"We are the champions!"
"We are the champions!"
"Glory eternal to Slytherin!"
"Cheers!"
The feast spread before them was magnificent, yet watching the jubilant celebrations at the Slytherin table, Harry found every bite tasted like ash.
Malfoy's intermittent mocking glances only deepened his dejection.
Though Ron and the others insisted the loss wasn't his fault—that catching the Golden Snitch had been achievement enough—Harry couldn't shake his torment over the match.
Professor McGonagall, Wood, the Weasley twins—he'd seen everyone's expectations written in their eyes. He'd flown the fastest broom available, been fiercely protected by his teammates...
That girl Lisa had been devastatingly clever.
She'd shown zero interest in pursuing the Snitch, instead harassing him relentlessly while casually munching sweets, waiting with infuriating patience until the score gap became insurmountable.
He hadn't caught the Golden Snitch.
Slytherin had gifted it to him.
Hermione approached with an armload of thick tomes. One glance at Harry's expression told her exactly what the stubborn fool was brooding about.
She knew better than to argue when he spiraled into self-recrimination. The only solution was strategic distraction.
Hermione dropped her books with deliberate force, the sharp thud snapping both boys to attention.
She leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping to an intriguing whisper:
"Guess who I encountered in the library?"
"The library?" Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks before focusing on her with sudden intensity.
"Snape?"
"The greasy git?"
Their recent conversations had revolved obsessively around Snape and the fourth floor—especially topics requiring hushed voices.
"No—Hagrid." Hermione wagged her finger, eyes still bright with surprise and amusement.
"He was searching for Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit. I happened to have it checked out, so I let him borrow it..."
"Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit?"
Harry and Ron stared in bewildered confusion.
Hermione had needed that book to research dragon blood's twelve uses for exam preparation.
Hagrid seeking the same text meant...
Ron's thoughtful expression suddenly crystallized into horror.
"He wouldn't—that's completely illegal."
Harry swallowed hard, his voice tight with dawning realization. "Hagrid did mention once that he'd always wanted to raise a dragon."
"We have to investigate!" Both boys shot to their feet, faces flushed with excitement.
Beyond their concern for Hagrid, neither had ever seen a living dragon!
"You go ahead—I haven't finished eating yet," Hermione said calmly. "I'll join you shortly."
Watching their eager departure, Hermione smiled knowingly, discretely sliding her copy of Child Psychology to the bottom of her book stack.
Boys were remarkably predictable creatures.
"When dragons steal his beloved maiden fair~
The Billywig forgets to spin through air~
When sweethearts flee from lover's embrace~
Even unicorns lose their horned grace~
And hippogriffs..."
Night had descended over Hogwarts.
Slytherin's victory celebration continued in magnificent style.
The serpents had transformed into creatures of elegance, donning exquisite evening wear and crystal goblets as they glided through their common room in sophisticated revelry.
The Slytherin dungeon had become a nobleman's ballroom—atmosphere electric yet refined.
Center stage showcased Corban Yaxley and his companions, who'd formed an impromptu orchestra with various magical instruments providing enchanting accompaniment.
Tracey Davis had shed her usual reserved demeanor, resplendent in a shimmering obsidian gown as she performed haunting fairy ballads with ethereal grace.
Her fingertips traced delicate patterns through the air, conjuring brilliant silver dust that danced with sentient beauty, transforming into the mythical creatures described in her lyrics.
Creatures soared, spiraled, and dissolved in mesmerizing displays, adding dreamlike mystique to the celebration.
Young Slytherins surrounded the stage in rapt attention. Pansy Parkinson gazed with starry-eyed wonder while applause and cheers erupted spontaneously.
At Bursed and the others' insistence, Tiger had donned a meticulously tailored black suit that transformed his typically forbidding presence into something approaching aristocratic dignity.
"Is that really Shafiq?" he marveled.
"Selwyn plays drums?"
"Bloody hell—I had no idea they possessed such talents."
Witnessing this unexpected artistry, Tiger laughed with genuine delight, displaying rare admiration for his fellow serpents.
At least he couldn't manage such refined accomplishments.
"Shelby, care for refreshment?" Gemma Farley positioned herself gracefully at the makeshift bar, every movement calculated seduction.
"Burke—two whiskeys."
"My absolute pleasure, Prefect," Raven Burke replied with theatrical flourish, playing bartender with obvious relish.
Gemma turned toward Tiger, her lengthy lashes carrying traces of moisture as she blinked with deliberate coquettishness—equal parts mischief and provocation.
"No... water will suffice..."
Tiger swallowed reflexively.
Her slightly curled tresses cascaded lazily across bare shoulders, pale shoulder blades visible through silken strands. The emerald evening gown sculpted her figure with devastating precision.
Beautiful? Absolutely stunning.
But...
"Mother forbids alcohol consumption before majority age," he explained with genuine regret. "Violation would result in a personal introduction to the Almighty's posterior..."
Tiger sighed mournfully, his attention steadfastly avoiding the female prefect's obvious charms.
Faced with the whiskey sliding toward him, he pushed the crystal tumbler away with visible anguish.
"Relax, Shelby," Gemma purred with barely contained exasperation. "This is a private celebration—no maternal surveillance exists here. Besides, the wizarding world operates beyond divine jurisdiction..."
This beast's imposing physique and mature reasoning consistently obscured his actual age, while her careful preparation seemed utterly wasted.
That detail alone confirmed his fundamental youth.
"Trust my experience," Tiger replied without meeting her gaze—he despised having his thoughts manipulated. Accepting ice water from Burke, he drained it with melancholic determination.
"Mothers represent forces more terrifying than celestial deities. Her intuition approaches supernatural accuracy..."
Nearby, thunderous applause erupted as Tracey Davis curtsied elegantly before descending from the stage.
Lisa bounced up energetically, claiming the guitar and launching into cheerful melodies while couples below began swaying to the infectious rhythms.
"How was my performance, Farley?" Tracey settled gracefully between them, strategically blocking Gemma's increasingly predatory attention.
Others might remain oblivious, but she recognized her best friend's escalating ambitions beyond mere clothing theft...
You're attempting intoxication?! Do you comprehend the legal ramifications?! That beast is eleven years old!
Reading Tracey's exaggerated expression and understanding its meaning, Gemma finally lowered her head sheepishly.
One serpent after another claimed the stage, each performance intensifying the common room's jubilant atmosphere.
Novel as the entertainment proved, the classical musical selections left Tiger drowsy, stifling involuntary yawns.
Ramos Timayat concluded his Egyptian ballad to enthusiastic applause before descending and claiming the seat beside Tiger.
"Father, won't you grace us with a performance?" The Egyptian boy's cheeks still glowed with post-performance exhilaration.
"Yes, Father!"
"Merlin's sacred violin—we implore you!"
"Tonight celebrates victory!"
"Your victory!"
"Please, Father!"
Timayat's words sparked sudden realization among the gathered serpents, their calls growing increasingly insistent. Even Theodore regarded Tiger with hopeful expectation.
"Shelby," Gemma whispered, pressing against his side with calculated intimacy, her pale arm draping across his shoulders. "You've already refused me once. True gentlemen never disappoint ladies."
Her warm, honeyed breath tickled Tiger's ear with maddening precision.
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