It had to be said—without comparison, there's no harm.
When Tiger passed through the barrels and followed the twins' footsteps into the Hufflepuff common room, the refreshing earthy fragrance, carrying the clean scent of grass and trees, rushed into his lungs. Copper-bottod flower pots swayed gently from the ceiling, and everywhere he looked was lush greenery.
Orange-yellow sunlight stread through the skylight, slanting across the velvet furniture, making everything feel warm and utterly comfortable.
"Mum would absolutely love this place." Tiger looked around, murmuring to himself.
On the table before the fireplace sat various biscuits and cakes, with the makers' nas displayed above each plate.
Though Mother Polly was usually as fierce as a lioness in daily life, Tiger knew that as a mother—a gangster family's mother—she had no choice but to be that way.
Once upon a ti, she too had been a little girl who loved life and yearned for happiness and romance...
"I love this place too."
"Very cozy, just like ho."
George and Fred picked up biscuits from the table, playfully winking at Tiger.
They delighted in sharing surprises and delicious treats—it brought them deep satisfaction.
Especially seeing soone who looked as nacing as Tiger actually display such gentleness.
Like reforming a Dark wizard to goodness, the twins exchanged glances and their laughter echoed through the common room.
"Exactly..."
"Just like ho."
Tiger squinted slightly, gazing out the window where vast patches of lawn and dandelions swayed in the breeze.
At this mont, he increasingly felt that the Slytherin common room was simply like a turd that had been curled up in a stinking ditch, desiccated for years.
The grandeur and decay hidden beneath cold dampness, the pride and nobility situated at the bottom of that murky lake—it was more like the self-intoxication of ignorant fools.
Save for the flas in the fireplace, everywhere was cold and gloomy. The silver ornants that should have glead brilliantly had beco dull and lifeless.
Any normal person living in such a frigid environnt wouldn't develop a pleasant disposition.
Were these blokes actually nobility?
Whether Western aristocrats' extravagant debauchery or Eastern nobles' elegant magnificence—Tiger sensed none of it.
Thinking carefully, the Slytherin common room that had once seed sowhat stylish in his eyes now retained only dieval staleness and decay, like heavy shackles binding each year's new arrivals and corroding tender souls.
"Truly revolting."
He couldn't suppress a sigh.
He roughly grasped what was wrong with these pure-blood brats.
Pure-blood, glory, class, nobility, wealth, power, strength, order, ambition.
These bloody marks were carved not only into the Slytherin common room but into Slytherin students' hearts as well.
Generations of Slytherins had witnessed pure-blood decline, yet they still guarded the candlesticks of bygone eras.
They refused to acknowledge it.
They watched the half-burned white wax lt drop by drop as the Muggle world advanced.
They regarded this as heritage, hoping their descendants could add fresh wax to this tarnished candlestick...
Too bloody ridiculous.
The old era's failures handed over a rotting, sinking ship to children for repairs?
Suddenly, Tiger thought of Harry, dubbed the savior, and a mocking smile crossed his fierce lips.
He leaned against the sofa, gazing at the warm ho brimming with natural atmosphere before him. Picking up a muffin, he began devouring it, letting maple syrup overflow from his palm and drip onto his chest.
Though the taste was sowhat cloying, the pleasure brought by the sweetener still involuntarily surged through him.
See that?
This is what children should be doing.
Bloody idiots!
Tiger grabbed another egg tart, and before the twins could intervene, tossed it directly into his mouth.
"Ugh... Christ!"
"Which tosser made egg tarts with blue cheese?"
"Feels like my tongue got walloped!"
"Bloody hell! Ugh..."
Like a three-day-dead skunk soaked in sewers, then wrapped tight in a footballer's socks and cooked with rotten eggs—that flavor rampaged through his mouth.
Tiger seized the iced pumpkin juice from the table and gulped several mouthfuls before feeling considerably better.
"Haha, Susan Bones—she's a genius, in a certain sense."
George pointed to the naplate on the dish, laughing uproariously.
Fred wiped tears from his eyes and mischievously switched the naplates, then spread his hands in explanation:
"Brother, look carefully at the nas."
"This year's Hufflepuff first-years have rather peculiar tastes—they're always keen to experint with different ingredients."
"Cedric's fallen victim loads of tis already."
"Got to say, that bloke's genuinely kind."
After discovering the naplates were basically all Hufflepuff first-years, Tiger stepped back with a grim expression. "Is there nothing bloody edible here?"
"Of course there is, mate!"
"This is rely the appetizer."
George vaulted over the sofa and, like a proper butler, bowed slightly while extending an invitation to Tiger.
Fred approached a nearby bookshelf, casually extracted three volus, then employed nobility's distinctive chanting tone—long and theatrical:
"Sir, conducting business with the Weasleys..."
"You never need worry about losses..."
The instant his words concluded, the bookshelf rotated, and rich, llow sweetness wafted out, completely dispersing the common room's grassy scent.
"The Hufflepuff Sweet Shop!"
"A twenty-four-hour sweet shop—provided you read enough books to discover it!"
"Co on, brother!"
"Only we know this spot—it's got another exit leading straight to the kitchens..."
Vast Hogwarts resembled an amusent park, filled with secret passages and hidden chambers.
It satisfied every child's exploratory desires. As long as you were willing to search, clues would always point toward your destination.
The prerequisite was having sufficient patience and wisdom.
Perhaps because his previous life had been overly monotonous, Tiger brimd with anticipation for unknown surprises.
This was his rare childish aspect.
"Bliy, this tastes brilliant—just a touch too sweet."
Gazing at the dazzling array of confections, Tiger felt sowhat overwheld as he casually selected an apple tart.
"We reckon it's fine."
The Weasley Twins' mouths were already cramd full—they'd discovered this place during first year.
Back then, they'd simply wanted to see how each house's common room differed.
"Look what we have here—chocolate cake. Venom, hope your stomach isn't full yet."
Tiger sampled the dark chocolate atop the cake. The slightly bitter taste blood across his tongue, and he nodded approvingly.
"Absolutely not!" Venom eagerly burst forth, devouring most of the chocolate cake in a single bite.
"Bloody hell! rlin!"
"That's absolutely ntal!"
Getting a closer look at Venom, the Weasley Twins exclaid continuously, their eyes brimming with envy.
"Right then, d'you know any other secret chambers?" Tiger leaned against the table, eating while chatting casually.
"Ooh, sir~"
George and Fred exchanged glances, then rubbed their fingers at Tiger with comical grins. "That's a different price~"
"Ha! Pair of little profiteers! I like you lot." Tiger laughed appreciatively.
"The pleasure's ours~"
"Hahahaha..."
British sweets were excessively cloying—the maple syrup and honey additions were nearly lethal doses.
Even after being British for over a decade, Tiger couldn't tolerate consuming excessive confections.
After just two pieces, his throat was already itching from sweetness, whilst Venom inhaled like a hurricane, demolishing every sweet in the shop.
Fortunately, when they departed through the kitchens, Tequila, busy at work, spotted Tiger.
Amidst its tearful, joyous cheers, every house-elf in the kitchen erupted with excitent.
Only then did Tiger learn that Hogwarts' food was entirely prepared by house-elves.
"Now that's bloody good news."
Sampling the potato cakes and steak Tequila offered him, Tiger suddenly harbored a long-missed notion...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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