Hogwarts: The Rise of a Dark Heir [R-18] Chapter 175: I Can Have These Deities Keep You Company!

The air in the dressing room seed to be cleaved open in an instant.

The heavy door panel did not produce the expected loud bang; Cassiopeia simply appeared silently amidst the faint glow of the moonstones.

The hem of her dark green gown still carried a certain heart-palpitating coldness, yet as she approached this live erotic scene, it was rapidly assimilated by the excessively high body temperatures in the room.

"Enough, Isabella. If you let him stay inside you any longer, you won’t even be able to walk down the stairs tomorrow."

Cassiopeia’s voice carried an unquestionable magnetism. She reached out her hands, clad in purple lace fingerless gloves, and accurately clamped onto Jerry’s firm lower back.

Without the slightest hesitation, nor leaving the two any room for lingering affection, Cassiopeia exerted force and yanked backward.

Squelch... pop!

An extrely loud, viscous-sounding noise of extraction echoed in the dead-silent room.

That was the vacuum-burst sound produced when Jerry’s massive, purplish-black behemoth withdrew, due to the inner walls being excessively tight and coated in bodily fluids.

As that ferocious at-iron pulled out from Isabella’s already muddy depths, a large gush of scalding, frothy liquid spurted out, running down her inner thighs.

"Ah... hah-ah..."

Isabella let out a sorrowful cry born of extre emptiness.

Her body was like a puddle of mud, collapsing completely into Jerry’s embrace. Her deep blue silk stockings, torn at the roots, were now soaking wet and clinging to her plump buttocks, having been stained with too much mucus. Every twitch brought a sticky squish sound.

Jerry was forcefully pulled away by Cassiopeia.

His purplish-black behemoth, having lost its tight envelopnt, was now throbbing restlessly in the air with a violent heat.

The thick ring of fleshy ridges at the coronal head presented a semi-transparent, reddish brightness due to the fierce impact just now. The crystal-clear mucus constantly overflowing from the urethral slit dripped onto the black trousers piled at his ankles.

"News ca back from the frontlines. The City of the Sky has fallen."

Cassiopeia released her grip, taking the opportunity to sit in a mahogany armchair against the wall.

She wasn’t in a hurry to make Jerry get dressed. In the dimness, her erald-green eyes stared dead at that giant beast still flaunting its prowess in the air, the corners of her mouth hooking into an amused arc.

"All twelve Towers of Faith Annihilation are scrapped; a Major God intervened personally. You are quite calm, Jerry."

Jerry casually wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. His delicate, boyish face revealed a profoundness completely disproportionate to his age under the light.

He didn’t even bother to pick up his trousers, just letting that terrifying giant object sway at his crotch. The purplish-black shaft was covered in a sheen of sweat and bodily fluids, several thick blood vessels still throbbing madly beneath the taut skin.

"If it’s fallen, it’s fallen, Mother-in-Law."

Jerry’s voice was deep and hoarse, carrying an indifference as if it had nothing to do with him.

"The true foundation of the wizarding world has never been in those few stone castles floating in the sky. Those old monsters who have lived for hundreds of years, which one of them isn’t hiding in their own castle researching various illegal, forbidden knowledge? The combat power touted in the Daily Prophet is nothing but a placebo for ordinary wizards to see. The people who can truly influence this war are probably hiding in so corner of the world right now, waiting for those False Gods of Olympus to co knocking on their doors themselves."

As he spoke, he turned around and pulled Isabella back into his embrace.

Isabella’s consciousness was in a semi-blurred state at this mont. Her astoundingly developed breasts squeezed and deford against Jerry’s chest, the tips as hard as two red beans, trembling slightly in the cold air.

"You make it sound easy."

Cassiopeia sneered. She suddenly raised her right leg, extrely elegantly kicking off that black stiletto with a heel a full ten centiters high.

That jade-like foot, tightly wrapped in a black silk stocking, shone with an alluring luster in the reflection of the moonstones. The toes were slender, the curve of the arch as beautiful as a ticulously carved piece of art.

She extended that black-silk-clad foot directly toward Jerry’s scalding, purplish-black giant beast.

Sizzle...

That was the faint sound produced as the fine silk fabric rubbed against that layer of scalding, highly elastic flesh.

Cassiopeia pressed her arch tightly against the base of that giant object, then slowly and powerfully slid upward along those bulging, throbbing blood vessels.

"Oh..."

Jerry let out a suppressed, muffled groan.

That layer of cold black silk fabric, carrying a certain frictional sensation, produced a pleasure enough to destroy logic when it touched that coronal head, which was so hot it felt like it was burning.

Cassiopeia’s sole was very fleshy; even through the silk stocking, Jerry could feel that warm body heat.

"What is Aurora doing right now?"

The edge of Cassiopeia’s words suddenly turned cold.

Her toes twisted viciously at Jerry’s massive urethral slit, saring that small tuft of transparent mucus that had just erged directly into the seams of her silk stocking.

"Soone saw her appear near the dinsional rift leading to the Olympian Divine Realm. She took the most elite Special Operations squad from the Magical Congress of the United States of Arica. Jerry, don’t tell you didn’t know about this."

Jerry narrowed his eyes.

He looked down at Cassiopeia’s black-silk sole, which was currently running rampant at his crotch.

As Cassiopeia exerted force, that purplish-black at-pillar was stepped on, sinking deeply into the supple flesh of her sole. The clash of the two forces made that giant object throb even more violently; the pre-cum secreted from the tip instantly soaked a large patch on Cassiopeia’s instep.

Slurp... squish...

Sticky water sounds echoed where their limbs connected.

"She has her own plans."

Jerry said as he lowered his head and kissed Isabella, who had gradually caught her breath.

One of his hands locked in a death grip onto Isabella’s buttocks—flushed red from excessive orgasms—his fingertips sinking into those plump folds of flesh.

Their saliva exchanged fiercely in the kiss, emitting sticky smack-smack sounds.

"Plans? That would be executing a decapitation strike, right?"

Cassiopeia’s movents beca rougher.

She simply leaned her entire body back against the chair, kicking off her other high heel as well. Her two black-silk-clad soles clamped onto that massive at-iron, one on the left, one on the right.

Squish... sizzle!

The two soles alternately rubbed and twisted that giant object, which was almost as thick as an ordinary person’s forearm.

Due to the ample moisture, every bit of fabric friction brought a wave of scalp-tingling muddy sounds.

That purplish-black shaft was frantically squeezed and stretched by Cassiopeia’s arches, that massive coronal head at the tip constantly bounding within the crevice between her two soles.

"That woman has a blood feud with the Olympian Pantheon, I know. But she is currently mobilizing the public resources of the wizarding world. Furthermore, what did you give her?"

Cassiopeia’s toes violently contracted, twisting viciously at the base of that giant object.

"Speak!"

Jerry’s breathing beca exceptionally heavy due to the stimulation of this near-violent footjob from Cassiopeia.

His delicate face was covered in sweat. In the pauses between kissing Isabella, he spoke intermittently, his voice sowhat distorted by the suppression of desire.

"I... hah... I gave her twenty... the highest quality crystal golems I could make."

Jerry’s voice was a bit muffled, because he was busy gnawing on Isabella’s fair neck.

"These crystal golems have... the ability to copy. Even magic of Aurora’s... MACUSA President-level... they can perform a one-hundred-percent topological copy in a short ti. Duration... can be about three to four hours."

Smack!

Jerry thrust his waist upward violently.

That giant beast, held in a death grip by the two black-silk soles, carrying an unstoppable force, slamd heavily against the root of Cassiopeia’s plump thighs.

"Which ans... if she can deploy these twenty combat forces of the sa level instantly in a surprise attack, it’s enough to possess... the ability to behead Major Gods of Olympus like Zeus and Apollo."

Cassiopeia’s movents stiffened for a mont.

A trace of shock flashed through her erald-green eyes.

Twenty combat forces of Aurora’s level.

That was no longer so simple "Special Operations squad"; that was a destructive power enough to subvert the foundation of a Pantheon.

"Twenty golems..."

Cassiopeia murmured softly.

Her soles didn’t stop because of the shock; instead, they clamped even tighter due to the emotional fluctuation.

Sizzle... glug...

Jerry’s purplish-black at-pillar, under such high-intensity oppression, finally beca pitch-black and shiny due to being engorged to its absolute limit.

Massive amounts of thick white bodily fluids, amidst that extre friction, began to leak outward along the texture of Cassiopeia’s silk stockings.

That rich sll—a mixture of the lingering scent of potions and primal male hormones—instantly turned this originally cold dressing room into the muddiest den of iniquity.

"You really are willing to invest heavily, Jerry."

Cassiopeia looked up, her gaze sweeping over Jerry’s still-calm boyish face and Isabella’s completely submissive body.

She could feel it.

Within that behemoth pressing against her soles, a scalding power enough to shake the order of this era was brewing.

And behind all this.

On the other side of that dinsional rift, a massacre aid at the Gods, nad "Decapitation," had already quietly begun its prelude amidst the buzzing of those crystal golems...

The spicy scent of magical pepper drilled out from the cracks of Professor McGonagall’s brand-new office, drifting in the corridor, mixed with a certain moist, musky sweetness of earth and plant roots, as well as an extrely ancient, divine aura that Jerry had never slled before, as if from before the dawn of civilization.

He stopped at the door, his fingers still resting on the doorknob.

The door was open a crack.

Through that crack, Jerry saw a scene that would make any ordinary wizard faint on the spot.

Professor McGonagall sat in her usual high-backed chair, holding a cup of steaming black tea.

Her expression was no different than when she usually graded papers—calm, serious, occasionally frowning slightly, occasionally nodding, as if everything before her was just a routine parent-teacher conference.

Flowerpots.

The entire office was filled with flowerpots.

The materials of those flowerpots were varied: terracotta, marble, and so kind of dark stone that looked like polished obsidian.

The diater of each flowerpot was at least the width of two adults’ shoulders. The soil in the pots presented a bizarre, deep purple-black color, and various weirdly shaped vines, rhizos, and calyxes grew on the surface of the soil.

And growing out from the center of those flowerpots, were won.

More accurately, half-human, half-plant deities.

Jerry counted; there were at least nine.

The one closest to the door had the upper body of a human female looking about thirty years old. Her skin presented a slightly translucent, warm luster similar to jade, with high cheekbones and full lips. Her long hair fell naturally like vines, the ends blooming with several small smoky-purple flowers, the petals trembling gently in the windless room.

Below her waist was a cluster of extrely thick, pitch-black plant rhizos. Those rhizos extended outward; so inserted into the flowerpot, so curled in the air, the tips constantly secreting a transparent, resin-like liquid.

Looking deeper, the upper body of another Goddess was wrapped in a layer of green petals as thin as cicada wings, the coverage area extrely limited.

Those two breasts—appearing exceptionally full due to so divine power, almost bursting the petals—heaved with her breaths at a frequency that made it impossible to look away.

Around her neck coiled a ring of glowing vines; those vines vibrated with the airflow when she spoke, emitting a clear chi like wind chis.

There was also one standing against the bookshelf; her entire lower half had completely lignified. Those tree-like roots had already pierced through the bottom of the flowerpot, rooting deeply into Professor McGonagall’s flagstone floor, leaving clearly visible cracks between the bricks, yet no one paid it any mind.

Hera stood among this group of deities.

Today, she wasn’t wearing the low-key colored wool dress that Professor Hess usually wore, but had changed into an orthodox Ancient Greek-style robe interwoven with peacock blue and gold. The texture of that fabric was sowhere between cloud and flowing water; every turn would produce a fine light, like grinding stars, at the folds of the fabric.

Her hair was tied up with a golden crown inlaid with genuine peacock feather eyes; that crown itself was a divine artifact enough to drive any curator of a wizarding museum mad.

Her face.

It was still that face Jerry had seen countless tis, disguised as a human female teacher, yet at this mont, it was completely different due to the revelation of a divine aura that was no longer deliberately suppressed.

That beauty had exceeded the realm of what any human aesthetic system could evaluate; it was an oppression that made one instinctively want to kneel down.

She was speaking.

Jerry couldn’t understand that language; it was older than any known ancient language, closer to syllables vibrating at the origin of the world.

When she spoke, those half-plant Goddesses surrounding her all listened with an extrely focused posture. Occasionally, soone would reply softly in the sa language, the sounds produced causing that potted Dragon’s Blood tree in the corner of Professor McGonagall’s office to spontaneously tremble.

Jerry pushed the door open.

The wooden door hinges let out a soft click.

All the divine gazes fell upon him simultaneously, with an almost unbearable weight.

Professor McGonagall put down her teacup and nodded at him. The aning of that nod was very clear: Co in, sit down, don’t make a fuss.

Hera turned around, looking at him with those eyes presenting an extraordinary, golden iris.

"You’re here."

She used English, the intonation no different than when Professor Hess usually lectured, but in this room filled with various divine auras, that ordinary tone instead produced an eerie, hair-raising sense of dissonance.

Jerry did not speak.

He stood at the door and looked around. As his pitch-black eyes swept over each half-plant Goddess one by one, he quickly completed so kind of internal assessnt and classification.

He did not avoid the gaze of any deity, even though the divine oppression contained in a few pairs of those eyes had reached a level enough to make an ordinary wizard shudder.

He walked in, stood still, and closed the door.

"What went wrong on Aurora’s end?"

Hera didn’t answer imdiately.

She turned her head and said sothing in that ancient language to the Goddess with the vine hairstyle closest to her.

That Goddess lowered her head slightly. The tips of her hair, wriggling like living creatures, trembled gently, condensing a cloud of semi-transparent mist with a faint green glow near the top of her head.

The mist rapidly expanded, taking shape in the center of the office, turning into a three-dinsional, dynamic image.

Jerry recognized the place.

That was the entrance to the dinsional rift.

That space presented an extrely unstable, distorted state, ready to collapse at any mont. The spatial walls on both sides of the rift presented a scorched black color, with a large amount of shattered spatial fragnts floating at the edges. Among those fragnts, over a dozen figures were moving at high speed.

One of the figures was Aurora.

She wore a battle robe of the MACUSA President level. That robe was made of an active magical fabric capable of autonomously responding to threats; right now, it was constantly changing form with the fierce battle, forming a flowing, tallic-lustered defensive layer over her body.

Surrounding her were twenty humanoid figures with silhouettes identical to hers, radiating blinding white light.

Crystal golems.

Twenty combat bodies cast using Aurora’s magic as a blueprint.

Their combat postures, spellcasting thods, and even the frequency of every magical fluctuation were exactly the sa as Aurora herself. Even those spellcasting traces belonging to Aurora, unique to her North Arican bloodline, carrying the aura of earth and primal magic, were perfectly replicated.

Twenty-one combat forces of Aurora’s level collided with a beam of golden light at the entrance of that distorted dinsional rift.

The main body of that golden light hovered at the other end of the rift.

A male silhouette wearing white-gold battle armor.

The light was too strong, the silhouette incomplete, but judging from that overwhelming divine aura, there was absolutely no need for further identification.

"Apollo."

Professor McGonagall put down her teacup, her voice overly calm. "The one who appeared personally at the entrance of the rift is Apollo’s true body."

Hera added, still using that calm tone.

"Those twenty crystal golems of yours perford exceptionally well." She paused. "They blew off Apollo’s right arm."

Professor McGonagall’s teacup clinked gently against its saucer.

That was Professor McGonagall’s only external reaction upon hearing the sentence, "blew off Apollo’s right arm."

"But the problem is!" Hera continued, "Apollo is not Zeus’s eyes, but his ears. Any unusual movent within Olympus, any challenge to the authority of the Pantheon, Apollo has the obligation to report it and have it recorded by the Oracles. The appearance of these twenty-one Auroras at the rift entrance, destroying Apollo’s right arm..."

"The Decapitation plan is exposed."

Jerry picked up the conversation, his tone still calm.

"Not entirely." Hera looked at him. "Zeus is not yet clear on who is operating this behind the scenes. But he knows those twenty crystal golems were not created by Aurora herself; the traces of that crafting technique are too unique."

Jerry narrowed his eyes.

Those traces were indeed left by him.

The golem casting techniques of the Rozier family belonged to top-secret family inheritance within the wizarding world, but in the face of a Pantheon’s information network, any secret was only a matter of ti.

That Goddess leaning against the bookshelf, whose roots had already penetrated the floor, spoke a few syllables in that ancient language at this mont.

Hera signaled Jerry with a look. "She says Zeus is currently tracing the source of that golem casting technique through faith. The estimated ti for him to lock onto the target is..."

Jerry listened, his gaze falling on that cloud of green mist broadcasting the image.

In the mist, Aurora had already retracted the crystal golems; those white light silhouettes dissipated one by one like extinguishing candles, leaving only Aurora standing at the entrance of the dinsional rift, confronting Apollo’s one-ard golden light from afar.

Neither of them made another move.

It was an extrely delicate, temporary stalemate, built on the premise that both sides were clear on the price of continuing the fight.

"Within sixty hours."

Hera stated the ti limit.

The office fell into a brief silence.

Those half-plant Goddesses stood still in various postures. Those roots and vines squird gently with their breaths; the secreted resinous liquid dripped slowly along the edges of the flowerpots, leaving semi-transparent marks on the floorboards.

Professor McGonagall picked up yet another cup of black tea.

Jerry glanced at Hera, then at the thin but straight silhouette of Aurora’s back in that image. Sothing was suppressed deep within his eyes, but nothing surfaced.

"You brought these people from the Pantheon?"

His line of sight swept over that circle of flowerpots, stopping on the Goddess with smoky-purple flowers blooming at the ends of her hair.

"They are here to help you?"

"They are here to negotiate terms."

Hera’s answer was crisp, but her tone carried a bit of sothing else. "Within Olympus, not every Deity supports Zeus’s expansion plan this ti. These individuals are all people standing on this side of the table for their own different reasons."

Jerry did not speak; he once again surveyed those Goddesses growing out of the flowerpots.

At this mont, a Goddess who had remained silent all along—her skin color like late autumn soil, her upper body covered in a layer of green moss that pulsed with her breaths like living armor—slowly raised her head, aiming those deep amber eyes at Jerry.

She spoke a very long sentence.

That ancient language flowed from her mouth, carrying a certain distant and solemn rhythm, causing the Dragon’s Blood tree in the corner of Professor McGonagall’s office to begin slowly bending in her direction.

Hera listened closely, then turned to Jerry.

"She asks you, among those twenty crystal golems, is there still sothing that hasn’t been activated?"

Jerry fell silent.

That pause was extrely short, so short it seed like a normal gap for thinking, but Hera’s eyes were too bright; she clearly noticed it.

"She wants to know all your hidden trump cards..."

In the office, the sound of various plants breathing perated lowly, mixed with the steam of Professor McGonagall’s black tea and that ancient pressure from deep within the earth unique to those divine auras.

Jerry did not answer imdiately.

He just stood there in the center of this office stuffed full of Deities from various paths. His black eyes slowly swept back and forth between those brick walls, those clusters of roots, and Hera’s golden irises, as if conducting so final weighing and confirmation.

Jerry shook his head.

That movent was slow and certain, drawing a silent arc of denial in the office filled with divine auras.

Then he nodded again.

"I did indeed leave so hidden trump cards inside."

His voice was very flat, as if discussing tomorrow’s Transfiguration howork. "But so things cannot be spoken aloud."

That Goddess with deep amber eyes—that existence whose skin was like late autumn soil, upper body covered in green moss armor—upon hearing Hera’s translated answer, the tiny pores constantly secreting resin at the ends of her roots suddenly accelerated their frequency of secretion.

Those transparent liquids andered down the black roots, dripping onto the soil of the flowerpot with drip, drop sounds, like so silent urging.

She spoke a few more syllables.

Her tone was more urgent than before.

Before Hera had ti to translate, Professor McGonagall’s teacup landed on the saucer with a clink.

"Those technologies belong to the highest secrets of the Rozier family."

Professor McGonagall’s voice was crisp and decisive. She looked up, those sharp eyes behind her lenses looking straight at Hera.

"Let them go back first. Don’t make things difficult for Jerry."

This sentence was spoken without any politeness.

The office was quiet for two seconds.

Those Goddesses in the flowerpots cast their gazes toward Professor McGonagall almost simultaneously.

The content contained in those gazes was extrely complex—there was surprise, curiosity, and also a sliver of displeasure belonging to high-ranking beings when offended.

But Professor McGonagall picked up her black tea and took another sip, her expression as usual.

Hera did not speak imdiately.

Her golden irises flashed in the reflection of the moonstones, an extrely subtle arc floating at the corners of her mouth—that kind of arc did not belong to Professor Hess, or even to a human. It was a smile carrying a bit of mockery, naturally ford only after seeing far too much absurdity.

Then she moved.

Hera took a step, passing through the gaps between those flowerpots, walking toward Jerry. Her robe, interwoven with peacock blue and gold, produced a flowing, ripple-like effect as she moved. When the hem of the robe brushed past the nearest flowerpot, the Goddess with the vine hairstyle in the pot subconsciously drew in her roots a bit, making way for the Queen of the Gods.

Hera walked up to Jerry.

She was more than half a head taller than Jerry.

She bent down.

That movent caused the neckline of her Ancient Greek robe to drape naturally, revealing the patch of chest below, which presented an unreal, marble-sculpture-like perfection due to so divine power.

Her lips leaned close to Jerry’s ear.

The distance was so close Jerry could feel the temperature of her breath—unique to a deity, carrying the fragrance of so celestial flower.

"Which one of them have you taken a fancy to?"

Hera’s voice was very soft, so soft only Jerry could hear.

"Although each of them does not have the strength of a Major God, they are all top-tier existences. As long as you like, I can have any one of them... or all of them... keep you company."

She paused for a mont.

"Or if you want to try their true forms, that’s fine too."

Jerry narrowed his eyes.

He turned his head sideways; his pitch-black eyes t Hera’s golden irises straight on at close range. Their noses almost touched.

"What do you an by this? Am I that lustful?"

Hera smiled.

That smile appeared exceptionally dangerous at such a close distance.

She did not answer his question.

Her right hand reached directly downward.

Without any hesitation, without any preamble, that palm carrying a certain cold, divine temperature accurately grasped that massive bulge—still in a semi-engorged state from the fierce entanglent with Isabella earlier—through Jerry’s black dress trousers made of Acromantula skin.

"Hiss..."

Jerry sucked in a breath of cold air.

Hera’s palm was not large, but her fingers were long and powerful.

When her five fingers closed, forcefully gripping that at-pillar—so thick it defied human common sense, its size clearly palpable even through the fabric—her eyebrow twitched.

That twitch was extrely subtle.

It was surprise.

Even as the Queen of the Gods, even having seen the limits of countless life forms over long ages, Hera still experienced a brief cognitive deviation due to that unexpectedly large size the instant she touched that thing.

Too big.

This was her first thought.

Then her fingertips began to exert force.

Squish...

That was the groan of the fabric under extre pressure.

Hera’s fingers kneaded that giant object—its violent throbbing palpable even through the trousers—with an extrely brutal force, her finger pads repeatedly grinding over those bulging vascular contours.

At the sa ti, she stuck out her tongue.

That section of tongue-tip presented an unnatural pink carrying a faint golden luster—that was the tongue of a deity.

Its temperature was much higher than a human’s, and its touch even softer and more slippery, as if covered by an extrely thin layer of liquid divinity.

Hera pressed that gold-pink tongue-tip against the side of Jerry’s neck.

Sizzle...

That was the faint magical exchange sound produced when a deity’s saliva contacted human skin.

Starting from Jerry’s collarbone, she slowly licked upward along that carotid artery, clearly visible due to tension.

That wet touch, carrying an abnormal heat, was like a scorching silk ribbon andering over Jerry’s skin.

"I am not discussing this with you."

Hera’s voice ca from Jerry’s ear, mixed with the sticky water sound made as her tongue-tip dragged across his skin.

"Aurora being blocked at the edge of the rift. This is no coincidence."

Her fingers squeezed violently at Jerry’s crotch.

"Mmh..."

Jerry let out a muffled grunt, a vein throbbing on his forehead. That giant object held in a death grip by Hera began to rapidly expand with an uncontrollable montum under this brutal stimulation.

The python-skin fabric emitted a tooth-aching sound of tension; that purplish-black outline beca increasingly ferocious and clear at the crotch.

Hera felt that surging expansive force in her hand, the arc at the corners of her mouth deepening.

"That rift," she continued while forcefully rubbing that giant beast constantly throbbing in her palm, "is known only to Zeus and . Apollo appearing there only ans one thing..."

Her tongue-tip slid from Jerry’s carotid artery to his earlobe, gently curling over that soft bead of flesh.

"Zeus already suspects ."

In the office, those Goddesses in the flowerpots were all quietly watching this scene.

That Goddess with the vine hairstyle—those smoky-purple small flowers at the ends of her hair were currently blooming even more vigorously than before, the petals constantly unfurling and closing, as if engaging in so rapid breathing.

That lignified Goddess leaning against the bookshelf—those roots of hers pierced into the floorboards were contracting subconsciously.

The flagstone floor emitted crack-crack shattering sounds under the squeezing of the roots.

And that moss-armored Goddess with deep amber eyes was staring at Hera’s hand gripping Jerry’s crotch with an extrely complex gaze.

Her moss armor seed to beco even greener under this visual stimulation; a few drops of resinous liquid, welling up due to accelerated secretion, slowly slid down her plump waist.

Professor McGonagall took another sip of black tea.

Her expression was still as usual. But if one looked closely, they would find that the hand holding the teacup had slightly deflected an angle—making the rim of the cup just happen to block the area in her line of sight where Jerry’s crotch was being ravaged by Hera.

"So now it has reached the most critical mont."

Hera’s voice beca even deeper, mixed with the squish-squish fabric friction sound produced as she continuously increased her kneading force.

"Originally, I was just a gambler at the card table; losing would at most an losing the chips on the table. But now..."

Her thumb accurately pressed onto that coronal head, which had already pushed a distinct arc into the trousers due to extre engorgent, and ground forcefully for a circle.

"I myself have beco part of the chips."

Pfft...

Jerry’s giant object throbbed violently under this stimulation, slapping heavily against Hera’s palm through the fabric, emitting a muffled sound of physical impact.

A massive amount of prostate fluid surged out inside the trousers, soaking a small dark water stain on that piece of deep-black python-skin fabric.

"So I don’t have ti to drag this out any longer."

Hera finished her last sentence, but her fingers showed no intention of letting go. Instead, on that giant object swollen to the point of nearly bursting the trousers, she perford a final extortion with an almost punitive force.

Jerry rolled his eyes.

That eye-roll was executed perfectly—carrying a bit of impatience, a bit of helplessness, and an awkwardness that only a teenage boy would have when facing the overly aggressive actions of an adult woman.

"I want you to accompany ."

The air in the office produced a subtle tremor the instant this sentence landed.

Those Goddesses in the flowerpots almost simultaneously emitted various fine sounds—the friction of vines, the contraction of roots, the opening and closing of petals—those sounds intertwined, like a patch of divine whispering woven from shock and disbelief.

A human boy.

To the Queen of the Olympian Gods.

Saying, "I want you to accompany ."

Professor McGonagall let out an "Ahem."

The aning of that "Ahem" was extrely rich.

It was both a confirmation of Jerry’s audacious demand—"I heard that"—and a subtle, impartial acceptance of the entire situation.

She did not express opposition.

She rely poured herself another cup of black tea.

Hera stopped the movents of her hand.

She straightened her body, those golden-irised eyes looking down from above at this boy who was more than half a head shorter than her.

Her expression went through a certain extrely rapid change within that second—first surprise, then a certain indescribable emotion sowhere between appreciation and amusent, finally freezing on a steady certainty belonging to a deity.

"No problem."

Crisp and decisive.

No haggling, no feigned reserve, not even that arrogance belonging to the status of the Queen of the Gods.

Jerry took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

That breath carried the relief of finally having made a decision.

He raised his right hand.

Five fingers spread, palm facing the ceiling.

No wand.

No incantation.

Even his lips didn’t move.

But the instant his palm opened, the entire office underwent a drastic change.

Bang!

All the windows were violently slamd shut at the sa mont by an invisible force. Those window fras spliced from oak and lead strips emitted a violent collision sound the instant they closed, shaking the portraits of several forr headmasters on the wall askew.

Buzz...

A low, highly penetrating magical vibration sound spread outward from Jerry’s palm.

Visible to the naked eye.

True, naked-eye-visible runes.

Those runes presented a deep purple luster, each the size of a fist, their shapes extrely complex—that was not any kind of runic system common in the wizarding world, nor did it even belong to any known ancient civilization.

Hidden within the structure of those runes was a logic older than magic, closer to the underlying code of the world.

Runes poured from Jerry’s palm like a flock of released bats, spinning at high speed for two circles in the air, then lunging fiercely in all directions.

Pfft! Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!

The first batch of runes crashed into the north wall. Those stone bricks flashed with a blinding purple light the instant the runes subrged, then returned to calm—but if one were to probe with magical perception, they would find that the internal structure of that wall had been completely rewritten.

The gaps between every stone brick were filled with a high-density anti-tracking magical barrier.

Pfft-pfft-pfft!

The second batch of runes surged onto the ceiling. Those deep purple characters arranged into a highly precise array, covering the entire vaulted do. The center point of the array was located exactly directly above the room; starting from that point, layers of concentric-circle-like runes spread outward, incorporating every inch of the ceiling’s area into the lockdown range.

Buzz-buzz-buzz!

The third batch of runes drilled into the floorboards.

Waves of purple pulses flashed across the flagstone floor; those light waves spread outward from beneath Jerry’s feet. As they passed the bottoms of those flowerpots, the roots of the several Goddesses involuntarily contracted—the power exuded by those runes even made them feel a trace of unease.

The final batch of runes subrged into the door of the room.

The heavy ebony door panel let out a low groan under the erosion of the runes; three purple lights flashed at the door lock, then returned to dead silence.

The entire process took no more than five seconds.

The office had completely beco a space entirely isolated from the outside world.

No peeping.

No eavesdropping.

No form of magical infiltration could pass through those deep purple runic barriers.

Those Goddesses in the flowerpots consecutively let out various sounds expressing surprise.

Those smoky-purple flowers of the Goddess with the vine hairstyle closed one after another—that was their instinctive defensive reaction upon sensing a powerful lockdown force.

The green moss on the body of the moss-armored Goddess turned from erald green to deep ink-green out of tension.

Hera’s eyes lit up.

Not a taphor.

Literally, the golden irises burst with an intense light in that instant.

She stared at the afterimages of those runes that had already subrged into the walls, a certain true, undisguised importance surfacing in her gaze for the first ti.

"This is the Rozier family’s secret art?"

She murmured.

Professor McGonagall placed her teacup on her lap, looking through her lenses at those purple runes still faintly flashing deep within the walls.

As a Master of Transfiguration, she knew better than anyone in this room what "rewriting material structure" ant.

What Jerry had done just now was not a simple Locking Charm.

In five seconds, he had completely rewritten the underlying magical structure of every stone brick, every wooden beam, every inch of air in this office.

The precision and scale of that operation had completely exceeded the scope covered by the word "genius."

Jerry retracted his palm.

He stood in the center of that completely locked-down office filled with Goddesses and plant roots; an expression of relief surfaced on that delicate boyish face.

Then his gaze fell on Hera.

Within those pitch-black eyes, a complex dark fire—a mixture of a youth’s desire and an old man’s calculation—was churning at this mont.

The room was sealed.

The negotiation could begin.