Professor McGonagall’s fingers slid her wand back into her sleeve. With her other hand, she picked up the envelope from the low table and popped the wax seal with her thumb.

The wax fractured into several pieces, falling onto the table with tiny cracking sounds.

She pulled three pieces of parchment from the envelope.

The first was a battle report.

"Ares’s vanguard has broken through the third line of defense."

Professor McGonagall’s gray eyes swept over the ink on the parchment from behind the cat mask. Her voice was kept very low, just enough for the few people on the semi-circular sofa to hear.

"The new war golems forged by Hephaestus have entered combat—bronze skeletons, Orichalcum shells, and internal drive cores made from shards of Prometheus’s divine fire. Conventional Blasting and Exploding Curses are ineffective against them. The Ministry’s frontline troops lost forty-six men in the first encounter." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Vera’s fingers tightened on the Firewhisky bottle, her nails scratching the glass surface with a sharp screech.

"Poseidon’s transit blockade is still ongoing."

Professor McGonagall flipped the first parchment over, revealing the second.

"This is the Ministry of Magic’s supplies requisition list."

Her finger tapped several spots on the parchment.

"The frontline urgently needs supplies in three major categories—healing potions, protective gear, and communication equipment. The gap in healing potions is the largest; the frontline casualty rate is three times higher than estimated, and existing potion reserves will only last two weeks.

Regarding protective gear, conventional Shield Charms are ineffective against divine fire weapons; new anti-divine-fire armor needs to be developed.

Communication equipment—Poseidon has jammed all long-distance communication magic based on the water element. Information transmission between the frontline and the rear is severely delayed."

She placed the second parchment on the low table and picked up the third.

The handwriting on the third parchment was different from the first two—it wasn’t the Ministry’s official font, but a scrawled handwriting dotted with ink spots.

"The supplier bidding right for the Quidditch World Cup—the one the Patil family won—covers more than just souvenir and food supplies during the matches."

Professor McGonagall’s finger traced across a line of text on the parchment.

"During the World Cup, the security checks, medical support, accommodation and catering, and transportation logistics for all attending spectators are uniformly coordinated by the supplier. This means the Patil family—or rather, we—have obtained control over the entire logistics system during the World Cup."

Narcissa’s gray eyes flashed behind her peacock mask.

"The logistics system!"

"Correct." Professor McGonagall flipped the third parchment over; on the back was a simplified organizational chart. "The logistics system of the World Cup and the logistics system of the frontline use the exact same Ministry allocation network.

If we can establish a highly efficient material supply chain during the World Cup, this supply chain can be directly transformed into a frontline supply line after the World Cup ends."

Rita lay across Professor McGonagall’s thighs, her scarlet nails almost poking the surface of the parchment, her eyes behind her glasses rapidly darting across that organizational chart.

Behind her, that fox tail swayed left and right uncontrollably, the fur at the tip brushing against Professor McGonagall’s calf, grazing the lace edge of the garter stocking.

"So—" Rita’s voice squeezed through the gap of her lips holding the quill, "—the World Cup supplier bidding right is actually an admission ticket to the frontline supply line?"

"Not just an admission ticket."

Professor McGonagall stacked the three parchments together and placed them back on the low table.

"Jerry’s meaning is—everyone sitting here can buy shares."

The sofas fell silent for two seconds.

Cassiopeia’s snake tongue flicked.

"Buy shares in what?"

"The various sub-projects during the World Cup."

Professor McGonagall’s finger pointed to each item on the organizational chart one by one. "Security checks—require a massive amount of Shield Charms and detection equipment; the Black family has a ready-made industrial chain in this regard.

Medical support—the production and distribution of healing potions; the network of the Greengrass family and Slughorn can be mobilized.

Accommodation and catering—the Patil family’s textile workshops can switch to producing tents and bedding; food supply can go through the Weasley family’s channels.

Transportation logistics—the Malfoy family’s connections regarding the Floo Network and Portkey approvals."

Her gray eyes swept over every face present from behind the cat mask.

"Each sub-project is accounted for independently, and profits are distributed according to share ratio. After the World Cup ends, the entire supply chain transforms into the frontline supply line, at which point the Ministry of Magic will place long-term orders at wartime procurement prices—the profit margin will be even higher than during the World Cup."

Vera’s Firewhisky bottle spun half a circle on her knee, her eyes narrowing behind the fox mask.

"What about the Patil family?

Do they know this?"

"Madam Padma is also here tonight."

Professor McGonagall’s chin gestured toward the wall in the distance—from the angle of the side hall, Madam Padma’s figure could be seen standing behind the crowd of onlookers, the feathers of her golden peacock mask trembling slightly in the light. Her twin daughters, Parvati and Padma, stood on either side of her; the skin of all three girls glowed with a similar honeyed luster in the colored lights.

"She is the overt operator Jerry arranged. The supplier bidding right is registered under the Patil family’s name, but the actual funds and decision-making power are in Jerry’s hands.

Madam Padma is responsible for the executive-level affairs—liaising with the Ministry of Magic, negotiating with various suppliers, handling daily operations."

Rita’s fox tail wagged even faster, the fur at the tip sweeping back and forth over Professor McGonagall’s calf, rubbing against the mesh material of the garter stocking, pausing for a beat at the lace edge, then continuing to sweep upward, rubbing the soft skin on the inside of her knee.

Professor McGonagall’s thigh muscles tensed slightly the instant Rita’s tail swept past, but her voice did not waver.

"Jerry said the details of profit distribution will be discussed face-to-face at the party. But the general framework has been decided—"

Her finger drew a circle on the organizational chart.

"All families holding shares will automatically obtain wartime material supplier qualifications after the transformation of the frontline supply line. This qualification will not be revoked before the war ends."

Narcissa’s fingers paused for a beat on the tips of her platinum blonde hair, a gleam of shrewdness flashing in her gray eyes behind the peacock mask.

Wartime material supplier qualification—this meant that for the entire duration of the war, families holding this qualification could legally sell any materials listed on the wartime procurement list to the Ministry of Magic, with prices negotiated between the supplier and the Ministry, free from the constraints of peacetime market supervision.

This was a long-term meal ticket.

And a long-term meal ticket whose value would only increase the longer the war lasted.

On the other side of the wall, Jerry’s tongue withdrew from the flower slit.

Jerry’s chin was covered in a viscous liquid mixing saliva, body fluid, and essential oil. When he lifted his head, those liquids drooped from the tip of his chin, pulling several glistening silk threads that broke and dripped onto the floor.

The two pairs of breasts were still pressed against his cheeks from both sides, but his hands pushed them far enough away to allow his face to move freely.

"Continue."

Jerry’s hands covered the buttocks again.

That pair of small, firm cheeks trembled slightly under his palms—his finger had previously slid into that tight, narrow gap, the first knuckle of his middle finger submerging into that hot, wet mucous membrane.

Now his fingers returned to that position, the pad of his finger sliding downward along the edge of the cleft, past the tailbone, over that smooth skin free of any calluses.

Jerry’s finger paused for a beat at the position of the outer labia.

Then his palm flipped, palm facing up, four fingers brought together, supporting from the bottom of the buttocks upward—this movement made the pads of his fingers press against the entire length of the flower slit, from the bottom of the outer labia all the way to the top, feeling the texture and temperature of every inch of skin.

The outer labia were tightly closed, the gap incredibly narrow.

The inner labia did not protrude, completely hidden within the wrapping of the outer labia.

The small protuberance at the top of the flower slit was tightly wrapped by the foreskin; when the pad of his finger ground over it, he could only feel a slightly bulging small mound.

Young.

Tight.

Almost completely undeveloped.

But!

Jerry’s fingers moved to the side of the buttocks.

The pad of his finger slid outward along the boundary line between the buttocks and the thigh, sliding to the position of the hip bone. His fingers stopped there.

The texture of the skin beneath the pad of his finger changed.

It wasn’t smooth—two inches down and outward from the hip bone, the texture of a small patch of skin was completely different from the surrounding area.

Jerry’s middle finger ground back and forth over that patch of skin three times, his fingertip’s sense of touch magnified to its limit in the darkness.

The texture was very shallow.

So shallow that if one didn’t deliberately feel for it, it would be impossible to detect. It was an extremely fine, radially distributed concave texture, spreading outward from a central point, like the rippled surface of wind-blown water solidified on the skin.

The edges of the texture had almost completely merged with the surrounding skin; only when the pad of the finger ground over it with extremely light pressure and extremely slow speed could that trace of imperceptible height difference be felt.

Stretch marks.

Stretch marks compressed to the extreme by magic—or rather, by a curse.

Jerry’s fingers paused on that texture, his thumb and middle finger separating to measure the area covered by the texture.

Very small, about the size of a silver Sickle coin, hidden in that inconspicuous position on the side of the hip bone.

If this body hadn’t been locked in a girlish form by a curse, these stretch marks should have been more obvious—they would have spread out along the curve of the lower abdomen and hip bones, forming those silver-white stripes commonly seen on women who have given birth.

But the curse had fixed her body at fifteen or sixteen years old.

The elasticity of the skin was forcibly pulled back to a girlish state, collagen filled back to its original density by magic, and those once-stretched fibrous tissues were compressed, covered, and hidden beneath the smooth skin of a young girl.

Hidden very well.

So well that even the essential oil couldn’t cover it up—because there was no need to cover it. Invisible to the naked eye, undetectable by ordinary touch, only by repeatedly grinding with the pad of a finger at a specific angle and pressure, under the condition of completely losing vision and having the sense of touch magnified several times over, could that trace of residual mark be captured.

The corner of Jerry’s mouth curved beneath the blindfold.

Professor McGonagall’s voice surfaced in his memory—late one night, in front of the fireplace in the alchemy workshop, the firelight reflecting on Professor McGonagall’s face, her voice kept very low, carrying a trace of an imperceptible sigh.

"Aurora had a child. Illegitimate."

"Whose?"

"I don’t know. She never says. The child was sent away after being born, and no one knows where it was sent."

"Was the curse before or after that?"

"After. Some say it was the family of the child’s father who did it, to silence her—keeping her forever in the appearance of a young girl, so that even if someone suspected she had given birth, they wouldn’t believe it upon seeing her face."

Jerry’s fingers moved away from those stretch marks.

His palms covered the buttocks at Position Five again, his palms pressing against the curve of the right cheek, feeling the firm muscle belonging to a young girl’s body beneath the skin. His thumb slid downward along the edge of the cleft, past the tailbone, to the front of that tight, narrow gap.

"Number Five."

Jerry’s voice came from beneath the blindfold, as calm as taking roll call.

"Aurora."

Hermione’s quill scratched across her small notebook with a rustle.

"Correct."

A suppressed gasp and whisper came from the group of watching witches in the distance—he had guessed correctly again.

Hermione’s voice carried that rising, playful tone of watching a good show.

Hermione’s hands rested on Jerry’s shoulders, pushing him forward half a step, making his crotch directly face the black hole at Position Five.

That fully erect long spear swayed with his stepping motion, the long spear slapping against his own lower abdomen, emitting a muffled thwack, the body fluid seeping from the tip smearing a wet mark below his navel.

On the other side of the black hole, Aurora’s face emerged from the opening in the wall.

The purple butterfly mask had already been pushed up above her forehead, revealing those half-squinted eyes full of rich life experience beneath.

Aurora’s gaze fell on that long spear at Jerry’s crotch.

Her pupils contracted.

Aurora’s tongue-tip emerged from her lips, licking her own lower lip.

Her hands reached out from the edges of the black hole, her ten fingers resting on the sides of Jerry’s hip bones, her palms pressing against his waist dimples, pulling his lower body toward her face.

Jerry’s crotch thrust forward a step.

The tip of that long spear touched Aurora’s lips.

The moment they touched, Aurora’s lips instinctively parted a crack—lips thin yet soft, the labial tubercle plump, the corners of the mouth turning slightly upward.

The curve of the tip rubbed against her lower lip, grinding that thin layer of saliva on the lip surface, mixing with the body fluid seeping from the tip, painting a glistening, wet, thin film on her lips.

She opened her mouth.

"Mmh!"

A muffled, indistinct groan spilled from Aurora’s throat; her lips clamped tightly at the position of the coronal ridge, the flat of her tongue pressed immobile by the weight of the tip.

Aurora’s tongue-tip curled up with difficulty from the bottom of the tip, licking across the slit at the top, curling the seeping body fluid into her mouth—salty, carrying a trace of slight muskiness, mixing with the rose scent of the essential oil, churning into an indescribable complex flavor on the root of her tongue.

Her head began to move.

Swallowing forward—the long spear slid over the flat of her tongue, the tip pushing past the root of her tongue, pressing against the opening of her throat.

Aurora’s throat instinctively contracted, the gag reflex making her body tremble slightly, but she did not pull back; instead, she pulled Jerry’s crotch another inch toward her face.

The long spear went another section deeper in her oral cavity.

The tip propped open the opening of her throat, the entrance to the esophagus propped open by that plump sphere. The muscles of the throat spasmed, trying to expel the foreign object, but Aurora’s hands deathly locked onto Jerry’s waist dimples, not letting him retreat.

"Ugh! Gulp!"

The sound of the throat being propped open spilled from her mouth, mixing with the water sound of saliva being squeezed out. The rims of Aurora’s eyes turned red, tears overflowing from the corners of her eyes, flowing down the young girl’s cheeks, dripping onto her bare collarbones.

Aurora’s head retreated a section, retreating until only the tip was held in her mouth. Her tongue-tip rapidly twirled a circle on the curve of the tip, licking clean the mixture of accumulated body fluid and saliva in the coronal ridge.

Then Aurora’s head swallowed forward again, deeper than the last time—the long spear sliding over the flat of the tongue, pushing past the root of the tongue, propping open the opening of the throat, squeezing into the esophagus; Aurora’s nose almost touched Jerry’s pubic bone.

Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!

The rhythm of swallowing and spitting was established.

Every time she swallowed forward, her throat emitted a muffled sound of being propped open.

Every time she retreated backward, the mixture of saliva and body fluid would overflow from the corners of her mouth, flowing down her chin, dripping onto Aurora’s chest—the left breast still retaining the vanilla ice cream liquid smeared earlier; the milky-white ice cream and transparent saliva mixed together, drawing intersecting wet trails on the surface of her small, girlish breast.

Jerry’s hand rested on the top of her head, his five fingers inserting into her braid, his fingertips hooking the root of the braid, exerting slight force following her swallowing and spitting rhythm—pushing when she swallowed forward, loosening when she retreated backward.

Hermione stood behind Jerry, her brown eyes staring from behind her mask at Aurora’s swallowing and spitting actions for five seconds.

Then she crouched down.

Her knees knelt on the carpet, her body circling from behind Jerry to his crotch—there was enough space between Jerry’s legs to accommodate her head, because he was standing with his feet apart, the distance between his two legs about a foot and a half.

Hermione’s head drilled in from his crotch, her brown curly hair rubbing against his inner thighs; the touch of the hair strands made his thigh muscles tense slightly.

Hermione’s face was now directly facing Jerry’s scrotum.

Those two testicles swayed slightly within the skin of the scrotum—every time Aurora’s lips swallowed to the root, Jerry’s crotch would instinctively thrust forward; this action made his scrotum sway a beat, the two plump spheres swinging left and right in the loose skin, like two quail eggs held in a silk bag.

Hermione’s tongue-tip stretched out.

The flat of her tongue pressed against the bottom of the scrotum; starting from the lowest point, licking upward along the middle seam of the scrotum. Her tongue-tip ground over that longitudinal seam dividing the scrotum into left and right halves; the tiny folds on the skin were flattened one by one beneath the flat of her tongue, saliva smeared on the surface of the scrotum, making that layer of loose skin wet and shiny.

Her tongue-tip moved to the position of the left testicle, the flat of her tongue supporting that plump sphere, pushing upward slightly from the bottom.

"Mmh!"

Hermione’s lips clamped around the root of the scrotum, her tongue gently sucking that testicle wrapped within her mouth. The tsk! tsk! water sounds overflowed from the gap of her lips, intertwining with the gulp! gulp! sounds emitted by Aurora swallowing and spitting the long spear above, forming a wet duet echoing top and bottom at Jerry’s crotch.

Jerry’s abdominal muscles tensed.

His fingers tightened slightly in Aurora’s braid, his knuckles turning white.

That long spear swelled another circle in Aurora’s mouth—above were Aurora’s lips and throat repeatedly swallowing, spitting, and squeezing; below was Hermione’s tongue sucking his testicle. The two stimulations acting simultaneously on his lower body made his breathing turn heavy.

Hermione’s mouth released from the left testicle with a pop; saliva pulled a glistening silk thread between her lips and the scrotum, breaking, and drooping onto her chin.

Hermione’s tongue-tip moved to the position of the right testicle, taking it into her mouth in the same way, the flat of her tongue wrapping around that sphere and rolling it gently, the tsk-tsk sucking sounds continuously overflowing from the gap of her lips.

Her right hand reached up from Jerry’s inner thigh, her fingers touching the root of the long spear—every time Aurora’s lips retreated until only the tip remained, the root of the long spear would be exposed, covered in a mixture of saliva and body fluid, wet and so slippery it was almost ungraspable.

Hermione’s fingers circled the root of the long spear, her thumb and index finger forming a ring, rapidly stroking twice in the interval when Aurora’s lips retreated.

Squelch!

When the fingers squeezed the long spear, a small stream of body fluid was squeezed out from the tip, shooting into Aurora’s mouth.

Aurora’s Adam’s apple rolled, swallowing that stream of liquid, and then her lips swallowed back to the root, taking Hermione’s fingers into her mouth together with it—Hermione’s fingertips were rubbed by Aurora’s lips, coated with a layer of warm saliva.

Hermione’s brown eyes curved behind her mask.

Her mouth released from the right testicle, her tongue-tip licking upward along the middle seam of the scrotum, licking to the boundary position with the long spear—that was an extremely sensitive patch of skin; when the tongue-tip ground over it, Jerry’s thigh muscles spasmed fiercely, his knees almost bending.

Hermione’s tongue-tip licked back and forth over that patch of skin three times, then licked upward along the bottom surface of the long spear—her tongue and Aurora’s lips met in the middle section of the long spear.

Aurora’s lips were retreating backward, Hermione’s tongue-tip was licking upward; the tongues of the two women touched each other separated by a thin layer of skin on the long spear.

Jerry’s abdominal muscles tensed even tighter; that long spear began to throb uncontrollably under the pincer attack of the two mouths, the blood vessels on the long spear pulsating at an increasingly faster frequency.

"Mmh!"

An extremely low muffled groan spilled from his throat.

Hermione felt the change in the throbbing frequency of the long spear—her fingers tightened at the root of the long spear, her thumb pressing on that bulging urethral tube on the bottom surface of the long spear, pressing downward forcefully.

Jerry’s body snapped straight abruptly.

That long spear throbbed violently three times—the first time, the tip swelled a circle deep in Aurora’s throat; the second time, all the blood vessels on the long spear bulged to their limit, the blue-purple tube walls like a net about to burst beneath the skin; the third time...

Thick, milky-white liquid sprayed out from the tip.

The first stream shot directly into Aurora’s throat; her Adam’s apple rolled fiercely twice, swallowing that scalding liquid, but the second stream followed immediately, larger in volume than the first; her throat didn’t have time to swallow, and the liquid overflowed from the corners of her mouth, flowing down her chin, dripping onto her chest.

Her lips released from the long spear; the moment the tip slid out of her mouth, the third stream of liquid sprayed onto her face—from the bridge of her nose to her left cheek, a viscous milky-white trace spanned half her girlish face, a drop hanging precariously at the edge of the purple butterfly mask.

Hermione’s fingers were still circled around the root of the long spear; she felt the long spear continuously throbbing between her fingers, every throb squeezing a small stream of liquid out from the tip.

Her fingers released, drilling out from Jerry’s crotch; her brown curly hair was dotted with a few drops of liquid that had dripped from above, congealing into several small white beads on her hair strands.

Her palm spread open, catching the last few drops drooping from the tip.

The milky-white liquid landed in her palm, warm and viscous, flowing slowly in her palm lines.

In the far corner, a figure quietly slipped out from the edge of the crowd.

Walking into the locker room.

Hannah Abbott carried a tray; on the tray sat two large beer mugs and a plate of green leaf salad.

Her blonde hair was draped over her shoulders; her silver butterfly mask was slightly askew, revealing a small patch of reddened skin below her left eye.

Her footsteps were very light; the hem of her pale pink slip dress swayed silently around her thighs. Stepping barefoot on the carpet, her toes curled into the plush surface.

Hermione saw her.

Brown eyes swept from behind the mask over the tray in Hannah’s hands—two empty beer mugs, a plate of salad—and the corner of her mouth curved.

Hannah crouched down, placing the tray on the carpet, and approached Jerry’s crotch from the other side.

That long spear was currently in a semi-soft state, covered in a mixture of saliva and body fluid, the last drop of milky-white liquid still hanging precariously on the tip.

Hannah raised a beer mug beneath the tip, aligning the rim with that drop of liquid about to fall.

Plop!

The liquid fell into the bottom of the mug, splashing a tiny white flower on the inner glass wall.

Hermione’s palm moved over, pouring the small puddle of liquid accumulated in her palm into the same beer mug.

The viscous liquid flowed slowly from her palm lines, trickling down the wall of the mug, gathering into a small milky-white puddle at the bottom.

Hannah’s other hand picked up the second beer mug, bringing it under Aurora’s chin—Aurora’s chin was covered in liquid overflowing from the corners of her mouth, which was currently dripping down from the tip of her chin.

Plop, plop, plop—

Three drops of liquid fell into the second beer mug one after another.

Hannah’s fingers reached toward Aurora’s face; the pad of her index finger pressed against that milky-white trace on her left cheek, scraping from the bridge of the nose to the edge of the cheek following the direction of the trace, scraping that viscous liquid onto her fingertip, then sticking her finger into the beer mug and smearing a circle on the wall of the mug.

A helpless expression with a wry smile appeared on Aurora’s girlish face, but she didn’t stop her.

Hermione stood up from the carpet, the plush imprints on her knees not yet faded.

Hermione’s fingers gave Jerry’s long spear one last stroke, scraping off the residual liquid on the shaft. Gathering it on her fingertips, she flicked it into the first beer mug.

"Is that enough?" Hermione lowered her voice, her brown eyes scanning the volume in the two beer mugs.

Hannah held the two mugs up to her eyes, tilting her head to look—the first mug had about two fingers deep of liquid, the second slightly less, about one finger deep.

Her lips pursed; the eyes behind the silver butterfly mask flashed with a hint of dissatisfaction.

"A bit more?"

Hermione’s fingers circled Jerry’s semi-soft long spear, squeezing from the root toward the tip—like squeezing toothpaste, pushing the residual liquid inside the long spear outward.

A small stream of milky-white viscous substance seeped from the slit at the tip again, slowly flowing down the curve of the tip.

Hannah brought the beer mug closer, the rim catching that stream of liquid.

Plop!

Hermione squeezed two more times, every squeeze forcing a tiny drop from the tip, plop, plop, falling into the bottom of the mug one after another.

Hannah placed the two beer mugs back on the tray with satisfaction, then picked up the plate of green leaf salad.

Her finger dipped into the liquid in the first beer mug, taking a finger’s worth, and smeared it on the salad leaves—the milky-white viscous substance covered the emerald-green lettuce leaves like a thick layer of salad dressing.

She handed the salad plate to Hermione.

Hermione took the plate, used a fork to pick up a lettuce leaf smeared with liquid, and shoved it into her mouth. Her teeth bit through the stem veins of the leaf with a crunch. The liquid and the vegetable juice mixed in her oral cavity; she chewed twice and swallowed it.

"Taste isn’t bad."

Hannah also forked a leaf and shoved it into her mouth. As she chewed, a trace of milky-white liquid overflowed from the corner of her mouth; she curled it back in with her tongue-tip and swallowed it. The eyes behind the silver butterfly mask curved into two crescents.

The two young witches crouched at Jerry’s crotch, sharing that specially seasoned salad while taking turns sipping small mouthfuls of liquid from the beer mugs, like tasting some precious, limited-supply beverage.

Hannah’s finger dipped into the liquid in the mug and coated her own lips with a layer, like applying lip gloss. Then, bringing her lips to Hermione’s ear, she whispered something in a low voice.

Hermione’s brown eyes flashed, the corner of her mouth curving into a sly arc. She forked the last salad leaf from the plate and poured all the residual liquid from the bottom of the mug onto the leaf. The two of them each bit one end of the leaf and sent it into their mouths simultaneously—the leaf snapped in the middle with a crunch. Two mouths chewed their own halves, the corners of both mouths hanging with a trace of milky-white mark.

In the distance, on the sofa in the side hall, Professor McGonagall’s fingers flipped the third parchment over, revealing the lower half of the organizational chart on the back.

Rita lay across her thighs, that orange-red fox tail swaying left and right uncontrollably, the fur at the tip sweeping over Professor McGonagall’s calf, rubbing against the mesh material of the garter stocking.

When Aurora’s bare feet stepped back onto the carpet of the side hall, the soaked tulle on her left chest was still plastered to her skin. The ice cream liquid had long been dried by body heat into a sticky milk film, wrinkling slightly on the curve of her breast with her walking movements.

Her gaze swept over the semi-circular sofa...

Rita lay on Professor McGonagall’s thighs, her chin resting on the edge of the parchment. The eyes behind her lenses were rapidly darting along the lines on the organizational chart. Her scarlet lips bit the shaft of the Quick-Quotes Quill, the corners of her mouth turned up so high they almost reached the roots of her ears.

That orange-red fox tail wagged behind her buttocks like a rattle drum, the fur at the tip sweeping across the inside of Professor McGonagall’s knee, rubbing the lace edge of the garter stocking, bouncing back, sweeping over again, the frequency as fast as a puppy seeing a meaty bone.

Aurora walked to the side of the sofa and looked down at Rita for two seconds.

Then she raised her hand, palm facing down, and slapped Rita’s right buttock cheek with a smack.

The force was not light.

Rita’s buttock flesh caved in abruptly under the strike of the palm. The fabric of her skirt was slapped deep into the cleft, then bounced back; the aftershock of the flesh shook beneath the skirt for two beats before stopping. That fox tail was frightened into bristling by this slap; the fur at the root of the tail all stood on end, the tip pointing stiffly toward the ceiling like an orange-red lightning rod.

"Awoo—!"

Rita’s waist bounced up. The Quick-Quotes Quill fell from her mouth, bounced twice on the carpet, and rolled next to the leg of the low table. Her hand covered the slapped buttock cheek, her eyes behind the lenses staring wide as she twisted her head to look at Aurora.

"Are you crazy?"

"Go play."

A lazy smile hung on Aurora’s girlish face; her finger beckoned toward the direction of that wall in the distance.

"Changed to a new way to play. You’re not going?"

Rita’s eyes rolled a circle behind her lenses—from Aurora’s face to the wall in the distance, and back again.

Her hand released from her buttock cheek, her scarlet nails scratching the fabric of the skirt. The slapped spot faintly glowed with a layer of hot, spicy red.

"What new way to play?"

"Through the wall." Aurora sat down on the sofa armrest next to Rita, her bare toes curling into the plush pile of the carpet. "The kind with a condom."

Rita’s pupils contracted.

That fox tail slowly recovered from its bristling state; the fur laid back down strand by strand, the tip curling back into that furry question mark shape—and then began to wag.

Faster than before.

She climbed up from Professor McGonagall’s thighs, her low-heeled boots tapping the carpet with a clack. She bent over, picked up the Quick-Quotes Quill that had rolled next to the table leg, held it back in her mouth, and walked toward the direction of that wall in the distance.

The fox tail swayed left and right behind her buttocks. Through the gap in the hem of her skirt propped open by the root of the tail, one could see the skin at the root of her thigh—dyed red by the palm print—transitioning from light pink to deep pink.

On the other side of the wall, Hermione was crouching in front of Jerry.

Her fingers pinched a small, square aluminum foil package. Her teeth bit the edge of the foil, tearing open a slit with a riiiip. A transparent latex ring, glowing with lubricant, slid from the package and landed in her palm.

"New rules."

Hermione’s brown eyes looked up from behind the mask, looking at Jerry’s face.

"Through the wall, with a condom. The way to guess people changes from hands to—"

Her gaze moved down, landing on that meat-pillar at Jerry’s crotch that had just ejaculated once and was currently in a semi-erect state. A mixture of saliva and body fluid remained on the shaft, glowing with a wet luster in the light. The tip was half-exposed from the foreskin, its color gradually returning from the deep red after ejaculation to a blood-engorged dark pink.

"This."

She pinched that latex ring between her thumb and index finger. The fingers of her other hand circled the shaft of Jerry’s meat-pillar, stroking from the root toward the tip to scrape off the residual liquid. The shaft throbbed slightly as her fingers passed over it; the cavernous tissue began to re-engorge with blood under the tactile stimulation, the thickness of the shaft expanding inch by inch in her palm.

Hermione’s fingers paused for a beat at the position of the tip. Her thumb pressed on the urethral opening, smearing the seeping pre-cum to apply a thin layer of lubrication on the curve of the tip. Then she pressed the latex ring onto the very top of the tip, pinched the edge of the ring opening with two fingers, and rolled it down along the shaft!

The latex material was stretched extremely thin by the thickness of the shaft, almost transparent; the vein patterns and skin color beneath were clearly visible.

Hermione’s fingers rolled the latex ring all the way to the root of the shaft. The rubber edge of the ring opening dug into that patch of skin above the pubic bone, forming a shallow indentation at the root of the shaft.

"Done."

Hermione clapped her hands, stood up, and took two steps toward the wall. Her wand slid from her sleeve and waved at that row of black holes on the wall—the sizes of the black holes adjusted slightly. The lower row of holes expanded from a size that could only accommodate buttocks to a size that could accommodate the entire waist and hip area. The edges of the holes were wrapped in a layer of soft Cushioning Charm to prevent skin from being chafed by the edges of the stone bricks.

The clack-clack sound of low-heeled boots stepping on flagstones quickly came from the other side of the wall, getting closer and closer. Then a voice transmitted from the other side of the wall, mostly deadened by the Silencing Charm, yet still identifiable as Rita’s crisp articulation tone...

Hermione’s wand tapped on the wall; the Silencing Charm was temporarily lifted in a small area.

"Are you ready yet?" Rita’s voice came from that area, carrying an uncontainable excitement.

"You go in first."

A rustling sound came from the other side of the wall—the sound of clothing rubbing, the clatter of low-heeled boots being kicked off and falling to the floor. Then a pair of buttocks squeezed in from the lower row of black holes.

Rita’s buttocks.

Not large, but the shape was very perky; the two cheeks were firm and rounded, the skin shining white. On the right cheek still remained the palm print slapped by Aurora earlier—a mark with distinct fingers, transitioning from light pink to deep pink, like a palm-shaped flower blooming on the buttock flesh.

At the start of the cleft, that orange-red fox tail arched up from the position of the tailbone; the furry root of the tail was embedded at the top of the two cheeks, the body of the tail swaying left and right in the air, the fur at the tip brushing the edge of the black hole.

Hermione’s hand rested on Jerry’s shoulder, pushing him a step toward Rita’s buttocks.

"Blindfolded, can only use the bottom to guess."

Jerry’s meat-pillar had completely recovered its erect state at this moment. The material of the latex condom was stretched taut, clinging to the shaft like a second layer of skin; the silhouette of the tip was clearly visible at the top of the condom, the edge of the coronal ridge propping the latex material into a ring of protruding ridges.

Hermione’s fingers circled the middle section of the shaft, aligning the tip with the gap between Rita’s two cheeks.

The tip rubbed past the start of the cleft, grinding over the skin next to the root of that fox tail—Rita’s buttocks shrank abruptly, the two cheeks instinctively clamping shut, clamping the tip in the shallow layer of the cleft.

The material of the latex condom transmitted body heat across a thin film; what the tip felt was not the scorching heat of direct skin contact, but a filtered, insulated warmth.

Hermione’s fingers guided the shaft to continue sliding downward; the tip slid from the shallow layer of the cleft to the depths, grinding over that soft depression below the tailbone, continuing down, and touched the edge of the outer labia.

Rita’s outer labia parted a crack under the pressure of the tip; a small section of the edge of the inner labia flipped out from the gap, pressing against the surface of the latex condom. Lubricant mixed with her own secreted body fluid, forming a slippery thin film on the contact surface between the tip and the outer labia.

Hermione’s hand released from the shaft.

"You do the rest yourself."

Jerry’s crotch thrust forward an inch.

His crotch continued forward.

The tip squeezed past the muscle ring of the entrance, sliding into the interior of the passage with a squelch.

The inner walls of the passage plastered against the shaft across the material of the latex condom; the hot, wet mucous membrane squeezed that thin layer of latex from all directions, amplifying and transmitting back the throb of every blood vessel on the shaft.

Rita’s buttocks shrank forward abruptly the moment the shaft entered—but the edge of the black hole restricted her range of movement. Her waist and hips were stuck in the opening, only able to move back and forth less than two inches. Her buttock flesh tensed in this forward-shrinking action; the two cheeks clamped the root of the shaft. The root of that fox tail deep in the cleft was squeezed so hard its fur all stood on end, the body of the tail thrashing left and right violently in the air.

Jerry’s crotch continued pushing forward; the shaft submerged into the depths of the passage inch by inch. The material of the latex condom emitted an extremely faint creaking sound under the squeezing of the inner walls of the passage—that was the sound produced by the friction between the latex and the mucous membrane, mixed with the squish water sound of lubricant being squeezed out.

His pubic bone plastered against Rita’s buttock flesh.

Rita’s buttocks spasmed; the two cheeks contracted fiercely and then relaxed the moment his pubic bone pressed up. The soft surface of the buttock flesh rubbed past the skin of his lower abdomen, leaving a wet trace of mixed essential oil and body fluid.

That fox tail pointed straight to the ceiling, the fur at the tip all puffed out, like an orange-red dandelion.

Jerry’s crotch was nailed to Rita’s buttock flesh. The pubic bone ground those two cheeks of soft flesh dyed red by the palm print; the root of the latex condom dug into the skin at the base of the shaft, the rubber edge beginning to soften soaked by body fluid and lubricant, curling up slightly.

That fox tail thrashed frantically on his lower abdomen; the fur swept over his ribs, side waist, navel, the fuzz at the tip rubbing the skin of his chest, leaving streaks of itchy sensation.

Rita’s buttocks were stuck dead tight at the edge of the black hole; her waist and hips could only move back and forth less than two inches. Every time Jerry thrust forward, her buttock flesh was bounced to the sides by the impact of his pubic bone. With a muffled smack, ripples of flesh spread outward from the impact point, like throwing a pebble into a calm pool of milk.

The frequency of impact grew faster and faster; the swaying of the buttock flesh changed from rhythmic bouncing to continuous trembling. In the gap between the two cheeks, the shaft wrapped in the latex condom repeatedly entered and exited; the drawn-out mixture of lubricant and body fluid was squeezed out from the passage opening, flowing down Rita’s inner thighs, gathering into a small stream at the knee, dripping onto the velvet surface of the platform, plop, plop, plop.

Jerry’s fingers hooked the sides of Rita’s hip bones, his ten fingers sinking into those two patches of soft skin next to her waist dimples; his nails pinched shallow crescent-shaped indentations into the skin surface. His abdominal muscles were taut like a thin iron plate; every thrusting action of his crotch made his thin body bounce forward, the outline of his ribs appearing and disappearing beneath his skin with the amplitude of the movement.

Wrapped in the latex condom, every time that meat-pillar withdrew, one could see the surface of the condom pulled outward a section by the suction of the inner walls of the passage. The silhouette of the tip was clearly discernible beneath the semi-transparent latex material—the head swollen into a deep purple-red, the ridge line of the coronal ridge propping the latex into a ring of protrusion. A small bubble bulged at the position of the urethral opening; that was formed by pre-cum accumulating inside the condom.

Every time it inserted to the bottom, that curled rubber edge at the root of the condom would grind over that tight muscle ring at Rita’s passage opening. With a squish, lubricant was squeezed out from the gap between the rubber edge and the skin, forming a ring of white foam at the root of the shaft.

Jerry’s breathing grew heavy.

His crotch action changed from a constant-speed pumping to irregular, increasingly rapid collisions. The angle of the shaft inside the passage was also constantly changing—sometimes the tip pressed against the front wall, sometimes it ground over the side walls, sometimes it thrust straight to the deepest point, pressing against that soft, slightly concave tissue at the cervix.

Rita’s buttocks spasmed more and more violently in the final few impacts; the two cheeks were like two mounds of repeatedly kneaded dough, the shape constantly deforming and recovering under the impact of Jerry’s pubic bone. The fox tail stood stiff in the air, the fur at the tip all puffed out, motionless, like it had been hit by a Petrification Curse.

Jerry’s abdominal muscles tightened abruptly.

His crotch thrust forward one last time, the pubic bone nailed deathly tight to Rita’s buttock flesh, the shaft submerged completely, the tip pressing against the deepest part of the passage.

That meat-pillar throbbed violently within the wrapping of the latex condom—one time, two times, three times—with every throb, that small bubble at the urethral opening expanded a circle. The top of the latex condom bulged, propped up by the liquid spraying out from inside, changing from semi-transparent to milky-white, like a miniature balloon being filled.

Four times, five times, six times...

The milky-white at the top of the condom became thicker and thicker, the amplitude of the bulge larger and larger. The liquid accumulated in the space inside the condom, stretching the latex material taut. The tip was wrapped in a warm, viscous little water sac by the liquid it had ejaculated itself.

Jerry’s crotch retreated an inch slightly; a section of the shaft was withdrawn from the passage, the tip still remaining inside.

His breathing gradually returned to steady from rapid; the amplitude of his chest heaving decreased bit by bit.

Then his crotch completely withdrew.

The moment that meat-pillar slid out of Rita’s passage, that bulging mass of milky-white liquid at the top of the condom sagged downward under the effect of gravity, stretching the latex material out of shape, like a small pouch filled with milk hanging from the tip.

The outer surface of the condom was covered in lubricant and Rita’s body fluid, glowing with a wet luster in the light.

Rita’s buttocks hung limply at the edge of the black hole. The two cheeks were covered in palm prints and finger marks; a small stream of transparent body fluid mixed with lubricant was slowly flowing down her inner thigh from deep within the cleft. That fox tail finally recovered from its stiff state, drooping softly to the side of her buttocks, the fur at the tip pasted into several strands by sweat and body fluid.

Hermione circled from behind Jerry to his front.

Her brown eyes fell from behind the mask onto that slowly softening meat-pillar—more accurately, on that bulging mass of milky-white liquid at the top of the condom.

She crouched down.

Her knees knelt on the carpet; her face leaned close to the front of Jerry’s crotch. Her fingers rested on that curled rubber edge at the root of the condom; her thumb and index finger pinched the edge, slowly rolling it upward along the shaft toward the direction of the tip—the latex material peeled away from the shaft inch by inch, like peeling a wet, semi-transparent snake skin.

The liquid accumulated between the inner wall of the condom and the skin of the shaft was squeezed out during the peeling process, flowing down the shaft, dripping from the root onto the carpet, plop.

Hermione’s fingers rolled the condom all the way to the position of the tip, then pinched the open end of the condom and picked the entire condom off the tip.

That small latex pouch filled with liquid now lay in her palm. A mass of milky-white viscous substance bulged at the top, the weight heavy, stretching the thin latex material semi-transparent; the color and texture of the liquid underneath were clearly visible—thick, milky-white, carrying a faint pearlescence, like a small blob of melted, not yet solidified wax.

Hermione’s brown eyes stared at that bulging condom in her palm for two seconds.

Her gaze lifted slightly, sweeping over Jerry’s face—the blindfold still covered his eyes, the black silk plastered against his eye sockets; he couldn’t see anything.

Her gaze swept to the side again—the attention of the watching girls was all focused on Rita’s limp buttocks at the edge of the black hole. Several people were huddled together whispering; no one was looking at her.

Hermione’s fingers pinched the open end of the condom tight. Her other hand supported the bottom of the condom, bringing that bulging part up to her lips.

Her teeth bit the top of the latex material.

The edges of her front teeth pressed against that thin film stretched taut by liquid, gently and slowly applying pressure. The latex material made an extremely faint squeak between her teeth—and then broke.

A pin-sized hole appeared at the top of the condom. The milky-white liquid seeped out from that hole; the first drop landed on her lower lip.

Warm. Viscous. Carrying a strong musky-salty scent belonging to a male, mixed with the rubber smell of the latex and the chemical sweetness of the lubricant.

Hermione’s tongue-tip emerged from her lips, curling that drop of liquid on her lower lip into her mouth.

Her teeth bit the latex material again; the hole expanded a circle, and the speed of the seeping liquid accelerated—changing from drop by drop to a thin, continuous stream. Hermione brought her lips close, pressing against that hole, like sucking a very thin straw.

Slurp—

The sound of sucking was extremely light, so light only she could hear it. The liquid was sucked from the hole into her mouth by her lips, spreading along the flat of her tongue. The thick texture piled up on the root of her tongue like a layer of warm, salty-musky cream.

She didn’t swallow it immediately.

Her tongue churned in her mouth, grinding that mass of viscous liquid apart, letting it mix with her saliva. The texture of the liquid changed from thick to semi-fluid under the dilution of the saliva, and from semi-fluid to a thin liquid carrying milky-white turbidity. Her teeth chewed twice in the liquid—not really chewing any solid, but her upper and lower teeth gently bumping together, crushing that viscous thin film on the flat of her tongue, letting it mix more evenly with the saliva.

Her Adam’s apple rolled.

The first mouthful was swallowed.

The warm liquid slid down her esophagus, leaving a small ball of heat in her stomach.

Hermione’s lips did not leave the condom, continuing to suck.

The liquid in the hole grew less and less. That bulging part at the top of the condom deflated bit by bit under her sucking; the latex material changed from taut to loose, from bulging to wrinkled.

Her teeth bit again, tearing the hole wider—this time it wasn’t pin-sized, but a slit the size of a fingernail. The remaining liquid surged out from that slit, pouring entirely into her mouth.

The volume was more than she had anticipated.

A trace of liquid overflowed from the corner of her mouth, flowing down her chin for half an inch. Her tongue quickly pushed the liquid in her mouth backward; her Adam’s apple rolled three times in succession, gulp, gulp, gulp, swallowing the liquid in her mouth in three mouthfuls.

Her fingers moved the deflated condom away from her mouth, flipped it over, turning the inner wall of the condom outward—a thin layer of milky-white film that hadn’t been sucked clean still remained on the inner wall, clinging to the latex material, glowing with a semi-transparent pearlescence in the light.

Hermione’s tongue stretched out. The flat of her tongue plastered against the inner wall of the condom, licking a path from the bottom to the top. The tongue-tip ground over that residual thin film on the latex material, scraping it into her mouth; the flat of her tongue was covered in milky-white traces.

She flipped the condom over, licked the other side, then flipped it over again, licking every inch of the residual liquid on the inner wall perfectly clean.

The inner wall of the condom changed from milky-white to transparent, leaving only the color of the latex itself and the luster of the lubricant.

Hermione scrunched the licked-clean condom into a ball and stuffed it into the pocket of her school robe. Her tongue-tip swirled around her lips, curling that trace of liquid remaining at the corner of her mouth into her mouth and swallowing it.

The back of her hand wiped her chin, wiping away that half-inch trace that had flowed onto her chin.

The corner of Hermione’s mouth curved.

Her tongue swirled one last time in her oral cavity, scraping clean the last trace of taste remaining between her teeth, and swallowed it.

That musky-salty taste, carrying the afterglow of body heat, slid from the root of her tongue to her throat, from her throat to her esophagus, merging in her stomach with the few mouthfuls she had swallowed earlier, turning into a warm, heavy sense of fullness.

Hermione fished a mint from her pocket, unwrapped the wrapper, and popped it into her mouth. The coolness of the mint exploded on the flat of her tongue, covering up most of the residual musky-salty taste, but that lingering aftertaste deep at the root of her tongue still remained stubbornly. Mixing with the coolness of the mint, it formed a strange complex flavor that only she knew.

Hermione’s fingers fished that small notebook and quill from her pocket. She flipped to a new page, and wrote a line below the column for "Rita Skeeter"—

The pen tip scratched across the parchment with a rustle; the ink spread on the paper, forming a line of neat shorthand symbols that only she could read.

From the direction of the side hall in the distance, Professor McGonagall’s voice drifted over faintly, currently discussing some details about the supplier qualification approval process with Narcissa. The orange-red fur of Rita’s fox tail swayed up and down in the gaps between the crowd, like a small flag.

Hermione closed the notebook, tucked it back into her pocket. Her brown eyes swept from behind the mask over Jerry’s profile—the blindfold still covered his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible arc hanging at the corner of his mouth. That meat-pillar hung between his legs; the residual liquid on the shaft was slowly air-drying, changing from a wet luster to a half-dry thin film.

Her fingers fished the second aluminum foil package from her pocket.

Her teeth bit the edge, tearing it open with a riiiip.

"Next."