Seeing the Gryffindor table fall into stunned silence, Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and settled back into her seat. After all, the mango waffles before her were genuinely tempting.
Tiger wasted no time with pleasantries.
He leaned close to Hermione's ear, his voice a low murmur as he relayed Draco Malfoy's commission.
His warm breath sent shivers down her spine, painting her earlobe a delicate pink. Hermione couldn't suppress a small gasp.
Her fork clattered against the plate with a sharp clink. She shot Tiger an irritated glare, then rubbed her tingling ear while stealing embarrassed glances around the hall.
From their angle, the Gryffindor students quickly ducked their heads, exchanging looks of pure shock and disbelief.
They could easily picture a tiger savagely tearing into prey, blood and bone scattered—but the image of that same predator nuzzling against Hermione's ear, purring softly? Utterly incomprehensible.
"She's absolutely fearless..." Angelina Johnson whispered in genuine admiration.
Truth be told, she wasn't afraid of Tiger—she knew he wouldn't randomly hurt students. But last night's encounter with Venom had genuinely rattled her nerves.
Besides, watching Hermione sit beside Tiger was like seeing a delicate white rabbit cuddling with a massive Bengal tiger. Strangely captivating.
When she shared this observation with her friend, Katie Bell froze mid-chew, then carefully studied the unlikely pair. Her eyes grew progressively wider.
Oh my God.
Oh my actual God.
At the height of teenage hormones, the already mature girls often harbored far more elaborate fantasies than their male counterparts.
As Hogwarts' acknowledged heartthrob, Cedric's... artistic interpretations with various partners had already made the rounds through every house's female population.
And a pairing like Hermione and Tiger, with such striking contrasts? Pure gold.
Within seconds, Katie Bell's imagination exploded with romantic scenarios wrapped in pink bubbles and soft lighting.
"Oh..." she breathed, picturing tiny Hermione cradled effortlessly in Tiger's arms. Katie pressed a hand to her chest, unable to suppress a dreamy, utterly smitten sigh.
As Gryffindor's star Chasers, neither Angelina nor Katie lacked courage.
After a meaningful exchange of glances, they quietly rose under the pretense of fetching jam, inconspicuously positioning themselves within perfect eavesdropping range.
"Stop daydreaming, idiot," Tiger's voice carried just enough edge to cut through her wandering thoughts. "Did you actually hear what I said?"
Feeling the heat radiating from his proximity, Hermione instinctively scooted sideways, her ears burning even brighter red.
"I heard you perfectly fine, you're so annoying," she huffed, stabbing her fork into the waffle with perhaps more force than necessary.
When exam results were posted, she'd see who the real idiot was around here.
Somehow the mango sauce tasted particularly sweet and tart this morning. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut in satisfaction.
"Tell those two brats," Tiger's voice dropped to a silky whisper that promised unspeakable violence, "if word of this spreads, I'll snap their necks and stuff their heads so far up each other's arses they'll be tasting yesterday's dinner."
The two eavesdropping girls went rigid with terror, but Hermione barely reacted—she'd grown accustomed to his creative threats.
She nodded absently.
Harry and Ron had been thoroughly traumatized by Fluffy last night. Malfoy's petty concerns were the least of their worries.
Tiger scooped up Gunpowder, depositing the bewildered furball into Hermione's lap like a fluffy consolation prize, then rose and strode from the Great Hall.
⊙_⊙ ⊙△⊙
Angelina Johnson: "..."
Katie Bell: "..."
That... didn't look remotely romantic.
————————
"N-no... quite right..."
"Miss... Miss Granger's explanation was... most comprehensive... the obstacles..."
"Understanding their... their origins will... help you navigate them more... more successfully..."
In the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the overwhelming reek of garlic mingled with Professor Quirrell's stammering lectures, creating what could only be described as educational torture.
The Slytherin students looked ready to gnaw through their own tongues, disgust written plainly across their aristocratic features.
Even the front-row Gryffindors couldn't withstand the assault on their senses, occasionally dabbing tears from their stinging eyes.
The British had never embraced garlic with enthusiasm—and after rumors spread that Her Majesty found it particularly offensive, the bulb had fallen even further from grace in wizarding society.
But Tiger remained unaffected.
His Chinese palate craved the sharp bite of garlic in noodles, the aromatic sizzle in roasted meats. Without it, food lost its very soul.
However, beneath the aggressive garlic fog, he detected something else entirely. Something faint but unmistakable.
Decay. Rot. The sweet-sick stench of decomposing flesh.
He wasn't entirely certain—the Shelby family's methods typically involved thorough disposal of evidence. Tiger had limited experience with the lingering perfume of death.
His jaw tightened imperceptibly. Last night's tantalizing aura that had driven Venom into a frenzy was completely absent now.
Had he targeted the wrong person?
Honestly, Tiger had been fully prepared to eliminate Professor Quirrell to satisfy Venom's bloodthirsty cravings.
But perhaps he'd been... premature in his assessment.
Noticing Tiger's penetrating stare, Professor Quirrell startled like a rabbit, then offered a tremulous smile before frantically shuffling through his teaching materials.
"Oh, thank Merlin..."
"Finally, it's over."
"I'm going to be sick..."
"Move, quickly!"
After dismissing the class, Professor Quirrell scurried away like a man fleeing execution, though the oppressive garlic miasma lingered stubbornly. Students stampeded toward the exit.
Spotting the constellation of stains decorating Tiger's robes, Ron elbowed Harry with barely contained glee.
All morning, Hermione had lectured him about a single tiny grease spot on his collar, even comparing him unfavorably to their more presentable classmates.
Now what would she say?
"Oh heavens, I completely forgot!" Hermione smacked her forehead in annoyance, drawing her wand with practiced efficiency. "Scourgify!"
The sugar stains and grease vanished instantly, leaving Tiger's robes immaculate and properly pressed.
"I need to dash—Herbology with Ravenclaw next. I'll return Gunpowder tonight."
She scooped up the drowsy cat and hurried away with a thoroughly bewildered Harry and Ron in tow.
That was it?
Ron's mouth fell open, his head swiveling back with each reluctant step, betrayal and indignation warring across his freckled features.
You mean him?
Why didn't you say anything about HIM?!
(╯°□°）╯
————————
Slytherin's next period was Flying Lessons—unfortunately, Tiger's aerial abilities matched his spellcasting talents, which was to say, catastrophically nonexistent. He couldn't even coax a broomstick to rise from the ground.
Snickers rippled through the young Slytherins.
The laughter died abruptly as Tiger's broomstick disintegrated into splinters between his clenched fists.
They understood perfectly—those brooms might be ancient, battered relics, but they were infinitely more durable than human vertebrae.
"You won't be smug much longer, Shelby!" several students hissed venomously.
"You can't intimidate us forever!"
Tiger didn't dignify their posturing with so much as a glance.
He approached Madam Hooch, attempting to procure a replacement broomstick, only to meet firm resistance.
"Mr. Shelby," she said with weary patience, "the problem isn't with the equipment."
"The problem is definitely with the equipment," Tiger replied with unshakeable conviction.
From across the grounds, Theodore Nott watched with calculating eyes, his expression unreadable.
Blaise Zabini recognized that look. He tugged at Theodore's sleeve, whispering urgently:
"Theodore, this isn't your concern. You can't interfere—Shelby has to face this himself."
Theodore's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile as he regarded his friend with cold amusement.
"You misunderstand me, Blaise."
"I'm simply... anticipating."
Anticipating the spectacular show about to unfold.
Anticipating whether his carefully calculated choice would prove wise...
---
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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