"Love, ah, how beautiful it is, especially when your dreams come true, Burstrode..."
Inside the male prefect's dormitory.
A cool and lingering aria quietly arose, its echoes intertwined with faint melancholy, yet seeming to reveal a barely perceptible hint of mockery.
"But unfortunately."
"Such methods are simply revolting."
Gazing at the steam-wreathed cauldron in the washroom, Gemma Farley let out a careless chuckle.
Her usually cold eyes curved with amusement, the corners of her mouth turning upward like a cat who'd gotten the cream, radiating smug satisfaction.
Then her laughter grew louder, echoing through the empty washroom—part mockery, but more like bitter self-ridicule.
She laughed at Burstrode's pathetic stupidity.
She also laughed at her own excessive caution.
What could possibly be more idiotic than slipping a love potion to the eldest daughter of a potioneer family?
At this moment, she genuinely wanted to write to her dear friend, Claire Prince.
To let her properly mock what sort of absolute fool had emerged from her fiancé's family.
"Oh, poor Claire..."
"You'd better not have drunk any love potion."
Gemma Farley wiped the tears from her eyes, rubbing her somewhat aching cheeks, her lips carrying a hint of wicked amusement.
Truth be told, even she hadn't expected this accidental intrusion would yield such delightful entertainment.
During the morning assembly, she'd observed her old rival Atlantic Burstrode's peculiar behavior with crystal clarity, which had piqued her curiosity.
This venomous snake who'd always lurked in her shadow actually dared disobey her commands?
So was he afraid? Hesitating? Or had he already acquired some trump card to resist her authority?
A girl's curiosity rivaled any cat's. Taking advantage of the empty common room, Gemma Farley had ventured into the male dormitory alone...
As for Tiger.
Though this beast's vulgarity and insolence filled Gemma Farley with profound disgust and discomfort, she'd never truly considered him a threat.
Engaging in conflict with a family like the Shelbys—practically Squibs—would only diminish her nobility and dignity as a pure-blood aristocrat.
Besides, she wasn't a professor, much less Tiger's parent. For such an unruly brat, naturally someone would provide appropriate "discipline."
Slytherin never lacked ambitious souls.
Those eager little ones desperate to distinguish themselves, craving positions of power, would inevitably select a target—defeating them to earn recognition and respect from their peers.
Shelby, incompatible with Slytherin and thoroughly detestable, was undoubtedly the perfect target...
At this thought, Gemma Farley frowned and turned to leave the washroom.
She would never admit that for unpredictable bastards like Tiger—untamable beasts, dangerous creatures bristling with thorns—she possessed absolutely no viable strategy...
The scent of Ashwinder eggs was nearly imperceptible, but it couldn't escape Gemma Farley's keen nose. Her icy gaze lingered on the ashes in the fireplace.
The precise stage where the love potion's preparation had been interrupted instantly crystallized in her mind.
"Burstrode, Burstrode..."
"No wonder you asked me about the Freezing Charm."
"Very well, don't keep me waiting too long. As for this love potion—who cares who drinks it..."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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