Candlelight flickered within the castle's dining hall, casting long, elegant shadows of the two women against the smooth black stone walls. The air was heavy with the savory aroma of roasted meat and the yeasty depth of dark ale.
Elania leaned back in her chair, contentedly patting her slightly rounded belly. It gave off a dull, rhythmic thump-thump. Her plate was a mountain of picked-clean bones and smears of rich sauce—a stark contrast to her ethereal, refined beauty.
Yet, her appetite was clearly far from satiated. Her bright eyes, like a young wolf that had spotted fresh prey, drifted with undisguised longing toward the thick, sizzling cut of steak still sitting on Catherine's plate. Elania's gaze tracked the movement of Catherine's knife, her throat bobbing as she swallowed instinctively.
Catherine didn't look up, but she might as well have had eyes in the back of her head. With a clean, decisive stroke, she sliced her steak down the middle and pushed the larger half—dripping with juices—onto the clean spare plate in front of Elania.
Finishing the gesture, Catherine tossed her cutlery aside and fished a dark glass bottle of beer from the ice bucket. Hooking her thumb and forefinger around the cap, she flexed her muscles. A sharp pop echoed through the room as the metal cap was flicked away, skittering across the stone floor.
Catherine tilted her head back, pouring the icy liquid down her throat. She downed more than half the bottle in one breath. White foam clung to her lips, adding a layer of raw, untamed wildness to her already striking features.
"Thanks!" Elania chirped, her eyes shining. She grabbed her own knife and fork like a little beast protecting its kill, dragging the steak toward her and burying her face in it. She chewed and tore at the meat with such gusto that her chin glistened with oil.
Elania's eating speed was terrifying. Her cutlery was a blur, creating a rapid-fire clink-clank against the porcelain. She didn't even bother cutting the meat into bite-sized pieces; she just hacked off large chunks and stuffed them in, her cheeks bulging like a hamster's as she let out muffled, satisfied grunts. The palm-sized steak vanished in less than thirty seconds. Finally, she extended a pink tongue to lick the remaining gravy from the plate until it shone.
Done with the steak, she set her sights on the ice bucket. It held several bottles of Dragonblood Wheat Beer, their dark glass printed with a crimson herb pattern. Watching Catherine drink so leisurely, Elania thought it looked like fun.
She mimicked the move, pulling a dripping bottle from the ice. She tried to flick the cap with her long, perfectly manicured finger, just as Catherine had done.
Ping!
A crisp sound like striking crystal rang out, followed immediately by a violent crack—bang!
The neck of the bottle, along with the cap, was snapped off by a sudden burst of misdirected force, flying straight into the high ceiling. But the bottom half of the bottle couldn't handle the shock; it shattered into a million shards. Amber liquid and a mountain of white foam splashed onto the floor, filling the room with the scent of malt and a strange, medicinal herb.
Elania froze in her "flicking" pose. She looked at her empty hand, then at the mess on the floor. The tips of her ears turned a deep crimson as she stole a sheepish glance at Catherine.
Catherine rolled her eyes, her gaze full of the weary "I knew this would happen" look. Without a word, she grabbed another bottle, hooked her thumb under the cap, and popped it cleanly.
Elania took the bottle and brought it tentatively to her lips, lapping at it like a kitten. A wave of bitterness and strange herbal medicinal flavor flooded her mouth. Her brow furrowed instantly—she clearly hated the taste. But then she looked at Catherine, who was finishing her second bottle as if it were nectar from the gods.
Stubbornness flared. Elania tilted her neck and chugged half the bottle. The icy, carbonated liquid burned down her throat and hit her stomach. An uncontrollable surge of gas rushed back up.
BURP!
A loud, malt-scented belch erupted from her tiny mouth. Elania's face flushed bright red. she clamped her hands over her mouth, her watery eyes full of shock and embarrassment. She shook the half-empty bottle and pushed it away with a look of utter disgust.
She propped her chin in her hands, watching Catherine, her mind clearly racing with some new mischief. She no longer looked like a mature Elven Princess; she was a playful kitten that had just stolen a fish, tried the owner's wine, and gotten choked for its curiosity.
Whoosh!
Just as Elania was lost in thought, the fireplace at the far end of the hall roared to life. The quiet orange embers surged into a pillar of eerie emerald green flame. A young boy in silk pajamas stepped out of the fire, draped in soot and the chill of the night.
Elania turned her head to look at Jerry, and Catherine's movements halted as well. Catherine narrowed her eyes like a feline whose territory had been trespassed. She set her empty bottle down with a soft clack and spoke in a lazy, sharp-edged drawl:
"My, my... if it isn't my little lust-demon master. Why aren't you sleeping? So much energy so early in the morning?"
Catherine's gaze wandered up and down Jerry's body with playful intent. A smirk toyed at the corners of her mouth. "I suppose mature women are better, aren't they? Unlike us 'little girls' who just drain you dry... a mature woman knows exactly how to... nurture a man's essence."
Jerry didn't bother with a verbal retort. He simply rolled his eyes. He raised a hand, a tiny, silver arc of lightning dancing at his fingertip. With a flick, the bolt vanished into the air.
The next second, it reappeared, snaking silently beneath Catherine's skirt between her thighs.
"Ooh... ungh!"
Catherine's poised, aristocratic laziness shattered. The bottle slipped from her hand, clattering onto the table. Her body went limp as if her bones had turned to jelly. She instinctively clamped her thighs shut, a strangled, sob-like moan escaping the depths of her throat. A wave of electric, numbing pleasure exploded from her core, sending a fine layer of goosebumps across her skin.
Jerry ignored her reaction, letting out a weary yawn. His encounter with Cassiopeia had left him wired, his mind filled with the relief of a survivor. At the very least, he hadn't been turned into a permanent statue in the halls of Hogwarts.
He walked to the table and reached for the last bottle of Dragonblood Wheat Beer. The moment his palm touched the glass, a visible layer of white frost spread from his hand, coating the entire bottle. The metal cap didn't even pop; it simply became brittle under the extreme cold and dissolved into a wisp of grey smoke.
As Jerry raised the bottle to take a swig, a pale hand shot out and gripped the frosted glass.
"No more alcohol for you."
Catherine's voice was soft, carrying the lingering tremolo of the electric shock, but her tone was firm. She rubbed her legs together, trying to soothe the fading tingles, as she looked at Jerry with hooded, sultry eyes. "Drinking stunts your growth, my little master."
Jerry stopped. He let his gaze travel up her arm, past her heaving chest, and settled on her face—half-lazy, half-mocking. Even sitting down, Catherine's tall frame made her head loom over Jerry. He had to tilt his head up slightly to meet her gaze. The physical height difference made her "little master" comment feel especially biting.
Jerry looked away and turned toward Elania. The moment his eyes landed on her, the Elven Princess straightened her spine. Her elegant neck lengthened, and she tilted her chin up, adopting a pose of impeccable royal dignity.
The movement made her staggering height even more apparent. Even seated, Elania's high, firm chest was nearly level with Jerry's eyes. He had no doubt that if he stood next to her, his head would barely reach her shoulder.
Jerry let out a clicking sound of annoyance. He let go of the frosted bottle, pushing it back toward Catherine.
"Fine. Go fetch me a glass of milk then, Big Sister," he said, putting a heavy, mocking emphasis on the word "big."
Catherine gave a sultry laugh, unfazed by his temper. She took the ice-cold bottle Jerry had just frozen and took a long swig herself before swaying her hips toward the kitchen in a lazy, feline stride.
Jerry shook his head and sat down. He grabbed Catherine's used cutlery and began carving up the remaining half-steak on her plate, stuffing a piece into his mouth. "So," he asked the Elf Princess, his voice muffled by food, "how are you settling in?"
Elania's emerald eyes watched him with curiosity. At his question, she beamed. She leaned back and stretched, a massive, luxurious yawn that showcased every curve of her body.
"Wonderfully! It's so comfortable here, and so quiet. No endless prayers or meditation. I can just stay in and read whatever books I want."
The word "books" made Jerry stop chewing.
At that moment, Catherine returned with a glass of warm milk. She had heard the last part of Elania's sentence and froze in her tracks. She and Jerry locked eyes, both seeing the same dark realization.
"You read?" Catherine set the milk down, her voice laced with disbelief. "Read what?"
"The books in the second-floor study, of course!" Elania chirped, completely oblivious to the shift in the room. She pointed toward the stairs, her face full of innocent joy.
Slap! Jerry face-palmed hard.
Without hesitation, Jerry's fingertips glowed with a sickening, crimson light—like a drop of burning blood. He pointed it directly at the confused Elania.
"Eh?" Elania raised her hand to block him, her Elven instincts sensing danger.
But the light wasn't an attack. It shattered before it hit her, turning into a soft red veil that draped over her head. Elania looked up in confusion. As she did, the innocence on her face curdled into a mask of pale horror.
Under the red light, her vision was filled with thousands of writhing, needle-like black threads. One end of these threads was rooted deep in the void above her, while the other end coiled and twisted like a living nest of maggots.
Every thread radiated filth and corruption. They were curses—pure, concentrated malice.
Among the swarm, one thread was thicker and darker than the rest, pulsating with a greedy, bottomless hunger as it fed something into her body. It was one of the Seven Deadly Sins: Gluttony.
The "Gluttony" curse coiled like a giant python, its black fibers trying to burrow into her nose and mouth, pumping her full of insatiable hunger. Below that main branch, finer threads snaked down like vines, wrapping around different parts of her body.
Sallow, golden threads wrapped around her high, full breasts—Greed, whispering the desire to possess everything. A mass of grey, viscous sludge-like threads coated her flat stomach—Sloth, radiating a rot that demanded she cease all thought and action.
Further down, coiling around her firm rear and her private flower, were countless pink threads with tiny barbs—Lust. They writhed restlessly, trying to spark primal carnal cravings.
On her perfect, porcelain toes, red threads of Wrath and acid-green threads of Envy hissed like vipers.
This network of the Seven Deadly Sins formed a foul web, shrouding Elania's entire being. However, strangely enough, while the threads wrapped around her, they never actually touched her skin. They were held back by an invisible, microscopic barrier.
Through the gaps in the curses, one could see deep within Elania's chest—at the location of her heart—a small branch of soft, emerald green wood. It pulsated slowly. With every beat, the branch flickered, sending out a ripple of vibrant, life-filled green light.
It was this ripple that formed the impenetrable shield, keeping the filth at bay and protecting the last of the Princess's purity.
"Didn't you tell her those books were cursed?" Jerry took a sip of milk, glancing at Catherine. His voice was reproachful, but his eyes remained calm.
Catherine sighed. She reached out with a pale finger, delicately plucking at the twisted threads above Elania's head, trying to peel them away. As she touched them, the black miasma was purified and dissolved, thinning the web.
"Did you feel nothing?" Catherine asked the stunned Elania, her voice a mix of frustration and pity. "Every book in that study is a trap! They're laced with high-level curses. They are meant to ensnare the mind!"
Elania blinked, her small face flushing with embarrassment. "I... I didn't notice."
Jerry downed the rest of his milk and stabbed the last piece of steak, swallowing it whole. He glanced at the old mechanical clock on the wall. It was exactly 8:00 AM.
The papers should be here, he thought.
Right on cue, the fireplace roared. A sharp bang echoed as the flames turned a brilliant emerald green. Then, as if answering a silent command, dozens of neatly folded newspapers flew out of the green fire like a startled flock of birds.
They circled the room several times, maintaining a strange, coordinated distance between them before fluttering down onto the sofa in neat stacks.
On top was the Daily Prophet, its ink still smelling fresh. Below it were the more serious Ministry of Magic Weekly and the Frontier Military Gazette. At the very bottom sat a stack of garish, colorful papers—the tabloid supplement of the Prophet, dedicated to scandals and gossip.
Jerry walked to the sofa and pulled the yellowed, heavy-scented Frontier Military Gazette from the bottom. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colorful gossip rag and frowned—he didn't remember subscribing to that trash.
Before he could say anything, Catherine swooped in like a graceful cat. She snatched up the tabloid and pulled the still-dazed Elania back to the table.
"Look at this, Elania!" Catherine chirped with the excitement of a child with a new toy. "Word is that the new Undersecretary is having an affair with a Wizengamot witch... oh my, this photo is scandalous!"
The two women were immediately huddled together, whispering about sensational headlines and blurry magical photos while Catherine continued the delicate work of purifying Elania's curses. The atmosphere was strangely domestic. Elania had no idea who the Undersecretary was or what the Wizengamot did, but the instinct for gossip was universal.
Jerry ignored them, focusing entirely on the military gazette. The paper was rough, filled with data tables, tactical maps, and grim, moving black-and-white photos. In mainstream wizarding society, almost no one read this. Wizards were notoriously laid back and rarely bothered with anything that wasn't an immediate threat. They cared about Quidditch and cauldron thicknesses, not stars and dust on distant frontiers.
Moreover, the news in the gazette was always half-truth and half-rumor. The "Frontier Worlds" were hotbeds of espionage for various planar powers. One detailed battle report might hide three or four conflicting intelligence leaks.
Jerry unfolded the paper. The headline was printed in bold, black Gothic font:
[THE 7TH EXPEDITIONARY LEGION 'STAR-EATER' ENCOUNTERS POWERFUL DIVINE CIVILIZATION — FIRST CONTACT REPORT: AEGEAN SHARD CLUSTER]
The report detailed an accidental encounter. A wizarding exploration team, following an expansion route, used long-range spatial observation spells to find an unmapped cluster of worlds.
This cluster consisted of dozens of planes of varying sizes, connected by stable energy channels resembling "Rainbow Bridges." At the core was a super-giant world radiating golden light, dubbed "Olympus."
Per standard procedure, the Legion sent an elite team of Aurors to perform reconnaissance via long-range Apparition. However, the moment they entered a maritime world on the cluster's edge, they met unprecedented resistance.
The report quoted the memory-vial logs of the sole survivor:
"...The sky was torn apart. A giant wielding pure lightning descended from the clouds. His roar summoned waves ten thousand feet high. All our defensive spells—Shield Charms, Protego—were like paper before his thunder. Phineas barely cast a Sectumsempra before a bolt of golden lightning turned him to ash. It wasn't magic, sir. It was... Authority. He wasn't 'casting' lightning. He was the lightning."
Subsequent recon indicated that the Aegean Shard Cluster was ruled by a powerful race calling themselves the "Olympian Deities." They looked human but bled gold and possessed peerless strength and immortality. Their ruler was Zeus, the "God-King" of Storms, supported by beings like Apollo the Sun God, Poseidon of the Seas, and Athena, Goddess of Wisdom.
The military commentator analyzed that the "God-System" was fundamentally different from wizardry. These beings appeared to hold inherent "Divinities" or "Authorities" over the world's source, allowing them to command natural elements directly. The scale of their power far exceeded elemental magic of the same level.
This first contact ended in a crushing defeat for the wizarding scouts. The deities displayed absolute arrogance and xenophobia. The report concluded with a divine message sent by Zeus:
"Mortals, crawl back into your shadows. This realm is not for your prying eyes."
Currently, the Seventh Expeditionary Legion has locked down the spatial coordinates surrounding the cluster, and both sides are locked in a tense, sword-drawn standoff.
At the end of the report, bolded text provided a prediction: Given the arrogant attitude of the Olympian deities and the incalculable strategic resources within the cluster—a unique energy the deities call the "Source of Divine Power"—the likelihood of a full-scale war breaking out in the short term is extremely high.
Jerry looked at the wording on the paper and let out a disdainful click of his tongue.
"Elite Auror squad..." he muttered, his lips curling into an unabashed sneer.
In his eyes, this was a hundred percent a third-party slave-hunting squad operating under an official cover to do the dirty work. Such things were an open secret in the expansion of the frontier. Whenever the tentacles of the wizarding civilization reached a strange new world, before the regular legions moved in, it was always these blood-scenting hyenas who charged in first.
Their mission was called "reconnaissance" on paper, but it actually consisted of two grim steps.
First, they gathered intelligence—mapping out the world's strength, resource distribution, and the weaknesses of the natives.
The second, more important step happened during the lawless "golden window" before the Ministry of Magic officially declared the world conquered and placed the natives under the Non-Human Intelligent Being Protection Act. During this time, they would capture as many natives as possible.
These "primaries" would be treated as the most sought-after cargo, sold in the various black markets of the wizarding world to become laborers, gladiators, or even experimental fodder for Dark Wizards. Simultaneously, these squads would strip-mine the new world, plundering every precious resource that wasn't nailed down.
This wasn't an elite squad; it was a gang of well-equipped, cold-blooded mercenaries.
If it were truly an elite Auror squad from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—properly commissioned and strictly trained—even a team of three to five would possess combat power far beyond such a ragtag bunch.
Jerry knew very well that with his current strength, even if he activated every magical accessory and artifact on his person, he couldn't defeat a team like that in a head-on fight.
Of course, a backstab was a different story.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The melodious chime of the old wall clock rang out. Jerry calculated the time; it was almost time for class.
He stood up and walked toward the fireplace, calling out to the Elven Princess without looking back, "What do you want for dinner?"
"Sweet and sour spare ribs and roast duck," Elania replied without a moment's hesitation. She had clearly become a connoisseur of Eastern cuisine.
Jerry nodded, stepped up to the hearth, and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. He tossed a casual remark to Catherine: "Heading to class."
He threw the powder into the grate, and the emerald flames roared upward. In the final second before the fire swallowed him, Jerry flicked his wrist, accurately tossing the Frontier Military Gazette back onto the sofa. You couldn't subscribe to that at Hogwarts, and it would be a massive headache if it were discovered.
With a flash of green light, Jerry vanished.
Ten minutes later, Jerry walked through the dim corridors and into the classroom.
This was the "Fantastic Beasts Appreciation" hall. Rather than a classroom, it looked like a bizarre hybrid of a Roman amphitheater and a large-scale menagerie.
In the center was a circular arena covered in fine sand, surrounded by tiered spectator seating. Along the walls were rows of magically reinforced metal cages and glass enclosures of various sizes. Most were empty for now, but the air still held the lingering scents of exotic life—the musk of feathers, the earthy smell of scales, and a faint ozone tang like the scent of rubbing metal.
This course was a "perk" elective for first-year students, designed to introduce them to creatures that had been domesticated—or had the potential to be.
These animals were more bluntly referred to as "Demonic Beasts." Their common trait was the possession of a "Mana Crystal" core in some part of their body, allowing them to store and convert mana, granting them innate talents for elemental control or specialized abilities.
For Hogwarts students, the class was about more than just curiosity. If a wizard graduated and intended to answer the call to join the frontier legions, the final part of their examination would likely involve choosing a magical beast partner that complemented their personality and magical affinity.
Frontier wars were a hundred times more dangerous than school duels. The number of wizards was minuscule compared to the massive slave armies composed of conquered races, numbering in the hundreds of millions. Therefore, wizards on the battlefield mostly handled high-risk, surgical strikes: assassinations, infiltrations, and intelligence gathering.
In such an environment, a magical beast partner who shared a telepathic bond and complementary skills could increase a wizard's survival rate exponentially.
Shortly after Jerry entered, a soft voice came from behind him: "Jerry."
He turned to see Liliana. She walked up to him, her ample chest rising and falling slightly with her breath, her face full of concern. "Did you eat breakfast? I didn't see you in the Great Hall."
"I ate in my dorm," Jerry chatted with her casually.
As they spoke, other students filtered in through the Floo network. The four houses soon filled the tiered seats.
A familiar figure swaggered over. Upon seeing Malfoy, Liliana immediately whispered a goodbye to Jerry and scurried back to the Gryffindor section like a startled rabbit.
"Hey, mate." Malfoy draped a familiar arm over Jerry's shoulder. There was a smear of bright red lipstick on his neck that he hadn't wiped off, and his hair was a mess. It was obvious he had spent the night in debauchery.
He leaned in close to Jerry's ear and whispered conspiratorially, "I'm telling you, Jerry, I found a fantastic place! I'll take you there after class. I guarantee you'll never want to leave!"
Jerry rolled his eyes but didn't shove the arm off. His gaze drifted past Malfoy to the sand pit in the center of the arena.
A professor was already standing there. Behind her was a large pack of snow-white foxes, sitting quietly on the sand. Their fluffy tails swayed gently, and their dark eyes watched the young wizards with curious intelligence.
"What are those things?" Jerry felt a spark of curiosity.
His gaze moved from the foxes to the professor. She was an exceptionally small woman, barely reaching Jerry's chest. Her brown hair was cut in a sharp bob. Her face was as delicate as a doll's, and her large eyes darted around shyly, making her look less like an authority figure and more like a terrified underclassman who had wandered into the wrong room. She wore a conservative but well-fitted professor's robe that emphasized her petite frame. Despite her size, she radiated a strange, lovable, and utterly adorable aura.
The tiny professor cleared her throat, her voice as small and soft as her body.
"H-hello, everyone. My name is Mia Sterling. I am a visiting professor from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and I will be teaching your Fantastic Beasts Appreciation class this term."
Mia Sterling nervously gripped the hem of her robes, her eyes avoiding direct contact with the students. "T-today, we are introducing a very special creature from the Extreme East—the Snowfield Phantom Fox."
As she spoke, the white foxes behind her began to emit a faint, dawn-like white mist. Within the mist, their sleek, vulpine bodies began to twist and elongate. Bones popped and cracked rhythmically. White fur receded, replaced by smooth, porcelain skin. In a few heartbeats, the pack of foxes had transformed into a group of exquisite, seductive women.
The classroom fell into a stunned silence. The young wizards stared, eyes bulging at the sight.
These fox-women retained their snow-white ears and bushy tails. Their clothing was minimalist to the point of being scandalous—scraps of silk and gauze that barely covered their essentials. Thin veils and ribbons of silk clung to their curves, leaving vast expanses of pale skin exposed.
Some looked mature and sultry, their eyes swimming with bedroom-eyes allure, their heavy breasts and rounded bums barely contained by thin strips of fabric. Others were flamboyantly erotic, wearing bright red lipstick and almost transparent black lace, every inch of their bodies radiating a lethal temptation. Some appeared young and innocent, like budding flowers, wearing simple white bodices and short-shorts that showcased slender waists and long legs, their faces full of wide-eyed curiosity.
Jerry felt Malfoy's body stiffen beside him. He heard a very distinct, loud gulp of saliva.
He turned to see Malfoy frozen as if hit by a Petrificus Totalus. His grey-blue eyes were wide, staring unblinkingly at the array of beauties in the arena.
At that moment, one of the most voluptuous fox-women—the one with the fiery red lipstick—noticed Malfoy's obsessed stare. She gave him a seductive smile and blew him a lingering kiss.
That gesture was the key that unlocked Malfoy's chaotic memories of the previous night.
That fiery, passionate woman... the one who had made him experience pleasure he never knew existed... that incredible, supple waist... that intoxicating scent... the wild, animalistic whimpers from the back of her throat...
It was her?
The realization that the object of his frantic, sweaty rutting the night before was actually a furry white fox made Malfoy's face turn pale for a split second. As a pureblood noble, this was... outside his usual worldview.
However, the pallor lasted less than a second. It was immediately replaced by a deep, hot flush of crimson that spread from his neck to his ears, fueled by a mix of taboo and conquest. Malfoy's dull eyes lit up with a strange, manic fire.
He didn't feel disgusted. He didn't feel ashamed. He felt... incredibly aroused.
Jerry watched the subtle but hilarious shifts in Malfoy's expression, connected them to the lipstick on his neck and his "never want to leave" invitation, and instantly pieced the whole story together. He let out a silent laugh and shook his head.
Malfoy, Malfoy, Jerry thought. The path of the furry lover is a one-way street to degeneracy.
Meanwhile, Professor Mia Sterling seemed to have found her courage and began the formal introduction.
"The Snowfield Phantom Fox is a very rare and highly intelligent species!" Her voice was still soft, but the content was structured like a well-rehearsed sales pitch. "Their magical talent is innate, and they possess the ability to take human form."
The more Jerry listened, the weirder it felt. This sounded less like a "Fantastic Beast" needing protection and more like the "Spirit Beasts" or "Yaoguai" from Eastern cultivation novels. But then he realized—in this wizard-dominated corner of the universe, any non-human species with mana that could be categorized and exploited was labeled as a "Fantastic Beast."
However, Professor Sterling's next words shifted the tone of the class entirely.
She stepped forward, her shy blush still present, but she spoke like an experienced madam pitching her girls to a group of fresh-faced clients.
"What you see here are still juveniles!" she said, gesturing to the sultry fox-women with the tone of someone presenting high-end merchandise. "This means they are highly malleable. The Snowfield Phantom Fox has human-level intelligence and is extremely attuned to their master's emotions, making them the perfect companions."
She paused, then dropped the most enticing selling point.
"More importantly, as they age, they grow more tails. Every new tail represents a massive jump in magical power and unlocks more practical spells. Whether it's combat support or daily lifestyle needs, they provide comprehensive assistance."
Her speech became faster and more fluent as she fully embraced her role as a salesperson. "If you pre-order now, you can take advantage of official Ministry subsidies. This is a rare opportunity..."
Jerry's brow furrowed. The feeling in the room was all too familiar—it reminded him of those "entrepreneurial seminars" friends would trick him into attending in his previous life. The air was thick with an unnatural, manic hype.
Considering the context—a Ministry-organized "perk" course for first-years—this wasn't an educational seminar. It was a commercial trade show. The Ministry was being deviously clever. Under the guise of education, using the prestige of Hogwarts, they gathered these wealthy, naive young wizards to sell them "merchandise" they had probably rounded up from some god-forsaken corner of the galaxy.
Looking around at the students—especially those from Slytherin and Ravenclaw—Jerry saw their eyes sparkling with greed and desire. He found it hilarious. It was a perfectly played hand.
To seal the deal, Professor Sterling clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention. Her last shred of shyness vanished, replaced by the infectious passion of a professional hustler.
"I know that words alone cannot help you understand the value of a Snowfield Phantom Fox. So, let them demonstrate exactly what kind of advantage a partner like this brings to your future career as a wizard!"
She snapped her fingers at the fox-women. "Lilith, demonstrate your 'Dance of Flame'."
The one who answered was the sultry one who had blown the kiss to Malfoy. She swayed her hips forward, her red lips curving into a tempting smile. She raised a delicate hand, and a ball of orange flame ignited in her palm. The fire was as docile as a pet; at the movement of her fingers, it transformed into a burning phoenix circling the air, then stretched into a long, whistling whip of fire that left scorched marks on the sand. Finally, she closed her hand, and the flames vanished instantly.
"This is their basic elemental control," Mia Sterling's voice provided the perfect narration. "As they grow, the power increases. Imagine a duel where your opponent has to chant an 'Incendio' while your partner provides fire with a single thought."
A collective gasp went through the students.
"Ayla, your 'Ice Crystal Garden'."
A cold, silver-haired fox-woman stepped out. She blew a soft breath into the air, and visible frost spread instantly from her. The moisture in the air froze into intricate, crystalline roses, forming a shimmering, cold garden on the sand. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
"Elemental control isn't just for offense; it's for defense and utility. Ice and fire are just the basics."
Mia continued the pitch. "But their greatest strength isn't elemental magic—it's the 'Phantom' in their name. Sylvia, show them 'Mirror Flower, Water Moon'."
The youngest, most innocent-looking fox-woman stepped forward shyly. She blinked at the students.
The next second, the scenery changed for everyone. They were no longer in a circular classroom; they were standing in an endless field of flowers. A breeze carried the scent of blossoms, and butterflies danced in the distance. It was impossibly real. Then, the scene shifted—the flowers vanished, and a roaring dragon swept over their heads. The heat of the dragon's breath and the wind from its wings caused several girls to scream in terror.
The illusion lasted fifteen seconds before fading. The students were left breathless and shaken.
"Group illusions. No incantations, no wands, impossible to guard against," Sterling said with pride. "Whether for confusing enemies or hiding your tracks, it is top-tier support. And as their tails increase, they can even create illusions with physical striking power."
"And, of course, they are the best lifestyle partners." She pointed to the last fox-woman. "They master basic healing and soothing spells to relieve the fatigue of study and battle. In critical moments, they can even intercept lethal curses for you."
The fox-woman pressed her hands together, and a soft, vibrant green light filled her palms, making everyone who saw it feel a surge of energy.
The display ignited the room. These weren't beasts; they were mobile, autonomous, beautiful magical arsenals.
Seeing the overflowing desire in the students' eyes, Professor Sterling threw out the final hook: "The most important point: once a Snowfield Phantom Fox bonds with a master, their growth path fine-tunes itself to your magical signature and personality. They become the only existence perfectly synchronized with your soul. Currently, the first batch of fifty juveniles, guaranteed by the Ministry, is open for pre-order. With a Hogwarts first-year ID, you get a 30% discount and Ministry subsidies. We even offer installment plans. Space is limited, so please come collect an application form after class."
The room erupted. It was total pandemonium.
A bold Ravenclaw girl stood up. "Professor, are there any male Snowfield Phantom Foxes?"
Several girls leaned in eagerly. Mia Sterling blushed again, shaking her head. "I'm afraid not. They are a very unique matriarchal species. Currently, the Ministry can only stably produce female individuals."
A wave of disappointed sighs came from the girls' side.
Malfoy, meanwhile, was ecstatic. He nudged Jerry again. "How about it, Jerry? Want me to buy you one? Pick whoever you like."
Jerry rolled his eyes and finally shoved Malfoy's arm off his shoulder. "Buy it yourself if you want. I'm not a furry."
"Hmph." Malfoy pouted, clearly annoyed that Jerry wouldn't join in. He turned to his two fawning cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. "Fine. You two, go pick one each. It's on me."
Crabbe and Goyle erupted in joy, thanking Malfoy profusely. Jerry watched, shaking his head. Ever since the underground betting pool from the Wizarding Chess tournament had made Malfoy rich, the boy had lost all sense of money. The price for three of these foxes—even with discounts—was enough to bankrupt a normal wizarding family. To Malfoy, it was like buying three lollipops.
At this rate, Jerry figured Malfoy would blow through his fortune in three or four years. It seemed Lucius had passed on more than just the platinum hair; the "prodigal son" trait ran bone-deep.
As the room boiled with excitement, Jerry's gaze drifted across the noise to the Gryffindor trio.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't participating in the "pre-order" madness. Their heads were huddled together. Hermione was speaking rapidly, her face etched with anxiety, while Ron looked around nervously like a lookout.
Most striking was Harry Potter. He was pressing a hand firmly against the lightning scar on his forehead, his face pale as if enduring intense pain.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Hermione tugged at their sleeves, and the three of them quietly ducked low, sneaking toward the exit.
The movement set off an alarm in Jerry's mind.
He held his breath, filtering out the noise. His mental energy spread out like invisible tentacles, feeling every ripple of mana in the air. He quickly sensed it—the ambient magical elements, usually stable and scattered, were vibrating. They weren't floating randomly; they were being pulled like metal shavings toward a magnet, flowing slowly but steadily toward a specific direction deep within the castle.
The source of that flow, Harry's scar, and the trio's suspicious behavior all snapped into a single line in Jerry's mind.
Has the Philosopher's Stone been activated again?
"Jerry, sure you don't want one? My treat."
"No. Go ahead yourself, I need to use the loo."
"Fine! More for me then. If I end up in the legions later, I might need the backup!"
Jerry rolled his eyes—just try not to die in their beds—but he didn't say it. He gave the excited Malfoy a dismissive wave and squeezed through the crowd toward the exit.
Once he stepped into the silent corridor, the heavy wooden doors muffled the roar of the classroom. Jerry didn't hesitate. He moved smoothly in the direction the trio had gone.
As he walked, his hands moved within his robe pockets.
In the next moment, a bizarre scene unfolded. Dozens of glowing magical accessories poured out of his wide pockets like living things. Thin chains of unknown metal snaked around his wrists and neck, the clasps clicking shut automatically. Seven or eight rings set with various gemstones flew out, sliding onto each of his fingers with precision. A runic earring snapped onto his ear cartilage.
As the gear donned itself, Jerry's aura underwent a radical transformation. The casual, student-like air vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous professionalism.
His silhouette began to blur, shimmering like the air above hot asphalt on a summer afternoon. Light began to bend unnaturally around his body, turning him into a transparent wraith. A few steps later, he had vanished entirely—no footsteps, no breath, no scent.
Only a faint shadow, undetectable by magic or the naked eye, followed silently behind the three hurrying Gryffindors.