"Very good, just like that, take it slowly..."
"Mmm, well done, Spike."
The successfully diluted potion still emanated a faint ethereal glow. Madam Pomfrey nodded with weary satisfaction.
She then retrieved the remaining Dreamless Sleep Potion and placed it beside two senior Hufflepuffs—assistants left by Professor Sprout.
"Remember, children, don't make the concentration too strong, or it will interfere with their wound healing. When they wake, give them another dose..."
"Yes, ma'am."
Spike and Tracy showed no resistance to this night watch arrangement. They nodded eagerly and continued their potion dilution work.
After graduation, they aspired to work at St. Mungo's Hospital, and tonight's events represented an invaluable internship opportunity.
After organizing the remaining tasks, Madam Pomfrey released a soft sigh of relief and departed the hospital wing, exhaustion weighing heavily upon her shoulders.
The treated Slytherin students had long since returned to their dormitories, leaving only those with severe fractures who'd consumed their potions and fallen into medicated slumber.
The hospital wing no longer echoed with previous chaos, completely returning to its customary silence—only the sharp, medicinal scent of Dreamless Sleep Potion lingering in the air.
Shallow breathing sounds rose and fell in gentle rhythm.
Moonlight filtered through curtain gaps, casting dappled silver shadows across the stone floor.
Occasional whispers of wind from outside became the most delicate background symphony in this tranquil darkness...
Time crawled forward, minute by agonizing minute.
The stabbing pain and maddening itch from regenerating bone joints intensified relentlessly. Consciousness gradually returned to the wounded, and the ward began echoing with unbearable moans and bitter curses.
"Ah... bloody hell... someone help... feels like my chest and spine are splitting apart..."
"What the devil happened..."
"Shelby!"
"Ah... Shelby's bastard spawn... I'll drag him to hell... I'll make him..."
As memories flooded back with crystalline clarity, Corman Avery's anguished cries grew increasingly shrill, his curses turning venomously toxic.
He who should have basked in glorious triumph now resembled a beaten cur cowering in shadows, wailing pitifully.
He who should have commanded reverent attention hadn't even demonstrated a leader's passionate fervor before Tiger launched him airborne—like casually booting aside a mangy street dog...
The final scene seared into his consciousness: he hadn't managed even a symbolic whimper before unconsciousness claimed him...
The duelists sprawled across their beds retained vivid recollections of his chest cavity's horrifying collapse.
Though he'd received immediate medical intervention, the shoe-print bruise adorning Corman Avery's torso remained starkly visible—like livestock branded with searing fire tongs...
For any pure-blood aristocrat, this represented indelible shame and permanent stain.
Everyone could sense it—Corman Avery's hatred intensified proportionally with his physical agony, becoming suffocatingly oppressive. Each breath felt like torturous exertion, absolutely unbearable.
Selwyn slowly elevated himself upright, caressing his supposedly nonexistent limb with almost religious reverence.
The continuous ache and numbness radiating from his shoulder didn't trigger internal irritation. Joy at recovering what was lost surged like oceanic tide, nearly reducing him to grateful tears.
As for hatred?
Who harbors resentment toward natural disasters?
Selwyn differed fundamentally from Corman Avery—he'd witnessed Venom's complete rampage in all its terrifying glory.
Therefore, to him, Venom—that grotesque, nightmarish Obscurus—represented pure natural catastrophe.
An Obscurus resembled earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions—absolutely irresistible forces of nature.
When confronting natural disasters, wisdom dictated maintaining maximum possible distance.
He must have been completely insane to follow these imbeciles in provoking an Obscurus.
Dear God, he couldn't dare inform his grandfather about this incident.
Absolutely moronic!
He'd never witnessed anyone attempt leaping into volcanic craters, nor any vessel dare charge directly toward tsunamis.
That he survived—that his arm remained intact—already constituted fate's extraordinary tolerance and divine mercy...
The deranged, venomous cursing made Selwyn furrow his brow with intense displeasure. As post-catastrophe euphoria faded, the stabbing itch of bone regeneration nearly drove him toward complete madness.
"Shut your mouth, Avery!"
"Don't force me to cram my boot down your throat!"
Selwyn's patience with Corman Avery evaporated entirely, his words carrying zero diplomatic courtesy.
"How dare you address me with such insolence!"
"Selwyn, I'll..."
Corman Avery glared through clenched teeth toward the neighboring bed, his eyes radiating venom like permanent ink stains.
"You'll what!"
"If I were you, Corman Avery, I'd bury my head beneath pillows to prevent anyone from noticing a beaten dog's pathetic howling, you arrogant, incompetent waste!"
"You led everyone straight to slaughter!"
"You have absolutely no comprehension of your actions!"
Selwyn directly channeled his inexplicable internal fury onto Corman Avery.
His rage-filled declarations struck everyone's consciousness like thunderous cathedral bells.
As fellow members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, everyone present maintained tolerance toward Corman Avery purely through pure-blood aristocratic courtesy—not from fear or intimidation.
Hostile, disgusted gazes converged unanimously upon Corman Avery's prone form.
Only Riley Shafiq observed their quarrel with glacial detachment, her profound, calculating eyes revealing zero emotion. To her, events remained far from concluded...
"Oh God, I actually dozed off!"
As ward commotion intensified dramatically, Spike, who'd been napping in the preparation chamber, jolted awake with startled alarm.
Early evening hours naturally induced drowsiness, and occasional night breezes outside provided perfect lullabies.
He gathered the diluted Dreamless Sleep Potions and hurried toward the patient ward.
The instant he pushed through the entrance, arguing voices amplified exponentially—especially jarring within the quiet night.
"Hey, hey, hey, stop this fighting!"
"This is the hospital wing! Unless you want me summoning Madam Pomfrey to resolve matters!"
Spike glared furiously at the still-ranting Corman Avery. Understanding these pure-blood nobles despised him, he cleverly invoked Madam Pomfrey's authority.
However, the patient refused silence.
"BANG!"
Usually the most taciturn Raven Burke suddenly slammed his bedside table, completely ignoring blood seeping through his bandages.
"Motherfucker!"
"Avery, can you shut your shit-stinking mouth! Utter one more syllable and I'll stuff slugs up your arse!"
Raven Burke pointed menacingly at the distant bed, his ashen features radiating pure threat.
This profanity-laden outburst—thoroughly Shelby-esque in style—made every Slytherin stare in absolute shock. Even Corman Avery was momentarily stunned into silence.
"Hey! Mr. Burke!"
Spike's eye twitched as he intervened desperately: "This is the hospital wing—please refrain from... such language."
This was genuinely extraordinary.
Forget pure-blood aristocrats—no student throughout Hogwarts had ever employed such filthy vocabulary. Surely one couldn't halt ward disturbances by introducing excrement?
"Damn you, Burke, you..."
Corman Avery bristled with indignant fury, preparing retaliation when—
"BANG!"
The ward door exploded inward from a vicious kick. Frigid corridor wind rushed inside as Tiger swaggered through the entrance, his predatory gaze sweeping across every occupant.
Instinctive modifications from Venom's symbiotic cells activated immediately—primal terror began spreading like contagion.
The Slytherins sprawled across their beds commenced involuntary trembling.
Though the ward remained dimly lit, they could distinctly sense ravenous, merciless eyes studying them with calculating hunger.
Bone-deep cold shot directly to their skulls, as though someone continuously shrieked in their ears:
"RUN!!! ESCAPE!!!"
The previously cacophonous, jarring ward instantly plunged into supernatural silence. Spike, frozen mid-motion, could distinctly hear teeth chattering with terror.
"Shel... Shelby..."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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