What is power?
In Slytherin's traditional understanding, power had nothing to do with individuals—it was the embodiment of status, the materialization of wealth, the crystallization of cunning and strategy.
They built foundations on illustrious family connections, using abundant wealth and resources as chess pieces.
Hiding true intentions, using clever words and carefully crafted illusions to achieve their real goals quietly in unknown corners.
However, Tiger's dominance and ferocity gradually turned their concepts upside down...
"Tiger, you..."
"Good morning, Hermione. I'm busy..."
In the library, watching Tiger hurry away with his books, Hermione blinked in confusion.
It was clearly evening!
"Father..."
"Mm-hmm, good spirits, Theodore. I'm busy—go play somewhere else..."
In the common room.
Tiger nodded absentmindedly.
He toyed with a pine wood plaque in his hands while flipping through books in his lap, apparently researching something.
"I wasn't... fine then..."
Blaise Zabini opened his mouth, then silently walked aside.
Daphne Greengrass stifled a laugh as she poured him flower tea as consolation.
"Shelby, about the common room sofas..."
"Darling, you handle it. I'm busy."
Before the words finished, Tiger shut the boys' dormitory door, cutting off Gemma Farley's elegant, tall figure.
"..."
The noble girl turned coldly, walking toward the girls' dormitory. Her chilly eyes showed no emotional fluctuation at this blunt dismissal.
Riley Shafiq hurried after her.
Faced with such an awkward scene, the Slytherins in the common room all lowered their heads, pretending to be busy, or turned away to find something to do.
They didn't think that "darling" carried any romantic meaning—rather, they saw it as naked mockery.
However, no one dared say anything.
They'd all witnessed Tiger's recent busyness. Most Slytherin affairs were still handled by female prefect Gemma Farley and male prefect Atlantis Boasted.
"Bang..."
As the girls' dormitory door slammed shut, the little snakes couldn't help whispering among themselves.
"That was so awkward..."
"Poor Prefect Farley."
"That's not gentlemanly at all. Prefect Farley hasn't done anything wrong—he can't treat her like this."
"Did you see that?"
"That's power, Blaise."
Theodore Nott took a light sip of flower tea, his tone carrying faint coldness, as if even the tea's fragrance was tinged with inhuman chill.
"Family background, wealth, status—these laughable things crumble before life and death."
"Father could kill Prefect Farley anytime. If she doesn't want to die, she must endure it..."
"Prefect Farley is innocent! Those troubles and conflicts were caused by Avery and the others!"
"Shelby's doing this to make enemies, forcing Prefect Farley's family to retaliate. Isn't he afraid of what might happen when he leaves Hogwarts..."
Draco Malfoy's voice was extremely low, yet couldn't hide his indignation.
Tiger always used his wizard robes as after-dinner napkins—he'd always had major issues with this guy.
Blaise Zabini turned slightly, looking at his innocent-faced friend, and couldn't help sighing.
Only this platinum fool still firmly believed Gemma Farley was innocent.
If he'd use half the brain he spent on Harry Potter here, he wouldn't be so naive.
"Draco..."
Theodore Nott glanced at him coolly.
"Do you think Father would be interested in playing Auror-catches-dark-wizard games with Prefect Farley?"
"Games?"
Draco Malfoy looked stunned.
"You still don't understand, Malfoy."
Just then, a lazy voice came from behind Draco Malfoy. Everyone turned to look.
"Tiamat?"
Blaise Zabini raised an eyebrow slightly.
Tiamat sat with long legs crossed, leaning back against the sofa, drooping eyelids, leisurely yawning.
Black gauze wrapped with gold thread fell casually along his curls, adding exotic, languid charm.
Everyone knew him well.
Tiamat's family came from Egypt, migrating to British wizarding society a century ago.
Their mysterious curse magic forced British pure-blood nobles to grudgingly welcome them.
As the third-year Slytherin leader, Tiamat was close to everyone, yet seemed to always remain outside their circle.
The night of Venom's attack, he'd been seriously injured too, but hadn't gone to the hospital wing...
"Malfoy, where do you think our fear of Father comes from?"
"Just from getting beaten up?" Ramos Tiamat's smile carried deep meaning.
He'd noticed long ago that Slytherin first-years' fear of Shelby wasn't as severe as the upper-years'.
Upper-year students faced Shelby like seeing a natural predator—severe cases even had trouble breathing.
Egyptian healing magic's study of the body far exceeded British wizarding understanding.
Facing Venom's brutal rampage, he'd had no resistance—most of his ribs were broken.
But as that dark liquid invaded, Ramos Tiamat could keenly sense he was undergoing subtle yet definite changes.
He was fascinated by this.
But couldn't control his fear of Tiger, so he'd set his sights on the first-years...
"Uh..."
Draco Malfoy frowned, not understanding the meaning.
Just as he wanted to ask clearly, Ramos Tiamat changed tone, continuing:
"Father's methods are decisive. Prefect Farley must see this too."
"Wizengamot and Justice Department summons are probably like German joke collections to Father."
"He'd never get entangled with dark wizards trying to assassinate him or politicians framing him."
"He'd just find Prefect Farley's family and twist off their heads one by one. With Prefect Boasted and the others backing him, things would quickly settle."
"After all, you pure-blood nobles are always busy dividing the cake. Look—how many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight remain?"
At this point, Ramos Tiamat shook his head somewhat wistfully, and the surrounding Slytherins couldn't help frowning slightly.
When male prefect Boasted and others stood behind Shelby, Prefect Farley had already lost completely.
"If not for Dumbledore's guarantee, dangerous existences like Father who act so recklessly would normally be top targets on international wizard wanted lists."
"Think about that mutated Obscurus—believe me, that's the perfect predator."
"Father needs no evidence, no doubt, and recognizes no innocence."
"Pure-blood nobility's methods..." Ramos Tiamat paused slightly, unable to help sighing, "simply don't work on him."
Draco Malfoy swallowed, his earlier indignation completely vanished.
Ramos Tiamat toyed with his golden bracelet, speaking mockingly:
"So, Malfoy, if you really want to help Prefect Farley, I might be able to tell you one of Father's fatal weaknesses..."
At these words, every Slytherin in the common room stood up, nervously trying to stop him:
"Shut up! Tiamat!"
"Don't talk nonsense!"
Every Slytherin student had witnessed Venom's bizarre biomimetic cells.
Selwyn's severed arm regeneration, Avery's broken bone reconnection—even someone near death could recover normally in mere breaths, let alone Shelby himself.
Such words were clearly meant to stir up conflict again. Everyone had to be vigilant.
Shelby was already impatient—who could guarantee they wouldn't get caught up when chaos erupted again?
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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