"Oh, bloody hell..."
"That bloke's an absolute nightmare."
Seeing Professor Snape finally leave the classroom, Ron clutched his head and groaned.
"Harry, has he got it in for you or something?"
"I keep getting dragged down because of you."
Harry Potter fell silent for a moment, then looked at his best mate Ron with complicated emotions.
"Maybe..."
Truth was, he had this nagging feeling that Snape's targeting of him wasn't personal animosity—it stemmed from someone else's influence entirely.
But Snape using homework to whack Ron upside the head? That was probably genuine dislike...
"Hermione, are you ready—"
Just as the two finished packing their textbooks and habitually turned to check on Hermione, they discovered she'd already vanished from the classroom.
(???) (???) Where'd she go?
The somewhat boisterous corridor fell abruptly silent with Professor Snape's appearance.
Faced with those oppressive black robes billowing like storm clouds, students ducked their heads and hurriedly pressed themselves against the walls.
"Professor..."
Under everyone's wary gazes, Professor Snape's footsteps suddenly halted. He whipped around sharply, his penetrating, glacial stare pinpointing that breathless approaching figure with predatory precision.
"Please... please wait..."
Hermione ran somewhat breathlessly toward Snape, clutching several thick textbooks against her chest.
"Miss Granger..."
"For running in the corridors, three points from Gryffindor. I trust you'll remember this lesson."
Professor Snape surveyed Hermione from head to toe, and having spoken, made to sweep away.
"What?!" Hermione stared in disbelief, instinctively preparing to protest.
But in that moment of hesitation, her mind seemed to echo the inevitable words: "For disrespecting a professor, five points fromGryffindor."
Her young face flushed crimson with suppressed indignation.
However, desperate to learn Tiger's whereabouts, Hermione clenched her fists and swallowed her pride.
"I apologize, Professor. I simply wanted to ask—do you know where Tiger has gone?"
"Mr. Shelby?"
Professor Snape arched one eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile that never reached his eyes—a expression that sent chills down spines.
"Regrettably, Miss Granger, I don't answer questions unrelated to academic matters."
Seeing Hermione lift her stubborn little chin, apparently preparing to press further, Snape spoke with barely contained impatience:
"If you absolutely must know..."
"Consider him expelled."
His words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Professor Snape turned and swept away, leaving only Hermione standing frozen in place, her books tumbling forgotten to the floor...
In his father Lawrence's accounts, the Shelby family's second magical awakening was termed "Enchantment."
Simply put, this process involved the complete fusion of ancestral Ancient Runes power—carved deep into their bloodline—with an individual's personal magic.
Afterward, recognizing and enchanting Ancient Runes would pose no challenge whatsoever for the Shelby family.
An absolutely brilliant ability.
Never mind everything else—in Ancient Runes alone, Tiger could effortlessly achieve an "Outstanding."
For any student, this represented nothing short of divine intervention. If it were Hermione, she'd probably lose her mind with joy.
Unfortunately, Tiger's situation bore absolutely no resemblance to this idealized description. In fact, it couldn't be more different!
"Sour pickle bitch!"
"Fuck you, Lawrence!"
Throughout the steam-shrouded washroom, Tiger's agonized roars echoed relentlessly.
He slumped against the terrazzo-carved bathtub, letting the sensation of blood searing his flesh spread throughout his body, electrifying every nerve ending.
The exquisite serpentine water spouts continuously poured frigid water into the bath.
Yet the temperature refused to drop. Boiling bubbles churned violently while the acrid stench of sulfur grew increasingly overwhelming.
"Bloody... Lawrence..."
"I'm gonna... dump you in a pigsty..."
"Fuck!"
Tiger ground his teeth, unfurled an ice-cold towel, and slammed it brutally across his face.
He desperately tried using the cool fabric to banish this suffocating heat and unbearable torment.
But within mere seconds, the towel began billowing scalding steam, its edges curling into burnt amber...
Since returning to his dormitory last night, this hellish condition had persisted without respite.
He felt like a human torch—even his words emerged wreathed in black smoke and sparks, his entire body radiating terrifying heat.
As for his bedroom furniture? Long since reduced to ash...
With a soft pop, a house-elf materialized in the washroom.
"Mr. Shelby, the Headmaster sent me to bring you Magic Suppression Draught. This might help."
"Cheers..."
Tiger wasted no time on pleasantries, snatching the vial and biting the cork free with his teeth before draining it in one desperate gulp.
Like savoring ice-cold mint soda on a blistering summer day, a sigh of blessed relief escaped Tiger's smoke-wreathed throat.
"Right... what should I call you?"
His gravelly voice carried rare relaxation.
"Tequila!"
"Sir, you may call me Tequila."
The house-elf bowed with obvious excitement, its drooping ears nearly brushing the stone tiles.
"Brilliant name."
"I'm fond of tequila myself. Still remember when I was seven—nicked Polly's bottle in the dead of night."
"Honestly, I don't believe in God, but that evening I genuinely prayed for divine intervention..."
Feeling the burning sensation creeping back, Tiger's casual reminiscence died abruptly. He regarded the house-elf with weary desperation.
"Listen, Tequila."
"Need you to do me a favor. Magic Suppression Draught—fetch a few more bottles from Dumbledore. And bring ice, loads of it."
The pool water began bubbling ominously as Tiger struggled for breath. "That's all... thanks..."
Hearing Tiger's strained voice, Tequila straightened immediately. Its bulbous eyes blazed with almost frightening intensity, and upon closer inspection, tears seemed to shimmer within them.
"Yes, poor Mr. Shelby!"
"Tequila will return immediately!"
The instant those words left its lips, Tequila's form dissolved like windblown sand, vanishing completely.
"Thank you?"
"He actually said thank you?"
In the headmaster's office, observing the house-elf moved to tears, Dumbledore's bewildered expression gradually softened into something approaching relief.
Meanwhile, Professor Snape gazed down at Tequila, cold mockery flickering across his lips.
"Fascinating."
"Do beasts truly comprehend compassion?"
During the early morning hours, Tiger's bed had begun emitting charcoal-black smoke.
A house-elf on night patrol detected the disturbance and immediately reported to Snape's chambers.
Snape rushed to the prefect's dormitory with Dumbledore arriving shortly after.
Upon discovering Tiger was the occupant, Snape's expression grew decidedly unpleasant.
The dormitory's rightful owner, Atlante Burstrode, was roused from sleep by a house-elf and brought to explain.
Learning that Burstrode had voluntarily surrendered the prefect's quarters to Tiger out of supposed virtue, Dumbledore offered kind, encouraging words.
Only Snape's face remained dark as thunderclouds, his entire aura plummeting to dangerous depths.
He desperately wanted to understand what had possessed Burstrode to dare mock Slytherin's Head of House.
But this wasn't the moment for such inquiries.
After roughly diagnosing Tiger's condition, Snape immediately returned to the dungeons to brew Magic Suppression Draught.
As a precaution, he'd prepared several additional bottles during Potions class and delivered them to the headmaster's office afterward.
As for his hostile treatment of Hermione—beyond his typical demeanor, you simply couldn't expect a middle-aged wizard who'd spent the night brewing emergency potions and still faced a classroom full of incompetent brats to maintain any semblance of good humor.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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