The iron door of the training hall on the third basement level was left ajar by a narrow slit.
Dim light from the wall sconces spilled through the gap, accompanied by thunderous thuds of colliding flesh and the sharp clatter of wooden staves striking leather armor.
The air throughout the corridor reeked of heavy sweat and metallic anti-rust oil.
With his hands in his overcoat pockets and an unlit mint cigar clamped between his teeth, Jerry strolled unhurriedly across the damp flagstones toward the iron door.
He nudged the edge of the heavy iron door with the tip of his boot.
Clang.
The iron door slid inward.
In the center of the vast training hall, several alchemical torches suspended from the vaulted ceiling illuminated the arena brightly.
Across the flat stone floor lay several smashed straw dummies, woodchips and debris scattered everywhere.
"Get up! Get the fuck up!"
Draco's furious roar echoed violently between the stone walls.
Draco had shed his usual resplendent Slytherin robes, wearing only a white shirt completely drenched in sweat.
His sleeves were rolled past his elbows, exposing lean, wiry forearms.
Gripping a blunted heavy wooden practice sword, he viciously whipped the massive frame sprawling breathless on the ground before him!
Smack!
The wooden sword slammed against the thick leather padding, kicking up clouds of dust.
"Crabbe! Are your legs carved out of solid timber?! How many times have I told you! When an opponent dives on a broomstick, don't just stand there like a sitting duck! Stomp your heel! Activate the propulsion array on the left boot!"
Draco raised his leather boot and planted a heavy kick into the outer curve of Crabbe's meaty thigh!
Crabbe's two-hundred-pound bulk rolled across the floor with a heavy thud.
Panting heavily with his mouth agape, his face was smeared with a mixture of sweat and grime.
Clutching the hardened shield plate on his chest with arms as thick as tree trunks, he struggled for a long moment before hauling his upper body off the ground.
"M-Master Malfoy..."
Crabbe wiped the sweat from his chin and gulped down a mouthful of spit.
"That micro-propulsion array kicks way too hard! The second I stomp it, it feels like getting kicked by a raging dragon automaton! I can't keep my balance at all!"
"You balance it whether you can or not!"
Draco bellowed, slashing the wooden sword through the air with a whistling rush.
He whipped around, leveling the blade at another hulking silhouette a few paces away.
Goyle held a heavy metal shield in each hand, his beady eyes darting across his massive round face, his muscles strung tight, not daring to breathe.
"Goyle! What the fuck are you grinning at?!"
Draco stormed forward, closing the distance in three strides!
The wooden sword howled through the air, slamming down toward Goyle's shoulder!
"I told you to demonstrate high-altitude interception! You led Crabbe straight into a stone pillar! When we get onto the Quidditch pitch and six professional Aurors dive at us, are you two planning to perform an aerial circus act for them?!"
Terrified, Goyle hoisted both metal shields above his head!
CLANG!
The wooden sword struck the rim of the shield, jarring Goyle's arms into violent tremors, forcing him two steps back before finding his footing.
"Master Malfoy!"
Goyle pleaded with a miserable grimace, his rough voice whining.
"We're just too heavy! Those short-range shield plates are way too stiff; when we skim the ground on brooms with them sewn into our leather suits, our spines feel like they're snapping in half!"
"Stop making excuses!"
Draco stabbed the wooden sword into the floor, ripped the soaked towel from around his neck, and hurled it right into Goyle's chubby face.
"When Jerry taught me sword thrusts in the combat hall, he battered me across the floor with wooden staves over thirty times a day! Did I utter a single complaint?! Next week, millions across Europe will be watching the pitch! If you two embarrass me in the All-Star match, I'll have Gringotts freeze your families' vaults completely!"
Crabbe and Goyle hunched their necks, both hulking brutes standing ramrod straight, not daring to let out a peep.
"Quite a lively beating you're handing out, Draco."
A cool, indolent voice drifted in from the doorway of the training hall.
Draco stiffened slightly.
He spun around, shifting the wooden sword to his right hand, the rage flushing his haughty face instantly receding into disciplined coolness, relaxing only once he recognized the visitor.
"Jerry?"
Draco popped open two buttons at his collar, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"Weren't you in London establishing an alibi? Back at the castle already?"
With both hands in his coat pockets, Jerry strode casually onto the floor.
His gaze swept past the ruined straw dummies and settled on the drenched, panting figures of Crabbe and Goyle, a slight smirk playing at his lips.
"Came back to see how my major partner is brutalizing his private militia."
Walking into the center of the hall, Jerry tapped a cracked floorboard with the toe of his boot.
"Crabbe, Goyle. Get over here."
At Jerry's call, both Crabbe and Goyle shuddered visibly.
In Slytherin House, if Draco was the young master who bullied them with wealth and noble status, Jerry was the shadowy demon wielding absolute power, capable of stripping the skin from their bones without making a sound. Neither brute hesitated for a second, scrambling to Jerry's side and snapping to attention with their hands glued to their trouser seams.
"B-Boss Jerry..." Crabbe stammered under his breath.
Jerry reached out and patted the leather collar holding Crabbe's shield plate, producing dull thuds.
"You're timing the propulsion micro-array all wrong."
Jerry's voice was crisp and clinical.
"The magic array on the sole activates via a downward compression drive from your thigh. When you stomped down just now, your thigh was locked stiff and your center of gravity was completely on your heel. The instant the array detonated, the recoil buckled your lumbar spine—who else would crash if not you?"
Jerry turned, casting a sideways glance at Goyle.
"And you, Goyle. When raising the shield to intercept, don't lock your wrist around the handle. During airborne melee, concussive magic waves travel through the metal right into your forearm. If you don't learn how to flick your wrist to disperse the force, a single heavy blow from a professional Auror will dislocate your joint on the spot."
Goyle blinked his beady eyes, scratching his shaved head.
"F-Flick my wrist? Boss Jerry, how do I do that?"
With the cigar between his teeth, a piercing glint flickered in Jerry's eyes.
"Watch closely."
Without warning!
Jerry's slight frame stepped forward half a pace!
His right hand whipped from his pocket, his fingers clamping onto Goyle's raised wrist like lightning!
Goyle's two-hundred-pound frame shuddered, before he could mount even a shred of defense!
Jerry's thumb and index finger clamped the tendon beneath Goyle's wrist, his palm twisting violently outward!
CRACK!
A sickeningly crisp sound of joint dislocation snapped in the silent hall!
"AAARGH——!!"
Goyle let out an agonizing howl, his massive right arm going limp like an overcooked noodle! The heavy metal shield in his hand crashed against the stone tiles with a clatter, sending sparks flying!
"That is what happens when you lock your grip."
Jerry said coldly, effortlessly nudging his right hand upward!
SNAP!
Another dull click of bone resetting!
Goyle's dislocated shoulder was brutally shoved back into its socket by Jerry's terrifying physical technique!
Cradling his wrist, Goyle panted in heavy gasps, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead, his eyes brimming with sheer terror and awe.
"Understood?" Jerry dusted off his hands.
"U-Understood! Boss Jerry!" Goyle nodded furiously, shouting at the top of his lungs.
Watching Jerry's brutal and direct demonstration, Draco grabbed a bottle of chilled herbal tonic and chugged half of it down.
He wiped his mouth and tossed the empty bottle onto the table.
"Jerry, don't spare these two idiots any mercy."
Draco walked over, hands on his hips, a feral smirk spreading across his face.
"The roster from War Operations has been locked in. That bastard Kingsley shoved six battle-hardened butchers from the front lines straight onto the All-Star roster! When the match kicks off next week, it won't be a game of Quidditch up there! It'll be an aerial brawl disguised as a sporting event!"
Draco pointed a finger at Crabbe and Goyle's noses.
"I need these two to serve as meat shields in mid-air! At the whistle, stomp the propulsion arrays, charge straight ahead, and ram their two pro Chasers right off their brooms! Once your high-frequency disrupter fries their broom enchantments... in the aerial melee that follows, I'll smash their bones with my own hands!"
Watching Draco's haughty face contorting with manic bloodlust, Jerry curled his lips into a smirk.
"Looking to play for keeps?" Jerry asked.
"If we weren't playing for keeps, why the hell would I organize this tournament?!"
Draco roared, arrogantly throwing his arms out in the center of the hall.
"Every betting pool on the European black market is in our hands! I placed thirty thousand Galleons in Gringotts! Potter is out on the back mountain with Dumbledore doing tactical Transfiguration drills... Hahaha! Once he gets into the air, I'll teach him that in the face of cold steel and absolute physical force, his Transfiguration isn't worth a pile of shit!"
Watching his swollen arrogance, Jerry gave a subtle shake of his head in the shadows.
He strode over to the weapon rack and picked up an unsharpened wooden rapier.
Weighing the rapier in his hand, Jerry tossed it to Draco.
"Anyone can talk big, Draco."
Jerry leaned against a thick stone pillar, hands at his waist, his gaze turning razor-sharp.
"It's been fifteen days since you sparred with me in this hall. Let's see if your sword thrusts have grown dull."
Draco caught the flying wooden blade with one hand.
Gripping the hilt, his fingers clamped around the crossguard! The arrogance in his grey-blue eyes vanished, replaced instantly by the cold, lethal composure drilled into his marrow over fifteen days of hellish training!
Draco stepped his left foot forward, angling his body sideways, drawing his right arm back to his hip.
The magic runes on his boot soles hissed with subtle sparks against the stone.
"Come on, Major Shareholder."
A predatory, wolf-like grin split Draco's lips.
"My hands have been itching for a fight!"
Crabbe and Goyle scrambled back dozens of paces, flattening themselves against the stone walls, clutching their fat faces, barely daring to breathe.
Jerry leaned against the pillar without even taking off his overcoat.
Extending his right hand, he flicked his fingers casually through the air.
"I'll allow you three propulsion bursts," Jerry said evenly.
"More than enough!"
Draco roared!
Without hesitation!
The micro-propulsion array in his boots detonated in a millisecond!
BOOM——!!
A sonic air-blast ripped through the center of the training hall!
Draco shot forward like black lightning piercing the air, skating over the tiles at blistering speed, trailing blinding white gusts in his wake!
In the blink of an eye!
He covered ten paces, arriving right before Jerry's nose!
The arrays detonated again!
A sharp angle shift!
A ninety-degree ground-skimming pivot at extreme velocity!
Draco's body carved an impossible arc, flanking straight into Jerry's blind spot!
"Draw blade——!"
A fierce glint flashed in Draco's eyes!
Twisting his hips, he whipped the heavy wooden sword into a sweeping arc of light, roaring with ear-piercing gale straight for Jerry's neck!
Blindingly fast! Brutally heavy!
Watching from the perimeter, Crabbe and Goyle gasped in horror!
And yet!
Leaning against the pillar, Jerry's eyes didn't even waver!
To him, this high-speed angle-thrust—deadly enough to maim an ordinary Auror in seconds—still carried the mechanical inertia flaws of human reflexes!
A millisecond before the wood hit his throat, Jerry pivoted on his heel!
His torso tilted back a mere half-inch!
WHOOSH——!
The wooden blade howled past his collar, failing to touch a single strand of hair!
"First move."
Jerry's calm voice rang in Draco's ear.
Before Draco could recover, Jerry's left hand shot from his pocket like lightning!
Curling into a claw!
Clamping with pinpoint precision onto Draco's sword-wrist!
Violent magic surged from Jerry's fingertips straight into Draco's conduits!
Draco's right arm went completely numb as if struck by lightning; the wooden sword clattered to the floor!
"Damn it!"
Draco cursed!
Yet he did not retreat!
As the sword dropped, Draco triggered his third propulsion burst!
Riding the blast, he surged forward despite his numb arm, throwing a vicious left hook straight at Jerry's jaw!
Melee brawl! Raw physical combat!
The most ruthless technique Jerry had drilled into him!
An approving glint flashed in Jerry's eyes.
He did not dodge.
Jerry balled his right hand into a fist and met Draco's punch head-on!
BOOM!
Both fists collided heavily in mid-air!
The dull thud of colliding flesh echoed deafeningly through the hall!
Draco was blasted backward three paces by the staggering kinetic force, his boots skidding two black trenches into the tiles, only halting by catching the weapon rack.
His left fist throbbed in agonizing pain, yet his pale face burned with wild ecstasy!
"Hahaha! Brilliant!"
Draco laughed uproariously, shaking out his reddened knuckles.
"Jerry! That close-quarters charge... was half a beat faster than in the Black Lake!"
Jerry pulled his fist back into his pocket.
He flicked open a brass lighter, sparking a blue flame to light his mint cigar.
Hot smoke billowed from his lips, veiling his deep black eyes.
"The speed is there."
Jerry exhaled a plume of smoke, speaking slowly.
"But your stability is a mess. When you triggered the third burst, your left knee buckled inward too much. If you buckle your knee like that on an airborne broom, the slipstream will shred your hamstring."
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Draco walked back from the rack.
He returned the wooden sword to its peg and leaned against the wall.
"Got it, Major Shareholder. I'll drill two thousand knee-locks tonight."
Looking up at the dark vaulted ceiling, Draco's tone leveled.
"Hermione... did she get the copper back?"
"She did."
Jerry replied flatly.
"Hermione is pulling an all-nighter in the workshop stamping arrays and limited-edition badges. First thing tomorrow morning, the first batch of Quidditch merchandise with micro-wards will be delivered to Diagon Alley and Gringotts."
A vicious grin curled on Draco's lips.
"Those Old European distributors are sweating bullets. Lucius sent an urgent missive saying the black market herb prices have already been tripled! The frontline Auror battalions can't even afford hemostatic gel! The more desperate those old bastards get, the faster they'll lose their heads on the pitch."
Jerry didn't reply, quietly puffing his cigar.
Leaning against the pillar, his gaze looked past the iron door into the dark corridor.
Above this grim underground training hall, Hogwarts Castle was descending into midnight quiet.
Yet whether it was Harry Potter drilling Transfiguration behind wards on the back mountain, the Order veterans plotting in subterranean safehouses, or the pureblood death squads stirring in Malfoy Manor... everyone was hurtling along their own collision courses.
"Crabbe, Goyle."
Jerry spoke abruptly, his voice heavy as pig iron dropping onto stone.
The two hulking brutes snapped their heads up.
"Starting tomorrow."
Jerry pointed at Draco.
"You two accompany Draco to train on the open grounds outside the back mountain. Don't avoid patrolling Aurors, and don't avoid Gryffindor students. Be as arrogant and conspicuous as possible."
Draco's eyes lit up: "You want to stir the hornet's nest?"
"Not stir the nest."
Jerry turned, his overcoat sweeping in an arc.
"It's feeding the final spark... to Rita Skeeter's column tomorrow."
With steady footsteps, Jerry melted into the deep shadows of the corridor.
In the corner corridor on the third floor of the castle, wall torches flickered.
Ascending toward the fourth-floor staircase, Jerry's boots clicked steadily against the polished stone.
He held an unlit cigar in his hand, carrying the faint outdoor scents of woods and roast meat.
From behind an ancient tapestry across an archway ahead, a tall, commanding figure stepped out without warning.
Minerva McGonagall wore a dark green velvet robe and pointed wizard's hat, her stern, severe face drawn taut in the firelight.
Her hand reached out, clamping onto Jerry's sleeve!
Her grip was ironclad, her knuckles whitening with force.
Without a word of greeting, Professor McGonagall yanked Jerry's arm, pulling him straight into a concealed doorway in the wall.
Click.
The hidden door swung shut, anti-peeping and soundproofing runes flaring with a faint blue light.
This was her private parlor deep inside the Transfiguration staff offices.
A heavy woolen carpet covered the floor, beside an expansive darkwood desk cluttered with student essays and black-bound frontline dossiers from the Order of the Phoenix.
"Where on earth have you been all weekend?"
Professor McGonagall stood facing him, her back to the door.
She lifted her hands, ripping off her pointed hat and tossing it onto the desk.
Her immaculate bun loosened slightly, several lustrous strands of hair tumbling over her mature shoulders.
She spun around, a wanton, feverish heat flashing across her stern face that only ever showed behind closed doors.
"Margaret told me you took the Grangers on a picnic in the London countryside?"
Jerry leaned against the stone wall, toying with his cigar, a provocative smirk on his lips.
"Professor McGonagall, does War Operations police everything down to a Hogwarts student having barbecue with Muggle parents on a weekend?"
Jerry took a step forward, the tip of his boot brushing the hem of her robes.
"Or is it... that a senior Order operative like you hasn't had this hard cock of mine for two days, and your cunt is burning with heat?"
The words were brutally explicit, devoid of pretense.
Yet hearing this depraved provocation, the imposing Deputy Headmistress who never cracked a smile before students shuddered as her chest heaved violently.
A vivid flush painted Professor McGonagall's mature face.
Her legs in black pumps crossed restlessly beneath her robes as her hands tore open the silver clasp at her collar!
Rip!
Her robes fell open, baring a generous expanse of full, mature cleavage; those two heavy, voluptuous breasts bulged prominently against her black bra, bouncing with her ragged breathing.
"Stop playing dumb with me!"
McGonagall's voice dropped, saturated with the husky, sultry rasp of a thoroughly broken-in older woman.
She lunged forward, throwing her tall, voluptuous frame flush against Jerry!
Those massive, heavy tits mashed flat against Jerry's chest, radiating ripe rose perfume and scorching female heat.
"Margaret and Kingsley held tactical summits in the safehouse all night! I drilled that Potter boy in tactical Transfiguration on the training pitch all day! Every bone in my body aches like it's cracking!"
Her hands tangled in Jerry's hair, pulling his head back roughly as she whispered hot, trembling gasps against his ear:
"And look at you, sunbathing in the countryside with that little girl and her Muggle mother! Take off your trousers right now! I need that cock of yours in my mouth right this second!"
Without warning!
The sternest mature professor in Hogwarts collapsed to her knees onto the heavy woolen carpet with a soft thud!
Her tall frame sank low, her green robes pooling across the carpet, highlighting her lush, rounded ass.
Her hands clamped Jerry's belt buckle, yanking it open in one fierce pull!
Click!
The buckle popped, the zipper tearing open to the bottom!
Boing——!!
A thick, purplish-red meat pillar sprang free!
Veins coiled along the forearm-thick shaft; the swollen coronal head bobbed in the air, generous amounts of scalding pre-cum leaking from the slit to smear across McGonagall's stern face!
Even having tasted this monster countless times, seeing it up close still brought hot moisture to her eyes.
She parted her lips, dragging her tongue across the coronal head, scooping up all the pre-cum and swallowing it down.
"You wicked thing... it looks terrifyingly huge every single time..."
McGonagall swallowed hard, gripping the base of his shaft, burying that stern face that lectured students daily right into his pubic hair!
Stretching her mouth wide, she lunged upward!
Gulp——!
A brutal, unsparing deep-throat impalement!
The massive coronal head forced past her teeth, driving ruthlessly into the depths of her throat!
"Gargle——!!"
Her cheeks bulged outward, stretching the pale skin into distinct curves! Tears of pressure prickled in her eyes, yet she clamped Jerry's thighs in a death grip, dragging herself upward!
Slurp! Squelch! Slurp! Squelch!
Loud, filthy wet sounds exploded through the quiet parlor!
Casting aside every shred of dignity as Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall sucked the teenage boy's monstrous cock like a starving bitch beside her paperwork!
Saliva and pre-cum streamed from the corners of her mouth, dripping onto her robes to soak the velvet!
Leaning back, Jerry held his cigar in his left hand, pressing his right onto McGonagall's head.
Threading his fingers into her hair, he shoved her down!
"McGonagall... sucking with plenty of effort, aren't you?"
Jerry drawled casually.
"Didn't you say Margaret held a tactical meeting all night? Tell me, how does that madman plan to deal with Malfoy and Old Nott?"
"Gulp... swallow..."
McGonagall popped her mouth off with a wet snap, dragging a string of thick saliva that splashed onto her robes.
Her eyes flushed red, white froth clinging to her lips, she looked up panting:
"Margaret... Margaret lost her temper in the safehouse last night!"
Kneading Jerry's thick shaft with her hand, she spilled the Order's top secrets:
"War Mobilization submitted reports—the three customs shipments of herbs were all seized by Old Nott at Malfoy Manor! Seventeen Auror patrol squads have been without potions for three days! Margaret tore up the peace mediation agreement last night and approved Kingsley's classified tactical plan!"
She squeezed Jerry's thigh, pleasure flashing in her eyes.
"Kingsley picked six frontline veterans! Disguised as customs officials and national team players to infiltrate the All-Star match next week! Aerial security will be personally commanded by Moody!"
Growing more aroused as she spoke, she engulfed the head again, bobbing furiously!
Wet slurps echoed through the room!
"Moody... that peg-legged madman has lost it! You're the one who blinded his eye, and he plans to use heavy curse-breakers to blast Draco off his broom in mid-air! The moment the purebloods play dirty on the pitch or in the betting pool, War Operations will slaughter the VIP boxes and seize all of Malfoy and Nott's agency rights!"
Hearing this vital intelligence, Jerry's smirk widened.
His left hand on McGonagall's head clamped down with sudden force!
Pinning her hair, he slammed her face against his pubic bone and thrust his hips upward!
Thrust——!!
The massive coronal head bypassed her throat, slamming into her deepest cartilage!
"Mmmph——!!"
McGonagall let out a muffled, thoroughly satisfied whimper!
A torrent of scalding white cum erupted from Jerry's tip, shooting down her throat!
Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!
The thick fluid filled her mouth to bursting!
Her eyes rolled back, swallowing desperately, drinking most into her stomach while the rest overflowed past her lips, coating her chest and robes!
Yet Jerry was not done.
He hauled McGonagall up from the carpet, roughly spinning her around, slamming her down onto the desk!
Bang!
Student essays and black dossiers scattered across the floor!
Bracing her hands on the desk with her legs spread wide, her green robes were hiked to her waist!
Baring her massive, firm mature buttocks clad in black lace panties!
The cheeks were ripe and plump, glowing with mature allure in the firelight.
Jerry offered no foreplay!
He raised his hand and delivered a brutal slap to her ass cheek!
SMACK!
The sharp clap of flesh echoed deafeningly!
"McGonagall, keep talking. How does Kingsley plan to deploy War Operations on the day Bill 14 hits its second reading?"
McGonagall rocked back and forth across the desk, her hair tumbling across ink and dossiers.
Eyes glazed, panting heavily, she confessed the rest of the secrets:
"Bill 14... ha-ah... on the second reading... Kingsley is leading thirty senior Aurors... ambushing the entrances of the fourth basement level... preparing to detain all opposing pureblood members before the vote..."
"Ha-ah... Margaret... Margaret prepared a special search warrant... to raid Malfoy Manor's underground vaults this Friday..."
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Jerry said nothing, responding only with even more savage thrusts!
Jerry clamped her hips, driving all the way home with a final brutal lunge!
Boom!
A long while later.
He zipped his trousers and buckled his belt, resuming the slight, composed persona of a Hogwarts Slytherin.
McGonagall lay limp across the desk, panting raggedly, adjusting her disheveled robes and underwear, her flushed face glowing with total submission and bliss.
"You insolent little bastard!"