"Hah!"
With a long, satisfied sigh mixed with lingering drowsiness, Jerry woke up in the messy, soft, oversized bed. The morning sun filtered through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains, casting a golden pillar of light across the room and illuminating the dancing dust motes in the air. Jerry shifted his body, feeling a dull ache in his waist—a lingering mark of the unrestrained, frantic madness of the previous night.
Beside him, the witch who was usually meticulous and radiating authority lay in a state of total collapse, as if all her bones had been removed. Minerva McGonagall's thick black hair was sprawled across the pillows, and her tall, voluptuous body lay on its side. One shapely, long leg was still draped unconsciously over Jerry's waist, exposing the ravaged, messy secret garden between her thighs that had been thoroughly colonized all night.
Jerry slowly straightened his back and began to withdraw. It wasn't an easy movement. Although Minerva's body had become incredibly slick and compliant after a night of relentless expansion and irrigation, her tight inner walls still loyally performed their duty, clinging to him.
As he pulled out slowly but firmly, a series of wet, squelching sounds echoed in the silent room.
Gurgle... squelch... slurp...
Like pulling a waterlogged cork from a tight bottle, the viscous fluids were drawn into long, crystalline threads. With every inch he withdrew, the swollen, pink flesh of her entrance could be seen turning outward, chasing him reluctantly before losing strength and recoiling. Finally, there was a clear POP!
A thick, opaque mixture of their combined essences—creamy white intermingled with transparent nectar—lost its barrier. No longer held back, it surged forth like a broken dam from her swollen vulva, gurgling out and flowing down the elegant curve where her buttocks met her thighs, quickly soaking a dark, damp patch into the bedsheets. The air was instantly filled with a heavy, musky scent of sex and bodily fluids.
Jerry looked down at his freed "big guy." Even in the morning light, it remained high-spirited, its thick, long shaft coated in shimmering love juices. He glanced back at the sleeping woman; Professor McGonagall had a faint, satisfied smile on her lips, and the corners of her eyes still bore the traces of dried tears from last night's peak of ecstasy.
Jerry couldn't remember exactly how many times he had taken her. Five? Ten? More? From the alchemy circle in the cellar to her quarters, pinning her against the edge of the toilet seat, and finally to this bed which was practically drowned in their sweat and fluids. This high-and-mighty Head of House had, under the tireless battering of the boy's body, completely abandoned all dignity. She had screamed and wailed as he sent her to the heights of desire over and over again, her body thoroughly conquered and possessed.
The "Small Horse, Big Carriage" contrast felt even more exquisite than he had imagined.
Just as Jerry was lost in thought, the woman beside him let out a lazy nasal grunt. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she woke up. The first thing she saw wasn't the ceiling, but the boy's face wearing a wicked smirk, and the ferocious, meaty rod that had just pulled out of her, dripping with their combined fluids. A flush, like a hangover, crept up her cheeks as the memories of the night flooded back.
Minerva didn't hide her body like a shy schoolgirl. Instead, she stretched grandly, her tall, curvaceous silhouette fully revealed in the morning light. She turned on her side, her gaze falling candidly on the massive "spear." Her long fingers reached out and wrapped directly around the burning base. She traced a circle around the thick shaft, feeling the full, firm texture and the powerful throb of the veins against her palm. She pressed her thumb against the tip.
"It seems your recovery is going very well," Minerva said, her voice carrying a post-coital rasp. It was hard to tell if it was a compliment or a warning.
Under her touch, the spear Jerry had just withdrawn showed signs of rising again. At that moment, however, Jerry's stomach let out a loud, unseasonable growl. He rubbed his belly, looking a bit sheepish. "I'm hungry."
Minerva rolled her eyes but didn't stop her hand. She kneaded the impressively sized head a few more times until it swelled even larger before letting go. "Stay in bed. Don't move," she commanded, tossing the covers aside and stepping onto the floor. Her long, straight legs were exposed to the air. "Alchemy can reconstruct a body, but your soul and physical form still need a few days to calibrate. I'll make you something to eat."
Jerry cleared his throat significantly. The look in his eyes said: What about last night then?
Minerva noticed his playful gaze fixed on her bare legs and the swollen, secret place between her thighs that he had spent the night ravaging. Her cheeks flushed crimson. She cleared her throat, attempting to use a scholarly, stern tone to mask her embarrassment.
Instead of walking away, she leaned back over the bed, one hand propping herself up while the other reached out boldly once more to the massive spear she had just been fondling. Under her teasing, it was semi-erect, like a dormant giant python with its head raised high, the tip already seeping a bit of clear pre-cum. Her fingers rested on the hard shaft, feeling the pulse underneath.
"Don't look at me like that," Minerva lowered her voice, sounding like she was scolding him, but her fingers slid gently along the thick meat. "Last night... that wasn't just recklessness." She paused, her flush deepening. "A body reconstructed by alchemy is like a brand-new vessel, filled with the most primitive life energy from the Philosopher's Stone."
As she spoke, she rubbed the pad of her thumb in circles around the engorged coronal ridge. The motion made Jerry's body tense up, and the spear throbbed and grew until it was fully erect.
"The vessel and the soul need... need the deepest level of fusion and calibration. Only through the most intense and primitive exchange of life-vitality can your soul truly take root in this new body without rejection... I mean it!" Her voice grew lower, almost a whisper.
Her palm now fully encased the rod, which felt as hard as an iron bar, and she began to slide her hand up and down slowly. Because the fluids from the night still lingered on them both, every stroke produced a clear, wet squelch, squelch sound.
"I was simply... using my body to 'moisten' and 'activate' this new form. Using the hottest, wettest place inside me to accept and envelop you, so that every inch of restless life-force in your body could find an outlet for release and fusion... do you understand?"
"Mmm!"
"I understand..."
Jerry obediently propped himself up against a pillow. His eyes followed the tall silhouette as she moved around the room. Minerva wasn't wearing underwear; her lower half was completely bare. She found an oversized shirt in the wardrobe and threw it on, just barely covering the tops of her thighs.
She stepped into her private bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe herself. Jerry could clearly see that as she moved, thick, milky-white fluids mixed with transparent nectar—leftovers she hadn't been able to fully drain—dripped from deep within her, landing on the floor with a soft splat.
"When you're feeling better, I'm going to the Ministry," Minerva said without looking back. "You performed a great service. With Dumbledore away, I must secure the honors you deserve."
"Don't," Jerry replied immediately. "Professor... I don't want to be famous. Not at all."
Minerva stopped wiping. She walked out of the bathroom, handed Jerry a glass of warm water, and sat on the edge of the bed. Her gaze became complex. "I know what you're afraid of," she said softly, smoothing the messy hair on his forehead. "Too many pure-blood families followed him. Many were purged because they stood too high and were too famous. The Rosier family... because they were so prominent among the Death Eaters, they were the first targeted by the Ministry. They were nearly wiped out."
Jerry smiled. He didn't argue. Instead, he slowly propped himself up and crawled across the soft mattress toward the nightstand. The room was elegantly decorated; the nightstand was dark mahogany, holding a book on runes she had been reading. Jerry, like a child looking for a new toy, pulled open the first drawer.
"Being famous is too much trouble, Professor. I just want to stay quietly at Hogwarts, read books, and occasionally... discuss the 'mysteries of alchemy' with you."
Jerry's hand rummaged through the drawer. Minerva's eyes were drawn to his movements. The drawer held personal items: spare hair ties, a small vial of sleeping potion, and...
Jerry's fingers hooked around a soft, black bundle. He pulled it out; it was a pair of smooth black lace panties, still carrying the faint scent of Minerva's body. He reached in again and pulled out a brand-new, unopened package of nude-colored silk stockings.
His actions were entirely natural, lacking any of the hesitation or shyness a boy should have. Jerry leaned back, one leg bent, making the massive, erect spear even more prominent in the air while he toyed with Minerva's underwear. He brought the soft lace to his nose, inhaled, and then continued.
"So, the honor and fame... you should take it all. Think about it: 'Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor Head, single-handedly repelled the Dark Lord and saved the school.' What a title."
Jerry looked at her with burning eyes, his lips curling into a cunning smirk. "Besides, the whole wizarding world knows I am your student—your most... 'favored' student. If you have massive fame, people will just look at me and think, 'Look, there's Professor McGonagall's student.' Your halo becomes my umbrella. The more famous you are, the safer I am. When you think about it, what's the difference between you being famous and me being famous? Besides, we're 'family' now, aren't we? You're mine. Why draw such a clear line?"
These words were like a stone dropped into the calm lake of Minerva's heart. She looked at the boy; he was casually kneading her panties while radiating a level of maturity and control that defied his age. He had phrased it perfectly, appealing to her sense of duty and her desire to protect him.
What made her heart race even more was that as Jerry spoke, he tore open the package of silk stockings. He pulled out the slippery fabric and casually slid it over his thick, erect shaft.
Zzzzt... zzzzt...
The gossamer-thin stocking was stretched to its limit by his oversized meat. The tight nylon clung to the shaft, making the ferocious rod look less barbaric and more forbidden—a layer of taboo eroticism. Jerry even reached out and slapped his silk-wrapped spear, producing a dull thwack.
Looking at this, Minerva felt a heat bloom deep inside her. The place she had just wiped began to leak uncontrollable, slick love juices again, sliding down her inner thigh with a faint, wet sound.
Minerva was silent for a moment before she couldn't help but let out a laugh—a mix of helplessness, admiration, and a doting affection she hadn't yet realized. "You little rascal."
She shook her head and walked toward the small kitchenette in the corner of her quarters. With a wave of her wand, a frying pan and eggs flew out of the cupboard. A silent, efficient magical symphony began. The pan heated itself, ham and eggs jumped in, sizzling to a perfect golden brown. Bread sliced itself, and milk poured into a glass. The whole process took less than thirty seconds.
"I suppose I shall accept your 'offer' then," Minerva said with a trace of resignation, bringing back the tray of food.
She reached the bed but didn't sit immediately. Her eyes fell on what Jerry was doing. Jerry was holding his thick, silk-wrapped spear in one hand, slowly stroking it up and down. The slippery stocking made the motion incredibly smooth, each stroke producing a sticky friction sound. He had already teased himself into leaking quite a bit of crystalline fluid, soaking the tip of the stocking into a dark, wet patch.
Minerva set the tray steadily on the nightstand. Then, she raised her smooth, dainty right foot.
Smack.
With a light thud, she used her instep to kick Jerry's hand away from his own shaft. Before he could react, her flexible toes climbed up, wrapping around the massive, silk-encased meat like a beautiful, living snake. Her toes were long and nimble; her big toe and second toe worked together to accurately pinch the middle of the spear. Her sole arched, fitting perfectly against the thick base.
Only then did she sit gracefully on the edge of the bed, picking up a fork to cut a piece of fried egg dripping with yolk.
"Ahhh," Minerva said, bringing the fork to Jerry's lips.
Jerry obediently ate, but his eyes were glued to his lower half. Minerva's foot was a masterpiece designed for such acts. She wasn't wearing slippers; her smooth foot carried a hint of morning chill, contrasting sharply with his burning-hot spear. Every slight curl of her toes sent waves of pleasure through the silk-wrapped rod. She began to slowly slide her sole up and down, enveloping the length of his cock.
Squelch... slurp... squelch...
Since Jerry had already teased out some fluid, the surface of the stocking was already slick. Now, caught between Minerva's warm sole and toes, the sticky, wet sounds filled the room. The skin of her sole was incredibly delicate; through the thin silk, the sensation was a hundred times more soul-stirring than his own hand. Her toes would occasionally curl intentionally, squeezing the rod or grinding into the swollen head.
While she "served" him with her foot, she cut a piece of ham and fed it to him, her face returning to the stern expression she used when interrogating students.
"Now, you've eaten. Isn't it time you explained yourself?" Her voice was flat, but her foot didn't stop. "Why did you lie to me? Hmm? With this kind of power, why pretend to be an ordinary first-year?"
As she asked, she applied pressure with her toes, specifically using her big toenail to scrape sharply against the slit of his cock through the silk.
"Sss..." Jerry hissed, his body bucking forward involuntarily.
Minerva looked satisfied, but her words grew harsher. "Going into the Forbidden Forest alone to take on Voldemort and a pack of Death Eaters... you are an absolute idiot! Do you know how close I came to—" She stopped, the memory of the previous night's horror bringing a flash of real fear and anger to her tone. To vent, she clamped all five toes down hard around his shaft.
"Ungh!" Jerry groaned as his manhood was caught in a warm, powerful vice. The surge of pleasure hit his brain like a freight train.
"I was wrong, I was wrong, Professor... gently..." Jerry panted. The massive spear, encased in silk and squeezed by her dainty yet strong foot, was hyper-sensitive. He shifted his hips, trying to find space, while explaining quickly. "I didn't have a choice. Think about it—the Rosier name makes me a walking target. If I showed off, the Ministry's fireplaces would be spitting green flames at me every day, and the remaining Death Eaters would try to gut me. I don't want to spend my days dodging trials and assassins."
Minerva snorted, clearly unconvinced. "Excuses." But she didn't stop. She cut a large piece of greasy ham, sandwiched it between soft bread, and shoved it somewhat crudely into Jerry's mouth to stop him from talking.
"Mmph... mmph..." Jerry's mouth was stuffed, leaving him only able to make muffled sounds.
As he chewed, the speed of her foot increased dramatically. It was no longer a slow, punishing rub. She leaned her whole body toward him. She was so tall that Jerry, whose current height was that of a child, looked tiny beside her. She propped one knee on the mattress, shifting more of her weight onto the acting foot. In this posture, she looked like a hardworking cowgirl, though her "mount" was the boy's massive spear.
Squelch... squelch... zzzzt... squelch...
The increased speed brought louder, wetter sounds. Her sole slid from base to tip and back again. The nylon material, mixed with the lingering fluids on them both, created a perfect lubricant. Every slide was effortless and obscenely wet. Her toes were incredibly agile; they would open and close, scraping over his veins like a comb or curling to grind her joints against the head. It was a visually stunning, depraved sight.
"Nngh... hah..."
The intense pleasure made Jerry's breathing heavy. Before he could even swallow his food, his body began to thrust uncontrollably to meet her foot. Ultimately, he couldn't last long against such a weapon. With a series of sharp gasps and body tremors, he groaned and came, spraying a massive amount of hot seed over Minerva's foot and the sheets between his legs.
Minerva felt the scalding, viscous heat against her sole and wore a winner's smile. She withdrew her foot as he finished his breakfast.
"There. You've been fed," Jerry said, leaning back and letting out a satisfied burp.
"You've been fed..." Minerva repeated softly, her voice dropping to an alluring rasp. She extended her long index finger, gently probing the tip of the still-warm rod. A fair amount of the thick, condensed cream he had just produced was still clinging there. She carefully scraped it off with her fingertip, which was now coated in the pungent, potent fluid.
She turned and reached toward the empty plate on the nightstand. She smeared her finger across the white porcelain, leaving a milky, translucent trail. She didn't stop; she reached back to find more fluids on the base of his cock and in the folds of the sheets, collecting the cooling seed. Like a meticulous alchemist gathering rare ingredients, she scraped up every drop she could find and smeared it onto the plate.
Soon, a large pool of milky, warm fluid sat in the center of the plate, reflecting the morning light with a strange luster, mixed with a bit of leftover egg yolk and oil.
Minerva stood up, satisfied. She picked up the plate holding her special "dessert" and grabbed a fork.
"Waste not, want not!" She gave Jerry a brilliant smile—one filled with a mischievous, unprecedented sense of debauchery. "This came from the body of the 'hero' who repelled Voldemort. It contains the most powerful life vitality... just what I need to replenish what I lost last night."
She used the fork to gather the pool of fluid and brought it to her lips, opening her mouth to swallow it whole.
But just as her red lips were about to take the first bite...
WHOOSH!
In the fireplace at the other end of the room, a burst of green flames roared to life, bathing the dim room in an eerie green glow. Someone was using the Floo Network, and the destination was her private fireplace.
Minerva froze, her mouth still slightly open. A flash of annoyance at being interrupted crossed her face, but it only lasted a second. She realized immediately who it was. Very few people had her private Floo address, and fewer had the gall to barge in unannounced. At this hour, given yesterday's events... there was only one person.
Rita Skeeter. The star reporter for the Daily Prophet who was always chasing a scandal.
McGonagall showed the incredible reaction speed of a veteran witch. Her first move wasn't to get dressed or hide the plate, but to push Jerry's head down roughly and yank the thick, sex-scented duvet over his entire body, hiding him completely so he looked like a small lump in the bed.
"Don't move. Don't make a sound!" she hissed.
She straightened her posture. She didn't bother covering her bare upper body, which bore several faint red marks from the night's activities. Instead, she held the plate of "special breakfast" on her lap, picked up the fork, and scooped up the glob of milky fluid.
The green flames peaked, and a petite figure stumbled out into the room. Minerva shoved the fork into her mouth and swallowed just as she looked up, feigning the lazy posture of someone who had just woken up and was enjoying breakfast in bed.
"Rita?" Minerva feigned surprise, chewing slowly. "So early? Is there an emergency?"
Rita Skeeter stepped out, wearing a neon green, ruffled Lolita-style dress that made her look like a walking doll. She immediately fanned the air in front of her nose, her nostrils twitching.
"Oh!" Rita dragged out the word dramatically. "What is that scent? It's... quite strange. A bit like a man's sweat... and something... pungent and sweet?"
Rita chattered away, her short, quick steps bringing her right to the edge of the bed. Her Quick-Quotes Quill hovered excitedly above her head like a shark scenting blood, scratching "shasha" sounds into the air, ready to record any explosive scandal.
She didn't ask why Minerva McGonagall was topless, nor did she comment on the suggestive red marks blooming across her shoulders and chest. She acted as if they didn't exist. Instead, she sat down right next to Minerva, pressing her body against her in an intimate, almost sickeningly sweet manner.
"I missed you, of course, my dearest friend! It's been so long since I've seen you; I felt quite empty inside."
As Rita spoke, her nose continued to twitch like a bloodhound. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, eventually locked onto the plate resting on Minerva's lap. In the center of the porcelain, the small pool of thick, milky-white substance had begun to coagulate, forming a translucent film over its surface. Under the morning sun, the texture and color looked like anything but a typical breakfast.
Rita's smile grew more sugary, her shrewd eyes shimmering with the light of a thousand tabloid headlines. She reached out with a hand tipped in neon-green nail polish and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, dipped her index finger into the fluid on the plate.
The movement was so fast that Minerva couldn't stop it. Rita brought the finger, glistening with the milky slime, to her lips. Her pink tongue darted out, licking it cautiously. Her brows furrowed as she savored the taste. It melted instantly—a faint, salty tang accompanied by a strange, biological warmth. Before she could fully identify it, it slid down her throat.
"Hmm?" Rita hummed in confusion. The flavor was tantalizingly familiar yet strangely alien. She moved to dip her finger again, determined to figure out what this "delicacy" was.
But as her finger descended, Minerva acted. Using her fork, she decisively scraped up the remaining large glob of thick white fluid. Under Rita's stunned gaze, she tilted her head back and swallowed the entire mouthful without hesitation. She even elegantly extended her tongue to lick the last trace of liquid from the tines of the fork.
Wiping her mouth with a napkin as if she had just eaten ordinary cream pudding, Minerva set the plate aside and looked at Rita with practiced composure.
"What do you want to know?" Minerva's voice was steady. "You don't visit without an agenda. I heard a rumor that a certain star reporter from the Daily Prophet exposed a massive corruption scandal in the Frontline Legion, which left Minister Fudge quite furious."
Rita's sweet smile flickered for a second, but she quickly recovered. She smacked her lips, still chasing the fleeting aftertaste. "They deserved it," she waved a hand dismissively. "That idiot tried to cut my travel expenses. I just had to remind him what happens when you annoy a journalist—especially me."
Despite her words, Rita's curiosity was winning. She leaned in closer, nearly burying herself in Minerva's bosom, sniffing the air aggressively and staring at Minerva's lips.
"Darling, be honest... what was that? The taste... it was so unique. Reminded me of a White Caviar I had in Norway once, but the texture was much... creamier."
Minerva maintained an impeccable smile, even reaching out to playfully pinch Rita's cheek. "It is white caviar, dear. Sent directly from Norway via a specialized magic portal. Absolutely fresh."
She lied through her teeth without a hint of a crack in her mask. "Now, you've seen me. I've just woken up, I'm indecent, and I need to wash up for my classes. If you don't have a real headline, please see yourself out."
Minerva attempted to stand up to usher her out, but she failed.
Because as she spoke, the restless little creature under the covers was pressing firmly against her back and buttocks. Jerry could feel the soft, mature heat of her body; his nose was filled with her scent. He was like a small beast in a warm burrow, and his "claws" were anything but still.
Under the cover of the duvet, his palm slid tentatively onto the root of Minerva's thigh. The skin was tight and smooth, possessing an incredible elasticity. Jerry felt her body stiffen almost imperceptibly as he touched her.
Emboldened, his palm began to move upward, tracing the curve of her rounded hip before coming to rest on the softest part of her waist, kneading it gently. Minerva's body swayed slightly. Her hand, hidden behind her back, reached into the blankets to catch Jerry's mischievous hand, but with Rita right there, she didn't dare make a large move.
Rita had no intention of leaving. She stayed glued to the bed and even placed her oversized camera on the pillow.
"Don't be in such a rush, Minerva." Rita's gossip-mongering mask slipped into a serious expression. "I'm not just here to congratulate you. My sources tell me something massive happened at Hogwarts." She paused, her eyes scanning Minerva's face. "The Philosopher's Stone, missing for so long, was found. And last night, it was secretly moved to the Ministry. Don't try to fool me. That thing was in the hands of the Death Eaters. Getting it back couldn't have been easy. Tell me, what happened? Was there a... world-shattering battle?"
Minerva feigned a look of solemnity. This was the chance she needed—the perfect excuse to write Jerry out of the narrative entirely.
"You're right, Rita," Minerva began, her voice low and powerful. "There was a battle. The Dark Lord... he returned. He needed a specific alchemy circle to use the stone, and he came for it."
Rita's eyes lit up. Her Quick-Quotes Quill went into a frenzy, spinning in mid-air. "Details! Give me details!"
Minerva took a deep breath and began her carefully choreographed version of events. "Thanks to Professor Severus Snape, who was monitoring Quirrell in secret, we caught him. Last night, Severus, myself, and... yes, Harry Potter, that brave boy, along with Hermione and Ron, we stopped him together."
She masterfully assigned all the credit to herself, Snape, and the "Boy Who Lived." It was the version the Ministry and the public wanted to believe.
As Rita was consumed by the interview, the hidden Jerry began a bolder maneuver.
Jerry, like a nimble snake, slid silently down between Minerva's thighs. His head poked out from the edge of the duvet. Minerva was so focused on Rita that her "gates" were left unguarded. Jerry didn't hesitate. He leaned in and buried his face in her heat.
"Ungh!"
Minerva was in the middle of explaining how Harry's "love" melted Voldemort when the sudden wet, hot sensation against her crotch made her whole body shudder. Her voice hitched for a fraction of a second.
"What is it, Minerva?" Rita looked up sharply.
"Nothing!" Minerva forced a smile. "Just... the memory of last night still makes me a bit shaky."
As she spoke, she felt Jerry's warm tongue pry apart her labia, driving deep into her slick canal, licking greedily.
Gurgle... slurp... smack...
The duvet muffled the sound, but Minerva could "hear" the wetness through the vibrations in her body. A bolt of electricity shot from her belly to her brain, raising goosebumps over her skin. She instinctively wanted to clamp her legs shut, but fearing Rita's suspicion, she had to endure it, letting the brat do as he pleased with her most private parts.
Jerry's tongue was incredibly agile.
"So... about... about Mr. Potter..." Rita kept prying.
"He... he was... mmm... very brave..." Minerva's voice began to drift, turning into an uncontrollable, faint pant. She clenched her fist so hard her nails dug into her palm, trying to keep a straight face.
Jerry was relishing the taste. One of his hands found its way in, accurately locating her sensitive, swollen pearl, kneading it with his thumb. The combination of tongue and fingers hit her like a tidal wave. She felt her body getting hotter; the love juices pouring out were nearly soaking the sheets beneath the duvet.
Because Jerry was a youth with a slender frame and Minerva was a tall, mature woman, her thighs felt like soft, warm walls pinning his head and shoulders. His cheeks were enveloped by her inner-thigh skin; his nose was filled with the pungent, sweet scent of her sex—a fragrance of female hormones that left him breathless.
Jerry was almost prayerful in his technique, his tongue tirelessly prodding her honey-path. Every thrust produced a wet glug-glug sound.
"So... the Dark Lord... he was... he was just driven back?" Rita's quill was practically on fire with excitement.
"Yes! Yes... Harry's... pure love..." Minerva felt her brain turning to mush. Every word felt like it was being squeezed through her teeth. She could feel a surge gathering in her belly, ready to break her last line of rational defense. She had to cross her arms over her chest to hide her nipples, which were now hard and aching.
Finally, Rita closed her notebook. This was enough for a week's worth of front-page news. She stood up and stretched.
"Well, my dear Minerva, thank you. You truly are a hero."
She looked back at the bed. The lump in the center of the duvet had moved several times during the interview. Moreover, Minerva's breathing and the flushed color of her skin weren't just "fear."
A glint of cunning flashed in Rita's eyes. She leaned down as if for a hug, but her hand suddenly darted toward the corner of the duvet.
"Let me see if our great hero is too exhausted to even get out of bed..." Rita laughed, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket, ready to yank it back.
"Don't touch it!"
Minerva reacted like a lightning bolt. She practically snapped upright, grabbing Rita's wrist with a strength that made the reporter yelp in pain. The duvet slipped down several inches in the struggle.
"What is wrong with you, Minerva?" Rita cried out.
Minerva realized she had overreacted. She let go, suppressed her climax, and donned a mask of icy authority. "I am tired, Rita. And I do not like people rummaging through my private bedroom."
Rita wasn't angry; she smiled like a fox that had stolen a chicken. She straightened her green dress. "Of course, of course, my dear Head of House." She enunciated the title with mocking slowness. "However, Minerva... the story is great, but it lacks 'presence.' My readers like to feel the scene. I can't just take your word for it."
She shook a finger. "I'll leave. But you, our great hero, must personally take me to the 'battlefield' to see it for myself. I need some exclusive sketches of the site."
Minerva's face darkened. Taking Rita to the scene would be like giving her a magnifying glass to find the lies. Before she could refuse, Rita leaned in again, her voice oily and full of blackmail.
"Oh, and one more thing..." She licked her lips. "That... Norwegian White Caviar. I don't think I got a proper taste earlier. It must be very good for a witch who spent so much mana last night, right? Before I go, I must have another taste. Just a little mouthful to replenish my energy. It's only fair, isn't it?"
"I'll pay you, of course," Rita added as Minerva's face paled with rage. "This story is worth a fortune. I'll give you a twenty percent cut. You just let me 'taste' your... Norwegian specialty again, then take me to the Forbidden Forest. A fair deal."
Minerva's chest heaved. She wanted to blast Rita with a Stupefy curse, but she couldn't. She looked down at the lump in the bed. Exhaustion and a sense of deep humiliation washed over her.
"Fine..." she rasped. "But get out first. I need to dress."
Rita beamed. She knew she had won. "Of course, darling. I'll wait by the door." She blew a kiss and skipped out of the room, clicking the door shut.
Silence fell. Minerva sat on the bed, feeling as if she were in a grotesque nightmare. She looked at her nightgown, soaked in fluids, and her hands trembling against the sheets.
The duvet moved. Jerry's head popped out, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead, his face flushed with satisfaction. He had heard everything. He didn't apologize; he just looked at her with a mix of guilt and intense possessiveness.
He crawled out and stroked her thigh. "I'm sorry, Professor, I couldn't help myself."
Minerva grabbed his hand. Her eyes were full of anger and shame, but also a reckless, "fuck it" sense of abandon.
"Don't speak," she ordered, her voice trembling. She shoved Jerry back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling him in a dominant, commanding position. Her tall, voluptuous frame towered over him.
"She wants to eat?" Minerva's lips curled into a twisted, manic smile. "Then we'll give her what she wants. Wait a moment, and you... you use that thing of yours to give me more... let her eat her fill."
Jerry got dressed and nodded. "I'll use a Disillusionment Charm."
"Be careful. She isn't easily fooled."
Jerry vanished into a perfect charm. He was a mere ripple in the air as he floated toward the door. He turned the handle and slipped through a tiny crack. Rita was waiting at the end of the hall. Jerry prepared to bolt.
But as he took his first step, a sugary voice whispered right into his ear.
"And where are you going, my dear little hero?"
Jerry's blood froze. He turned, seeing nothing. But that voice... it was Rita Skeeter. How had she seen him?
A hand with neon-green nails appeared in the empty air, gripping his invisible shoulder with startling strength. Then, Rita shimmered into view, grinning like a cat.
"Good charm, darling. But useless against me." Her eyes locked onto exactly where Jerry was. The charm broke, and he appeared, looking haggard.
He realized then what he had forgotten. Rita Skeeter wasn't just a lucky reporter. She was an unregistered Animagus. She could turn into a beetle, crawling through cracks, listening... and watching everything. She had never left the room. She had been on the doorframe, witnessing the whole depraved scene between him and Minerva.
But in the next instant, the oak door was violently slammed open from the inside.
Professor McGonagall stood there, her hair wild, her silk robe open to reveal skin flushed with lust. Rita's smirk froze. Before she could react, Minerva pounced like an enraged lioness. She didn't use magic. She grabbed Rita by her carefully styled blonde curls and dragged her into the room with raw, brutal strength.
"AH! Minerva, you're insane!" Rita shrieked, dropping her parchment and quill.
Minerva ignored her. As she dragged Rita across the threshold, her other hand reached between her own legs. She caught the thick, slick fluids dripping from her in a large, cupped palm—a massive handful of the milky "jelly" mixed with her and Jerry's scent.
"You wanted... another taste?"
Minerva's voice was like sandpaper on glass, cold with hatred. She yanked Rita's head back, forcing her mouth open, and shoved the entire warm, viscous handful of seed and nectar into the reporter's mouth, rubbing it in until it smeared across her face.
"Mph... wooo-mmmph!"
Rita's mouth was completely plugged by the pungent, musky glob. Her screams of protest were muffled into wet, incoherent gurgles.
Minerva threw Rita onto the floor like a piece of garbage, turned around, and slammed the door shut with every ounce of her strength, cutting Jerry and the rest of the world off.