No answer ca from outside the dormitory door. Instead, the knocking grew heavier and more urgent, showing clear impatience.
If it continued, others would surely notice.
Atlantic Burstrode's face darkened. He picked up his wand, cautiously cast an Anti-Alohomora charm on the washroom door, then strode quickly toward the dormitory entrance.
"You'd better give a perfect expla—"
The mont he opened the door, a thick, pitch-black viscous liquid suddenly surged forth like a shadow, blocking the angry rebuke that was about to escape his lips.
Imdiately after, Atlantic Burstrode's eyes bulged with shock, fury, and confusion as he flew backward into the dormitory, crashing heavily against the bed fra.
The sickening sound of breaking bones and splintering wood filled the air.
"Are you part bloody turtle or sothing?"
Tiger stood with his hands in his pockets, slowly lowering his raised foot. The studs on his boot sole glistened with drops of blood.
With casual indifference, he stepped into the dormitory as Venom's tendrils closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Looking at the layout and decorations of the room, Tiger nodded with satisfaction, completely ignoring Head Boy Atlantic Burstrode writhing in agony on the floor.
"Not bad at all."
"This place is mine now."
Territory grabbing was nothing new to the Shelbys. If not for Venom's presence, Tiger had at least a dozen ways to dispose of bodies or fra others for the deed.
From what he could see, Hogwarts' Black Lake and Forbidden Forest were practically sanctuaries for gang cleanup operations.
"Mmph..."
Atlantic Burstrode's forehead bulged with veins, his face shifting from red to purple, fine blood vessels appearing across his neck like a spider's web.
The viscous liquid blocking his nose and mouth prevented him from breathing, while the excruciating pain in his body made his vision darken repeatedly.
As a Slytherin prefect, many coveted his position—so through open challenge, others through secret scheming.
But no one would act like Tiger.
This beast acted without considering consequences, completely opposite to pure-blood noble thods. He was simply a fusion of madman and troll!
In the final mont before losing consciousness completely, Atlantic Burstrode's mind seed to echo with The Sorting Hat's screams.
"Azkaban! Azkaban!"
"Nurngard works too..."
"Dumbledore, quickly!"
"It's too late..."
Indeed, it was too late.
Atlantic Burstrode's body gradually stopped writhing, his flushed cheeks beginning to turn ashen gray.
The black viscous liquid blocking his nose and mouth then detached, squirming instead into his oral cavity. Sticky blood and organ fragnts were squeezed out of his mouth in a grotesque display.
His limbs twitched in neural reflexes, only the slight rise and fall of his chest proving he still clung to life.
Under Tiger's coldly indifferent gaze, Atlantic Burstrode's body began to regain vitality—shattered organs, sunken abdon, fractured spine...
In reality, the restoration process he and Marcus's group experienced differed fundantally from the healing ability Tiger displayed when injured.
They weren't being healed—rather, their injured areas were being replaced by Venom's biomitic cells.
Venom couldn't control their thoughts, but Venom's biomitic cells could refine down to the genetic level, achieving the goal of modifying genes and influencing their deepest "instincts."
Just as humans particularly despise the harsh sound of sharp objects scraping against each other—simply because in ancient tis, this sound was extrely similar to the terrifying echo of beasts gnawing on skulls, instilling primal fear.
Similarly, the unknown and invisible from darkness would make people feel unprecedented terror and unease, subconsciously causing them to distance themselves and flee.
Therefore, what controlled human behavior wasn't just emotions and thoughts, but also bodily hormones and instincts born from genes...
And ensuring the survival and evolution of the main body was the sole purpose of instinct!
"Mmm..."
Accompanied by difficult groaning, Atlantic Burstrode slowly opened his eyes. In his blurred vision, Tiger's fierce features gradually ca into sharp focus.
"Shelby!"
"You, you, you... what the hell do you want!"
Atlantic Burstrode sprang up suddenly, scrambling toward the corner. His body trembled uncontrollably, as if seized by an indescribable, bone-deep terror.
Though he desperately tried to maintain pure-blood noble dignity, the panic and raw fear in his eyes threatened to consu him entirely.
He wanted to flee this place. Yet didn't dare move recklessly...
Tiger had anticipated this exact reaction. He tilted his head slightly, speaking with deadly calm:
"Pack your shit and get lost. I'm taking this place."
"Of... of course..."
Feeling that approaching aura of death miraculously halt its advance, pale-faced Atlantic Burstrode nodded frantically without hesitation.
He suppressed the terror clawing at his heart, quickly pulling an exquisite leather case from under the bed, frantically yet thodically tossing his various personal belongings into it.
Even though reason guided him like a lighthouse—as an elite of The Sacred Twenty-Eight, he shouldn't be so pathetically cowardly. Crushing all resisters, including Shelby, beneath his feet was what a true pure-blood noble should do.
However, the fear born from instinct crashed like a tsunami, instantly pulverizing his seemingly solid rational defenses into dust.
With every hair standing on end, his heart filled with indescribable panic, as if shrouded in absolute darkness with nowhere to escape.
Just as Atlantic Burstrode finished packing and lifted his case to leave, he unexpectedly stopped. He looked at Tiger with an apprehensive, almost worshipful expression.
"Shelby... sir..."
As Tiger turned those predatory eyes on him, his trembling voice suddenly seized up. Atlantic Burstrode hastily corrected himself:
"Boss!"
The mont he changed his address, imnse relief and twisted pleasure spread through him like a drug, making Atlantic Burstrode sowhat addicted to the sensation.
"Speak..."
Tiger crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow in expectation.
Atlantic Burstrode hastily confessed his plan of brewing love potion in the washroom and his intention to use it against Head Girl Gemma Farley.
"Love potion?"
Pushing open the washroom door, Tiger leaned against the doorfra, looking with genuine interest at the cauldron inside emitting pungent, magical odors.
"Just this little thing?"
"Can make her fall helplessly in love with you?"
"Exactly!"
Atlantic Burstrode nodded eagerly, excitent and desperate longing flickering in his deep, calculating eyes.
Gemma Farley's family controlled eighty percent of the magical plant cultivation sites in wizarding Britain, with forty percent of potion-related industries having close connections to them.
She had countless informants within Slytherin, which was precisely why he chose to brew it himself rather than risk purchasing from outside sources.
Magic was truly bloody wondrous.
Thinking of that arrogant woman who'd dared grab his collar becoming a helpless, lovesick fool, Tiger felt genuinely anticipatory.
"Go do what you want. This dormitory will be open to you for one month. Beyond that ti, I'll make your head fall madly in love with your arse..."
"As you wish, Boss!"
Having received his new master's permission, Atlantic Burstrode practically skipped out of the dormitory with manic excitent.
Night deepened around Hogwarts.
Accompanied by lazy yawning sounds, Tiger curled up in the luxurious covers with deep satisfaction, smacking his lips contentedly.
Only at tis like this would he seem like the child he still was.
"Good night, Venom..."
[Good night, you magnificent bastard!]
"Good night, Gunpowder... wait, where the hell is Gunpowder?" (???)
anwhile, in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, Hermione had already entered dreamland.
Only her prominent front teeth kept grinding continuously, her small face scrunching up as if complaining about soone, but soon becoming excited and pleased again.
Gunpowder, curled in her arms, twitched his ears as if sensing sothing through their bond, couldn't help but sneeze delicately.
With a soft "pop," another fluffy black kitten materialized in Hermione's embrace.
Two pairs of hazy blue-green cat eyes t briefly in the moonlight, yawned in perfect synchronization, then buried their heads and continued sleeping soundly without the slightest concern...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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