"Beautiful, isn't it?"
After what felt like an eternity, Dumbledore's figure suddenly materialized behind Tiger.
Tiger gradually pulled his thoughts back to the present, only to discover that the little snakes around him had already departed, leaving him entirely alone.
"Something you need?"
He turned slightly to face Dumbledore. Perhaps it was the tranquility brought by the morning's breathtaking scenery, but his usually fierce gaze had softened in a rare moment of peace.
"Changes for tonight?"
"No, none whatsoever."
Dumbledore's smile remained as benevolent as ever. He gazed toward the Forbidden Forest behind Tiger, his tone unhurried and contemplative:
"I was merely remembering my first day at school—I stood in this very spot, just as you do now."
"Watching Hogwarts awaken, watching the flocks of birds soar above the Forbidden Forest, losing all sense of time."
"Ah, I was truly young then."
His aged laughter brimmed with wistful nostalgia.
Tiger couldn't summon any malice toward an elder willing to share life's wisdom with him.
He enjoyed violence, certainly, but he wasn't a rabid dog.
Though for one fleeting moment, he genuinely wanted to punch this old codger's nose sideways...
Unfortunately, this rambling chatter so characteristic of the elderly was something he simply couldn't endure—listening to it made his scalp crawl with irritation.
It wasn't just Dumbledore. The entire wizarding world, young and old alike, always spoke in maddening circles, drowning in metaphors and veiled implications.
He really didn't want to waste mental energy deciphering all that bollocks.
It was exhausting as hell.
Compared to this verbal maze, Tiger much preferred the Shelby family's straightforward approach: either you beat me into submission, or I beat you into submission.
If fists could settle it, why bother with words?
Of course, this rule had one glaring exception.
Mother Polly.
Whether verbal or physical confrontation, all four Shelby brothers preferred to avoid that particular nightmare...
Tiger interrupted Dumbledore's nostalgic musings, yawning with profound boredom.
"Sorry, I don't mean to spoil your trip down memory lane."
"But I genuinely don't need a life mentor."
"You can go find someone else who does."
He could see that Hogwarts was crawling with problem children, especially in Slytherin.
That insufferable way they looked down their noses at everyone really got under his skin. If they weren't children, he would've already rearranged each of their faces with his fists.
Save the life lessons for them instead.
"Very well, very well..."
Dumbledore sighed softly. Perhaps due to his advanced age, his weary and resigned voice carried a certain deliberate slowness.
He gradually turned away, walking toward the corridor entrance.
Just as he was about to cross the threshold, as if suddenly remembering something crucial, his steps faltered.
"I merely wished to remind you."
"Mr. Shelby..."
His perceptive gaze shifted sideways, peering through those half-moon spectacles with unmistakable mischief dancing in his eyes.
"You're about to be late for Transfiguration."
Tiger's expression froze solid.
"Bloody hell..."
No matter what else could be said about him, Tiger's Chinese heritage ran bone-deep, instilling a natural reverence for classrooms and examinations.
Especially when he burst into the Transfiguration classroom to find an atmosphere of unnatural quiet, his scalp truly began to tingle. Fortunately, he couldn't spot the professor anywhere.
Scanning the room, he encountered only Slytherin eye-rolls, Gryffindor snickers, and...
A cat?
Spotting the tabby cat perched regally on the platform, Tiger's expression went blank. Then, utterly unable to resist, he gravitated toward it—he hadn't petted a cat all bloody night.
"Oh..."
His deep voice trembled with barely contained emotion, and a sigh of pure relief—like an addict getting their fix—escaped from Tiger's throat.
"What an absolutely gorgeous little kitty."
"I adore your markings—they're like tiny spectacles. Do you fancy making friends? I've got a little cat myself..."
Under the tabby cat's utterly bewildered stare, Tiger scooped it up in one fluid motion, grinning with pure contentment as he scratched beneath its chin.
Honestly, Tiger was completely mad about felines.
Those predatory instincts and violent genes lurking beneath their adorable facades made him absolutely weak in the knees.
"Tiger... put it down, quickly..."
Neville seemed desperate to warn him about something but didn't dare raise his voice. His pudgy face crumpled with anxiety, sweat beading across his forehead.
The Slytherins looked thoroughly entertained by the unfolding spectacle. Malfoy had his hand clamped over his mouth, already doubled over with silent laughter in his seat.
Compared to Potter arriving late and catching hell for it, this scene was an absolute gift.
At that moment, the tabby cat—which had been frozen stiff in Tiger's arms—finally snapped back to awareness. It leaped nimbly from his embrace, landing with perfect feline grace.
Under Tiger's slack-jawed stare, the tabby cat began to expand and stretch, morphing into a stern-faced woman until every trace of whiskers and tail had completely vanished.
"Mr. Shelby, perhaps I shouldn't transform you into an alarm clock, but rather into a cat."
Professor McGonagall arched one eyebrow, her severe gaze carrying both reproach and the faintest hint of barely suppressed amusement.
Indeed, while she felt exasperated by Tiger's brazen behavior, as an Animagus, she possessed certain mischievous tendencies that simply couldn't be shared with outsiders.
Throughout the classroom, barely concealed snickers of schadenfreude began to surface.
Tiger fell silent for a long moment.
"Is that actually possible?"
He slowly lifted his head, those fierce amber eyes suddenly blazing with the most heartbreakingly hopeful anticipation.
Professor McGonagall's stern expression wavered slightly.
She remembered her own first encounter with Animagus transformation—that same innocent wonder, those same eyes brimming with desperate longing to become a cat.
Her typically rigid demeanor couldn't help but soften around the edges.
"Of course it's possible, Mr. Shelby."
"But not today..."
"Right..."
Tiger exhaled with profound disappointment.
Just then, frantic footsteps echoed from the doorway. Everyone in the classroom swiveled to look.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron came stumbling through the entrance, their arms overflowing with squirming cats.
The instant she spotted Tiger, Hermione's already tear-brimmed eyes finally surrendered to gravity. Tears cascaded down her cheeks in torrents.
"Tiger... sob... Gunpowder... something's wrong... there are so many... sob..."
Missing breakfast, arriving late to class, making a terrible first impression on the professor, failing to properly care for Gunpowder—every overwhelming emotion seemed to burst forth like a dam giving way.
Witnessing the little girl's face streaked with snot and tears, Tiger withdrew the comforting hand he'd instinctively extended, offering his handkerchief instead.
"Hermione, wipe that off quickly—it's rather revolting..."
Hermione: (?_?)
"Achoo..."
A barely audible sneeze echoed through the room. Suddenly, Harry's arms contained one additional black kitten.
Looking more carefully, the trio was collectively cradling fifteen or sixteen kittens.
Upon recognizing their master's presence, all fifteen or sixteen Gunpowders began struggling to escape the trio's grasp, swarming toward Tiger in a writhing black mass, mewing and calling desperately.
The moment that fluffy tsunami engulfed him, Tiger's face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy—especially when several Gunpowders began affectionately nuzzling his cheeks.
"Terribly sorry, Professor McGonagall. We weren't deliberately late. When we encountered this situation, we simply didn't know how to handle it, so we could only..."
Harry offered apologetic explanations for their tardiness.
"Don't fret, Mr. Potter. Helping friends is commendable—I won't penalize you for that."
"However, I must stress that if you wish to avoid losing house points, you'd be wise to rise earlier in future."
As she spoke, Professor McGonagall lifted one of the Gunpowders, examining it with considerable fascination.
When she glimpsed those feline pupils glowing with ethereal blue luminescence, recognition dawned across her austere features.
"Half-blood spirit cat?"
"What extraordinarily fortunate little creatures. I believe the last time I encountered a spirit cat was at the French Ministry of Magic. Mr. Shelby, congratulations appear to be in order..."
Before she could complete her thought, another nearly inaudible sneeze rippled through the air.
The Gunpowder cradled in her hands suddenly shimmered, then tumbled to the floor—now two slightly smaller cats that immediately began mewing and attempting to scale Tiger's trouser legs.
Hermione's sobs intensified dramatically.
Tiger scratched his cheek awkwardly. Professor McGonagall compressed her lips thoughtfully and raised her wand with practiced precision.
The chair positioned behind the platform seemed to pulse with life, writhing and reshaping itself. Within mere heartbeats, amid gasps of amazement from the assembled students, it had transformed into an impressive wooden cat enclosure.
One by one, the Gunpowders floated toward the cage under the wand's guidance, forming a surprisingly orderly procession.
Finally, with a swift Silencing Charm, all those heart-melting mews vanished into blessed quiet.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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