"Hogwarts?!"
Hearing Mother Polly's murmur, Tiger's expression froze. He was about to say something when the hand gripping his collar loosened, nearly making him tumble backward.
Mother Polly took the letter, reading it with disbelief etched across her weathered features, then looked back at Tiger as if seeing him for the first time.
"Bloody hell!"
"You're a Spontaneous Awakening."
"I should have realized it sooner."
"What?"
"What Spontaneous Awakening?"
Under Tiger's bewildered gaze, Mother Polly shouted at big brother Arthur, who was flirting with a barmaid across the room.
"Arthur! Stop rutting around like a pig in heat!"
"Get your arse over here now!"
With that, she dragged Tiger toward the office behind the bar, muttering under her breath like a woman possessed.
"Damn it, Lawrence!"
"You never told me about this!"
"How could he possibly be accepted!"
"Lawrence?"
Tiger couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
Lawrence was the father of all four brothers—a ghost from their past who cast long shadows over their present.
According to Mother Polly, their father had died in gang warfare ten years ago—on the very day Tiger was born. A birth marked by blood and loss.
Just then, mother and son reached the office. Big brother Arthur hurried in after them, his usual swagger replaced by nervous energy as he locked the door tight.
But Mother Polly ignored him entirely, instead pulling The Tales of Beedle the Bard halfway out from the bookshelf with practiced precision.
Rumble.
The heavy bookshelf slowly slid sideways with mechanical grace, like living water curtains layering upon each other in an impossible dance of wood and magic.
Tiger stared at big brother Arthur in shock, his mind reeling.
He'd grown up in this bar since birth and knew every corner, every creaking floorboard, every stain on the walls.
But he'd never known there was a secret chamber hidden behind their mundane family business!
"Oh, looks like something's finally happened?"
Big brother Arthur stroked his mustache with deliberate calm, showing no surprise whatsoever—only the awkward smile of someone caught in a long-overdue revelation.
"Little Tiger, don't misunderstand."
"Under normal procedure, you should've learned all this when your magic burst at age seven."
"But you're a Spontaneous Awakening, and you seem to have hidden certain... little companions. Polly was furious about the deception."
"So she planned to keep our family secrets hidden from you too, until you turned eleven..."
Sensing his eldest son Arthur's barely concealed amusement, Mother Polly fixed him with a look that could melt steel.
"Damn it, Arthur, shut your babbling mouth and get over here!"
"Call that old bastard out!"
"Right, coming."
Big brother Arthur was so startled he yanked out a whisker, hurrying to the fireplace in the hidden chamber like a scolded schoolboy.
The moment he positioned himself before the fireplace, the previously dead and dark hearth suddenly erupted in fierce flames that seemed to hunger for destruction.
The violently churning firelight pulsed with aggressive desire, constantly surging outward from the fireplace like a caged beast testing its bonds.
But something invisible held it back—though the restraint felt fragile, temporary.
Big brother Arthur calmly pricked his thumb with a silver brooch, flicking droplets of crimson blood into the ravenous flames.
The fire devoured the blood with a hiss and instantly transformed—the aggressive inferno becoming gentle as a hearth fire, warm and welcoming.
The previously painful burning sensation melted into comforting warmth.
Just then, a portrait materialized above the fireplace like smoke given form. The man sitting within the painted frame seemed startled, suddenly lifting his head to peer into the room with sharp, calculating eyes.
"Holy shit..."
"What the bloody hell!"
"This son of a bitch moves!"
Tiger stared at the portrait in shock, every instinct screaming danger.
His muscles involuntarily coiled like springs, and Venom's tendrils slowly crept up his neck beneath his collar—a living armor preparing for battle.
Hearing Tiger suddenly burst out with such colorful profanity, Mother Polly's lips curved up in the faintest hint of pride.
Big brother Arthur covered his eyes with a long-suffering expression.
"Oi, you little bastard!"
"Show some bloody respect!"
"I'm your father!"
The man in the portrait stood up with aristocratic bearing, waving an ornate scepter and glaring at Tiger with eyes that burned like coals.
Though he'd never seen his youngest son in life, looking at the three people in the room, he could make an educated guess about which one had inherited the Shelby mouth.
"Bullshit!"
"I'm your father!"
Tiger was incandescent with rage. He stalked straight toward the portrait, fully intending to hurl this haunted-looking frame into the fireplace and watch it burn.
"Bloody hell!"
"What are you doing!"
The blood magic protecting the fireplace had no effect on direct relatives—a security flaw that was now working against its creator. Seeing Tiger drag over a stool with murderous intent, the man in the portrait let out a shriek that would've made a banshee proud.
"Polly! Polly!"
"For Merlin's sake, do something!"
"Arthur! You useless git!"
"What are you gawking at!"
"Stop this little psychopath!"
Hearing their deceased patriarch's desperate pleas for salvation, the two living Shelbys burst into laughter—the kind of dark amusement that ran in their bloodline.
Then Mother Polly finally called Tiger to heel...
"So..."
"He really is Lawrence?"
After listening to Mother Polly's explanation about magical portraits and their peculiar properties, Tiger finally understood this wasn't some supernatural haunting.
Just advanced magical technology that would've made his previous life's scientists weep with envy.
"Right then, sorry about that!"
"You old bastard."
Hearing his youngest son's gang-flavored apology, Lawrence—who had cautiously settled back into his portrait chair—began twitching at the corners of his eyes like a man developing a nervous condition.
"Well, let's get down to business."
"Lawrence."
"I'm here on serious matters this time."
"I remember you telling me that The Shelby Family is an Enchantment Family—unable to cast spells normally, which is why no magical school would ever accept us."
Hearing Mother Polly's words, father Lawrence in the portrait nodded with absolute certainty, raising his chin with the kind of pride that had probably gotten him killed.
"It's not that no school would accept us—it's that The Shelby Family doesn't need acceptance from any school. We're above such pedestrian concerns."
Mother Polly couldn't be bothered arguing semantics with a dead man and directly produced the Hogwarts acceptance letter, holding it up like evidence in a trial.
"Your youngest son."
"Tiger Shelby."
"Today."
"Received a Hogwarts acceptance letter."
"Impossible!"
Father Lawrence shot up from his seat like a man struck by lightning, rushing to the very edge of the frame as if desperate to crawl through the barrier between painted world and reality.
His black eyes blazed with something between fury and disbelief as he stared at Tiger and Mother Polly.
"Polly, for God's sake!"
"You know this can't be real!"
"The Shelby Family could never receive an acceptance letter! For over a thousand years! Not a single one of us!"
"Oh..."
Big brother Arthur swallowed hard, suddenly understanding the implications—and perhaps seeing metaphorical green light blazing above his father's head like a neon sign of betrayal.
But then his expression shifted to confusion.
Wait. The blood magic protecting the fireplace wouldn't allow anyone except direct relatives to approach—the Fiendfyre within was no joke, and would incinerate any intruder instantly...
Obviously, after his outburst, father Lawrence in the portrait reached the same conclusion.
Seeing his wife Polly's face turn the color of cold iron, he stood frozen with his mouth slightly agape, lost for words. Even his painted eyes darted toward his eldest son Arthur in a silent plea for intervention.
The silence stretched like a blade.
"Tiger..."
"Go burn this cheating bastard."
Mother Polly's voice was ice given sound—each word sharp enough to cut glass.
Tiger raised an eyebrow and stepped toward the portrait without a moment's hesitation. No mercy, no questions asked.
This portrait wasn't really his father anyway.
Just a magical echo possessing the dead man's memories—a ghost made of paint and lies.
Tiger knew that if not for his sake, Mother Polly would never have set foot in this Chamber of Secrets. The only thing she considered his father's true image was the unmoving black and white photograph tucked in her pocket watch.
Their father lived forever in her heart, not in some magical painting.
A phrase she often repeated to the four brothers echoed in his mind:
Your father is your hero.
"Oh Merlin's beard!"
"No no no!"
"Polly! My darling!"
"Trust me, I just misspoke!"
"I just... I love you too much to think straight..."
"Someone, anyone, save me!"
Watching Tiger lift the portrait and advance toward the hungry Fiendfyre, Lawrence cried out from within his painted prison with the desperation of a man facing his second death:
"Listen to me!"
"Tiger, my youngest son!"
"Don't be rash!"
"If you've been accepted to Hogwarts, you might be able to awaken the second stage of our Enchantment Family abilities!"
"I might actually be able to help you!"
Tiger paid no attention to these words—empty promises from a dead man meant nothing to him.
But Mother Polly frowned slightly, her hand shooting up like a traffic signal.
"Tiger!"
The command in her voice stopped him mid-stride, the portrait still clutched in his hands, flames reflecting in his predatory amber eyes.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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