Normal?
When Jerry parted ways with Malfoy and arrived at the castle entrance as agreed, he spotted Fiona standing in the shadows of the Great Hall's entrance at first glance.
Fiona was distinctly different from most students at Hogwarts who wore loose wizard robes.
She had a sharp, short haircut, meticulously trimmed to end just above her jawline, revealing her slender, fair neck.
Every strand of hair hung obediently, reflecting a healthy sheen with her slight head movements.
This hairstyle made her look both capable and somewhat coldly unapproachable.
She wore a simple white dress.
The dress had no superfluous lace or frills, only a few lines of fine, dark embroidery at the collar and cuffs. The fabric wasn't ordinary cotton but a material that draped well and reflected light slightly under the setting sun; as the evening breeze swayed it gently, the arc of the skirt appeared both natural and elegant.
The cut of the dress fit perfectly, aptly outlining her slender waist and graceful curves, which had begun to take shape as a seventh-year witch.
On her feet were a pair of spotless flat leather shoes.
She held a small handbag of simple design but superior leather quality.
Fiona wore no exaggerated jewelry, only a thin silver chain on her wrist that occasionally flashed in the twilight.
She stood there quietly, her back straight and chin slightly raised. Even while waiting, her posture showed no sign of slackness.
It was a demeanor formed by long-term strict upbringing, almost carved into her bones.
Fiona didn't look around; she simply cast her gaze toward the distant Forbidden Forest, her eyes calm, as if the noisy crowd around her had nothing to do with her.
This posture made her stand out exceptionally in the crowd.
Not because of how stunning her appearance was, but because of an intangible, seemingly innate sense of distance.
When Jerry approached, Fiona withdrew her gaze from the distance and rested it on him.
Her height was quite remarkable for a seventh-year girl; Jerry stood before her, his head barely reaching her chest.
Her shadow could almost completely engulf Jerry's small, boyish frame.
"You finally came, Junior. I thought you were going to stand me up!"
Fiona spoke, her voice cool, but those eyes that usually carried a sense of alienation softened noticeably upon seeing him.
Before Jerry could answer, Fiona made a move that would have shocked anyone familiar with her.
She reached out naturally and, with that fair, slender hand, clasped Jerry's hand intimately and without hesitation.
"Let's go, I've booked a table."
Fiona didn't ask for Jerry's opinion; she simply led him by the hand, taking long strides toward the outside of Hogwarts Castle.
However, Jerry's small body had to take quicker steps than usual to keep up with her pace.
The huge contrast in height and body size, combined with Fiona's proactive and intimate attitude, formed a strange yet harmonious picture.
"Long legs are really nice!"
Jerry sighed inwardly but didn't resist, letting her lead him.
Soon, they arrived at the castle gates, where a carriage transformed from a chubby orange pumpkin was waiting, pulled by a docile Thestral.
Fiona helped Jerry into the carriage first, then lifted her skirt and sat in elegantly. The space inside the carriage wasn't large; sitting face to face, their knees almost touched.
As the carriage began to roll smoothly, the scenery outside the window slowly receded.
When they passed the giant decorative Wizard Chess statues in the courtyard, the corner of Fiona's mouth suddenly hooked into a shallow, almost imperceptible smile.
"When I was little, my father taught me how to play Wizard Chess!"
Fiona looked at the giant knight statue outside the window, her voice carrying a faint nostalgia and an imperceptible sense of dependence. "He told me, if one day the King on the chessboard says 'I love you' to the Queen, do you know how the Queen would reply?"
Jerry shook his head and looked at her quietly.
"The Queen would say," Fiona turned her head, her gaze focused on Jerry's eyes, her beautiful pupils reflecting only his figure at this moment, "'Say that again, and I'll take your Pawn.'"
After telling this somewhat cold joke, she laughed first.
It wasn't her usual polite and distant smile, but a light laugh from the heart, carrying a girlish cunning and joy.
In this moment, the cold shell of the rich young lady seemed to melt, revealing a soft core.
Jerry laughed along with her.
"That's a good joke!
Senior!"
Jerry looked at her defenseless smile and felt a sense of ease in his heart. "But I have a story about Wizard Chess you might not have heard."
A flash of curiosity appeared in Fiona's eyes. She leaned forward slightly, adopting a posture of listening intently.
"A long time ago, there was a very stingy King whose favorite pastime was playing Wizard Chess."
Jerry began to narrate, his voice not loud but carrying an engaging rhythm. "One day, his castle was besieged by an evil dragon, and the situation was critical.
The ministers all urged him to flee quickly, but the King couldn't bear to leave his precious chess soldiers."
"He said to the ministers: 'No, every one of my soldier pieces is carved from precious ivory. What if they break?'"
"The ministers were anxious and said: 'Your Majesty, if you don't run, the dragon will capture the Queen!'
Guess what the King said?" Jerry deliberately kept her in suspense.
Fiona was drawn in by the absurd story and couldn't help asking, "What did he say?"
"The King thought for a moment and slapped his thigh!" Jerry imitated the King's tone of sudden realization. "'It doesn't matter; I have two other Queens on the chessboard!'"
This unexpected twist made Fiona pause for a moment before she understood the absurdity of it.
Fiona could no longer maintain her reserved posture and burst out laughing with a pfft.
Immediately after, the laughter was like a bursting dam, uncontrollable; her shoulders shook incessantly, and she laughed until tears almost came out.
Time flew amidst chatting and laughter.
The pumpkin carriage soon arrived at Hogsmeade Village.
Fiona was clearly a regular here. She led Jerry with familiarity through the bustling main street, turning into a quiet alley. At the end of the alley was an unassuming tavern with a sign that read "The Three Broomsticks."
Fiona had reserved a quiet booth by the window, where a candle was already lit on the table.
Fiona ordered a glass of Firewhisky for herself but thoughtfully asked for a warm Butterbeer for Jerry.
The dishes were served quickly, all exquisite and tasty small plates, clearly carefully selected.
Fiona moved elegantly, chewing slowly. She used her knife to carefully cut a small piece of venison on her plate, forked it, but didn't put it in her mouth immediately. Instead, she glanced at Jerry out of the corner of her eye.
Seeing Jerry sipping his Butterbeer with a ring of white foam on his lips, she couldn't help but smile again. She pulled out her napkin, leaned forward, and naturally wiped his mouth for him.
"Drink slowly, no one is fighting you for it." Fiona's voice carried a gentleness she herself hadn't noticed.
"The food here is good!" Jerry licked his lips and said, "Senior, do you come here often?"
"Mmh," Fiona nodded, withdrawing her hand and turning her gaze to the lively street outside the window. "Sometimes when I don't want to stay in the common room, I come here alone to sit for a while.
It's quiet here." She seemed to think of something, and a trace of loneliness crept into her tone.
"Alone?" Jerry keenly caught the word.
"Slytherin... isn't always as united as it looks." Fiona said softly, absentmindedly poking the food on her plate with her fork. "Everyone has their own circle, their own goals.
My mother demanded that I become a Prefect to maintain superficial glory, but I don't like that kind of... socializing."
Her words revealed a loneliness inconsistent with her status.
A seventh-year Prefect, a rich young lady from a prominent family, running alone to a tavern to kill time.
"Then what do you like?" Jerry asked, as if he didn't care about her Prefect status at all, just chatting with an ordinary girl.
This question seemed to stun Fiona. She thought seriously for a moment before answering somewhat uncertainly: "I like... reading, reading books unrelated to potions.
Ancient Runes, Fantastic Beasts... I also like Quidditch, but my mother won't let me join the team; she thinks it's too barbaric."
Every time "mother" was mentioned, Fiona's expression would dim a little.
The two ate in silence for a while, the atmosphere becoming somewhat quiet.
The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows on Fiona's face, making her usually somewhat cold features appear exceptionally fragile.
"Quidditch is interesting!" Jerry broke the silence. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, mimicking Fiona's movements quite well. "Speed, passion, and teamwork. Which team do you like?"
At the mention of a favorite topic, Fiona's eyes lit up, temporarily dispelling the gloom.
"The Irish National Team." She answered almost without hesitation. "I went to see the World Cup live once. Their Seeker, Lynch, is just... too spectacular."
Speaking of Quidditch, her face finally showed the girlish excitement befitting her age.
"Really?
I think Krum of the Bulgarian Team is a bit better." Jerry deliberately offered a differing opinion.
Sure enough, Fiona took the bait immediately.
"Krum?
He's not bad, but his tactics rely too much on the individual; that's not teamwork."
She began to debate seriously with Jerry, from team tactical styles to individual player characteristics.
Just like that, driven by the common topic of Quidditch, the atmosphere became warm again.
They chatted and ate. Fiona drank her Firewhisky cup after cup, seemingly trying to use alcohol to dilute the boredom accumulated in her heart.
Jerry stayed with her the whole time, sipping his Butterbeer leisurely.
As time passed, the kick of the Firewhisky began to show.
Fiona's fair cheeks were dyed with a moving flush, and her eyes began to look a bit misty.
She talked more, no longer in her restrained, stop-when-appropriate style. She began to ramble, complaining about the tedious work of a Prefect, the hypocritical behavior of certain pure-blood families, and even her mother's near-harsh demands on her.
Jerry remained a quiet listener.
He didn't interrupt, only refilling her glass when it was empty.
After Fiona drank who-knows-how-many cups of whiskey, she lay on the table, supporting her chin with her hand, looking mistily at Jerry's small face, which appeared somewhat blurred in the candlelight.
"You know what, Jerry..." Fiona burped, her voice muddled. "You are... the first... person willing to listen to my nonsense..."
After speaking, her eyelids began to fight, as if she would fall asleep at any moment.
But just as Jerry thought she had passed out completely, Fiona suddenly made a new move.
She straightened up abruptly; because the movement was too fast, the chair beneath her made a harsh scraping sound.
Fiona ignored it, stood up unsteadily, walked around the small table, and squeezed into the booth where Jerry was sitting.
"Mmph..."
Jerry was instantly hugged tightly by a warm body smelling of Firewhisky's spice and a girl's fragrance.
Fiona held onto him like a lifeline, her arms wrapping tightly around Jerry's small frame, pressing him entirely into her soft and elastic embrace. Her cheek rubbed satisfyingly against the top of his head while she mumbled incoherently.
Holding Jerry like this, her other hand didn't forget to pick up the glass on the table, throwing her head back to take another big gulp.
Alcohol had completely washed away her usual disguises and composure.
She seemed to find the sitting position uncomfortable, squirming in the seat to adjust her posture. In the process, one of her flat leather shoes slipped off her foot, falling onto the floor with a clack, revealing a dainty ankle wrapped in white silk stockings.
Those slender legs in white thigh-highs were now pressed unreservedly and tightly against Jerry's body.
Through two layers of fabric, Jerry could clearly feel the temperature and firm, smooth texture of her leg skin.
"My mother... do you know who my mother is?"
Fiona rested her chin on top of Jerry's head, her voice carrying a post-drunken rasp yet a strange excitement. "She is the new Potions Professor, Eleanora... everyone is afraid of her, everyone thinks she is the most powerful..."
Fiona's body began to rub unconsciously again; her soft chest, flat stomach, and those stocking-clad long legs were all squeezing and rubbing against Jerry's body intentionally or unintentionally, like a big cat seeking comfort from its owner.
"But you... in class, in front of everyone... you defeated her." Fiona's voice was filled with near-fanatical adoration. "I saw her expression then... for the first time... she showed that kind of expression..."
"That's why... I invited you out for dinner."
Fiona tightened her arms around him, hugging him closer, as if trying to merge him into her body. "I wanted to see... what the person who could make my arrogant mother suffer... really looks like.
I... I admire you so much, Jerry..."
Surging passion, like the kick of Firewhisky, burned away Fiona's reason completely.
Being held so tightly by a girl much taller than him, radiating warmth and the smell of alcohol, feeling her body's softness and curves, Jerry rarely felt any erotic thoughts.
All he could feel was the desperate, destructive adoration emanating from this girl, and a twisted emotion of longing to rebel against her mother but having no outlet.
"Senior, you've drunk too much."
Jerry tried to struggle, pushing against her soft abdomen with his hand, wanting to break free from this suffocating embrace.
But his resistance was like lighting the fuse of a powder keg.
"Don't move."
Fiona commanded in a muddled voice.
She lowered her head, her eyes shimmering with drunkenness staring closely at Jerry.
In the next second, Fiona leaned down without hesitation and used her lips to roughly block whatever Jerry wanted to say.
"Mmph..."
A strong breath, mixed with the spice of whiskey and the sweet scent of female saliva, invaded his mouth domineeringly. This could hardly be called a kiss; it was more like a clumsy and urgent biting and plundering. Fiona's lips were soft, but her movements lacked technique, relying on brute force to thrust her tongue into Jerry's mouth, stirring and sucking chaotically.
Fiona's tongue was very hot, carrying the numbing sensation of alcohol, chasing, entangling, and licking frantically, venting all her accumulated adoration, excitement, and rebellion against her mother through this chaotic kiss.
At the same time, Fiona's body holding him began to squirm restlessly.
Fiona seemed to want to knead herself thoroughly into Jerry's body.
Through that thin white dress and silk stockings, her perky buttocks and abdomen were rubbing against the root of Jerry's thighs, stroke by stroke, without any rhythm.
The chaos of this kiss and the unruly grinding of her body.
Jerry enjoyed it very much.
But the commotion caused by the friction through several layers of fabric was less of a tease and more like an annoying noise.
The faint laughter from surrounding booths reminded him that this was "The Three Broomsticks," a tavern with people coming and going.
Jerry couldn't let things get out of control.
With a calmness unbefitting his age, Jerry used his free hand—without even stopping his entanglement with Fiona's chaotic lips and tongue—to give a slight flick of his wrist. A silent Muffliato charm was cast around their small booth.
The outside noise blurred instantly, and no matter how much commotion they made here, it would only become an irrelevant buzz to others.
Having done all this, Jerry finally decided to turn passive into active.
Jerry suddenly deepened the kiss. One hand cupped the back of Fiona's head, fixing her face flushed with drunkenness and desire in place. His tongue aggressively took over, no longer dodging but thrusting directly into the depths of her mouth, hooking and sucking powerfully.
This sudden invasion made Fiona shudder all over; whimpering sounds came from her mouth, and her body's squirming stopped.
In the moment her attention was captured by this kiss, Jerry's other hand, with a precise and swift movement, shot like lightning under the hem of her white dress.
His fingers first contacted the smooth, cool touch of silk stockings wrapping her thigh. Jerry's hand didn't stop, sliding all the way up along the edge of the stockings, easily bypassing the lace garter strap, and arriving directly at the warm, moist mysterious triangle wrapped in the double fabric of panties and stockings.
Fiona's body froze.
Jerry didn't stop.
Through the two thin layers of fabric, his fingers accurately found the wet cleft.
Jerry could clearly feel that the small piece of cotton panties had been dampened by the love juices she had secreted unconsciously.
Using that wetness, his fingertips pressed and circled neither lightly nor heavily on the cleft.
Then, two fingers exerted force, pushing the edge of the panties aside, directly touching the scorching, soft forbidden zone.
"Mmh...!" Fiona let out a nasal sound suppressed to the extreme. Her legs instinctively wanted to clamp shut, but Jerry's arm was wedged between them, preventing her from closing them.
Jerry's fingertip had already found the exceptionally sensitive little bud hidden in the soft folds.
That place was indeed as sensitive as he expected. With just a light touch and press of his finger pad, Fiona's body reacted violently. As if struck by electricity, she trembled uncontrollably, her tongue losing its rhythm, only able to passively endure Jerry's sucking kiss, broken, tune-less moans coming from deep in her throat.
Jerry gave her no chance to breathe.
Jerry's middle finger drew circles quickly and rhythmically on that small fleshy grain, sometimes gentle, sometimes pressing harder.
Jerry could feel the girl beneath him tensed like a drawn bow; every scratch and pick caused her abdominal muscles to twitch uncontrollably.
For Fiona, who had never experienced such a thing, this was a sensation too strange, an overwhelming, intense pleasure like toppling mountains and overturning seas.
Fiona's reason was completely washed away, leaving only primal instinct.
Her long legs in white silk stockings kicked randomly, and her other shoe fell to the floor.
Fiona's body was tense, trembling violently in Jerry's arms, intermittent moans carrying sobs spilling from her mouth.
In just a dozen seconds, Fiona's body arched violently. A heat flow gushed uncontrollably from between her legs, instantly soaking Jerry's fingers and her own panties completely.
Fiona opened her mouth wide, but because of Jerry's deep kiss, she couldn't make any sound. Only a series of violent, spasmodic tremors were clearly transmitted through their pressed bodies.
She climaxed.
After the storm came a brief calm.
Fiona's body went limp, like a pool of melted honey, collapsing in Jerry's arms. Only subtle aftershocks still traveled through her body, causing her to twitch occasionally.
Jerry didn't give her much time to recover.
He ended the long kiss, allowing Fiona to gasp for air, but the fingers under her skirt made a new move.
Those two fingers, covered in Fiona's nectar, did not withdraw. Instead, taking advantage of the moment Fiona's body was most relaxed and her interior most lubricated, they curled slightly and then... effortlessly drilled together into the tight, warm passage that had never been visited by a foreign object.
"Ah..."
A short, panicked moan escaped Fiona's lips.
This was a feeling completely different from the climax just now.
The sensation of a foreign object filling and stretching her carried a negligible distending pain, but more than that, an indescribable emptiness and itch rising from the deepest part of her body.
Fiona's legs instinctively wrapped tighter, the soft flesh inside her body contracting instinctively, trying to wrap around and swallow the invading fingers.
Jerry's fingers stirred and hooked slowly inside her, feeling every spasm and contraction of the tight inner walls.
Perhaps this new, overly intense stimulation restored a shred of her mobility, or perhaps it was the instinct driven by drunkenness.
Fiona's hand, originally resting on Jerry's back, suddenly began to slide down restlessly. Her movements were clumsy and slow, groping until they stopped at the waistband of Jerry's trousers.
She hesitated, but the feeling inside her body urged Fiona on.
She fumbled messily with the buttons of Jerry's trousers.
Because of her drunkenness, her movements lacked coordination, and it took several tries to succeed.
Immediately after, that cool hand reached in with probing curiosity.
When Fiona's palm first touched the hard, hot meat-root so different from her own body, her entire hand recoiled as if burned.
But Fiona didn't pull back. Instead, as if discovering some novel toy, she grasped the whole thing clumsily with a near-innocent curiosity.
Fiona clearly didn't know what to do.
She just wrapped her palm loosely around it, fingers occasionally moving unconsciously, using her finger pads to gently stroke the already hard meat stalk, feeling its powerful, rhythmic throbbing under her palm.
Jerry lifted his head, leaning close to her ear, his voice pressed very low, carrying a deliberate rasp and teasing:
"Senior, does it feel good?"
This question was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, stirring ripples once again in Fiona's sensory world, which had just calmed down.
Did it feel good?
Fiona's brain was in chaos from alcohol and unprecedented pleasure, unable to organize a complex answer.
Fiona could only obey her body's most honest feelings.
The slightly distending feeling of being filled by a foreign object, the lingering numbness of the inner walls after being stirred by fingers, and that sticky warmth... everything intertwined into a strange pleasure that made Fiona feel ashamed yet unable to stop indulging.
Fiona buried her face in Jerry's chest, turning even redder.
"Good..."
This word seemed to exhaust all of Fiona's sense of shame.
The moment she said it, Fiona's hand holding his meat-root tightened subconsciously.
That clumsy kneading, completely devoid of technique, brought waves of intense stimulation because of its pure instinct.
Simultaneously, the soft flesh inside Fiona seemed to echo her answer, contracting again, tightly wringing Jerry's fingers.
Just as the two were tightly entangled in an extremely private manner, the sound of a chair being pulled came from the adjacent booth, accompanied by a few sentences of familiar conversation belonging to young students, breaking the silence of this area.
"Sit down quickly, I'm starving to death!"
"What's the rush? Check Malfoy's odds first. It's this year's Wizard Chess Championship; did you place a bet?"
This sudden change made Fiona freeze all over.
Although the wooden partitions between booths could block most of the view, they couldn't block sound completely.
Fiona could clearly hear that the next table was occupied by Hogwarts classmates. This realization brought half of her remaining reason back instantly.
She panicked.
The limpness brought by the alcohol and the sensation of the foreign object inside her left her with no strength.
Fiona wanted to break free from Jerry's embrace, but her body refused to obey, only squirming futilely a few times.
This instead caused the fingers buried inside her to sink a few inches deeper.
The movement also caused more friction for her hand, which was currently gripping Jerry's meat-root.
"Shh..." Jerry whispered in her ear, one hand soothingly patting Fiona's back.
While his other hand, causing havoc inside her, had no intention of stopping, instead beginning to slowly thrust.
The conversation next door continued.
"What's the point of betting? Even if you think with your toes, you'd know Professor McGonagall will definitely take the title!"
"She is the defending champion, after all."
"That's not a certainty. I heard Orion is in great form this year; his moves are far more erratic than McGonagall's."
"Orion? He is indeed a favorite..."
The classmates' voices drifted clearly into her ears, while her own body was being wantonly toyed with by a junior student.
Fiona's breathing grew rapid, and her interior involuntarily tightened.
Her hand gripping Jerry's cock was so tense she didn't know how to move, just holding it rigidly.
Jerry noticed her clumsiness.
He freed a hand, covering Fiona's soft hand, and guided it.
Making Fiona's fingers follow the contour of the meat-root, moving up inch by inch from the base.
Until they touched the slightly open slit at the tip.
"Just like this... up and down..." Jerry instructed in a breathy voice by her ear.
Simultaneously, his fingers buried in her body matched her rhythm, beginning to pump in sync.
Every time Fiona's hand slid up, Jerry's fingers thrust inward.
Every time Fiona's hand slid down, Jerry's fingers withdrew slightly.
It was as if they had reached a silent, unspoken agreement.
Separated by a thin wooden partition was the students' heated discussion of the Wizard Chess match.
But on this side of the wood, two young bodies were silently pleasuring each other.
Fiona seriously learned this unfamiliar technique.
Her cheeks were so red they looked ready to bleed; her eyes were shut tight, not daring to look or listen.
All her senses were focused on where their bodies were connected.
Fiona could feel the sticky squelching of Jerry's fingers stirring inside her.
She could also feel the thing in her hand growing harder and hotter from her caresses.
This taboo pleasure, mixed with a sense of guilt, hit her fragile nerves wave after wave like a tide.
The voices from the next table showed no signs of stopping, growing even more lively with occasional laughter.
This pushed Fiona's nerves to the absolute limit.
The thing in Fiona's hand throbbed more violently as she stroked it, its size becoming even more staggering.
Suddenly, Fiona felt Jerry's hand over hers tighten, fixing her hand in place without room for retreat.
At the same time, a hot voice with ragged breathing whispered in her ear:
"Senior... I'm going to cum..."
The words acted like a command and a warning, instantly clearing some of the fog in Fiona's head.
Cum?
Right here?
Their classmates were right next to them... the realization sent Fiona into a panic.
"No... don't..." Fiona instinctively tried to pull her hand back, but it was futile under Jerry's firm control.
Jerry didn't stop; instead, he answered her refusal with action.
The two fingers Jerry had buried in Fiona's body suddenly accelerated.
"Ah...!"
The sudden, violent pleasure made all of Fiona's resistance vanish like smoke.
Fiona's body arched uncontrollably, her interior tightening in waves to Jerry's rhythm.
Just as the dual stimulation was about to push Fiona to the peak again, she felt the thing in her hand give several violent twitches.
Relying almost entirely on instinct, Fiona reacted at the last moment.
She released her grip and, with lightning speed, hiked up the hem of her white dress.
Using the soft inner lining of the skirt, she cupped the hard member that was already poised to erupt.
In the next second, a surge of warm, thick liquid shot out with powerful force.
Every drop sprayed onto the inner lining of Fiona's white dress.
The volume of the fluid was immense, as thick as melted heavy cream, carrying a potent, youthful musk.
They slammed against the soft fabric, quickly soaking through and forming a large, dark, wet stain.
Fiona could clearly feel the heat radiating from the fabric and the sticky texture.
Then, under the pull of gravity, it began to slide down the folds of the skirt.
Rivulets of milky-white thick liquid dripped onto Fiona's smooth inner thighs, which were clad in white silk stockings.
That warm, sticky sensation belonging to the boy was transmitted clearly through the thin silk to her skin.
It sent a violent shiver through Fiona's entire body.
Jerry watched this lewd scene and withdrew the fingers still buried in Fiona's body, already soaked in her love-juices.
They came out with a soft pop, accompanied by even more lubricant.
Without any hesitation, Jerry took those two fingers stained with her nectar and reached directly for the mess between her legs.
His finger pads swiped across the fluid-soaked skirt lining and scraped up the stickiness on her inner thigh.
His fingertips were soon coated in a thick layer of a dense mixture of both their fluids.
Fiona seemed to anticipate what he was about to do; her eyes widened in terror as she tried to shrink back futilely.
But it was too late.
"No..."
Jerry's fingers, carrying that warm mixture, aimed again at the already muddy cleft.
Once more, he thrust them inside firmly and ruthlessly.
This time, the sensation was entirely different.
If before it was simple violation and pleasure, now it felt like... marking and possession.
Fiona could clearly feel his stirring fingers, coated in Jerry's essence, deep inside her body.
The thick liquid was carried into her tight passage, filling every fold.
It brought an unprecedented sense of being completely invaded and stuffed full.
Fiona's body spasmed instinctively; the soft flesh of her inner walls contracted and sucked uncontrollably.
As if welcoming, yet also trying to retain, this foreign gift with its strong male scent.
The sensation of her body being forcibly filled to the brim thoroughly destroyed Fiona's last line of defense.
Fiona's body felt like it was hit hard by an invisible wave, arching violently before descending into intense convulsions.
This climax was more surging and profound than the previous one.
It didn't come merely from external friction, but exploded from the filled, warm depths of her body, from the inside out.
"Ah... haah..."
The long-suppressed scream finally burst from Fiona's throat, but since Jerry had covered her mouth with his palm in advance.
It only turned into intermittent, sobbing muffled groans.
Fiona's brain stopped thinking entirely; there was only a series of exploding white lights before her eyes.
Fiona's legs wrapped deathly tight around Jerry's waist, her stockinged feet arched straight, toes curling.
The soft flesh inside her contracted with unprecedented force, wringing tight, trying to swallow the fingers and everything sent inside.
Surge after surge of heat gushed uncontrollably from her depths, mixing with the fluids sent in to form an even messier mud.
The laughter and chatter from the next table felt like they were from another world.
In this tiny booth isolated by the Silencing Charm, there was only the girl's suppressed, breaking gasps.
And the sticky, lewd sounds of wetness coming from between their bodies.
Finally, the storm gradually subsided.
Fiona completely lost all strength, hanging limply on Jerry like a doll with its bones removed.
Her consciousness was scattered, able only to gasp for air in large gulps, her chest heaving violently.
Sweat soaked the hair on Fiona's forehead, sticking it to her crimson cheeks; her eyes had lost all focus.
Only then did Jerry slowly withdraw his fingers from Fiona's body, his hand covered in slime.
Jerry moved the two fingers coated in the sticky liquid slowly to Fiona's lips.
He looked into her watery eyes and spoke in a voice not loud but clear to her ears:
"Senior, do you want to taste it?"
Fiona's scattered gaze seemed to refocus slightly, landing on the fingers right before her.
Looking at the translucent stickiness on them—a mixture of both their fluids—she showed no hesitation.
Fiona slightly opened her lips, which were dry from gasping, and actively leaned forward to take the two fingers into her mouth.
Fiona's oral cavity was warm and wet-soft.
Her tongue instinctively curled, licking every bit of the liquid off his fingers.
Fiona's movements were raw, even clumsy, just repeatedly sucking with her tongue and inner cheeks.
As if she were tasting some novel candy.
That flavor, a mix of her own sweet-saltiness and Jerry's musk, spread across Fiona's taste buds.
"I... want more!"
Malfoy's efficiency in things that let him show off and profit was unquestionable.
In the dark and magnificent Slytherin common room, Malfoy had become the absolute center of attention.
He didn't go around whispering to individuals but stood directly on the rug before the fireplace, adopting the posture of making an important announcement.
"Listen up, mates!"
Malfoy cleared his throat, a habitual smile—a mix of condescension and arrogance—on his face.
"I know you're all excited about Black's victory today."
"But what's the fun in just watching? Don't you want to get personally involved and make this tournament a bit more thrilling?"
He paused, satisfied to see everyone's eyes focused on him.
"I, Draco Malfoy, am now offering you all a golden opportunity." He raised his chin. "A Wizard Chess Championship betting pool organized by me—absolutely fair and completely exciting!"
"From now until the final champion is crowned, you can all place bets on the players you favor!"
An excited buzz filled the common room.
"Are the stakes high?" a senior student asked.
"Good question!" Malfoy snapped his fingers. "To ensure everyone can play, the minimum bet is just one silver Sickle!"
"Of course, if you want to bet Gold Galleons, I won't turn you away! But the odds are dynamic—they can fluctuate at any moment."
These words thoroughly ignited the Slytherins present.
A silver Sickle was, for most of them, just the cost of a bottle of Butterbeer.
With such a small amount, they could participate in this school-wide event, support their own house (if any remained), and have a chance to win money—it sounded like the perfect pastime.
Malfoy's promotional strategy was a success.
He first firmly secured his base.
In less than an hour, nearly every Slytherin present had pulled out their coin purses.
They registered their names and bet amounts on a piece of parchment personally overseen by Malfoy.
And the news spread faster than imagined.
In just a few hours, the entire school knew about it.
Slytherin students talked loudly at the long tables, boasting about their bets and analyzing the odds of various players, as if they were no longer students but calculating gamblers.
This thrill, carrying a hint of the illicit, quickly infected the other houses.
Gryffindor students initially scoffed, thinking Slytherin was up to another scheme.
But when they heard even the Weasley twins were enthusiastically studying the odds to see if there was any "business opportunity," many felt tempted.
Hufflepuffs were more direct, huddling in groups and thinking it seemed like a fun activity; many went to inquire how to bet.
Ravenclaw students, however, treated it as an academic problem.
They even took out paper and pens, attempting to find the combinations with the highest odds and best winning chances through calculation and logic. For them, the pull of the betting pool was no less than a complex magical problem.
For a time, in the corridors, classrooms, and Great Hall of Hogwarts...
Everywhere people were talking about "Malfoy's pool."
What was originally just a tournament for chess players and enthusiasts had, because of this pool, turned into a carnival engulfing the entire student body.
Jerry, of course, was happy to see this.
He was like a spider lurking behind the scenes, lazily watching Malfoy's active "web" trap the entire Hogwarts student body firmly.
And Jerry's dormitory had effectively become the headquarters and vault of this underground operation.
Jerry had not long returned to his dorm from his dinner with Fiona.
Malfoy slipped into his room like a victorious general, carrying a high-spirited posture.
Malfoy didn't come empty-handed; he always carried a bulging "package" wrapped in his expensive silk scarf.
"Thud."
Malfoy tossed the heavy package onto Jerry's desk; the crisp sound of clashing metal and the rustle of parchment mingled together.
With a smug look, he unwrapped the scarf, revealing the fruitful "spoils of war."
Shining silver Sickles were piled like a small mountain, interspersed with dozens of heavier, steadier Gold Galleons.
Drowned beneath the coins were over a dozen pieces of crumpled parchment.
"Gryffindor has started betting too. Those stupid lions—they're all putting their money on Flitwick."
Malfoy boasted, picking up a Gold Galleon from the pile and toying with it in his fingers. "And Hufflepuff—they actually insisted on opening a sub-pool, betting on whether Orion Blackwood would sacrifice his Queen in the finals as well."
Jerry was noncommittal toward Malfoy's boasting; he simply picked up the parchments and unrolled them one by one.
The handwriting varied wildly—some delicate female hands, some wild and messy scrawls.
They were densely packed with names, bet amounts, and their chosen players.
The odds had been calculated by Jerry in advance; Malfoy just needed to read them out.
He picked up an empty money bag and began systematically sorting the coins on the desk into categories.
The clinking of Sickles and the dull thuds of Galleons composed a symphony of wealth and desire in his room.
"This is today's take!"
Malfoy said with satisfaction, watching Jerry's skilled movements. "I bet by the time the finals roll around, the money we receive will be enough to cover this entire desk!"
"Excellent!"
Jerry didn't look up; he was recording new betting info in a thick ledger with a quill. "Tell them that because of the high volume, the semi-final pool will close after lunch tomorrow."
"If they want to bet, they need to hurry. These are tomorrow's odds—familiarize yourself with them."
Looking at the ever-growing numbers in the ledger, the corner of Jerry's mouth curled into a deep smile.
Malfoy looked at the new odds Jerry brought out, and a hint of unease flashed in his eyes.
He lowered his voice, his tone carrying a tension he hadn't noticed himself: "Jerry, is this... really okay?"
He pointed to several names and odds circled in red ink: "Look at this one—betting Orion Black will 'Checkmate' within twenty moves. The odds are 15-to-1!"
"And this one—betting Professor Flitwick wins the semi-final. The odds are even higher! If... I mean if we lose, that's a massive amount of money! Can we afford the payout?"
Malfoy's worry was genuine.
He was the one out front organizing the whole thing. If they couldn't pay up in the end, the students who lost money might just complain, but those who won and didn't get their gold—especially those bold Gryffindors—would definitely blow the lid off the thing.
When that happened, it would be Draco Malfoy who was finished.
Facing Malfoy's anxiety, Jerry didn't even lift an eyelid.
He stopped his quill but didn't rush to explain. Instead, he unhurriedly opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
"Rattle!"
He pulled out several stacks of parchment printed with complex magical patterns and tossed them casually next to the pile of coins.
They were Gringotts drafts of the highest specification; each one represented a sum of money enough to make an average wizarding family gasp.
"Relax, Malfoy!" Jerry finally spoke, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather. "I have ample funds to cover any possible outcome. Your worry is unnecessary."
Malfoy's eyes widened instantly upon seeing those drafts.
He reached out with a trembling hand, carefully picking up the top one and feeling its thick texture and the magic within.
Just this one was likely enough to pay out all the high-odds bets Malfoy had been worried about.
The massive financial pressure vanished instantly, and Malfoy let out a long breath.
"However!" Jerry's voice rang out again, pulling Malfoy's attention back. "There is one thing I need to make clear to you in advance."
He looked at Malfoy, his expression turning serious. "Of all the money we eventually make from this pool, sixty percent goes to a certain professor."
"Without her support, I couldn't possibly—nor would I have the guts to—run this business in Hogwarts."
"The remaining forty percent, we split down the middle. What do you think?"
Malfoy was stunned.
Sixty percent? That was more than half the profits!
Malfoy's instinct was to show dissatisfaction, but as he tremblingly put the drafts back on the desk and met Jerry's calm, ripple-less eyes, a realization struck him.
Instead of showing anger, Malfoy looked like he had found the answer to all his questions. He relaxed completely, a look of sudden enlightenment on his face.
He let out a long sigh of relief, his tone full of the luckiness of having escaped death: "I knew it!"
"I knew you always do things with such stability! So there really is a major figure backing us!"
Malfoy slapped the table excitedly, analyzing with self-assurance: "No wonder! No wonder those odds you set were always so tricky. They looked high-risk, but in the end, we always win!"
"I knew you must have a Wizard Chess master guiding you behind the scenes! Otherwise, how could those odds be calculated so precisely!"
In Malfoy's view, having a professor as a patron didn't just solve the issues of funding and risk. More importantly, it meant the entire pool was "fixed"—it was a guaranteed win!
Taking his twenty-percent share was steady and easy work; it was a thousand times better than taking forty percent but bearing the risk of total ruin!
Malfoy left happily, clutching the parchment with the new odds like a treasure map to a vault.
After he left, the door was gently closed with a soft click.
Immediately, a graceful black shadow slipped silently out of the deepest shadows of the room, her steps light as a cat's.
It was Katherine.
She didn't speak but walked directly behind Jerry, her soft body pressing against him.
She extended her slender arms around his side and began helping him organize the coins piled like a mountain on the desk.
Silver Sickles and Gold Galleons danced between her white fingers, making crisp clashing sounds.
Her lips moved to Jerry's ear, her warm breath brushing his auricle, her voice carrying a lazy charm: "My little pervert master, are you really planning to split the remaining profit evenly with that Malfoy brat?"
Jerry nodded without the slightest hesitation, letting Katherine's fingers glide lightly over his ledger.
"Malfoy is a good boy!"
His tone was flat, as if speaking of something unrelated to him. "Besides, I have a deep relationship with his mother. If I screwed him over on such a small matter, it would be quite awkward when we meet later."
Jerry paused, his quill hanging in mid-air.
"And... do you really think I care about these Sickles and Galleons?"
With that, Jerry tilted his head lazily, burying his face entirely into Katherine's soft, high chest.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if savoring fine wine.
"Relationship?"
"Hehehe..."
Seeing him like this, Katherine let out a charming giggle.
Instead of dodging, she actively straightened her back, making her full breasts even more prominent.
She set down the coins, her hands wrapping around the back of Jerry's head. With an irresistible yet gentle force, she pressed his face entirely between her voluptuous breasts, which were outlined in striking curves by her tight robes.
"Mmph..."
Jerry's nose and mouth were instantly enveloped by an incredible warmth and elasticity.
The deep cleavage squeezed his cheeks out of shape; the soft meat-sensation almost suffocated him, yet he greedily absorbed it all.
Jerry's cheeks rubbed against the slippery fabric and the deeper, elastic skin.
Katherine looked down at the boy in her arms, seeking her out like a puppy, and an immensely satisfied smile appeared on her face.
Jerry rubbed for a while, as if trying to stain the soft territory entirely with his scent. Katherine made a satisfied, cat-like purring sound, her hands gently stroking his back, enjoying this intimacy.
Suddenly, she seemed to remember something. Her hold on him loosened slightly as she leaned down to his ear, her breath smelling like lilies:
"My little pervert master, that bitch Cassandra came to see me again today." Her voice carried undisguised contempt. "She really is greedy—she opened her mouth and asked to borrow two thousand Gold Galleons from me!"
"Oh?"
Jerry finally deigned to lift his face from the gentle sanctuary.
Red marks from the pressure remained on his face, but his eyes were sharp. Instead of pulling away, he took it a step further, covering both of Katherine's full breasts with his hands.
His palms touched expensive silk—slippery and cool—but the warmth and shocking elasticity of the two mounds of soft flesh beneath were transmitted without obstruction.
Jerry squeezed and kneaded wantonly, feeling the soft shapes constantly change in his grasp. His fingers soon found the two nipples at the peaks through the fabric, which had already grown hard from stimulation.
Jerry pinched a small point between his thumb and index finger, pulling and twisting it maliciously. "Tsk, tsk. Does she really take you for a Gringotts ATM?" he asked absentmindedly while toying with her. "What was her reason this time?"
Katherine's body gave a slight shudder; a suppressed moan escaped from deep in her throat. She seemed to enjoy this stimulation with its slight pain, and a moving blush rose to her cheeks.
Katherine thrust her chest out further so Jerry could play more to his heart's content, then said with a smile:
"Who else could it be for? For that boyfriend of hers, Orion Black, of course." Katherine looked at Jerry, her eyes full of the mischief of one watching a play. "Orion believes he's guaranteed to win this time and will definitely make it to the finals, so... he asked Cassandra for two thousand Gold Galleons. He wants to bet on himself in the pool."
Jerry's hand paused for a second. A strange expression appeared on his face. Then, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world, he couldn't help but burst into loud laughter.
"He... he isn't planning to place that bet with me, is he?"