Jerry walked slowly toward the Transfiguration classroom. For a wizard, the importance of this subject could not be overstated. It wasn't like Charms, where one simply learned to wave a wand and chant an incantation for a specific effect. Transfiguration touched the very core of magic—altering the fundamental state of matter itself.
A wizard's skill in Transfiguration was a direct reflection of their understanding of the magical world, the strength of their will, and the precision of their magical control. Lower-level Transfiguration turned beetles into buttons. Advanced levels could create objects from nothing, reshape terrain, and theoretically touch the very essence of life. This was magic that could "reshape the heavens and earth," the foundation of all profound sorcery.
Jerry, of course, was well aware of this. The Rozier family archives contained numerous rare volumes on advanced Transfiguration and the principles of material conversion, all of which he had long since mastered.
He stopped at the classroom door. The entrance was open, and many students were already seated, with Professor McGonagall standing at the podium preparing her notes. Everything seemed normal.
However, Jerry sensed something off. Between the doorframe and the interior, there was a faint, invisible, transparent barrier. The air there distorted slightly, like the shimmering heat above a sun-drenched road on a summer day.
Several first-year students were blocked at the entrance, reaching out to cross, but as soon as their hands touched the area, they were pushed back by a soft but irresistible force. No matter how hard they pushed, they couldn't take a single step inside.
This was McGonagall's first test. She never used complex riddles or locks requiring specific spells. Her tests always targeted the core of Transfiguration. This invisible barrier wasn't a simple Shield Charm; it was a sophisticated piece of spatial Transfiguration. It changed the "concept" of the space within the doorframe from a "passage" into a "bulwark." Trying to break through with brute force was the lowest form of thinking and would result in an immediate failure.
The correct approach was to understand the nature of the barrier and "respond" to it using the principles of Transfiguration. One needed to use their magic to convey a clear "will" to the barrier: "I understand your form; now, I shall alter my own concept to pass through you."
Jerry watched the sweating, frustrated students and let out a faint smile. He didn't draw his wand. He simply kept his hands in his pockets and walked straight toward the distorted air.
The moment before he touched the barrier, he closed his eyes. In his mind, his physical form was no longer fixed flesh and blood, but a wisp of formless, intangible... wind. This wasn't a true Animagus transformation, but a pure, conceptual shift of the will.
A second later, Jerry passed through the barrier without resistance, as if it never existed, and strolled into the classroom.
At the podium, Professor McGonagall looked up. Her sharp green eyes met Jerry's for a fleeting moment, and a nearly imperceptible flash of approval crossed her gaze.
Jerry found an empty seat. Most of the students were still stuck outside; only a few older students—likely teaching assistants earning extra credits or pocket money—were already seated in the corners.
Among those assistants, Jerry saw a familiar face: Cassandra.
Cassandra sat quietly in her dark assistant robes, as cold and distant as an ice sculpture. But when Jerry's gaze swept over her and their eyes met, her carefully maintained composure shattered. Her pupils contracted, and her breath hitched.
It's him.
The absurd, shocking image flashed through her mind like lightning—Katherine on her knees, head tilted back, her mouth stuffed full by a massive, terrifying meat-rod that defied the boy's age and stature.
Cassandra's gaze drifted uncontrollably from Jerry's youthful face down to his small frame. The sheer cognitive dissonance and biological contrast sent a flush of heat to her cheeks. Shame, embarrassment, and a strange, inexplicable emotion flooded her.
However, the shame was quickly replaced by suspicion. She remembered his name: Rozier.
A thought began to grow like a wild vine in her desperate, money-obsessed mind. If Jerry Rosier wasn't as simple as he looked... The Rozier family had fallen. Where did an eleven-year-old orphan get the money to keep a vain girl like Katherine? How could he afford those expensive potions?
The only explanation was that he was still connected to the dark wizard factions hiding in the shadows of his family's legacy.
Once the thought appeared, it became unstoppable. Cassandra's gaze shifted from embarrassment to a sharp, greedy scrutiny. To her, Jerry was no longer a precocious, lecherous boy; he was a walking vault of gold Galleons. Katherine wasn't just his mistress; she was likely part of the dark organization. If she could find proof and report them to the Ministry, the bounty would be enough to secure Orion's position in the Auror Office forever.
Wait... a twinge of guilt hit her. How have I become so... ugh! She felt like she was going insane trying to scrape together money for her boyfriend.
Once all the students had finally managed to enter, Professor McGonagall stepped to the podium. Her movements were elegant and solemn. Her dark green robes covered her from neck to ankle, leaving no skin exposed. Even her hair was pinned up in a perfect, tight bun. Her attire radiated authority, tradition, and an impenetrable sense of conservative professionalism. She looked nothing like the lustful woman from the previous night.
"Good morning, first-years," McGonagall said, her voice clear and resonant. "Welcome to Transfiguration. It is one of the most complex and dangerous branches of magic. Anyone who takes it lightly will pay a heavy price."
Her eyes swept the room, lingering on Jerry for a micro-second.
"Today, we begin with the basics. Can anyone tell me the four main branches of Transfiguration?"
Several hands went up. A freckled boy was called upon. "Non-living to living... no, I mean... non-living Transfiguration, living Transfiguration, cross-species, and, uh... Untransfiguration!"
"Well answered, Mr. Finnigan of Gryffindor," McGonagall nodded. "These four categories will cover everything we learn over the next seven years. Today, we focus on basic Non-living Transfiguration."
She pulled out a matchstick. "Turn the match into a needle. The incantation is 'Vera Verto.' It requires a clear mind, a firm will, and precise control. Remember, the change in appearance is secondary; the shift in essence is the key."
McGonagall flicked her wand elegantly. "Vera Verto!"
With a soft pop, the match twisted and vanished, replaced by a silver sewing needle, sharp and cold, gleaming in the sunlight.
The demonstration over, the students began to practice. The room was soon filled with whispers of "Vera Verto" and the smells of burnt wood, half-transformed sticks, and piles of sawdust.
"Vera Verto!" "Ugh, failed again!"
Jerry heard annoying whispers behind him. He didn't even need to look to know it was the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati. They were identical, like porcelain dolls, both with high blonde ponytails. The only difference was their stockings: Padma wore clean white ones, while Parvati wore mysterious black ones.
"Parvati, you're saying it wrong. It's 'Vera', not 'Vara'!" Padma corrected, though her own match had only bent slightly and emitted a puff of smoke.
"I know! I said it right!" Parvati snapped. She waved her wand hard. "Vera Verto!"
The match on their desk shivered and turned into a wriggling, pink earthworm. Both girls shrieked in disgust, jumping back as if it were a deadly viper. Their commotion drew attention, and they flushed with embarrassment. Looking ahead, they saw Jerry's back, and their shame turned into blatant hostility.
"Hmph, look at that Rozier boy. I bet he can't do it either," Parvati whispered venomously. "What can Slytherins do besides cast dark curses?"
Padma nodded in agreement. They both stared at Jerry's back, waiting for him to fail so they could mock him.
The classroom was chaotic, but successful transformations were rare. McGonagall frowned. "It seems everyone needs a little assistance. Assistants, please move among the students and offer guidance."
As the older students rose, Cassandra didn't go to Jerry. She chose a different Slytherin first-year.
The Patil twins saw an opportunity. They smirked at each other and slipped away from their earthworm-infested desk, strutting over to Jerry like two arrogant Gryffindor lions.
"Well, Rozier? Let's see you turn a match into a needle!" Parvati crossed her arms, her blonde ponytail swaying as she spoke loudly to draw an audience.
Padma reached out and picked up the needle McGonagall had left on Jerry's desk, flicking it with her finger to make a metallic ping. "I bet you can't even transform a regular match."
Jerry put down the match he was about to enchant. He looked up, his eyes deep and ancient despite his youthful face. He slowly shifted his gaze from the needle to Parvati's smug face.
"Why don't we play a game?" Jerry smiled. It was a seductive, chilling smile that didn't fit his body—as if a devil possessing all the world's secrets lived inside a child.
The twins blinked, taken aback. Parvati snorted. "What game? What are you planning?"
"Simple." Jerry kept his hands in his pockets and leaned forward. His voice was like a magical serpent, whispering firmly into their ears. "I bet I can turn this needle back into a match, and then back into a needle again."
Parvati laughed. "That's it? You think you're Professor McGonagall? You'll be lucky to turn a match into anything!"
"That's why it's a bet."
The twins shared a look of malicious glee. A chance to humiliate Jerry Rosier in front of everyone? It was too good to pass up.
"Fine, Rozier," Parvati said. "What's the wager? Don't cry when you lose."
"Simple," Jerry smiled. "If I fail... I'll crawl through your legs. How does that sound?"
The girls' eyes lit up. They could already see it: this annoying Slytherin boy crawling like a dog between their legs. It would be legendary.
"Deal!" Parvati shouted before he could change his mind.
Padma was more cautious. "And if you win? Though that's impossible."
Jerry turned to Padma. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered in a voice only she could hear: "If I win... before dinner tonight, the two of you find a private spot, take off the panties you're wearing... and give them to me. And you must attend dinner without wearing any underwear."
Padma's body shivered. A strange flush crept over her cheeks—not from anger, but from the sheer, taboo absurdity of the demand. She looked at her sister; Parvati was looking on curiously, clearly having missed the whisper.
That whisper, though quiet, rippled through the room.
From her corner, Cassandra watched Jerry like a hawk. Though she couldn't hear him, her observational skills allowed her to lip-read a few keywords based on Padma's reaction: "...panties... give them to me."
Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, patrolling the aisles, also noticed the commotion. Her senses were far beyond normal. That flirtatious, commanding whisper brushed against her hearing like a feather. She didn't stop walking, and her expression didn't change, but her thin lips pressed into a hard line.
"In your dreams!" Padma snapped, her voice shaking with indignation.
Before Parvati could ask what was said, Jerry pulled two solid gold earrings encrusted with rare gems from his pocket.
Clink.
The sound of the jewelry hitting the desk echoed in the girls' hearts. The dazzling gold and brilliant gems instantly sucked away their reason. Their breath hitched. They stared at the earrings with burning greed.
"If I win, these earrings are yours as well," Jerry added, his voice like a devil's contract, filled with irresistible temptation.
The Patil twins looked at each other. In their minds, there was no way Jerry could succeed. This was a guaranteed win. They would get priceless jewelry and watch the Slytherin be humiliated.
Padma took a breath and nodded. Parvati let out a triumphant laugh. "Fine, Rozier! We take the bet! Try to make your crawling look good!"
As Parvati finished, Padma leaned in and quickly whispered Jerry's "panty" condition to her. Parvati's smile froze, and a flush identical to her sister's spread from her neck to her ears.
"He... he wants our..." Parvati's voice was barely a squeak.
"He wants us to give them to him before dinner, and then go without," Padma whispered. "But he won't win. We just have to wait for him to fail, and the earrings are ours."
The sister nodded, straightening up, but their gaze on Jerry now held a strange, tense energy they didn't quite understand.
The noise in the room seemed to die down. The twins, a thoughtful Cassandra, and a watchful McGonagall all focused on Jerry.
Jerry acted as if he were alone. He picked up the cold needle from Padma's fingers. He didn't recite the spell immediately. He placed the needle in his palm and tapped it rhythmically with his index finger.
Ping... ping... ping...
The metallic sound echoed. He seemed to be communicating with the needle, sensing its essence—hard, cold, condensed. Then, he visualized the "match"—loose wood fibers, warmth, the sulfur tip holding the potential for fire. He wasn't forcing a change; he was persuading it. He was persuading the metal to return to its primitive, earthly, wooden state.
"Vera Verto."
The incantation was a whisper. His wand barely moved.
A miracle occurred. The silver needle didn't pop or twist violently. It was like ice dropped into warm water; from the tip down, it "melted" smoothly. The silver luster faded into the warm tone of wood. The hard shape softened. Finally, a perfect match with a sulfur tip lay in Jerry's palm. It was fluid, harmonious, and beautiful.
The twins stopped breathing. Their smiles were replaced by blank shocks. Cassandra's brow furrowed deeper; that level of understanding was impossible for an eleven-year-old. McGonagall's eyes flashed behind her glasses.
Jerry didn't stop. He placed the match on the desk. This time, he didn't even raise his wand. He simply tapped the end of the match with his fingertip.
"Vera Verto."
The match shifted silently again. The wood grain contracted, the color deepened, and it transformed back into a sharp, silver sewing needle.
Two perfect transformations.
Jerry looked up at the stunned twins and gave them a pure, childlike smile.
"It seems I've won," he said softly. He pointed to the gold earrings. "These are yours. As for your... items, I expect to see them on my desk before dinner."
Parvati's face went through a spectrum of colors, her beauty distorted by shock and humiliation. She looked at the perfect needle, then at Jerry's smiling face. Fury bubbled up.
"I... we..." she stammered, then shouted, "Who knows if you used some trick! This isn't fair! We don't accept it!" She grabbed the earrings to throw them back, but the heavy, expensive weight made her hand hesitate. It wasn't a real refusal; it was the desperate tantrum of someone who lost.
"Parvati!" Padma hissed, grabbing her arm, face full of panic.
"Accept what, ladies?"
A cold, severe Scottish voice rang out behind them. The Patil twins froze like they'd been hit by a Petrificus Totalus. They turned mechanically.
Professor McGonagall was standing by their desk. She scrutinized them sharply, her eyes moving between their red faces, the earrings, and the needle.
"Professor... Professor McGonagall..." Padma stammered.
"I witnessed a very... impressive display of Transfiguration," McGonagall said, her tone unreadable. She turned to Jerry. "Mr. Rosier, performing reversible secondary transformations on non-living matter is a third-year final exam topic. You have performed it flawlessly. Ten points to Slytherin."
Then, her gaze returned to the twins, as if she could see through their robes to their very souls. "And I see you have some... objections to Mr. Rosier's success?"
Her voice was low, but every word hit like a hammer. "I have no desire to pry into private agreements between students. However, Gryffindors should understand the meaning of 'keeping one's word.' If you make a wager, you must have the courage to accept the outcome. Or do you believe your words, like a failed Transfiguration, can be twisted at will and hold no value?"
The words were more painful than any detention. Parvati's face turned the color of a beet; she bit her lip and couldn't say a word. Padma looked down in shame, wishing the floor would swallow her.
McGonagall said no more. She gave them one last look and walked back to her podium as if nothing had happened. But for the twins, the verdict was final.
Jerry smiled and picked up the gold earrings, pressing them into Padma's trembling hand. "These are for you. Remember our deal!" he whispered.
BANG!
The heavy wooden doors were thrown open, interrupting the atmosphere. Three figures burst in, panting and stumbling. At the front was a red-haired boy with a face full of freckles, his robes messy and tie loose. Behind him was a thin boy with messy black hair and round glasses, his lightning scar visible. Bringing up the rear was a girl with bushy brown hair who looked ready to cry, trying to smooth her robes as she ran.
It was Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger. They were late, likely victims of the shifting staircases.
The classroom went dead silent.
"We... we got lost, Professor..." Harry panted, looking up to meet McGonagall's eyes, which were now colder and sharper than a needle.
McGonagall walked down from the podium. Her flat shoes made no sound on the stone floor, yet she exerted a mountain of pressure on the trio.
"Got lost?" her voice was icy. "Perhaps I should turn you into a map? At least then you might be useful. Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness."
Hermione turned pale. Ron hung his head. McGonagall ordered them to find seats, and the atmosphere grew even more solemn.
She turned her gaze back to Jerry. "Mr. Rosier, come with me."
"I have some rare volumes in my office that we will need for the practical portion of the lesson. Help me bring them to the podium."
Under the complex gazes of the class—especially the twins and Cassandra—Jerry rose and followed McGonagall into her private office.
The door shut behind him, cutting off all outside sound. The room was orderly and smelled of old parchment. Before Jerry could take in the surroundings, he witnessed something startling.
Professor McGonagall's dark green robes, which had been wrapped tightly from head to toe, suddenly lost their color and substance. In a second or two, they became completely transparent, leaving only a faint, ghostly outline.
Underneath the robes was the well-maintained, mature, and curvaceous body of a woman. She was wearing only a simple set of cream-colored lace lingerie that emphasized her full breasts and firm waist.
McGonagall seemed indifferent to her exposure. She bent over to organize a stack of heavy books on the floor. The pose pointed her rounded, firm buttocks directly at Jerry, the cotton fabric of her panties stretching taut over her curves.
"Mr. Rosier!" she said in her cold, oppressive voice, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. "If I am not mistaken, you cheated in class, didn't you? You used those enchanted pieces of jewelry you're wearing?"
Jerry looked at her arched back and her exposed body through the transparent robe. His expression didn't flicker. "I did not, Professor," he said calmly.
McGonagall stood up and turned to face him, her sharp eyes boring into his. "Is that so? Then show me your power, Mr. Rosier. Use your own magic—no external help—and transform this needle once more. If you fail, or if I find any trace of outside help, twenty points will be taken from Slytherin."
She was forcing him to show his true hand. Jerry smiled.
He didn't look at the needle. Instead, his gaze fell on the mature, full mound covered by her cream-colored cotton panties. Jerry didn't even lift his hand; he just used a thought.
McGonagall prepared to watch his casting motions, but she suddenly felt a strange twisting of fabric at her crotch. She looked down and saw her own panties seemingly come to life. The side straps untied themselves, and the fabric stretched and twisted under the magic, turning into two thin, strong ropes. They whipped behind her, binding her legs tightly at the knees, forcing them slightly backward.
The core patch of the panties rapidly contracted and hardened between her legs, turning into a smooth, egg-shaped object that pressed firmly against her most sensitive spot. A sophisticated vibrator, transformed from her own underwear, was now fixed firmly against her.
"You—"
McGonagall's pupils shrank. She opened her mouth to scold him, but she saw a tiny, almost invisible spark of blue electricity flicker on Jerry's fingertip.
BZZZZZZ!
The vibrator fixed against her clitoris began to hum at a high frequency.
"Nnnh... ah...!"
A violent, unfamiliar wave of numbing pleasure surged from her crotch, racing up her spine and flooding her brain. A short, suppressed moan escaped her lips. Her body stiffened, and her legs instinctively clamped shut, but that only pressed the vibrating egg deeper and harder into her pussy.
Her hips buckled forward, and her legs began to tremble. Her "secret garden," under the sudden, intense stimulation, blossomed without defense.
The area was meticulously groomed and clean. Her full, fleshy labia were a healthy, dark pink—the color of a ripe peach. Under the pressure of the vibrator, they parted slightly, revealing the tender, wet inner lips. The shape was exquisite, like a perfectly closed clam. With the vibration, glistening nectar began to secrete rapidly, making the area shiny and slick.
The egg continued to buzz, the faint sound echoing loudly in the quiet office.
"It seems... I underestimated you, Mr. Rosier," McGonagall gasped, her voice unstable. She gripped the edge of her desk to steady her weakening legs. The intense, alien pleasure was battering her nerves, bringing an unnatural flush to her stern face.
Jerry watched her silently, neither speaking nor stopping his little "prank."
After a long moment, McGonagall managed to adapt to the constant stimulation. She took a deep breath, and her sharp green eyes regained some of their authority, though a complex emotion lingered in their depths.
"I misjudged you. You did not cheat," she stated, as if confirming it to herself.
She didn't scold him for his audacious act. Instead, she reached down with trembling hands and untied the ropes from her legs. The vibrating egg, made from her panties, slid out of her wet pussy, and she caught it in her hand.
McGonagall looked at the translucent, crystal-like object, now coated in her own thick juices. Then, she did something that surprised even Jerry.
She walked over to him, her mature, curvaceous body nearly naked before him. She leaned down and, without a word, stuffed the egg—still warm and smelling of her—into Jerry's slightly open mouth.
The moment the egg entered his mouth, the Transfiguration spell reached its limit or was released by her.
Puff.
With a soft sound, the hard object reverted to its original form—a piece of soft, cream-colored cotton, soaking wet with her juices. The concentrated, slightly musky scent of a mature woman instantly filled Jerry's mouth and nose.
McGonagall's face was very close. Jerry could see his own reflection in her green eyes—a boy with her panties in his mouth.
"I hope you can keep this up," she whispered.