"Mr. Shelby."
"Please return to your group."
Head Girl Gemma Farley suddenly appeared, blocking Tiger's path, her eyes narrowing slightly.
When she noticed the knuckles on Tiger's hands and his intended target for assault, her deep, serene eyes flashed with an indescribable hint of absurdity.
"Get out of my way, bitch."
"Unless you want to spend the rest of your life eating through a bloody straw."
Tiger couldn't be bothered with this Head Girl and pushed past her directly, heading in the direction Dumbledore had left.
Gemma Farley finally changed expression. She grabbed Tiger's collar, a cold smile tugging at her lips, her seemingly calm tone carrying a teeth-grinding undertone.
"Shelby!"
"Return to your group!"
Don't let Tiger's aggressive style fool you.
Facing the tall Gemma Farley, he was still just a little git barely reaching her waist.
So in Gemma Farley's eyes, Tiger was more like a rude, barbaric, and thoroughly annoying brat.
Feeling the suffocating sensation from his collar and the unsteadiness beneath his feet, Tiger's face darkened. Apart from Mother Polly, no one had dared do this to him.
Without hesitation, he threw a vicious backhand hook at Gemma Farley's ribs, the sound of air splitting erupting.
Don't ask why he didn't aim for her face—this damn woman was indeed quite tall, and he couldn't bloody well reach it.
The titanium knuckles stopped just before Gemma Farley's body, as if striking enchanted armor.
At the sa ti, one of Gemma Farley's earrings dimd completely, losing its previous magical luster.
Gemma Farley's face paled slightly. She hadn't expected this Shelby to actually lash out with such brutal intent.
She felt like she'd grabbed a tiger's tail, provoking the beast to whip around and savage her.
However, her expression remained coldly composed.
The hand gripping Tiger's collar quickly released, and she warily stepped back two paces.
Tiger looked at Gemma Farley with genuine confusion, flexing his knuckles, his brow furrowing.
Was this damn woman's body really that hard?
She didn't look it.
He couldn't help but step forward two paces, wanting to test again. He'd never encountered anyone this bloody tough before.
Damn savage!
The ice-cold fury in Gemma Farley's eyes was unmistakable. The overwhelming nace radiating from him made her fingertips unconsciously brush against her wand.
"Well, well, what do I see here?"
Just then, Snape appeared behind Tiger like a black bat, silent as death, his billowing robes stirring up a faint bitter scent.
"Beauty and the Beast?"
"Rose and troll?"
"Miss Farley, do you need your professor to provide you with a love potion, or perhaps Draught of Living Death?"
"No, Professor."
Under Snape's glacial gaze, Gemma Farley regained her usual composure.
She nodded slightly:
"Next ti I'll prepare the potions myself to handle such... situations. This ti was my negligence."
After hearing this, Snape's gaze no longer lingered, turning instead to Tiger. A strange curve appeared at the corner of his mouth—seemingly mocking, yet also strangely expectant.
"Admirable courage, Mr. Shelby."
"But in Slytherin, courage without wisdom will only make you sink deeper into the quagmire."
"Any violation of rules—every portrait, every sculpture in this castle sees everything."
"My patience is limited, like the fla beneath a cauldron—it will eventually burn out..."
With that, Professor Snape turned and strode away with predatory grace, his black robes billowing windlessly behind him.
Watching her Head of House's retreating figure, Gemma Farley's eyes flickered with dark calculation, a barely perceptible smile tugging at her lips.
Interesting...
"What the hell did he an?"
Tiger looked at Gemma Farley with complete bewildernt. Gemma Farley's smile instantly froze.
You didn't understand?!
She suppressed the urge to hex him on the spot, gritting her teeth as she looked at Tiger. "The Professor told you to piss off and go to sleep."
"Follow !"
Tiger glanced toward the side door of The Great Hall, seeing that Dumbledore, who had been chatting pleasantly with Professor McGonagall earlier, was nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, he followed Gemma Farley.
"Did you lot..."
"Dig up Dumbledore's ancestral grave?"
Reaching the dungeons and standing before a wall covered in serpentine relief carvings, Tiger's expression was utterly appalled.
Dim green light.
Moldy corners.
Damp, weeping walls.
This place looked like the exclusive gathering spot for sewer rats. Tiger suddenly felt a bit sorry for these pure-blood nobles.
Gemma Farley ignored Tiger and spoke coolly to one of the snake heads in the relief:
"Ambition."
"This week's password. Don't forget it."
The mont her words fell, the stone wall slowly opened, revealing silver-green luxurious decorations, a warm, brilliant fireplace, and the srizing underwater scenery of the lake beyond the windows.
Tiger's slightly furrowed brow finally relaxed sowhat. At least the common room had proper style.
Small groups of Slytherin students sat by the fireplace, discussing sothing in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
Gemma Farley walked up to Head Boy Atlantic Burstrode, lowering her eyes with calculated deference.
"Burstrode, take him to the dormitory."
"You know what needs to be done."
Her seemingly calm tone carried an unmistakable note of command.
However, Head Boy Atlantic Burstrode showed no resistance whatsoever. Instead, he displayed a perfectly practiced aristocratic smile, set down his crystal goblet, and stood with a respectful nod.
"Of course. I'll make sure he understands."
"Who is Boss..."
With that, he walked toward Tiger, his surface smile shifting like a mask, becoming cold and utterly arrogant.
"Follow , first-year."
"Hope you have sweet dreams tonight."
Watching his retreating figure, Tiger's smile turned predatory. The two prefects' conversation hadn't been subtle—he'd heard every bloody word.
However, after escorting Tiger to the dormitory, Atlantic Burstrode said absolutely nothing and left the doorway with swift efficiency.
As the dormitory door closed, the coldness on Atlantic Burstrode's face gradually transford into mocking disdain. Looking back toward the common room, his eyes grew dangerously gloomy.
Provoking an Obscurus was simple enough, but not everyone could survive the consequences. He wasn't a complete idiot.
Such foolishly direct confrontation tactics were never what Slytherin should employ.
Even though he held profound disgust for Shelby, considering him a walking disgrace to Slytherin's reputation.
That didn't an he'd dance to soone else's tune—even if that soone was Slytherin's current top student.
"You won't be for much longer..."
Atlantic Burstrode sneered coldly and walked directly back to the prefects' quarters.
anwhile, inside the dormitory, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense—aside from Crabbe and Goyle's thunderous, earth-shaking snores.
Tiger's displeasure was practically radiating from him like heat, while Draco Malfoy sat pitifully on his bed with a mournful expression, looking utterly helpless.
He'd already been fast asleep but was dragged up by Tiger grabbing his pajama collar like a scruff.
"Four-person room?"
"Doesn't this godforsaken school have any single rooms?"
Tiger looked with murderous irritation at Crabbe and Goyle, trying to figure out how to silence these two chubby bastards' snoring.
But in Draco Malfoy's terrified eyes, this gaze looked more like Tiger was calculating which one to devour first—until Tiger turned his savage attention toward him.
Every hair on his body instantly stood on end. Draco Malfoy's face turned waxy yellow as he blurted out desperately:
"Burstrode's room! Only the prefects' dormitory has single rooms, and it has a private washroom too!"
The mont the door slamd shut, Draco Malfoy collapsed powerlessly onto his bed like a deflated balloon, two streams of tears falling from his eyes as he whimpered to himself:
"I'm telling my father..."
"Damn it!"
A low, vicious curse echoed from the washroom.
Head Boy Atlantic Burstrode erged with a thunderous expression, tossing the frozen, cracked Ashwinder egg in his hand into the fireplace with disgust.
As one of the key ingredients for love potions, Ashwinder eggs needed to be frozen to a precise solid state.
But Ashwinder eggs were inherently fragile as spun glass.
The slightest miscalculation would cause them to shatter, making masterful Freezing Charm technique absolutely essential.
Undoubtedly, he had failed yet again.
Just then, a sharp knock suddenly echoed at the door. Atlantic Burstrode shot a wary glance at the tightly closed washroom, then cleared his throat and called out with icy authority:
"What is it?"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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