The moment Selena’s back smashed onto the carriage floor, her spine hit the seam of the wooden planks hard, and a sharp pain exploded from her waist. That puddle of sticky fluid, not yet dried, was squeezed in all directions under her weight; milky-white turbid liquid splashed onto her cheek, her neck, and that originally clean black leather jacket.

Selena’s body bounced instinctively at the moment of impact, her shoulder blades bracing against the floor, her waist arching sharply!

"Let me go!"

Before Selena’s angry roar could fade, her right leg had already moved. That long leg, tightly wrapped in leather pants, sprang out like a coiled spring, the knee thrusting straight up toward the chin of Jerry, who was lying on her chest. The speed was extremely fast, the angle tricky; it was a standard grapple-breakaway maneuver from Auror close-combat training.

But Jerry’s reaction was faster.

Jerry’s head tilted sharply, and Selena’s knee brushed past his ear with a whoosh, bringing up a strand of hair soaked in sticky fluid. That knee didn’t hit its target; instead, due to inertia, it crashed directly into the side wall of the carriage cabin behind Jerry.

Bang!

The wooden panel emitted a dull thud under the impact of the knee, vibrating so hard the oil lamps in the cabin swayed twice.

Selena clenched her jaw. The pain in her knee made her leg slightly numb, but she didn’t give herself time to catch her breath. While losing her right leg attack, her left leg had already twisted out from the ankle Cassiopeia had tangled it with—not breaking free frontally, but using the friction difference between the smooth material of the leather pants and Cassiopeia’s high heel to forcefully rotate her calf outward ninety degrees.

Sizzle, rip!

The material of the leather pants scraped over the high heel, making a sharp friction sound. Selena’s left leg successfully pulled out more than half; only the last loop at the ankle was still hooked by Cassiopeia’s toe.

Cassiopeia’s snake eyes narrowed. The ankle wrung forcefully, the tip of the shoe heel embedding itself like a wedge into the hollow at the back of Selena’s left knee. That position was exactly the center of the popliteal fossa, densely packed with nerve endings.

The moment the heel poked in, Selena’s entire left leg went soft abruptly, as if its power had been cut.

"Ugh!"

Selena squeezed a muffled groan from her nasal cavity. Her left leg temporarily lost its strength to resist, but she still had her hands. Jerry’s two hands were pinning her wrists, pressing her arms above her head. His fingers barely circled the thinnest part of her wrist bones, the fingertips just touching the base of his fingers, leaving a gap in between.

Selena seized this flaw. Her right hand flipped inward abruptly, the wrist twisting an angle within that gap in Jerry’s grip. The narrowest side of the wrist bone aimed at the weak point of his fingers, and then she yanked hard!

Rip!

Her right hand slipped out of Jerry’s control. Selena’s right hand was free. Five fingers spread wide, grabbing toward Jerry’s neck like an eagle’s claw. The nails flashed with a cold glint in the dim light of the cabin—combat nail plates treated with Hardening Charms, their hardness comparable to steel, the edges sharp enough to slice skin.

Jerry’s eyes contracted sharply. He didn’t have time to dodge.

But Professor McGonagall did.

A wand extended from the corner of the cabin, the tip pointing precisely at the back of Selena’s right hand.

"Petrificus."

The Petrification Curse.

Selena’s right hand stopped less than three inches from Jerry’s neck. Five fingers maintained a spread posture, the fingertips trembling slightly, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t advance a single fraction. From fingers to wrist, a layer of ashen petrification spread from the surface of the skin, locking her right hand in mid-air.

"You!"

The flames of anger burned in Selena’s dark brown eyes, mixed with a trace of humiliation of a predator being bitten back. Her head thrust forward fiercely, her forehead crashing toward the bridge of Jerry’s nose!

Jerry tilted to the right, and Selena’s forehead brushed past his cheekbone. With a muffled smack, both their heads were knocked askew. A red mark instantly surfaced on Jerry’s cheekbone, and a shallow indentation was forcefully knocked into Selena’s temple by his cheekbone.

"You crazy woman!" Jerry bared his teeth, a flash of pain in his eyes.

"You’re the crazy one!"

Under violent struggle, Selena’s left hand gained a sliver of freedom. But she didn’t move. Because Jerry was sitting on her abdomen, that semi-soft, long spear resting right on the hem of her leather jacket, the weight and heat transmitting through the fabric to the skin of her lower abdomen.

Selena’s fingers clenched. Her left hand finally moved—not toward Jerry, but toward her own waist. Her fingers reached into the gap between her robes and leather jacket, touching that primary ebony wand tucked inside her belt. The moment her fingertips touched the shaft, the corner of Selena’s mouth curved.

But Selena didn’t even have time to pull the wand out!

Cassiopeia’s foot moved. Not stepping, not kicking, but an almost gentle, lazy movement. Her left foot slid down from the back of Selena’s knee, the heel sliding all the way up the material of the leather pants to Selena’s waist, stepping precisely on the back of her left hand, which was reaching for the wand.

The pressure from the heel wasn’t great, but the position was locked dead. Selena’s fingers were pinned above the belt by the heel, only half an inch away from the wand handle, yet completely unable to reach it no matter what.

"Tsk."

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

"An Auror’s reaction speed is indeed fast."

Her voice carried a hint of appreciation, but more playfulness.

Veins bulged on Selena’s neck. Selena’s body twisted violently on the carriage floor, her shoulder blades slipping in the sticky fluid, making squish-squish sounds. Her right hand was locked by the Petrification Curse and couldn’t move; her left hand was pinned by a shoe heel and couldn’t reach her wand; her legs!

Selena’s legs made one last attempt. Both legs arched up fiercely at the same time, knees thrusting toward the ceiling, and then her entire lower half flipped to the right like a spring, attempting to use the twisting force of her body to throw off Jerry, who was lying on her.

The force of this movement was great. Jerry’s body rolled half a circle in the direction of Selena’s twist, but his hands grabbed the zipper of the front of her leather jacket during the roll—that metal zipper pull made a clank collision sound in his palm—and then, using the inertia, his entire person flipped back onto her.

Jerry’s movements were like a gecko being thrown off and bouncing back, unreasonably agile.

Selena’s flip failed. Selena lay back flat in the sticky fluid, her chest heaving violently. Her long dark brown hair was scattered on the floor, soaking in the sticky fluid and clinging to Selena’s neck and shoulders, a few stray strands stuck to Selena’s sweat-dampened cheek.

Jerry rode on Selena’s abdomen again. That long spear, which had re-engorged with blood due to the scuffle just now, was currently pressing directly against the bare skin of her lower abdomen through her half-lifted leather jacket. That scalding temperature transmitted through the skin, so hot that Selena’s abdominal muscles contracted sharply.

Selena’s panting was heavy and disordered; the heaving of her chest made the zipper of that tight leather jacket emit fine tink-tink metal collision sounds. Selena’s dark brown eyes stared dead at Jerry. The anger in those eyes was still burning, but at the bottom of the anger, something she was unwilling to admit was breeding!

At the root of her thighs, that area inside her leather pants soaked in sticky fluid began to grow damp again. Not the passive reaction caused by bloodline witchcraft just now. But her own body, in this humiliating situation of being suppressed, trapped, and ridden by a boy only half her height, spontaneously producing a physiological reaction.

Selena’s teeth ground loudly.

"You... will... regret this."

She squeezed it out word by word through her teeth.

Jerry looked down at her. That coldness in his green eyes slowly melted, replaced by a more complex look! A look mixing calculation and curiosity. His waist moved slightly. That scalding long spear ground a circle on Selena’s bare lower abdomen, sliding from the left side of her navel to the right. The body fluid seeping from the tip left a glistening wet mark on her taut abdominal muscles.

Selena’s abdominal muscles spasmed violently under that wet mark.

Jerry’s green eyes moved from Selena’s face, twisted by anger, turning his head to look toward Cassiopeia on the seat.

"Mother-in-law."

His voice wasn’t loud, carrying a steadiness completely unmatched with his age.

"Do me a favor."

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue popped from her teeth, quivered twice in the air, and retracted. Her snake eyes slowly opened from their half-squinted state. The vertical pupils landed on Selena’s body, still struggling on the floor, her gaze like evaluating an interesting object.

"Petrification?"

"The more professional kind." The corner of Jerry’s mouth curved. "Leave the head and the bottom. Lock all the rest."

Cassiopeia didn’t act immediately. Her foot moved from the back of Selena’s hand, the high heel tapping the carriage floor with a clack, and she stood up. Her figure was a fraction taller than Selena’s; looking down condescendingly at the Head of the Auror Office covered in sticky fluid on the floor, a faint arc hooked at the corner of her mouth.

Then she pulled her own wand from her sleeve. That wand was completely different from Professor McGonagall’s—the shaft was a near-pitch-black dark wood, the surface wrapped with silver snake-pattern carvings, the tip shaved extremely thin, like a snake’s fang.

Cassiopeia’s wrist flipped, the tip of the wand drawing a complex circular trajectory toward Selena’s body.

"Corpus Petrificus Selectivus."

The incantation spilled from her lips and teeth, every syllable carrying the hissing sound unique to Parseltongue. Silvery-white light surged from the tip of the wand, not a beam of light, but a light curtain like liquid mercury, silently shrouding Selena’s entire body.

Selena’s body tensed abruptly. The petrification started from her feet. She could clearly feel that icy power carrying a metallic texture spreading upward along her ankles—her toes stiffened, her soles stiffened, the muscles in her calves became heavy and immovable like they had been injected with cement.

"No!"

Selena’s mouth opened abruptly; a hoarse angry roar tore from deep in her throat. But the speed of petrification was faster than her roar. From feet to calves, from calves to knees, from knees to thighs—that icy power was like climbing vines, locking her body dead inch by inch. The legs beneath the leather pants turned into two unbendable stone pillars, the knee joints locked at a slightly bent angle, unable to move.

The petrification spread to her waist. Abdominal muscles, lumbar muscles, latissimus dorsi—all the muscle groups used to twist the torso were completely sealed. Selena’s upper body froze in a slightly arched posture, her spine about two inches off the floor, like a sculpture frozen in time.

Arms. Starting from the shoulder joints, passing through the upper arms, elbows, all the way locking to the wrists. That right hand previously semi-petrified by McGonagall now thoroughly lost its last bit of trembling room, the posture of five spread fingers permanently fixed. The left hand was the same—the fingertips were only half an inch away from the wand handle, yet it was as if sealed in amber.

The petrification stopped at her collarbones. Above the neck, completely free. And the root of her thighs—from the pubic symphysis at the very top of her thighs to the entire perineal area, was likewise untouched by petrification. That private area tightly wrapped by leather pants, in contrast to the stiffness of her whole body, appeared exceptionally soft, exceptionally fragile instead.

Cassiopeia put away her wand, looking at her handiwork with satisfaction.

"Professional enough?"

Jerry flipped off Selena’s body, stepping barefoot in the sticky fluid, his toes turning red from soaking in the warm liquid. He crouched down, his green eyes level with Selena’s dark brown eyes burning with anger.

"Let me go!"

Selena’s neck thrust forward fiercely, her teeth biting toward the tip of Jerry’s nose—this was the only attacking move her entire body could still make. Her teeth snapped on empty air with a clack less than an inch from the tip of Jerry’s nose, the sound of upper and lower teeth colliding echoing in the cabin.

Jerry leaned backward slightly, dodging that bite.

"Whoa. Really biting, huh."

His tone carried a bit of a mischievous smile.

"I’m telling you, Jerry Rosier!" Selena’s voice became sharp from anger, veins bulging on her neck. "What you did to me today... kidnapping the Head of the Auror Office, using Dark Magic on a Ministry official... every single count is enough for you to sit in Azkaban for a lifetime!"

"Oh?" Jerry tilted his head.

"Once I get out, the first thing I’ll do is issue an arrest warrant!" Selena’s lips turned white from exertion. "Not just you... Cassiopeia, McGonagall, neither of you two will get away!"

"Shut up."

Professor McGonagall’s voice came from the corner of the cabin, cold and impatient.

Selena’s head whipped toward McGonagall’s direction.

"You shut up! Minerva McGonagall! You are the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts! You actually with a student... an eleven-year-old student..."

"I said, shut up."

Professor McGonagall’s footsteps rang in the cabin. Clack, clack, clack. Three steps. She walked to the side of Selena’s head, looking down condescendingly at that face flushed red from anger and humiliation.

Selena lay flat on the floor, her neck twisted to the maximum angle to see Professor McGonagall’s face. From this angle, Professor McGonagall’s face was outlined with a layer of stern shadow by the light of the oil lamps on the cabin ceiling; her emerald eyes were like two icy gems.

"You don’t... mmph!"

Selena’s mouth was abruptly blocked.

Professor McGonagall’s right foot lifted. She wore a pair of black pointed high heels, the vamp made of matte genuine leather, the toe long and narrow. The front of that shoe—the toe part—precisely stuffed into Selena’s open mouth.

The leather material of the shoe toe pressed against Selena’s tongue, carrying a scent mixing shoe polish and foot sweat. The smell wasn’t strong, but in Selena’s forced-open oral cavity, every breath sucked this smell into her nasal cavity, so clear it made one gag.

"Mmph! Mmh-mmh...!"

Selena’s head shook left and right frantically, trying to throw the shoe toe out of her mouth. But Professor McGonagall’s foot stepped steadily on her lower jaw, the shoe toe stuck between her upper and lower teeth; every shake only made the leather material of the shoe toe scrape a sticky squish sound on her tongue.

Saliva overflowed from the corners of Selena’s mouth, sliding down her jawline and dripping into that puddle of sticky fluid on the floor. Her dark brown eyes stared wide like brass bells, the whites filled with blood vessels. Tears surged uncontrollably from her eyes due to the gag reflex, gathering into two thin water trails at her temples.

"Be quiet."

Professor McGonagall’s voice was as cold as reprimanding an unruly student in class.

"You’re making people’s heads ache."

Jerry crouched beside Selena’s leg, feeling around in the pocket of his shirt that was thrown on the floor and already soaked in sticky fluid, pulling out a small cloth bag. A letter "j" was embroidered on the cloth bag.

He pulled open the drawstring of the bag, taking out an object about seven inches long, smooth, and slightly curved. The surface of the thing presented a warm fleshy pink color; the texture was neither wood nor metal, but a special material somewhere in between, carrying a slight elasticity. The top was a rounded, slightly enlarged head, while the bottom connected to a handle with a knob.

Jerry’s fingers twisted the knob on the handle.

Buzz...

A low vibrating sound rang in the cabin. That fleshy pink object trembled slightly in Jerry’s palm; the surface material rippled with fine waves driven by the vibration.

Selena’s eyes went wide instantly. She recognized what that was.

"Mmh-mmh-mmh-mmh!!"

Her roar was completely sealed in her oral cavity by McGonagall’s shoe toe, leaving only muffled, indistinct sounds. Her head shook even more frantically; the tendons on her neck were taut like bowstrings, the veins winding and bulging beneath the skin.

Jerry didn’t look at her face. His gaze landed on the root of Selena’s thighs. It was tightly wrapped by leather pants; the black material formed several fine wrinkles at the root of her thighs due to being squeezed.

Jerry’s fingers rested on the belt buckle of the leather pants; the metal buckle popped open with a click under his fingertips.

Then, the zipper...

Sizzle, rip...

The sound of the zipper being pulled to the bottom seemed exceptionally piercing in the quiet cabin. The front crotch of the leather pants was opened into a V-shaped gap, exposing a layer of dark-colored underwear inside—that underwear was already made semi-transparent by the previous sticky fluid, clinging tightly to Selena’s slightly bulging valleys and hills. The texture of the fabric clearly outlined every silhouette.

Jerry’s index finger hooked the waistband of the underwear and pushed it aside. A wet, slightly red and swollen part was exposed from the edge of the underwear. Because of the stimulation of the bloodline witchcraft earlier, it was still in an engorged state at this moment—slightly turned outward, the color a shade deeper than its normal state, the residual sticky fluid glowing with a watery sheen in the faint light of the cabin.

Jerry gently pressed the top of that vibrating object against it.

"Mmph...!!"

Selena’s entire body bounced abruptly—no, not bounced. She was petrified; she couldn’t bounce. Only that small unpetrified area at the root of her thighs spasmed violently the moment the vibration touched her flower core. That ring of unlocked muscle contracted sharply like it was pierced by an electric current; the skin at the root of her thighs broke out in a dense layer of goosebumps at the edge of the petrification.

The vibration, with a steady, unhurried frequency, transmitted through that plump flesh core to her entire lower abdomen. Selena’s flower core was already engorged to the limit from previous stimulation—now it was being ground by this direct, physical vibration again; that sour, numbing sensation exploding from the core washed over her nerve endings wave after wave like a tide.

Selena’s mouth was still stuffed with Professor McGonagall’s shoe toe. Saliva constantly overflowed from the corners of her mouth, soaking the leather surface of that black high heel. Selena’s tongue churned uncontrollably in her oral cavity; every swallowing action would make the shoe toe slide slightly between her teeth, emitting a wet squish sound.

"Mmh... wuh-wuh... mmh-mmh..."

Selena’s muffled groan leaked from her nasal cavity, carrying a tremor she was absolutely unwilling to admit.

Jerry’s fingers twisted the knob; the vibration frequency increased by a gear.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz...

That higher-frequency vibration ground every one of Selena’s sensitive nerves into pieces. More tears surged from Selena’s eyes, sliding along her temples into her messy hair. Selena’s head no longer shook frantically—not because she had given up struggling, but because that spreading sour, numbing pleasure had already eroded her neck muscles, making even the strength to turn her neck drain away bit by bit.

Then, it suddenly stopped.

Jerry looked up and glanced at Selena. In those dark brown eyes, anger and fear were intertwining in a bizarre way—anger was still burning, but fear was spreading inch by inch, uncontrollably.

The corner of Jerry’s mouth curved. He pushed that vibrating object inside.

Squelch...

When the rounded top propped open the passage entrance, it made a clear water sound.

"Mmph...!! Mmh-mmh-mmh...!!"

Selena’s muffled roar came from behind McGonagall’s shoe toe, hoarse and desperate. Her tears finally couldn’t be controlled, rolling from her eyes in large drops, washing two water trails down her cheeks.

Professor McGonagall looked down at her tear-stained face, an extremely subtle, hard-to-distinguish emotion flashing in her emerald eyes. Then she pushed the shoe toe half an inch deeper into Selena’s mouth.

"I said."

Professor McGonagall’s voice was as steady as reading a textbook aloud.

"Be quiet."

The carriage bumped in the night sky, the wheels rolling over an invisible air current, the entire cabin tilting two inches to the left. Selena’s head knocked against the floor with the bump, a dull thud, the back of her head smashing right into that puddle of sticky fluid that hadn’t yet dried; milky-white turbid liquid splashed onto her ear auricle and temples.

Professor McGonagall’s shoe toe remained firmly stuck between her teeth. The bump made the shoe tip slide in a small half-inch; the edge of the leather rubbed against Selena’s upper palate, scraping out a wet squish. Selena’s throat shrank fiercely; the gag reflex caused her abdominal muscles—that muscle group at the edge of the petrification, the only one still able to move—to spasm, but because her torso was locked dead, she couldn’t complete a bending motion, and could only forcibly swallow that churning nausea back down.

Saliva flowed from the corner of her mouth, mixing with tears, gathering into a glistening water trail on her jawline.

Jerry crouched between her legs; the vibrating object in his hand was already submerged about three inches deep into Selena’s passage. His fingers pinched the handle at the tail end of the object, his thumb resting on the knob. He didn’t rush to push it in, but maintained this depth, letting that steady vibration continuously bombard the most sensitive area on the front wall of the passage.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz...

The vibrating sound was wrapped by the inner walls of the passage; from the outside, it sounded like a dull, watery woo-woo sound. Selena’s passage constantly secreted sticky fluid under the stimulation of the vibration; transparent body fluid seeped outward along the shaft of the object, gathering into a small puddle at her slit, then flowing down along the curve of her perineum, dripping into that already mixed puddle of mud on the floor.

Plop! Plop.

The sound of dripping liquid, one after another.

Jerry’s thumb twisted the knob. The frequency jumped to the third gear.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz...!

The root of Selena’s thighs twitched violently. That unpetrified area—that small ring of muscle from the pubic symphysis to the very top of the thighs—lost control under the impact of the high-frequency vibration; the petals opened and closed involuntarily. Every opening brought out a small stream of shattered sticky fluid, splashing onto Jerry’s fingers with a splat.

"Mmh-mmh-mmh...! Mmh...!"

Selena’s muffled roar came from behind McGonagall’s shoe toe, indistinct and hoarse. Her neck was twisted to the maximum angle; the tendons on her neck were like two taut bowstrings, veins winding and throbbing beneath the skin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears constantly welling from the corners, gluing her eyelashes into clumps, her vision so blurred she could barely see the ceiling of the cabin.

Jerry slowly pushed the object an inch deeper. When the rounded top rolled over a slightly bulging spot on the inner wall of the passage, Selena’s entire lower abdomen acted like it had been struck by lightning—a pleasure exploding from deep within, sour and numbing to the point of near pain, darted up like an electric current along her spine, burning all the way to the back of her head.

Her eyeballs rolled upward for an instant. Just an instant. Then she bit down on McGonagall’s shoe toe, her teeth sinking into the leather material with a crunch, forcibly suppressing that pleasure back down.

Jerry noticed her teeth-biting action. His green eyes flashed.

"Quite capable of enduring."

His fingers rotated the object ninety degrees, shifting the vibrating top from the front wall of the passage to the side wall. The tender flesh there was softer than the front wall, the folds even denser. When the vibration was transmitted over, every fold was flattened and then sprang back in the high-frequency trembling, emitting continuous, fine squish-squish sounds.

More liquid surged from Selena’s slit. It was no longer the slow seeping from before, but surging outward stream after stream; transparent sticky fluid mixed with shattered white foam, gathering into a small patch of foamy mud at the root of her thighs.

The thumb of Jerry’s other hand—his left hand—pressed onto her flower core. That flesh core, engorged to the limit, caved in slightly under the pressure of his finger pad, then sprang back. Jerry didn’t rub it; he just held it steadily with the pad of his thumb, letting the vibration of that object inside her body transmit through the passage walls to the root of the flower core, forming a dual stimulation attacking from both inside and outside.

"Mmph...!!"

Selena’s head pitched backward abruptly; the back of her head smashed into the sticky fluid, splashing up a puddle of water. Her mouth finally let go of McGonagall’s shoe toe—not that she wanted to let go, but the muscles of her lower jaw lost their biting strength under the impact of that dual pleasure, and her jaw opened uncontrollably.

Professor McGonagall’s shoe toe slid out of her mouth; the vamp was covered in saliva and tears, glowing with a wet luster under the light.

"Ah...! No... you guys... ah-ah...!"

Selena’s voice finally broke free from her throat, hoarse and shattered, every syllable torn to pieces by pleasure.

Professor McGonagall looked down at her and frowned.

"Noisy."

Her foot didn’t stuff back in, but changed position—the sole stepped on Selena’s cheek, turning her head to the side, pressing her cheek into that puddle of sticky fluid on the floor. Half of Selena’s face was submerged in the milky-white turbid liquid, her lips squeezed out of shape; every pant blew a string of fine bubbles on the surface of the sticky fluid.

Glug-glug-glug...

The sound of bubbles bursting mixed with her broken panting.

Jerry pushed the object to the deepest point. The seven-inch length was almost entirely submerged in Selena’s passage, leaving only the end of the handle exposed. The rounded top pressed against the very depths of her passage; the vibration transmitted directly to the position of the cervix. That tightly closed small opening parted slightly a fraction under the bombardment of the high-frequency vibration; a small stream of sticky fluid seeped from the cervix, churned into fine foam by the vibration.

Selena’s body—those unpetrified parts—began to spasm uncontrollably. Her petals opened and closed violently; every opening was accompanied by a squish water sound. That single remaining ring of active muscle at the root of her thighs twitched frantically, driving the root of her thighs to open and close constantly. The inner walls of the passage squeezed that object like crazy, the circular muscles contracting ring by ring, relaxing, then contracting again, squeezing out all the sticky fluid on the surface of the object.

Squish, squish, squish... squelch... squish...

Continuous water sounds echoed in the cabin.

Jerry’s thumb drew a circle on her flower core.

Selena’s eyeballs rolled up completely.

"Ahhhhh...!!"

A sharp, vocal-cord-tearing scream squeezed from her mouth pressed in the sticky fluid; bubbles churned frantically around her lips. A stream of transparent liquid sprayed from the root of her thighs, the force so great it splashed directly onto Jerry’s chest, the warm liquid flowing down his bare skin.

Jerry didn’t turn off the vibration. He even twisted the knob up a gear.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz...!

"No...! Stop... stop... ahhhhh...!"

Selena’s voice had completely changed pitch, from that cold, hard witch’s voice before to a high-pitched, thin scream carrying crying tones. Tears and sticky fluid plastered half her face; her dark brown long hair was scattered on the floor, soaked into a total mess by various liquids.

Cassiopeia sat on the seat, legs crossed, her snake eyes half-squinted, enjoying this scene. Her snake tongue popped from her teeth from time to time, tasting the strong, almost tangible scent permeating the cabin.

"That’s about enough."

Cassiopeia’s voice was lazy.

"Any more playing, and her brain will break."

Jerry’s thumb twisted the knob back; the vibration stopped. He slowly withdrew the object from Selena’s passage; the rounded top rolled over every inch of the spasming inner walls, bringing out a massive amount of sticky fluid and white foam. The moment the object was completely withdrawn, the entrance of Selena’s passage contracted abruptly, squeezing out the last stream of residual liquid with a squelch.

Selena slumped on the floor, half her face submerged in sticky fluid, her chest heaving violently. Her dark brown eyes lost focus, the pupils dilated to almost swallow the irises; tears were still constantly welling from the corners of her eyes. Her lips moved, as if saying something, but no sound came out.

The carriage began to decelerate. The scenery outside the window turned from blurred streaks of light into recognizable silhouettes—in the distance, the spires of Hogwarts Castle revealed black silhouettes under the moonlight. But the carriage didn’t fly toward the castle; instead, it bypassed the main building, descending toward a remote stone building in Hogsmeade.

Jerry jumped out of the cabin, stepping barefoot on the cold gravel, his toes curling from the temperature difference. He casually pulled a spare robe from under the cabin seat and draped it over himself, covering the wretchedness all over his body.

"Lock her inside first."

Cassiopeia walked out of the cabin, her high heels clack-clacking on the gravel. With a wave of her wand, Selena’s petrified body floated up from the carriage floor. Like a stiff mannequin, she suspended in mid-air, following her toward the door of the workshop.

Selena’s head hung limply, her long hair drooping in front of her like a wet curtain; the ends of her hair constantly dripped mixed liquid, leaving a discontinuous trail of water stains on the gravel road.

Professor McGonagall got off last. She used her wand to clean the inside of the cabin, then closed the door and followed.

The door of the workshop was a heavy oak door, inlaid with copper alchemical runes that glowed with a dark green luster under the moonlight. Jerry pressed his palm against the center of the rune array on the door; the runes lit up, click, the door lock popped open.

The moment the door was pushed open, a warm scent mixing herbs and metal rushed against their faces.

Someone was sitting there drinking tea.

It was a girl who looked only fourteen or fifteen. Long hair, like silk threads condensed from moonlight, fell on both sides of her slender shoulders, the ends almost trailing onto the seat of the chair. A pair of pale purple eyes, like two lavender gems, refracted a gentle luster under the light of the alchemical lamps. She wore a well-tailored dark gray suit-style mage robe, an eagle-shaped brooch pinned to the collar—the badge of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.

Aurora! President of MACUSA. Because of an ancient curse, her body permanently remained in the appearance of a young girl.

Aurora’s fingers pinched a delicate bone china teacup; the black tea in the cup emitted curling steam. Aurora’s sitting posture was upright and elegant, her legs together, ankles crossed, like an aristocratic maiden stepping out of a classical oil painting.

When Jerry pushed the door and walked in, Aurora’s pale purple eyes lifted from the rim of the teacup, landing on his wretched appearance—draped in a robe, hair messy, face still bearing traces of suspicious liquid.

Her teacup stopped half an inch in front of her lips.

"Oh!"

A single syllable.

Aurora’s gaze moved away from Jerry, sweeping past Cassiopeia who walked in behind him—the hem of her robes wet in a large patch, a sated laziness in her eyes—and then landed on Selena suspended in mid-air. That petrified, soaked body, half its face plastered with sticky fluid, floated into the workshop hall like a casually handled piece of luggage.

Aurora’s pale purple eyes blinked. She placed the teacup back on the saucer, the bone china making a crisp clink upon collision.

"You guys?"

Her voice was like a silver bell, carrying a steadiness belonging to a century-old politician, completely mismatched with her girlish appearance.

"Are you doing kidnappings now too?"

The morning sunlight poured down from the magical ceiling of the Hogwarts Great Hall’s dome, simulating the early autumn sky outside where thin clouds obscured the sun, plating the silver tableware on the four long tables with a layer of pale golden warm light.

Jerry walked in through the side door of the Great Hall holding a tray. His hair was combed neatly, his Gryffindor tie tied meticulously, the cuffs of his white shirt buttoned to the top, the hem of his school robe swaying gently as he walked—looking no different from any first-year freshman who had just come down from the dormitories to eat breakfast.

No one could tell from his face that twelve hours ago, he was still locked in Cassiopeia’s passage, unable to move.

He didn’t walk toward the Gryffindor long table. His footsteps went straight through the aisle between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, heading toward the long table closest to the wall.

Slytherin.

The tray made a soft clack when it landed on the green tablecloth. Several Slytherin lower-year students who were looking down and spreading butter on toast looked up, and upon seeing Jerry’s face, the movements of their hands paused for a beat. A boy with short blond hair, still holding half a piece of bacon in his mouth, rolled his eyes, then looked back down, pretending to study the scrambled eggs on his plate earnestly.

Jerry pulled out a chair and sat down, picking up a glass of milk from his tray. He had just brought the rim to his lips!

A figure squeezed in from his right side. Not "sat down," but "squeezed in."

Hermione Granger’s butt squeezed directly into the gap of less than a foot wide between Jerry and the blonde girl beside him; the blonde girl was pushed by her hip bone, sliding half a seat to the left, almost choking the piece of bacon in her mouth into her windpipe.

"Cough-cough-cough!!"

The blonde girl covered her mouth and coughed. Looking up and seeing it was Hermione, she opened her mouth, then saw Jerry beside Hermione, closed her mouth, picked up her own tray, and silently moved three seats away.

The surrounding Slytherins acted as if rehearsed, collectively shifting their gaze away from Hermione. Those chatting chatted, those eating ate, those adding sugar to their pumpkin juice continued adding sugar, as if a Gryffindor witch sitting at the Slytherin long table was the most normal thing in the world.

Jerry let out a yawn. That yawn was very long, his mouth opening to the maximum, revealing a row of neat white teeth and a pink tongue-tip; a physiological teardrop was even squeezed from the corner of his eye. He wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand, turning his head to look at Hermione.

"What’s wrong?"

Hermione didn’t answer immediately. Hermione sat beside Jerry, her body leaning forward slightly, both hands resting on the edge of the table, her ten fingers unconsciously tapping the tabletop alternately, tap-tap-tap-tap, the rhythm hurried and disordered.

Hermione’s brown curly hair was tied into a ponytail today, but clearly done in a rush—a few stray hairs had escaped the hair tie, clinging to her neck and behind her ears, swaying gently with the slight shaking of her head.

Hermione’s lips were moving. Not speaking, but licking. Her tongue-tip started from the left side of her lower lip, slowly slid along the lip line to the right side, then curled back, lingering at the corner of her mouth for a second, giving it a lick, before retracting into her oral cavity. The entire movement was smooth and natural, like an habitual small action that had formed muscle memory.

But the frequency was too high. In less than ten seconds since Hermione sat down, Hermione had already licked three times.

Jerry took a sip of milk, the white liquid leaving a shallow milk stain on his upper lip. Hermione’s gaze landed on that milk stain; her pupils dilated a circle.

Hermione’s tongue-tip licked the corner of her mouth again.

"Um..."

Hermione’s voice was kept very low; her body leaned a few fractions more toward Jerry’s direction, her shoulder almost pressing against his upper arm. She pulled a parchment-bound booklet from the inner pocket of her school robe; a line of ornate handwriting was written on the cover in deep purple ink—"Eden · Operations Report."

Hermione spread the booklet open on the tabletop between the two of them, turning to the first page.

"The data for this month is out."

Hermione’s speaking speed was at least thirty percent faster than usual. Her brown eyes darted back and forth between the booklet and Jerry’s face; her finger tapped below a certain row of numbers on the parchment.

"Total revenue: one hundred and seventy-three thousand, four hundred and twenty-one gold Galleons."

Her tongue-tip licked the corner of her mouth again. This time it was slower, the flat of her tongue lingering on her lower lip nearly twice as long as before.

"Up forty-two percent from last month."

Jerry’s milk glass stopped near his lips; his eyes looked over the rim of the glass, landing on Hermione’s face, which was slightly flushed from excitement and some more hidden craving.

"What about members?"

"Seven thousand, three hundred and sixteen people." Hermione turned to the second page, her finger tracing a growth curve chart drawn in colored ink. "A net increase of one thousand, two hundred people."

Hermione’s body leaned closer to Jerry again; this time it wasn’t her shoulder, but her entire upper body leaning over. The collar of her school robe opened slightly due to this angle, revealing the arc of a small section of collarbone beneath the white shirt inside.

When Hermione’s tongue-tip retracted from the corner of her mouth, it carried a thread of glistening saliva.

"Sales of erotic magical items!"

Hermione turned to the third page, her voice dropping a few more fractions, so low only Jerry could hear.

"Nine hundred and seventeen units."

Her finger drew a line under that number.

"The best-selling among them is that... you know... the one with vibration runes..."

A deeper flush rose on her cheeks, but the licking action on her lips didn’t stop. Her tongue-tip slid from her lower lip to her upper lip, swirled at her philtrum, and slid back to the corner of her mouth.

"Single-item sales volume: three hundred and twenty units; repurchase rate: sixty-seven percent."

Jerry placed the milk glass back on the tray, wiping the milk stain off his upper lip with his thumb. Hermione’s gaze followed the movement of his thumb for a moment, her pupils dilating another circle.

"What about the profit margin?" Jerry picked up a piece of toast, took a bite, his tone as casual as discussing Transfiguration homework.

"Gross profit is seventy-eight percent." Hermione’s answer was almost blurted out; clearly, she had run these numbers through her head who knows how many times. "Deducting the maintenance cost of the Magic Web, the Floo Powder consumption for logistics, and the processing fees for the contracted workshops, the net profit is around one hundred and thirty thousand."

She turned to the fourth page; that page was densely packed with various categorized data—member level distribution, consumption frequency, regional analysis, popular item rankings. Hermione’s handwriting was neat and fine, every number written meticulously, the lines of the tables drawn perfectly straight with a ruler.

But the hand Hermione used to grip the quill was currently trembling slightly. Not because of nervousness. Hermione’s thighs clamped together involuntarily on the bench; the ruffles of her school skirt wrinkled slightly above her knees. Hermione’s breathing was a few beats faster than its normal state, the heaving of her chest clearly visible beneath the shirt material.

Hermione licked the corner of her mouth again. This time it wasn’t the tip of her tongue, but the entire flat of her tongue, broadly, wetly, licking all the way from the center of her lower lip to her upper lip, leaving a glistening layer of water sheen on her lips.

"There is one more piece of good news."

Hermione turned the booklet to the last page; on that page, only one line of text was written, bolded in red ink.

"Among the new VIP members added this month, three are Ministry of Magic officials."

Hermione’s brown eyes finally moved away from the booklet, looking straight at Jerry. The light in those eyes was very complex—there was the seriousness of reporting work, the excitement of data growth, the sense of achievement as an operator—but at the bottom of all these emotions, there was a more primal, more urgent craving that was almost overflowing from her pupils.

Hermione’s tongue-tip licked the corner of her mouth again. This time, after licking, she didn’t retract it, but lingered on her lower lip for two seconds, curling slightly, as if savoring some non-existent taste.

Hermione’s Adam’s apple rolled.

"Jerry."

Hermione’s voice changed. From that lowered, rapid reporting tone just now, it turned into a softer, gentler whisper carrying a bit of a nasal tone.

"The jar is empty."

Four words.

The motion of Jerry biting the toast paused for a beat.

Hermione’s hand moved away from the booklet, landing on her own knee. Her fingers gripped the ruffles of her school skirt, her knuckles turning slightly white from exertion. Hermione’s thighs clamped tighter; the wooden surface of the bench made an almost inaudible creak under her slight twisting motion.

Hermione’s tongue-tip swirled around the corner of her mouth again.

"Hannah’s is almost gone too."

Hermione’s body was almost entirely pressed against Jerry’s side; the sleeve of her school robe rubbed against his sleeve, the material friction making a faint rustle sound. Hermione’s lips leaned close to his ear, her warm breath spraying on his auricle.

"We discussed it..."

Hermione’s tongue-tip licked across her lower lip; as it retracted, an extremely fine thread of saliva stretched between her lips and teeth, then snapped.

"...It’s time to throw a Party."