Katherine's talent, within a dormitory housing the most elite seventh-year girls in Slytherin, wasn't actually top-tier. Her family had long since declined, their bloodline's power thinning with each generation. If it hadn't, she wouldn't have been reduced to robbing remote branches of Gringotts or clubbing people over the head outside bars in Knockturn Alley just to make ends meet during her summer breaks.
She never mentioned these things to her roommates, but since this semester began, everything had changed.
The first to notice were the other three members of the dorm: Isabella Avery, Cassandra Warrington, and Fiona Shacklebolt, the daughter of a high-ranking Ministry official. These four weren't just roommates; they were the seventh-year female prefects of Slytherin, sharing a suite that symbolized honor and status.
The change was material first. Katherine's plain, old wand had been replaced by a brand-new staff carved from purpleheart wood, tipped with a glowing obsidian orb. Her everyday items—from self-correcting quills to protective alchemical jewelry—were now luxury goods far beyond a student's budget.
More striking was her internal transformation. Her understanding of high-level sorcery and the massive growth in her mental fortitude made her unrecognizable to her peers.
The strangest moment occurred during yesterday's internal duel practice. Katherine's performance seemed average—her spells weren't faster, her shields weren't visibly stronger—but everyone watching had the same sinking feeling: she was hiding her true strength. It was like watching a dragon curl itself up to pretend it was a harmless lizard.
This contrast made the dormitory atmosphere tense. Isabella Avery was the true "Ice Queen," born into the Avery family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Fiona Shacklebolt represented the Ministry elite. Meanwhile, Katherine and Cassandra were the "fallen nobility," possessing pure-blood names but no fortune, forced to claw for every resource.
Until now, Katherine had been the silent follower. Now, she was a mystery. Had she been... "sponsored" by some wealthy, lecherous old wizard?
Katherine ignored the suspicious glints in her roommates' eyes. She sat on her bed, buried in an ancient alchemical tome from Jerry's private collection. She had just finished a grueling session of rune-etching, and her mind felt hollow and drained.
Without hesitation, she pulled a deep blue potion from her nightstand. It was an Arcane Resurgence draught—a luxury item priced at three Galleons, usually reserved for Aurors on dangerous missions. She downed it in one gulp, feeling the icy liquid surge through her brain like a spring tide, washing away the fatigue.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
"Hahaha! Catch me if you can! The little Prefect is too slow!" Cassandra's boisterous laughter shattered the silence. She dashed in, her tall figure radiating vitality.
Before she could say another word, Isabella lunged from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Mmph... mmm!" Cassandra protested.
Isabella's face was a violent shade of scarlet, her eyes filled with lingering shame and irritation. "Don't say it! Don't you dare say another word!" she hissed.
Fiona followed them in, giggling into her hand. The three girls began a chaotic chase around the room, dodging between beds and desks. Long robes fluttered, and the room was filled with the sounds of shrieks, gasps, and laughter—the unbridled energy of seventeen-year-old girls.
The chase peaked when Cassandra, cornered by Isabella and Fiona, leaped onto the nearest bed—Katherine's.
"Got you!" Isabella pounced. The mattress sank under their combined weight.
Katherine finally moved. With a speed that was almost supernatural, she lunged from the side, pinned Cassandra's wrists, and began mercilessly tickling her.
"Ah! Hahaha! Katherine! You... you're cheating!" Cassandra collapsed, helpless with laughter. The four top witches of Slytherin threw away their dignity, wrestling like ordinary girls until they were all breathless and disheveled.
They eventually collapsed side-by-side on Cassandra's bed. As the laughter faded, a heavy silence took over. Cassandra stared up at the silver-starred green canopy of her bed, her bright smile slowly dissolving into a mask of deep, suffocating worry.
Fiona broke the silence. "What's wrong, Cassandra? Lost your mood?"
Cassandra tried to fake a smile but failed. "Nothing. Just thinking about... graduation."
The room grew somber. Everyone knew Cassandra had a boyfriend who had already graduated: Orion Blackwood. He had been a star student, a Head Boy, and had landed a prestigious internship at the Auror Office. But to keep a wizard of his ambition, Cassandra had spun a web of lies. She had claimed the Warringtons were still wealthy and influential.
In reality, her parents died years ago. She had been funding Orion's expensive equipment, potions, and bribes with her parents' death compensation fund. And that money was almost gone. She couldn't imagine the look on his face when he realized his "wealthy" girlfriend was a penniless orphan.
Katherine sat up first, returning to her alchemical notes. She felt her own pressure—not for money, but from Jerry Rosier. During their time at Blackwing Castle, she had never beaten him in a duel. His talent was crushing.
Of course, if you counted "sneak attacks," she had won plenty of times. Her mind flashed to memories of kneeling before Jerry while he meditated, taking his semi-erect cock into her mouth to distract him, or cupping his warm, heavy balls as he practiced spells.
She shook her head to clear the thoughts and focused on her notes. When the mental drain hit again, she reached for another bottle of Arcane Resurgence.
Cassandra watched her, her pupils shrinking. She knew that potion. Three Galleons a bottle. She bought them for Orion every month, and it was bleeding her dry. And here was Katherine, drinking them like tap water.
Where did she get that kind of money? Cassandra wondered, her heart aching with envy and desperation.
Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor Tower.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A loud, rhythmic knocking disturbed the common room. Students looked up in shock; outsiders rarely visited at night.
Harry and Ron were at a table with their homework. Hermione was staring blankly at an alchemy book, her mind still replaying the scene in the bathroom—the sight of Jerry's thick, pulsing meat and the heat she had felt on her fingertips.
"Who the hell is that?" Ron grumbled, stomping to the portrait hole. He opened it to reveal Jerry Rosier, holding a basket of dirty laundry.
"Good evening. I'm looking for Miss Granger," Jerry said with a polite, humble smile.
Ron's face darkened. "What do you want with Hermione? She has nothing to say to you!"
"I just have a question for her," Jerry replied, his green eyes scanning the room until they locked onto Hermione in the corner.
Hermione stiffened. Her brain was a whirlwind of images—the bathroom, the ripples in the water, the way his cock had twitched in her hand.
"What is it?" Ron demanded, stepping into Jerry's space. "This is Gryffindor territory. What are you up to?"
Jerry ignored him. He looked past Ron's shoulder and spoke loud enough for the whole room to hear: "What's wrong? Are you planning to break our contract? I taught you the spell; now it's your turn to do my laundry, Hermione."
The common room went silent. Laundry? Contract?
Ron froze, his insults dying in his throat. Hermione felt like her blood was boiling. She stood up, head low, and walked toward the door.
"You Slytherin bastard, what are you talking about—" Ron started.
But Hermione took the basket from Jerry's arms. As the weight hit her, she saw a pair of dark male boxers right on top. Her face turned so red it looked like it might drip blood.
"I... I'll return them once they're washed and dried," she whispered, unable to look anyone in the eye.
"Much appreciated," Jerry chirped, flashing a brilliant, mischievous smile. He gave a polite nod to the stunned Gryffindors and walked away without a backward glance at Harry or Ron.
As he walked toward the dungeons, the System's voice rang in his head.
[Emergency Task: The Voyeur] [Description: Katherine's wealth has alerted Cassandra. Cassandra is close to Selena, the Director of the Auror Office, who is currently at Hogwarts to destroy the Rosier bloodline. If Cassandra's suspicion reaches Selena, you will be in grave danger.] [Objective: Neutralize Cassandra's suspicion.] [Reward: Random Dark Magic Scroll. Extra Reward: Turn Cassandra into a loyal follower to gain +5% Ancient Bloodline Awakening and the 'Master of Seduction' title.]
Jerry's smile faltered. Selena—the woman whose eyes burned with hatred on the train. He didn't know Cassandra, but the task clarified she was Katherine's roommate. This was a complication.
However, the "Ancient Bloodline" reward was tantalizing. In the wizarding world, ancient blood meant power—access to primordial magic and resistances that regular wizards could only dream of.
He reached his dormitory and stopped. Light was bleeding through the gap under the door. He smelled tea and expensive perfume.
He activated a protective charm, then sensed the magical signature and smirked. He canceled the ward and stepped inside.
A tall, mature woman stood at his desk, her back to him. She was wearing a dark green silk robe. It was conservative, covering her from neck to ankle, but the fabric was so soft it clung to her curves, highlighting a full bust, a narrow waist, and a pair of firm, rounded buttocks.
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"A bit late to be up, Professor McGonagall," Jerry said, closing the door.
Minerva McGonagall turned slowly. Her face was soft in the lamplight, her sharp green eyes filled with complex emotions. She was a close friend of Jerry's late mother, and her feelings for him were a mess of affection and fear.
She didn't answer. Instead, she pointed a finger at his wardrobe. The door flew open, and a gift box floated out. The lid popped, and the pair of cotton panties with the cute cat-paw print floated into her hand.
"Do you like my gift?" she asked, her voice calm but icy.
While waiting for him, she had inspected his alchemical jewelry and found a secret: he had infused them with Succubus Crystals—substances that emitted a subtle field to make people more attracted to the wearer. She felt manipulated and furious.
Jerry didn't flinch. He walked right up to her. At eleven, he was much shorter than her, forcing him to look up into her cold face.
"You're angry, Professor," he said calmly. "You think I'm manipulating you."
He didn't deny it. "The Rosier name carries a weight you understand better than I do. Everyone hates us. For a Rosier to find a friend or even a bit of kindness is a hundred times harder than for any other student. I took a shortcut. What else could I do?"
His tone shifted, becoming bold and predatory. He began to look at her body without shame. "Besides, I have no interest in the Dark Lord's power. I prefer... beautiful things."
His eyes traveled from her heavy breasts to her slim waist, then back to her face. It was the gaze of a lustful man trapped in a boy's body.
Then, he did something truly reckless. He reached out and took the cat-paw panties from her hand. He brought them to his nose, closed his eyes, and took a deep, intoxicated sniff.
"Mmm... so sweet," Jerry smiled. "It smells like you, Professor."
The air in the room froze. McGonagall couldn't believe his audacity. This boy was trying to ride a high-bred, dangerous mare like her.
She looked at him. Was this a mask? Or was he just a child expressing a primal attraction to beauty? She saw his talent in the jewelry. If he made these alone, his genius was terrifying. A sigh escaped her. She had promised his mother she would look after him. If she could guide this desire... away from the Dark Arts...
Her hand went to her chest. She didn't look at him. She unfastened the first button of her silk robe. Then the second. Then the third.
The robe fell open, revealing her ivory-skinned, mature bust. Her breasts were large and firm, with nipples tightening in the cool air. She looked down at Jerry with a gaze of absolute control.
She channeled her magic. The green silk robe shimmered and turned transparent, becoming a veil of thin, magical gauze.
Everything was on display. Her heavy, pendulous breasts with ruby-red nipples, her flat stomach, and the patch of neatly trimmed black hair between her thick, powerful thighs.
"Mr. Rosier," she whispered, her voice husky and magnetic. "Since you performed so well in class, here is your reward. Which gift do you prefer now?"
She hooked her finger into the edge of the transparent fabric. Jerry's throat moved. He stared at the two pale mounds of flesh, their tips pressing against the gauze.
"Can I... can I touch it?" the boy stammered, his voice trembling.
McGonagall smirked. With a flick of her wrist, the robe became solid silk again, hiding her body. She snatched the panties back and pressed them firmly against Jerry's face, smothering his vision with the scent of her crotch and tea.
"If you satisfy me in tomorrow's Transfiguration class," she whispered into his ear, her voice low and dangerous, "then... maybe. But today? No."