"Why?"
"Why does it have to be Jerry?"
McGonagall's voice was dry, carrying a hint of questioning, but mostly bewilderment.
Amelia snorted contemptuously, uncrossing her legs and sitting up straight, her gaze sharp as a hawk's. She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and spoke with no warmth.
"You know why. Fudge's eldest son is still rotting in Azkaban, and even if he gets out, he's a ruin. Rosier... this time, he used his military merits to whitewash his family name. But the bigger reason is that he was just an infant back then; he has no direct blood debt on his hands. And old Rosier's favors are spread throughout the..."
She trailed off, her meaning clear. "So, they are different. Those old fossils would never approve of a Death Eater becoming Fudge's successor."
Her tone was filled with the usual arrogance and prejudice against Pure-blood wizards.
"Fudge says he'll support me fully!" Amelia's voice dripped with sarcasm. "But he's a cold-blooded bastard. To secure his position back then, he threw his own son into Azkaban without blinking an eye. From what I know, he despises me for not bearing a child. Lately, he's been hooking up with quite a few young witches, having a grand old time."
"More importantly, those old fossils in the Ministry don't accept me! They think I lack seniority and can't command respect. It can't be helped; who told me to be only thirty-three? In this world ruled by seniority, I have no flashy military achievements, I never joined the Order of the Phoenix, and even that old coot Dumbledore doesn't like me. My only support base is thin—just a bunch of greenhorns..."
Amelia's voice turned to gritted teeth, her fingers tapping a dull rhythm on her knee. "If I lose Fudge's support now, and something unfortunate happens to him... forget inheriting the Minister's seat. I probably won't even keep my position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Those old bastards will do everything to kick me down."
Amelia's gaze became distant and hollow again, but her voice carried a long-suppressed desire and calculation. "So, I need a child now. A child who can shut everyone up. A child who can make that damn old bastard Fudge support me. And... this child must be Jerry's!"
"Because I'm bullish on Jerry's future, and he needs my investment right now! I have to seize this opportunity, and I believe he will too. Don't you agree, my Minerva, my good sister?"
McGonagall's face grew graver. After a moment of contemplation, she asked tentatively, "But... if the child isn't Fudge's, won't he suspect?"
Amelia snorted again, full of disdain. "It doesn't matter if it's his. He won't care. As long as I give birth to it. He just needs a sufficiently excellent heir. If this child shows the same magical talent and ability as Jerry, Fudge will be grinning from ear to ear. He won't bother with such trivial details."
The calculation in her eyes was now laid bare before McGonagall. Amelia stroked her flat stomach again, as if imagining a life growing there.
Her tone suddenly turned resentful. "Besides, if you ask me, the fertility issue is his problem. The injuries he took in the civil war probably left him sterile long ago. Otherwise, why haven't I conceived in all these years? That damn old bastard... he must be shooting blanks, yet he wasted so many of my years!"
Listening to Amelia, McGonagall felt a chill rise from her heart. The friend she once knew now seemed like a ghost consumed by desire and power. However, McGonagall knew that once Amelia made up her mind, nothing could stop her.
She didn't pass moral judgment. Instead, she looked up, meeting Amelia's eyes directly. Her voice was calm but firm. "After you ascend, I want a seat at the table."
Amelia, wearing a victorious expression, was stunned for a moment. Then she raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling her lips. "I thought you weren't interested in these things?" She tapped the armrest, looking at McGonagall in confusion. The Minerva McGonagall she knew had always kept a respectful distance from power struggles.
McGonagall rolled her eyes beautifully, a look of misunderstood helplessness mixed with her usual pride. "I just don't want to stay on the front lines anymore. I didn't say I wasn't willing to be a high-ranking Ministry official."
She picked up her unfinished tea, fingers tracing the cold glass. Her voice carried a rare fatigue. "I've been a professor for too long. Facing those mischievous little wizards every day, grading mountains of homework... I'm a bit tired."
McGonagall placed the cup on the small table and leaned forward. In her eyes, staring straight at Amelia, shone an ambition and desire no less than any ruler's. "Life on the front lines is challenging, but the sacrifice often doesn't match the reward. I know you live for power, but my goal isn't power itself. What I want is—to influence more people, to do things truly beneficial for magical society. To make those idiots learn to use their brains instead of being forever bound by dogma and narrow Pure-blood ideals."
McGonagall paused, reaching out to gently pat Amelia's shoulder. Her palm conveyed warmth and solidity; their friendship seemed reawakened, or perhaps given new meaning.
"I know your ambition!" McGonagall's voice softened, carrying the understanding only confidantes share. "You crave the Minister's seat and will stop at nothing to get it. But I have my ways too. You provide the battlefield; I provide the weapons."
Her gaze fell on Amelia's abdomen again. "As long as you secure that position, I will uproot those rotten systems. I will rewrite more reasonable wizarding regulations, education systems, and... fairer approval processes. As for those who stand in the way!"
A cold glint flashed in McGonagall's eyes, sharp as the iciest winter shard. Her fingers clenched into a fist in the air. "I will crush them like bugs, making them disappear completely."
Hearing McGonagall's "declaration," the playful smile on Amelia's face faded. She realized then that the Minerva McGonagall before her was no longer just the stern professor who scolded students. Inside her lay an ambition as deep, perhaps even deeper, than her own.
She reached out, hooked McGonagall's chin, and lifted her face so their eyes met. A long-lost, sincere smile appeared on Amelia's face.
"Good."
Amelia's answer was simple and crisp, her voice full of strength. "Deal. You're in."
She pulled McGonagall back by the waist, seating her close again. Two mature female bodies, flushed with lingering sensations, pressed together. Amelia's fingers gently stroked the muscles of McGonagall's lower back as she breathed, her eyes revealing a new connection and tacit understanding.
"So... the next step is to make that kid Jerry take the bait and obediently give me an heir." Amelia's tone returned to a hunter's eagerness. "But the process might require a little effort from you, Minerva. After all... it's not a simple matter."
Hearing this, McGonagall lowered her eyes. Her gaze fell on the empty crystal petri dish on the table, the residual milky-white traces looking ambiguous and tempting under the light.
Jerry's face—seemingly innocent but actually cold and unfathomable—floated in her mind. She was already calculating the next steps.
"He will be willing," McGonagall said softly. Her tone was calm but filled with confidence.
Amelia looked at McGonagall's certainty, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. She leaned in closer, nose almost touching McGonagall's cheek. "How do you know?" Her voice was low, intimate, and probing. "Don't tell me you saw it in a crystal ball, Minerva. You never even passed Divination!"
McGonagall didn't answer immediately. She dipped a finger into the petri dish, collecting a bit of the remaining milky fluid, and slowly put it in her mouth. Her tongue savored the unique, rich taste of young male vitality.
Only after this did she look up at Amelia, her eyes twinkling with a sly smile.
"Because!" McGonagall's voice held a confident pleasure. She leaned in and whispered into Amelia's ear, loud enough only for the two of them. "He's wanted to fuck you for a long time!"
Amelia froze, disbelief washing over her face. But soon, that disbelief was replaced by a sense of affront, which then morphed into something more complex. She subconsciously straightened her back, her full chest becoming even more prominent under her tight uniform.
"Me?" Amelia pointed at herself, her voice uncertain, but a fire had already been lit in her eyes.
McGonagall chuckled, retracting her hand and leaning back into the sofa, her posture lazy and content.
"That's right, Director Amelia." She dragged out the words, savoring an interesting discovery. "He's wanted to fuck you for a long time!"
Jerry and Katherine walked out of the tailor shop one after the other.
Katherine had changed back into her classic maid outfit, but the flush hadn't fully faded from her face. The way her hips swayed with a perhaps unintentional allure as she walked created an ambiguous atmosphere between her and Jerry that was hard for outsiders to define.
At a glance, they looked like an intimate couple. But the maid outfit added a subtle twist—rather than lovers, she looked more like an affectionate maid closely following her young master.
Diagon Alley was bustling with hurried wizards. The two didn't linger on the main street. Instead, they skillfully turned into one narrow, obscure alley after another. Under the shadow of brick walls, their figures flickered in and out of the crowd like fish, navigating the complex network of lanes.
Soon, they vanished around a deep corner, as if they had never been there.
About a quarter of an hour later, a very ordinary-looking middle-aged couple emerged from a dark path leading to the entrance of Knockturn Alley.
The man was slightly portly with an honest face, wearing somewhat worn wizarding robes and carrying a bulging cloth sack. The woman looked a bit shrewd, with a voluptuous figure and slightly tacky heavy makeup. She clung tightly to the man's arm, looking around nervously.
This couple was, of course, Jerry and Katherine under the effects of Polyjuice Potion. The potion worked flawlessly; their appearance, build, and even gait had changed drastically. No trace of their original selves remained. Jerry had become a somewhat slow-witted middle-aged man, and Katherine his sharp-tongued wife.
They exchanged a glance, seeing their own comical reflections in each other's unfamiliar eyes. They wanted to laugh but held it back.
"Let's go. Time to inherit our legacy!"
The towering white marble building shone majestically in the sunlight. Goblin guards in scarlet uniforms stood straight at the doors, their hooked noses and sharp little eyes radiating shrewdness and coldness.
Jerry, arm in arm with Katherine, deliberately stuck out his padded belly and walked into the Gringotts hall with a slightly sluggish step.
Inside, the hall was magnificent. Goblins bustled about, handling business with speed and precision. The vast dome featured exquisite murals depicting the ancient friendship between wizards and goblins.
A goblin at an empty counter looked up as they approached. His beady eyes scanned them warily, holding a hint of impatience and arrogance.
"What business?" The goblin's voice was sharp and raspy, lacking even basic politeness.
Jerry clumsily pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. It bore several lines of ancient runes and Gobbledegook, along with a complex seal. He deliberately let his hand shake as he handed it over, nervously rubbing the corners of the worn parchment.
Katherine complained in a shrill voice beside him, "Darling, didn't you say this 'contract' was settled ages ago? Why does it look more tattered than my knickers?" She smacked the hem of Jerry's loose robe, drawing contemptuous looks from nearby goblins.
The goblin took the parchment, and his sharp gaze instantly turned serious.
This was an "Eternal Contract," revered by Gringotts goblins as a holy writ. Signed by the Goblin Council of Elders themselves, it possessed supreme authority. It recorded that a wizard named "Oliver Snake" had opened a top-secret vault at Gringotts over three hundred years ago. Special clauses stipulated that the vault holder needed no blood verification—only the contract was required for access.
Most importantly, this vault was in "Deep Dormancy." Unless the contract holder activated it, Gringotts had no right to charge fees or encroach upon it in any way. To the goblins, it was a "Dead Vault," consuming maintenance costs annually without yielding a Knut of profit.
Yes! This Oliver Snake was one of the many sleeper agents planted by the Rosier ancestors over three centuries ago.
A flicker of undetectable greed crossed the goblin's face. This vault had been untouched for three hundred years. For Gringotts goblins, such ownerless vaults were like pies falling from the sky. There was an unwritten rule: for vaults unclaimed or inactive for over two hundred years, if they could find a loophole or confirm the owner's disappearance, they could legitimately seize the contents.
Three hundred years was enough time for countless goblins to eye this vault greedily, frustrated by the lack of justification to touch it.
"Oliver Snake..." The goblin's sharp voice held a hidden playfulness. He looked up, scrutinizing Jerry, trying to find a flaw in his mediocre appearance. His eyes revealed obvious suspicion and disdain, as if saying: You fool, you deserve such a vault?
"Hey, what's with that look?" Katherine flared up instantly at the goblin's attitude. She twisted her voluptuous waist, leaning half over the counter so her hefty chest wobbled. Her voice turned shrill. "Let me tell you, my man might be honest, but this vault was handed down from our ancestors! If you dare give us attitude, I'll report you to the Ministry!"
She even made a vicious gesture, pretending to poke the goblin's eye with a gaudy fake gemstone ring.
Provoked by Katherine's shrewish act, the goblin slammed the counter.
Slap!
The crisp sound drew the attention of nearby goblins. His beady eyes narrowed dangerously, holding a veiled malice.
"Madam, opening a vault is not a matter of mere words." The goblin let out a grating laugh. "Oliver Snake Vault 137 has never been activated since its creation. According to Gringotts regulations, such long-dormant vaults require stricter identity verification—and... a considerable activation fee."
He dragged out the words. "This fee... is naturally not low. I fear you cannot afford it." He glanced scornfully at Jerry's bulging cloth sack.
"How much?" Jerry, after a shove from Katherine, spoke slowly, his tone carrying the timidity of a middle-aged man.
The goblin held up five fingers and waggled them. "Five thousand Galleons."
Katherine froze. Five thousand Galleons! That was daylight robbery! She looked at Jerry, her eyes flickering. Goblins were notoriously greedy, but such a sum would bankrupt an ordinary wizard family.
At that moment, Jerry smiled slightly—a smile carrying a depth unlike a "middle-aged uncle." He pulled out a much more refined linen bag from within his robes. Without a word, he dropped it heavily onto the counter.
Thud!
The bag came undone, and piles of glittering Galleons rolled out, forming a small mountain on the counter. The golden light dazzled the goblin's eyes. Surrounding goblins turned their heads, gasping.
Jerry then calmly pulled a heavy key from the depths of the bag. The key was incredibly ancient, engraved with Gobbledegook inscriptions, radiating a mysterious, aged aura.
"Is that enough?"
Jerry's voice was no longer slow; it held an unquestionable magnetic charm. He placed the ancient key gently atop the mountain of gold, his movements carrying a casual arrogance.
The greed and disdain on the goblin's face froze, replaced by shock, confusion, and an unconcealed awe.
"Please... please this way, sir... madam."
The goblin's attitude did a 180-degree turn. He bowed slightly, his posture respectful and humble, his beady eyes filled with reverence for wealth. Here, money was king.
The old goblin summoned a younger goblin in red robes. "Quick! Take these two honored guests to Vault 137!"
The young goblin took the key with trembling hands and led Jerry and Katherine down a winding passage toward the deep underground vaults of Gringotts. Whispers followed them as other goblins guessed at the true identity of this seemingly mediocre couple.
The deep vault area was dark and cold, filled with the aura of ancient magic arrays. The vault door was massive and heavy, covered in complex runes.
The young goblin inserted the key. Metal ground against metal with a harsh screech. With a loud clank, the vault door, sealed for three centuries, slowly opened. A stale smell of dust, money, and magic rushed out.
The interior was emptier than the goblins expected. It was a vast space with a huge stone pedestal in the center, holding a single, lonely object covered in black velvet.
"This..." Disappointment filled the young goblin's eyes. He had expected mountains of treasure, not such "frugality."
Jerry walked to the pedestal and lifted the velvet.
Revealed was an ancient magical hourglass, taller than a person. Inside flowed not sand, but blue liquid magic shimmering with starlight, dripping incredibly slowly from the top bulb to the bottom.
Katherine ignored the goblin's disappointment. Her face, painted with tacky makeup, was now alert. Her movements were swift. Without a word, she rushed forward and waved dismissively at the hesitant goblin, giving an unquestionable "get out" gesture.
Simultaneously, her gaze pierced through the goblin, spotting a Gringotts guard peering suspiciously from outside the vault door. In a flash, she spun around and slammed the heavy door shut with all her might.
Clang!
Metal met stone, the boom echoing in the empty vault. The door sealed tight, shutting out the noise and prying eyes of Gringotts.
Katherine panted, leaning against the door to listen. Confirming no one followed, she turned, dropping her shrewish expression for a more refined look.
Neither Jerry nor Katherine rushed to touch the hourglass. They circled the stone pedestal in tacit understanding, inspecting it carefully. Jerry's sharp eyes scanned the surface, muttering ancient spells, while Katherine used a magnifying glass to examine the strange runes at the base.
Confirming there were no traps or curses, Jerry placed his palm on the lower half of the hourglass. An ancient Rosier family crest appeared on his skin. Soft light poured from his hand, spreading along the hourglass's patterns.
The blue liquid magic boiled instantly, churning visibly. Dozens of tiny lights lit up on the surface, one by one. Then, several beams of crimson light shot from the top like arrows, striking specific spots on the stone walls of the vault. The walls turned blood-red where the light hit.
Katherine stared at this anomaly, confused. She opened her mouth but said nothing, clearly not understanding what this hourglass was for besides storing magic.
Jerry, however, was unfazed. He bent down and rummaged in his pocket for a moment, finally pulling out a seemingly ordinary short-handled hoe from his wide robes. It looked ancient, the handle worn smooth and cracked—a tool for a common farmer.
Jerry walked decisively toward one of the walls targeted by a red beam. The beam was about as thick as a person. He gripped the hoe with both hands, aimed for the center of the light, and swung the sharp blade down hard.
"Jerry!"
Katherine's surprise was justified. These walls were reinforced with Gringotts' oldest strengthening charms and anti-magic runes. Unless one used magic more powerful than the wards, attacking the wall—even a punch—could trigger terrible alarms and backlash. This was a high-security vault; its defenses were top-tier. Ordinary wizards, even Aurors, would be helpless here.
But the ordinary hoe in Jerry's hand seemed to come alive. With every swing, colorful light exploded from the tip. Upon contact with the stone, the hard wards wailed as if meeting their nemesis.
The stone didn't crack or collapse. Instead, in a bizarre fashion, it melted into puddles of sticky, grey-white fluid, sliding slowly down the wall like wax under heat.
"This is an ancient Combination Curse."
Jerry didn't look back, calmly explaining, his voice carrying a steadiness beyond his appearance. "These walls aren't reinforced by structural mechanics, but by complex illusions and confusion charms. The hard stone you see is fake. Only specific tools and spells can reveal their true form. And this hoe!"
He paused, letting Katherine look at the flowing colorful light on the tool.
"This isn't a farm tool. It's forged from enchanted obsidian and fused with dragon crystal as a medium. It can dismantle the disguises on these walls in the gentlest way possible. Otherwise, forced destruction would trigger a backlash strong enough to swallow us whole."
With every swing, the wall section locked by the red beam melted away, revealing a dark hole large enough for a person to crawl through.
A dry smell of ancient dust and a faint pulse of magic drifted from the tunnel. It wasn't the smell of copper common in Gringotts, but a purer, more primal magic.
Katherine stared in disbelief. She finally understood the depth of the Rosier family's foundation. This secret setup, completely bypassing Gringotts' defense system, was godlike. She couldn't imagine how the Rosier ancestors had planted these "insurances" right under the noses of the greedy goblins.
Soon, a wide passage appeared. The walls sparkled under the hoe's light, as if inlaid with countless tiny gems.
Jerry put away the hoe and signaled Katherine to follow, stepping into the deep darkness first.
"Stay close, Katherine," his voice echoed. "Everything here is guarded by Rosier blood magic. But it also exerts invisible influence on those without the bloodline." His tone held a warning and supreme confidence in his heritage.
Katherine took a deep breath and followed his glowing silhouette.
The passage was long and narrow. The magic in the air was thick, nourishing Katherine's body and even refining her disguised form. She followed Jerry closely, stepping in his light.
The end of the passage opened up, and golden brilliance pierced the dark. Katherine shielded her eyes. When she looked again, she saw an ocean of gold.
Galleons. Countless Galleons, piled like mountains in a vast underground space, reached several stories high. The golden glare was blinding.
"My god..." Katherine whispered.
Gold stirs the deepest greed. Katherine felt her disguised, heavy body become light. She walked toward the sea of gold, muttering, "These... these are all ours..." Her hands reached out, fingers curling as if to embrace the wealth. Her eyes saw nothing but gold; primal desire took over.
Just as she was about to be consumed by greed, a cold, strong hand clamped onto her wrist.
Jerry's eyes, deep as the night sky, looked at her coldly. "Katherine."
His voice cut through the trance. But before she could recover, Jerry raised her wrist and, with his other hand, ruthlessly grabbed her disguised, bountiful breast!
He squeezed hard, as if trying to crush the soft flesh. His fingers dug in, feeling the hardness of her nipple through the clothes.
"Ngh!" Katherine groaned, arching back from the intense stimulation. Her breast was lifted, crushed, and twisted. A strange mix of pain, numbness, and pleasure exploded from her chest to her brain, replacing the gold fever.
She looked at Jerry, her eyes clearing.
Sensing her return, Jerry released her wrist. As he let go of her chest, he gave her breast one last, heavy squeeze. Katherine shuddered, her soft flesh jiggling lewdly.
"These aren't for you to masturbate with," Jerry said coldly. He looked at the sea of gold as if it were mere gravel. "This ocean of gold is just a decoy."
He walked amidst the gold mountains, his boots clinking against the coins. Katherine, blushing from the pain in her chest and the shame of her greed, stumbled after him.
As they went deeper, Katherine realized the truth. Beneath the "waves" of gold, she saw structures of black granite and dark metal, carved with precise runes. These weren't buildings, but complex magical mechanisms.
A chill ran up her spine. If she had touched the gold, she would be ash by now.
"Careful. The old guys who built this were nasty," Jerry said, leading her along a narrow path of bare black granite that wound through the gold like a dike, avoiding the runes.
Crossing the sea of gold, they faced a massive round stone door covered in flowing runes—a Grandmaster-level defensive array.
Katherine instinctively wanted to analyze it, but Jerry stepped forward, hefted the hoe onto his shoulder like a farmer, and kicked the door.
Bang!
The door groaned and opened. Dust fell. The runes dimmed.
Katherine stared. The door was another decoy—an IQ filter. Using magic would trigger a trap; brute force was the key.
They entered. The space beyond was functional and massive—a factory.
Dozens of floating assembly lines made of unknown metal filled the air, holding Crystal Golem parts in various stages of completion. Blue magic pipes connected them like a web. It was a silent forest of metal and magic.
But the centerpiece was at the end. A throne made of twisted metal and broken weapons sat there.
On the throne sat a life-sized Crystal Golem.
It was made of pure, flawless crystal. Blue magic flowed inside it like blood. It had no face, just a smooth mirror, but it wore a crown of black metal with a massive black gem. It sat like an eternal regent, guarding the workshop.
Jerry stared at it, then hefted his hoe. He pulled back and threw the hoe straight at the golem's face.
Just before impact, the golem moved.
It caught the hoe in mid-air with a ripple of force. Then, creating a screech of rusted metal, it turned its head toward Jerry. Katherine felt a cold, scrutinizing gaze from the mirror face.
Jerry grinned wickedly. He released his aura—the ancient, domineering bloodline of the Rosier family.
The golem sensed it. It shook violently, then stopped. It lowered its head like a subject bowing to a king. The machine powered down, sinking into silence.
The hoe fell to the floor with a clang, shattering into black powder.
"Mom, you want to invite Jerry for Christmas?" Hermione asked, confused, holding the phone.
Mrs. Granger's enthusiastic voice replied, "Yes! You said he's an orphan? Why not have him over? He has holidays too, right?"
Hermione frowned. She knew Jerry might agree, but she sensed her mother had other plans. Mrs. Granger, a competitive doctor, had been fascinated by the magical world since visiting Hogwarts. She never gave up on a puzzle.
"But... he might have plans," Hermione tried.
"Don't worry, Hermione. Just ask. If he's busy, fine. Your father and I are going to a Thanksgiving party. Talk later!"
Hermione hung up, stressed. Her mother was relentless.
Suddenly, the portrait hole opened. Ron Weasley stuck his red head in. "Hermione! There you are!"
He sat on the arm of her sofa. "Great news! My parents invited you for Thanksgiving dinner! Mom says the turkey will be amazing!"
Hermione smiled. "That sounds lovely, Ron."
Emboldened, Ron pressed on. "And... Christmas? Come to the Burrow? It'll be great!"
Hermione hesitated. "Christmas... I want to be with my parents."
"Easy!" Ron said. "Invite them too! Our mums are friends now!"
Hermione paused. That... was actually a good idea. It would keep her away from the awkwardness with Jerry.
Just then, she glanced out the window and saw a familiar figure walking toward the castle gates.
Jerry!
"I'll think about it... I forgot something!" Hermione stood up abruptly and ran out, chasing the figure.
Ron stared, then saw Jerry. His face twisted with jealousy and suspicion, but he followed.
Hermione caught up to Jerry at the gate. "Jerry!"
"My mom wants to invite you to our Christmas dinner! Are you free?"
Jerry stopped and turned. He looked at Hermione's flushed face, then at the panting Ron behind her.
A prankish smile curled his lips.
"If you can show me right now whether you're wearing panties... I'll accept."
His voice was soft, a playful command.
Hermione turned bright red. People were around, but Jerry's gaze was sharp and isolating.
Dare you?
Hermione's heart pounded. She should refuse, but a strange impulse ignited within her. The world faded, leaving only Jerry's dangerous whisper. Ron's footsteps behind her sounded like a countdown.
"Hermione?" Ron called.
Overwhelmed by shame, shock, and Jerry's bewitchment, Hermione's reason snapped.
Her hand trembled as she grabbed the hem of her robe.
In a subtle movement, unnoticed by passersby, she lifted her skirt slightly. In the hidden space, she revealed round thighs wrapped in white silk stockings, and deep within... a pair of pure white, innocent lace panties.
It lasted seconds. A glimpse in the shadows. Only Jerry saw it.
He chuckled softly.
Hermione felt her brain turn to mush. Her face burned.
Jerry leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Good! But next time... you're not allowed to wear them."
Hermione's legs went weak.
Jerry straightened up, face calm. "I accept the Christmas invitation. I hope it will be memorable. I have to go. See you in Dueling Class."
He turned and walked away with elegant strides.
Ron ran up, seeing Hermione's red face. "Hermione?"
"Sorry, Ron. I'll spend Christmas with my parents. I prefer opening presents alone under the tree."