The class bell rang melodiously. Katherine closed her heavy Advanced Transfiguration Principles book, smiled at Isabella and Fiona beside her, then grabbed her sister Cassandra and walked briskly out of the classroom.
"See you later, Isa."
Fiona had also packed her things and walked out of the classroom with Isabella.
However, as soon as they stepped out, they saw an unexpected figure—Cressida, the Gryffindor Prefect, was waiting somewhat awkwardly at the door.
Seeing Fiona come out, Cressida's eyes lit up.
Fiona gave Isabella an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Isa, I have something to discuss with Cressida."
With that, she walked quickly to the other end of the corridor with the Gryffindor.
In the blink of an eye, only Isabella was left alone at the door.
Isabella stood there, watching her friends disappear in twos and threes at the end of the corridor. The feeling of being left behind left a sour taste in her mouth.
She curled her lip and mumbled in a voice only she could hear, "Busy, you're all so busy."
As the Slytherin seventh-year Prefect, she was accustomed to being the center of the crowd, surrounded and followed by others.
This sudden feeling of being left out made her feel inexplicably irritable.
Isabella huffed, turned around, and walked alone toward the dungeons.
Cold stone walls extended on both sides of the corridor, and torchlight cast her lonely, elongated shadow on the wall.
The deeper she went into the dungeon, the dimmer the light became, and the colder and damper the air grew.
Isabella tightened her robes around herself. Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor with a monotonous tap, tap, tap.
Finally, she arrived at the stone wall carved with snake reliefs.
"Pure-blood," she whispered the password.
The stone wall slid open silently, revealing the spacious and magnificent Slytherin common room behind it, illuminated by the green light of the lake water.
She crossed the empty common room and headed for the spiral staircase leading to the seventh-year girls' dormitory.
When her hand touched the cold silver doorknob of her dormitory, an extremely subtle scent that didn't belong there drifted into her nose.
Isabella's movements paused.
This wasn't the scent of her three roommates, nor was it a common smell in the dungeon.
It was... the scent of a mature woman, mixed with some expensive perfume and... sweat.
With a trace of alertness, she pushed the door open.
In the room, her mother, Cassiopeia, was sitting elegantly in the armchair by her bed.
Cassiopeia had already tidied her clothes, looking as noble and dignified as she had in the Great Hall, as if she had just been waiting there quietly for a long time.
However, a trace of a morbid flush that hadn't completely faded still lingered on Cassiopeia's beautiful face.
Her breathing was slightly more rapid than usual, and deep in those grey eyes, some unextinguished embers seemed to burn.
The air in the entire room was permeated with an indescribable, sticky, humid smell mixed with desire and sweat.
"Mother?"
Isabella froze at the door, looking at her mother in surprise. "Why are you here?"
Cassiopeia didn't answer immediately.
Her gaze, tangible as a touch, swept inch by inch over Isabella.
From Isabella's slightly furrowed brow of confusion to her flat abdomen, then to her legs clad in the school uniform skirt.
Finally, Cassiopeia's gaze stopped on her daughter's proud and beautiful face, which bore a seventy percent resemblance to her own.
Licking her somewhat dry lips, she spoke slowly in a raspy voice carrying a strange magnetism: "Cressida seems to be getting very close to your roommate Fiona lately?"
Cassiopeia crossed her legs elegantly. Her black stockings outlined her firm and graceful calf lines in the dim light.
Cassiopeia pretended to casually bring up a seemingly unrelated topic.
"Oh? You know about that too?"
Isabella answered while placing her books on the desk. "Who knows, maybe Fiona has charmed our Gryffindor Prefect."
Isabella's tone carried a trace of the disdain peculiar to Slytherins toward other houses, especially Gryffindor.
"Is that so?"
Cassiopeia smiled, but the smile was somewhat stiff. "I thought girls your age, besides studies and Prefect duties, would also have some interest in certain... well, outstanding boys."
Her gaze paused unnaturally on her daughter's flat abdomen for a second, then quickly moved away.
"Outstanding boys?"
Isabella acted as if she had heard a joke. She turned around, leaned against the desk, crossed her arms, and looked at her mother. "Mother, are you referring to those idiots?
Forgive my bluntness, but there isn't a boy in Hogwarts worthy of the word 'outstanding'."
Isabella's tone was so matter-of-fact, full of pride in her bloodline.
"Then... what about that boy from the Rosier family?"
Cassiopeia finally couldn't hold back and asked the name in a seemingly casual tone.
The moment she asked, she clearly saw her daughter's body stiffen for a split second, almost imperceptibly.
Although Isabella quickly covered it up, how could that subtle reaction escape Cassiopeia's snake-like eyes?
"Rosier?"
Isabella's face showed just the right amount of confusion and disdain. "You mean the sole survivor?
Just a first-year brat.
Aside from talking big in the Great Hall, I have no impression of him."
She spoke flawlessly.
But Cassiopeia smiled.
Her daughter was lying.
Because she could smell it.
"I was just joking. Don't be nervous, my little Isabella."
Cassiopeia withdrew her hand, her voice becoming soft, carrying an elusive meaning.
Those grey eyes still held a probing depth.
She turned and walked to the window, gazing at the shadowy shimmering light at the bottom of the lake through the thick stone wall.
"However, you are already seventeen, soon to be eighteen.
And according to the tests within the family, the N.E.W.T.s will be a breeze for you, presenting no difficulty at all.
This means you will successfully graduate from Hogwarts, my dear treasure."
Cassiopeia said softly, her tone carrying a few thoughtful considerations. "For wizards of our pure-blood families, whether you plan to enter the battlefield in the future, seek a position in the Ministry of Magic, or have outstanding talent and intend to go to a higher-level Wizard Tower for further study, it doesn't really matter.
The family won't interfere with you in these aspects, nor will we reduce material investment in you because you aren't outstanding. You will always be a member of the family, the pride of the family... but there is one condition: after coming of age, you must continuously attend various cocktail parties, banquets, and balls."
Cassiopeia's tone was slow, as if depicting a destiny scroll already painted.
"Until you find a suitable partner, or... successfully conceive a pure-blood child."
Cassiopeia turned around, her gaze falling on Isabella again, the corner of her mouth lifting into an unfathomable smile: "Of course, this child must be pure-blood. The more ancient and powerful the bloodline, the more stable your position in the family will be."
Cassiopeia's gaze lingered on her daughter's exquisite face.
"You're not young anymore, Isabella."
Cassiopeia walked slowly to her daughter, extended a hand, and gently hooked a strand of Isabella's hair with her fingertip, twirling it around her finger. "Some things cannot be refused or avoided."
Her mother's words, soft yet carrying an unquestionable weight, wrapped around Isabella's heart like a cold thread.
Isabella felt some resistance.
This resistance didn't stem from rebellion against the future her mother described, but from an instinctive repulsion to having her life so clearly and matter-of-factly planned as a path to marriage alliance and reproduction.
As if she were not a living person, but a precious asset with noble blood waiting to be appraised and paired.
But Isabella understood that this was the duty of every pure-blood wizard, especially an heir from an ancient family like hers.
She lowered her eyes, looking at the expensive wizarding robe made of Thestral tail hair blended with silk on her body, her thoughts drifting away.
From the moment she was born, Isabella had lived in affluence unimaginable to ordinary wizards.
Isabella's cradle was a silver cradle hung with Warming Charms and Protection Charms.
Isabella's wand was custom-made by Ollivander, who came to her home personally, using phoenix feather and a whole piece of rare purpleheart wood.
Even at Hogwarts, when other students were saving pocket money to buy a new textbook, a large amount of allowance was deposited into her Gringotts vault regularly every month.
Not to mention, the family continuously provided Isabella with various rare resources needed to practice advanced witchcraft—from troll blood to mermaid scales, from various potions hard to find on the market for improving magical affinity, to hiring retired Aurors specifically to guide her in Defense Against the Dark Arts techniques via letters...
All of this came with a price.
She enjoyed the wealth and glory accumulated by the pure-blood family over hundreds of years, so she must shoulder the responsibility of continuing this glory.
And for pure-blood families, the highest and heaviest responsibility was to give birth to an equally pure, or even more powerful, next generation.
So, no matter how much dissatisfaction she had in her heart, no matter the repulsion of being treated as a reproductive tool, Isabella couldn't, and wouldn't, disobey the family's will on such a major matter determining the family's future.
What's more...
Deep in Isabella's heart, that innate arrogance belonging to Slytherin and pure-blood families also made it impossible for her to accept those ordinary wizards with mixed blood or tainted with Muggle aura. The existence of those people was in itself a defilement of the nobility of magic.
Only equally ancient, equally powerful pure-blood wizards were qualified to enter her eyes, and qualified to complete this "duty" with Isabella.
Seeing her daughter seemed to acquiesce to this fate, Cassiopeia smiled with satisfaction.
Her voice became light, like a gallery owner showing off her proudest collection to a client.
"The eldest son of the Nott family, Theodore, is in the same year as you. I heard he has talent in Potions and a steady personality.
Of course, there's also the heir of the Rick family. Although a year above you, the family has considerable power in the Ministry of Magic..."
Cassiopeia's voice flowed slowly in Isabella's ear like a lullaby.
She began to list the young talents active in the pure-blood social circle as if counting family treasures, analyzing each person's family background, ability, and pros and cons as a marriage partner.
However, Isabella wasn't listening at all.
In her mind, involuntarily, a figure completely different from the "young talents" in her mother's mouth flashed—small and thin, but carrying an aggressiveness not belonging to that age.
Jerry... that little demon.
That damn bastard of the Rosier family.
Thinking of this name, Isabella felt an inexplicable irritation and shame.
The mark that boy left on her seemed deeper than any curse.
Isabella subconsciously rejected this thought, trying to focus her attention on her mother's words.
But just as she wanted to expel that "damn lecherous little bastard" from her brain, a thought emerged in her heart without warning.
Wait...
Rosier...
Isabella's thoughts stopped.
Yes, although the Rosier family collapsed and became notorious because of following the wrong side, they were a true pure-blood family.
Moreover, one with extremely pure blood and a complete ancient heritage.
Their bloodline was even more ancient and noble than some of the families her mother just mentioned. If it weren't for that event back then that almost shook the foundation of the entire wizarding world, if Old Rosier hadn't stood on the wrong side, then today, the Rosier family would still be a famous family respected by everyone in the entire wizarding world.
And Jerry Rosier... was the only male orphan of that family...
"Damn it, I absolutely won't choose him."
This thought, like a spark starting a prairie fire, instantly ignited a chaotic flame in Isabella's heart that she couldn't control herself.
"Damn it, I absolutely won't choose him."
Isabella squeezed this whisper out through her teeth almost unconsciously.
Her voice was very light, like a feather landing, but in the quiet dormitory, it sounded exceptionally clear.
As soon as the voice fell, a familiar breath carrying the faint scent of Moonflower suddenly approached her ear.
"Who won't you choose?"
Cassiopeia's voice, like a snake's tongue, licked across her auricle smoothly and coldly.
Unknowingly, she had moved silently behind her daughter, shrouding her entirely in her shadow.
Isabella's body trembled uncontrollably.
Caught.
Her mother was as sharp as an eagle; her whisper as light as a mosquito's hum was heard clearly.
A wave of heat rushed from Isabella's neck to her cheeks, dyeing her fair skin with a moving crimson.
Isabella was like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instantly retracting all claws and arrogance, immediately lowering her head shyly, her gaze falling frantically on the tip of her shoe.
"Nothing."
Isabella answered vaguely, her voice sounding somewhat lacking in confidence. "I was just... thinking about those people you mentioned just now."
Mrs. Granger held the warm cup with both hands, silent for a long time, before asking in a near whisper, carrying a trace of uncertainty and expectation: "Molly... is there really... really no way?
Can ordinary people like us really... never become wizards?"
Her question was cautious, as if touching a sacred yet fragile taboo.
The shocking remarks made by the boy named Jerry in the Great Hall were like a stone thrown into the lake of her heart, stirring ripples she had never had before.
Molly put down the knife and fork in her hand, turned around, and looked at Mrs. Granger with an extremely solemn and earnest tone.
"My dear, believe me!" Her voice wasn't loud but filled with convincing power, "Becoming a wizard isn't necessarily a huge benefit."
She extended a warm hand, gently covering the back of Mrs. Granger's clasped hands.
"You only see the magical and convenient side of magic, but you don't know that this world is far more dangerous than yours.
A wrong spell, a failed potion, can bring irreversible consequences.
Not to mention... those true dangers hidden in the dark."
Molly's eyes became deep and heavy, as if recalling some bad past events.
"As for what that bastard of the Rosier family said... you must never, ever believe it." She emphasized her tone, articulating every word clearly and forcefully: "In the magical world, there indeed exist some forbidden knowledge and ancient spells that claim to be able to do anything.
Even reversing life and death, changing bloodlines.
But there is a price to pay for all of that."
"That is not something we should touch." Molly's expression was solemn to the extreme, "Using those spells, every time, is making a deal with the darkest and most evil existences.
Any little 'gift' you receive must be exchanged with your most precious things—your soul, your memories, even your life.
That is a road of no return; once you step on it, you can never turn back."
Mrs. Granger nodded thoughtfully.
But whether she listened or not, only she knew.
Meanwhile, this serious conversation didn't seem to affect the two girls across the table at all.
Hermione was lowering her head, focusing on using a knife and fork to cut the perfectly cooked steak on her plate into evenly sized small pieces.
Her movements were meticulous, as if conducting a precise potion experiment.
Ron, on the other hand, was a completely different scene. He was stuffing the venison on the plate into his mouth in big mouthfuls, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk storing nuts.
For the Weasley family, opportunities for such an expensive dinner were extremely rare.
What's more, this wasn't ordinary venison.
This was the leg meat of a magical creature called "Crystal-Horned Deer" from the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
Their meat was extremely delicious. It was said that when chewing, a wonderful texture like shattering diamonds would be produced in the mouth, so it was hailed by gourmets as "diamond-level delicacy."
Molly looked at all this before her, her eyes softening a lot.
She looked at Ron wolfing down food, eyes full of maternal love.
And when her gaze turned to Hermione, within that love, a few points of imperceptible appreciation and... scrutiny were added.
Yes, she had her eye on Hermione's talent.
The magical talent and thirst for knowledge displayed by this girl from a Muggle family even surpassed many girls from pure-blood families.
Although Hermione wasn't pure-blood, what did it matter?
Don't forget, she, Molly Weasley, wasn't completely a pure-blood wizard either.
For these "new aristocrats" who seized the opportunity to snatch power and status from the old nobles in that civil war that almost overturned the entire wizarding world, "mixed-blood" and "pure-blood" were no longer an insurmountable gap.
Now, more often than not, they were just a difference in name that could be utilized, traded, and redefined.
The value of a powerful mixed-blood daughter-in-law who could bring honor and future to the family was far higher than a pure-blood idiot with pure blood but stupidity and mediocrity.
After dinner, the guests and hosts enjoyed themselves. Molly took the satisfied Ron to visit her twin sons who were running a branch of their "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" at Hogwarts.
Hermione walked slowly arm in arm with her mother along the corridor leading to the guest rooms prepared by the school for visiting parents.
After all, Parents' Week was a week-long event, not just a one-day visit. The school thoughtfully prepared comfortable dormitories for every parent.
Hogwarts at night shed the noise of the day, revealing a quiet and mysterious beauty.
Mother and daughter walked in the empty castle corridor. The portraits on the walls were dozing in their frames; occasionally one or two were awakened by footsteps, poking their heads out curiously to give a friendly smile to Mrs. Granger, the Muggle guest.
Outside the window, bright moonlight spilled on the surface of the Black Lake, rippling with silver light. Occasionally, giant tentacles could be seen gliding slowly under the water.
From the direction of the Forbidden Forest in the distance came the distant cries of unknown magical creatures.
"All of this... is truly incredible."
Mrs. Granger couldn't help but sigh, looking up at the ceiling enchanted to perfectly replicate the starry sky outside; the brilliant Milky Way seemed within reach.
As a woman, becoming a respected doctor through her own efforts and wisdom in the relatively conservative British society was in itself a very remarkable thing.
This success also shaped Mrs. Granger's strong character, unwilling to be mediocre.
At this moment, this magnificent and mysterious magical world displayed before Mrs. Granger's eyes once again ignited the yearning and desire for unknown fields in her heart.
However, Hermione beside her didn't seem to notice the light almost overflowing from her mother's eyes.
This girl, always known for wisdom and acuity, was deeply troubled by another matter at this moment.
Her brows were slightly furrowed, as if thinking about a difficult magic problem.
Last time, to give Jerry a surprise, she carefully prepared the mesh stockings she thought were the sexiest and boldest.
But Jerry's reaction was far less enthusiastic than she imagined, even somewhat plain.
This made Hermione feel a trace of frustration.
So, where was the problem?
In her opinion, if not wearing mesh stockings, the remaining choices were only solid-colored pantyhose.
Black or white?
Hermione herself preferred black; that color made her feel more mature and mysterious.
But... she didn't know what others thought, especially... what boys thought.
This kind of question obviously couldn't find an answer in books.
After hesitating for a long time, Hermione finally stopped.
She turned her head, looking at her mother immersed in the magical night view, and spoke somewhat embarrassedly, voice lower than usual:
"Mom..."
"Hmm?" Mrs. Granger came back to her senses, looking at her daughter gently.
Hermione's cheeks were a bit red. She avoided her mother's gaze, pretending to tidy her collar, asking in a tone pretending to be calm, close to academic discussion: "Well... I just... purely out of curiosity... do you think black pantyhose look better on a girl, or white ones?"
Meanwhile, inside the solemn and majestic hall of the Ministry of Magic, Cassandra stepped into this area representing order and authority once again.
Cassandra wore a heavy black wizard robe, the high collar almost covering half her face, looking as if to resist the bone-chilling cold deep in the Azkaban cells.
Her steps were a bit slow, every step carrying a subtle pause, as if using all her strength to keep the body wrapped in sexy lingerie under the long robe stable.
The heavy fabric perfectly covered her vacuum inside.
Only she knew that those two cold clamps were uncomfortably rubbing against her sensitive nipples with every beat of her heart. And in her two full narrow slits above and below, those two vibrating eggs and anal plug still vibrating faintly were continuously delivering numbness and desire that made it almost difficult for her to stand.
Cassandra bit the inside of her lip, using all her strong willpower to suppress the surging desire deep in her body, not letting the legs softened by the teasing of the sexy devices reveal any clue, not letting herself twitch gaffe in public.
Through tedious procedures, Cassandra was finally led to a visitation room located deep underground in the Ministry of Magic.
Cold stone walls and floors, damp air, and a looming aura of oppression and despair in the air.
Through a heavy glass covered with runes, she saw Orion.
He didn't look good.
The once-spirited Orion now had messy hair, a face pale as paper, eyes deeply sunken with heavy dark circles underneath.
The prison uniform on him was loose and worn, unable to cover his obviously much thinner body well.
Orion sat at the other end of the visitation table, posture dejected, as if all his spirit had been drained by this cold prison life.
When Orion saw Cassandra, a trace of struggling, weak light flashed in his eyes.
Orion looked up, giving Cassandra a weak yet pleading smile.
Cassandra's heart contracted sharply.
She knew well that her "outfit" today and everything she was about to endure were all for the man in front of her.
For him, she was willing.
Even if the two devices still vibrating faintly in her body were about to blur her consciousness.
Just as Cassandra was trying hard to suppress the vibration and numbness in her body gradually increasing under Katherine's remote control, Orion's voice came huskily through the heavy rune glass: "Ca... Cassandra, my dear... did you gather it?
Twenty thousand Galleons, just twenty thousand Galleons, and I can get out, we can start over..."
Orion's eyes were filled with begging, bony palms pressing tightly on the glass, as if trying to grab Cassandra through it.
Cassandra took a deep breath; that sweet, dizzying stimulation made it almost impossible for her to concentrate.
Cassandra suppressed her tears, lifting her misty eyes and struggling to meet Orion's gaze through the glass.
Her legs trembled beneath her robes; the erotic lingerie underneath felt wet against her skin under the continuous vibration of the love egg.
"Orion..." Cassandra's voice was hoarse and choked, filled with obvious sobbing. "I... I tried my best... really, I've used every possible way... but..."
"Twenty thousand Gold Galleons is simply impossible for me now... Without my family's support, I... I can't produce a single one..."
"I'm sorry, Orion, I truly don't have the power to gather that much gold... so you..."
The words circled in her throat; the following phrase "must go to Azkaban" simply would not come out no matter how she tried.
She could only shake her head in agony as tears rolled down like broken strings of pearls, blurring her vision.
Under Katherine's continuous remote control, the vibration of the egg inside Cassandra grew even more intense, and the anal plug in her rear seemed to swell a size larger, stimulating her most sensitive nerves.
Cassandra bit her lower lip hard to prevent herself from letting out any untimely moans.
Beneath her robes, her fingernails dug deep into her palms, leaving behind bloody marks.
The clamps on her breasts continued to exert a pulling force through the vibrations, making even breathing difficult for her.
Orion looked at Cassandra. At first, there was a trace of feigned softness and pleading in his sunken eyes.
He thought Cassandra was just testing him, testing how deep his desire for her—and for freedom—truly was.
Orion even managed to squeeze out a few tears, his acting so polished it was like a classic tragic play: "No, darling, you can do it! I know how much you love me; you'll find a way! Think about our past... think about our beautiful future! You can't just stand by and watch me go to Azkaban!"
Orion's voice was filled with despair, his body language revealing he was on the verge of a breakdown.
He hammered incessantly on the other side of the glass, his weak fists carrying the impulse to skin his knuckles.
His forehead pressed dead against the cold glass, his gaze like a snake's fixed on Cassandra, trying to find any sign of yielding on her face.
Orion believed that as long as his performance was realistic enough, Cassandra would soften and produce the draft for those twenty thousand Galleons.
However, Cassandra only cried, like a helpless little girl, weeping at him and repeating over and over, "I'm sorry," and "I really have no way."
Cassandra's robes trembled slightly with her sobs. Under Katherine's teasing, the fluids gushing from her body soaked through the fabric.
Deep inside her, the numbness and itch reached such an extreme that even standing became difficult; Cassandra leaned against the glass in pain, looking like a flower ravaged by a storm.
Orion's expression stiffened and twisted bit by bit through Cassandra's tearful apologies. The mask in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by a near-insane, cornered hysteria.
Orion stopped pretending; the long-suppressed violence and paranoia belonging to a prisoner finally erupted.
He slammed his palm against the glass with a muffled bang, the force enough to make the magical barrier shudder.
Like an enraged, trapped beast, Orion lunged up from his stool, his hands clawing wildly at his messy hair, fingernails digging deep into his scalp as if he couldn't feel the pain.
"I'm sorry?
Fuck your 'I'm sorry'!"
Orion's voice became shrill and piercing with immense rage, spittle spraying against the glass, his features contorted into a hideous sneer. "You bitch!
You've been lying to me! You're a liar!
You're just like your family—useless waste!"
Orion's sallow face turned beet-red from the massive emotional surge, his eyeballs bloodshot as he glared at Cassandra with hatred, as if he wanted to skin her alive. "I knew it!
I knew you were just a worthless Mudblood like those dead, useless parents of yours!
You told me your parents held positions in the frontline war, but I never believed a word of it!
Did you think you were hiding it well? I'm telling you, from start to finish, I fucking knew you were a fraud! A penniless bitch!"
Orion slammed a fist against the glass and retracted it quickly, hissing through the pain of his knuckles, looking manic and terrifying. "You thought I loved you!
You thought I actually gave a shit about you! Dream on! You're nothing but a whore I could use! A tool!
Do you have any idea how many women I have out there?"
Orion's voice grew more hysterical, every word like a sharp dagger stabbing into Cassandra's heart, bringing her more soul-crushing pain than the egg's vibration, the plug's friction, or the clamps' pulling.
"Orion... you..."
"You what?
I'm telling you!
Me, Orion, in the Ministry!
In the Auror Office! In the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!
In the Department of Mysteries! I have fucking girlfriends everywhere!
They're all more obedient than you! They all know their place better than you do! And you, what the fuck are you!
You're just a stinking whore with no value left besides that decent-looking face!"
Orion's hands pressed against the glass as he leaned his entire weight forward, veins bulging on his forehead, eyes fixed on Cassandra's despairing, tear-streaked face.
Watching her body tremble from crying, the animalistic urge within him gave him a morbid sense of satisfaction.
Cassandra's body jolted as if ten thousand lightning bolts had struck her mind simultaneously.
She was drained of all strength by this sudden, demonic roar.
Cassandra bit her tongue hard, the taste of blood filling her mouth.
Her tears were no longer simple sadness but total despair and numbness.
The erotic lingerie beneath her robes seemed to mock her misery.
Cassandra collapsed to the floor, curling into a ball. The shock was so great that she could no longer even feel the vibrating egg and anal plug inside her.
That vicious cursing seemed to drain Orion of all his energy.
He panted heavily, his chest heaving, his face still twisted with remnants of fury.
But after the morbid satisfaction came a deeper fear of the impending life in Azkaban.
In that moment of dead silence, a thought flashed through Orion's mind like a final straw to grasp in a dark swamp.
That draft...
Yes, Orion remembered.
Before his arrest, Orion had given her a Gringotts draft for two thousand Gold Galleons.
The twenty thousand for bail was out of reach, but two thousand Galleons... in a hellhole like Azkaban, that was enough to bribe the money-hungry guards for some special treatment.
This thought reignited a glimmer of light in Orion's eyes, which had been swallowed by despair.
A bizarre, theatrical change occurred in Orion's expression.
The demonic sneer from a second ago melted into a nauseating sorrow mixed with regret in an instant.
Orion withdrew his hand from the glass, stepped back, and slowly slid down the wall to the floor in a trembling, pained posture.
Orion's movements deliberately mimicked Cassandra's despair, as if they were both tragic souls sharing the same fate.
"Cassandra... oh, my dear Cassandra..." Orion's voice suddenly became raspy and fragile, filled with thick, suffocating regret. "Look at me... look at what I've done..."
Orion lifted a hand, using his prison sleeve to wipe away non-existent tears, forcing a few drops of moisture into his sunken eyes.
He looked at Cassandra on the floor, his tone as gentle as if he were protecting a rare treasure.
"I'm sorry... truly, I'm sorry... I... I was just too afraid, darling. You know Azkaban... that place drives people mad.
I didn't mean anything I just said; I just... I just wanted to hurt you with the most vicious words so you'd give up on me completely and stop wasting time on a waste like me..."
As Orion spoke, he slowly crawled back to the glass, pressing his face against the cold rune-etched surface, trying to look as pitiable and helpless as possible.
"I know... it's too late for anything I say now.
I don't ask for your forgiveness, really... I only ask you... ask you to have some pity on me..."
His voice took on a sobbing quality, like a lost child. "That... that draft I gave you before. Those two thousand Galleons... you still have them on you, right?"
"Give them back to me, please?
Cassandra, I'm begging you."
Through the glass, Orion extended a pleading hand toward the woman who was no longer responding on the floor. "I... I know I'm not getting out. But with that money, at least... at least I can live like a human in Azkaban.
Please, do it for... for our final feelings for each other, as the last bit of charity for a man about to die..."
When the visitation time ended, the guards roughly dragged him away.
When Cassandra walked out of that cold, oppressive visitation corridor, it was as if her bones had been removed, leaving only a shell of a walking corpse.
Cassandra's steps were unsteady, her gaze vacant. she didn't even notice Katherine not far away, leaning against a wall and chatting happily with a passing witch.
Katherine, of course, saw her immediately.
But she didn't end the conversation right away.
That witch was a senior from Slytherin, two years ahead of them, currently working in the Ministry.
Katherine maintained that warm, familiar smile, chatting about the latest wizarding robe fabrics and boring Ministry gossip, as if she didn't see Cassandra waiting for judgment like a ghost nearby.
This was a silent but intensely oppressive humiliation.
As the minutes ticked by and people passed through the corridor, every curious glance cast at Cassandra felt like a needle stabbing her numbed nerves.
Finally, Katherine smilingly sent the senior off, then walked toward Cassandra with unhurried, elegant steps.
She stood before Cassandra, sizing up her soul-lost appearance, her red lips curving into a playful arc.
"Well then!" Katherine's voice was airy yet carried an unquestionable command. "Have you made your choice?
My little bitch?"
Cassandra slowly lifted her head. Her beautiful eyes were now a void of dead silence.
Cassandra looked at Katherine, her lips twitching slightly, and in a nearly inaudible voice, she stated her decision: "I... will bail... him."
Even Katherine seemed to find this answer unbelievable.
She raised an eyebrow slightly.
Then, that surprise transformed into a thick, inescapable mockery.
"Oh?"
Katherine let out a light laugh, filled with ultimate contempt for Cassandra's stupid, moth-to-a-flame behavior. "Truly... a love that could move the heavens."
Before the words finished, Katherine's eyes suddenly went cold.
Without any warning, she lifted her hand and tapped her wand gently in her own palm.
Vrrr!
A vibration more violent and frenzied than any before exploded from the deepest part of Cassandra's body.
The two devices went mad, churning and grinding against the most sensitive soft flesh inside Cassandra at maximum power.
"Ah!"
The sudden, overwhelming pleasure made it impossible for Cassandra to stay standing; her legs went soft as she prepared to kneel on the floor.
However, Katherine was faster.
Right there in the busy corridor of the Ministry of Magic, Katherine reached out. Through the heavy wizarding robes, she accurately found the thin chain connected to the nipple clamps hidden beneath the fabric, and then—yanked it hard!
"Ugh-aaah!"
The fabric was pulled out of shape. From her nipples came a mix of sharp, dominant pain and pleasure that caused Cassandra's scream to change pitch.
Immediately after, a crisp slap rang out.
Katherine delivered a backhanded slap hard across Cassandra's face.
The massive force sent her head snapping to the side, and five clear finger marks rapidly emerged on her fair cheek.
"Truly an irredeemable bitch!"
The entire world seemed to fall into a brief, dead silence.
Cassandra staggered, barely supporting herself against the wall to keep from falling.
All the pain, all the humiliation, all the despair seemed to reach a breaking point at this moment.
"Hmm?"
"Can't hold it back?"
"You should be climaxing right now, bitch!"
After a silence so short it was almost non-existent, Cassandra slowly turned her head.
The corners of her mouth actually spread into a weird, upward curve.
Then, right in front of everyone, she stuck out her pink tongue and gave her lips a long lick.
Her eyes rolled up, pupils slightly dilated and gaze unfocused. Her face bore an expression of being lost in a trance—a mixture of extreme pain and ultimate enjoyment.
She looked as if that slap and those humiliations weren't punishments, but the sweetest, long-awaited gifts.
She wasn't faking.
After her last shred of dignity had been thoroughly crushed by that man's most vicious words, this pure, physical pain and humiliation became the only reality she could grasp to prove she was still "alive."
[Mission Completed]
[Calculating Rewards...]
[Congratulations! You have successfully escaped Cassandra Warrington's suspicion and vigilance.]
[Basic Reward: One [Random Dark Magic Knowledge Scroll], issued to System Inventory.]
[Bonus Reward Achieved: Successfully pulled Cassandra Warrington to your faction and made her your loyal follower.]
[Congratulations! You have received a Bonus Reward: [Ancient Bloodline Awakening Degree] +5%. Current Awakening: 5%.]
[Congratulations! You have unlocked a new title: [Master of Charms].]
[Title: Master of Charms]
[Effect: When interacting with any non-hostile female characters, your charm value will receive an additional boost. The success rate of all social actions like persuasion, seduction, or threats against you will receive an additional determination bonus.]
[Mission Penalty avoided.]
The sharp silver knife sliced through the still-warm bread, making a subtle, satisfying rustling sound.
The blade was steady and powerful; every slice of bread was uniform in thickness, as if produced by a precision machine.
However, Jerry's eyes were not focused on his perfect knife work.
His movements were more of an instinct driven by muscle memory, while his thoughts had drifted to another dimension.
That string of cold system prompts continued to stir his mind like an undercurrent.
[Master of Charms]...
The corner of Jerry's mouth curled into an extremely subtle arc of self-mockery and playfulness.
"Ancient Bloodline Awakening Degree... 5%..."
Jerry murmured, feeling that deep power within his body seem to become a bit more active.
Jerry arranged the sliced bread neatly on a plain wooden platter and took a small dish of jam and a glass of water from the cupboard.
This was the dinner he prepared for the noble Forest Elf Princess, Elania.
Picking up the platter, he walked unhurriedly to the fireplace. A handful of Floo powder was tossed; green flames surged instantly, swallowing his figure along with the dinner for the "Princess."
The green flames subsided quietly behind him. The familiar scent of the Blackfeather Castle main hall—a mix of ancient stone and the saltiness of the sea breeze—hit him.
But this time, the feeling was completely different.
The moment Jerry stepped out of the fireplace, a wondrous, indescribable sense of resonance enveloped him from all sides.
It was no longer the simple sense of owning a "building" as a "master," but a deeper fusion, as if their bloodlines were linked.
Every piece of obsidian in the castle, every carved beam, even the stray magical particles in the air were whispering intimate, welcoming murmurs to him. He could feel the heavy foundation beneath his feet breathing steadily, hear the weathercock atop the tower singing in the night wind, and touch the ancient magic flowing within the walls that had slept for centuries.
This feeling...
Jerry's breathing slowed slightly.
So this was the true feeling of being integrated with the family foundation that Old Rosier had mentioned repeatedly in his diary.
Before this, although Jerry was the nominal master of the castle, he was more like a visitor with a key.
But now, as that 5% of ancient bloodline was awakened, he finally became the true "heart" of this ancient fortress.
This was more than just a change in feeling.
Countless magical restrictions hidden deep within the castle structure, which had been obscure to Jerry in the past, were now as clear as the lines on his palm.
Jerry could "see" magical circuits spreading like blood vessels throughout the entire castle and "hear" the silent defensive arrays humming low, waiting for their master to wake them.
Jerry even... could sense secrets that didn't belong to the castle itself, hidden even deeper.
Jerry's gaze landed on the mirror-smooth black stone floor in the center of the main hall.
In the past, Jerry had paced here countless times without ever finding anything unusual.
But now, Jerry could clearly perceive that right beneath that floor was a powerful hidden space locked by the power of bloodline.
Jerry carried the wooden platter and walked slowly to the center of the hall.
Then, driven by almost instinctual urge, Jerry extended his free left hand toward the ground, fingers spread, and made a light upward grabbing motion.
A simple movement, as if fishing something out of the air.
In an instant, the ground beneath his palm lit up silently.
Lines of silver light seeped from the hard obsidian, rapidly interweaving and outlining. In just a second or two, a complex and exquisite hexagram array appeared completely beneath his feet.
In the center of the array, light converged, slowly forming an entrance extending downward, radiating a soft glow.
It was done.
Before today, this, one of the Rosier family's greatest secrets, had been an insurmountable barrier for him, the sole survivor.
Jerry didn't know that at the same moment his bloodline link with Blackfeather Castle was established, in the depths of another distant world, within an ancient forest shrouded in moonlight, another string of fate was quietly plucked.
Beneath the canopy of a thousand-year-old tree, several forest elves in silver light armor with extraordinary auras were gathered around a memory crystal floating in mid-air, emitting a faint glow.
Echoing within the crystal was that very vague prophecy they had traded for from the Death Eaters.
Dozens of captured human wizards were in a state of eerie slumber. Their bodies were wrapped and fixed by emerald vines, with only their heads exposed.
Translucent, blood-vessel-like roots extended from the trunk of the World Tree, piercing gently yet cruelly into their temples, directly linking to their brains.
The brains of these wizards had now become part of the World Tree's massive information processing network.
Their memories, logic, and cognition of the magical world were being continuously extracted as nourishment for deducing the prophecy.
Every deduction was like a storm sweeping through these brains, consuming their mental strength and even their life force.
The elven elder withdrew his hand pointing at the crystal and turned to look at the World Tree silently "feeding," with no pity in his eyes.
To find their Princess, any sacrifice was worth it.
"What is the result of the deduction?" He asked in ancient Elvish, his voice level and majestic.
A young elf responsible for monitoring the data stepped forward quickly, bowing to report: "Elder, after tens of thousands of simulations and exclusions, we have locked onto a general range."
He paused, his tone turning grave: "According to the World Tree's deduction, the one imprisoning Her Highness the Princess is indeed a human family currently designated as 'Dark Wizards' by the Ministry of Magic. This family has a very long history and... is extremely adept at hiding."
"The specific location?" The elder pressed.
"Indeterminate." The young elf shook his head, a trace of helplessness on his face. "This family seems to possess a powerful secret realm, a... fortress.
It is protected by some ancient bloodline magic that can block all external detection, including the tracking spells we perform through the Princess's bloodline. We... do not know the name of that fortress, nor do we know exactly where it is."
The elder fell silent.
While this result was far better than the total ignorance before, it was still separated by an impenetrable fog.
"'Young snake sheds scales'... 'youthful hand'..." He whispered the key phrases from the prophecy. "The deduction shows that the descendant of this family must be at Hogwarts. This is our... only clue."
"...Then... catch more." The elder's voice was low and raspy, as if squeezed out from cracks in ancient rocks. "The World Tree needs more 'nourishment' until we find the exact location of that fortress." His tone held no hesitation, as if he were ordering the picking of wild fruit.
Just as his command was about to be passed down, a soft, moon-like halo suddenly lit up on the massive trunk of the World Tree.
Within the light, a staircase woven from countless glowing roots and vines extended silently downward from on high.
A figure descended the stairs.
All the surrounding elves, including the highly respected elder, knelt on one knee the moment they saw her, bowing their heads deeply to show the highest respect.
It was their Queen.
She was truly tall, standing well over two meters, a full head taller than even the burliest elven warrior present.
It wasn't a slender, fragile height, but a lithe, upright stature filled with power and oppression. Her skin appeared nearly transparently white under the moonlight, as if condensed from the purest lunar essence.
Furthermore, her body was covered only by a few large leaves, enchanted to be as smooth as dark green silk, and some silver-glowing vines coiling around key areas.
Those full, snowy breasts, nearly spilling out, were barely covered at their tips by small leaves. Every step she took brought a heart-stopping sway.
Her flat, firm stomach and two rounded, long legs were exposed openly to the air.
Yet, wearing such a dissolute outfit, she instead radiated an arrogance and majesty that made people dare not look directly at her, like a ruler of the world.
Her features were exquisite beyond mortality, her narrow green eyes with slightly upturned corners like two of the clearest emeralds.
At this moment, there wasn't a hint of flirtatiousness in those eyes, only a coldness and scrutiny like ten-thousand-year-old ice.
She looked down at her kneeling subjects as if looking at a group of ants.
She walked down the stairs, barefoot, every step silent yet seemingly treading on the heart of every elf.
She stopped before the elder and spoke slowly in a tone so cold it held no emotion:
"Using the filthy brains of those lower creatures to feed the World Tree has reached its limit."
Her voice was like a clear spring in a mountain stream, pleasant to the ear yet carrying a bone-chilling cold. "I don't want the World Tree to be tainted with any impurities because of their stupidity."
"Let's use that method instead!"