Professor Snape's brow furrowed slightly as he waved his hand casually. A thick potions textbook sprang from the shelf and flew directly into Gemma Farley's arms.
The noble girl clutched the heavily striking book, staggering back two steps, the pain from her chest making her hiss softly.
But Snape was obviously angrier than she was, his gloomy, cold voice circling the dungeon.
"Miss Farley, I think I need to reevaluate your Potions grades..."
Gemma Farley seemed to anticipate what was coming, her delicate, rosy face instantly paling.
Professor Snape continued:
"Amortentia's effects are indeed powerful."
"But it's merely a guiding supplement, directing desire and emotion rather than amplifying them."
"Even concentrated, that only provides duration, not potency. In other words, these were all your autonomous actions after your desires were guided..."
Bang.
Before Professor Snape could finish, Gemma Farley pushed open the wooden door and fled the dungeon like an escapee, once again abandoning pure-blood etiquette.
Her aristocratic understanding made the usually reserved noble girl nearly die of shame.
Running back to her dormitory, she didn't even dare look back. Professor Snape's cold words had practically spelled out "you're a pervert" without saying it directly...
"Damn Shelby!"
"I hate you!!!"
Lunchtime.
The usually boisterous Great Hall was uncharacteristically quiet, filled with an indescribable eerie atmosphere.
The other three houses' tables had fallen into the same whispering mode as Slytherin's.
Hermione held Crookshanks, occasionally stealing glances at Tiger, worry and bewilderment evident in her eyes.
What happened in Slytherin had spread throughout Hogwarts after a morning's fermentation.
The versions were numerous, the plots so bizarre that Slytherin students' faces darkened repeatedly.
Hufflepuff was already circulating stories about Tiger forcing male prefect Atlantis Boasted.
"Miranda, are those stories real? Prefect Boasted looked willing to me..."
"How could they be fake? They came from inside Slytherin."
"Ravenclaw'sPenelope vouched for it—Senior Tracy saw it last night..."
"But Spike said..."
"Don't listen to him. He's been single for seven years at school—what does he know about love..."
In Britain, same-sex romance literature was far more dramatic than heterosexual romance.
The girls knew perfectly well what was real, but they wanted to see what they wanted to see.
Curious, anxious, excited, awed gazes flickered toward Slytherin's table like ghostly lights in darkness, making Tiger's skin crawl.
But when he frowned and looked up, these meaningful glances quickly scattered.
Strings of nervous whispers—"He saw me..."—echoed across the tables.
"What's wrong with everyone today?"
Riley Shafiq turned to scan the room, frowning strangely.
"Last night's incident spread."
"Shelby conquered all the Slytherin boys—how could something like that stay hidden?"
Lisa, sitting beside her, lowered her head and smiled, quickly biting bread as if to stifle laughter.
"Conquered?"
Riley Shafiq's tone was odd, feeling like she and Lisa weren't discussing the same thing.
After all, Hogwarts' various stories avoided boys but not girls. She quickly realized something, though only gave her friend a reproachful look.
"Lisa, enough."
"I know, I know..."
She wasn't one to meddle anyway, especially in these stupid boys' affairs.
After eating hastily, she gathered her meal and headed toward the dormitory.
She'd noticed something wrong with Gemma Farley this morning—she had to check...
"Father, should I go investigate?"
Blaise Zabini, sitting beside Tiger, leaned over ingratiatingly with a fawning smile, his once composed, intelligent noble image completely gone.
During morning Charms class, he'd heard Gryffindor students saying Tiger Shelby was a racist who'd nearly killed Lee Jordan from Gryffindor recently.
If it were anyone else, Blaise wouldn't believe it, but with Tiger as the subject, he couldn't help but believe...
Looking at his own dark coffee-colored skin, Blaise nearly wept...
"Hmm?"
The sudden fawning made Tiger push Blaise away with some disgust.
He preferred tough men, though he could tell the kid was holding something back.
"Speak plainly, or I'll smack you."
Hearing this threatening voice, Blaise shuddered violently. He forced a smile uglier than crying.
"Father, the Gryffindors are spreading rumors about you behind your back, saying you're racist..."
Tiger's expression cleared. Looking at Blaise's nervous coffee-colored face, he said comfortingly:
"Don't listen to those bitches."
"What good can come from lions' mouths? I hate racists the most."
After all, he was just a kid who'd barely recovered from last night's shock.
As a good person certified by Dumbledore, Tiger thoughtfully swallowed the racially charged second half of his sentence.
Hearing this, Blaise sighed with relief. Though he wasn't black, racism usually only looked at skin color...
"By the way, should I go..."
He glanced carefully at the Hufflepuff table, where gazes burned hottest.
"No need, I'll go."
Tiger waved his hand. These strange looks all targeted him, and they were all from girls.
Blaise looked handsome and dashing, but he was still just a kid with no face among the girls.
Just as he prepared to rise and find Hermione and her two useless friends at the Gryffindor table, sharp bird cries suddenly rang out. Flocks of owls flew into the Great Hall in formation.
Quick-handed upperclassmen hastily grabbed food from their plates, looking rather disheveled.
Only Slytherin students professionally hid their plates and selected food under the table.
As various packages, feathers, and even bird droppings fell, exclamations and discussions arose, the Great Hall returning to its usual clamor.
One owl carrying a heavy package wobbled to Tiger's head, then seemed to lose strength, spiraling downward.
Venom's tentacles shot out, catching both owl and package, placing them on the table.
"That's so cool..."
The Weasley twins nearby witnessed this scene, tears of envy sliding from their mouths.
Atlantis Boasted expertly produced a potion vial, feeding it to the owl.
Moments later, the owl regained some strength, grabbed a piece of toast, flapped its wings, and flew from the Great Hall without looking back.
Only table feathers remained, plus a splat of bird droppings on Draco Malfoy's head.
"These moldy wild chickens!"
"I'm going to tell... ugh..."
His platinum-haired face flushed with anger, the pungent smell nearly making him vomit, but fortunately Pansy reacted quickly with Scourgify.
She feared Shelby would actually make Draco throw up—that would be too unseemly...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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