanted to be a wizard?"
Mrs. Granger trembled all over. Her body, paralyzed from being filled by the giant object, shuddered violently.
She never expected Jerry would pay attention to that tiny desire from the depths of her heart, almost drowned out, which she shouted during her crazy resistance last night. Mrs. Granger's eyes slowly focused, her gaze carrying an unbelievable heat and... humble pleading.
Mrs. Granger nodded vigorously, a movement carrying the desperate resolve of burning one's boats: "Yes... Jerry... I... my greatest wish... in this life... is to possess magic... to become a real wizard..." Mrs. Granger's voice was hoarse but carried an unprecedented firmness.
The humiliation of last night seemed to find an excuse, a compensation at this moment.
If this humiliation could be exchanged for the "power" Mrs. Granger desired most in this life, then she was willing to bear everything.
Jerry chuckled lightly. The giant object under his crotch just ground gently inside her body. This posture of half-refusing half-welcoming made Mrs. Granger feel a deeper level of torture and temptation instead.
"Become a wizard?" He asked back, tone full of disdain and scrutiny. "Do you think being a wizard is a... good thing?"
"Is... isn't it?"
Janet's breath was unsteady, panting roughly.
Mrs. Granger's body had been trained to fit Jerry's rhythm perfectly. Whenever he stopped, Mrs. Granger would suck lingeringly, as if wanting to swallow him forever.
"Wizards... possess power... can..."
"Can what?"
Jerry interrupted her. His voice was low and magnetic, but every word was like a blade, cold and precise, stabbing straight into the softest and most eager weakness deep in Mrs. Granger's heart.
"Can imprison innocent Muggles and ravage them wantonly like those so-called Aurors last night?
Can be mocked and discriminated against by those pure-blood wizards forever as second-class citizens in the magical world like those Muggle-born wizards?"
"Becoming a wizard doesn't necessarily mean light and glory.
Most of the time, it only means greater risks, crueler struggles, and... endless costs."
Mrs. Granger's body trembled sensitively due to his precise grinding. Mrs. Granger instinctively tightened, trying to wrap around him, begging for his deeper violation.
However, Jerry's words were like a basin of ice water, extinguishing Mrs. Granger's romantic fantasy of the magical world, yet igniting an unyielding fighting spirit deep in her heart.
"Cost..."
Janet muttered to herself. Her eyes were no longer pure pleading but a deep persistence and firmness stimulated. Mrs. Granger knew that what Jerry said was the dark side she hadn't fully understood from the fragments heard from Hermione.
But at this moment, under such cruel irrigation and training, a stronger resistance grew in Mrs. Granger's subconscious instead.
She wanted power, wanted to break the shackles of Muggle origin, wanted to fight for a trace of possibility for herself... for Hermione in this cruel world.
"I... I am willing to pay the price!" Mrs. Granger's breathing became rapid; she grabbed the sheet, knuckles turning white. "Whatever the price... I am willing! As long as... as long as you can give me a chance... give me power..." Mrs. Granger's voice carried an indescribable humbleness and fervor. She even actively began to cater to Jerry, grinding up and down slightly, trying to win his favor with her body.
Jerry felt her tight yet soft moist passage modified by drugs and pleasure. That perfect sucking and wrapping made him feel incredibly satisfied.
He hummed lightly, knowing she had taken the bait.
"Oh? Pay the price?"
Jerry leisurely thrust fiercely into Mrs. Granger's extremely sensitive depths, making her let out a short, tearful pant.
"Becoming a wizard is not as simple as you think.
The success rate for Muggles to undergo bloodline modification and transplant magical lineage is extremely low."
Jerry spoke unhurriedly in a tone close to popular science, his voice carrying a trace of calm cruelty. "Even if successful, to fuse high-quality bloodlines and become a wizard with truly powerful talent requires an astronomical amount of Galleons... not hundreds or thousands, but tens of thousands, or even over a hundred thousand!"
"Mrs. Granger, what price can you pay?"
Jerry leaned down, his lips almost brushing Janet's nipple, which appeared unusually full due to desire, carrying a teasing meaning.
Mrs. Granger's heart sank to the bottom instantly.
A hundred thousand Galleons?
According to the exchange rate for Hermione's living expenses before!
That was a figure she couldn't reach in this life, or even several lifetimes! Mrs. Granger's eyes longing for magic were covered with a layer of despair again. Mrs. Granger looked at Jerry's innocent face, feeling for the first time a huge, insurmountable oppression of power from him.
But Mrs. Granger didn't want to give up.
No. Absolutely cannot give up!
Mrs. Granger struggled, forcing herself to twist her body, arching her waist forcefully, actively greeting Jerry's huge spear carrying demonic charm with her passage again. Mrs. Granger's nipples, kneaded all night, red, swollen, and shiny, even actively brushed gently against Jerry's chest, issuing a silent invitation.
"I... I can... I can do anything for you..."
Mrs. Granger's voice trembled, carrying the humbleness of begging for pity. She grabbed Jerry's arm, the strength even carrying a trace of desperate tension: "My body... my soul... I can dedicate it all to you... as long as... as long as you can help me realize this wish... I... I can even..."
Mrs. Granger's body ground up and down slowly and diligently, trying to use her most primitive and thorough way to please this little devil controlling her fate.
However, just as Mrs. Granger was about to say a more shameful oath that would make one blush—
Outside the bedroom door, familiar yet somewhat clumsy, shuffling footsteps sounded.
"Mmh... mmh-hm... Janet..." Mr. Granger, with a trace of muddled nasal tone, seemed to have woken up from sleep, yawning and calling his wife's name indistinctly. The footsteps were swaying towards their bedroom.
Janet's body stiffened violently!
The submission and fawning originally bred by the desire to survive were instantly swallowed by huge fear and shame.
Her pupils contracted abruptly, face turning pale; all blood seemed frozen in this instant!
"No... no!"
Mrs. Granger exclaimed in a low voice, like a mother cat whose tail was stepped on, her whole person began to struggle madly and hysterically.
Her hands pushed Jerry's shoulders wildly, lower body also beginning to contract extremely at the same time, trying to forcibly expel the giant object in her body.
"Quick... pull it out quickly! He... he's coming!"
Mrs. Granger's face was written with extreme panic. Mrs. Granger arched her waist upward forcefully, wanting to pull herself away from Jerry.
But Jerry was simply too big!
"Ah... ah!"
Mrs. Granger let out a scream with crying tones due to huge pain and despair of being unable to withdraw.
Her whole body trembled violently. Tears flowed down her cheeks without dignity, mixing with saliva, wetting the pillow.
Mrs. Granger could clearly hear the footsteps outside the door getting closer and closer, like the scythe of the grim reaper cutting towards her throat step by step.
At this critical moment!
A slender and powerful figure appeared silently by the bed like a ghost.
Hermione!
Her brown eyes were clear and calm at this moment, without a trace of sleepiness or surprise, instead carrying an extremely hidden scrutiny that saw through everything.
She hadn't just woken up but had been eavesdropping, even observing, from the beginning.
Hermione didn't say a word. She just extended her hands calmly.
Those two small and slender hands rested unhesitatingly on Mrs. Granger's plump, round buttocks, which were tense from despair, fair and full of elasticity.
Then, Hermione lifted upward forcefully.
"Ah!"
Mrs. Granger let out a prolonged moan of pain and pleasure.
That giant object stuck in her body all night, now forcibly pulled out by external force, instantly entangled with Mrs. Granger's mucous membrane, bringing tearing severe pain.
But at the same time, the feeling of being forcibly pushed upward by the huge spear made Mrs. Granger feel a wave of climax-like pleasure that almost made her orgasm again. Mrs. Granger's lower body instantly began to spray a large amount of love juices again, making her and Jerry even more slippery.
Hermione's face showed no expression.
She looked at her mother's face completely twisted by shame, pain, and pleasure, then at her own hands wet with her mother's body fluids, without any pause.
She just methodically exerted force upward again. At the same time, her lips opened and closed slowly at this moment, issuing a suggestion carrying a trace of slyness but full of firm tone.
"I have an idea."
Hermione's voice was very light but enough for both Jerry and Janet to hear clearly. Her hand movements didn't pause at all, still grabbing her mother's buttocks and pulling upward diligently.
At the same time, her face, calm to the point of being somewhat cold, showed a thoughtful expression that usually appeared when she pondered difficult problems in the library: "An idea... that can get a large amount of Galleons."
Hermione's deep brown eyes revealing wisdom appeared exceptionally bright at this time due to a trace of hidden madness.
"We can... create a magic website.
A..."
Hermione paused slightly, seeming to consider the most appropriate words.
Then, Hermione tilted her head slightly, looking straight at Jerry. In that gaze, there was an unquestionable confidence and a trace of... hidden craving, as if seeking some kind of approval from Jerry: "A... 'welfare' video projection website belonging only to you, Jerry.
We can use 'Memory Projection' magic to store specific... 'images' in specially enchanted crystals."
As she spoke, she added strength to her hands. With a pop, accompanied by Mrs. Granger's painful muffled groan, that huge spear was pulled out a small section from the slippery passage again, bringing out more sticky white liquid mixed with body fluids, making Hermione's hands and the sheet even muddier.
"Then, we build a magic platform based on the 'Two-Way Mirror' network.
Any witch possessing our special 'Sneakoscope' can subscribe to watch these 'images' in the crystals by paying Galleons."
Hermione spoke faster and faster, her train of thought becoming clearer. "We can set different subscription levels.
Junior subscribers can only see some... um, conventional, not so stimulating images. While senior subscribers can even pay to unlock the 'Instant Projection' function—also known as... 'Live Streaming'."
The word "Live Streaming" coming from the mouth of Hermione, a little witch living in the nineties and half-detached from the Muggle world, seemed so abrupt yet so precise.
"Imagine!" Hermione's eyes were shockingly bright; she seemed to have seen a future where Galleons piled up like mountains: "How many witches in Hogwarts desire power but respect and fear you?
In the entire British wizarding world, how many noble ladies live empty lives with nowhere to vent their desires?
They would willingly empty their vaults in Gringotts just to peek at you, Jerry, at your most private, most powerful side!"
"The operation and maintenance of the website will be the responsibility of Mom and me."
Hermione glanced at her mother, who had long lost her soul and was at the mercy of others. There was not a shred of sympathy in her tone, only a cold rationality of utilizing all resources to the maximum. "She is proficient in the business logic of the Muggle world and can be responsible for backend finance and customer management.
And I can be responsible for all magic technical support and content... 'editing'.
We only need to extract a small part of the profit as funds for Mom's bloodline modification, and... our living expenses.
The rest all belongs to you."
Click.
The handle outside the door turned gently at this moment.
At this critical moment, Hermione threw her whole body weight forward suddenly, using all her strength, cooperating with Jerry's backward withdrawal movement, making the final pull!
"Quick!"
Hermione shouted in a low voice, too late to wipe the filth off her hands, quickly picking up a large silk nightgown belonging to her mother from the floor and putting it on her indiscriminately.
Jerry moved faster than her. The moment the meat root withdrew, he rolled over like the most agile cheetah, silently circling behind Janet.
At this time, Mrs. Granger, due to the violent, tearing withdrawal sensation and the ensuing huge emptiness, was kneeling prone on the bed, body paralyzed, gasping for breath, without even the strength to move a finger.
Jerry pressed his small body against Janet's back, which was heaving violently due to desire and panic and wet with sweat, from behind.
He lifted the large nightgown abruptly upward, covering himself and Janet's lower body—naked and still constantly flowing with liquid downwards—together like a cloak.
Jerry wrapped his arms around Mrs. Granger's soft waist, hands overlapping on her flat lower abdomen, burying his face deeply in her hair emitting the scent of sweat and desire.
From the front, it looked like Janet herself wearing a nightgown curled up on the bed due to feeling unwell. One couldn't see at all that behind her, under that large nightgown, hid a little devil who had just ravaged her body.
Almost the next second after they completed all this, the bedroom door was pushed open with a creak.
Mr. Granger walked in dizzily with sleepy eyes.
His Santa Claus outfit was wrinkled, hair messy like a bird's nest, face still carrying the blankness of a hangover.
"Jan...? I seem to... have heard you call..." Mr. Granger rubbed his eyes and asked indistinctly. His gaze swept around the dim room, finally landing on his wife kneeling prone on the bed with her back to him. "What's wrong? Dear? Had a nightmare?"
Janet's body stiffened like a stone the moment her husband's voice sounded.
"Dad, Mom is fine."
Hermione's voice rang out timely. She had stood by the bed at some point, holding a glass of water in her hand, face wearing just the right amount of worry. "Mom is just a bit unwell, probably caught a cold last night.
I was just about to help her lie down."
"Oh... oh, is that so?"
Mr. Granger was obviously not fully awake yet. He nodded, walked swayingly to the bed, extending his hand, seeming to want to pat his wife's back to comfort her.
Mrs. Granger's heart instantly jumped to her throat!
She could even feel Jerry's body trembling slightly behind her because of suppressing laughter.
"Dad!"
Hermione immediately stepped forward calmly, blocking between Mr. Granger and the bed. "You should go wash up first; look at you, haven't even shaved.
I'm here with Mom."
"Mmh... mmh, true..."
Reminded by his daughter, Mr. Granger subconsciously touched the stubble on his chin. He yawned widely, turning towards the bathroom. "Alright, then I'll go first... you guys... remember to come down for breakfast..."
Watching her husband's swaying back disappear at the door, Mrs. Granger's nerve stretched to the limit finally snapped with a snap.
All strength in Mrs. Granger's body was drained. Her whole person collapsed backward softly, falling heavily into Jerry's embrace behind her.
The huge sense of exhaustion after surviving a disaster made Mrs. Granger's brain go blank.
However, in the next second, a stronger strange feeling that made Mrs. Granger want to die of shame came from under her feet.
Just now due to panic, Mrs. Granger's feet were stepping in her favorite fluffy indoor slippers by the bed.
And at this moment, with the relaxation of Mrs. Granger's body, those remaining liquids previously blocked in her body by her tense muscles finally found an outlet for release under the action of gravity.
A scalding, sticky warm current carrying a rich fishy smell flowed rapidly and uncontrollably down her inner thighs.
That white turbid stream passed Mrs. Granger's calves, crossed Mrs. Granger's ankles.
Finally, it all poured into Mrs. Granger's soft, fluffy slippers.
Squelch... squelch...
That sound appeared so clear, so harsh in the deathly silent room.
Mrs. Granger's feet were instantly soaked and submerged completely by what flowed out of her own body.
Whenever Mrs. Granger's toes moved slightly, the soft cotton fluff soaked with liquid would make sticky sounds like stepping in mud, making one blush.