Jerry's footsteps were light, like an elegant cat, silently moving through the dense shadows cast by the bookshelves. He did not look back, nor did he linger for a single moment. He nonchalantly walked out of that confined corner and returned to the bustling main hall of Flourish and Blotts.
But it wasn't until he pushed open the wooden door of the bookstore, which chimed with bells, and rejoined the busy crowds of Diagon Alley, that a cold system prompt finally sounded in his habitually calm mind.
DING! Temporary Quest Completed!
Quest Name: Interest from Seventeen Years Ago - Completed
Objective: Successfully Reclaim Interest - Achieved
Quest Evaluation: Perfect. You inflicted maximum mental devastation on the target at minimal cost and successfully acquired the quest items.
Quest Reward: Family Prestige +50, Special Item 'Succubus' Whisper' has been issued.
His pocket settled slightly. The reward had already been deposited. A minuscule curve appeared on Jerry's lips. The fabric in his pocket still carried the woman's body heat and secret scent, like a hot brand, constantly reminding him of the feat he had just accomplished.
He did not linger in Diagon Alley but turned into a deserted, secluded alleyway. After confirming he was alone, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
Accompanied by a loud crackle, like cloth being ripped apart, the space around him was instantly squeezed and stretched by an unseen force. The dizzying sensation lasted less than a second, and the noisy background of Diagon Alley was utterly left behind. When his feet touched solid ground again, he had Apparated back to Blackfeather Manor, his hand on the trolley.
Jerry shed his robe, tossing it carelessly onto a chair, and walked over to the fireplace. By the light of the fire, he slowly pulled out today's spoils from his pocket.
A black lace brassiere, two black thigh-high stockings of the same material, and a pair of lace briefs that still bore distinct wet marks and a rich, intimate aroma. He laid these private garments, belonging to Narcissa Malfoy, one by one, like displaying works of art, flat on the velvet tablecloth.
The black lace shimmered with a dark, ambiguous luster in the flickering firelight. The cups of the brassiere still retained slight wrinkles from the squeezing, as if one could imagine the soft, full peaks they had once contained. The two thigh-high stockings lay sprawled on the table like two black, dead snakes, their delicate lace tops having tightly gripped the woman's pale upper thighs.
But the most striking item was the small, triangular pair of briefs. The distinct wet stain on it was slowly evaporating in the dry air, yet the unique scent—a mix of expensive perfume, the woman's sweat, and the slightly musky sweetness of the most private secretions—stubbornly lingered at Jerry's nostrils, a silent declaration.
This was the imprint left by a pure-blood noblewoman in the throes of extreme shame and terror.
Jerry reached out a finger and lightly touched the wet mark; his fingertip registered a cool, viscous sensation. These items were worth more than any Galleons.
After admiring them for a while, Jerry reluctantly collected the items, placing them into a sandalwood box engraved with complex magical runes. He needed to preserve them carefully; perhaps they would serve a greater purpose one day.
Done with this, he shifted his attention to the other reward from the quest. With a thought, a strangely shaped small vial materialized in his palm. This was the special item—the Succubus' Whisper.
The bottle was crafted from an unknown purple crystal, giving it an eerie, semi-translucent quality that seemed to flow as if alive. It was the size of a palm but shaped like an abstract, screaming human skull, the wide-open mouth serving as the vial's opening. There was no cork, but the opening was encircled by a faint, almost invisible, pink mist that firmly sealed the contents within.
Through the translucent body, one could vaguely see the vial held half full of a mercury-like, viscous silver liquid that shimmered with tiny starlight. Just holding the vial, Jerry could feel a subtle, seductive, and desirous power attempting to permeate his mental landscape. In his ear, he seemed to hear a continuous, spellbinding chorus of seductive female moans and sighs. These sounds were like soft, small hands gently scratching at the depths of his soul, provoking his most primal instincts.
Jerry concentrated his intent on the strange crystal vial in his palm. Soon, a translucent information panel, visible only to him, appeared above the bottle.
Item Name: Succubus' Whisper
Item Type: Special Alchemical Material/Consumable
Quality: Rare
Description: This is a crystalized essence of desire extracted from the soul core of a high-ranking Succubus. It contains the purest, unadulterated power of raw desire. It can easily shatter a sentient being's rational defenses, infinitely amplifying their deeply buried desires, ultimately turning them into a slave to their own flesh.
Usage Methods:
Direct Use: Opening the vial allows the released pink mist to significantly lower the mental defenses of those who inhale it, making them highly susceptible to Charm-type magic or verbal suggestion in the short term. If the liquid in the vial is directly consumed by the target, it can cause them to completely lose their sense of shame for a period, acting only on physical instinct.Alchemical Synthesis: This item is an extremely precious 'Emotional'alchemical catalyst and can be used in 'Synthesis Magic'. When synthesized with other materials, it can imbue the creation with intense seductive and aphrodisiac properties.Synthesis with Potions: Can upgrade the most basic 'Draught of Relaxation'into a potent aphrodisiac capable of corrupting a saint.Synthesis with Spells: Can enhance the effects of 'Charm Spells'and 'Love Potions', and potentially create a permanent mental imprint on the target.Synthesis with Magical Items: Can transform an ordinary trinket into a cursed object that continuously emanates an aura of temptation.Synthesis with Biological Materials: Through a complex alchemical ritual, it is even possible to twist the target's soul essence, creating a 'Desire Servant'with Succubus-like characteristics who is absolutely loyal to you.
Warning: The power of desire contained within this item is also effective on the user. Prolonged contact or misuse may subtly erode the user's psyche, making them cold-hearted and solely motivated by desire.
"What a find!"
As Jerry's thoughts commanded it, the translucent status panel, visible only to him, ghost-like, shimmered into view.
Host: Jerry Rosier
Family Prestige: 136
Synthesis Magic: LV.6 (Can synthesize basic magical items)
Magical Affinity: 25 (Normal)
Constitution: 18 (Weak)
Spirit: 30 (Exceptional)
Talent: ???
Held Item: Succubus' Whisper
Current Quests: Hogwarts Entrance Examination (Mandatory Monthly), Taming of the Little Wildcat Prequel (Monthly Side Quest)
Watching the "Family Prestige" field leap from double digits to "136," a genuine smile finally touched Jerry's face. Although the system-issued quests were always difficult, and the penalties for failure were lethal, the rewards were correspondingly generous. Just one successful display of acting and one bookstore humiliation had earned him a full sixty points of Family Prestige and an item that was close to a mythical artifact. This was an excellent bargain, especially knowing that Family Prestige could directly impact the real world.
He waved his hand, dismissing the system panel. The room returned to its original dimness and silence. The fire in the fireplace had gone out at some point, leaving only a few strands of gray embers.
"Hogwarts Entrance Examination..." Jerry murmured the name of the mandatory monthly quest. It was time to prepare for the journey to that so-called "Magical Sanctuary."
Blackfeather Manor was lifeless; besides himself, there was no other living creature. The glory of the Rosier family was long gone, so there were naturally no house-elves to serve him. This was not a bad thing for Jerry; he never trusted others to manage his secrets and weapons.
Jerry pulled an antique suitcase from under the bed, reinforced with dragon hide and black iron. When the case was opened, not a speck of dust rose, a testament to his diligent maintenance. He began to pack systematically, his actions not those of an excited incoming student but of a soldier checking his gear before heading to the battlefield.
First, clothes. Several new, well-tailored Hogwarts robes were folded with near-obsessive precision and placed flat at the bottom of the case. Jerry even sewed a few undisclosed defensive runes into the inner lining of the robe pockets. In addition, there were several sets of pure black casual wear with silver serpentine patterns—not a single piece was superfluous.
Next, books. Besides the tedious school-issued textbooks, Jerry carefully wrapped up a few private, forbidden books with covers made of unknown animal hides. The pages of these books were yellowed, inscribed with ancient Runic script detailing things far more interesting than spells like Expelliarmus.
Then, his "Alchemy Tools." He did not pack the cumbersome pewter cauldron, despite the Undetectable Extension Charm sewn into the lining of the suitcase. He had better options. Jerry took out a small mortar and pestle ground from obsidian, along with a complete set of silver processing tools as precise as a surgeon's scalpels. As for ingredients, besides a few necessities, he mostly packed small glass vials with peculiar labels. Some vials contained twisted plant roots steeped in liquid, others held the eyes or teeth of small magical creatures—all essential components for his "Synthesis Magic."
Finally, he stood before the case and placed the yew wood wand, cool to the touch, on top. Beside the wand, he hesitated for a moment, then placed the purple crystal vial containing the "Succubus' Whisper." Hogwarts, the hunting ground for all the young wizards in the magical world, would surely offer many opportunities for this interesting item to serve its purpose. He was already planning that the side quest named "Taming of the Little Wildcat Prequel" might just be the first testing ground for this potion.
With everything categorized and properly stowed, Jerry closed the case with satisfaction. Click. The latch closed cleanly, like a gun being cocked for the upcoming hunt.
Yawning, Jerry climbed into his armchair, watching the dazzling, spinning starry ceiling. Slowly closing his eyes, he entered a state of meditation.
A few days remained before the start of the Hogwarts term, but Jerry did not plan to leave immediately. Before boarding the express train at King's Cross Station, he had to deal with a potential nuisance.
"Taming of the Little Wildcat Prequel"—the young witch who had seen his true face and was skilled in curses. Although the system's quest description didn't mention a failure penalty, "negligence" was a word that did not exist in Jerry's creed. Any pawn who had seen his true appearance, yet was not fully under his control, was a threat that had to be thoroughly tamed, or, if necessary, wiped clean from the chessboard.
Therefore, he had to neutralize this threat.
Night descended like a heavy, black velvet curtain, completely enveloping London. Jerry's figure quietly appeared in an alley darker and filthier than Knockturn Alley. The air here carried a sweet, musky odor of black magic mixed with poor-quality potions, enough to make ordinary wizards turn back.
He tipped back a drop of Polyjuice Potion. After a burning sensation in his throat, Jerry's face had transformed into that of an unremarkable, approximately thirty-year-old adult wizard with cloudy eyes and a hint of destitution.
He pushed open a rickety wooden door that creaked and hung with a string of dried lizards. The sign above the door was crookedly carved with the words—"The Oracle's House."
A sweet scent, so thick it was almost suffocating, rushed out—a mixture of Dragon's Blood incense and an unknown floral pollen, enough to easily numb one's nerves. The room was dimly lit, with only a few crystal balls suspended in mid-air emitting a faint, spectral glow.
A petite figure was curled up on a huge, ornate chaise longue covered with layers of deep purple velvet cushions. She looked like a girl of only seven or eight, wearing an ill-fitting silk nightgown that nearly slipped off her frail shoulders. A pair of small, pale bare feet were innocently exposed, the toes rounded and neat, like a string of fine pearls. She had long platinum blonde hair and was idly poking a crystal ball with one finger.
In the wizarding underworld, the flow of information adhered to an unspoken set of rules. Common intelligence dealers were like the goblins hawking fake goods in Knockturn Alley; their information was mostly hearsay, rumors half-true and half-false.
One level higher were the "memory thieves," skilled in Legilimency, who could extract secrets from others' minds. But this method was extremely high-risk, and the resulting information was often fragmented and highly subjective.
Truly priceless intelligence—the absolute secrets capable of changing the tide of a battle or overthrowing families—had only one source: divination.
Therefore, this dilapidated shop called "The Oracle's House" stood at the very top of the black market food chain. People who came here were not looking for lost pets or asking about tomorrow's weather; they were here to buy "the truth." And the price for providing this "truth" was far more than mere Galleons.
As for why the owner of this house was perpetually the appearance of a seven- or eight-year-old girl, this itself was one of the most widely circulated and terrifying legends in the underworld. Some said that truly powerful divination talent was an ancient, primal, and chaotic force that could not be borne by the prejudiced, desirous, and complex memories of an adult wizard's brain. Only the pristine soul of a child, not yet fully corrupted by the mundane world, could barely serve as the "vessel" or "conduit" for this power's descent. Therefore, every generation of Oracle had to be a child. From the moment she was chosen, her physical growth would completely halt, forever confined to the body of a girl. Her soul, however, would be daily washed and eroded by the vast, ancient power of prophecy, maturing, aging, and decaying rapidly. They could see all of the past and the future, but they had no present of their own.
So, the girl curled up on the chaise longue might have been alive for decades, perhaps even a century. But it could also be a disguise. Who could know?
"Another customer seeking secrets." She did not look up, but her voice came from deep in her throat—a husky, languid tone characteristic of a mature woman, utterly contradictory to her innocent appearance. "Tell me, what do you wish to know? The trajectory of fate, a lover's betrayal, or your own pitiful, sordid desire hidden in your heart?"
Jerry spoke in the hoarse voice of his disguised face: "I'm looking for a cat."
"A cat?" The little Oracle finally lifted her head, her disproportionately large purple eyes scanning him. A mocking smile curved her lips. "I don't track lost pets here." She paused, seemingly scrutinizing Jerry's soul beneath the disguise. "However... considering your Galleons smell quite nice, I might make an exception." She extended a small hand, beckoning him closer. "Come here."
Jerry obeyed, stopping in front of her.
"My feet are a bit cold." She said it as a matter of course, simultaneously extending her small, exquisite bare feet toward him. The pale white insteps glistened like ivory in the dim light.
Jerry looked at her feet, which could be considered works of art, without changing his expression.
"My pleasure!" Then, he reached out his hands and cupped her cold little feet in his palms.
"Black fur!" he replied in a low voice, his hands not stopping their work. "Tall, almond eyes! Very sharp claws, skilled at using... curses that don't see the light of day."
"Haa... ah..." The girl could no longer utter a complete sentence. Her legs unconsciously spread slightly, her body tense like a small bow. A strange, intense pleasure, like streams of electricity, wildly shot from the soles of her feet, held in his grasp, toward the deepest part of her being. A thin layer of sweat beaded on her smooth forehead, and her cheeks flushed unnaturally. She suddenly opened her eyes, her purple pupils shimmering with moisture, her focus lost.
As she gasped hoarsely, the crystal ball in her lap suddenly lit up. The internal mist violently churned and converged, eventually condensing into a clear, dynamic image.
The image showed a dark, damp alleyway, the stone pavement covered in sewage. On a precarious wooden sign at the alley's mouth, a viper was coiled around a wine cup. The camera then passed through a dirty wooden door, entering a smoky pub. A woman sat alone at the corner bar, drinking a glass of whiskey that glowed with firelight. She looked about forty, haggard, wearing thick glasses, her brown hair carelessly tied in a bun, with a few strands of gray hair falling loose, making her look even more ordinary and unremarkable. She was dressed in a faded, old wizard's robe, and her entire demeanor exuded the weariness of someone whose edges had been worn smooth by life.
Just then, the woman in the vision seemed to sense something. She impatiently raised her left hand and pushed up her glasses on her nose. The moment she raised her hand, the view sharply zoomed in, focusing precisely on her wrist. On her slightly rough skin, a vicious, old, healed scar was clearly visible. The shape of the scar was extremely strange, looking exactly like a magic wand broken in half.
The Oracle Witch used the last shreds of her reason, waving the crystal ball in her hand, squeezing out a few broken words through her gritted teeth: "Serpent's Alley... End... Viper's Kiss... Left wrist... Broken wand... Scar..."
"Enough!" she screamed hoarsely, her voice full of the fury of a mind overwhelmed by desire. "The transaction is over! Take your information... and get out!"
Jerry chuckled. "Sweet dreams, Your Excellency!"
Just as Jerry's hand was about to touch the doorknob, a hoarse, sharp voice sounded behind him.
"Stop!"
Jerry paused, waiting for her next words.
The girl suddenly struggled, propping up her sweaty upper body with her elbows. Her eyes were half-glazed, half-clear, and her tongue involuntarily licked the corner of her mouth.
"You... haven't paid yet!"