Lending, for the Rozier family, was a traditional business as ancient as magic itself. It wasn't simple money-lending; it was an art—the art of using debt as a medium to establish control and dominance.
The heavy ledger Jerry carried with him was the blunt evidence of this "art." The leather cover was worn, but the parchment inside was filled with dense records written in everlasting ink. They were debts issued before the Rozier family fell, with debtors' names spanning the entire wizarding world—including several pure-blood families that remained prominent today.
However, once the Roziers were branded as "Death Eaters" and dismantled, this ledger had turned from a powerful asset into a collection of uncollectable papers. Recovering these old debts was nearly impossible for an eleven-year-old boy with no standing. Although he had used forceful means to reclaim a small portion, compared to the sheer volume of the ledger, it was merely a drop in the ocean.
But now, he had a new idea: lending money within Hogwarts.
This idea hadn't appeared out of thin air. During his exchanges with Katherine, he had heard her talk more than once about students who lived beyond their means to buy luxury goods and magical trinkets. This made Jerry realize for the first time that even in a secluded magical school, the demand for money was insatiable.
What truly made up his mind was his observation of Cassandra. When he learned that this Slytherin sub-prefect was willing to spend her parents' substantial inheritance on her boyfriend, a light went off in Jerry's head.
He saw the essence of the situation. These young wizards at Hogwarts, regardless of their background or talent, were fundamentally the same: a group of teenagers ruled by desire and hormones, with absolutely no concept of financial management. They would borrow to own the latest Nimbus broomstick, to save face on a date at Hogsmeade, or to buy contraband from Zonko's.
It was a closed, information-asymmetric market filled with perfect potential clients. Here, he didn't have to face cunning adult wizards.
However, to put this plan into practice, he needed a perfect entry point—a "first client" who could open the market and solve his immediate crisis. Jerry's gaze shifted back to Cassandra Warrington. The system's warning bells still echoed in his mind; every word was like a needle pricking his nerves. The fuse that had drawn the "hungry wolf" Selena was Cassandra's suspicion.
Jerry's lips curled into a cold smirk. He had to break free from this net, and perhaps even turn the net into his own weapon. His lending plan was the "scalpel" designed for exactly this purpose.
Bribe Cassandra directly? No, that was low-level and would only deepen her suspicion or create a bottomless pit of greed. Threaten her? Even more foolish; it would only drive her faster into Selena's arms.
True control came from need. He didn't want to give; he wanted her to demand. He needed an opportunity for Cassandra to fall into a "financial crisis." At that moment, he, Jerry Rozier, would appear as a "helpful junior" to offer "interest-free" or "low-interest" help... though everything came with a price.
Once debt was established, it wasn't just a transaction. It was a shackle, a debt of gratitude, and an invisible right of dominance. He could use it to shut her up and gradually pull her allegiance away from Selena and toward himself. Converting an enemy into a follower was a far greater profit than a pile of gold Galleons. The extra rewards from the system mission—the [Ancient Blood Awakening] and the [Master of Charm] title—were lethally attractive to him.
A perfect plan formed in his mind. Now, he just had to wait... or rather, create the opportunity for Cassandra to walk into the trap.
"Mr. Rozier."
Professor McGonagall's cold voice was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, instantly pulling Jerry back from his grand underground financial blueprint. He looked up to find the entire class staring at him once more. On the podium, McGonagall was watching him with her sharp green eyes, her lips curved in a subtle, challenging arc.
Clearly, his daydreaming had been caught by the sharp-eyed Head of House. And the professor, who had just been "offended" by him in her office, clearly didn't intend to let this chance for a bit of public revenge pass by.
"Since you have perfectly mastered basic object-to-species transformation," McGonagall's voice echoed, "I assume your understanding of Transfiguration theory is equally extraordinary. Please stand and answer a question."
Jerry stood calmly. He knew the real test had arrived.
"Please explain to the class," McGonagall said, pacing slowly, her gaze locked on him, "the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. And give an example of why food is the most significant exception."
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the classroom. Even Hermione Granger, who was struggling to keep up, looked confused and shocked. Gamp's Law? That was a high-level theory usually discussed during O.W.L. preparation. To a group of freshmen who couldn't even turn a match into a needle, it sounded like gibberish.
The Patil twins looked on with malicious glee, waiting for Jerry to fail. McGonagall's intent was clear: she wanted to humiliate him. If Jerry couldn't answer, she could criticize him for being "arrogant and lacking foundation," avenging the humiliation she suffered in the office.
"The Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law..." Jerry's voice was clear and steady. "They are: things that are permanent, things that cannot be permanently transformed, the limitations of complex transformation, the creation and reversal of life, and most centrally—the creation of food."
He paused, glancing at the faces around the room—some surprised, some disdainful—and finally settled on McGonagall with a knowing smile.
"Food is the primary exception," Jerry continued, "because it touches the deepest philosophical question of Transfiguration. We know that Transfiguration can turn one substance into another, but food is not just matter; it carries the energy and nutrition required for life. Magic cannot create life-sustaining nutrition from thin air. You can turn a stone into bread, but that bread has no nutrition and cannot satisfy hunger. You can turn a chair into a pork chop, but it lacks the essence of meat and will be tasteless. This isn't just a matter of magical potency; it involves the deeper principle of 'Conservation of Energy.' The source of energy required for life cannot be conjured by magic; it must come from an existing life cycle. Therefore, the transformation of food is a trick of form, not a creation of substance."
He spoke methodically, his logic flawless and his vocabulary precise. The classroom was pin-drop silent. Everyone, including Hermione, was dumbstruck. Hermione glanced at her textbook and realized that what Jerry said was more detailed and profound than anything in the curriculum.
McGonagall's prepared rebuttals and criticisms died in her throat. Her green eyes shifted from surprise to genuine admiration. This boy was better than she imagined; his understanding of Transfiguration likely surpassed some of her fifth-year students.
"Ten points to Slytherin!" her voice remained stern, but a hint of satisfaction leaked through. "Well done, Mr. Rozier. Please sit down."
As Jerry sat, McGonagall walked back to the podium. As she passed him, a faint, almost imperceptible wave of magic pulsed from her. Her transparent robes became even more ethereal, like a thin mist. Though no one else could see what was happening under the robes, Jerry caught the unusual "vacuum sensation." It was as if McGonagall were announcing to him that she was currently unburdened by any clothing.
This fleeting "display" was for Jerry's perception alone—a silent response to the office incident, carrying a trace of a mature woman's hidden provocation and acknowledgement.
However, at the assistant's table, Cassandra's eyes grew more suspicious. She couldn't feel the magic, but she saw Jerry's dark eyes flicker meaningfully as McGonagall passed, and she noticed the professor's pace falter for a fraction of a second.
This Rozier... how many secrets does he have?
The bell rang, ending the lesson. Students began packing their bags, excited for dinner. As Jerry was tucking his books into his Undetectable Extension pocket, Hermione Granger walked over hesitantly.
"Mr. Rozier!" she whispered, her eyes full of respect and a bit of nervousness. "Your... things." She pulled a neatly folded laundry basket from her beaded bag. It was spotless and smelled of clean soap.
Jerry nodded. He took the basket and slid it into his pocket as if it were a scrap of paper. "Good."
"Um!" Hermione gathered her courage to ask about Gamp's Law, but two figures shoved their way in.
"Hermione, why are you talking to a Slytherin?" Ron Weasley sneered, his gaze full of typical Gryffindor hostility and jealousy. "Stay away from people like him!" Harry stood beside him, watching Jerry curiously.
Jerry didn't react to Ron's insult. He simply smiled—a polite, distant smile. He turned to Hermione. "Thank you for the service, Miss Granger. If you have questions about Transfiguration, feel free to find me. Provided, of course, you continue doing my laundry."
Without another word to Ron or the pensive Hermione, he turned and headed for the Great Hall.
At the same time, Cassandra left the classroom. Outside, a brown owl was waiting on the windowsill with a letter. She recognized the owl and took the parchment. It was from her boyfriend, in his usual messy scrawl—briefly reminding her that next month's "allowance" was due.
Cassandra gripped the paper until her knuckles turned white. Her brow furrowed in anxiety, the composed mask of an assistant-prefect cracking to reveal a desperate financial struggle. Jerry walked past her, and though he didn't look at the letter, he caught the shadow of distress on her face.
Tsk tsk... the pressure is on, isn't it?
The corridors were bustling as students flocked toward the Great Hall. As Jerry turned a corner by a tapestry of a one-eyed witch, the rhythmic click of high heels on stone made him stop.
A tall figure approached—Selena, the new Magical Offense professor and Jerry's blood-enemy. She was carrying several heavy textbooks. Her robes, however, were vastly different from the traditional Hogwarts style. It was a dark green robe tailored to hug her mature, fiery curves, cinched at the waist with a silver chain. The hem had a dangerously high slit, revealing long legs encased in premium black silk stockings that vanished into the shadows of her thighs.
She wore gold-rimmed glasses, and her eyes sparkled with a playful, predatory amusement as she looked down at Jerry. Selena was incredibly tall; even though Jerry wasn't short for his age, he only reached her waist. He had to look straight up to see her face. The height difference created a natural sense of oppression.
"Oh, if it isn't our little first-year genius, Mr. Rozier," Selena said, leaning down. As she moved, her neckline dipped, exposing a vast expanse of pale skin and deep cleavage. A scent of expensive perfume mixed with the heat of her body enveloped Jerry like a net. "Classes are over. Why aren't you at dinner?" Her voice was a lazy, husky purr.
Jerry looked up, his nose filled with her aggressive feminine scent, yet he maintained a polite, calm smile. "Hello, Professor Selena. I'm on my way to the Hall."
Beneath his calm exterior, Jerry's internal alarms were at maximum. This woman was the mortal enemy of the Roziers. Blood feud. The words echoed in his head. Selena was a lioness in professor's robes, and he was the cub of her prey that had to be crushed. He could feel her scanning him, looking for any crack in his composure.
He knew he was weak—a tiny sprout against a deep-rooted tree. Any wrong move could be fatal. But the gap in power only made the fire in his heart burn brighter. Looking at her beautiful face and her condescending posture, a dark, mad thought took root.
One day, I'll have you on your knees, he told himself. He didn't just want to kill her; he wanted to destroy her pride, break her claws, and turn this high-and-mighty woman into a bitch who would crawl and beg at his feet.
But for now, he had to play the role of the harmless, brilliant, innocent freshman.
"Mr. Rozier!" Selena seemed surprised by his calm. She stood up and used a finger with bright red polish to hook under Jerry's chin— a gesture of dominance and flirtation. "I heard you were magnificent in McGonagall's class. What a remarkable boy. I look forward to seeing what 'surprises' you bring to my class."
Her fingertip was cool, and her voice dripped with murderous anticipation. Jerry stepped back subtly, evading her finger. He didn't show fear or disgust; he simply walked around her with an attitude of total indifference.
In the Great Hall, Jerry sat at the Slytherin table next to Katherine. Nearby, Draco Malfoy was bragging to Pansy Parkinson about something his father bought him. When Pansy saw Jerry, she visibly shuddered and turned pale. The events on the train remained her nightmare; she would never forget Jerry's icy gaze that treated life like garbage. She was terrified he would "dispose" of her to keep his secrets.
Jerry noticed her staring and gave her a warm, empty smile that chilled her to the bone. He then turned to chat with Katherine. Malfoy, seeing this, stopped bothering Pansy and leaned in. As a spoiled pure-blood, his mind was simple: he admired strength.
"Rozier, well done," Malfoy said with his usual arrogance. "Someone needed to put those Mudbloods and Weasleys in their place." He was extending an olive branch.
Jerry smiled sincerely at him. He had no reason to refuse. After all... Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, was a very beautiful woman. Thinking of how that noble lady had been forced to open her bodice and nurse him on the train, only to have a silver anal plug shoved into her while she wept in shame, Jerry felt that being friends with her naive son would be quite entertaining.
"She's coming to see Draco at the end of the month, isn't she? Hehe."
Jerry and Malfoy talked briefly before Draco went back to bragging. Jerry then turned back to Katherine, whispering about the loan network.
"Hogwarts students aren't short of money, or at least they don't understand the risks like adults do. Our cash flow won't be a problem," Katherine analyzed quietly. "The key is how to attract them initially and make them understand the consequences of defaulting."
As they spoke, hesitant footsteps approached. It was the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati. Both looked incredibly uncomfortable and shy—a mixture of resentment and the obligation to keep their promise. They stopped behind Jerry, hoping no one would notice.
"Here... here," Padma whispered, her voice like a mosquito but filled with annoyance. She pulled a small bundle wrapped in a handkerchief from her robes. Parvati remained silent, her face flushed red, her eyes darting around.
However, Parvati's legs—encased in black stockings—seemed a bit shaky. Jerry noticed her gait was odd; she was walking carefully, her thighs pressed together to avoid friction. It was the unmistakable body language of a woman who was "commando" under her robes.
Jerry didn't open the handkerchief immediately. He took the bundle and slipped it into his pocket, giving the twins a side-glance. Their necks were stained pink with shame. They could feel the unprecedented emptiness and coolness under their robes; every movement was a shivering stimulus.
Jerry slowly unfolded the handkerchief in front of Katherine. Inside were two small pieces of fabric, neatly folded. One was plain white cotton, carrying the faint warmth and soap scent of a young girl—Padma's. The other was black lace, thin and transparent—Parvati's.
Katherine watched with amusement, her eyes telling Jerry: My little incubus master, what a wicked game you're playing.
Jerry admired the panties like pieces of art before wrapping them back up. But he wasn't done. He looked at the twins' humiliated faces. "How do I know you're currently following the wager?"
The girls stiffened. "Don't forget," Jerry said coolly, "the bet wasn't just giving them to me. It's that you must remain 'empty' until the end of dinner."
"You... you're shameless!" Padma hissed, her voice weak with tension. Parvati's eyes welled with tears.
"So," Jerry leaned back, making a subtle gesture. "Lift your robes a little. Let me check."
They knew they had no choice. After a agonizing standoff, Padma went first. She tremblingly lifted a corner of her robe to her mid-thigh. Katherine leaned in to look as well.
In the shadow of the robe, the sight was breathtaking. Above the white stockings, her most private area was completely exposed. The girl's pussy was plump and tender, the fine hair neatly groomed and pink with health. Because of the tension, her soft labia were pressed tight, forming an inviting slit.
Then, Parvati stiffly lifted her robe. The black stockings vanished into the shadows of her snowy thighs. Parvati's pussy seemed slightly fuller than her sister's, the hair a bit thicker but equally pink. The visual contrast against the black stockings was striking. Because of the overstimulation, a thin trail of glistening nectar was actually leaking from her slit, reflecting the candlelight.
They only exposed themselves for a second before dropping the robes, panting in shame.
"Good. Keeping promises is a virtue," Jerry nodded. He pulled out a small velvet box containing a pair of expensive gold earrings encrusted with diamonds. "A reward for those who keep their word."
The twins stared at the jewelry. Anger, shame, and a weird flick of joy at receiving such a gift clashed in their minds. Parvati reached out with a shaking hand and snatched the box, gripping it tight as if to hide the evidence of her "reward." Padma followed suit.
"Now, go eat," Jerry said. "And remember, don't put anything on until dinner is over."
The twins fled back to the Gryffindor table, sitting down with extreme stiffness, their dinner ruined by the constant reminder of the void beneath their skirts.
"My little lecher master," Katherine purred, rubbing her black-stockinged leg against Jerry's under the table. "They got prizes. I want one too."
As Jerry was about to respond, three older students sat down near them. At the head was Cassandra, still looking worried. Beside her was Fiona, Katherine's roommate. Fiona had short dark hair and a sharp, confident gaze—the daughter of a high-ranking Ministry official.
The third was Isabella, the seven-year prefect. Isabella had platinum blonde hair and was the image of pure-blood elegance. But when her eyes met Jerry's, her arrogance shattered into resentment, shame, and a physical throb she couldn't suppress. She couldn't forget the night she hid under his bed and watched him stroke his massive member. Nor could she forget the taste of the thick fluid that had been forced into her mouth. It had tasted like the freshest, sweetest cream.
She didn't know her desire was being fueled by more than just memory. Hidden against her warm skin under her robes was a silver pendant—a "gift" Jerry had given her as an apology after their conflict.
Fiona, ever the pragmatist, looked at Jerry. To her, the fall of the Roziers was an opportunity for her own family. "Katherine, won't you introduce your friend?"
"This is Jerry Rozier," Katherine smiled. "Jerry, this is Fiona, a seventh-year and my roommate."
"Rozier?" Fiona repeated, her eyes playful. "Your reputation precedes you. It seems the Rozier blood is still quite extraordinary."
Jerry nodded politely. He liked Fiona's sharp energy. She wasn't as flashy as Isabella or as sultry as Katherine, but she had a distinct charm. He noted her athletic, balanced figure.
"You flatter me, senior. It's just luck," Jerry replied, already labeling her as a potential pawn. A Ministry official's daughter was a valuable asset indeed.