"Wake up, wake up!"
With a gentle shake, Jerry blearily opened his eyes. His vision was blurry at first, then focused on a soft expanse of black.
It was a pair of shapely legs wrapped in black stockings. They weren't plain; they were woven with exquisite lace patterns, with intricate floral borders extending upward, disappearing beneath the hem of a Hogwarts first-year robe.
He looked up along the legs and met a face filled with bashfulness and uncertainty. It was Hannah Abbott, the girl he had briefly encountered outside Flourish and Blotts. She clearly hadn't expected Jerry to wake so suddenly. Seeing him resting his head on her lap—with a tiny, glistening trail of drool at the corner of his mouth—her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.
She was wearing a brand-new Hogwarts robe, devoid of any house crest, marking her as a first-year initiate just like Jerry. However, unlike their meeting at the bookstore, she had chosen mature, sexy black stockings today instead of her usual white ones.
Jerry's mind was still foggy. He instinctively shifted his head. The spot where he rested was soft, warm, and carried a faint, sweet fragrance—far more comfortable than the hard carriage benches. His gaze lingered on Hannah's face, watching her struggle with embarrassment.
His eyes drifted downward again, past the new robes. Perhaps because of her sitting position or the way she had nudged him, the hem of her robe was slightly hiked up, reaching her mid-thigh. From Jerry's low-angle perspective, past the tempting black lace trim of the stockings, a flash of color completely inconsistent with the mature style caught his eye. It was the edge of cotton fabric printed with a bright Mickey Mouse head, grinning wide and cheerful.
Jerry tried to sit up, but the lingering power of the sedative made his body feel like it was filled with lead—heavy and lethargic.
Suddenly, a piercing gaze, like a cold blade, sliced through his consciousness, pinning him in place. In his peripheral vision, he caught a tall figure. She wore thin-rimmed glasses, her eyes behind the lenses cold as ice, scanning the room with unquestionable authority. She wore a perfectly tailored black suit that looked less like an Auror uniform and more like high-fashion evening wear. Her long, straight legs were encased in fine fishnet stockings, and her high heels made a soft click-clack sound on the floor.
Her fingers drummed rhythmically against the window frame, a slow, powerful beat that felt like a warning of invisible boundaries. The innate arrogance and nobility she radiated made her seem entirely out of place in the somewhat disheveled carriage.
She looked at Jerry for only a moment before indifferently turning her gaze to the rest of the compartment. Scattered around were other injured students and wizards. Some clutched their arms, others were pale; all sat in silence, none daring to speak. The air smelled of dittany and antiseptic.
Jerry's gaze moved past the icy female Auror to the opposite seat. Narcissa and Pansy were there. Draco was huddled in Narcissa's arms, his face buried in her chest, shoulders shaking with sobs. His eyes were red and swollen like ripe berries—the picture of a pampered child who hadn't been weaned.
Narcissa held her son tightly, her face pale, her eyes unreadable. Her legs were pressed firmly together, knees and ankles practically glued, her hips tucked in. That strained, repressed posture spoke volumes of a hidden, shameful burden.
Pansy sat next to Narcissa while a female healer bent over, gently examining her. Pansy had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to hide the areas that had been tortured by the metal clips. Her pale neck and ears were flushed pink, clearly still reeling from the humiliation. When Jerry's gaze inadvertently brushed her, Pansy's body stiffened. Her flushed face instantly went deathly pale. She squeezed her eyes shut, averted her gaze as if burned, and dared not look at him again.
The compartment door swung open again, and a Ministry official in dark robes hurried in. He looked grave, quickly locating the woman in glasses. They spoke in hushed tones. The official whispered in her ear, and though low, Jerry's enhanced hearing caught a few words: "Director," "Orders."
The female Auror's expression shifted instantly. Her cold eyes turned fierce and sharp, like a predator spotting prey. Her voice, clear and commanding, cut through the silence: "Which one?"
The official scanned the dozen or so people before his finger settled on Jerry. His tone held a hint of hesitation but carried the weight of certainty: "It's... him."
The glasses-wearing beauty marched straight toward Jerry, her heels clicking with intimidating precision. She stopped before him, looking down from her height, her gaze piercing through Jerry's sluggish mind like a dagger.
Her voice was laced with frost: "So, you're the brat left over from the Rosier family?"
Jerry's pupils contracted at the word "leftover." Although the sedative was still dragging at his nerves, the insulting tone was like a bucket of ice water, snapping him fully awake. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he used his elbows to push himself up, moving slowly and politely—but firmly—away from Hannah's soft thighs.
Only then did he look up, meeting the hawk-like gaze behind the lenses. Despite being a seemingly vulnerable boy, his eyes were unnervingly calm, devoid of the fear typical of his age.
"Yes, Ma'am," his voice was clear and steady. "My name is Rosier. But I am no 'leftover.'"
The woman stared at him through her glasses for several seconds, weighing whether his calm was a facade or his nature. Without a word, she reached out a gloved hand and seized Jerry by the back of the neck, hoisting him up like a small animal. Jerry felt an irresistible force lift him from his seat. Next, the world twisted and stretched. A crushing sensation squeezed every pore as his eardrums rang.
When the discomfort receded, Jerry found himself in a different carriage. It was a small, windowless, sealed space with a heavy door. The light was dim, provided only by a single flickering magical lamp. The air smelled of old dust.
The Auror let go, and Jerry stumbled before finding his footing. She stood over him, her black suit accentuating her imposing, tall figure. Jerry, standing there with thin shoulders barely reaching her waist, looked like a discarded object at her feet. She glanced at his collar with contempt, as if seeing a rag stained with dirt.
"Alright, Rosier," her voice grew even harsher. "Here, you can tell me everything you know."
"What I know?" Jerry tilted his face up, looking perfectly bewildered and innocent. "Ma'am, I don't understand. I'm just a student going to Hogwarts. What could I possibly know?"
Her eyes snapped shut behind the frames. A surge of suppressed, twisted hatred broke through her icy mask.
"Stubborn brat!"
Without another word, her long leg encased in fishnets snapped upward. The sharp heel of her shoe whistled through the air and slammed into Jerry's abdomen. The massive force sent Jerry's small body flying back like a broken doll. He hit the cold floor hard, a muffled groan escaping his throat.
Before he could catch his breath, a high-heeled foot descended. It wasn't heavy, but it carried the weight of absolute suppression as it stepped onto his chest. The sharp heel pressed precisely against his sternum through his robes, causing a sharp flare of pain.
Forced to look up, Jerry's breath hitched. From his position on the floor, he saw her black suit skirt hiked up by her movements. The mesh of her fishnets stopped abruptly at her upper thigh, held in place by an exquisite garter belt. Above that was a sliver of pale, bare skin and the peek of a black lace panty line.
The woman leaned forward, her shadow engulfing him.
"Damn brat... A Rosier. Fine!" Her voice hissed through her teeth. The hatred was no longer hidden; it filled the small space. The heel didn't pull away; instead, it began to grind slowly against his chest like she was trying to rub out a stubborn stain.
"Bastard... the little bastard left of the Rosiers." Her voice was no longer a cold interrogation; it was a rasp of mixed pleasure and pain. She bent down, her face close to Jerry's. "You're just like your goddamn animal father. You have the same disgusting face."
She tapped his sternum rhythmically with her toe. "I asked you a question. Are you mute? Or do the Rosiers only like to talk when they're being crushed underfoot?"
She increased the pressure. Jerry could hear his ribs creaking.
"Look at my shoe," she commanded, pressing down to focus his gaze. "Do you know these shoes were one of the few things my mother left behind? Every time I wear them, I remember how your bastard father broke their bones one by one. Now, it's stepping on his son's bones. Don't you think that's poetic justice?"
Her words slithered into his ears like venom. She lifted her foot and, with the sound of leather scuffing fabric, she aimed her toe at Jerry's face, crudely rubbing the dusty leather against his cheek.
"Why aren't you speaking? Use that mouth to tell me: where are the things your father hid?"
Without waiting for a response, she pinched his jaw, forcing his mouth open. Then, her foot—encased in the fishnet stocking and the stiletto heel—was shoved brutally into his mouth.
The salty, metallic taste of leather and sweat filled his oral cavity. The sharp heel pressed against his hard palate, cold and unforgiving. The coarse texture of the fishnets scraped against his tongue and inner cheeks, leaving a stinging sensation. His mouth was stretched to its limit. Saliva dripped uncontrollably down her ankle and shoe as he let out meaningless, muffled whimpers.
She seemed to savor this absolute dominance. With her other hand, she drew her wand and tapped his face, which was now a mess of shoe leather and spit.
"Crucio!"
An invisible magic hit him. It wasn't the mind-shattering agony of the true Unforgivable Curse, but a more subtle, lingering torment. Jerry felt as if every inch of his skin was being pricked by thousands of tiny ice needles, twisting and turning inside him. His body twitched uncontrollably under the pain, but the foot in his mouth silenced his screams, leaving only frantic gargles from deep in his throat.
Suddenly, a bright light sliced through the darkness, hitting the Auror's tall frame. Standing at the door was a woman in a deep blue uniform, her hair tied in a strict bun, radiating an aura of cold authority.
It was Mina.
Her gaze swept over the wreckage of the carriage, finally landing on the thin boy pinned under the Auror's foot with a stiletto shoved in his mouth. Her usually calm eyes were filled with shock and fury.
Mina's face darkened. Without a word, she stepped into the room, her combat boots thudding with purpose. She grabbed the Auror's arm with a grip that brooked no argument.
"What are you doing?!" Her voice was thick with suppressed rage. "You've lost your mind!"
Mina yanked the Auror's arm aside, forcing her away from Jerry. As the heel was pulled from his mouth, air flooded into Jerry's lungs, making him cough violently. Mina stepped in front of Jerry like a mother leopard, shielding him completely with her body, her eyes blazing at the other woman.
Selina Vane, Director of the Auror Office, stumbled back a few steps from Mina's shove. Her cold eyes flashed with a lethal light behind her glasses.
"Mina! Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Selina's voice was shrill with offense. "You dare interfere with an official investigation?"
Mina stood her ground. "Investigation? Selina, this isn't an investigation! You've let your impulses take over!" Mina glanced at Jerry's wet mouth and the marks on his chest. "To you, he's just a name—a Rosier. But he's a child! Have you forgotten who you are? You are the Director! You are responsible for the entire wizarding world!"
Selina's lips curled into a cold arc. She straightened her suit. "Responsible? To whom? You think I've forgotten? Mina, you saw my parents die at that madman's hands! They were tortured by your 'Rosier family' for three days and nights until there wasn't enough left to bury!" She pointed a trembling finger at Jerry. "Now he carries that blood. He carries that sin. I'm just asking him where the items are hidden. Is that so hard? Or do you think he deserves your sympathy?"
"He wasn't even born then!" Mina shouted back. "How can you be sure it's him? Just because of a surname? The Rosiers are fallen! He is an innocent victim of circumstance! I bought him those robes myself! Selina, it is over!"
Mina's words were like a slap to Selina's frayed nerves. Her eyes flickered wildly. The coldness radiating from her seemed to freeze the very air.
"Innocent?" Selina hissed. "Mina, no Rosier is innocent. The filth in their blood can't be washed away." Her chest heaved. She forced herself to look away from Jerry's face—which reminded her so much of her hate—and met Mina's eyes. She straightened her back, forcing the hatred down into a mask of official authority. "The Philosopher's Stone is missing. People are dead. I believe he is a suspect. I am taking him to the Ministry for interrogation."
It was a formal, bureaucratic excuse to wrap her cruelty in legality. Mina saw right through it.
"Don't give me that bullshit, Selina." Mina's voice was hard as iron. She stepped forward, shielding Jerry even more thoroughly. "Your 'suspicion' is nothing but personal bias. Unless you show me evidence, you won't touch a hair on his head."
Selina's eyes turned even colder. Words were meaningless now. She would use action to assert her power.
"Evidence?" Selina sneered, raising her wand at Jerry. "Then we start with a body search!"
Before Mina could react, a short incantation left her lips. A surge of magic hit Jerry. The Hogwarts robes Mina had bought him, along with his shirt and trousers, were brutally shredded by invisible hands. The fabric disintegrated into black fibers that swirled in the air, leaving Jerry completely exposed in the dim light.
Jerry's body still held the soft vulnerability of a pre-adolescent boy—fair skin, thin limbs. However, in stark contrast to his slender frame, the member hanging between his legs was shockingly large and disproportionate. It hung limp for now, the tip slightly constricted from the previous pain, showing a faint pink hue. The dark pubic hair was just beginning to form, highlighting the thickness and unnatural maturity of his cock.
Mina gasped, unable to believe Selina would go this far. She reached for her own coat to cover him, but Selina was faster. Selina looked at the thick organ that looked so wrong on such a small boy, her eyes filled with loathing. She raised her foot, aiming the sharp heel directly at Jerry's vulnerable vitals.
"Stop!" Mina screamed.
At that exact moment, a faint pulse of magic flicked from Mina's finger. Just as Selina's heel was about to pierce Jerry's flesh, the exquisite black shoe—and its sharp metal heel—disintegrated into dust.
Losing her balance, Selina's foot continued its downward trajectory. Her foot, now only covered in a thin layer of black fishnet stocking, landed warm and soft directly onto Jerry's thick shaft. Because of the force of her step, she pinned his cock flat against his lower abdomen.
The contact of her soft sole against his warm flesh created a bizarre, surreal sensation. The fine mesh of the fishnets rubbed against the sensitive skin beneath. Selina froze, then a greater fury erupted. She looked down at her foot, pressed in such a shameful way against the "filthiest" part of a Rosier leftover. It made her feel physically sick.
"Little bastard!" she hissed, her foot instinctively grinding down. "You think this protects you? Mina can't guard you forever. Look at this disgusting thing... you're just like the rest, thinking only with your crotch!"
Under the pressure of her sole and the friction of the mesh, Jerry's cock—previously limp—gave a sudden, uncontrollable twitch. Then, at a visible rate, it began to engorge and rise.
Selina watched her fishnet-clad foot being pushed up by the boy's rapid erection. The hatred from her bloodline intertwined with a sick, vengeful pleasure. This boy was his father's sin reincarnated in a living, provocative form. She leaned down again, her cold eyes inches from Jerry's.
"Look at you. This is the Rosier nature." Her voice was a sharp taunt. "Even while being crushed and humiliated, you get hard! Like a dog in heat, wagging its tail at any stimulus... you think your body can lie?"
She lifted her slender, powerful foot slightly. Using her big toe and second toe—wrapped in the friction-heavy fishnets—she precisely and ruthlessly pinched Jerry's engorged, throbbing head. She squeezed with just enough force to feel the pulse of the veins and the jump of the muscle, creating a crushing pressure.
"Nngh...!"
A low, stifled groan escaped Jerry's throat. It wasn't a cry of pain, nor a gasp of pleasure, but a complex sound of intense shame, physiological overload, and helplessness. The stocking-clad toes acted like magic, accurately squeezing the sensitive glans and the vulnerable shaft. The fine mesh bit into his reddened skin. His body arched off the floor, his thin shoulders shaking violently from the overstimulation.
"What? Can't hide it anymore?" Selina chuckled darkly. She didn't let go; instead, she began to twist her toes back and forth, savoring the jump and struggle of the organ in her grip. She drew a twisted satisfaction from the boy's helpless physiological reaction—a vent for the blood-feud she carried against his name.
Seeing the humiliation spiral out of control, Mina made a decision. She stopped trying to reason with someone blinded by hate. Mina stepped forward and shoved Selina's shoulders hard. It wasn't a massive blow, but it was enough to catch Selina off guard. Selina stumbled back, her foot forced away from Jerry.
Mina stepped between them, shielding Jerry completely. With the sharp sound of wood cutting the air, she drew her wand and pointed it steadily at her best friend and boss.
"You are insane!" Mina's voice was cold and final. "I am telling you for the last time: the law is the law. The Ministry requires evidence. If you cannot produce it and continue this illegal torture, don't blame me for what happens next." Her eyes were sharp as a blade, defending order without a hint of personal emotion. Her hand was rock-steady.
Selina stood frozen, her face ashen. The atmosphere was taut to the breaking point. Jerry lay curled behind Mina, naked, his chest heaving, his mouth still tasting of bitter leather.
However, in the middle of this suffocating standoff, an overwhelming physiological reaction occurred. A thick, hot liquid—carrying the heat of a young boy's body—suddenly erupted from the tip of his high-standing cock like a small geyser.
The force and volume far exceeded the restraint expected of his age. It burst forth with explosive speed, flying in a high arc toward Selina, who stood just a few feet away.
Neither woman expected this. The white fluid, thick and pungent, splashed accurately across Selina's face. Some of it clung to her thin glasses, blurring her vision. More of it trickled down her smooth, tight cheeks—from her forehead to her nose, from her eyes to her lips. A few drops even splashed into her shocked, slightly open mouth, tasting warm and musky. Flecks of it landed on her pinned-back hair and the collar of her black suit.
Selina froze. The confrontation and the rage solidified. The cold, cloudy, shocking wetness seeped through her facial nerves into her brain. The heavy, masculine scent of Jerry's body filled the small carriage.
A few seconds of dead silence passed.
Then, Selina performed an action that made even Mina's skin crawl. Like a cat with a morbid curiosity, Selina brought the finger stained with Jerry's fluid to her lips. She opened her mouth slightly, her tongue darting out to lick the finger, tasting the new substance.
The warm, salty, slightly bitter liquid hit her taste buds—the primal scent of a male. Selina's movement stopped. The hysterical rage on her face faded, replaced by a twisted, pensive expression, as if she were an alchemist analyzing a strange new material.
"It's not milk..." she muttered in a voice only she could hear. She looked genuinely confused and disappointed that the liquid wasn't what she expected.
Looking at her, Mina felt a chill run up her spine. She realized Selina's mental state had crossed into a dangerous territory.
"I'll kill you!" Selina suddenly shrieked. Her wand snapped toward Jerry, the tip glowing with a lethal red light.
But Mina was faster. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Selina in a brutal embrace. Before the spell could be finished, Mina mentally cast a spell, Disapparating with the struggling Director instantly.
The carriage fell into silence, save for Jerry's heavy breathing and the lingering, musky scent of his release. Jerry stumbled to his feet. He looked down at his legs stained white. He licked his dry lips, spitting out the lingering taste of leather and saliva.
He looked up. His eyes, which had been full of helplessness and pain, were now cold and deep, the mask of a victim stripped away. A cold, contemptuous smirk played on his lips.
"Heh... there's plenty of time," he whispered, his voice rasping with a darkness that bore no resemblance to his previous act. He stroked his body, feeling the cold air, but his face showed the satisfaction of a survivor who had won a secret victory.
"Luckily, I took off all my magical jewelry beforehand," he murmured to himself, savoring his secret. "Otherwise, I really would have been exposed."
A moment later, the door opened again. A young, pretty witch in a Ministry uniform entered. She looked stiff, her eyes cold but hiding a hint of panic. She handed Jerry a neatly folded set of Hogwarts robes, carefully avoiding looking at his naked body.
"You..." her voice was wooden, as if reciting orders. "Get dressed and leave. What happened today... keep your mouth shut. The Ministry will handle everything."
Jerry caught the flicker in her eyes and the tension in her jaw. She clearly knew very little about what had transpired. He dressed quickly and left the carriage, heading back to his original compartment.
The train was moving again, the wheels rhythmically thudding on the tracks. Outside his compartment, he heard Narcissa's soft intake of breath; she was waiting for him.
"Are you... alright?" she asked as she pulled him inside.
Jerry smiled and shook his head. He looked over her shoulder into the compartment. Draco was pestering Pansy, talking incessantly—a sharp contrast to the "mamma's boy" he had been earlier.
With a snap of Jerry's fingers and a faint pulse of magic, Draco's voice cut off. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped onto the soft seat with a thud.
The compartment fell into a dead silence. Narcissa froze, looking at her unconscious son in disbelief before whipping her head around to Jerry. Pansy Parkinson turned white, curling into the corner of her seat, looking at Jerry like he was a familiar but terrifying monster.
Jerry's smile remained unchanged. He pulled the handle and shut the door, isolating them from the world. He turned to Narcissa, his voice gentle and soothing.
"Madame Malfoy, he was being too loud. It would have disturbed your rest." He explained it as simply as if he were commenting on the weather.
System Alert: Mandatory Mission 'Identity Concealment' Completed.
Reward: 100 Family Prestige points issued.
Jerry's lips curled into a faint smile, his mind relaxing slightly. He glanced at the sleeping Draco, the terrified Pansy, and Narcissa, who was watching him with complex eyes. However, before he could fully enjoy the moment, a sharper, colder system alert rang in his mind.
System Alert: New Long-term Mission Issued
Mission Name: Deep Sea Stealth
Mission Type: Main Quest — Identity Concealment (Long-term)
Goal: As the foundation of your existence in the magical world, you must continuously and comprehensively hide your true bloodline and power, integrating into your false identity until official permission is granted or specific milestones are met.
\text{Progress: 0%}
Reward: Issued in stages based on concealment levels and influence.
Failure Penalty: If your true identity is exposed, you will immediately become public enemy number one. All current disguises will be destroyed, family prestige will be reset to zero, and the 'World-Ending Crisis — Surrounded by Enemies' ultimate penalty will be triggered.
A long-term mission... Jerry's eyes darkened. So, that previous task was just the appetizer.
But then again... this sounds quite entertaining!