For Tiger, cats were undoubtedly the best lovers.
"Purr Mrow Meow~~"
Heartfelt affection transformed into waves of purring, completely drowning Tiger in the sofa.
The fluffy texture, cool nose tips constantly nuzzling his cheeks and ears—the delightful sensation spreading from his toes to his hair made Tiger tremble involuntarily.
"Motherfucker!"
"I love this damn world..."
Dopamine and endorphins surged rapidly. His long, contented sighs were filled with satisfaction...
Countless Gunpowders tumbled and rolled on Tiger's chest, fluffy cat heads squeezing against each other.
At the sofa's edge, occasionally a cat would slip and fall.
But with "meow meow" pleading sounds, before the cat could climb back up, Tiger would scoop it up with one hand and pile it at his neck among the other cats.
This scene alone was heart-achingly adorable.
You know, with Hermione, Gunpowder was treated like a feline lord—such treatment was unthinkable...
Just then, Tiger suddenly noticed that none of his Slytherin students had left.
He narrowed his eyes and looked sideways.
Led by Marcus Flint, Corman Avery, Ramos Timayat and others, everyone had unconsciously furrowed their brows, eyes full of worry.
Especially Theodore Nott, usually expressionless—now he looked like someone had died, his face terrifyingly grim.
"..."
Tiger fell silent for a moment, then said with surprise: "Dumbledore came to his senses?"
"..."
Marcus Flint and the others' eyes twitched. This joke wasn't funny at all.
You know, the reason pureblood nobles were keeping such a low profile now, besides being affected by Voldemort's defeat, most importantly, they feared Dumbledore, the White Wizard, might suddenly walk into the Ministry of Magic one day.
In terms of bloodline, status, and power—if that old man really came to his senses, probably no one would dare say no.
"Father, forgive my presumption."
Ramos Timayat bowed slightly, then spoke seriously:
"Are you feeling unwell?"
"I think I can help you..."
As he spoke, the scarab beetles disguised as bracelets completely decomposed, crawling onto his palm.
"Unwell?"
Tiger's tone paused slightly.
But he quickly realized—British people didn't have afternoon nap habits. In their minds, only when feeling unwell did one need an afternoon nap.
"Relax, I'm not unwell." Tiger yawned lazily, waving dismissively:
"My lifestyle is closer to Chinese customs."
"Trust me, a brief afternoon rest can make your afternoon energy more abundant."
"I suggest you try it too."
With that, he buried his face in the pile of cats, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes contentedly. Coquettish meows rose and fell...
Everyone's furrowed brows gradually relaxed, but Ramos Timayat spoke meaningfully:
"Father, I heard from Prefect Boasted earlier that your 'spirit' hasn't been very good lately..."
Before he finished speaking, the air in the Slytherin common room instantly froze. Everyone's faces changed dramatically.
Theodore Nott reacted most violently—he suddenly drew his wand like a striking viper, the tip precisely pressed against Ramos Timayat's back.
"Do you want to die?" The cold voice carried uncontainable killing intent.
Egyptian curse magic was invariably connected to the soul, and after soul damage, the most direct reaction was mental confusion.
Like poison silently spreading in the dark night, initially often undetectable. Most people were absorbed in daily trivialities, paying no attention.
Until irreversible physical decline occurred—but by then, it was beyond salvation...
Since the Timayat family entered British wizarding society, pureblood nobles had been very sensitive to this, even purchasing large quantities of anti-curse amulets from Egypt at great cost.
The Slytherins looked at Ramos Timayat with wariness and hostility...
"Don't misunderstand..."
Ramos Timayat made no movement, merely shaking his head with a smile.
"Theodore, I just want to check Father. You know, no one understands the terror of soul curses better than I do. I'm worried too."
"Father..."
Marcus and others couldn't decide, all instinctively looking toward Tiger with anxious eyes.
"Sigh, really..."
Under everyone's gaze, Tiger sighed somewhat helplessly.
That was just how Shelbys were—they always showed rare kindness to their own people.
He slowly stood up. The cats gathered on him scattered to the floor.
Like bubbles gently bursting in silence, "Gunpowder" gradually became nothing, leaving only the real Gunpowder curled in Tiger's arms, lazily nuzzling his ear.
"Don't worry. I've been studying the family's enchantment books recently. No progress, so that's why..."
Real men didn't need lies to embellish their abilities.
Can do it or can't—that's it.
Tiger hated hypocrisy. Regarding his own setbacks, he was quite frank, with no taboos.
As for Father's explanation, the Slytherins naturally believed without doubt.
But this trust didn't extend to Ramos Timayat. The killing intent in Theodore Nott's eyes grew stronger.
"Father..."
Ramos Timayat paid no attention to this. He stepped forward two paces and bowed:
"I still maintain my earlier suggestion."
Seeing Tiger frown slightly, his tone shifted.
"Forgive my presumption—Egyptian 'Sacred Script' is equally unique in enchantment."
"Perhaps after examination, we could discuss it. I hope it might inspire you..."
As he spoke, Ramos Timayat extended his palm, showing Tiger his scarab beetle.
On the dazzling golden shell, ancient hieroglyphic light faintly flowed, as if carrying the distant past—ancient and mysterious...
"Hm?"
Tiger immediately became interested. Before Marcus and others could stop him, he reached out and took it.
"How does this thing work?"
Ramos Timayat fell silent briefly, then spoke through gritted teeth: "Just place it in your palm. It will enter your body and examine your soul through your organs."
In fact, before saying this, he was already prepared to be killed on the spot by Tiger.
But facing Father's safety—how could he retreat in fear of death!
However, to Ramos Timayat's surprise, Tiger didn't hesitate at all—he directly held the scarab in his palm, watching it burrow under his skin...
"Father!" Marcus and others cried out in alarm, but Tiger raised his hand to interrupt.
"I trust Timayat."
Hearing this, Theodore Nott decisively put away his wand, his cold eyes returning to emptiness.
Tiger didn't continue speaking.
Instead, he watched with interest as the bulge on his arm crawled toward his heart.
Venom's malice perception could clearly sense Ramos Timayat's emotions.
Rather than Tiger trusting Timayat, it was more that Tiger's trust in Venom was absolute.
"My lord..."
Ancient Egyptian whispers quietly arose. Ramos Timayat trembled with excitement.
He had completely fallen before Tiger—no one could resist such a sovereign.
However, just then, Tiger's brow furrowed. The scarab inside his body seemed to encounter resistance. Immediately after, uncontrollable scorching heat waves suddenly erupted.
Blinding, surging flames reflected in Ramos Timayat's constricted pupils.
"Great Osiris!"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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