The shared experience of cleaning the Potions classroom had invisibly drawn everyone much closer together.
Learning that Hermione would accompany Tiger for Transfiguration practice that afternoon, the three boys enthusiastically joined in as well.
Truth be told, Harry was simply concerned about Hermione, even though he felt this was unfair to Tiger.
But setting aside Tiger'sSlytherin identity, the Shelbys' brutal reputation in Surrey forced him to view matters through tinted spectacles.
After the lunch break, everyone gathered by the Black Lake.
Seeing Tiger touch the match with his wand tip after every incantation, Ron couldn't help feeling puzzled.
Faced with Ron's question, Tiger casually mentioned the Shelby family's spellcasting limitations.
"Oh... Merlin..."
Ron, who'd always harbored prejudice against Slytherin, rarely showed sympathy for any Slytherin student.
Nothing could be more cruel than a wizard being unable to cast spells properly.
Perhaps Hermione couldn't fully grasp this.
But in many wizards' eyes, the Shelby family was like patients with deformities in the Muggle world...
The afternoon wore on until sunlight slanted westward.
"Bloody hell!"
Tiger collapsed powerlessly onto the ground, experiencing frustration for the first time in his life.
"Maybe I genuinely haven't got any magical talent."
Along the shore of the Black Lake, countless holes had been stabbed by his wand, yet not a single silver needle had materialized.
"Tiger!"
Hermione shook her head with resigned exasperation, her thick lashes fluttering upward.
"Patience—the key is patience!"
"This has nothing to do with talent. Even Ron managed it, so you absolutely can too."
Rather than believing the Shelby family lacked talent, Hermione preferred to think they lacked patience.
"Actually... I..."
Ron seemed to mutter something in protest, but one glance at Tiger's wand made him promptly shut his mouth.
This bloke swung his wand like he was trying to pierce someone's throat every bloody time—absolutely terrifying.
"Tiger, relax. This is Hogwarts, not Surrey. Your muscles are too tense."
Harry sighed quietly, temporarily setting aside his wariness of Tiger as he drew his own wand for demonstration.
He might not understand Tiger personally.
But he understood gangs.
"Look, this is a wand, not a dagger. Be gentler with it. Your grip... it's rather awkward..."
This git's wand-holding technique was fundamentally flawed!
Seriously problematic!
What decent person switches between overhand and underhand grips on a wand?
"Munch munch munch... this tastes brilliant..."
"I want this one... yes... munch munch munch... another chocolate... munch munch munch..."
Neville hadn't spoken throughout the entire session.
He simply unwrapped snacks he'd brought from the dormitory, sharing them bite by bite with Venom.
He'd never doubted Tiger's strength.
It was just failing to master Transfiguration—he hadn't mastered it either. Taking things slowly was perfectly fine; there'd always come a day when they'd learn.
Finally, amid everyone's cheers, Tiger successfully imbued the match with metallic luster.
"Excellent, Tiger! Absolutely brilliant!"
Under Harry and Ron's indescribable gazes, Hermione broke into a delighted smile, so excited she actually applauded.
"Merlin! She lectured me for over an hour because I didn't etch patterns on my needle!"
"This isn't fair!"
Ron glared indignantly, muttering his complaints.
"Very good, Tiger. Let's call it a day." Hermione smiled with satisfaction as she gathered everyone together.
"We should head back and tackle our homework."
Was she happy because Tiger had successfully cast Transfiguration?
No!
She was proud that Tiger had learned patience!
This sense of achievement rivaled scoring full marks on an exam!
"Homework?" (???)
Tiger looked stunned.
The three boys suddenly clutched their heads. "Oh! Bloody hell! We forgot we still have homework!"
(s°□°）s
"This is my first time seeing..."
"Homework actually measured in inches."
Gazing at the parchment before him, Tiger's mood lifted considerably, all his earlier frustration about spellcasting evaporating entirely.
In the library.
Tiger wrote with furious intensity. Under Harry and Ron's absolutely gobsmacked stares, the five-inch (roughly thirteen centimeters) Transfiguration theory essay was expanded by Tiger into five full sheets of parchment...
This deeply ingrained Chinese academic instinct.
Truly unforgettable.
A mere five inches? What kind of joke was that?
Tiger stretched contentedly and casually retrieved his Potions textbook and fresh parchment...
"Merlin..."
Ron glanced at his own homework, then at Tiger, muttering with vacant bewilderment:
"Has he completely lost his mind?"
"I'm not entirely sure..."
Harry appeared equally baffled.
Before this, he'd even prepared to let Tiger copy his homework.
Being in a gang...
Did you also need to study diligently?
Hermione remained silent.
The moment Tiger had started his second sheet, she'd picked up her quill again.
This was warfare without gunpowder!
Neville and Venom: "Munch munch munch..."
Time ticked by relentlessly.
Tiger finally set down his quill. This time he'd written only three sheets of parchment—not because he couldn't continue, but because further writing would venture into his knowledge blind spots.
"Good God, he's finally finished."
"I feel like I'm suffocating."
Ron swallowed hard. Sitting between two academic overachievers would make anyone feel utterly restless.
Harry glanced silently toward Hermione.
The fiercely competitive Gryffindor study queen continued scribbling frantically, having even spread reference materials across her desk.
"Hermione..."
"Shut it! I'm nearly done!"
Hermione resembled a lioness, her already bushy hair appearing particularly frazzled.
Harry obediently closed his mouth.
"Hey, mate..."
The restless Ron sidled closer to Tiger.
Though Hermione had repeatedly warned him against casually provoking Tiger—this bloke had a foul temper, and those school bullies still hadn't regrown all their teeth...
But after their brief interactions, Ron had developed genuine fondness for Tiger, this Slytherin who seemed utterly incompatible with Slytherin house.
He'd even secretly complained to Harry that the Sorting Hat must be getting senile with age.
Tiger should've been sorted into Gryffindor.
Seeing Ron's expression—simultaneously timid and curious—Tiger raised an eyebrow with mild amusement, blinking playfully.
"Mm?"
Shelbys had always shown tolerance toward children.
But only toward good children.
"Hermione mentioned you've taken down loads of people?"
Ron made a boxing motion, the freckles on his face dancing slightly, his expression somewhat excited.
As a Gryffindor, there was always inexplicable anticipation for a good scrap.
"Oh, me personally..."
Tiger stroked his chin thoughtfully, his beast-like fierce eyes rolling upward as if pondering something.
"Three hundred or so... around four hundred, I'd say..."
"..."
Harry, seated behind Ron, suddenly turned deathly pale, gripping the chair armrest with white knuckles, his hands and feet turning ice-cold.
Ron, however, displayed pure amazement and admiration.
"Three hundred or so?!"
"Oh! Merlin's fattest knickers!"
"You're absolutely brilliant, mate!" Ron threw both hands above his head, his little face flushed with excitement.
"Not particularly impressive."
"But that's not really my fault—it's Venom's doing..."
Tiger shrugged helplessly, habitually attempting to shift responsibility onto Venom.
"Harry, Neville, did you hear that? Tiger actually beat three hundred bad lads until they were crawling around looking for their teeth!"
Ron excitedly grabbed the chair back, twisting to look behind him, completely oblivious to Harry's horrified expression.
However, Tiger suddenly realized something was amiss. He stared directly at Ron.
"Hang on, Ron—are we discussing how many people I knocked unconscious?" He made a punching motion with some uncertainty.
"Yeah... yeah..." Ron turned back around, blinking in confusion.
Terrified of frightening the child, Tiger couldn't help but exhale in relief. His slightly embarrassed expression gradually relaxed, replaced by what appeared to be a kindly smile.
"That number's nowhere near as high."
"Then... then what did you mean by those three hundred..."
The expression on Ron's face gradually petrified, his mouth and eyes expanding in utter disbelief.
"Hahahahahaha..."
Tiger scratched his head, producing guilty laughter while opening his textbook, attempting to conclude this conversation inconspicuously.
Unfortunately, the instant his laughter ceased, Ron—his face completely drained of color—bounced from his chair as if electrocuted.
With his hair practically standing on end, he tumbled and scrambled toward his best mate, shrieking:
"Harry! Harry!"
"What the bloody hell did he mean by those three hundred or so?!"
[Exactly what you think he meant...]
Harry Potter pulled the still-trembling Ron to his feet and stood silently, like someone who'd witnessed a bandit remove his mask, prepared to flee at any moment.
Slytherin!
Absolutely Slytherin!
Ron wailed desperately in his heart.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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