Since Halloween night, more than a month had passed.
Venom's troll-devouring spectacle had been broadcast throughout Gryffindor by Ron, then spread like wildfire across all of Hogwarts.
Hermione wielded her Potions textbook like a war hammer, cornering Ron in the boys' dormitory for three solid days of educational violence. Witnessing the lioness in full fury, Harry and Neville pressed themselves against the walls, not daring to breathe.
Truth be told, they harbored their own grievances about Ron's chronic verbal incontinence—someone definitely needed to address this problem.
Only when Ron dissolved into tearful confession did Hermione finally relent. She understood this particular breed of idiot intimately.
Ron hadn't intended to slander Tiger—his motivations were purely boastful. Unfortunately, the world's most abundant resource remained mindless sheep who parroted whatever they heard.
Wordless terror had metastasized throughout every House.
Following Professor Snape's coronation as the "Serpent King," Tiger earned the magnificent title of "Basilisk."
Tiger remained supremely indifferent.
Gang violence and ruthlessness had always taken root in the fertile soil of public consciousness—like nocturnal vines feeding on fear's nourishment, expanding without restraint.
He'd grown accustomed to this dynamic long ago.
More accurately, he found it deeply satisfying.
Such terror functioned as an invisible barrier, deflecting countless annoyances and complications. Gryffindor and Slytherin conflicts erupted regularly, yet nobody dared challenge him directly.
Perfect.
He possessed zero interest in bullying children.
Of course, should someone demonstrate sufficient intelligence and courage, gang intimidation would collapse like a clown stripped of his stage—leaving only absurdity and impotence, unable to maintain past shadows and threats.
Only such individuals merited Tiger's equal treatment. He was a gangster, certainly, but fundamentally a good person.
Good people should unite and pulverize every villain into excrement-like fragments.
As for identifying the villains?
Naturally, Tiger made those determinations.
"Actually, I'm a pacifist."
After dinner, watching Dumbledore's hastily retreating figure, Tiger sighed with genuine regret, completely oblivious to the other Slytherins' complex emotional states.
Venom's undisguised malevolence had been detected by Dumbledore long ago. Nobody wanted that creature's attention—including the wizarding world's greatest white wizard.
Venom might lose eventually, but Dumbledore couldn't guarantee victory.
For the first time in his extraordinarily long life, Dumbledore felt ashamed of his legendary verbal talents.
Throughout this entire month, the headmaster had studiously avoided private meetings with Tiger.
[Can't we just storm the headmaster's office?]
[Smash that bastard's statue!]
Since acquiring the troll's magic-resistant hide, Venom's confidence had inflated beyond all reasonable proportions.
The symbiote had even demanded to sleep atop the fireplace woodpile, craving the experience of flame-scorched warmth.
Only when Tiger's right hand erupted in blazing fire did Venom finally shut up.
The symbiote could sense intuitively that Tiger's flames bore no resemblance to ordinary fire whatsoever.
[Don't even consider it.]
[That fossil reinforced the statue with strengthening charms—the Weasley twins already tested it for me.]
Tiger responded with irritation. He despised this sensation of being a dog trying to bite a hedgehog—no viable angle of attack.
[Damn it!][Fuck!]
Both cursed creatively as they approached the common room.
The current Slytherin common room had undergone complete metamorphosis.
Luxuriously soft emerald velvet sofas sprawled throughout the space with casual elegance—their very appearance promising the satisfaction of sinking into cloud-like comfort.
Silver obsidian tables displayed abandoned wizard chess sets, transforming former austere coldness into pervasive warmth and contentment.
Moldy, oppressive walls had vanished entirely. Yesterday's gloomy drapery had been consigned to rubbish bins, replaced by a dazzling sanctuary of comfort.
Beneath the lake's shifting luminescence, moonstone and obsidian arranged in chessboard patterns radiated unprecedented brilliance. Not a trace of past darkness or gloom remained visible.
Slytherin boys yanked off their ties, collapsing ungracefully across the sofas.
The girls pursed their lips disapprovingly, planning dormitory costume changes before returning.
Under Gemma Farley's collective leadership, the common room had received comprehensive renovation.
Spell practice chambers, coffee houses, music halls, dance studios, gymnasiums, potions laboratories, cooking stations—virtually every serpentine desire had been accommodated.
Marcus led the Quidditch team toward the gymnasium. Tomorrow's match against Gryffindor permitted no relaxation—if technique proved insufficient, raw strength would compensate.
Raven Bork donned an expensive butler's uniform with mercenary satisfaction, adjusting white gloves with professional precision.
He entered his meticulously designed bar area, beginning elegant beverage preparation services—for appropriate compensation, naturally.
"Fifth years and above may order alcoholic beverages. Younger students are restricted to mixed drinks."
Amid dissatisfied grumbling, Blaise Zabini ordered butterbeer, watching upper-year students' revelry with envious longing.
Lisa approached the fireplace cooking station. Within minutes, cookie aromas saturated the common room, drawing freshly changed girls like moths to flame.
"Now this is living..."
Tiger stretched luxuriously before retreating to his dormitory.
Remembering the past—students returning to the common room like corpses crawling into sewers, wearing stiff, nauseating artificial smiles.
Rushing water echoed from the washroom.
The dormitory door cracked open slightly. An elegant shadow drifted silently into the prefect's quarters.
Moments later, the shadow departed with equal stealth, a Cleaning Charm erasing all evidence.
As the washroom door opened, cloud-like steam billowed forth.
"Refreshing..."
Tiger toweled his hair casually, emerging from the mist in a loose bathrobe.
Water droplets traced the contours of his blood-engorged chest muscles, disappearing beneath cold white abdominals...
Suddenly, Tiger's hair-drying motion froze completely. His predatory gaze fixed on the bed with lethal intensity.
His previously scattered clothing had been folded with military precision—except for one missing piece of underwear.
"Goddamn it!"
The towel struck the floor like a thunderclap. His hate-contorted face darkened to cauldron-bottom black.
"Sour pickle bitch!"
"This is the seventh time this month! I don't have any underwear left!"
Tiger raged with volcanic fury. "Is this demented woman planning to eat them?!"
He knew precisely which pervert was responsible. But whenever he encountered those tear-filled eyes gazing up at him, his sledgehammer fists simply couldn't descend.
Hogwarts weather grew increasingly damp and bitter.
Gray mist perpetually shrouded the Forbidden Forest's distant reaches, while shadowy mountains wore fresh mantles of white snow.
Even so...
"Eyes on me!"
"Perfect weather for acceleration! This will energize your pathetic bodies!"
"Move it!"
"If you're still remotely male!"
Tiger's bellowing voice echoed across the Black Lake while Slytherin students panted in ragged chorus.
Lisa dragged Relly Shafiq along weakly, whispering in disbelief:
"So apparently I've become a man now?!"
Relly Shafiq regulated her breathing while glaring at Tiger's shirtless form leading the pack.
"Perhaps this lunatic..."
"Never considered us women to begin with."
Gemma Farley stared at Tiger's retreating figure, cheeks blazing crimson, eyes radiating fury and shame in equal measure.
Her pillow's "collection" had been completely confiscated last night, Tiger leaving behind only the word "pervert" as commentary.
Given the opportunity, she genuinely wanted to murder Tiger.
Yet the excitement thrumming beneath her skin made those thoughts reverse instantly—she wanted Tiger to destroy her instead.
[Merlin, please end my suffering.]
Gemma Farley buried her face in mortification.
Given today's Quidditch match, Tiger mercifully abbreviated the serpents' exercise regimen. Soon enough, he led the exhausted group back toward the common room.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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