"BOOM!"
With a roar that tore through the air, the iron beast—revered as the "King of Land Warfare"—recoiled violently. A blinding flash of fire erupted from the muzzle.
An armor-piercing shell, the pinnacle of modern industrial destruction, streaked across the field. It moved at a speed nearly invisible to the naked eye, trailing a faint white ribbon of smoke as it shrieked toward the solitary, slender figure in black robes standing in the center of the grounds.
In the stands, Mrs. Granger instinctively covered her mouth, her heart hammering against her ribs. Though she had witnessed the wonders of magic, this machine—reeking of diesel and gunpowder—was the ultimate symbol of power and annihilation in her world. She could not fathom any flesh-and-blood creature surviving such raw, physical violence.
However, Severus Snape remained perfectly still. Facing the messenger of death capable of piercing several layers of reinforced steel, he didn't even draw his wand. He simply raised a single hand, palm forward.
The instant before the shell impacted his body, the surreal happened.
The air in front of Snape seemed to congeal into an invisible, indestructible wall. The high-velocity AP round slammed into this unseen barrier with a dull, bone-aching thud. Its kinetic energy was instantly warped. A second later, it ricocheted at a sharp angle that defied every law of physics, screaming into the sky until it became a mere black speck in the clouds.
Before the spectators could process the impossibility of the moment, the tank's autoloader finished its cycle. The turret adjusted. A second, then a third roar followed in rapid succession. A barrage of shells poured toward Snape in a dense curtain of death.
But every attack was futile.
Snape was the center of a world unto himself—an absolute, untouchable domain. Every shell was forced off-track the moment it entered the invisible zone around him. Some were slammed into the ground, plowing deep furrows dozens of meters long into the manicured grass of the Quidditch pitch. Others flew horizontally, shearing through the edge of the Forbidden Forest with a cacophony of splintering timber.
One particular shell was reflected back at a treacherous angle. The spinning projectile grazed the tank's own steel hull, throwing off a shower of sparks and a piercing screech before detonating against the earth right beside the vehicle.
"KABOOM!"
A deafening explosion rocked the grounds. A massive fireball surged upward, painting the surroundings in shades of violent orange. Dirt, sod, and debris were flung dozens of meters into the air like a rain of ruin. The thermal shockwave expanded in a ring; even hundreds of meters away, Hermione and her mother felt the heat blast against their faces, their robes and hair whipping wildly.
As the smoke and dust cleared, the multi-million-dollar war machine was scorched black, sitting next to a staggering crater.
The architect of this devastation, Severus Snape, still stood in his original spot. Not even the hem of his robes had fluttered. He looked as though the miniature war he had just endured had absolutely nothing to do with him.
The iron monster's tracks ground frantically, crushing the grass as the turret swung at a predatory angle toward Snape. The heavy machine gun and coaxial guns on the turret began to bark, spitting a stream of white-hot lead. The metal hail swept across the ground in lines of rising dust, racing toward the black-clad figure.
Full-on suppression.
Yet, the storm of lead that should have shredded any living being simply hit a wall a meter away from Snape. The bullets fell to the ground, clinking and piling up into a small mountain of spent brass.
A flicker of impatience finally crossed Snape's eyes.
He raised his wand hand. No grand incantation, no dazzling light. He simply lifted the slender length of wood and brought it down in a swift, sharp vertical slash toward the roaring fortress.
A nearly transparent, imperceptible blade of force flashed from the tip of his wand.
"VROOM—"
A strange hum, like the sound of space itself being unzipped, echoed through the air.
In the next heartbeat, the tank's roar stopped. Starting from the tip of the main cannon, a thin, smooth black crack appeared, spreading downward with unstoppable momentum. The rift sliced cleanly through the heavy turret, the reinforced hull, and the complex transmission systems.
"CLANG!"
Before the disbelieving eyes of Hermione and her mother, the dozens of tons of machinery, along with its thick composite armor, split perfectly in half. The two sides slumped away from each other, revealing the intricate, steaming clockwork of its interior.
There was no explosion, no fire—only the agonizing sound of twisting metal. The cut was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the sunlight with a blinding glint.
Inside the bisected hull, sitting where the driver and gunner should have been, were not humans. They were two crude mannequins made of wood and metal joints. In their chests, clusters of blue mana crystals flickered weakly, connected to the tank's controls by glowing magical filaments. As the light in the crystals faded, the puppets slumped forward, devoid of power.
Clap... clap... clap...
Crisp applause broke the silence of the stadium. Jerry stood there, smiling broadly as he clapped. Beside him, Mrs. Granger joined in politely after a moment of stunned silence, her eyes filled with a primal terror of this incomprehensible power.
Only Hermione didn't clap. Her face was pale, and she took a small step back. She looked at the distant, composed Snape with a mixture of fear and an instinctive repulsion toward such unrestrained might.
Snape seemed to sense the movement in the stands. He looked up, his piercing gaze traveling across the distance to meet theirs. In an instant, his silhouette blurred like ink dropped into water, twisting and vanishing.
Simultaneously, the air on the stands distorted slightly. Snape appeared silently beside the trio, his robes not even disturbed by the sudden displacement. This ghostly arrival startled Mrs. Granger again, while Hermione went rigid.
Snape ignored Hermione's guarded stance and gave Mrs. Granger a curt, formal nod. Then, his gaze settled on Jerry, and his stern eyes softened ever so slightly.
"Uncle Severus," Jerry said, his tone shifting to one of affectionate respect.
Upon hearing the title, the corner of Snape's mouth twitched upward into what could almost be called a... smile. The expression made Hermione's eyes widen; in her mind, the Potions Master's repertoire was limited to sneers, disgust, and impatience. A smile was an alien concept.
Snape reached out, patting Jerry lightly on the shoulder. He looked toward the bisected tank wreck and spoke in his signature low, silk-wrapped baritone.
"The crystal golems from the Academy are still too poor in quality. Slow reactions, unstable mana output. If only the Rosier family's golem factory were still standing..."
There was a hint of faint regret in his voice. Jerry's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before returning to normal.
"Yes, if only," Jerry echoed softly. His voice was neutral, but his eyes grew dark. He looked at Snape and continued, "As I recall, the Rosier Crystal Golems were once the Ministry's exclusive partner, providing high-end combat support for the Aurors. But because of that..."
Jerry paused, a strange, twisted smile of dark humor and hidden pride creeping onto his lips.
"...Because of that, the Rosier family fell the hardest during the post-war purges. Did you know, Uncle? According to the internal Wizengamot reports, over sixty-five percent of the casualties in that war were caused by crystal golems and similar constructs. And of those, nearly thirty percent were confirmed kills by my family's products."
He spoke as if reciting a trivial fact, but the grin grew wider, making Hermione and her mother shudder. Snape watched him in silence, seemingly reading something deeper in that smile.
Only Jerry heard the cold, synthesized voice echoing in his mind:
[Ding!]
[Sub-Quest Triggered: Requiem for a Dynasty]
[Objective: Rebuild the glory of the Rosier family within six months. Let the name of the Crystal Golems shake the Wizarding World once more.]
[Reward: Rosier Prestige +500; Legendary Construct Schematic: "The Magus"; Magus Core Materials x15.]
[Failure Penalty: Permanent loss of ownership of "Blackwing Castle" and legal right to the Rosier name; Marked for assassination by the Ministry of Magic.]
Snape didn't say anything more. He gave Jerry one last look with those bottomless eyes, conveying a complex, unspoken message.
"Those things are in the past," he said flatly.
As he spoke, Snape's outline began to bleed into the air, collapsing inward. Without the crack of Apparition or any discernible mana surge, he turned into a shadow that glided along the floor and vanished.
Silence returned to the stands, save for the grotesque metal tomb of the tank in the distance.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
With several soft cracks, four or five house-elves in tattered pillowcases appeared by the wreckage. They chirped complaints as they waved brooms and rags. With terrifying efficiency, the massive metal shards shrunk and warped under their magic, being stuffed into inconspicuous sacks. The furrows in the grass were smoothed over instantly. In minutes, every trace of the battle would be gone.
Mrs. Granger, her face drained of color, took a trembling step forward. "Jerry, I..."
She wanted to ask what that was, who Snape was, and where the limits of this world lay.
"Mrs. Granger."
Jerry's voice was quiet but sharp, cutting her off. He turned around, the dark smile replaced by a chilling, cold composure that didn't belong on a boy his age.
"I believe Molly Weasley emphasized this before you arrived. Some things—some knowledge—are taboos in this world."
He stared directly into her eyes, his gaze devoid of warmth.
"The knowledge of the Forbidden... even reading about it, or glancing at it by accident, is enough to violate a dozen Secrecy Statutes and Safety Acts. Of course!"
He pivoted, his tone dripping with harsh reality. "You are a Muggle. The Ministry won't throw you into Azkaban. They prefer a more... 'gentle' approach."
He paused to let the weight of his words sink in.
"They will wipe your memory completely. Not just what you saw today, but every scrap of magical knowledge you possess. That includes... your daughter, Hermione."
Hermione flinched, looking at Jerry in disbelief.
Jerry didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on Mrs. Granger. "When they are done, you and your husband will forget you ever... even had a daughter."
Having delivered the blow, Jerry ignored the stunned woman. He gave a polite, shallow bow and offered Hermione a bitter, apologetic smile. Hermione nodded back weakly, her eyes showing she didn't blame him for the warning.
"I have class. Excuse me."
Jerry turned and walked down the bleachers, leaving the silent mother and daughter behind with the vanishing ruins.
The sunlight was pleasant, streaming through the tall arched windows of the castle and casting dappled shadows on the ancient stone floor. The corridors were beginning to fill with the noise of students after class.
Jerry's next lesson was Herbology. The greenhouses were in the opposite direction of his common room. The professor for this course was the newcomer, Professor Green—a woman whose "mature charms" were a frequent topic of hushed conversation among the older boys.
As Jerry passed the quiet corridor near the Hospital Wing, he slowed his pace. Through a pristine glass window, he spotted a familiar figure.
Professor Green was standing by the window. She wasn't looking at the scenery; she was pacing in small, agitated steps, her hands wringing together nervously. Perhaps sensing his gaze, she looked up sharply. Her eyes met Jerry's through the glass. She didn't wave or nod; instead, she turned instantly, clutching her robes, and hurried around the corner as if fleeing.
Inside the infirmary, the air smelled of disinfectant and dried herbs. Madam Pomfrey was at her desk, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, though her mind was clearly elsewhere. Jerry glanced at the bed nearby. Harry Potter, the "Boy Who Lived," was lying there unconscious, an IV drip feeding clear fluid into his vein. He was out cold.
Slap.
Madam Pomfrey tossed the paper onto the desk and practically bounced out of her chair. Her professional sternness melted the moment she saw Jerry, replaced by an unmasked, almost predatory heat.
"Well, if it isn't our distinguished Mr. Rosier?"
Her voice was several shades sweeter than usual. Her eyes swept over Jerry's body, lingering on his frame as if savoring a memory. "What wind blows you here today? Injured again? Let me see... where does it hurt?"
She walked over with a light, rhythmic step, her curvaceous body nearly pressing against him. The scent of a mature woman—a mix of floral perfume and medicinal musk—wafted into Jerry's nose.
"Good afternoon, Madam Pomfrey. I'm fine. Just passing by to check on Potter."
Jerry spoke casually, but his mind was on Professor Green's earlier anxiety. That look in her eyes... it was worry and deep-seated fear, far more than a teacher should feel for a student.
"Him?" Madam Pomfrey glanced at Harry and scoffed dismissively. "He'll be fine after a nap. But you, Mr. Rosier... you left so quickly last time. I didn't even get a chance to..."
Before she could finish, Jerry lunged forward.
His movement was too fast for the experienced healer to react. One hand clamped firmly over her breast, which was straining against her white nurse's uniform. He gave the heavy, soft globe a deliberate, forceful squeeze. The incredible plushness and warmth of her flesh surged against his palm through the thin fabric.
"Mnh!"
Madam Pomfrey let out a muffled, stifled gasp. Her body went limp instantly, her eyes glazing over with sudden lust. Before she could process the bold assault, Jerry's other hand whipped around.
SHLAP!
A loud, stinging crack echoed as he landed a heavy palm squarely on her plump, protruding backside. The flesh of her buttocks jiggled violently under the impact, leaving the burning ghost of a handprint.
Having claimed his prize, Jerry didn't linger. He spun on his heel like a fox escaping a coop. He sprinted toward the door, calling back without looking:
"I've got class, Madam Pomfrey! See you next time!"
He vanished into the hall, leaving the nurse standing there, panting. Her face was a mask of indignation and trembling excitement. She instinctively reached back to rub her throbbing cheek.
"That little brat..." she whispered, her voice thick with anticipation.
When Jerry entered Greenhouse Three, a humid, pungent smell hit him—a mix of peppermint and ozone. On the long central table sat a dozen pots of various sizes, but the "plants" inside made the students gasp and whisper.
"Silence, everyone!"
Professor Green clapped her hands. She had changed into hemp work clothes, but the tight tailoring still accentuated her provocative, hourglass figure. Her face held a mixture of excitement and a brewing headache.
"I know you're curious," she said, gesturing to the table. "Allow me to introduce today's guests—the 'Azura-gel Mimics'. The bureaucrats at the Ministry gave them that name, but you can just call them 'Naughty Blue Crystals' or 'That Damned Slime'."
The class erupted in laughter.
Professor Green pointed to one pot containing what looked like a miniature willow tree. However, its branches and leaves were made of translucent, pale-blue jelly, pulsating rhythmically like a giant blob of Jell-O.
"This one is in its 'Hardened Phase'. It looks like a gummy bear, but if you poke it, it feels like solid glass."
She moved to the next pot, which held a blooming "rose." The petals were crystal clear with a mesmerizing blue glow, even the "dewdrops" were perfectly formed.
"And this is the 'Soft Phase'." She picked up a wooden stick and gently tapped a petal. The flower immediately curled inward like a sensitive mimosa, turning into a round blue ball.
"The most interesting one," she said, her tone like a circus ringmaster, "is this little fellow over here."
In the corner pot, a blob of blue gel was shifting shapes at a dizzying speed. One second it was a cluster of clover; the next, it melted and rose into a perfect—blue, translucent—teacup? Before they could blink, the handle elongated into a wonky wand.
"That's the 'Mimic-Chameleon' strain. It tries to copy anything it sees, though its aesthetic sense needs work," she shrugged. "But! I want everyone—and I mean everyone—to stay at least three feet back if you aren't wearing protection!"
Her voice turned sharp. "No matter how harmless they look, they have one thing in common." She picked up a long pole with a fist-sized chunk of raw meat tied to the end and lowered it toward the "willow tree."
The moment the meat entered range, the willow's "leaves" swiveled. Phut! Phut! Phut!
Several walnut-sized globs of sticky blue liquid were spat out with pinpoint accuracy, coating the meat.
Sizzle!
A gut-wrenching corrosive sound followed. Billows of white smoke rose as the fresh meat dissolved, blackening and rotting away in seconds, emitting a foul stench.
"See that?" Professor Green retracted the pole. "Extreme acidity, long-range projection, and accuracy that would put a pro Seeker to shame. So, unless you want to spend a week in the hospital wing regrowing your nose with Skele-Gro, keep your hands to yourselves!"
Her eyes scanned the room, lingering on Jerry for a half-second before moving on.
"Enough jokes," she cleared her throat. "Today's lesson has two parts. First, we re-pot these... darlings, because they grow faster than expected. Second, and most importantly, we learn to safely extract their 'Essence'."
She pulled on a heavy, dragon-hide glove reinforced with thick glass.
"The juice of a Blue Mimic is a potent multi-purpose fluid. Initial research suggests it's an incredible adhesive, a terrifying solvent, and highly mana-conductive. It has limitless potential in Potions and Alchemy. But," she emphasized, "its corrosiveness is no joke. Direct skin contact is a disaster. Gloves are mandatory."
She stepped to the demonstration table and picked up a silver knife etched with isolation runes. "The extraction requires a steady hand. We don't cut the 'leaves'; we cut from the outermost edge of the gel base..."
As she demonstrated, her movements were graceful and precise. The silver blade danced in her hand, dodging the corrosive sprays as she sliced a small, jelly-like piece from the "root."
However, just as she used tweezers to lift the gel toward a crystal vial, something went wrong.
The skin on the hand holding the tweezers flickered. A sickly, unnatural color washed over her flesh, as if something underneath was writhing. For a split second, her hand became transparent, revealing blue veins twisting and bulging in a horrifying manner.
The change lasted less than a second, but Professor Green froze. The tweezers slipped, nearly falling.
"Cough... cough!"
She covered her lapse with a violent coughing fit, slamming the tweezers and the gel onto the table. Turning her back to the students, she stumbled toward her personal desk, her face deathly pale.
"The pollen in the greenhouse... it's a bit irritating," Professor Green explained vaguely, her voice muffled as she reached urgently for a silver thermos.
She unscrewed the cap and pressed it to her lips, taking a long, desperate gulp of the liquid inside. As the warm fluid slid down her throat, the abnormality in her hand smoothed over like a pressed wrinkle, returning to its normal appearance. The entire process was so swift that most students simply assumed their professor had indeed been choked by a stray bit of fluff.
Most were fooled, and the greenhouse returned to its usual hum of idle whispers and trivial concern. Unfortunately for her, Jerry Rosier was not most people.
His gaze seemed to linger casually on the shifting blue gel in front of him, but from the corner of his eye, he had captured every nuance of Professor Green's abnormal behavior. The momentary, grotesque twitching of her hand and the shifting texture of her skin—brief as it was—was a sight Jerry knew all too well. Having been raised in the Rosier family, masters of complex potions and forbidden Transfiguration, he recognized the signs instantly.
Those were the classic symptoms of Polyjuice Potion nearing its expiration.
The efficacy was fluctuating on the edge of instability, causing the disguised form and the original features to alternate uncontrollably. And the contents of that thermos were undoubtedly a fresh batch of potion used to maintain the facade.
A playful smirk tugged at the corner of Jerry's mouth. This Professor Green—the woman who clearly wanted him dead—was hiding behind a mask of mature beauty. A person relying on Polyjuice Potion to maintain a fake identity while infiltrating Hogwarts as a professor... she was carrying a massive secret.
As Jerry watched her back with renewed interest, the familiar, emotionless mechanical voice echoed in his mind as expected.
[Ding!] [Hidden Quest Triggered: The Serpent Under the Mask] [Objective: Discover Professor Green's true identity and her purpose for infiltrating Hogwarts within 24 hours.] [Reward: Unknown.] [Failure Penalty: Unknown.]
The string of "Unknowns" didn't frustrate Jerry; instead, it piqued his curiosity even more.
After draining the liquid from the thermos, Professor Green stood with her back to the students, her shoulders rising and falling slightly as she steadied her breathing. When she finally turned around a few seconds later, the paleness had vanished, replaced by a flawless professional mask, as if the minor incident had never occurred.
With perfect, practiced fluidity, she completed the rest of the demonstration, safely sealing the blue gel into a crystal vial.
"Alright, that's how it's done."
Green placed her tools on the tray with a sharp clink. Then, her gaze swept over the curious and fearful faces before her, locking onto Jerry Rosier at the back of the room like a hawk pinning its prey.
"Mr. Rosier," her voice wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly, silencing the room. "Since you were watching so intently, why don't you provide the next demonstration for the class?"
The air in the greenhouse froze. Every student's eyes converged on Jerry—some with sympathy, others with schadenfreude, and many with pure disbelief.
Jerry could feel the unmasked malice in her gaze. It was a cold, deliberate intent to corner him, to place him in a position of extreme danger. The hazard of the "Azura-gel Mimic" was such that even upperclassmen handled them with extreme caution. According to Hogwarts safety regulations, such an under-researched and dangerous magical organism shouldn't even be in a first-year curriculum, let alone handled by a student.
He didn't move. He simply looked at Professor Green and shook his head.
"I apologize, Professor. I don't believe I have mastered the skills necessary to handle such a dangerous plant."
Jerry's refusal was polite but blunt. Professor Green seemed to have anticipated this. Her lips curled into a tiny arc, mocking his cowardice.
"Is that so? That doesn't sound like the Slytherin who spoke so boldly in the Great Hall." Her voice carried a faint, cutting sarcasm. "Tell you what, Mr. Rosier. If you can successfully take a sample from that 'Rose' form mimic... I will award Slytherin ten points."
The number hit its mark. This woman clearly knew all about the bet Jerry had made with Molly Weasley regarding house points.
Facing the malicious bait she had cast, Jerry merely shrugged. His expression was so calm it bordered on lazy, as if house points were a triviality.
"I apologize again, Professor!" Jerry's voice was steady and clear. "A mere ten points isn't worth gambling my life for."
Jerry paused, meeting Green's oppressive gaze with a faint, daring smile.
"However, I happen to know that every professor has the authority to grant up to thirty points in a single lesson. If you are willing to give me all thirty, then... I might consider taking the risk."
The statement was like a stone thrown into a still pond. The students gasped in shock. Professor Green's smile froze. She hadn't expected the lamb she intended to slaughter to instead demand more meat from the wolf. Her eyes flickered, her surprise quickly turning into a deeper, crueler interest.
"Very well." She nodded and pointed to a pot in the furthest corner of the greenhouse.
It was an Azura-gel Mimic far larger than any of the others. It could hardly be called a "potted plant" anymore. It looked like a twisted, stunted shrub, with countless translucent blue gel branches snaking out like serpents. The entire plant pulsed rhythmically, like a living, blue heart. Just looking at it triggered an instinctive sense of dread.
"Then handle that one," Green said with a hint of sadistic pleasure. "As long as you can scrape more than fifteen milligrams of essence from its main trunk—no more, no less—I will give Slytherin thirty points."
"No problem." Jerry didn't even hesitate. He shrugged again and agreed instantly.
"Excellent." Professor Green nodded, turning to the other students with an authoritative command. "Alright, everyone out! This mimic is large and its attack range is wide. To prevent any accidental injuries, wait outside the greenhouse. Mr. Rosier, you stay."
As the greenhouse doors slammed shut behind the last student, Professor Green crossed her arms, watching Jerry with a deepening smirk. "It's not too late to regret this, Mr. Rosier. I can pretend you never said a word."
Jerry didn't even look at her. He picked up the silver knife from the tool bench, felt its weight, and walked toward the massive blue shrub. He didn't even bother putting on the basic dragon-hide gloves.
Green's pupils contracted. She wanted the boy dead, but if he actually died in her class, the subsequent trouble would be endless. However, remembering his arrogant attitude, she felt it was necessary for him to suffer—to suffer greatly.
As Jerry drew closer to the monster, Green's heart raced. She instinctively gripped her wand, ready to cast a Shield Charm if things went south.
However, Jerry stopped two paces away from the gel shrub. He slowly pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it at the "plant," which had already begun to writhe in anticipation.
"Stupefy Modificus," he whispered. A thin but solid bolt of red lightning shot from his wand, sinking into the trunk of the gel shrub.
There was no explosion, no sound. The massive mimic, which had been poised to strike, was suddenly hit by a "pause" button. Its writhing branches froze, and the entire translucent blue body contracted violently. Like a slug hit with salt, its color dimmed as it fell into a state of total paralysis.
Seizing the moment, Jerry stepped forward. The silver knife flashed in his hand, cleanly severing a large chunk of the root—larger than his palm—from the trunk. With a flick of the blade, the vibrating blue gel traced a perfect arc through the air, landing with a wet thud inside an empty glass basin on the workbench.
The entire process was seamless, a dizzying display of speed and precision.
Only then did Jerry turn around, looking at the stunned Professor Green with a gaze bordering on contempt.
"I've read about this 'plant' in the Monthly Journal of Modern Magical Plants and Creatures," Jerry said, his voice dripping with mockery. "It detailed its physiological traits and neural weaknesses. Honestly, Professor, this thing should be classified as a creature. The only reason it isn't is because if the classification changed, the potion merchants who rely on its essence would have to pay a massive 'Rare Creature Material Tax' to the Ministry."
Jerry ignored Green's darkening face and walked straight toward the desk holding her personal items. He picked up the silver thermos, unscrewed the cap casually, and took a light sniff. A complex scent of ground moss and African Boomslang skin wafted into his nose.
Jerry's playful smile deepened, completely ignoring the murderous, fiery gaze directed at his back.
"Professor, you've added some very interesting things to this Polyjuice Potion," Jerry said, his voice low but razor-sharp. "Bicorn horn, lacewing flies... oh, and this scent... powder from the fingernails of a Blood Doll, isn't it? If I remember correctly, that's a prohibited material by the Ministry. Drinking this is quite illegal."
"Shut up!" An explosive, low hiss of rage erupted.
Jerry turned back to see Green's beautiful face twisting with fury. Her wand was raised, its tip glowing with a dangerous red light aimed directly at his heart.
Jerry merely screwed the cap back onto the thermos with a deliberate click and set it back on the desk. The moment he let go of the flask, Green struck!
"Stupefy!"
The red beam of the spell shot like an arrow, tearing through the humid air of the greenhouse toward Jerry's chest. She didn't hesitate for a second.
"Protego!"
Jerry didn't even reach for his wand. He simply raised his left hand. An invisible barrier formed instantly. With a muffled thud, the red light was deflected, the resulting air pressure making his robes billow.
Missing her mark, Green immediately changed her tactics. Her wrist flicked, and her wand moved in a dizzying blur.
"Incarcerous! Impedimenta! Confringo!"
Multiple spells of different colors wove into a lethal net, sealing off all of Jerry's escape routes. Under her precise control, the pots and furniture in the greenhouse exploded, sending shards flying like shrapnel.
Jerry kicked off the ground, his body gliding backward like a ghost. He extended his right hand, fingers splayed.
"Depulso!"
A powerful invisible force erupted from him. The incoming spells and flying debris hit a wall of force and were blasted away.
"Expelliarmus!" Green caught a momentary gap in Jerry's defense, firing a Disarming Charm. It struck the wand Jerry had just pulled out. The wand flew from his hand, spinning through the air and landing in a far corner of the greenhouse.
Without a wand, you're done, kid! Green felt a surge of triumph.
However, Jerry didn't look panicked at all. Instead, he flashed a smile that could only be described as predatory.
"Too slow," Jerry whispered. Instead of retreating, he lunged directly at her.
Alarm bells rang in Green's mind. She tried to cast a defensive spell, but Jerry was faster than her incantations!
"Pressura! Gravitas! Constrictus!"
A barrage of wandless magic surged from Jerry's outstretched hand. The air became as thick as syrup, and a heavy pressure like a mountain slammed into Green. She felt her body sink, her movements becoming sluggish and heavy. Even waving her wand became an agonizing struggle.
In that heartbeat, Jerry closed the distance. He grabbed her wand arm and twisted it violently. Her wand hit the floor with a sharp clack. Then, his other hand clamped around her slender neck, slamming her entire body against the laboratory table behind her with a deafening crash.
"You..." Green looked at the eleven-year-old boy in horror. The coldness and power in his eyes made her soul tremble.
"Game over." Jerry's body was pressed tight against her. His developing but already imposing frame carried an oppressive weight that didn't belong to a boy. His free hand pointed at her forehead.
"Finite Incantatem!"
A soft white light erupted from his fingertip, instantly enveloping her. A second later, a shocking transformation took place.
Professor Green's mature, beautiful face began to warp and shrink like melting wax. Her curvaceous body shifted rapidly, her bones emitting sickening pops and cracks. The process lasted only seconds.
When the light faded, the person pinned beneath Jerry was no longer the sultry Herbology professor. She was a woman with vibrant red hair and striking emerald-green eyes—Lily Potter! The woman who was supposed to have died ten years ago, Harry Potter's mother!
Due to the violent struggle and being pinned down, her hemp work clothes had been shredded. A large expanse of her snowy skin was exposed at her chest, the tattered fabric barely hanging from her shoulders, unable to hide the fullness of her breasts which heaved with shock and heavy breathing. Her skirt was torn open from her hip to her knee, revealing her long, pale legs and the dark lace of her intimate underwear.
Lily's green eyes were filled with disbelief and total panic. Her body twitched slightly from the forced cancellation of the Polyjuice Potion.
"Who... who are you..." Lily's voice shook with terror.
Jerry didn't answer. His gaze roamed shamelessly over her mature body, visible through the ruins of her clothes. He could feel her body trembling uncontrollably beneath him. The soft, elastic sensation of her curves stimulated his senses.
The frozen terror in Lily's eyes was suddenly replaced by a flash of desperate madness. She was, after all, a member of the Order of the Phoenix who had survived a war, not a lamb for the slaughter.
"Get off me!" Lily growled, her core muscles snapping tight. Her body twisted at an impossible angle on the table, and her long, toned leg tensed. Her knee shot upward with a whistle of air, aimed directly at Jerry's groin!
It was the most primal and effective attack, enough to incapacitate any man instantly. However, Jerry was faster. Facing this lethal strike, his smirk didn't falter. He released her throat and reached down, his hand catching her thigh with lightning speed.
The boy's hand wasn't large, but his fingers were like iron pincers, digging into the soft, inner flesh of Lily's thigh. Her strike stopped inches from its goal.
"Pathetic," Jerry sneered. He yanked her leg outward while pressing his body weight forward.
Lily felt an irresistible force shatter her balance. She screamed as Jerry dragged her bodily off the lab table and slammed her onto the cold, muddy floor of the greenhouse.
THUD!
The impact nearly knocked her unconscious. She struggled to crawl away, but a boot slammed into her back, pinning her to the ground. Jerry's pressure wasn't overwhelming, but it carried an absolute will that made her struggles look pathetic.
RIP!
Several sharp tearing sounds followed. Jerry didn't even use his hands; a few silent Diffindo charms completely disintegrated the remnants of Lily's work clothes. Shards of fabric fluttered away.
In seconds, a shocking scene unfolded on the greenhouse floor. The red-headed woman lay naked and face-down on the dirty ground, save for her black stockings—torn in several places—and a pair of translucent lace panties, soaked with mud and water, clinging tightly to her rear. Lily's beautiful face was buried in the dirt out of humiliation and pain, her mature, curvaceous body exposed entirely to the boy's gaze.
Jerry slowly pulled a smooth, black, palm-sized stone from his pocket. A Memory Stone. He held it up, leisurely adjusting the angle as he pointed it at the prostrate Lily. The light from the greenhouse roof was perfect, capturing her humiliating pose, her exposed skin, the mud stains, and the way the tight lace of her panties accentuated the curve of her buttocks.
Click.
With a faint flash, the image—one that would drive anyone who knew Lily Potter insane—was frozen forever. Jerry tucked the stone away, speaking in a cat-and-mouse tone.
"Tell me... if the Death Eaters who lost everything because of you and your husband's 'deaths'—and are looking for a place to vent their rage—found out the famous Lily Potter was alive..."
As he spoke, he slowly moved his foot from her back. Lily's body stiffened at his words. She could imagine the consequences; it would be a torture ten thousand times worse than death.
Before she could recover from the horror, a more specific, humiliating sensation came from her chest. Jerry's leather boot—caked in the wet mud of the greenhouse—stepped onto her breast, which was flattened against the ground, making it appear even fuller.
"Mnh..." A stifled moan escaped Lily's throat.
The rough tread of the boot and the cold leather ground against Lily's softest, most sensitive flesh. Jerry intentionally increased the pressure, using the tip of his boot to grind circles over her already erect nipple. The sensation was indescribable: shame, sharp stings of pain, and a terrifying, unbidden spark of pleasure mixed together, threatening her sanity.
"How would they take their revenge on you?" Jerry's voice was a demonic whisper. "Tie you up and let a hundred goblins take turns with your body? Or use you as a breeding tool, forcing you to birth Death Eater spawn until you break?"
Jerry's foot moved lower, sliding over her flat stomach until it reached the most intimate space between her legs. The soaked lace panties offered no protection. He could feel the shape and heat of her "mysterious garden" beneath his sole.
Squish...
The heel of his boot ground into the swollen slit, creating a faint, wet, squelching sound.
"Ah!" Lily couldn't hold it back. She screamed as a jolt of electricity shot up her spine to her brain. Her body went weak, her legs parting involuntarily, exposing even more to his view.
Lily lay in the mud, shivering from cold, pain, and absolute humiliation. The mud felt cold and filthy against her skin. She could feel the boot grinding into her clitoris, every twist sending a wave of alien, sinful shivers through her.
But in her green eyes, beneath the terror, a flicker of defiance still burned—anger and a desire to kill.
Jerry noticed. His eyes glowed with a shimmering pink light—the Eyes of Slaanesh. He could clearly "see" the jagged, scarlet wave of resistance in her soul.
"It seems this isn't enough," Jerry whispered, as if unsatisfied with his work.
He didn't move his foot from her crotch. He simply shifted the angle, pressing the toe of his boot firmly against her softest opening. Then, he raised his left hand and cast a silent spell at her body.
"Tingle Jinx."
A sliver of nearly invisible magic dived into Lily like an electric eel.
"Aaaah!"
Lily's back arched violently as she let out a shrill, distorted scream. It wasn't pain; it was something far more terrifying. Countless tiny, sharp jolts of pleasure, like ten thousand electrified ants, raced through every nerve ending in her body.
Her limbs twitched uncontrollably. Her toes curled, and her fingers dug deep into the mud. The soaked lace panties were instantly drenched by a sudden, hot gush of fluid, which pooled beneath her in a glistening puddle, making a wet, shameful slurp sound with every movement.
"How does it feel, Mrs. Potter?" Jerry asked with a cold laugh, increasing the mana output.
"No... stop... please..." Lily begged incoherently, her body spasming harder. Her waist writhed on the floor, her hips bucking upward instinctively to meet the boot grinding into her flower.
"Is that a 'no'?" Jerry mocked. "Or 'no, don't stop'?"
Broken moans leaked from Lily's lips, mixed with humiliated sobs. Sweat, tears, and mud covered her beautiful face.
"Don't... stop...!"
Jerry watched the display with an expressionless face. Through his Eyes of Slaanesh, the scarlet of anger in Lily's soul was fading, replaced by the pink of lust and the purple of pain. But it wasn't enough. The colors were still too "vibrant."
"Look at me," Jerry commanded.
Trembling, Lily forced her face out of the mud to look up at the boy who held her entire world in his hands. Her gaze was shattered, her green eyes swimming with moisture. The flame of resistance had finally been extinguished by the relentless torture of pleasure. In its place was a pure, deep, soul-crushing terror.
In his Eyes of Slaanesh, the last traces of color vanished. All that remained was a pure, hollow gray-white, representing "Broken" and "Submission."
Jerry smiled, satisfied.
"Excellent." He looked down at the broken, mature body lying like a heap of discarded silk in the mud. "Now, Mrs. Potter, we can have a real conversation."