The massive, multi-yard-tall oak doors of the Great Hall were pulled open forcefully from both sides by two neatly dressed house-elves.
The originally solemn, ancient hall was completely enveloped in an indescribable air of pure luxury.
The dinnerware across all five long tables had been entirely replaced with ancient golden platters gleaming with a mellow luster; every ten paces along the tables stood a half-foot-tall ice-carved water-drop fountain, where crystal-clear wine and fruity honey-nectar trickled smoothly down the contours of the ice, completely washing away the damp, earthy chill that originally belonged to the castle.
Suspended above the vaulted ceiling of the hall were no longer ordinary candles, but a dazzling starry river forcibly warped into existence through magic. Thousands upon thousands of artificially carved micro-crystals floated in mid-air like crushed stars, raining down a generous dusting of pale golden powder that settled on the robes and long hair of the students below, radiating subtle, shimmering lusters.
Following behind their respective headmasters, the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang filed into the Great Hall, their originally haughty strides inevitably hitching the moment they crossed the threshold.
Several young witches from Beauxbatons parted their moist lips in awe, their hands clutching tightly to the powder-blue silk robes of their companions, their eyes scanning back and forth between the floating river of stars and the ice-carved fountains on the tables. One French girl with wavy, pale-blonde hair couldn't even resist stretching out her delicate pink fingers, tentatively trying to catch the falling golden dust, her petite frame trembling slightly with absolute astonishment.
"Is... is this Hogwarts' wartime banquet?!"
A burly male student from Durmstrang roughly shrugged off his heavy bear-pelt coat, slamming both massive hands heavily against a wooden chair beside the Slytherin long table, staring at the miniature mountain of roast suckling pig and freshly air-shipped Mediterranean figs piled on the platters, swallowing a huge mouthful of saliva with a loud gulp.
"On the Northern European front lines, we can only gnaw on hard tack and salted fish every single day!
And yet these wizards of France and England are actually enjoying vintage cellar reserves from premier estates right here?!"
Draco Malfoy was seated in the front row of the Slytherin long table.
His leather combat gear had long been swapped out for an impeccably tailored black woolen dress suit; on the index finger of his left hand sat a gold signet ring engraved with the double-headed serpent crest, which he was currently tapping against the rim of his golden platter with supreme arrogance.
Upon taking in the shock and envy in the eyes of those visiting students, the trademark cold sneer at the corners of Draco's mouth nearly stretched to his ears.
Crossing his legs and leaning back against his chair, he raised his right hand to grasp the heavy golden goblet before him, raising it in a toast toward Jerry as he approached.
"See that bunch of Gallic girls and Nordic barbarians?"
Draco lowered his voice, his tone brimming with unadulterated satisfaction. "The old man originally wanted to stage his pathetic 'frugal unity' pauper's banquet tonight."
Jerry sat down in the spacious plush chair to his left.
His overcoat was casually draped over the back of the chair, his shirt collar slightly open, revealing his firm neck.
The few faint scratch marks left by Fiona in the shower earlier were still faintly tinged with red, though masked under the brilliant lights of the Great Hall, they were barely noticeable.
To his right, Fiona had already changed into a form-fitting, black high-necked gown, her sharp black hair neatly framing her ears, accentuating her intellectual, gorgeous face into something exceptionally enchanting. Without the slightest reservation, she rested a long, shapely leg across Jerry's knee, her right hand holding a crystal-clear goblet, elegantly swirling the deep red wine within.
"This vintage grape juice was swiped from the bottom-most cellar of Malfoy Manor, wasn't it?"
Fiona leaned close to Jerry's ear, tilting her body slightly, those massive, snow-white mounds of soft flesh squeezing out an enticing, deep cleavage under the tight wrap of her black gown, a wave of scalding heat puffing against the shell of Jerry's ear.
"I won a bottle in a bet back in the frontline officers' lounge, and the flavor was far wilder than anything in these platters tonight. You did damn well tonight, boy—thoroughly stunning this whole bunch of haughty, snooty girls from Old Europe."
Just then, Hermione strode briskly over from the Gryffindor table.
She held a thick inventory ledger for the banquet supplies in her hands, her long legs pacing rapidly beneath her long skirt. Though she strove to maintain the solemn expression expected of a top student and prefect, the moment her gaze landed on Fiona's leg resting across Jerry's knee, her brows instantly knitted together.
Hermione marched up, slamming the heavy ledger down beside the golden platter in front of Jerry with a loud smack.
"Margaret just sent someone over demanding to know why thirty percent of the magitech mercury and high-grade gemstones shipped in through the Old Europe procurement channels were docked just to be used as decorations in the Great Hall!"
Hermione bent down, supporting herself with both hands on the tabletop, her firm, full breasts nearly spilling out from the collar of her white shirt. Pressing close to the side of Jerry's face, her teeth grinding audibly, she fumed in a voice only the few of them could hear.
"Jerry Rosier! Do you have any idea how many Hardened Shield Plates those high-grade gems could have stamped out in the underground workshop?! And you actually suspended them from the ceiling to set off fireworks?!"
Jerry didn't even bat an eyelid. Extending his right hand before the eyes of dozens of nearby students, he naturally grasped Hermione's slender waist and yanked her forcefully into his embrace!
"Eek!"
Hermione let out a soft gasp as her body tumbled uncontrollably onto Jerry's lap, her long thigh instantly pressing tight against Fiona's thigh.
Fiona giggled softly, casually pinching Hermione's blushing, pretty cheek: "Miss Know-It-All of Gryffindor, don't be such a wet blanket. Pulling out a few flashy stones for show—isn't that just to bring glory to us in Slytherin?"
Fumed, Hermione stepped on Jerry's foot, yet she didn't jump up from Jerry's lap; instead, she pressed her voluptuous, delicate body even tighter against him, muttering under her breath: "Prodigal spender throwing money away like water... If the workshop's ledgers don't balance out tonight, I'll take you down tomorrow night!"
Amidst their teasing and bickering, Albus Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet atop the high dais.
Tonight, the old wizard wore a deep blue robe patterned with silvery-yellow crescent moons, his long white beard tucked neatly into his belt. Raising the golden goblet in his hand, his resonant, bell-like voice rang out across the entire hall.
"Welcome! Welcome to our esteemed guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang!"
Dumbledore's voice echoed beneath the rafters, and the murmurs across the hall gradually subsided.
Madame Maxime's towering frame was seated in the center of the dais, holding a massive golden chalice the size of a small barrel, bowing slightly with a smile; Karkaroff, his gaunt face dark and sullen, rested his long hands crossed on the table, his eyes constantly darting between Harry and Draco below.
"After undergoing a truly breathtaking first task," Dumbledore continued with a warm smile, a profound yet gentle light gleaming in his eyes, "we have borne witness to the courage and wisdom of our younger generation of wizards. Yet beyond the tournament itself, a wizarding world clouded by war demands steadfast alliances and selfless devotion all the more."
The old wizard paused abruptly, turning his head, his gaze landing squarely upon Jerry in the front row of the Slytherin long table.
Professor McGonagall's expression shifted slightly from where she sat on the dais, instinctively wanting to speak out and intervene, but Dumbledore had already raised his hand, gesturing in Jerry's direction.
"Tonight, we have the distinct privilege of inviting Hogwarts' most exceptional young wizard—and a generous champion patron who has made outstanding contributions to the Frontline Orphans Fund and wartime provisions—Mr. Jerry Rosier, to deliver our welcoming address tonight!"
The moment these words left his mouth, the entire Great Hall fell into an eerie silence.
The half-eaten pastry in Draco's hand dropped into his golden plate with a clatter; he whipped his head around to glare at Dumbledore above, his eyes brimming with shock and fury.
"That old bastard!" Draco pressed against the table to stand, cursing through gritted teeth in a harsh whisper. "He's trying to forcibly push you onto the stage to use you as a scapegoat! The faculty and students of all Europe are watching right now; if you say a single wrong word up there, all the blame for those frontline wartime appropriations will be pinned right on your head!"
Hermione clutched Jerry's shirt sleeve tightly as well, all playfulness vanishing from her face, turning completely cold.
"Jerry, don't go up. You are a student representative; you have no obligation to face administrative inquiries outside the Ministry."
Yet atop the dais, Dumbledore merely maintained that benevolent, gentle smile, as though he were simply inviting a favored pupil up to receive an award.
Sitting in his armchair, Jerry rested both hands casually on his knees. Looking at the old wizard's astoundingly shrewd eyes above, a mocking sneer curled at the corners of his lips.
Did the old man really think that dragging him onto a public moral stage before all of Europe could force him to submit meekly like Harry Potter?
Jerry gently patted the hand resting on Hermione's waist, then gave Fiona's firm buttocks a solid squeeze.
Under the gaze of hundreds of scorching, suspicious, jealous, and spectator eyes across the hall, Jerry unhurriedly rose from his chair.
He didn't bother straightening his slightly rumpled shirt collar, nor did he pick up the parchment speech the house-elves had prepared on the table. With both hands casually tucked into the pockets of his black overcoat, stepping with measured, steady strides, he walked step by step toward the high dais ahead.
Tumultuous applause and cheers erupted from the Slytherin table, and Pansy even put two fingers to her mouth and blew a sharp, piercing whistle!
Over at the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley ground his teeth in pure fury, slamming his fists heavily onto his thighs, the jealousy in his eyes almost erupting into physical flame.
"Why him?" Ron's voice sounded exceptionally hoarse amidst the din. "Why does he get to speak on stage?! Harry was the one who pulled off a miracle with the Summoning Charm! What right does a Slytherin who made a fortune off dealing weapons have to stand up there?!"
Harry sat beside him, clutching the wound on his knee tightly with both hands, without uttering a single word, merely staring blankly at Jerry's slight back as it radiated a terrifying presence.
Jerry stepped onto the towering platform.
Standing beside Dumbledore, he was a full head shorter than the old Headmaster, yet the moment he stood behind that golden podium engraved with the crests of the four houses, the atmospheric pressure of the entire Great Hall seemed to plummet.
Dumbledore smiled, handing over the prepared speech before him.
Jerry didn't spare it a single glance.
Raising his right hand, he gave it a brutally casual flick in mid-air! That heavy parchment—inscribed with platitudes of "international friendship," "peaceful coexistence," and "heroic dedication"—was instantly incinerated into a wisp of pitch-black ash, scattering along the draft to rain down onto the golden platters in the center of the hall!
A chorus of sharp gasps instantly rippled across the entire venue!
Karkaroff's eyes nearly popped out of his head, while Madame Maxime knitted her brows tightly.
Resting both hands on the edge of the golden podium, leaning forward slightly, Jerry swept his cold, razor-sharp eyes across the faces of the hundreds of wizards below.
"The speech was too long; I have no patience for idle drivel."
Jerry didn't use a Sonorus Charm, yet his low, crisp, and intensely penetrating voice carried distinctly into the ears of every single person present.
"Headmaster Dumbledore spoke just now of friendship, of peace, and of the ancient traditions of the Triwizard Tournament."
Reaching this point, an intensely mocking smirk curled upon Jerry's lips. He raised a finger, pointing to the glittering artificial starry sky overhead, and then to the golden platters and goblets below.
"Yet all of you know full well in your hearts: if another thousand Cultivators fall through the frontline rifts tomorrow, the goblets in your hands and your gorgeous silk robes won't withstand even the lowest tier of flame."
The students below fell into absolute silence.
Several burly students from Durmstrang sat up straight involuntarily, their large hands clenching into fists; the young witches of Beauxbatons ceased their whispering, holding their breath as they stared fixedly at the frail English boy on the stage radiating supreme arrogance.
"Wars are not won with pretty words."
Jerry pulled both hands from his coat pockets, resting them casually on the podium.
"The front lines need potions, Aurors need shields, and you so-called 'elites' sent here to compete need real hardware that can save your miserable lives at the critical juncture of life and death—not some hollow, ethereal medal."
Jerry reached into the inner pocket of his overcoat and drew out a seemingly ordinary, dark grey leather pouch.
Under the gaze of hundreds of spectators, Jerry turned the pouch upside down and gave it a violent shake over the podium!
Clatter-clash!
An ear-piercing, breathtaking cascade of clashing metal and grinding gemstones erupted across the platform like a golden waterfall!
Hundreds upon thousands of enchanted jewelry pieces radiating rich pulses of magic power piled high into a miniature mountain across the entire podium!
There were gold bangles inlaid with pigeon-blood rubies glowing with potent Shield Charm auras; exquisite necklaces strung with deep-sea pearls engraved with Water-Repelling and Calming runes; and dozens of dark-silver rings etched with curse-breaking and deflection arrays! The magical cadence radiating from every single piece was outrageously pure!
These were precision-crafted defenses mass-stamped by Hermione in the underground workshop using Old European spoils of war and top-tier magitech materials! Any single piece taken to the Old Europe black market would easily fetch thousands of Galleons!
The entire Great Hall descended into a frenzied madness in that instant!
"Merlin's beard!!"
A female professor from Beauxbatons shot straight up from her chair, her eyes glued to the pile of ruby bangles radiating blood-red light on the podium, her breathing heavy as a bellows!
The Durmstrang students slammed the tables frantically, several burly boys flushing bright red with excitement, wishing they could charge the podium to loot it on the spot!
Standing behind that treasure mountain of immense wealth, Jerry casually scooped up a handful of heavy ruby bangles, tossing them idly in his palm as if they were cheap glass marbles.
"Tonight is the welcoming feast."
Jerry said casually, and hurled his right arm forward!
Whoosh!
Those dozen-plus high-tier bangles glowing with blood-red protective light shot like searing meteors straight toward the Beauxbatons witches' table!
"Eek!!"
The French girls shrieked and leaped up, arms outstretched! That short-haired, pale-blonde girl sprang forward with extreme agility, snatching a heavy ruby bangle into her embrace. The built-in defensive force field of the bangle activated in an instant, wrapping her entirely within a soft pink-red halo!
Flushed with excitement, the girl slipped the bangle onto her snow-white wrist on the spot, waving and screaming at Jerry on the podium, even stepping over her chair to blow him loud, French-accented kisses!
Immediately after, Jerry grabbed another large handful of dark-silver rings etched with battle runes and deflection arrays, flinging them toward the Durmstrang table!
"Take them and play."
Clatter! Clang! Catch!
The hulking Durmstrang boys vaulted madly across the tables and benches to grab them! Viktor Krum's figure flashed; his massive hand clamped shut in mid-air, precisely catching two dark-silver rings. Sensing the intense deflection magic within capable of fending off Level 3 Dark Magic, the normally cold and aloof star athlete couldn't help but reveal utter shock and admiration on his rugged face!
He gave a solid thumbs-up across the hall straight at Jerry!
The entire Great Hall lost all semblance of control!
Cheers, screams, and the banging of tables and chairs intertwined into a boiling sea!
Jerry casually pushed the remaining dozens of exquisite jewelry pieces off the podium, letting them scatter across the floor tiles below, to be scrambled over by upper-year students swarming forward in a frenzy.
Shoving his hands back into his overcoat pockets, he turned around and flashed a smile at the ashen-faced Dumbledore beside him.
"Headmaster, my welcoming address is complete."
Brushing non-existent dust from his coat, stepping with steady strides amidst a roar of deafening cheers and screams, Jerry walked leisurely down from the podium.
Beside the Slytherin table, Draco was already laughing so hard he doubled over, banging the golden platters on the table in a loud racket.
"Hahahaha! Jerry! You're brilliant!" Draco grabbed Jerry's shoulder, laughing until tears streamed down. "Throwing gold right in the old man's face! Now the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang see you as their sugar daddy! That 'moral salvation' nonsense of his isn't worth a fart in the face of your mountain of gold!"
Fiona stood straight up, striding her long leg across the chair, wrapping an arm around Jerry's neck.
Her towering, full breasts pressed firmly against Jerry's cheek, letting out a wanton, pleasure-filled laugh in his ear.
"Major Shareholder... the way you threw that money around was so wild... where's mine..."
Sitting nearby, though Hermione muttered "prodigal spender" under her breath, her tender hands naturally poured Jerry a brim-full cup of premium dragon-blood liquor, tidying his overcoat collar to perfection.
The stadium-wide revelry reached its absolute peak, while Dumbledore stood atop the dais, watching the visiting students scramble for enchanted jewelry, experiencing a sense of helplessness and loss of control for the very first time.
Sitting in his plush chair, Jerry lifted his golden goblet and took a sip of the liquor, his peripheral vision catching the grim scowl on the old Headmaster's face above, a careless smirk lingering on his lips.
The clamor in the Great Hall refused to subside for a long time.
The visiting students who had snagged enchanted jewelry gathered in clusters of twos and threes.
Several Durmstrang boys who caught dark-silver rings eagerly slipped them onto their thick fingers, tentatively channeling magic power inside. As faint rune glows unfurled in the air, envious yet excited slaps on the back resounded from their companions.
Meanwhile, in the Beauxbatons dining area, the atmosphere grew rather bizarre and subtle.
The short-haired blonde girl who had caught the ruby bangle held her wrist high, swaying it back and forth under the envious gazes of her peers, the soft pink Shield Charm barrier refracting enchanting hues in the air.
Fleur sat in the front row of the Beauxbatons table.
Her cascading silver-blonde hair spilled casually over her shoulders, her long, slender arms crossed over her chest, pushing her towering breasts upward into an alluring curve. Her long legs, clad in high-heeled leather shoes, shifted restlessly beneath the table, her heels tapping against the wooden floorboards in a rapid, continuous staccato.
She hadn't taken part in the scramble beneath the podium earlier.
As Beauxbatons' premier champion and a haughty witch possessing Veela blood, her pride would never allow her to leap onto the stage like an uncultured country bumpkin to fight over scraps with crude male students.
Yet seeing several of her younger classmates flaunting those top-tier accessories pulsing with potent defensive magic with her own eyes, a shadow of gloom inevitably fell across her gorgeous, haughty face.
Ravenclaw's Head Boy, Roger Davies, was sitting pressed against her left side.
Having been struck in the rear by the slipping alchemical cask in the underground warehouse earlier and viciously scratched by a furious Fleur, his Ravenclaw robes were currently askew. He rubbed his hands repeatedly against his trouser legs, cold sweat still glistening on his forehead, desperately cutting the roast lamb chops on his plate into small pieces to offer before Fleur, trying to salvage the face he had lost in the warehouse.
"Fleur, try this—tender lamb specially supplied by the frontline logistics department..."
Fleur didn't even bat an eyelid.
Extending a slender, snow-white finger, she tapped it firmly against the edge of the plate with a crisp clink. Then, turning her head, her gorgeous face clouded with irritation and pride drew right in front of Roger.
"Roger."
Fleur's voice was melodious, carrying the soft, breathy lilt unique to French witches, yet her tone was devoid of any warmth.
"Look at what they have in their hands."
Fleur gestured with her chin toward the short-haired blonde girl showing off her bangle nearby, her shapely brows knitting tightly.
"Those defensive items that Slytherin boy casually tossed from the podium can withstand the impact of high-tier Dark Magic. Yet here I am, the champion of Beauxbatons, sitting in the most prominent seat in the hall, without a single piece of jewelry that can even compare."
Roger's hands paused in carving the lamb, his expression turning instantly awkward. He let out two dry laughs, gesturing over the empty plate.
"Fleur... those are merely mass-produced hardened defenses from Old European munitions factories, crude beyond belief, completely unsuited to the elegant aesthetic of Ravenclaw and Beauxbatons. That powder-blue silk robe you're wearing already has protective enchantments woven in; you have no need for such crude—"
"I don't need it, but I need face!"
Fleur cut him off sharply.
Her tall, shapely frame straightened abruptly in her seat, both hands slapping down beside her golden platter, her massive, snow-white breasts heaving violently. Looking down at Roger, a dangerous curve hooked at the corner of her lips.
"Whatever others have, I must have something better. Roger, what did you promise me in the logistics warehouse just now? You claimed you were Ravenclaw's Head Boy, that your family owns three ancient alchemy workshops in England. Right now, I want a piece of enchanted jewelry far more precious and beautiful than that ruby bangle."
As Fleur spoke, she held out a delicate, open palm straight before Roger.
"Produce it. Right now."
Roger froze completely in his seat.
Several nearby Ravenclaw students had already overheard the exchange, turning their heads to watch.
Not far away at the Durmstrang table, a few burly male students even let out low, mocking chuckles.
Roger's neck flushed bright red in an instant. His hands fumbled frantically through his coat pockets, the inside of his robes, and the pouches at his belt.
After fishing around in his pockets for what felt like an eternity, he awkwardly and pathetically drew a palm-sized antique wooden box from the deepest recess.
Holding the box with both hands like a lifeline, Roger thrust it before Fleur, sweat trailing down his cheeks to his chin.
"This... this is an heirloom anti-magic hairpin from my family! Inlaid with a pure sapphire, capable of weakly deflecting low-tier Stunning Spells..."
The wooden box opened.
Lying quietly inside was an aged, distinctly outdated silver hairpin, inlaid in the center with a rice-grain-sized, dull pale-blue gemstone. Its magical fluctuations were so feeble they were practically negligible; forget comparing it to the top-tier defenses Jerry had thrown out, it looked utterly pathetic even beside standard black-market wares.
Sitting nearby at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was taking a sip of wine; seeing the hairpin in the box, he nearly choked and sprayed dragon-blood liquor all over the golden platter opposite him.
Several Slytherin students burst out laughing, and Pansy laughed so hard she clutched Jerry's arm, unable to stop.
Fleur's haughty face darkened completely.
Staring at that pitiful hairpin in the wooden box, she felt her dignity as both a Veela and a champion had been publicly slapped across the face.
Instead of taking the box, she stood up abruptly!
Her tall, slender frame stirred a fragrant draft, her skirt flaring with her movement.
Bracing both hands on the table, Fleur glared down at Roger, her delicate lips trembling, her disappointment and fury reaching a boiling point.
"Roger Davies! You are nothing but a spineless wimp! A useless coward!"
With that, Fleur turned to march toward the Great Hall doors, her long, shapely legs striding rapidly, the sharp click of her heels against the floor radiating freezing anger.
Panicking, Roger scrambled up and tried to catch her hand, only for Fleur to swat the back of his hand with a sharp slap, leaving him standing awkwardly in the aisle, unable to advance or retreat.
Just as Fleur was about to step out of the dining area, a calm, low voice drifted over from the Slytherin head table.
"Davies isn't wrong; that hairpin truly is too outdated."
Jerry sat in his plush chair, not rising immediately.
Holding the heavy golden goblet in his right hand, he casually swirled the red wine within.
From the inner pocket of his overcoat, the purplish-brown little drake poked half its head out, spitting a small plume of purple sparks into the air.
Hearing Jerry speak, Fleur's footsteps inevitably halted.
She spun around, her shimmering silver hair whipping across her back, clutching the hem of her powder-blue robes tightly with both hands, her cold, provocative gaze locking straight onto Jerry's face.
"Mr. Rosier." Fleur let out a haughty huff, stepping half a pace forward with her long leg, tilting slightly. "Are you mocking my partner, or are you mocking my lack of taste?"
Jerry set down his wine goblet.
He patted Hermione's firm, full buttocks beside him, rising unhurriedly beneath Hermione's flirtatious glare.
Ignoring Roger Davies standing ashen-faced in the center of the aisle, he strode forward with measured, elegant steps, walking right up to Fleur.
The distance between them closed to within half a foot.
Fleur was exceptionally tall among witches, and wearing high heels, she stood slightly taller than Jerry. The Veela aura radiating from her—a distinct blend of floral sweetness and heat—swept overwhelmingly across Jerry's face in the warm air.
Jerry did not take half a step back.
Holding his chin high, his cold, piercing eyes sweeping up and down Fleur's breathtaking face, the smirk at the corner of his lips settled into a natural, commanding composure.
Jerry extended his right hand, naturally seizing Fleur's slender, tender left wrist before the eyes of hundreds of spectators!
"Ah..."
Fleur's body shuddered slightly at the sudden physical contact.
She instinctively tried to pull her hand back, but Jerry's leather-gloved fingers clamped like an iron vise around her pulse, the firm pull forcing her slender body to pitch forward, her towering, snow-white breasts pressing flush against Jerry's coat lapels.
"Let go—"
Before Fleur could finish, Jerry's left hand had already smoothly reached into the inner pocket of his overcoat.
No tedious, long-winded incantations, nor superfluous flattery.
From the depths of his pocket, Jerry drew an exquisite piece of jewelry radiating an ethereal blue luster.
It was an exceptionally delicate, nearly translucent dark-silver clavicle necklace, suspending a teardrop-shaped deep-blue gemstone the size of a fingernail. Inside the gem swirled what looked like a miniature nebula, pulsing with faint yet incomparably pure ice-blue magical circuit lines with every shift of the air.
This was a defense core personally carved by Hermione in the frontline workshop using "Titan Frost-Crystal"—the finest treasure among their Old European spoils!
Not only could it nullify the vast majority of Level 5 Dark Magic and fire impacts, but it was also inscribed with high-tier temperature regulation and soul-shielding runes! In terms of value and rarity, the entire pile of ruby bangles looted on stage earlier couldn't equal a fraction of this single Frost-Crystal!
The moment the necklace was bared under the Great Hall's lights, a refreshingly cool yet overwhelmingly potent wave of magic power burst outward from the two of them in a wild pulse!
Several nearby Beauxbatons students had their robes whipped back by the residual magical draft!
"Seeing as you are a champion of the tournament."
Jerry's voice was low and magnetic, murmured right beside Fleur's ear.
Instead of shoving the necklace into Fleur's hands, he released her wrist, stepped half a pace forward, and smoothly brought both arms around her fragrant, slender shoulders toward the nape of her neck.
Fleur froze completely where she stood.
She could distinctly feel the scalding body heat radiating from Jerry's firm chest, and the electric, tingling thrill as his fingers grazed the tender skin at the back of her neck. Jerry's breath puffing against the sensitive skin of her ear made the proud French girl's spine go soft.
Jerry's nimble fingers danced swiftly through the silver-blonde hair at the nape of her neck, clasping the delicate metal fastening securely into place with practiced ease.
The cool, deep-blue gemstone settled squarely upon the center of Fleur's snow-white collarbone.
Hum!
A faint yet incomparably pure, translucent aquatic-blue halo expanded around Fleur in an instant!
As the halo shimmered, it not only filtered the stale air of the Great Hall into crisp freshness, but also accentuated Fleur's breathtaking, proud beauty until she looked like a noble queen stepping out from the deep ocean!
The entire hall fell into dead silence in this moment.
The Beauxbatons girls who had been flaunting their ruby bangles stared dumbstruck; the piece of dried beef in the short-haired blonde girl's mouth dropped onto her golden plate with a clink, her eyes glued to the deep-blue gem on Fleur's collarbone, envy and jealousy practically blazing from her gaze!
At the Durmstrang table, Krum grunted heavily, his massive hands tightening around his goblet, visibly awed by the magical cadence exuding from this masterwork.
Fleur slowly lowered her head.
Her delicate hands trembled as they stroked the deep-blue gem resting on her collarbone—radiating potent magic yet cool to the touch—her entire body shivering from sheer shock and delight.
As an elite witch, she understood the worth of this item all too well! This was no ordinary defense that could be bought off the market; this was an artifact-grade conduit capable of saving a life and massively amplifying one's own magical rhythm!
She looked up, the fury and gloom on her haughty, gorgeous face evaporating completely in an instant.
In their place was an indescribable heat, awe, and an undisguised fascination and desire.
Fleur's tall, shapely body leaned forward with total naturalness, her arms smoothly wrapping around Jerry's neck, her towering, snow-white breasts pressing firmly against Jerry's chest.
Drawing close to Jerry's cheek, her moist lips nearly brushing the corner of his mouth, she let out a soft laugh steeped in a heavy French lilt.
"Mon chéri... Mr. Rosier..."
Fleur's voice was as soft and light as fragrant sea foam, drifting gently through the air.
"Are English wizards... all as generous and commanding as you?"
As she spoke, before the eyes of hundreds across the hall, she boldly lifted her left foot, her shapely thigh brushing softly against Jerry's leg, tapping the heel of her shoe against Jerry's boot.
Watching from behind, clutching that pathetic wooden box, Roger Davies went as pale as a scrap of waste paper. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but when Jerry's sharp, icy gaze swept over him, pure cowardice silenced him completely, leaving him to retreat quietly into the depths of the crowd.
Beside the Slytherin head table.
Holding her wine glass, Fiona chuckled softly. Leaning back in her wooden chair, she tapped her long leg lightly against the floor tiles.
"Look at that—our Major Shareholder is out charming little girls again." Fiona cast a glance at the dark-faced Hermione beside her, teasing, "Miss Know-It-All of Gryffindor, if you don't drag him back soon, that French Veela is going to follow him straight back to the Slytherin dungeons tonight."
Hermione huffed, slamming the banquet ledger shut.
She stood up, striding forward on her long legs, walking briskly up beside Jerry and Fleur.
"Miss Delacour, the open mingling time for the welcoming banquet has concluded.
As a champion, you are required backstage to review the procedural details for the second task with the officials from the Department of International Magical Cooperation."
Fleur raised a shapely eyebrow, her hands still linked around Jerry's neck without releasing immediately. She gave Jerry a meaningful look, the tip of her tender tongue darting across her lower lip, leaving behind a glistening trace of moisture.
"Of course, Miss Granger."
Fleur let out a melodious laugh, leaning close to Jerry's ear, whispering in a breathy murmur.
"Tonight's gift... I adore it very much. Once the task concludes... I shall visit your private parlor in person... to express my gratitude."
Only then did Fleur reluctantly release her hold. Holding her elegant bosom high, clicking her heels across the floor, she glided gracefully toward the backstage area under the burning, envious gazes of the gathered witches.
Jerry stood where he was, casually smoothing the shirt collar Fleur had ruffled.