The weather in London was gloomy, and the longitudinal corridor on the fourth basement level of the Ministry of Magic was packed with messengers and document cases rushing back and forth.
The brass oil lamps hanging on the walls flickered in the draft, casting elongated grey shadows of those hurried figures across the stone floor tiles. Every now and then, several red-leather memos folded into bird shapes whooshed through mid-air, crashing into arched stone pillars with a burst of faint sparks.
Jerry pressed a heavy black leather document folder with his left hand, its corners riveted tight with brass studs, containing the second-phase approvals for the wizarding world's three trade channels, as well as over a dozen stamped passes for uninspected transit for the underground workshop.
The hem of his overcoat swayed with his strides, his boots striking the floor tiles with a steady, crisp cadence.
Before he even reached the archway, three figures dressed in dark grey high-collared wizard robes suddenly stepped out from behind the stone pillars on either side.
Leading them was a burly senior Auror with a brass badge of a Wartime Special Inspector at his waist, his thick arms held across mid-air, directly blocking the narrow passage leading to the inner offices. Behind him followed two young wizards holding anti-magic copper-wood staves, their chests conspicuously pinned with the silver-white bird feather crest circulating secretly within the Order of the Phoenix.
"Halt."
The leading Auror took a heavy step forward, his thick soles grinding out a harsh, dull thud against the flagstones.
He raised his hard-leather-gloved palm, resting it directly in the air half a foot before Jerry.
"The Department of War Operations and the Department of War Mobilization jointly issued an emergency freeze order half an hour ago. All approvals concerning wizarding world material transfers and uninspected private workshops are suspended across the board."
The Auror's voice was rough and booming, echoing in the narrow corridor.
"Rosier, place the folder on the stone table nearby and cooperate with a routine spot check."
Jerry stopped.
Without bending his waist even half an inch, holding that half-smoked cigar in his right hand, he naturally reached toward his inner overcoat pocket.
The two young wizards flanking him changed color immediately, almost simultaneously whipping out the wands at their waists, their boots sliding half a step across the floor tiles, dropping into a cross-envelopment defensive stance!
"Don't move! Take your hands out of your pockets!"
The young wizard on the left shouted harshly, the tip of his wand flaring with the blinding red glow of a Stunning Spell.
"Our orders are crystal clear! The Wartime Security Committee suspects the workshops under your name of supplying high-frequency magic disruption armaments to illegal factions! Until this investigation is cleared, you won't take a single scrap of paper out of here!"
The atmosphere in the corridor tightened to the breaking point in a millisecond.
Several passing clerks scrambled in terror into wall alcoves, clutching their satchels, not daring to breathe.
Jerry didn't draw a wand.
"The Wartime Security Committee?"
"How much overtime pay did that fat cow Margaret give you to make it worth putting on this righteous charade for me in the corridor early in the morning?"
Jerry stepped forward half a pace.
His chest slammed straight into the leading Auror's outstretched palm.
"Get lost."
Simple words, devoid of emotional ripple.
"Looking to die!"
The leading Auror roared, violently grabbing for the black leather folder in Jerry's left arm, stomping inward to pin Jerry against the stone wall!
Jerry's eyes didn't even shift.
A fraction of a second before the hand grabbed the folder, Jerry's left arm retracted three inches!
Sizzle!
The searing pain of scorched flesh made the Auror shriek, his grab contorting!
Jerry formed a palm with his right hand, his thumb and index finger catching the outer cartilage of the opponent's right wrist with surgical precision, twisting lightning-fast!
Crack!
A distinct sound of joint dislocation snapped in the air!
"Argh!"
The burly Auror collapsed like a gutted fish, his knees buckling, crashing heavily onto the stone tiles!
His right wrist twisted at a bizarre angle, cold sweat beading on his forehead!
The two young Order wizards behind him were utterly dumbfounded.
They never imagined that right inside the Ministry building, this boy would dare cripple a frontline veteran Auror barehanded without even drawing a wand!
"Impedimenta!"
The young wizard on the left finally reacted in panic, firing an Impediment Jinx straight at Jerry's chest!
The wizard on the right lunged, aiming an Expelliarmus at Jerry's boots!
"Expelliarmus!"
Both spells sealed all dodge space in the narrow corridor!
Jerry didn't budge his footing.
Grabbing the collar of the fallen Auror with his right hand, he yanked him up hard!
The burly Auror was used as a meat shield, hoisted half a foot into the air!
Bang!
The invisible air wall slammed into the Auror's back, making him spit white froth, his scream choked in his throat.
As the red Disarming Charm skated along the floor, Jerry stomped his right boot onto the stones!
The propulsion micro-array in the sole surged with water-jet thrust, sweeping his frame in a low, eerie arc to dodge the red beam by a hair!
In the next second, he was right in front of the right-hand wizard!
Close enough to hear the ragged breathing!
Clutching the folder with his left arm, Jerry's right fist blasted forward with whistling wind, driving straight into the wizard's jaw!
Bone and flesh collided with a nauseating crunch!
Without even a scream, the wizard's eyes rolled back, flipping in mid-air and crashing onto a fallen stone table, his wand clattering away down the slope.
Only the wizard on the left remained, trembling with his wand raised.
Looking at his two fallen comrades, then at Jerry standing in the shadows without a crease on his clothes, his wand shook violently, unable to form a spell.
"You... you dare attack inspectors in the Ministry... the Wartime Acts will destroy you..."
He gritted his teeth, backing away against the stone pillar.
"The Wartime Acts?"
Jerry stepped forward, his boot crushing the fallen wand in half with a crisp snap.
Bending down, he adjusted his coat cuffs, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped grease from his thumb.
"Taking stipends from the Order of the Phoenix to play Margaret's dogs—what else can you Gryffindor fools do besides block corridors?"
Jerry tossed the handkerchief aside, shoving his hands back into his pockets.
"A bunch of pathetic trash like you thinks you're worthy of inspecting my documents?"
At the end of the corridor, over a dozen patrolling Aurors charged through the archway brandishing copper-wood staves, wands aimed straight at Jerry!
"Drop the folder! Face the wall!"
"War Operations routine inspection! Do not resist!"
Swords drawn, bows bent!
Sparks flashed, the air heavy as a lead plate ready to detonate!
Jerry sneered, his right hand in his pocket resting upon three black high-frequency disrupters.
Just a fraction of a second before the bloodbath erupted!
The heavy black wooden door at the deepest end of the corridor blasted open with a deafening boom!
The heavy wooden door was pushed open from the inside, shuddering as it hit the floor tiles, shaking loose fine dust.
Cassiopeia wore a form-fitting dark green gown with a wide dark-gold belt, accentuating her voluptuous, statuesque curves. Her black hair was pinned high with a snake hairpin, exposing her pale neck and shoulders.
Stepping in three-inch black stiletto heels, her footsteps clicked heavily across the tiles.
Her haughty face was covered in frost, arms crossed, looking down at the Aurors.
"What is all this shouting about?!"
Cassiopeia's voice was not loud, yet carried the crushing authority of long-held power, instantly silencing the uproar.
"This is the executive zone of the Department of International Magical Cooperation!
Not a training ground for War Operations, and certainly not a place for you Aurors to brawl in heat!"
The Auror captain stepped forward, wand still trained on Jerry.
"Department Head Cassiopeia!
Rosier openly assaulted wartime inspectors, breached the containment zone, and carries unvetted sensitive documents..."
"Shut your filthy mouth!"
Cassiopeia cut him off with icy finality.
She strode over the debris in her heels, stopping before the captain.
She poked his chest badge roughly with a slender finger, making him stagger slightly.
"Wartime inspection?
Who authorized you to inspect outside my office? Margaret? Or those senile fossils in the Wizengamot with one foot in the grave?"
Cassiopeia's voice was dripping with mockery.
"Mr. Rosier holds a special clearance pass issued by International Cooperation and the Wizarding Trade Commission! Every single document requires my signature! What right do you have to intercept sensitive Cooperation files?!"
The captain flushed red: "But War Operations issued a temporary..."
"War Operations governs life and death on the front lines; it does not govern my desk!"
Cassiopeia flicked her handkerchief, glancing in disgust at the wounded on the floor.
"Haul these embarrassments away.
If there are still War Operations men standing in this corridor in three minutes, I will immediately cut your brigade's anti-magic potion quota for next month!"
The threat was immense.
The frontline brigades relied entirely on imported potions from the wizarding world; if their quota were cut, no one could bear the consequences.
The captain gritted his teeth, glared at Jerry, and waved his hand.
Young wizards scrambled to drag their dislocated and unconscious comrades away, retreating swiftly down the corridor.
Calm returned to the corridor.
Cassiopeia turned around.
Looking at Jerry, a faint, secretive familiarity and longing flickered in her eyes.
She adjusted her cuffs and drew a brass key with intricate engravings from her robes.
"Come in with me."
Cassiopeia dropped the words, turned on her high heels, and walked straight toward the heavy wooden door.
Jerry kept his hands in his overcoat pockets, a cigar between his lips, following casually behind her over the threshold.
Click.
Cassiopeia shut the heavy wooden door, engaging three anti-peeping and soundproofing locks.
The heavy door severed all outside noise and prying eyes.
The office was spacious, scented with balsam fir and tuberose, carpeted in plush velvet, with mahogany desks and archival cabinets.
Cassiopeia leaned back against the heavy door.
Her pale hands slid down the door panel as she exhaled a long breath.
The cold ministerial facade collapsed, replaced by a mature woman's languid sensuality. She looked up, pouting with a huff.
"Had fun brawling with those brutes outside?"
She grabbed Jerry's coat lapels, pulling him close.
"To protect these documents for you, I cursed that fat woman Margaret to her face for half an hour.
How do you plan to thank me, my little son-in-law?"
Jerry leaned in, puffing mint smoke.
He slammed the folder onto the desk with a crisp slap.
"Thank you?
If I hadn't come, War Operations would have cleaned out this office by tomorrow."
Jerry chuckled, resting his hands naturally on her slender, supple waist.
"Cut the chatter, Mother-in-law.
Stamp the papers quickly; I need to return to the workshop to see Hermione brew potions."
Cassiopeia glared at him playfully, resting her hands on his shoulders, pressing her heavy breasts against his chest.
"And you, Head of International Cooperation, protecting your own at the door like a mother wolf protecting her den.
If people didn't know you crave this big thing of mine, they'd think you actually became a tender mother."
"Get lost."
Cassiopeia rolled her eyes, leaning back against the mahogany desk.
She parted her long legs slightly beneath her skirt, revealing black pantyhose over her knees. She pulled out her snake hairpin, letting her thick black hair spill down like a waterfall, fragrant with tuberose.
"You think I wanted to pick a public fight with that fat cow Margaret?"
Cassiopeia's frivolous tone receded, replaced by calculating political sharpness.
Bracing her hands on the desk, her voluptuous rear pressed an alluring curve into the wood.
"Over the past half-month, the front line has decayed into a total mess.
The old fossils of the Order of the Phoenix are reaching further using Dumbledore's prestige. The neutral families in the Wizengamot are flocking there like flies to blood."
Jerry stepped between her parted legs.
"The pureblood families are getting anxious?"
"More than just anxious."
Cassiopeia grabbed Jerry's lapels, pulling him close.
"So I plan to host a private gathering next week under the name of International Cooperation."
"A private gathering?" Jerry raised an eyebrow.
"Specifically inviting the newly elevated heroines who earned combat medals on the battlefield."
Cassiopeia whispered close to his ear, her hot breath scented with perfume.
"Those witches are bloodthirsty and proud; they despise pureblood heirs who only coast on family wealth. But if it's you..."
Cassiopeia's hand slid down Jerry's chest, pressing accurately onto the hardened bulge in his crotch.
"...Where do you think those combat heroines will stand?"
Jerry looked down at the calculating noblewoman, a wicked grin spreading on his face.
"Having me sleep with those battle-hardened frontline witches on your behalf?
Mother-in-law, your petty calculations can be heard across all of England."
"Are you going or not?"
Cassiopeia huffed, pulling Jerry down hard!
Flump.
She slid from the desk, her dark green satin skirt pooling on the carpet as she dropped to her knees at Jerry's feet!
This esteemed Department Head unhesitatingly unbuckled his black belt, pulling his trousers and underwear down to his knees!
The massive coronal head sprang out, thick as a forearm with coiled veins, pre-cum smearing directly onto Cassiopeia's chin.
"So massive..."
Cassiopeia held his thighs.
Instead of opening her mouth normally, she extended her tongue.
The moment her tender red tongue slipped past her teeth, the tip split into two slender, hyper-flexible forks!
The two red snake tongues quivered in the air with a hissing wet sound!
Slurp-hiss!
The forked snake tongue clamped like soft pincers around the sensitive sulcus beneath Jerry's coronal head in a millisecond!
"Fuck..."
Jerry cursed under his breath, his hands pinning Cassiopeia's thick black hair!
The destructive power of a Basilisk forked tongue in teasing and suction was catastrophic!
Both tips licked both sides simultaneously, pumping pre-cum into her mouth!
Slurp! Squelch! Slurp!
Loud wet sounds exploded in the quiet office!
Opening her mouth wide, Cassiopeia stuffed the colossal shaft deeper and deeper into her throat!
The enormous size stretched her cheeks taut, bulging visibly through her fair skin!
Gulp... gulp...
Choked swallowing sounds rumbled from her throat.
Her long legs trembled on the carpet, the forked tongue swirling violently around the coronal slit, milking him furiously!
Saliva and pre-cum overflowed from her lips, dripping down her neck to soak her satin collar.
Jerry's muscles pulled taut under her suction.
Looking at the choked noblewoman kneeling at his feet, he stepped forward and hauled her up!
"Get up; to the sofa."
Jerry's voice was low and commanding.
Pulling the shaft from her mouth with a pop, a string of glistening fluid trailed between them.
Weak at the knees, she was carried to the large black leather sofa.
Jerry threw her onto the sofa and mounted it.
Her green gown was pushed above her chest.
Jerry grabbed the edge of her lace panties and ripped them aside!
Riiip!
Copious love nectar gushed from her cleft, soaking the black leather!
Without hesitation, Jerry buried his face right into her dripping clitoral core!
Brutal, ravenous suction!
His tongue thrust upward into her tender labia, devouring the scalding nectar pouring from inside!
"Aaaaah!"
Cassiopeia arched like a fully drawn bow!
Her toes gripped the sofa edge, her long legs clamping Jerry's head!
The overwhelming pleasure fully awakened the Basilisk bloodline within her!
Her forked red snake tongues shot from her lips like a soft two-headed leech, wrapping dead tight around Jerry's massive coronal head resting on her face!
Slurp! Squelch! Splash!
They formed an endless tempest of wet sounds on the sofa!
Her forked tongue swept over every sensitive nerve on his head, while Jerry's suction and fingers below milked her into gushing torrents!
"Gulp... Jerry... my little son-in-law..."
She sucked him madly while gasping between strokes.
"Next week... you must come to the gathering..."
Her forked tongue flicked wet sprays across the shaft.
"Those witches back from the front line... they are used to killing..."
Her body convulsed under his tongue as wanton moans escaped her throat.
Jerry hooked two fingers deep into her tight canal, curling upward hard!
"Aaaaah!!"
In the office, wet sounds and wanton moans intertwined into an unbridled feast.
A long while later.
A crisp pop sounded.
Cassiopeia lay sprawled on the sofa with her legs spread limply, her forked tongue dangling, panting heavily.
Jerry stood up, straightened his coat, and picked up the stamped black folder.
"Send me the roster for next week's gathering."
Jerry glanced back at her with a smirk.
"Get lost... you little monster... I'll die in bed by your hands sooner or later..."
The heavy door closed.
Jerry stepped out with the approvals; the crucial chess piece had been placed.
Creak.
The heavy door closed behind him, the latch locking automatically.
Jerry tucked the stamped folder under his arm, brushing out wrinkles on his coat, walking down the corridor.
The surviving Aurors were sweeping ice and stone chips, flinching away when they saw Jerry, not daring to stop him.
Jerry ignored them, lighting a thin mint cigar.
Rhythmic boot steps echoed from the stone slope around the corner.
"Make way! Clear the road! Can't you see urgent Malfoy documents are being delivered to the Wizengamot?!"
That familiar, arrogant, cracking voice boomed down the corridor.
Two retainers in dark-silver Malfoy livery cleared the path with half-human-tall document trunks.
Behind them, Draco Malfoy strolled unhurriedly.
He wore a tailored black pinstripe woolen coat, sporting his newly minted Triwizard Champion gold badge on his chest, holding a gilded cane, puffing a vanilla cigar, chin held high.
Clerks flattened against the walls to avoid the "Fatal Seventeen Minutes" champion.
Jerry paused beneath the marble archway.
Holding his cigar, he tilted his head toward the approaching blonde boy, tapping his folder.
"Well, isn't this our famous champion renowned across Europe?"
Jerry leaned against the stone pillar, his tone dripping with amusement.
"Not listening to underclassmen sing your praises in the Slytherin common room, but wandering down here in the gloomy basement as an inspector?"
Draco's chin lowered immediately, waving his retainers back ten paces to the wall.
Draco stepped up, dusting off his coat, snatching Jerry's cigar into his pocket and flashing his vanilla one.
"Give me a break, Jerry."
Draco rolled his eyes, scraping his boots against the floor.
"I was mobbed by first- and second-years for two full days! Even going to the loo, seven or eight Ravenclaw girls followed for autographs! Stay any longer and my ears would burst!"
Jerry reclaimed his cigar, lit it, and inhaled hot smoke.
"Drop the act. The way you walked just now, you looked ready to stomp through the Wizengamot archways."
Jerry looked him up and down.
Draco wore a premier pureblood suit, a silver silk scarf around his neck, yet his posture retained the steady power forged in the underground combat hall.
"Down to business."
Jerry nudged Draco's ribs, making Draco wince slightly.
"Drinking with Lucius till midnight, roaming between Cooperation and War Operations at dawn—Malfoy vaults can't hold your prizes?"
Draco smirked mysteriously, pulling out a gold-foil-embossed hard invitation decorated with broomstick patterns.
Snap.
Draco flipped it open before Jerry.
"To pick up permits."
Draco lowered his voice with excitement.
"The Quidditch Championship is resuming."
Silence fell under the archway.
Messengers and memo birds flew overhead, their collisions scattering sparks.
Jerry's cigar-holding hand froze in mid-air.
Looking at the gold lettering reading "Wartime Special Quidditch All-Star Invitational," his eyebrow raised.
"How is that possible?"
Jerry spoke crisply.
Stepping forward, he snatched the invitation and scanned it.
"Dozens of Aurors die on the front line every day; War Mobilization banned gatherings over twenty people in Hogsmeade just last week."
Jerry tapped the invitation on Draco's chest, his eyes cooling.
"Restarting Quidditch now? Did Ministry bureaucrats get their heads stuck in doors, or did Karkaroff hit them with Confundus Charms?"
Draco chuckled, putting the invitation away, draping an arm over Jerry's shoulder:
"You think this is purely about playing ball, Major Shareholder?"
Draco tapped his cane against the floor tiles.
"My father and I talked with Old Nott until 3 AM. This wasn't proposed by the Ministry, but jointly pushed by War Mobilization and our Sacred Twenty-Eight."
"Reasons?" Jerry asked, puffing smoke.
"Plenty of reasons."
Draco shrugged, hands in his pockets, tapping his boots rhythmically.
"First, frontline morale is in the gutter. Black market potion prices tripled; Old Europe investors are screaming to pull out. Without a spectacle visible to all Europe, people will think the wizarding world is collapsing to Cultivators."
Draco sneered, gesturing with a finger.
"Second, and most importantly—money."
"The last World Cup was wrecked by Death Eaters; International Sports owes hundreds of thousands of Galleons in penalties. Frontline war burns money daily. Without Quidditch betting rake-offs, broadcast tickets, and merchandise, where would Margaret get Galleons to buy hemostatic gel from Hermione's workshop?"
Jerry's eyes glinted, a chilling smirk forming on his lips.
"No wonder."
Jerry patted the black folder.
"No wonder Cassiopeia was so eager for me to sign the three Old Europe trade permits. If the tournament restarts, broom materials, arena defenses, and betting turnovers... it's a massive feast."
"More than a feast!"
Draco slapped Jerry's shoulder hard.
"I came to secure exclusive venue defense equipment rights for the Malfoys and Notts! Packaging the disrupters and shield plates from Hermione's workshop into the stadium security procurement list!"
Draco leaned in close with fervent excitement.
"Hundreds of thousands of wizards watching. Once our gear shines, frontline strike teams will fight to order! Daily workshop profits could buy half of Diagon Alley!"
Jerry laughed, ruffling Draco's styled blonde hair into a mess.
"Not bad, Malfoy."
Jerry teased.
"Winning the Triwizard Cup didn't break your brain; you even learned commercial opportunism?"
"Fuck off!"
Draco swatted his hand away, combing his hair neat.
"That's tactical intellect! You think everyone is like you, brawling with demonic beasts in combat halls or fooling around with senior girls behind locked doors in private parlors?"
Jerry rolled his eyes and walked toward the lifts.
Draco and the retainers followed close behind.
"Though speaking of which..."
Jerry asked as they walked.
"Will the Order of the Phoenix agree to this tournament?"
"They will agree whether they want to or not!"
Malfoy sneered, his tone carrying the unyielding arrogance and ruthlessness of a top pureblood heir.