Beyond the oppressive silence of the bathroom stall, inside the narrow, dark plumbing maintenance shaft behind the stone wall.
A silver-grey tabby cat moved with elegant, powerful strides, advancing without a sound. This was Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Transfiguration Professor, and the nominal top seed for the upcoming Wizard's Chess Championship.
Moments ago, she had attempted to enter the Great Hall via the staff corridor, only to spark a minor riot. The flashes of journalists' cameras, the fawning greetings of Ministry officials, and the adoring gazes of students surrounded her like an invisible net. To reach her next classroom on time and avoid these unnecessary hassles, she had decisively opted for this ancient passage hidden within the castle's double walls—a secret known only to her and a few veteran staff members.
In her feline form, Minerva's senses were far sharper than in her human state. She could hear the distant clatter of house-elves in the kitchens and smell the ancient air, a mix of dust and magic. However, as she passed the section of wall corresponding to the girls' lavatory, a discordant sound reached her ears.
It wasn't dripping water or the wailing of a ghost, but... human voices, voices deliberately lowered in conversation.
McGonagall stopped, her ears twitching alertly. The source was strange; it didn't sound like it was coming from inside the bathroom, but rather from within the wall itself. She leaned closer, sniffing. A strange human scent seeped through an apparently seamless stone brick. She nudged the stone with a paw—it was loose.
Driven by a sense of duty and concern for castle security, she nimbly pried the disguised brick open just enough to slip inside.
The sight before her caused her pupils to contract into two thin vertical slits.
Inside the wall, a narrow space just large enough for one person to stand had been temporarily carved out by a sophisticated Transfiguration spell. Jerry was there, his back to her, trousers pulled down to his knees. His cock—a monstrous, terrifying thing entirely inappropriate for his age—was thrust through a freshly bored hole in the wall, extending into the girls' lavatory stall on the other side. From the other side of the hole came the suppressed voices of two girls and their ragged, nervous breathing.
As an experienced witch who had lived many years, McGonagall understood instantly what was happening. Her fur nearly stood on end!
Absurd! Utterly disgraceful! To conduct such... shameless business in a Hogwarts lavatory!
Her instinct was to transform back into human form, burst out, and use the strictest school rules to punish these audacious students. But when she realized the silhouette was Jerry's, her righteous fury stalled.
It's him...
For some reason, knowing the culprit was Jerry shifted her pure "educator's" anger into a more complex, private emotion. A sense of curiosity she couldn't quite explain took hold. She wanted to see exactly what game this little brat was playing.
Thus, the Professor—the supposed guardian of order—quietly withdrew her body and replaced the stone brick, leaving only a microscopic crack. She crouched in the dark passage like a patient predator, her eyes shining in the dark, watching the scene with illicit fascination.
Cassandra knelt on the floor, her body frozen. She couldn't take her eyes off the massive cock inches from her face. It was a pillar of primitive, aggressive vitality; every slight throb felt like a hammer blow to her fragile nerves. Her pure-blood upbringing, her family honor, the modesty and morals drilled into her since childhood—all of it had become a giant, silent joke. She never imagined she would face a man's desire in such a humiliating way.
Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Her chest heaved, yet she felt like she couldn't draw in any air. Her face, painted with exquisite Gothic makeup, was drained of color, leaving only the dark red of her lips, which she bit down on hard.
Katherine watched her, her smile deepening. She savored the thrill of treading a haughty pure-blood noble under her heel.
"Well? Still hesitating?" Katherine's voice hissed into Cassandra's ear like a serpent's tongue. "I should remind you, the clock is ticking. Tick-tock... your Drake is waiting outside for his entry fee. Look at how happy he is talking to that woman."
The words were a needle, piercing Cassandra's most sensitive spot. She looked up instinctively. Though separated by walls and doors, her mind vividly conjured the image of Drake showing Alicia the kind of passionate smile she hadn't seen in ages.
It's for him...
This thought was a stimulant, forcibly injected into Cassandra's collapsing psyche. She closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling. When she opened them again, the hesitation was gone, replaced by a desperate resolve and deep humiliation.
"Fine..." she squeezed the word through her teeth, her voice raspy.
"That's more like it." Katherine smiled, even patting Cassandra's shoulder as if giving a reward. "Begin, my lady. Let's see how far you'll go for your 'love.'"
Cassandra ignored the mockery. She took a deep breath, the musky scent of a boy's sweat and lust making her stomach churn. Fighting back the nausea, she moved her knees forward, closing in on the cock that seemed impatient from waiting.
Her delicate hands reached out. When her fingertips first brushed the shaft through a thin layer of lace, she felt the firm, scorching heat.
Cassandra's movements were raw and clumsy. She tried to mimic things she had seen elsewhere, cupping the thick shaft with her palms and beginning to stroke it up and down. Her rhythm was erratic—sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. It wasn't a seduction; it was a disgusting chore.
"Oh? Is this how our noble Miss Blackwood serves a man?" Katherine's voice rang out coolly. "Your movements are clumsier than a house-elf in the kitchen. Is this why Drake lost interest in you?"
The words caused Cassandra to stiffen, and her grip tightened involuntarily. Jerry, on the other side of the wall, let out a muffled grunt. Immediately, the slit at the tip of the glans flared, and a thick, crystal-clear bead of pre-cum oozed out, sliding down the curve of the head and wetting Cassandra's palm.
Seeing this fluid, Cassandra treated it like a lifeline. She let go immediately, a look of relief on her face. She thought it was over.
"Is that it?" she asked Katherine, her voice pleading.
Katherine laughed as if she'd heard the funniest joke in the world. "My dear roommate, don't tell me you can't distinguish between pre-cum and a real load?" Katherine's eyes were full of pity and disdain. "You think this is enough? Are you insulting me, or insulting... it?"
Before Cassandra could reply, Katherine suddenly grabbed Cassandra by the back of her long hair and forced her head down with a violent shove!
Cassandra had no time to react. Her face was slammed against the dripping cock. Her lips, coated in dark red lipstick, were forced to wrap around the scalding head. The heavy musk and slick texture filled her mouth instantly, sending her stomach into a violent spasm.
A pained whimper came from deep in her throat as she struggled. The massive head forced her lips and teeth open, crudely pressing against her soft palate, nearly filling her entire oral cavity. The intense sensation of a foreign object and the lack of air made her gag instinctively. Tears flooded her eyes, washing away her smoky makeup and making her look even more wretched.
Her hands flailed, trying to find something to push herself away, but one hand was pinned by Katherine's knee, and the other could only uselessly slap against the cold stall wall.
"Mmh... let... let go..." blurred protests spilled from her lips, mixed with the saliva forced out by the cock, dripping down her chin.
"Let go? I'm helping you, my lady," Katherine whispered in her ear, her voice filled with joyful malice. Instead of letting go, she increased the pressure, gripping Cassandra's hair and controlling her head, moving it back and forth over the thick, hard shaft.
"See, like this... use your throat, don't bite with your teeth, you idiot." Katherine "instructed" while forcing Cassandra to swallow. With every pull back, Cassandra got a moment to breathe, followed immediately by a deeper, more brutal thrust. The shaft rubbed against her tongue, and the hard glans hammered her sensitive throat again and again, triggering wave after wave of nausea.
"Tsk, useless." Katherine seemed dissatisfied. She paused the movement but kept her grip on Cassandra's head. With her other hand, she pinched Cassandra's chin, forcing her to look up. The cock, slick with spit and pre-cum, slid out of her mouth.
Katherine admired Cassandra's tear-stained, spit-covered face and glazed eyes. Then, she manipulated the throbbing cock, rubbing the terrifying head slowly across Cassandra's cheek. She glanced at her wrist, and though there was no watch, she acted as if counting down the seconds.
"Five minutes left!" Katherine announced coldly. "Time is running out, my lady. Every minute is another fifty Galleons. Think about it—by the time you raise the money, your Drake will be celebrating his victory in someone else's arms."
This was an ice pick to the heart. Cassandra didn't hesitate any longer. She leaned down, proactively opening her swollen lips and taking the terrifying pillar back inside.
This time, it wasn't passive endurance. For the thousand Galleons, for Drake, Cassandra forced herself to overcome the bone-deep disgust and humiliation. She began to actively please the thing in front of her. She even clumsily licked the rim of the glans, trying to suck with her lips and rub with the walls of her mouth.
The stall was filled with lewd, wet sounds—the "schlick, schlick" of the meat sliding in and out, mixed with muffled gags and whimpers. Her body rocked back and forth, her Gothic skirts rustling against the floor.
Yet, no matter how hard she worked, the cock only grew harder and larger. The tip continued to leak fluid, but there was no sign of the final eruption.
"Is this all you've got?" Katherine mocked again.
Cassandra froze, despair flooding her soul. Time was slipping away. She could feel the boy behind the wall reaching his limit.
No... I must succeed!
In an instant, a mad thought took over. She lifted her head, took a deep breath, and as if plunging toward her death, she lunged her entire body forward onto the shaft!
"Mmph—Hrgk!"
A sharp, stifled cry of pain erupted from the depths of her throat. This was no longer shallow. Cassandra closed her eyes, giving up all resistance and technique, letting the thick pillar break through the defensive line of her throat, shoving hard and deep—all the way to the back!
It was a sensation of expansion like nothing she'd ever felt, as if she were being torn apart. The hard glans crudely ground against the most sensitive flesh of her throat, feeling as though it would pierce her esophagus. The intense suffocation turned her vision black. Tears poured out like broken strings of pearls. Her body convulsed, her hands clawing at the cold stone wall, her nails screeching against the surface.
However, this humiliating, self-destructive deep-throat produced the desired result.
Jerry, behind the wall, suddenly stiffened. A long-suppressed, low groan exploded from his throat. Almost simultaneously, Cassandra felt the cock deep in her throat begin to twitch and throb violently and rhythmically!
"Hrg... hrg..." Cassandra didn't even have time to pull it out.
A torrent of scalding, heavy, musky liquid erupted like a volcano, hitting the back of her throat with immense pressure. The volume was staggering; the first wave turned her mind blank. Then a second wave, a third... the endless hot stream couldn't be contained by her throat. Mixed with her own spit and tears, it overflowed from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin and dripping onto her black dress.
Jerry's cock continued to pulse and spray into her throat for nearly fifteen seconds before finally stopping.
When Katherine finally let go, Cassandra collapsed like a pile of mud, wretched to the extreme. She knelt on all fours, coughing and gagging violently, gasping for the cold air. Her face, her mouth, her hair, and the front of her elaborate dress were covered in thick, white, viscous fluid, emitting a scent she would never forget.
With a wet "pop," like a cork being pulled from a bottle, the cock that had ravaged her throat slowly withdrew from the hole in the wall and vanished into the darkness. A few streaks of translucent white fluid remained around the hole, slowly sliding down the stone.
Katherine stood up, looking down at Cassandra as if she were a piece of used, worthless trash. She pulled out the prepared thousand-Galleon bank draft and let it flutter down like a falling leaf, landing right on Cassandra's cum-soaked hair.
Katherine wasn't finished. She knelt again, reached out a finger, and wiped a bit of the warm, thick fluid from Cassandra's cheek. Then, under Cassandra's humiliated gaze, Katherine put the finger to her own mouth and elegantly licked it clean with the tip of her tongue, as if tasting a gourmet dessert.
"Tastes good!"
With that light comment, Katherine stood, straightened her robes, and walked out without looking back. Her footsteps echoed away in the empty lavatory.
Simultaneously, Jerry silently cast a charm, turning into a shadow and passing through the thick stone walls, vanishing instantly. He never noticed that above him, in the maintenance shaft, a pair of green cat eyes had seen everything.
In the dark passage, Professor McGonagall, in her tabby form, let out a suppressed low growl. She looked at the student soaked in fluid, her Gothic dress ruined. The thick, pungent smell of musk and desire had even penetrated the cracks in the wall. As a cat, her sense of smell was magnified a thousand times. The scent was... overwhelming.
McGonagall twitched her nose, and a strange, shameful heat rose from deep within her body. She forcibly suppressed the untimely physiological reaction, not daring to look again. She turned and sprinted away like a bolt of silver-grey lightning.
As she fled, a stunned whisper leaked from her feline mouth:
"So big, so much... how is that possible..."
Today's Potions class was held in the cold, damp dungeons. Unlike other classes, this was a collective event for Slytherin House, with upper and lower years crammed together, making the room feel stifling. The air was thick with the smell of odd herbs and bubbling cauldrons. Torches on the walls cast flickering shadows across the students' faces.
Despite the excitement over the chess tournament, the classroom was pin-drop silent. The source of this order wasn't Professor Slughorn, but the two female prefects in the front row—Isabella and Fiona Shaffiq. As the Head Girl and Deputy Head Girl of the seventh year, their presence was an invisible authority. No one dared to make a noise under their steady gazes.
The door opened, and Katherine walked in, carrying her thick copy of Advanced Potion-Making. She looked perfectly normal, her pace steady as if the morning in the lavatory had been someone else's nightmare. She sat next to Isabella.
The moment Katherine sat down, Isabella's nose twitched. A very faint, yet distinct scent of musk and sexual fluids drifted into her nostrils. The smell was... familiar. Isabella's gaze lingered on Katherine for a few seconds, an inquisitive glint in her deep eyes, but she said nothing. She elegantly opened her book and asked casually, "Where's Cassandra? She's almost late."
Katherine let out a nearly inaudible sneer, twirling a lock of hair around her quill. "Who knows? Probably hiding in some corner with her 'star chess player' boyfriend, being nauseatingly romantic."
Just then, the door opened again. It was Cassandra. She had changed into clean school robes and reapplied her makeup. Her smoky eyes hid her redness, making her look normal, though her face was paler than usual. She kept her head down, walking quickly as if trying to find an inconspicuous corner to hide in.
However, as she passed Isabella, Isabella froze. That familiar scent hit her again—this time, with undeniable clarity. If Katherine carried a faint echo, Cassandra brought a storm. The scent was so thick it felt fresh from the source, cutting through the smell of soap and perfume to announce its presence. It was a unique mix: the faint creaminess of fresh milk combined with the crisp, crushed-grass scent of a forest after rain. It was an aggressive scent, one that triggered primitive instincts.
Isabella's pupils contracted. She finally remembered where she had smelled this before. She turned her head slowly, locking onto Cassandra's retreating back. Then, she shifted her gaze back to Katherine, who was pretending to read.
Fiona Shaffiq, sitting on Isabella's other side, noticed the subtle change. She saw Isabella track Cassandra like a hawk, then turn back to Katherine with a cold, calculating scrutiny. Isabella's expression didn't change, but Fiona sensed a dangerous undertone.
What's going on? Fiona wondered. She leaned in, about to ask, when the heavy oak doors of the dungeon were pushed open.
A figure entered against the light of the corridor. It was a woman in a perfectly tailored, dark-green robe. She was tall, serious, with black hair pinned meticulously behind her head. She moved with an air of unquestionable authority. Her footsteps were light, yet each one seemed to throb in the students' hearts, plunging the room into a heavy silence.
Everyone looked up, curious about this powerful stranger. Fiona looked too, but her expression instantly turned from confusion to shock. Her usual prefect composure cracked.
"Mother?" a faint, nearly inaudible gasp escaped her lips.
Indeed, the woman was her mother—Eleanora Shaffiq, a high-ranking official at the Ministry. Eleanora gave her daughter a brief, cold glance—not one of warmth, but of a superior inspecting a subordinate. She didn't acknowledge the greeting. She stepped onto the dais and tapped the desk with her wand.
Clack!
The sound made every student sit up straight.
"It seems Horace taught you well; at least you know classroom discipline." Eleanora's voice was cool and flat. "I am Eleanora Shaffiq. From today, I am taking over for Professor Slughorn as your Potions mistress."
A ripple of suppressed shock went through the room. Slughorn was a biased but generally kind old man. This woman radiated a pressure that made it hard to breathe.
Eleanora expected the reaction. She scanned the room, lingering on her daughter, Isabella, and other pure-blood heirs. "Some of you may be confused. I will be brief. Last week, the Board of Governors formally passed the latest education reform bill proposed by the Ministry."
"The core of the bill is this: to better prepare you for the increasingly complex world after graduation, subjects like Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts—which are critical for combat—will no longer be taught by ivory-tower scholars." She paused, her sharp gaze cutting through every young face.
"Instead," she said concisely, "we will teach you. A group of wizards fresh from the 'front lines,' who truly understand how to use magic to fight and survive. You may call us War Wizards, or simply Professor Shaffiq."
"Starting with my class, you will no longer waste time brewing flashy potions just to please examiners. You will learn how to use the most limited materials in the shortest time to create things that can save your life—or kill your enemy—in a crisis. I suggest you prepare yourselves."
Her words echoed in the dungeon like cold stones. The lighthearted atmosphere of the tournament was completely replaced by a grim weight. War Wizards... front lines... killing enemies. These words were too heavy for students who had grown up in peacetime.
Fiona straightened her back, her hands flat on the desk, looking like the perfect prefect. But only she knew that her fingertips were cold and her heart was racing under her mother's gaze. To Fiona, her mother wasn't a symbol of warmth, but a mountain—a cold, silent, towering mountain. Everything Fiona had done—every 'A,' becoming a prefect, her impeccable behavior—was just to climb a tiny step up that mountain, hoping for a single moment of recognition. But the higher she climbed, the more she felt the mountain's height and her own inadequacy.
In this suffocating silence, the door creaked open once more. A figure sauntered in lazily. It was Jerry.
Eleanora's gaze locked onto him like a pair of icy searchlights. She didn't raise her voice, but it carried a frost. "You are late, student."
However, the expected rudeness didn't come. Jerry didn't hesitate; he walked to the dais and bowed slightly, his voice full of sincere apology. "My apologies, Professor. I am sorry for being late. Private matters required my immediate attention."
Jerry didn't know her name, but "Professor" was spoken with humble precision. This reaction surprised the students who had expected a confrontation. Eleanora's face remained blank, but her hawk-like eyes lingered on Jerry.
"Since you know you've erred, I assume you won't mind catching up through practical application?" she asked flatly.
"Not at all, Professor. It would be my honor," Jerry replied instantly, without a hint of reluctance. He walked onto the dais and stood where she indicated, his back straight, waiting for instructions.
Eleanora walked a circle around him, her gaze evaluating him like a rare magical ingredient. As she passed him, Jerry's nose twitched imperceptibly.
"Professor!" he said suddenly, his tone questioning. "Forgive my intrusion, but is that the scent of moonstone powder and dragon blood on your robes? I've only read in Moste Potente Potions that the combination of those two materials, without magical catalysis, produces a scent like licorice and metal."
Eleanora froze mid-step. She turned back, looking at the boy properly for the first time. Her eyes were no longer just evaluating; they held a spark of surprise. A first-year could identify such a rare, inert combination by scent alone?
"Your nose and your knowledge are more impressive than I expected," Eleanora's voice had a tiny quiver—still cold, but less indifferent. "Talented."
"It seems choosing you as my assistant was correct." She turned to the class. "War-time Potions, Lesson One: Identifying and utilizing the 'materials' most easily obtained from ourselves. Today, we demonstrate a high-efficiency Tracking and Marking potion."
She picked up an empty crystal bottle and turned to Jerry, a mysterious smile on her face. "The efficacy of this potion is directly linked to the freshness and vitality of the core material. A robust, life-filled male fluid is the key to its success. And you!" Her gaze swept over Jerry—not in mockery, but in an appreciative assessment. "You have just engaged in... 'vigorous activity.' The life energy in your body is at its peak. Without a doubt, you are today's perfect specimen."
Cassandra buried her head even lower.
However, Eleanora didn't actually make Jerry provide that kind of specimen in class. She pulled out a small silver knife and deftly cut a lock of hair from his head. "Tracking potions need an 'anchor' besides the core material. Hair is the best choice." She dropped the hair into a prepared cauldron.
The demonstration that followed was a revelation. Eleanora's movements were a blur, without a single wasted word or hesitation. The timing, the heat control, the stirring—it was textbook precision. She didn't even use incantations; many steps usually requiring magic were achieved through specific manual techniques.
Jerry watched intently. He understood maybe 40% of the steps, and because he understood, he knew how terrifyingly high this woman's mastery was. As she stirred one last time with a glass rod, Jerry's eye was caught by a ring on her hand. It was a silver cat-shaped ring with small obsidian eyes, old and finely crafted.
The demonstration ended quickly. The potion in the cauldron was a translucent, gel-like substance that pulsed like a living thing.
"Demonstration over." Eleanora cleared the dais with a charm and waved him away. "Return to your seat."
Jerry nodded and sat next to Drake. "Hey, Drake," he whispered. "What's her name?"
Drake glanced at him, puzzled. "You don't know her? Eleanora Shaffiq. A legend at the Ministry. A grandmaster of Potions."
Eleanora... Shaffiq.
The moment the name entered Jerry's mind, it clicked with a memory and the style of the ring he had just seen. The Rozier family ledger definitely had that name...
[Ding!] [Daily Mission Triggered.] [Mission Name: The War Witch's Old Debt] [Objective: Confirm an old debt of 30,000 Galleons with Eleanora Shaffiq within 24 hours and successfully recover at least 70% (21,000 Galleons).] [Reward: Passive Skill: [Intermediate Potions Affinity], 50 Family Prestige points.] [Failure Penalty: Permanent Negative Status: [War Witch's Grudge].] [Status Effect—Fatal Mark: Eleanora Shaffiq will view you as a threat to be eliminated. Outside of Hogwarts rules, you will be the priority test subject for all her lethal poisons. Her initial hostility toward you will be permanently locked at 'Mortal Enemy.']
Jerry's eyelid twitched as he read the crimson text of the penalty. He hadn't even processed the mission before Eleanora made another move.
She picked up the crystal bottle of translucent gel. Her sharp eyes turned toward Jerry, a cold light flickering in them—a signal that the "test" was beginning. Then, under the shocked gaze of the class, she flicked her wrist and smashed the bottle on the floor!
Crashed!
The glass shattered in the silent room. The living gel splashed out, but instead of flowing like liquid, it turned into a colorless, odorless mist that evaporated instantly.
But that was only the start.
A second later, a soft, clear pale-green light erupted from Jerry's body. It didn't come from his skin or clothes, but seemed to seep out of every cell and vessel. The light wasn't blinding, but it had a piercing quality that no cloth could block, enveloping him entirely like a glowing human target in the dark.
She watched the glowing Jerry, a cruel arc on her lips. "And now, Mr. Rozier, you are the torch. Stand up and turn around so everyone can see the effect."
The command was absolute. Jerry took a breath and stood up.
As he rose, the green light grew brighter and more penetrating. His well-fitted Slytherin robes became a semi-transparent veil under the light.
The students let out a chorus of stifled gasps.
Under the light, Jerry's body contour was perfectly outlined. His frame was still lean, his shoulders not yet broad, his limbs long with the delicacy of a teenager. However, on this boyish frame, something was wildly out of place.
Most strikingly, between Jerry's legs.
The green light mercilessly pierced the fabric, revealing the silhouette of what lay between his thighs with 3D clarity to the entire class.
It was a cock that was utterly disproportionate to his age and size—staggeringly large. Even in a soft, flaccid state, it presented a heavy, undeniable presence. Its length and girth far exceeded any boy, and even surpassed what most adult wizards could boast. It hung there silently, like a giant's part accidentally installed on a delicate model.
The breathing of several girls in the front row hitched. Cassandra's expression became incredibly complex, as if the memory of being crudely filled just moments ago were haunting her body again. Isabella narrowed her eyes, her gaze lingering on the incredible silhouette for several seconds, her eyes reflecting a mix of evaluation and shamed fascination. Even the usually composed Fiona couldn't help but look away, a faint, unnatural flush creeping onto her cheeks.
"Do you see?" Eleanora's voice was like a scalpel, dissecting the scene with precision. She showed no emotion at the exposure of the massive organ, speaking in the tone of a pure researcher. "The marking light attaches preferentially to the body of the marked target."
"Just like this!"