Hogwarts: The Rise of a Dark Heir [R-18]

Jerry remained indifferent to Hermione’s complicated gaze. He didn’t even spare a glance for Ron, acting as if the provocative insult had never been uttered.

Without waiting for a guide or acknowledging the mixed stares of awe and hostility from the other students, he did something that struck the others as peak arrogance: he walked away from the group entirely. He ascended the spiral stone staircase toward the upper levels of the castle alone. To the other freshmen—who had just survived three grueling trials and were huddled together for safety—this blatant disregard for the rules was infuriating. Yet, none dared follow. They could only watch his straight, confident back vanish around the dimly lit corner.

Jerry didn’t care. His footsteps echoed through the hollow tower. As he rounded a bend, the sharp clack-clack of high heels on stone reached his ears.

A figure in emerald-green robes appeared. She was clearly there to collect the successful students. Unlike most professors whose robes were baggy and shapeless, hers were tailored to perfection. The waist was nipped in tight, accentuating the mature, rolling curves of her hips. Beneath the hem, her long legs were encased in sheer black stockings. Jerry’s eyes drifted downward, catching the glint of her polished, pointed black heels.

The narrow stairs forced her to take small, careful steps. With every movement, her robe swayed, offering glimpses of her thighs through the slits—the black nylon creating a texture that was both repressed and highly erotic.

She seemed surprised to encounter a student so soon. Seeing the boy looking up with a burning, unapologetic gaze—directed straight up her skirt—a rare flush crept onto her stern face. She instinctively pressed her legs together, but her angry eyes softened the moment they met Jerry’s.

"Is it to your liking?" Her voice held an undercurrent of playfulness, a mischievous spark in her eyes that was a far cry from her usual schoolmarm persona.

Jerry nodded without hesitation, a natural smirk playing on his lips. "Very much so."

Amused by the answer, the witch let out a low chuckle, like the purr of a cat. Suddenly, her form blurred, the emerald fabric rippling. Within a second, she transformed into a tabby cat, landing gracefully on the stairs.

However, something unexpected happened. As she shrank into feline form, her white cotton panties—printed with tiny yellow kitten paws—did not vanish. Instead, they fluttered through the air like a falling leaf. Jerry’s hand shot out, catching the garment. It was soft, warm from her body, and carried a faint scent of soap and feminine musk. He could feel the residual heat of her intimacy lingering in the fabric.

The cat circled Jerry elegantly, her fluffy tail brushing his calf as if in reward. Then, in a puff of white smoke, she returned to human form. She still wore the green robes, but now she was clearly commando. As she walked, the lack of underwear made the swing of her hips and the flashes of her thighs seem even more primal and wild.

As she passed him, her perfume filled his lungs. She winked, a look of sultry confidence in her eyes.

"Alright, little one. Keep going up. And next time, remember to call me Professor McGonagall!" Her voice was warm now. "Wait at the top for the others. As for those..." She glanced at the panties in his hand with a wicked grin. "...Keep them, little Rosier. A gift from me."

With that, she strolled away, leaving Jerry alone.

(So, that was McGonagall,) Jerry thought, fingering the soft cotton. (It seems ’Family Prestige’ points really do work on everyone...)

When Jerry reached the Great Hall, the atmosphere was electric. Older students from all four houses were gathered, scouting for new recruits. However, the mention of the name "Rosier" had already spread like wildfire. The whispers were now open debates. Some looked at him with pure hatred—descendants of those who had died at the hands of Death Eaters. To them, "Rosier" was a scar.

In the corner, several Slytherins in green robes smiled at him. They recognized the ancient blood. Many of their families had also served the Dark Arts but had been "clever" enough to switch sides at the right moment to avoid the gallows.

Jerry ignored them all and walked toward the center of the hall, where Katherine stood. As a Slytherin prefect, she was the center of attention. She looked bored, largely because a Gryffindor boy was buzzing around her like a fly. He was slicking back his greasy hair, boasting about his family, the Macmillans, and his Quidditch skills.

"Senior, we meet again!" Jerry’s clear voice cut through the boy’s bragging.

Katherine’s icy eyes flickered with surprise, which quickly turned into amusement. "Oh? I don’t recall meeting you, little junior Rosier."

Her feigned ignorance gave the Gryffindor, Cormac Macmillan, the confidence to step in. He sneered at Jerry. "Hey, kid. Can’t you see we’re talking? Get lost back to the other brats."

Jerry didn’t even look at him. He stepped around the boy and stood directly in front of Katherine, his hand extended. Resting in his palm was a silver ring set with a pigeon-blood ruby.

"Beautiful senior," Jerry said, his voice carrying an aggressive charm. "I’m very interested in Slytherin. Perhaps you could tell me more? But first, I think this ring belongs on your finger." 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

Macmillan turned purple with rage. "You little bastard!" He swung his heavy arm, trying to swat the ring out of Jerry’s hand.

Jerry moved like he had eyes in the back of his head. He flicked his wrist, dodging the blow, and stepped closer to Katherine. "It seems this senior lacks basic manners. Does House Macmillan teach its heirs to scream and get physical in front of a lady?"

"You dare mention my family?" Macmillan drew his wand, pointing it at Jerry’s throat. "You Death Eater scum! You should be in Azkaban!"

"Death Eater?" Jerry finally looked at him with pity. "If I recall, many families swore loyalty to Voldemort before his fall. House Macmillan... was among them, wasn’t it? You were just better at playing both sides than the Rosiers."

The truth hit like a blade. Macmillan, humiliated and desperate, challenged the eleven-year-old to a duel. The hall went silent. A seventh-year challenging a first-year was pathetic.

Katherine’s smile vanished. "Macmillan, put your wand away. Do you want to embarrass the whole school?"

Macmillan looked at her with desperate jealousy. "Katherine! Who do you choose? This filth from the gutters, or a glorious Gryffindor like me?"

Katherine looked at him as if he were a low-level biological specimen. She didn’t draw her wand. She simply tapped the silver snake badge on her chest. The message was clear: Did you forget who I am?

Then, she turned to Jerry with a predatory, beautiful smile. She took the ruby ring from his palm and slid it onto her ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

"As a seventh-year prefect of Slytherin," she announced loudly, "I would be delighted to introduce any worthy freshman to our glorious traditions."

The Slytherin table erupted. "Slytherin seeks those of greatest cunning!" they roared. Macmillan, looking like a stripped clown, tucked his wand away and fled into the crowd amidst suppressed laughter.

Jerry stepped beside Katherine, taking the spot Macmillan had coveted. As he stood there, he made a tiny, hidden gesture with his fingers. A micro-breeze, unnoticed by anyone else, slithered like a snake up Katherine’s leg. It bypassed her silk stockings and found the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, eventually swirling against her black lace panties.

Katherine didn’t flinch. Her face remained a mask of ice, but her lips curled into a tiny, almost invisible smile of satisfaction. This was their private game.

The Sorting Ceremony began. Hannah Abbott went to Hufflepuff. Draco Malfoy went to Slytherin. Ron, Hermione, and Harry all went to Gryffindor. Finally, McGonagall called the last name.

"Jerry Rosier!"

The hall fell into a deathly, fearful silence. Jerry walked up with a calm smile. As he sat, McGonagall’s fingers brushed his temple as she lowered the hat.

"Oh... an interesting soul," the hat whispered in his mind. "Ambition... yes, I see ambition that rivals Salazar himself. Cunning, power... this power does not belong to a child. You do not belong here... but since you are here, there is only one place for you."

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat bellowed.

As Jerry walked toward the cheering green table, he felt a cold, crushing gaze on his back. He turned toward the High Table. Dumbledore smiled kindly, but the gaze came from the woman sitting to his right.

She wore a black, skin-tight gown that looked more like an evening dress than a robe. She was draped in a posture of calculated laziness, one leg crossed over the other, revealing a long stretch of black silk stocking. Her makeup was sharp, her lips blood-red. She looked at Jerry like a predator watching its prey, a smirk on her face that said, "You thought you could escape me?"

It was Selena, the Head of the Auror Office who had tormented him on the train.

Dumbledore stood up and gave his traditional "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" speech before getting serious.

"A few announcements," Dumbledore said. "The forest is forbidden. And, given the complex times, we are adding a new course: ’Magical Combat.’ To teach it, we have brought in an expert from the Ministry." He pointed to the woman in black. "Please welcome the Deputy Head of the Auror Office, your new Magical Combat Professor—Lady Selena!"

Selena stood up, her "cat-walk" drawing every eye in the room. "In my class," she said, her voice piercing through the hall, "you won’t learn theory. You will learn how to use your wand to make your enemies shut up. I hope you’re ready." Her eyes lingered on Jerry.

Then, Dumbledore announced that Snape would finally take over Defense Against the Dark Arts while remaining the Potions Master.

The feast appeared—piles of roast beef, chicken, pies, and puddings. Jerry ate with effortless elegance. Across the hall, Ron was stuffing his face, and Harry was looking around in wonder.

Jerry’s eyes drifted back to the head table. Selena hadn’t touched her food. She was staring at him, her gaze a dangerous, invisible thread.

(You walked right into my trap,) Jerry thought, a smirk hidden behind his goblet. (Selena... Teacher.)

[Ding!] [Monthly Forced Mission: ’The Crown of Slytherin’ Completed.] [New Monthly Forced Mission Generating...]