"Reform?"

Jerry’s ears perked up in the dimness beneath Cassiopeia’s robes.

That word floated over from the direction of the podium, cutting through the buzzing discussions of dozens of rows of seats, and landed precisely on his eardrums.

But his attention at this moment was forced to split in half.

Because Selena’s reaction was much faster than he had anticipated.

That woman... she didn’t make a sound, didn’t turn her head, merely walked past the middle row of seats, her right hand inconspicuously reaching to her waist, her fingertips touching a short wand tucked inside her belt... That wasn’t her primary wand, but an auxiliary wand specifically issued by the Auror Office for counter-curses. The core was a mixture of unicorn tail hair and basilisk fang, specifically designed to sever illegal magical links.

Jerry felt it.

Not saw it, but felt it through that bone needle connecting their two bodies.

A cold counter-curse power, carrying a cutting sensation, was flowing upstream from Selena’s direction along the magical channel established by the bloodline witchcraft. Like an invisible pair of scissors, it was snipping those delicate magical threads one by one.

Jerry immediately severed the spell.

Jerry’s lips moved silently in the dimness three times; the dark brown hair wrapped around the bone needle instantly lost its luster, becoming dry, yellow, and fragile.

The magical channel connecting the two bodies began to wither rapidly, like vines drained of moisture, drying up and breaking section by section.

Jerry’s meat-pillar stopped its entry and exit movements.

The inner walls of Cassiopeia’s passage, losing the rhythmic stimulation, instinctively contracted once. With a squish, it tightened a few degrees around his long spear that was still buried deep inside.

Those cold flesh walls with scale patterns suctioned his shaft like a living creature; every fine piece of keratin left a subtle scraping sensation on his scalding skin.

Jerry prepared to pull out.

His waist withdrew half an inch.

And then he found he couldn’t pull out.

The moment he tried to withdraw, Cassiopeia’s passage suddenly, abruptly, and with a force entirely beyond human physiological limits... tightened.

That wasn’t a normal muscle contraction.

That was a snake.

Those circular muscle groups hidden deep within the flesh walls of Cassiopeia’s body, belonging to her serpentine bloodline, driven by some instinct or will, hooped Jerry’s meat-pillar ring by ring like a python strangling its prey.

From root to tip, every inch of the shaft was deathly locked by tightly arranged circular muscles. The force was so great that Jerry even felt his blood circulation cut off... the tip, deep in the passage, ached from engorgement, the veins throbbing jump by jump from being constricted by the circular muscles.

"Hiss!"

Jerry squeezed a hiss through his nose, his brows knitting together.

He tried to pull back again, his waist exerting force!

The passage twisted even tighter.

Those circular muscles, in a wave-like rhythm, contracted sequentially from the root to the tip. Like the peristalsis of a snake swallowing prey, they devoured his meat-pillar deeper section by section.

Squish, squelch, squish!

Continuous, dense water sounds echoed in the dimness of the robes. A massive amount of mucus secreted by the flesh walls was squeezed out of the passage entrance by the circular muscles, flowing down the root of the shaft, soaking Jerry’s lower abdomen and the root of Cassiopeia’s thighs.

Cassiopeia glanced down at the hem of her robes.

A subtle light, carrying a hint of playfulness, flashed in those snake eyes.

She said nothing. Didn’t even look at Jerry. She just smoothed out the crumpled report in her hand and turned to the next page.

But her passage didn’t loosen.

Those circular muscles were still squeezing Jerry’s meat-pillar with a slow, rhythmic peristalsis. It wasn’t for pleasure... at least not entirely... but an instinctive reaction belonging to a snake toward an intruder: Once locked, don’t think about escaping easily.

Jerry was trapped.

His hands braced against Cassiopeia’s inner thighs, his fingertips sinking into the leg flesh wrapped in black silk, trying to find a leverage point to counter that devouring force.

But his body was too small; against the strangulation of Cassiopeia’s serpentine bloodline, it was completely insufficient.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

Then he heard it.

The person on the podium had changed.

The new speaker was a middle-aged woman wearing a well-tailored deep purple mage robe. Her voice wasn’t loud or soft, but carried a meticulous rigor unique to academics.

"Proposal on the Reform of the Governance Structure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Jerry’s ears twitched.

"Currently, the governance power of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is highly concentrated in the hands of the Headmaster alone.

Since taking office in 1956, Professor Albus Dumbledore has single-handedly governed Hogwarts for over thirty years.

During this period, the school’s curriculum, appointment and dismissal of teaching staff, student disciplinary actions, external exchanges, and even the financial budget have all been decided by the Headmaster alone!"

Jerry stopped struggling.

His eyes lit up in the dimness.

This was the topic he had been waiting for.

"We are not questioning Professor Dumbledore’s abilities or character. But the healthy operation of any institution should not rely on the brilliance of any single person!"

The speaker turned a page of the file.

"Therefore, on behalf of the Magical Education Committee, I formally propose: the establishment of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. The Board shall consist of three representatives appointed by the Ministry of Magic, four parent representatives, two faculty representatives, and two independent governors recommended by the Wizengamot, totaling eleven members.

The Board shall possess the right to review and veto the Headmaster’s decisions, as well as voting rights on major school affairs!"

A murmur of discussion, noticeably louder than before, arose in the conference room.

Several wizards whispered to each other; Amelia in the front row pushed up her monocle, expressionlessly making a mark on the report.

Agnes turned her head and looked at Cassiopeia, that gaze carrying an inquiry.

Professor McGonagall put down her report.

Her eyes stared straight at the speaker on the podium, her lips pressed into a thin line like a blade.

Her fingers unconsciously gripped her wand... not to cast a spell, but out of instinct, excitement.

The Hogwarts Board of Governors.

To her, these four words meant Dumbledore would no longer be the sole master of Hogwarts.

It meant the hands of the pure-blood families were finally reaching into the castle of Hogwarts.

In the past, Professor McGonagall would never have accepted such a thing no matter what.

But things were different now.

To protect Jerry, she needed to reform the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

"The selection criteria for the Board members are as follows!"

The speaker continued reading her proposal.

The corners of Cassiopeia’s lips curled up slightly.

Her snake eyes didn’t look at the podium, but cast a sidelong glance at Professor McGonagall.

The angle was extremely tricky... looking from the side, one could only see the faint arc at the corner of her mouth and the calculation flashing in her snake eyes.

Jerry, beneath her robes, finally stopped trying to pull out.

Jerry changed his posture... not withdrawing, but pressing up deeper.

His entire upper body curled between Cassiopeia’s thighs, his cheek pressed against her lower abdomen, his hands hugging her waist... or more accurately, hugging the parts of Cassiopeia below the waist that Jerry could reach.

That meat-pillar, deathly locked by the passage, was currently being massaged by the peristalsis of the circular muscles at an unhurried pace. Every wriggle squeezed his tip deep within the passage once; the pre-cum seeping from the tip mixed with Cassiopeia’s body fluids, squeezed out by the circular muscles, seeping outward along the shaft, gathering into a small, warm muddy puddle at their junction.

Jerry’s lips pressed against the bare skin of Cassiopeia’s lower abdomen that wasn’t covered by stockings; the pattern of the scales left fine indentations on his lips.

His breath sprayed on her skin, the warm air making those scales hidden beneath the epidermis slightly curl up at the edges.

He was listening.

"The Board of Governors shall possess the following powers: First, the right to vote on the appointment and dismissal of the Headmaster.

Second, the right to review the annual teaching syllabus.

Third, the right to audit financial expenditures exceeding five thousand Galleons.

Fourth..."

The reading of every power was like a nail driven into Dumbledore’s invisible web of power.

"Fourth, the right to independent investigation of major incidents involving student safety.

Fifth, the right to review and replace teaching materials used within the school."

The speaker turned another page of the file, her voice unhurried.

"Sixth, the Board has the right to initiate a vote of no confidence against the incumbent Headmaster with a two-thirds majority agreement!"

The buzzing in the conference room suddenly rose by an order of magnitude.

In the first row, Amelia’s finger stopped below a certain row of numbers on the report. She didn’t look up, but the eyes behind the monocle narrowed slightly... that was a look of weighing options.

In the third row, on the left, an old wizard with a graying beard stood up abruptly.

He wore a sapphire-blue robe embroidered with golden star patterns, a phoenix-shaped brooch pinned to his chest... that was the insignia of an Order of the Phoenix member.

"I object!"

His voice was loud and angry, his graying beard trembling slightly from emotional agitation.

"Hogwarts is a school!

Not an affiliated agency of the Ministry of Magic! Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the entire wizarding world; his governance of Hogwarts..."

"Elphias, sit down."

Amelia’s voice wasn’t loud, but its penetrative power was extremely strong.

The old wizard named Elphias opened his mouth, his face flushed red, but under the cold gaze Amelia cast through her monocle, his momentum shrank by a third, and he sat back down reluctantly.

"Every attendee has the right to speak, but please raise your hand to request according to the rules of procedure."

Amelia’s tone was as steady as reading a notice, "Speaker, please continue."

The middle-aged witch on the podium nodded, turning to the next page.

"The establishment of the Board aims to build a transparent, supervisable governance mechanism, ensuring that Hogwarts’ educational quality and student safety no longer rely on any single individual’s..."

"This is an insult to Professor Dumbledore!"

In the fourth row, another wizard stood up. This was a middle-aged woman wearing a plain gray mage robe, her brown hair combed into a tight bun, her face written with righteous indignation.

"For thirty years, Professor Dumbledore has managed Hogwarts in perfect order, cultivating countless excellent wizards!

You want to establish some Board now to marginalize him? What right do you have?"

As soon as her voice faded, a young wizard in the fifth row raised his hand.

"I support the Board proposal."

This young wizard had neatly trimmed short blond hair and wore a well-tailored black mage robe, the badge of the Magical Education Committee pinned to his chest.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was organized and clear.

"Madam Griffin says Professor Dumbledore managed Hogwarts in perfect order, but I would like to ask everyone present to recall... last year, a three-headed dog and a Philosopher’s Stone were hidden in the restricted section of the third-floor corridor at Hogwarts, nearly causing student casualties.

This matter was a decision made by the Headmaster alone, without anyone’s review or approval."

The gray-robed witch opened her mouth, but couldn’t find a refutation for a moment.

"The three-headed dog matter was to protect the Philosopher’s Stone!"

Elphias stood up again, "Dumbledore had his considerations!"

"What consideration requires betting on student safety?"

This rhetorical question came from the sixth row. A gaunt wizard wearing a pointed hat stood up, pinching a report in his hand, his voice carrying undisguised sarcasm.

"A three-headed dog, a troll, Devil’s Snare, wizard chess that can kill... these things were placed in a school, locked by a door that even first-year students could open.

And the Headmaster’s ’consideration’!"

He made air quotes with his fingers.

"Was to use these things to ’test’ an eleven-year-old child."

The conference room was quiet for a second.

Then, like an ignited powder keg, more than a dozen wizards stood up almost simultaneously.

"Hogwarts’ affairs are not for the Ministry of Magic to dictate!"

"This isn’t dictating; this is supervision!"

"Professor Dumbledore is Gryffindor’s pride!"

"We aren’t discussing which house’s pride he is; we are discussing the system!"

"The Board is just a tool used by pure-blood families to infiltrate Hogwarts!"

"Labeling all opposing opinions as a ’pure-blood conspiracy’—that rhetoric itself is a form of dictatorship!"

The sounds of arguing echoed in the semi-circular conference hall like a tide; the simulated clouds on the dome seemed to grow even gloomier because of this clamor.

Amelia in the front row didn’t stop them immediately.

She merely pushed up her monocle, her gaze sweeping slowly across the entire venue, as if taking inventory of every face standing up, recording every person’s stance.

Selena had already walked back to her seat early on... in the second row, on the right.

When she sat down, the area inside her leather pants soaked with sticky fluid made an extremely faint squish; her thighs clamped together involuntarily.

Although the touch from the bloodline witchcraft had been severed by her counter-curse, the afterglow in her body remained... the inner walls of the passage were still contracting irregularly, and the residual engorgement at her clitoris made every breath accompanied by the aftershock of aching numbness.

Selena’s nails sank into the armrests of her chair.

The spell tracking indicated it came from the last row.

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes were half-squinted, the corner of her mouth hanging with that indifferent smile unique to a bystander, as if the battle of words below the podium had nothing to do with her.

Her right hand rested on the armrest of the chair, her fingertips tapping rhythmically on the wooden surface, clack, clack, clack. Every tap was completely out of sync with the rising and falling sounds of arguing wizards in the front rows, like a metronome independent of the chaos, belonging only to her.

And beneath her robes.

Jerry’s entire body was curled between her thighs. That meat-pillar, deathly locked by the circular muscles of the passage, was currently enduring a stimulation he had never experienced before.

Cassiopeia’s passage began a new round of peristalsis.

Not the passive, instinctive contraction from before, but an active squeezing carrying clear intent.

The circular muscles began to tighten from the root of the shaft, like an invisible hand stroking upward from the bottom... The first ring of muscle hooped the root, twisting forcefully, flattening all the bulging veins on the shaft. Immediately following, the second ring tightened, moving to the middle of the shaft, with even greater force than the first ring, squeezing the thick meat-pillar out of shape. Then came the third ring, the fourth ring...

Pushing upward ring by ring, like the peristaltic wave of throat muscles when a python swallows prey, pushing from the root to the tip, squeezing out every drop of residual pre-cum on the shaft and Cassiopeia’s own secreted sticky fluid.

Squish! Squelch! Squish-squish!

Continuous, dense sticky water sounds echoed in the dimness of the robes. Jerry’s fingertips deathly hooked the root of Cassiopeia’s thighs, his knuckles turning white. That peristaltic squeezing rolling from root to tip in sequence was denser, more powerful, and deeper than any contraction a human could achieve.

His tip was squeezed to the deepest part of the passage. Cassiopeia’s icy flower opening, like a slightly parted small mouth, sucked at his tip with every push of the circular muscles.

"Hiss!"

Jerry squeezed a hiss through his teeth, his forehead pressing against Cassiopeia’s icy lower abdomen. Sweat slid down from his temples, dripping onto that skin covered in hidden scales.

The arguing in the conference room continued.

"I would like to ask the proposer, who will select the four parent representatives of the Board?

If they are appointed by the Ministry of Magic, what is the difference between this Board and direct jurisdiction by the Ministry?"

That gray-robed witch Griffin finally found an entry point, her voice sharp and aggressive.

The middle-aged witch on the podium flipped open the appendix part of the file, answering unhurriedly:

"The parent representatives will be elected by anonymous vote by the legal guardians of all currently enrolled students. The Ministry of Magic will not participate in the selection process, only responsible for vote counting and notarization."

"Anonymous voting?" Elphias sneered. "Do you know what proportion of Hogwarts students are from pure-blood families?

The results of anonymous voting will definitely be controlled by those families in the end!"

"Mr. Elphias, the subtext of your remark is: parents from pure-blood families do not have the right to participate in school governance?"

The young blond wizard spoke up again, his tone calm but every word like a nail.

"Or do you believe that the judgment of Professor Dumbledore alone is more reliable than the collective will of hundreds of parents?"

"I... I didn’t mean that!"

"Then what did you mean?"

"My meaning is, Professor Dumbledore’s achievements over decades are obvious to all!"

"Achievements are achievements; systems are systems."

The gaunt wizard interjected again. "We are not denying Professor Dumbledore’s contributions. We are discussing a systemic issue... Anyone, no matter how brilliant, should not possess absolute power without supervision."

"Well said!"

A fat wizard in the seventh row stood up and applauded; the applause seemed exceptionally abrupt amidst the arguing.

"You are just playing to the gallery!" the witch Griffin scolded angrily.

"I am supporting democracy!" the fat wizard didn’t back down.

Amelia finally moved.

Her palm slapped gently on the tabletop.

Just once.

But that action carried a steadiness commanding authority without anger. The arguing in the entire conference room, as if someone had grabbed it by the throat, rapidly dropped to an acceptable decibel level within two seconds.

"Everyone."

Amelia’s voice was steady and cold.

"This is a formal review of a proposal, not a brawl in a tavern.

The supporting and opposing sides each have three formal speaking opportunities, each not exceeding five minutes.

After the speeches conclude, a preliminary vote will be held to decide whether this proposal will be sent to the next round of special committee review."

Her gaze swept slowly from left to right, from front row to back row.

"The opposing side, please elect a representative to make a formal statement."

Elphias, Griffin, and several other Dumbledore supporters whispered to each other for a while, finally pushing out one person... a middle-aged wizard wearing a burgundy mage robe, sporting a neatly trimmed goatee and gold-rimmed glasses, looking like a man of the educational circle.

He stepped onto the podium.

"Colleagues."

His voice was gentle and refined, carrying an ease unique to scholars.

"I am Philius Trelawney, nephew of the former Divination Professor at Hogwarts, and current reviewer for the Magical Education Standards Committee.

I will make the statement on behalf of the opposing side."

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.

"First, I admit that some of the issues raised by the proposing side do exist.

The three-headed dog incident, the Philosopher’s Stone incident... these are cases that require reflection.

But!"

He raised a finger.

"The Board system itself harbors greater hidden dangers than a one-man rule."

He flipped open a file he brought with him.

"Historically, it’s not as if Hogwarts hasn’t attempted similar governance models.

In 1722, the then-Minister of Magic attempted to establish a Supervisory Committee at Hogwarts. What was the result?"

He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the venue.

"In less than three years, the Supervisory Committee was controlled by the pure-blood families of the time, dismissing all Muggle-born teachers, and even temporarily banning Muggle-born students from enrolling.

This farce eventually led to the Hogwarts Riot of 1725, resulting in dozens of deaths and injuries."

The conference room was quiet for a few seconds.

"The situation in 1722 was completely different from now..." The young blond wizard raised his hand to refute.

"It is different." Trelawney nodded. "But human nature hasn’t changed.

The game of power never disappears because of system design; it only continues in a different form. The establishment of the Board is a separation of power on the surface, but in essence, it is transferring the Headmaster’s power into the hands of another group of people.

And this group of people..."

His gaze suddenly grew sharp.

"...May not be more trustworthy than Professor Dumbledore."

After this sentence fell, a restless commotion arose in the conference room.

Cassiopeia’s fingertips tapped the armrest for the last time, then stopped.

Her snake eyes narrowed slightly, the vertical slits in her pupils shrinking to the thinnest point.

Trelawney’s speech hit a vital spot... historical precedent.

If this argument wasn’t effectively refuted, it was enough to swing the votes of the centrists toward the opposing side.

And beneath her robes...

Cassiopeia’s passage suddenly changed the direction of its peristalsis.

Before, it was a pushing squeeze from bottom to top, but now, the circular muscles began to contract backward from the tip... from the deepest point where Jerry’s tip pressed... toward the root.

The feeling was like a hand squeezing downward ring by ring from the tip, pushing Jerry’s meat-pillar out from the depths of the passage while simultaneously tightening around the shaft with even greater force, squeezing every drop of liquid remaining on the surface of the shaft dry.

Jerry’s waist arched unconsciously.

His nails sank into the tender flesh at the root of Cassiopeia’s thighs; that layer of black silk was stretched into several small protrusions by his fingertips.

His breathing became rapid and disordered, the frequency of his chest heaving growing faster and faster. Sweat from his forehead slid down his nose bridge, dripping onto Cassiopeia’s inner thigh, leaving a small dark mark on the stocking fibers.

When that reverse peristalsis reached the root of the shaft, all the circular muscles suddenly tightened simultaneously.

Not sequentially contracting, but simultaneously.

From root to tip, every ring of muscle erupted with maximum force at the same instant, squeezing, wringing, and grinding Jerry’s thick meat-pillar from every direction simultaneously.

Squelch!

Jerry’s body arched sharply like a bow.

He bit down on that layer of skin on Cassiopeia’s lower abdomen... his teeth sinking into the icy epidermis bearing scale patterns, his tongue tasting a cold, near-metallic flavor.

Then he came.

Not the spurting in streams like before, but under the massive pressure of all the circular muscles wringing simultaneously, it was squeezed directly out, uncontrollably, like a broken dam releasing.

Massive amounts of body fluid erupted from the small hole at the tip, pouring into the icy depths of Cassiopeia’s passage. The first surge slammed against her flower opening with a muffled thud; the thick white liquid exploded at the top of the passage, seeping outward along the crevices of the flesh walls.

The second surge followed closely, the volume larger and the force fiercer than the first, directly propping open that slightly parted flower opening a crack, the body fluid pouring into the deeper cavity.

The third surge, fourth surge, fifth surge...

The circular muscles did not loosen. They were still contracting simultaneously with that terrifying force, hooping Jerry’s meat-pillar deathly tight, as if wanting to squeeze every drop of liquid from his shaft dry.

Every pulse of the ejaculation was accompanied by an even more forceful tightening of the circular muscles, forming a vicious cycle... the more he shot, the tighter it got; the tighter it got, the more he shot.

Squish-squish-squish... squelch... squish...

Continuous, dense water sounds echoed in the dimness of the robes. His body fluid mixed with Cassiopeia’s own body fluid, turning into a milky-white turbid liquid under the churning of the circular muscles, overflowing from their junction. It flowed outward along the root of Jerry’s shaft, soaking Cassiopeia’s lace panties, soaking her black silk, gathering at the root of her thighs into a white stream flowing slowly downward.

Jerry’s ejaculation lasted a very long time.

Abnormally long.

That meat-pillar released wave after wave under the repeated squeezing of the circular muscles, the volume of every wave frighteningly large.

Cassiopeia finally reacted.

Her downward-looking movement was extremely subtle... just tucking her chin slightly, her snake eyes glancing down.

Then she saw it.

Her lower abdomen, under the cover of the robes, was bulging slightly.

Not the bulge propped up by Jerry’s head or shoulders from before, but a rounded, somewhat curved swelling propped up from the inside.

Massive amounts of body fluid were poured deep into the passage, constantly accumulating in the limited space between the flower opening and the passage walls, propping her lower abdomen up from the inside bit by bit.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped from her teeth, quivering three times in the air.

Her expression still didn’t change much... if one had to say, perhaps the arc at the corner of her mouth deepened half a fraction.

Her right hand moved from the armrest, landing inconspicuously on her slightly bulging lower abdomen, pressing gently through the fabric of the robes.

Her palm felt that sense of fullness coming from the inside. The warm liquid flowed slowly deep within her passage; every time Jerry’s meat-pillar—which was still ejaculating intermittently—pulsed, her lower abdomen would swell a fraction more.

Professor McGonagall turned her head at this moment.

Her gaze had originally been on Trelawney’s speech text on the podium... the opposition was citing a second historical case... but some intuition made her gaze drift toward Cassiopeia’s direction.

She saw Cassiopeia’s right hand resting on her own lower abdomen.

She saw the fabric of the robes at that spot bulging slightly. The arc wasn’t large, but given Cassiopeia’s slender waist, it was obvious enough.

Professor McGonagall’s pupils shrank.

Her lips pressed tight, and a word squeezed silently through her teeth!

It was impossible to tell what the word was, but judging by the shape of her gnashing teeth, it probably wasn’t a nice one.

Cassiopeia felt McGonagall’s gaze; her snake eyes turned slightly, glancing at her from the corner of her eye.

Then she did something.

Her right hand, beneath the robes, gently patted her bulging lower abdomen twice through the fabric.

The patting motion was very light, as if comforting something.

And also as if showing off something.

Professor McGonagall’s face turned livid.

On the podium, Trelawney’s speech entered its conclusion.

"Therefore, I implore everyone to carefully weigh the lessons of history before voting. The Board system is not a panacea; it too can be corrupted, utilized, and distorted. Rather than taking this risk, it is better to perfect the existing Headmaster accountability mechanism, increasing necessary information disclosure and communication channels while retaining the Headmaster’s dominant authority."

He put away his files, bowed slightly toward Amelia’s direction, and stepped down from the podium.

The applause was slightly more enthusiastic than before.

Dumbledore’s supporters clapped vigorously; a few people even stood up.

"Good! Well said!"

"That’s exactly the logic!"

Amelia waited for the applause to die down before pushing up her monocle.

"Supporting side, please make your second round of formal statements."

The young blond wizard stood up, adjusted the collar of his black mage robes, and walked up to the podium. His steps were steady, his facial expression peaceful, but his eyes were sharp.

"Mr. Trelawney cited the case of 1722 to demonstrate that the Board system carries the risk of being controlled by pure-blood families. This argument is very strong, I do not deny it."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the venue.

"But Mr. Trelawney deliberately avoided a fact... the reason the Supervisory Committee of 1722 failed was not because the system itself was flawed, but because the Supervisory Committee of that era lacked any mechanism of checks and balances.

The committee members were all unilaterally appointed by the Ministry of Magic; there were no faculty representatives, no independent governors, and certainly no parent voting."

He flipped open his own file.

"The Board proposal we are putting forward today is fundamentally different from the 1722 model..."

Jerry’s ejaculation finally stopped.

Cassiopeia’s passage also finally slowly loosened.

The circular muscles released their strangling lock ring by ring, like a python loosening its coil on prey.

The meat-pillar, having been hooped for too long, throbbed fiercely the instant it regained its freedom. A small stream of residual body fluid seeped from the tip and was swallowed and wrapped by the relaxing flesh walls.

Jerry took a deep breath, burying his face in Cassiopeia’s abdomen.

That layer of icy, scaly skin pressed against his scalding cheeks; the cooling effect was immediate.

He closed his eyes, letting his heartbeat slowly settle from the near-bursting frequency of moments ago.

He was listening.

The young blond wizard on stage was still methodically dismantling the opposition’s arguments. The atmosphere in the conference room was like a tug-of-war; the power of the supporting and opposing sides ebbed and flowed with the clash of every argument.

Clack, clack!

Amelia’s palm tapped gently on the tabletop twice.

"Given that the arguments of both sides require further substantiation, this proposal will be postponed until the Autumn Session three months from now for a vote."

Her voice was steady and unquestionable, the eyes behind the monocle sweeping over the venue.

"During this period, the Magical Education Committee will organize a special research task force to conduct a comprehensive assessment of the feasibility of the Board system.

This meeting is adjourned."

The gavel fell with a dull thud.

The noisy sound of chairs moving arose in the conference room; dozens of wizards began packing up files, whispering to each other, and walking toward the exit in twos and threes.

Cassiopeia didn’t rush to get up; she waited a while before speaking with feigned calmness.

"Let’s go."

Professor McGonagall had already stood up, the hem of her dark green robes swaying gently with her turning motion.

The two left the conference room through the side door in the last row.

The corridors of the Ministry of Magic were exceptionally crowded at this time. Wizards who had just finished the meeting gathered in groups of three or five to discuss the proposal just now; some waved the reports in their hands excitedly, some frowned and argued in low voices.

Cassiopeia and Professor McGonagall passed through the crowd, the clack-clack of their high heels stepping on the marble floor drowned out by the noisy discussions.

They walked very fast.

Cassiopeia’s strides were a fraction larger than usual; the hem of her robes swayed rapidly between her legs.

Her inner thighs, that area soaked with sticky fluid, made extremely faint squish sounds with every step... the filled passage, squeezed by the walking, began to slowly leak outward.

Professor McGonagall’s carriage was parked in the underground parking lot of the Ministry of Magic.

It was a black four-wheeled carriage drawn by two Thestrals. The body was painted shiny, and the crest of the McGonagall family was carved on the door.

Professor McGonagall tapped the door with her wand, and the lock popped open with a click.

The door had barely opened a crack!

Cassiopeia’s hand fiercely reached under the hem of her robes, grabbed something, and forcefully flung it outward!

Squelch!

A loud, sticky water sound.

Jerry’s body was flung out from beneath Cassiopeia’s robes. Like a fish scooped out of water, carrying a massive amount of liquid, he fell onto the wooden floor of the carriage cabin with a splat.

His entire body was soaked through.

His hair was pasted into strands by sticky fluid, clinging to his forehead and cheeks. His shirt had long been torn to who knows where; his bare chest and abdomen were covered in milky-white turbid liquid. That meat-pillar, thick to a degree completely mismatched with his age, was currently hanging semi-soft at the root of his thighs, with several silver threads still dangling from the shaft, gleaming in the dim light of the cabin.

And beneath him!

A large puddle of liquid spread out from beneath his body, soaking the wooden floor of the carriage.

The liquid was a mix of milky white and transparent, thick as stirred egg whites, emitting a strong sweet-musky scent belonging to the aftermath of copulation.

Professor McGonagall stood at the carriage door, arms crossed over her chest, her emerald eyes looking down condescendingly at Jerry slumped on the floor.

"Had enough fun?"

Her tone was sarcastic; every word seemed squeezed through her teeth.

Jerry lay on his back in that puddle of sticky fluid, his chest heaving violently, his green eyes half-squinted, yet the corner of his mouth curved into a sated arc.

"S-so-so..."

His voice was hoarse, carrying a noticeable sense of exhaustion.

Professor McGonagall’s brows knitted into a knot.

"So-so?"

Her voice rose half a pitch, her toe tapping the carriage threshold with a clack.

Cassiopeia also boarded the carriage at this time.

Her movements were much slower than usual; when her high heels stepped on the carriage floor, a tooth-aching slippery sensation came from the root of her thighs.

The hem of her robes was already soaked through in a large patch. The dark green fabric, dyed dark by the sticky fluid, clung tightly to her thighs, outlining the silhouette of those long legs.

She sat down on the seat in the cabin, her knees parting slightly.

Then!

"Hah-ah!"

A trembling pant, suppressed for far too long, spilled from deep in her throat.

A stream of transparent liquid surged out from beneath the hem of her robes. The force was so great it even splashed water on the carriage floor. The liquid, carrying Cassiopeia’s unique cold scent, mixed with the milky-white turbid liquid injected earlier, gathered into a steaming muddy puddle by her feet.

She climaxed.

From the start of the meeting until now, she had been holding it in.

The wringing of those circular muscles, that scalding liquid being poured in, that thick meat-pillar constantly throbbing inside her body... all the stimulation had been suppressed by her using the unique self-control of the serpentine bloodline, not letting a single shred leak out.

But now, in this enclosed carriage cabin, she could finally release it.

"Hiss! Hah! Hiss!"

Cassiopeia’s breathing was rapid and disordered; her snake tongue quivered frantically in the air, capturing the strong scent of copulation permeating the cabin.

Her passage contracted violently in the spasms of climax, squeezing the previously injected liquid out stream by stream, flowing down her inner thighs and soaking the velvet surface of the seat.

Professor McGonagall stood at the carriage door, watching this scene, the expression on her face too complex to describe.

Jerry propped up half his body from the floor. His green eyes landed on Cassiopeia’s loss of composure, and the arc at the corner of his mouth deepened a fraction.

"So Madam was holding it in all along..."

His voice carried a bit of smugness.

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes glared at him, but the look had lost most of its deterrent power due to the afterglow of climax, instead taking on a bit of charm.

"Shut up."

Her voice was hoarse, her breath unsteady.

Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, stepped into the cabin, and was just about to close the carriage door!

An arm thrust over fiercely, five fingers gripping the edge of the carriage door.

"Heading back to the academy?"

The voice was cold, hard, and familiar.

Professor McGonagall’s movements froze.

Selena stood outside the carriage door. Her high ponytail was slightly messy from the rapid pursuit just now; a few stray hairs clung to her sweat-dampened temples.

Her dark brown eyes stared straight into the interior of the cabin... staring at Jerry, soaked all over and slumped on the floor, staring at Cassiopeia, sitting on the seat with liquid still flowing outward from between her legs.

The corner of her mouth curled into an arc.

The smile was icy, carrying the sharpness of a hunter locking onto prey.

"How about giving me a ride?"

Professor McGonagall’s hand remained gripped on the carriage door.

"It’s inconvenient."

Her voice was stiff, leaving no room for negotiation.

Selena’s smile didn’t disappear; it deepened instead.

Her gaze slid down from Professor McGonagall’s face, sweeping over her neat robes, and finally landed on the puddle of sticky fluid still slowly spreading on the carriage floor.

"Is that so?"

Her voice was light and airy, carrying the sarcasm of asking a question she already knew the answer to.

"It does look quite... inconvenient."

Selena’s gaze moved away from that puddle of sticky fluid, slowly lifting and landing on Jerry’s face, which still carried a sated smile.

Something dangerous churned in her dark brown eyes... not anger, colder than anger, heavier, more like a blade repeatedly sharpened in the dark.

"Hermione Granger."

She spat out the first name, her tone as flat as reading a list.

Jerry’s smile stiffened for a second.

"Liliana."

The second name.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped from her teeth, quivering once in the air.

"Padma and Parvati."

The third, the fourth.

The names of the twin sisters were read out by her in one breath.

Professor McGonagall’s fingers tightened a fraction on the edge of the carriage door, her knuckles making a faint click.

"Hannah!"

The corner of Selena’s mouth curled into an arc; the arc was as icy as if carved in stone.

"Cho Chang."

When the last name fell, the air in the cabin seemed to freeze.

Jerry propped himself up from the floor. That semi-soft meat-pillar swayed with his movement; several silver threads still hung on the shaft.

His eyes narrowed; that sated laziness from earlier disappeared, replaced by a vigilance belonging to a predator.

"You investigated me."

Not a question, a statement.

Selena did not deny it.

Her hand was still gripping the edge of the carriage door, the joints of her five fingers glowing white from exertion; the arm muscles beneath the leather jacket were taut.

Her gaze slid down from Jerry’s face, sweeping past his bare chest, and finally landed on that meat-pillar—which remained frighteningly thick even in a semi-soft state—lingering for a second.

Her tongue-tip licked her lower lip; the movement carried a bit of mockery.

"Your father’s blood, as expected, did not flow in vain."

Jerry’s eyes darkened for an instant.

It was an extremely subtle change... the pupils shrank by half a fraction, the color of the irises changing from emerald green to a deeper, near dark-green hue.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Threatening?" Selena gave a light laugh; the laugh was short and icy. "No, boy. I’m just telling you a fact."

Her body leaned forward slightly, her dark brown eyes staring straight at Jerry.

"What you did to me just now!"

Her voice suddenly became grim, like an echo from deep within an ice cellar.

"Since you struck first, then don’t blame me."

The atmosphere in the cabin suddenly tightened to the extreme.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue quivered violently in the air, capturing every trace of a dangerous aura. Professor McGonagall’s right hand had already quietly slipped into her sleeve, her fingertips touching the handle of her wand.

Selena’s left hand released the edge of the carriage door, reaching into the inside of her open mage robes... pinned there was her primary wand, a combat wand made of ebony and dragon heartstring.

And then...

Jerry moved.

His movements were faster than anyone anticipated.

That thin, small body, only half the height of an adult woman, sprang up fiercely from the floor like a slippery loach. His hands, one in front and one behind, locked onto the wrist of Selena’s hand reaching into her robes!

Bang!

Selena’s body was pitched forward by his momentum, half her body crashing into the cabin.

"Now!"

Jerry’s voice was sharp and hurried.

Cassiopeia’s reaction was faster than his voice.

Her legs sprang up fiercely from the seat. Those feet wearing high heels, like two agile snakes, wrapped around Selena’s waist from the left and right! Her ankles crossed and wrung forcefully, dragging Selena’s entire upper body toward the inside of the cabin!

"Let go!"

Before Selena’s angry roar could finish, Professor McGonagall’s hand had already clamped onto the back of her neck.

The force of that hand was astonishingly great... entirely unlike the strength a seemingly dignified and elegant witch should have.

Five fingers sank into the muscles on the back of Selena’s neck like iron pincers; the fingertips accurately pressed the pressure points on both sides of her cervical spine. A sour, numbing sensation instantly spread from her neck to her limbs.

"Ugh!"

Half of Selena’s body went soft; her struggling force weakened abruptly.

Taking advantage of this gap, Jerry deathly locked her wrists with both hands, hanging his entire person on her arm, using his body weight to drag her into the carriage.

"Come on in, Director."

Cassiopeia’s voice came from the seat, carrying a lazy, near-teasing smile. Her legs retracted forcefully, her ankles wringing tight, yanking Selena’s waist fiercely in her direction!

Thump!

Selena’s entire body was dragged into the cabin, falling with a smack into that puddle of sticky fluid that hadn’t yet dried. The milky-white turbid liquid splashed up, staining her leather jacket, staining her cheek, staining her messy dark brown long hair.

Professor McGonagall’s foot stepped on the carriage floor with a clack, turning around, a wave of her wand!

Clang!

The carriage door slammed shut; the locks sounded click-clack, click-clack three times in succession. Three locking charms took effect simultaneously.

"Giddy up!"

Professor McGonagall’s voice passed through the front wall of the cabin to the driver’s seat.

The two Thestrals neighed simultaneously; their pitch-black wings spread fiercely, and the carriage rushed out of the underground parking lot’s exit like an arrow leaving the bowstring!

The rumbling sound of the wheels rolling over the stone ground quickly turned into the sound of wind... the carriage had already taken to the air, flying in the direction of Hogwarts at a near-crazy speed.

Inside the cabin.

Selena lay on her back in that puddle of sticky fluid, the flames of anger burning in her dark brown eyes.

Her hands were deathly pinned above her head by Jerry; that thin, small body lay entirely on her chest, using his knees to press against her lower abdomen, nailing her to the floor.

Her legs were tangled by Cassiopeia’s ankles, unable to move. Those feet wearing high heels were currently resting at the root of her thighs; the tip of the heel, through the fabric of the leather pants, faintly poked at the most sensitive spot at the root of her thigh.

"You people!"

Selena’s voice became hoarse from anger.

"Kidnapping the Head of the Auror Office, do you know what crime this is?"

Jerry looked down at her, a certain dangerous light flashing in his green eyes. His face was less than a foot away from Selena’s face, so close she could see every root of his eyelashes clearly, so close she could smell that strong, sweet-musky scent belonging to copulation on him.

"Kidnapping?"

The corner of Jerry’s mouth curved.

"No, Director.

We are just!"

His knees ground a circle on her lower abdomen; through the material of the leather jacket, he could feel the tautness of her abdominal muscles.

"Giving you a ride on the way."

Cassiopeia’s laughter came from the seat, carrying the hissing sound unique to snakes.

"After all, didn’t the Director just say she wanted to hitch a ride?"

Her ankles wrung a fraction tighter at the root of Selena’s thighs; the heel of the high heel, through the leather pants, poked accurately right above her slit.

Selena’s body tensed abruptly.

That spot... the spot that had been repeatedly stimulated by bloodline witchcraft in the conference room just now... was still maddeningly sensitive at this moment.

When the tip of the heel poked upward through two layers of fabric—leather pants and underwear—a sour, numbing electric current exploded from that point, darting up her spine.

"Ugh!"

She clenched her jaw, deathly pressing that moan into her throat.

Professor McGonagall stood in the corner of the cabin, arms crossed over her chest, her emerald eyes looking down condescendingly at this scene.

"Selena."

McGonagall’s voice was as cold as reading a disciplinary notice.

"For you to be bold enough to come over alone to provoke us, saying those baffling words."

McGonagall’s toe tapped the floor with a clack.

"Then, you should also know... hehe!"

McGonagall’s gaze landed on Jerry’s meat-pillar, which was pressing against Selena’s lower abdomen, terrifyingly thick even in a semi-soft state.

"...This brat has never been a nice guy."

Hogwarts, Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione Granger’s footsteps hurriedly stepped on the spiral staircase; every step made a slight creak under her weight. Her brown curly hair clung messily to her cheeks from running; a few stray strands were glued to her temples by sweat, swaying with her movements.

Her tongue-tip involuntarily licked her lower lip.

That feeling was back again.

Spreading up from the depths of her stomach, an empty, near-burning craving. It wasn’t hunger—ordinary food fundamentally couldn’t fill this void. It was a more primal, more private desire that only a certain specific thing could pacify.

Hermione’s Adam’s apple rolled, swallowing a mouthful of saliva.

She quickened her pace.

When the door to the club activity room appeared before her, she practically pounced on it. Her fingers trembled as they found the door handle, twisting forcefully!

Click.

The door opened.

The activity room was empty. The curtains were half-drawn; the afternoon sunlight shone in slantingly from the gap, casting several golden pillars of light on the floor. A faint scent unique to this room permeated the air—that scent made Hermione’s nostrils flare involuntarily, her pupils dilating slightly.

She walked straight to the cabinet in the corner of the room.

It was an ordinary-looking oak cabinet, the surface painted with dark brown lacquer, no different from furniture elsewhere in Hogwarts.

But Hermione knew that in the third drawer of this cabinet lay what she needed most.

Her fingers hooked the handle of the drawer, pulling forcefully.

The drawer slid open; inside, several glass jars were neatly arranged. A label was affixed to each jar, written with the date and number in different colors of ink.

Hermione’s gaze rapidly swept over those labels, finally landing on the rightmost jar that belonged to her.

She picked it up.

The jar was empty.

Only a few dried white traces remained on the transparent glass walls. Those traces glowed with a faint pearlescence under the sunlight, like the residue left behind after some precious paint was scraped clean.

Hermione’s fingers tightened, her knuckles turning white.

"Gone again..."

Her voice carried a hint of a tremble; a near-desperate anxiety churned in her brown eyes. She held the jar up to her eyes, using her fingertip to scrape over those dried traces on the inner glass walls, and then sent the fingertip coated in residue into her mouth.

The moment her tongue-tip touched that thin layer of residue, a familiar, slightly musky salty-sweet taste exploded in her oral cavity.

Hermione’s eyelashes fluttered.

Not enough.

Far from enough.

This bit of residue was like giving a drop of water to someone about to die of thirst; not only did it fail to quench the thirst, it made the craving even more intense, even more unbearable.

Her tongue churned in her mouth, trying to extract every trace of residual flavor, but those dried traces were quickly diluted completely by saliva, leaving only a vague aftertaste.

Hermione’s knees felt somewhat soft.

She supported herself on the edge of the cabinet, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. But that sense of emptiness spreading from her stomach didn’t weaken in the slightest; instead, it became even more surging because of that tiny taste just now.

Just then!

Click.

The door opened.

Hermione turned her head abruptly.

Hannah Abbott stood at the door, her blonde twin tails swaying gently with her turning motion to close the door.

She wore the Hufflepuff school uniform; her tie was tied somewhat askew, and the first button of her shirt was unfastened, revealing a small section of fair collarbone.

She also held a glass jar in her hand.

The gazes of the two girls met in the air.

Hannah’s sight swept from the empty jar in Hermione’s hand, then landed on her face, which was slightly flushed from craving. The corner of her mouth curved, revealing an understood smile.

"You’re out too?"

Hermione didn’t speak, just nodded. Her gaze stared deathly tight at the jar in Hannah’s hand—in that jar, there was still about one-third of milky-white liquid, glowing with an alluring luster under the refraction of the glass walls.

Hannah noticed her gaze.

"Don’t even think about it." She shielded the jar protectively against her chest, taking half a step back. "This is my last stash."

Hermione’s Adam’s apple rolled again.

"When is he coming back?"

"I don’t know."

Her gaze swept over those empty jars in the room.

"The club’s inventory is almost bottoming out."

Hermione fell silent for a few seconds.

She put the empty jar in her hand back into the drawer, then turned around, leaning next to the cabinet, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hannah. The shoulders of the two girls almost touched; a subtle, tacit understanding belonging to their kind permeated the air.

"The scale of the club has expanded again recently." Hermione’s voice lowered, carrying a bit of worry. "Parvati brought two new people in last week, and Cho Chang also introduced three senior girls from Ravenclaw..."

"More and more people, but the supply can’t keep up."

Hannah picked up the conversation, her blonde eyebrows knitting into a knot. "If this continues, everyone will run out of food."

Both girls sighed simultaneously.

Silence spread in the activity room for a few seconds.

Then Hannah suddenly spoke.

"Hermione."

"Hmm?"

"I have an idea."

Hannah turned around, facing Hermione, a certain excited light flashing in her golden eyes.

"The club hasn’t held an activity for a long time."

Hermione blinked, not immediately understanding her meaning.

"You mean..."

"A party." The corner of Hannah’s mouth curved into a sly arc. "A club party."

Hermione’s pupils dilated slightly.

"When Jerry comes back—" Hannah’s voice dropped even lower, carrying a near-conspiratorial excitement. "We’ll gather all the members and hold a large-scale, formal club gathering."

Her tongue-tip licked across her lower lip.

"When the time comes, the inventory problem can be solved all at once."

Hermione’s breathing grew a fraction more rapid.

"That idea..."

Hermione’s voice was somewhat hoarse.

"...is not bad."

Hannah’s smile deepened.

"Then it’s settled." She straightened up from beside the cabinet, brushing off non-existent dust from her skirt. "When Jerry comes back, we’ll go discuss it with him."

She walked to the door, her fingers resting on the door handle, then turned back and winked at Hermione.

"Until then!"

Her gaze landed on Hermione’s face, slightly flushed from craving.

"Endure it, Miss Granger."

The door closed with a click.

Hermione stood alone in the empty activity room, her fingers unconsciously stroking the glass wall of that empty jar.

Her tongue-tip licked her lower lip again, savoring the vague aftertaste in her oral cavity.

Come back soon.

She chanted silently in her heart.

Jerry.