"Mother-in-law, you smell so good."

Jerry’s voice was muffled as it came from beneath the hem of Cassiopeia’s wide, dark green robes, carrying a slightly sticky, nasal tone from being covered by the fabric.

Cassiopeia glanced down at the slightly bulging spot on her abdomen, where a restless little head was rubbing back and forth inside her robes.

Her snake tongue popped from her teeth, quivered twice in the air, and immediately retracted.

"Who are you calling mother-in-law? The marriage contract hasn’t even been signed yet."

Cassiopeia’s tone was flat, her steps not pausing. Her high heels clicked rhythmically on the smooth marble floor of the Ministry of Magic’s corridor—clack, clack.

With every step, Cassiopeia could feel the brat hidden inside her robes using those restless hands to grope inch by inch up her inner thigh, which was wrapped in black silk.

Jerry’s palm pressed against the root of Cassiopeia’s thigh, the pad of his finger rolling over the skin bearing fine scale patterns beneath the stocking fibers.

Unlike Professor McGonagall—whose body was warm and soft, like a quilt baked in the sun, making one want to bury themselves entirely within—

Cassiopeia’s body always carried a faint chill. That coolness wasn’t ice-cold, but a subtle, refreshing coolness somewhere between human body temperature and a snake’s cold-bloodedness.

His fingertips slid upward along the curve of her inner thigh; every time he passed a spot, he could feel the faint scale patterns beneath the skin.

Those scales were arranged so finely they were almost invisible to the naked eye, but when the pad of a finger rolled over them, the unique grainy sensation could be clearly felt—smooth, but not the pure smoothness of human skin; delicate, but carrying a near-addictive roughness.

"How about you take over?"

Cassiopeia turned her head and spoke to Professor McGonagall, who was walking beside her.

Her snake eyes were half-squinted, a half-smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

Professor McGonagall’s face was livid.

"I will do no such thing."

Her voice was kept very low, almost squeezed through her teeth.

Her pace was half a beat faster than usual, the hem of her dark green robes swaying gently with her movements, revealing the long, slender calves wearing brand-new black stockings underneath.

"This little bastard is restless inside," Professor McGonagall stared straight ahead, her jaw clenched tight. "I still have to go up and give a speech in a moment."

"But Professor, you were clearly enjoying it just now."

Jerry’s voice came from inside Cassiopeia’s robes, carrying a triumphant smile. His palm was currently covering Cassiopeia’s buttock cheek, feeling the plump, firm flesh quivering slightly in his palm through the thin lace panties.

Professor McGonagall’s steps paused for a beat.

She turned around abruptly, her wand sliding from her sleeve into her palm, the tip aimed at the slightly bulging abdomen of Cassiopeia’s robes, propped up by Jerry.

"Crispus."

A pale blue light shot from the tip of the wand, shrouding Cassiopeia’s robes. The bulge propped up by Jerry’s head and shoulders quickly flattened out under the effect of the spell. The dark green fabric became neat again; from the outside, it was completely impossible to tell there was a person hidden inside.

Immediately following—

Smack!

A crisp sound.

Professor McGonagall’s left hand, through Cassiopeia’s robes, slapped Jerry’s butt fiercely. The force of the slap was not light; the sound of palm colliding with flesh echoed for a moment in the empty corridor, even alarming several Ministry employees chatting in the distance, causing them to turn their heads.

A muffled groan came from beneath Cassiopeia’s robes.

"Ouch!"

Jerry’s voice carried a bit of grievance, but his hand did not move from Cassiopeia’s buttock cheek. Instead, he kneaded it even more aggressively, his fingertips sinking into the flesh that bore shallow marks from the lace, feeling the icy, elastic touch.

Professor McGonagall withdrew her hand, her wand sliding back into her sleeve.

Her face regained the dignity and majesty of the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, as if the slap just now was merely an illusion.

"Behave."

Her voice was as cold as reprimanding a disobedient student.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue quivered in the air, the arc of her mouth deepening. She could feel Jerry’s palm sliding down from her buttock cheek, his fingertips hooking the edge of the lace panties and gently pulling it aside.

Soon, the double oak doors of the Grand Conference Room slowly opened before them. The hinges made a dull creak as they turned, and a wave of turbid air—a mix of parchment ink, beeswax candles, and the body heat of dozens of wizards—rushed against their faces.

The conference room was a semi-circular, tiered theater structure. The dark gray stone walls hung with the badges and banners of the Ministry of Magic. The ceiling was enchanted with a starry sky spell, simulating the gloomy clouds currently over London.

Hundreds of seats were arranged in an arc, rising layer by layer from the lowest podium, each row half a foot higher than the one before it, ensuring those in the back could clearly see the speaker in the center.

At this moment, the meeting was already halfway through. Most of the seats were filled, and low whispers echoed under the dome like the buzzing in a beehive.

When Cassiopeia strode in, her back was perfectly straight, her high heels making clear clack, clack sounds on the stone floor.

After her robes were treated by McGonagall’s spell, there was no abnormality visible from the outside—the dark green fabric draped neatly over her tall frame, the waistline crisp, the hem reaching her ankles, every fold just right.

However, below her abdomen, in that space hidden by the spell, Jerry was curled up inside her robes. His cheek pressed against her outer thigh wrapped in black silk, his nose almost buried in the boundary between the root of her thigh and the edge of the lace panties.

The scent there was rich and unique—not the warmth carrying floral fragrance and body heat unique to a mature woman like Professor McGonagall, but a cool breath carrying a slight musky-sweetness. It was like the scent emitted by some rare fungus deep in a forest after rain, mixed with the nylon smell of stocking fibers warmed by body heat.

Jerry’s palm still rested on Cassiopeia’s buttock cheek, the pad of his finger casually rolling over the icy skin through the thin gauze of the lace panties.

With every step, Cassiopeia’s thigh muscles contracted and relaxed within the wrapping of the black silk, causing his entire body to sway slightly along with it.

In the first row at the very front, Amelia Bones sat upright, flipping through the parchment files in her hands.

Amelia had changed into a robe that appeared more formal while also accommodating her pregnant belly. Her hair was combed meticulously, and a monocle perched on the bridge of her nose, adding a touch of unsmiling seriousness to her sharp-featured face.

When Cassiopeia and McGonagall walked in from the side door, Amelia’s gaze lifted from the files, glancing toward the two through the lens of her monocle.

Just a glance.

Her gaze lingered on Cassiopeia for less than half a second, the corners of her mouth turning down slightly—a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible unless one was observing deliberately—and then she retracted her gaze, lowering her head to flip through the files again, as if the two who walked in were nothing more than inconsequential latecomers.

Agnes, sitting two seats to Amelia’s right, was not so subtle.

This witch, who had come to the Ministry of Magic with Cassiopeia, had short chestnut hair and exquisite features that radiated a fierce "don’t-mess-with-me" aura. She was currently tilting her head, observing Cassiopeia and Professor McGonagall with undisguised curiosity.

Her gaze swept over Cassiopeia’s brand-new dark green robe—she was wearing a different outfit before entering the venue just now, and had changed—and then glanced at Professor McGonagall’s equally brand-new attire. She raised her eyebrows, her lips moving silently, as if saying something to herself.

There were two empty seats in the first row, clearly saved for them.

Agnes even turned sideways slightly, making room in the aisle.

But Cassiopeia didn’t even glance at those two empty seats.

Her high heels clacked down the center aisle, heading straight for the very last row.

Professor McGonagall followed half a step behind her. As if they had agreed upon it long ago, the two walked one after another, bypassing all the front seats, and finally sat down in the corner-most seats of the last row.

The view from this position was extremely poor—the various wizard hats and towering buns on the rows of seats ahead blocked most of the podium, allowing only a bare glimpse of the speaker’s upper half.

But it had one unparalleled advantage: it was far from everyone’s line of sight, with a wall right behind it and no neighbors on either side.

When Cassiopeia sat down, her knees parted slightly by a few inches, the hem of her robes spreading out on the seat. Jerry, curled up in the spell-hidden space between her thighs, slid from the outer thigh to the inner thigh with her sitting motion, his nose pressing directly against Cassiopeia’s black-silk-wrapped thigh root.

Squish.

An extremely subtle sound.

It was the sound of his nose rolling over the stocking fabric, squeezing the residual moisture out of the fiber gaps.

Cassiopeia, her expression unchanged, pulled a report from the folder behind the seat in front of her and unfolded it on her lap.

The edge of the parchment perfectly covered the small area where the hem of her robe was rising and falling slightly.

Professor McGonagall, sitting to her right, also took a report.

When she turned to the first page, her brow furrowed slightly—the agenda changes discussed in the small conference room were now listed as a briefing on the second page of the report. The budget allocations for several key projects differed significantly from the original plan.

"Item three has been changed." Professor McGonagall lowered her voice, her body leaning slightly toward Cassiopeia.

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes swept over the report, the vertical slits in her pupils shrinking.

"The budget for the International Wizard Exchange Program was cut by twenty percent and moved to..." Her fingertip tapped a row of numbers, her nail making a faint rustle on the parchment. "Military defense?"

Right then, Jerry’s finger moved on her inner thigh.

His thumb, starting from above the knee, slid upward extremely slowly along the fiber texture of the stocking.

Every inch of skin the pad of his finger rolled over could feel the unique scaly texture beneath Cassiopeia’s skin—icy, smooth, bearing fine grains.

His fingertips pressed into the softest tender flesh of her inner thigh, the force stretching the stocking into a shallow depression with a soft rustle.

The hand Cassiopeia was using to turn the pages of the report paused for less than a second before continuing.

Her thigh muscles tensed slightly for a moment within the wrapping of the black silk, then deliberately relaxed.

On the central podium, a burly male wizard was standing there, speaking volubly.

He wore a dark gray military wizard’s robe. Pinned to the left chest of the robe was the badge of the Ministry of Magic’s Legion—a crossed wand and sword.

There was an obviously repaired tear on the right shoulder of the robe. A button was missing from the collar, revealing bandages wrapped around his collarbone.

His face was weather-beaten, with an old scar extending from his cheekbone to his jaw on his left cheek. His short, graying hair clung messily to his scalp, looking as if it hadn’t been groomed in days.

"The situation on the front lines is far more severe than what you all sitting in your offices imagine."

His voice was hoarse and loud, carrying a penetrative power polished on the battlefield, echoing under the dome of the semi-circular conference room. "Last week, in just one week, we lost thirty-seven officially commissioned combat wizards, twelve of whom permanently lost their ability to cast spells.

The frequency of attacks by the False Gods has increased by forty percent compared to last year, and our supply lines!"

His fist slammed heavily onto the podium, the wooden surface making a dull thump.

"The supply lines have been broken three times!"

A rustle of discussion arose in the conference room. Several wizards in the front row whispered to each other; some frowned and checked the data in the reports.

Jerry’s fingers slid to the boundary between the root of Cassiopeia’s thigh and the edge of the lace panties.

His fingertips hooked the side of the brand-new lace panties, his nail gently scraping the thin lace fabric, making an almost inaudible hissing sound.

He didn’t rush to reach inside, but used the pad of his finger to rub back and forth along the edge of the lace over the elastic band that left a shallow mark.

Every time he rolled over it, the skin at the root of Cassiopeia’s thigh would bounce back slightly due to the elastic band being plucked, carrying an extremely subtle vibration.

Cassiopeia’s back straightened a fraction.

Her snake tongue didn’t pop out, but her jawline tightened.

The report was gripped in her hand, her knuckles glowing faintly white.

The Legion wizard on stage continued his speech.

"Therefore, I formally propose here—that no less than a thirty percent share of the annual budget for the International Wizard Exchange Program be transferred to the special fund for frontline military defense."

His gaze swept over the entire conference room, finally landing in the direction of Amelia Bones in the front row.

"Minister Bones, the detailed data for this proposal has been distributed to everyone along with the report."

Amelia pushed her monocle up and nodded expressionlessly.

Jerry’s index finger pushed aside the edge of the lace, his fingertip touching the bare skin of Cassiopeia that was uncovered by the stocking.

That touch was completely different from through the stocking.

Without the barrier of the fibers, the pad of his finger directly pressed against her icy skin bearing fine scale patterns.

Those scales became more obvious in their bare state—not visually, but tactilely.

As the pad of his finger rolled over, he could clearly feel the edge of every tiny scale, like stroking a living, breathing piece of snakeskin.

The scales were arranged radiating outward from the root of the thigh; stroking along them was smooth, while stroking against them produced a fine resistance and scraping.

The tip of Jerry’s finger slowly ground a circle against the direction of the scales.

The fingers Cassiopeia was using to grip the report tightened abruptly, the parchment making a crisp crinkling sound.

Professor McGonagall turned her head and glanced at her.

A teasing smile hung on her lips.

It was obvious she was asking a question she already knew the answer to.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing."

Cassiopeia’s voice was unbelievably steady. "This proposal cuts my department’s budget."

She tilted the circled row of numbers on the report toward McGonagall, while her knees simultaneously drew slightly closer together—not completely closed, but just enough to tighten Jerry’s space to maneuver, pressing his face deeper between her thighs.

Jerry’s nose was squeezed by her inner thighs, that icy skin pressing tightly against his cheeks, the grainy sensation of the scales leaving shallow indentations on his skin.

His breath sprayed on the root of her thighs, the warm air blowing through the thin gauze of the lace panties onto the bare skin not covered by stockings.

A layer of fine goosebumps rose at the root of Cassiopeia’s thighs—or more accurately, those scale patterns hidden beneath the skin, stimulated by this warm breath, slightly curled up their edges, like a snake’s instinctive reaction when sensing the body heat of prey.

The Legion wizard on stage was still speaking impassionedly.

"The encounter at the Sun God’s Throne Highlands three days ago, if Blomkvist of the Third Legion hadn’t activated the defensive barrier at the last moment, we would have lost at least fifteen more men!"

Professor McGonagall’s attention was drawn to the data on the report, her brows knitting tighter and tighter.

Those reallocated budget numbers also directly affected several educational exchange programs she was in charge of at Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall’s fingers slid quickly over the report, her nail leaving shallow marks beneath certain key figures.

Cassiopeia’s knees parted a bit more. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Not intentionally.

It was because Jerry’s fingers made a certain movement at the edge of her lace panties—his fingertips sliding inside the elastic band, following the pattern of the scales to probe deeper—causing her thigh muscles to relax involuntarily for a moment.

"Hiss."

An extremely faint sound.

Not the sound of a snake tongue, but a wisp of breath leaking from Cassiopeia’s nasal cavity.

Professor McGonagall’s gaze lifted from the report, landing precisely on Cassiopeia’s profile.

Cassiopeia’s expression showed no flaws.

Her back was straight, her chin tucked slightly, her snake eyes half-squinted at the podium ahead, her mouth maintaining its usual, somewhat nonchalant arc.

But Professor McGonagall noticed the hand she was using to hold the report—the knuckles were white, and the gap between the middle and ring fingers was trembling slightly.

The corner of Professor McGonagall’s mouth twitched.

As if to say, I told you this little bastard wouldn’t be too well-behaved.

She didn’t speak, but merely returned her gaze to the report, turning to the next page.

The Legion wizard on stage finally reached the key point.

"Therefore, I propose that in the budget review for the next quarter, the allocation of this fund be formally added to the voting agenda.

All department heads present will have voting rights."

He stepped out from behind the podium, his boots making heavy thump-thump sounds on the stone floor.

His gaze swept over the entire conference room, lingering for a moment on the corner of the last row—where Cassiopeia sat—then withdrew, giving a slight nod in Amelia’s direction.

"That concludes the presentation of my proposal; I ask everyone to consider it."

Applause rang out sparsely. A few wizards in the front row clapped symbolically, but more people were looking down, flipping through the reports.

Agnes turned her head, shooting an inquiring look at Cassiopeia in the last row.

Cassiopeia raised her chin slightly, responding to her with an almost invisible, extremely subtle shake of her head.

Then her knees parted another half inch under the cover of the hem of her robes.

Jerry’s lips pressed against the most densely scaled area of her inner thigh, his exhaled warm breath making the slightly curled edges of the scales even more prominent.

His tongue extended, slowly and deliberately giving a lick along the pattern of the scales.

The crumpled parchment in Cassiopeia’s hand made a fine crackle between her fingers. Her snake eyes narrowed slightly, forcing herself to pull her attention back toward the podium.

The Legion wizard on stage had already stepped down from the podium, the thump-thump of his boots on the stone steps fading away.

The next speaker walked out from the backup aisle on the left side of the conference room.

High heels.

Clack, clack, clack.

Crisp, powerful footsteps echoed under the dome of the semi-circular conference hall, the rhythm crisp and neat, without the slightest hesitation.

Professor McGonagall looked up.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped from her teeth, quivered, and retracted.

Stepping onto the podium was a tall, young woman.

Her long hair was tied into a sharp high ponytail, revealing a face with sharp, heroic lines—high cheekbones, thin lips, a nose as straight as if carved by a knife, and dark brown eyes carrying a cold sternness that said "keep away."

Her robes were completely different from the other wizards present—the heavy, dark mage robes were worn open, revealing an outfit of black leather jacket and pants underneath. The form-fitting cut perfectly outlined her solid, powerful figure.

The leather pants wrapped tightly around her long, powerful legs. There were several shallow wear marks on her knees, like those left during a pursuit.

On her feet was a pair of pointed black high-heeled ankle boots. The heels weren’t too high, but the sound they made stepping on the stone floor carried an unquestionable pressure.

Selena!

Deputy Head of the Auror Office.

No, not Deputy Head anymore—Cassiopeia remembered the personnel transfer briefing from last month. After Bagman retired, this position officially fell onto Selena’s head.

A twenty-seven-year-old Head, the youngest leader in the history of the Auror Office.

Selena stepped onto the podium and placed a stack of files on the surface, her movements as crisp as executing an order.

She offered no pleasantries, no opening remarks, and didn’t even look around the venue. She directly flipped open the first page of the file and began to speak.

"Proposal on Strengthening the Scrutiny of Assets Belonging to Former Death Eater Families!"

Under Cassiopeia’s robes, Jerry’s movements stopped.

Jerry’s tongue was still pressed against the densely scaled skin of Cassiopeia’s inner thigh, the cold, slightly musky chill still lingering on his tongue. But Jerry’s ears caught that voice—the voice he had heard countless times in the corridors of Hogwarts, on the streets of Diagon Alley, and in the archives of the Ministry of Magic.

Selena!

This bitch!

Jerry’s eyes flashed in the dimness of Cassiopeia’s robes.

Jerry’s right hand withdrew from the edge of Cassiopeia’s lace panties, silently reaching into the inner pocket of his clothes.

His fingertips touched a tiny glass bottle—inside the bottle was a lock of dark brown hair, curling slightly under the body heat of his fingertips.

That was Selena’s hair.

It didn’t matter when Jerry had gotten it.

What mattered was that Jerry’s other hand had already fished out a white bone needle shorter than a pinky finger from his pocket—this was no ordinary bone needle, but an extremely ancient, extremely rare medium for bloodline witchcraft.

Jerry wrapped that lock of dark brown hair around the bone needle, pinched the tail of the needle with his fingertips, and silently chanted a spell in the dimness of Cassiopeia’s robes.

The spell had no sound; his lips merely moved silently in the air seven times. Every movement was accompanied by a faint, nearly invisible pulse at the tip of the bone needle.

Jerry pierced the bone needle into the edge of the cuff of Cassiopeia’s black silk stocking. The tip of the needle sank into the stocking fibers, leaving only the tail of the needle wrapped in hair exposed.

Cassiopeia felt an extremely slight stinging pain at the root of her thigh, like a mosquito bite. She glanced down, but could see nothing under the robes.

On stage, Selena turned to the second page of the file.

"According to the amendment to Decree No. 72 of the Ministry of Magic, the assets under the names of all Death Eater families convicted during the Wizarding War shall be subject to a mandatory review every five years.

However, during actual enforcement, some families have systematically evaded review through complex trust structures and proxy networks!"

Her voice was cold and clear, every word as if chiseled from stone.

Jerry’s tongue-tip pressed against Cassiopeia’s inner thigh again.

This time, he didn’t lick slowly along the pattern of the scales. Instead, he used the flat of his tongue, broadly and wetly, licking all the way from above the knee to the root of the thigh.

Every scale the flat of his tongue rolled over left that unique cold touch on his taste buds. The saliva curled up by the tip of his tongue, mixed with the slight sweat remaining on the stocking fibers, left a glistening wet trail on her inner thigh.

Cassiopeia’s thigh muscles tensed for a second.

And on the podium!

Selena’s lips paused for half a beat the instant she pronounced the next word.

An extremely subtle pause.

If one weren’t observing deliberately, no one would have noticed.

A completely unprovoked, wet sensation suddenly transmitted from Selena’s inner thigh.

The feeling was like something—warm, soft, and wet—slowly gliding past the root of her thigh. The sensation transmitted through the material of her leather pants, hitting Selena’s bare skin, so clear it didn’t seem like an illusion.

Selena’s Adam’s apple rolled slightly.

Selena’s gaze didn’t leave the file, and the movement of her fingers turning the page didn’t stop, only the knuckles gripping the edge of the file turning a fraction whiter.

"Who?"

"Among them, the most typical case is the Rosier family!"

When Selena read this surname, her lips subconsciously pressed tight.

A surge of dark hatred flashed in her dark brown eyes, like an undercurrent lurking beneath the water’s surface.

Jerry’s tongue-tip reached the edge of Cassiopeia’s lace panties.

He didn’t stop, but used the tip of his tongue to flick aside that layer of thin gauze, licking directly onto her bare skin not covered by stockings.

The pattern of the scales became clearer on the surface of his tongue—fine, slightly upturned keratin edges scraping his taste buds, the icy skin gradually turning a faint flush under the moistening of his warm saliva.

Cassiopeia’s breath hitched for a beat.

On the podium, Selena’s breath hitched for a beat in the very same instant.

That wet sensation became even more obvious.

It shifted from her inner thigh to a more private location—through the fabric of her panties, something warm and soft was slowly, with pressure, rolling over her petals.

"Who is it?"

Selena’s knees gave a slight tremble.

Selena’s high-heeled ankle boots gave a clack against the wooden floor of the podium, masking that subtle tremble.

"According to information I recently obtained, the Rosier family once transferred assets exceeding three million gold Galleons overseas through an anonymous trust account at Gringotts..."

Selena’s voice remained cold, but her speaking speed was half a beat faster than before.

Jerry’s fingers replaced his tongue.

Jerry brought his index and middle fingers together and, through the lace panties he had pushed aside, pressed them against Cassiopeia’s petals.

The skin there was icier than her inner thighs, the scale patterns even finer. But under the friction of his fingers, a thin layer of wetness began to seep from the slit.

Jerry’s middle finger slid slowly from top to bottom along the curve of the slit.

Squish.

The extremely faint water sound was mostly absorbed by the fabric of the robes.

Cassiopeia’s thighs clamped tightly for a moment before she deliberately relaxed them.

Her snake eyes looked straight ahead, her facial expression unmoving; only the fingers gripping the report left a few irregular creases on the paper.

On the podium, Selena didn’t know what was happening.

But her body knew.

The touch that had spread from the root of her thigh had now become fingers—two fingers, moving with clear direction and rhythm, rubbing repeatedly and slowly against her petals.

That touch pierced through her leather pants, through her underwear, and acted directly on that most sensitive tender flesh, so clear it was maddening.

When Selena turned the page with her finger, the edge of the file made a rip sound at her fingertip—she turned it too hard, tearing a small slit in the paper.

The gusset of Selena’s underwear began to grow damp.

That dampness wasn’t from sweat, but the body’s instinctive response to that inexplicable touch.

Sticky fluid seeped slowly from her slit, soaking the cotton fabric of her underwear and forming a small patch of warm wetness on the inside of her tight leather pants.

Selena clenched her jaw.

"Therefore, I propose that the review cycle for the assets of supervised Death Eater families be shortened from five years to one year—and at the same time, those Death Eater families who have used various methods to wash away their sins with honors should also be rescheduled to enter the review list."

Jerry’s middle finger found the slightly protruding flesh node covered in scales within Cassiopeia’s slit.

When Jerry’s fingertip pressed down, he felt that node throb slightly beneath the icy scales.

He ground a circle with the pad of his finger.

Cassiopeia’s knees unconsciously parted to a wider angle, the hem of her robes sliding slightly on the chair seat.

On the podium, Selena’s legs went soft in the very same instant.

Her body pitched forward abruptly, both hands bracing against the edge of the podium, her knuckles turning white.

The movement looked like an excited gesture emphasizing a point, but only she knew—her legs were shaking right now, and a completely inexplicable pleasure with a clear direction was spreading like an electric current from her clitoris throughout her body.

Sticky fluid seeped along the slit to the root of her thighs. That wet patch inside her leather pants emitted an extremely faint, sticky sound every time she slightly shifted her center of gravity.

Selena’s lips moved slightly, a flash of panic crossing her dark brown eyes—a panic she quickly and almost instinctively suppressed, replacing it with a deeper layer of icy coldness.

Jerry’s fingers slid down from Cassiopeia’s node, following the lower end of the slit, and slowly probed into the entrance of her passage.

The moment his fingertips touched the entrance, that ring of icy muscle around Cassiopeia contracted sharply, clamping his fingertips.

The scales there were even finer, almost indistinguishable to the naked eye, but his fingertips could clearly feel those tiny keratins scraping against his skin.

The inside of the passage was warmer than the outside, but still carried Cassiopeia’s unique chill. The wet flesh walls tightly wrapped his fingertips; every contraction was accompanied by an extremely faint squish.

Jerry slowly pushed his middle finger in to the first knuckle.

Cassiopeia’s back snapped straight, her shoulder blades trembling slightly beneath her robes.

Selena on the podium!

"Ugh!"

An extremely short muffled groan, almost bitten to pieces in her throat.

Selena’s body felt the touch of a finger entering.

Not in her passage—there was nothing in her passage; her underwear and leather pants tightly wrapped her private parts—but that feeling of being propped open, filled, and slowly pushed into was as clear as if someone were truly inside her body.

A layer of fine cold sweat seeped from Selena’s forehead.

Selena braced herself deathly tight against the podium, her knuckles white to the point of near transparency.

The ends of her high ponytail swayed gently due to her slightly trembling body, brushing back and forth across her shoulder blades.

Selena felt that invisible finger slowly rotate a circle on the inner wall of her passage, the pad of the finger scraping across an extremely sensitive spot!

"The Rosier family’s!" Selena’s voice broke for a beat, a flash of almost unsuppressable panic crossing her dark brown eyes, immediately covered up by an even greater sternness. "The asset review report for the Rosier family is already attached in the appendix of the file!"

In the front row, Amelia pushed up her monocle, frowning slightly.

But she didn’t speak up immediately, just looked down and made a mark on her report.

Jerry’s middle finger pushed to the second knuckle inside Cassiopeia’s passage.

The wet flesh walls tightly suctioned his finger. With every fraction he pushed, those icy inner walls bearing a scaly touch would contract once, swallowing his finger deeper.

When the pad of Jerry’s finger rolled over that slightly bulging area on the front wall of the passage, Cassiopeia’s thigh jerked violently.

Professor McGonagall looked up from the report and cast a sidelong glance at Cassiopeia.

"Cast a negative vote." Her voice was kept extremely low.

"I know." Cassiopeia’s answer was brief and steady; her snake eyes didn’t even look at McGonagall.

"Is he still behaving?"

"What do you think?"

Jerry smiled silently in the dimness of the robes.

He pulled out his middle finger, the fingertip bringing out a sticky thread of liquid. Then he brought his index and middle fingers together and pushed them simultaneously into Cassiopeia’s passage.

When the two fingers propped open the entrance, they made a clearer squish than before.

A flush rose at the root of Cassiopeia’s thighs.

Selena on the podium felt two fingers enter her body simultaneously.

Selena’s lips pressed tightly together abruptly, her teeth biting the tip of her tongue. A sharp pain temporarily woke her for an instant from that continuously spreading pleasure.

But that clarity lasted only a second—the two invisible fingers began making a scissor-like opening and closing motion inside her passage, the pads of the fingers alternately scraping that thin, extremely sensitive front wall.

Squish, squish.

Only she could hear this sound.

A real, sticky water sound coming from inside Selena’s body.

The gusset of Selena’s underwear was no longer just soaked; thanks to the continuous secretion from her slit, a small puddle of warm liquid had accumulated. With every slight movement of her body, it made blush-inducing squish sounds inside her leather pants.

Damn it, who is it?

Don’t let me find out who you are.

A drop of cold sweat slid down Selena’s temple, tracing her jawline and dripping onto the file, spreading a small water stain.

Selena forced herself to continue speaking.

"In summary, I suggest the Ministry of Magic form a special review task force!"

Jerry’s fingers withdrew from Cassiopeia’s passage; the sticky fluid drawn out pulled a silver thread across her inner thigh.

He changed position.

His meat-root was now completely hard.

In the dim space of Cassiopeia’s robes, that thick meat-pillar, completely unmatched to his boyish frame, pressed against the root of her black-silk-wrapped thigh. The tip brushed past the lace he had pushed aside, pressing against her wet, icy petals.

Cassiopeia’s breathing suddenly became heavy.

Jerry didn’t enter directly.

Jerry used the tip to slowly slide from top to bottom along her slit, letting that swollen tip be moistened by both her nectar and his pre-cum.

Every time it slid past an area, those moistened scales left a fine scraping sensation on the surface of his tip—both painful and pleasurable.

Then Jerry pushed inside.

The moment the tip propped open the entrance of the passage, it made an extremely clear squelch.

Cassiopeia’s entire body went stiff for an instant. Her hands gripped the report deathly tight; the parchment deformed in her palms.

The thickness of that meat-pillar far exceeded two fingers. The icy passage was stretched to its limit at once; the flesh walls tightly hooped the invading shaft, and those fine scale patterns rubbed against the surface of the meat-root, creating a touch that was almost burning, intertwining ice and fire.

Selena!

Selena’s legs went completely soft.

Selena’s body pitched forward abruptly, her entire upper half nearly sprawling on the podium. Her hands propped deathly tight against the surface, her nails sinking into the wood and leaving several shallow scratch marks. A muffled groan leaked from her clenched teeth, but she disguised it as a cough.

"Ahem, ahem!"

Selena felt her passage being violently propped open by something massive.

That feeling of being filled was so real, so concrete—she could even feel the bulging veins on that thing rolling over her inner walls, could feel that scalding tip pressing against a certain spot deep in her passage, carrying an oppressive force that made her legs go soft.

It was no longer just wet inside Selena’s underwear.

Massive amounts of sticky fluid surged from her slit, soaking through her underwear, seeping through the lining of her leather pants, and even flowing down the gap at the root of her thighs.

She could feel that warm liquid gathering at the root of her thighs; every slight movement of her body brought a sticky squish from inside her leather pants.

"Director Selena, are you alright?" a young wizard in the front row looked up and asked with concern.

Selena swallowed hard, pushing herself up from the podium.

Her forehead was covered in sweat; the loose strands of her high ponytail stuck to her temples.

Indescribable fury and panic churned in her dark brown eyes, but she pressed all those emotions deep down, leaving only a layer of icy composure on the surface.

"I’m fine.

Old injury."

Her voice was hoarse and abrupt.

Jerry slowly withdrew halfway from inside Cassiopeia, then pushed back in. Deeper this time. That thick meat-pillar rolled over every inch of the icy, scaly flesh walls inside the passage, emitting a long, sticky squish! squelch! sound.

Cassiopeia’s knees unconsciously parted wider; the hem of her robes on the chair trembled slightly.

Behind the podium, Selena clamped her legs tightly.

The sensation of impact inside her body didn’t weaken in the slightest; instead, it became even stronger because of her action of clamping her legs—the tense muscles amplified the feeling of being filled and crushed several times over.

She could feel that invisible thing moving slowly and powerfully in and out of her body. Every thrust brought a suffocating sense of fullness; every withdrawal left an agonizing emptiness.

Selena’s thighs trembled slightly within the wrapping of the leather pants.

Sticky fluid continuously seeped from her tightly closed slit, forming a thin stream inside her leather pants, slowly flowing downward along her inner thighs.

Selena’s fingertips hooked deathly tight onto the edge of the file; the joints of her ten fingers glowed with a near-sickly pale white.

Selena’s gaze lifted from the file, sweeping over the faces in the front row of the conference room who were looking down and flipping through reports—not looking at them, but searching.

She was looking for that person.

The feeling of entry and exit inside her body couldn’t have appeared out of thin air. She was the Head of the Auror Office; she had received the strictest counter-curse training. Her body constantly maintained no fewer than three layers of defensive spells year-round. Magic capable of penetrating these defenses and acting directly on her body was definitely no ordinary prank.

This was bloodline witchcraft.

This was Dark Magic.

And anyone capable of casting bloodline witchcraft on her had to possess a part of her body—hair, blood, fingernails!

"Regarding the specific execution plan for the asset review of the Rosier family..."

Selena’s voice broke for a beat.

Because while Selena was recalling, that invisible meat-pillar slammed fiercely into an extremely sensitive spot deep in her passage.

It wasn’t a slow thrust, but a fierce impact carrying clear aggression.

Squelch!

Only she could hear this water sound.

But that feeling of being slammed fiercely from deep within made Selena’s entire lower body act as if pierced by an electric current—from her clitoris to her tailbone, an aching, numbing pleasure exploded like lightning, darting up her spine and burning all the way to the back of her head.

Selena’s knees slammed hard against the inside of the podium.

Bang.

A dull impact sound.

She used this sudden pain to forcibly drag herself out of the vortex of pleasure.

Her teeth bit the tip of her tongue, the taste of rust spreading in her mouth.

Her dark brown eyes quickly swept over every row of seats in the conference room—first row, Amelia, nothing unusual!

Agnes, looking at the report. Second row, a few old men from the Department of Justice, drowsy.

Third row!

That thing moved again.

This time it wasn’t a simple thrust; it rotated while withdrawing more than halfway from her body. The bulging veins on the tip rolled over the most sensitive area on the front wall of her passage, and then, at the instant before complete withdrawal, it thrust back fiercely, mercilessly, the entire length!

"Ugh!"

Selena’s muffled groan leaked from her nasal cavity; she disguised it as a clearing of her throat.

But her body had already begun to betray her—inside the tight leather pants, a massive amount of sticky fluid surged from her completely uncloseable slit, forming a scalding wet patch at the root of her thighs, even beginning to flow along her inner thighs toward the back of her knees.

"The specific—execution—plan is as follows!"

Selena squeezed out word by word through her teeth, her voice as hoarse as if someone were strangling her.

The last row.

Selena’s gaze finally swept to the last row.

Two people sat in the corner.

Cassiopeia and Minerva McGonagall.

Cassiopeia wore a brand-new dark green robe, her back straight, her snake eyes half-squinted, her mouth hanging with that usual, nonchalant smile.

Professor McGonagall sat upright beside her, arms crossed over her chest, presenting the dignified appearance fitting for the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Both looked incredibly normal.

Selena’s gaze lingered on Cassiopeia for two seconds longer.

Bloodline witchcraft!

Selena’s pupils contracted again.

The moment she locked her gaze on Cassiopeia, that thing inside her body suddenly accelerated its frequency.

It was no longer the slow and powerful caresses from before; it turned into short, dense, nearly frantic continuous impacts.

Every impact precisely rolled over that most sensitive spot on the front wall of Selena’s passage, bringing out a series of squish-squish-squish water sounds.

Selena’s hand slammed hard onto the podium.

Smack!

Everyone looked at her.

"First!" Selena’s voice rose half a pitch, using almost a shouting manner to suppress the moans surging from deep in her throat. "First item: establish a special... review... task force under the direct jurisdiction of the Auror Office!"

As Selena spoke, she forcefully pressed her weight onto the hand resting on the podium, her other hand gripping the file deathly tight, the knuckles as white as dry bone.

Her thighs trembled violently within the wrapping of her leather pants, her knees constantly colliding with each other, making faint click-clack sounds. The ends of her high ponytail swayed incessantly due to the trembling of her entire body, brushing across the lining of her robes on her back, which was already soaked in cold sweat.

"Second item... regarding all... anonymous accounts at Gringotts... belonging to the Rosier family and other Death Eater families with poor track records..."

That thing inside her thrust fiercely to the deepest point, the tip pressing directly against her cervix, carrying a pressure that felt as if it would impale her.

Selena’s voice cut off abruptly.

Her mouth hung open; the muscles in her throat spasmed, but no sound came out. The rims of her eyes reddened from extreme endurance; her eyelashes trembled slightly. A bead of sweat slid from the tip of her chin, smashing onto the open file with a splat.

One second.

Two seconds.

"...All anonymous accounts will be frozen and audited."

She finally finished the sentence. Her voice was hoarse, her breath chaotic, like she had just run a marathon.

A wizard in the front row turned his head, looking at her with a confused gaze.

Amelia pushed up her monocle, frowning slightly.

Agnes turned her head, casting a look of ambiguous meaning toward Cassiopeia in the last row.

Selena used her remaining reason to lower her head, pretending to flip through the file.

Her legs trembled frantically behind the podium; the inside of her leather pants was thoroughly soaked.

The speed at which sticky fluid surged from her slit grew faster and faster, flowing all the way past the back of her knees along her inner thighs, even beginning to seep into the shaft of her high-heeled ankle boots.

She could feel the inside of her boots becoming warm and damp. Her soles stepped on the insoles soaked with sticky fluid; every slight movement produced an extremely faint squish.

Her underwear could no longer be described as "soaked through." That layer of cotton fabric now clung entirely to her red, swollen, blood-engorged petals, made semi-transparent by the massive amount of body fluid. Every line of the fabric texture clearly indented her tender flesh, which was turned outward due to continuous stimulation.

And in the narrow space between her underwear and leather pants, the accumulated sticky fluid had become so much it began to leak downward.

"Third item..." Selena’s voice trembled. Her fingers turned to the next page of the file, but the text printed on the parchment blurred in her eyes, the letters constantly jumping and overlapping. "...Regarding the issue of ownership... conduct... a re-..."

That thing suddenly pulled out from her passage completely.

A sense of emptiness submerged Selena instantly like a tide. The propped-open passage, losing its filling, contracted abruptly; the inner walls spasmed and wrung together, squeezing out a stream of warm sticky fluid with a squish. Selena’s knees went completely soft, her body pitching forward uncontrollably...

She propped herself against the podium with her elbows.

Then that thing returned.

But not to the passage.

It was the rear.

Selena’s pupils dilated abruptly.

That scalding, swollen tip was pressing against the tight, nearly spasming folds of her rear hole, which had never been invaded before. It pushed inward with an irresistible, slow pressure.

"No!"

The word produced no sound; her lips merely moved silently.

The sphincter at the entrance was forced to expand under that pressure; every fraction it opened was accompanied by a tearing, bloating pain. That thing was too thick... even though she was only feeling a touch transmitted through bloodline witchcraft, the real sensation of being propped open inch by inch and filled inch by inch was enough to make a thin layer of water mist instantly surge into her eyes.

"...Re-evaluation."

Selena used the very last ounce of strength in her body to squeeze the final two words out of her throat.

Her voice had completely changed pitch. It was no longer the cold, hard, and powerful voice of a Ministry official, but had become hoarse and trembling, carrying a fragility that was extremely suppressed and ready to collapse at any moment.

"The above... are my... complete... proposals..."

Her fingers pressed against the last page of the file, the fingertips turning purplish-blue from excessive force.

"I ask everyone... to consider."

Selena took a step back from the podium.

Selena’s legs could barely support her body.

When her high-heeled ankle boots stepped on the stone floor, after the clack, it was immediately followed by an extremely faint hiss... of the fluid-soaked soles slipping on the ground.

Selena turned around, walking toward her seat.

Every step was trembling.

The sticky fluid inside her leather pants made continuous squish-squish sounds with Selena’s steps. In the quiet conference room, this sound was so small that only she could hear it—but to Selena, it sounded like beating drums, deafening.

And in the corner of the last row, Cassiopeia’s snake eyes were half-squinted, watching Selena’s slightly trembling legs.

Her own thighs were also continuing to twitch!

This brat... was too naughty!