When Jerry parted ways with Drake Malfoy and reached the castle gates, he immediately spotted Fiona standing in the shadow of the Great Hall entrance.
Fiona stood out from the sea of students in their bulky wizarding robes. She sported a sharp, short bob—hair meticulously trimmed to end just above her jawline, exposing her pale, elegant neck. Every strand fell perfectly into place, shimmering with a healthy luster whenever she turned her head. The style made her look both professional and somewhat unapproachable.
She wore a simple white dress—no lace, no frills, only delicate dark embroidery at the collar and cuffs. The fabric wasn't common cotton, but a high-end material that caught the sunset and swayed with a natural, graceful drape in the evening breeze. The cut was impeccable, tracing the slender waist and budding curves of a seventh-year witch. On her feet were spotless flat leather shoes, and she carried a small, high-quality leather handbag. Aside from a thin silver chain on her wrist, she wore no jewelry.
She stood perfectly straight, chin slightly raised, her posture showing no sign of relaxation—a bearing born of strict, long-term upbringing. Fiona didn't scan the crowd; she stared toward the Forbidden Forest, looking as though the noise of the school didn't concern her. This distance from the world made her remarkably prominent.
As Jerry approached, she finally withdrew her gaze and looked at him. At her height, Jerry barely reached the level of her chest. Her shadow almost completely enveloped his smaller frame.
"You finally made it. I thought you were going to stand me up!" Fiona spoke coolly, but her eyes softened visibly upon seeing him.
Before Jerry could reply, Fiona did something that would have shocked anyone who knew her: she reached out and naturally, intimately took Jerry's hand in her own.
"Let's go. I booked a table."
Without waiting for his opinion, she led him toward the castle exit. Jerry had to quicken his pace to keep up with her long legs. The contrast in their sizes and her assertive, affectionate stance created a strange yet harmonious sight.
God, long legs are a blessing, Jerry thought, letting himself be led.
At the gates, a pumpkin-shaped carriage transformed by magic waited, pulled by a docile Thestral. Fiona helped Jerry in first, then gathered her skirts and sat opposite him. The space was tight; their knees nearly touched.
As the carriage rolled toward Hogsmeade, Fiona's lips curled into a rare, playful smile.
"When I was little, my father taught me Wizard's Chess," she said with a hint of nostalgia and dependency. "He told me that if the King ever told the Queen 'I love you,' do you know what the Queen would say?"
Jerry shook his head, watching her.
"The Queen would say," Fiona leaned in, her eyes reflecting only him, "'Say that again, and I'll eat your pawn.'"
She laughed at her own dry joke—not a polite smile, but a genuine, girlish giggle. In that moment, the icy shell of the wealthy heiress melted away.
Jerry laughed with her. "Good one. But I have a story you've probably never heard."
Fiona leaned forward, intrigued.
"Once there was a stingy King who loved chess more than anything. When a dragon besieged his castle, his ministers begged him to flee. But the King refused to leave his ivory chess set behind. He said, 'I can't go! These are precious ivory; what if they break?' The ministers cried, 'Sire, the dragon will capture the Queen!' Guess what the King said?"
Fiona was hooked. "What?"
"The King slapped his thigh and said, 'That's fine! I still have two more Queens on the board!'"
Fiona froze for a second before the absurdity hit her. She burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking until tears nearly formed.
Time flew. They arrived at Hogsmeade and Fiona led him to a quiet alley toward The Three Broomsticks. She had reserved a secluded booth by the window. She ordered a Firewhisky for herself and, thoughtfully, a warm Butterbeer for Jerry.
The food was exquisite. Fiona ate with practiced elegance, but her eyes often drifted to Jerry. Seeing a ring of white foam from the Butterbeer on his lip, she smiled, leaned forward, and naturally wiped his mouth with her napkin.
"Drink slowly. No one is taking it from you," she said with a tenderness she didn't even realize she possessed.
"The food is great," Jerry said. "Do you come here often?"
"Yes," she nodded, her gaze drifting to the street. "Sometimes I don't want to be in the common room. It's quiet here."
"Alone?" Jerry caught the word.
"Slytherin... isn't as united as it looks," she whispered. "Everyone has their circles and agendas. My mother expects me to be a Prefect, to maintain the family glory, but I don't like the... socializing."
The loneliness she expressed didn't fit a high-ranking student from a prestigious family.
"What do you like then?" Jerry asked, treating her like a normal girl rather than a Prefect.
She thought for a moment. "I like reading things that aren't Potions. Ancient Runes, Magical Creatures... and I love Quidditch, but my mother wouldn't let me join the team. She thinks it's barbaric." Every mention of her "mother" made her expression dim.
They ate in silence for a while. The flickering candlelight made her cold face look fragile.
"Quidditch is great!" Jerry broke the silence. "Speed, passion, teamwork. Who's your team?"
Her eyes lit up. "Ireland. I saw the World Cup once. Their Seeker, Lynch, was... incredible."
She began to argue with Jerry about tactics and players, her passion finally matching her age. Fiona drank several Firewhiskys, using the alcohol to drown out her daily stresses. Jerry accompanied her, slowly sipping his Butterbeer.
Eventually, the Firewhisky took hold. Her cheeks turned a deep crimson, and her gaze grew hazy. She began to ramble—complaining about Prefect duties, the hypocrisy of pureblood families, and her mother's suffocating demands.
Jerry listened. He didn't interrupt; he just refilled her glass.
After several more drinks, Fiona slumped against the table, propping her chin on her hand. "You know, Jerry..." she hiccuped, "You're the... first person... who actually listened to all this nonsense..."
Her eyes began to flutter shut. But then, she suddenly bolted upright, her chair screeching against the floor. She wobbled around the table and squeezed into the booth next to Jerry.
"Mmph..."
Jerry was suddenly enveloped by a warm body smelling of sharp whisky and a girl's natural scent. Fiona clung to him like a lifeline, her arms wrapping around his small frame, pressing him into her soft, ample breasts. She nuzzled the top of his head, muttering happily while taking another swig of her drink.
The alcohol had stripped away her dignity. She shifted in the booth, kicking off one of her flat shoes. Her long legs, clad in white silk stockings, pressed firmly against Jerry. He could feel her warmth and the firmness of her thighs through their clothes.
"My mother... do you know who she is?" Fiona whispered into his hair, her voice raspy and strangely excited. "She's the new Potions Professor, Eleanora... everyone is afraid of her. Everyone thinks she's the best..."
Fiona's body began to rub against him unconsciously—her soft chest, her flat stomach, and her silk-clad legs grinding against him like a cat seeking affection.
"But you... in class... in front of everyone... you beat her." Her voice was full of fanatical worship. "I saw her face... she's never... looked like that before..."
"That's why... I asked you to dinner." Fiona squeezed him tighter. "I wanted to see... the person who could make my arrogant mother look small. I... I worship you, Jerry..."
The sheer passion, fueled by the whisky, burned through her common sense. Being held by a much taller, warm, drunken girl was intense, but Jerry felt her twisted need for rebellion more than lust.
"Senior, you've had too much," Jerry said, trying to push against her soft stomach to gain some air.
His resistance was the spark. "Don't move," she commanded.
She looked down at him with watery, drunken eyes. A second later, she lunged, her lips crudely sealing his.
"Mmph!"
A strong flood of whisky and sweet saliva surged into his mouth. It wasn't a kiss; it was a clumsy, desperate plunder. Her lips were soft, but her movements were wild, forcing her tongue into his mouth to suck and swirl. She was pouring all her repressed worship and rebellion into that kiss.
Simultaneously, her body writhed against his. Through her dress and white stockings, her firm thighs and crotch began to grind clumsily against his groin.
Jerry enjoyed the chaos, but the friction through several layers of clothing was more of a tease than a release. The sound of other patrons reminded him they were in public.
With a cool head, Jerry kept the kiss going while flicking his wrist. A silent Muffliato spell settled over their booth. The world became a hum; they could make as much noise as they wanted now.
Jerry took control. He deepened the kiss, one hand gripping the back of her head to hold her face steady. His tongue dominated hers, pushing deep into her throat. Fiona shuddered, her writhing coming to a halt.
While she was lost in the kiss, Jerry's other hand shot under the hem of her white dress. He first felt the smooth, cool silk of her stockings. He didn't stop, sliding his hand past the lace garter to the warm, damp triangle of her panties.
Fiona stiffened. Jerry didn't hesitate. Through the thin fabric, he found the wet slit. The cotton was already soaked with her arousal. He pressed and circled the spot, then hooked his fingers under the elastic of her panties to touch her bare, burning flesh.
"Nnh...!" Fiona let out a sharp nasal groan. She tried to close her legs, but Jerry's arm was locked between them.
He found the tiny, hyper-sensitive bud hidden in the folds. It was even more sensitive than he expected. At his touch, she arched like a bow, her body vibrating with a rhythmic twitching. Her tongue lost all coordination, and her throat let out broken moans.
Jerry gave her no quarter. His middle finger circled the clit with a rapid, driving rhythm, alternating between soft strokes and heavy pressure. He felt her stomach muscles spasming. To the inexperienced Fiona, this was an overwhelming, soul-shattering pleasure.
Her logic vanished. Her long white legs kicked out, her other shoe falling to the floor. She trembled violently in his arms, her moans turning into quiet, sobbing gasps. Within seconds, her body arched high, and a hot gush of fluid erupted from between her legs, soaking Jerry's fingers and her own underwear.
She opened her mouth to scream, but the deep kiss muffled it into a series of spasming shudders. She had reached her peak.
As the storm faded, she slumped like melted sugar in his arms. Jerry didn't let her recover. He broke the kiss, but his fingers under the skirt moved again.
The two fingers, soaked in her juices, didn't pull away. Instead, while she was most relaxed and wet, he curled them and—with zero effort—pushed them both into her tight, virgin tunnel.
"Ah...!"
A short, panicked cry escaped her. This was different from the climax. The feeling of being filled and stretched brought a slight ache, but mostly a deep, internal itch for more. Her legs wrapped tighter around him, her internal muscles instinctively trying to swallow his fingers.
Jerry stirred inside her, feeling every twitch of her walls. Perhaps it was the alcohol or the instinct for more, but Fiona's hand—originally on his back—began to slide down. Her movements were slow and clumsy, but she eventually found the waistband of his trousers.
She fumbled with his buttons, succeeding after a few tries. Her cool hand reached inside, trembling with curiosity. When her palm first brushed against his hard, burning cock—so different from her own body—she flinched. But she didn't retreat. Like a child with a new toy, she wrapped her hand around the heavy shaft.
She had no idea what she was doing. She just held it loosely, her thumb occasionally grazing the hard vein, feeling the powerful pulse beneath her palm.
Jerry leaned into her ear, his voice a low, teasing rasp. "Senior... does it feel good?"
The question sent ripples through her. Good? Her brain was a fog of alcohol and pleasure. She couldn't form a sentence. She could only follow her body. The feeling of being filled, the lingering tingles, the warmth... it was all a shameful, addictive joy.
"It feels good..."
The words seemed to cost her all her remaining dignity. As she said them, her hand tightened around his cock. The clumsy, unskilled squeeze provided a sharp jolt of stimulation. Her internal walls tightened in response, milking his fingers.
Just as they were locked in this intimate struggle, the sound of chairs moving in the next booth broke the silence.
"Sit down, I'm starving!" "What's the rush? Let's check Malfoy's odds for the chess tournament first. Have you placed your bets?"
Fiona froze. The wooden partitions didn't block the sound. She could hear her classmates just inches away. Her sanity returned in a rush of panic.
She tried to pull away, but her body was weak, and her movements only caused the fingers inside her to go deeper. "Shh..." Jerry whispered, stroking her back while his hand inside her began a slow, rhythmic thrusting.
The conversation next door continued. "Who else? McGonagall is going to win. She's the champion." "I don't know, Orion is in top form this year. His style is way more unpredictable."
Hearing her classmates while being toyed with by a junior was too much. Fiona's breathing became frantic, her body tightening further. Jerry felt her tension and took her soft hand in his, guiding it. He placed her fingers against his cock, showing her how to move from the base to the tip.
"Like this... up and down..." he breathed into her ear.
He matched his internal thrusts with her hand movements. Every time her hand went up, he pushed his fingers deeper into her. They were in a silent, synchronized dance of pleasure. On one side of the wood, a chess discussion; on the other, two young bodies taking each other in silence.
Fiona learned the technique quickly. Her face was crimson, eyes shut tight. She could hear the wet squelching of Jerry's fingers inside her and feel his meat growing harder and hotter in her grip. This taboo pleasure hit her like a tidal wave.
Jerry's hand over hers tightened, locking her in place. His breathing grew jagged. "Senior... I'm going to cum..."
The warning snapped her eyes open. Cum? Here? With classmates next door?
"No... no..." She tried to pull back, but Jerry was too strong.
He didn't stop. He accelerated the thrusts inside her.
"Ah...!" The sudden intensity shattered her last defense. Her body arched, and her internal walls milked him rhythmically. As she neared a second peak, she felt the cock in her hand twitch violently.
By pure instinct, she reacted. She let go of the shaft and lifted the hem of her white dress, using the soft lining to catch the erupting liquid.
A second later, a massive, hot burst of semen slammed into the white fabric. The volume was immense—thick, white, and smelling of musk. It soaked through the lining, creating a large, dark, wet stain.
Fiona felt the heat through the cloth. Gravity took over, and strands of the thick fluid began to slide down the folds of her dress, dripping onto her pale, silk-clad inner thighs. The sensation of his hot, sticky essence through the thin stockings made her shiver.
Jerry watched the lewd scene and pulled his wet fingers out of her with a loud pop. Without hesitation, he used those fingers—soaked in her nectar—to scoop up the mess on her thighs and dress. He gathered a thick glob of their mixed fluids and pointed it back at her messy slit.
"No..." she whimpered, her eyes wide.
Too late. He drove his fingers back into her, carrying the hot mixture deep inside. This wasn't just pleasure now; it was a marking.
Fiona felt her deepest reaches being coated in his essence. The thick fluid filled her every fold, giving her an unprecedented feeling of being completely occupied. Her body convulsed, her internal muscles sucking greedily at the gift.
This was the final blow to her defenses. She arched one last time, her body spasming in a climax far more profound than the first. It came from deep within her filled, warm core.
"Ah... haaa..."
A scream started in her throat, but Jerry's palm muffled it into a sobbing moan. Her brain shut down as white light exploded in her vision. Her legs locked around Jerry's waist, her toes curling tight.
The laughter next door felt like it belonged to another world. In this silent, spell-locked booth, there was only the sound of a girl's breaking breath and the squelching of wet, lewd friction.
Finally, the storm passed. Fiona went limp, hanging off Jerry like a doll with no bones. Her eyes were glazed, her chest heaving as sweat matted her hair to her flushed cheeks.
Jerry slowly withdrew his hand. He moved his wet fingers to her lips.
"Senior... want a taste?"
Her eyes refocused on the fingers inches from her face. Seeing the semi-transparent mixture of their fluids, she didn't hesitate. She opened her dry lips and took both fingers into her mouth.
Her mouth was hot and soft. Her tongue swirled, licking every drop of the fluid clean, tasting the mix of her own sweetness and his musky scent.
"I... I want more!"
Malfoy's ability to act, especially when it involved profit and attention, was undeniable. In the green-lit Slytherin common room, he had become the absolute center of focus.
He didn't whisper in corners. He stood on the rug before the fireplace like he was making a royal proclamation.
"Listen up, everyone!" Drake cleared his throat, wearing his usual arrogant smirk. "I know you're all excited about Orion's win today. But just watching? Where's the fun in that? Don't you want a piece of the action?"
He waited for silence. "I, Drake Malfoy, am offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A fair, exciting Wizard's Chess betting pool! From now until the champion is crowned, you can put your money where your mouth is!"
The room buzzed with excitement.
"How much to play?" a senior asked.
"Great question!" Drake snapped his fingers. "To keep it accessible, the minimum bet is one silver Sickle! Of course, if you want to drop gold Galleons, I won't stop you. But be warned—the odds are volatile. They can change at any moment."
This set the Slytherins on fire. A Sickle was the price of a Butterbeer. For a chance to win big and feel like a high-roller, it was the perfect pastime.
Drake's strategy worked. Within an hour, almost every Slytherin had signed their name and amount on a parchment Drake personally oversaw.
The news spread faster than expected. Within hours, all of Hogwarts knew. Slytherins boasted at the long tables about their stakes. The thrill of something slightly "forbidden" spread to other houses.
Gryffindors were skeptical at first, but when they heard the Weasley twins were studying the odds for "business opportunities," many joined in. Hufflepuffs saw it as a fun group activity. Ravenclaws treated it as a logic puzzle, using pens and parchment to calculate the highest probability of winning.
Soon, every corridor, classroom, and dining hall was talking about "Malfoy's Book."
Jerry, the spider behind the web, watched as Drake's "net" caught the entire school. His dormitory had become the headquarters and vault of the operation.
Jerry returned from his dinner with Fiona to find Malfoy sneaking in, looking like a victorious general. He carried a heavy bundle wrapped in an expensive silk scarf.
Thud.
Drake dropped the bundle on Jerry's desk. Silver Sickles and golden Galleons spilled out alongside crumpled scraps of parchment.
"The Gryffindors are betting now. Those stupid lions are putting everything on Flitwick," Drake boasted, picking up a Galleon. "And Hufflepuff started a side-bet on whether Orion Blackwood will sacrifice his Queen in the finals too."
Jerry ignored the boasting and sorted the parchment. The handwriting ranged from elegant script to messy scribbles. He began sorting the coins into bags, the clinking of gold and silver creating a symphony of greed.
"That's just today's haul!" Drake said proudly. "By the finals, we'll have enough to fill this whole room!"
"Good," Jerry said without looking up, marking a ledger. "Tell them the bets for the semi-finals close after lunch tomorrow. Here are the updated odds."
As Jerry looked at the rising numbers, he smiled. But Drake looked at the new odds and felt a prick of unease.
"Jerry... is this okay?" he whispered. "This bet for Orion to checkmate in twenty moves is fifteen-to-one. And this one for Flitwick is even higher. If we lose... can we afford to pay?"
Drake's worry was real. He was the face of the operation. If they couldn't pay, the losers might grumble, but the winners would riot.
Jerry didn't even blink. He opened his bottom drawer.
Rustle.
He threw several stacks of high-grade Gringotts drafts onto the desk. Each was worth a fortune.
"Relax, Drake. I have plenty of capital to cover any outcome. Your worry is unnecessary."
Drake's eyes bulged. He picked up a draft, feeling the magic within the paper. This single sheet could cover everything he was worried about. The pressure vanished instantly.
"However," Jerry's voice turned serious, "there's something you need to understand." He looked Drake in the eye. "Sixty percent of the final profit goes to a certain Professor. Without her support, I wouldn't have the guts or the permission to run this. The remaining forty percent? We split it fifty-fifty. Fair?"
Drake froze. Sixty percent? That was a massive cut. He almost protested, but then he looked at the Gringotts drafts and Jerry's calm eyes. A realization hit him.
He didn't look angry; he looked relieved. He exhaled a long breath of pure luck. "I knew it! I knew you were too smart to do this alone! There really is a big name backing us!"
Drake slapped the table, theorizing wildly. "No wonder! No wonder the odds are so precise! You must have a chess master advising you. This is a sure thing!"
In Drake's mind, having a Professor as a backer meant the whole thing was "fixed"—it was safe money. Getting twenty percent for zero risk was a thousand times better than forty percent with the risk of ruin. He left happily, clutching the new odds like a treasure map.
The door clicked shut. A shapely shadow slid out from the corner of the room, moving like a cat.
It was Catherine.
She walked up behind Jerry, her soft body pressing against his back. She reached around him to help sort the coins. Her lips brushed his ear, her voice a lazy, seductive purr. "Master, you really plan on giving that Malfoy brat half of the remaining profit?"
Jerry nodded, letting her fingers graze his ledger. "Drake is a good kid. Besides, I have a 'deep connection' with his mother. It would be awkward to cheat him over a few coins."
Jerry paused, his quill hovering. "And... do you think I care about this silver and gold?"
He leaned his head back, burying his face in Catherine's soft, high-rising chest. He took a deep breath of her scent.
"Connection? Hehe..." Catherine let out a seductive giggle. She didn't move away; instead, she arched her back, making her full breasts even firmer. She wrapped her hands around the back of Jerry's head, pressing his face deep into the cleavage of her tight robes.
"Mmph..." Jerry was enveloped in softness and elasticity. The deep valley squeezed his cheeks, the plush flesh nearly suffocating him, but he drank it in greedily.
Catherine looked down at the boy in her arms like a puppy seeking affection, a satisfied smile on her face. Jerry nuzzled her for a moment, marking her with his scent.
Suddenly, she loosened her grip slightly and whispered, "Master, that bitch Cassandra came to see me again today." Her voice was full of contempt. "She's so greedy. She wanted to 'borrow' two thousand Galleons from me."
"Oh?" Jerry finally pulled his face away. His cheeks were red from the pressure, but his eyes were sharp. He didn't pull away completely; instead, he placed both hands over her breasts.
Through the expensive, cool silk, the warmth and bounce of the two mounds were unmistakable. He squeezed them shamelessly, feeling the soft shapes change in his palms. His fingers soon found the two nipples, already hard from the contact. He pinched and tugged them maliciously.
"Does she think you're a Gringotts branch?" he asked playfully. "What was her excuse this time?"
Catherine shivered, a moan escaping her throat. She seemed to love the slight pain of his touch. She pushed her chest out further for him.
"Who else? For her boyfriend, Orion Black. Orion thinks he's a lock for the finals, so he wanted Cassandra to get him two thousand gold to bet on himself."
Jerry's hands stopped. A strange expression crossed his face, and then he burst into a fit of laughter.
"He... he's planning to bet against me... with my own book?"