"Slytherin!"
The Sorting ceremony ended hastily.
As the Sorting Hat announced the final student, Professor McGonagall gave brief instructions before hurrying out through the Great Hall's side door.
Professor Sprout also seemed to have heard some terrible news. With a pained cry, she quickly departed with several seventh-year Hufflepuff students.
Though the atmosphere felt strange, the feast continued as usual, just less lively than before, with puzzled whispers weaving together.
Until Dumbledore rose.
After introducing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, the mood gradually lifted.
The young wizards took an immediate liking to this brilliantly smiling famous author, especially after he told a few well-timed jokes, and warm laughter finally spread throughout the hall.
Seeing Dumbledore still acting so genial yet unserious, Tiger's hands itched with the desire to give the old codger a couple of electric blasts—a wish that had never left his list.
As the school song ended—what could only be described as a personal attack—Tiger rubbed his throbbing temples and was first to leave the Great Hall, with male prefect Burstrode leading the group close behind.
"Absolutely laughably stupid."
"Good Lord, how is he the savior?"
"His owl probably got turned into soup by the Weasleys—otherwise why would he think to drive a car to school?"
On the way back to the common room, news spread to all houses about Harry and Ron's flying car going out of control and crashing into the Whomping Willow.
Throughout the Slytherin group, exasperated and amused complaints echoed everywhere, especially from children of Death Eater families.
They truly couldn't understand how the Dark Lord, who had once terrorized the entire British wizarding world, could have fallen to such an idiot.
"Professor Sprout must be furious."
"If I were her, I'd soak those two morons in dragon dung fertilizer tonight."
Snickering arose.
Every Hogwarts student knew the Whomping Willow was Professor Sprout's precious baby.
From the Gryffindor group came sounds of delighted and surprised celebration, as if witnessing a hero's return.
Hermione pressed her lips tightly together, walking at the very back of the group, her aura darker than a storm cloud.
She couldn't understand how these two always managed to find the one suicidal option among a pile of correct answers.
Seeing the girl's face black as a cauldron bottom, Tiger snorted softly and patted Gunpowder's bottom.
"Go keep her company."
"Otherwise she'll die of rage tonight."
Though Hermione possessed Gryffindor traits, Gryffindor logic was completely opposite to hers.
Tiger could even imagine how lively the Gryffindor common room would be tonight.
These simple-minded little lions were always expecting a "great adventure," and Harry and Ron had thoroughly satisfied their wishes...
The cat yawned lazily, then jumped from Tiger's arms, raised its tail, and ran to Hermione.
"Gunpowder?!"
"How did you get here?!"
The moment she saw Gunpowder, Hermione's furrowed brow relaxed considerably. She crouched down and picked up the cat.
"Did Tiger send you?"
Gunpowder flicked its fluffy ears, curled into a ball, and wrapped its tail around Hermione's wrist, clearly indicating she should hurry and take it back to sleep.
Hermione couldn't help smiling.
When she looked back toward Tiger, the Slytherin group had already disappeared into the dungeons...
"Pure-blood."
"That's this week's password. Don't forget it."
Back in the common room, travel fatigue quietly crept up on everyone, but the Slytherins didn't return to their dormitories. Instead, they gathered throughout the common room, seemingly waiting for something.
"Father, anything to say?"
Meeting the curious and nervous gazes of the new students, male prefect Burstrode approached Tiger and bowed slightly.
Tiger's eyes darkened as he scanned the room. Quite a few Slytherins guiltily lowered their heads.
"Nothing worth wasting words on."
"Tomorrow morning as usual—five-kilometer run, five-hundred-meter frog jumps, one hundred push-ups and such..."
"Quidditch team members double it."
"Later I'll add combat training."
"I hope you didn't waste this holiday."
Amid the little snakes' expressions of collapse and agony, Tiger waved his hand and walked toward the dormitory, yawning.
"New students get half portions—adapt first."
"Draco, Pansy, you lead the groups..."
Whether you're good or bad, physical strength is most crucial. At least when Aurors come for you, you won't just stupidly wave your wands—when necessary, wands can also be thrust into enemies' chests.
This was what Tiger often told the little snakes.
"So, you all heard?"
Facing the group of agonized little snakes, male prefect Burstrode's smile didn't reach his eyes.
He knew perfectly well how lazy these young lords and ladies would have been during their blissful, carefree holiday.
Pure-blood aristocratic indolence couldn't be eliminated in just one year. As for graduated students, they'd already received joint letters from him and other family heirs.
Selwyn, Gaunt, Martina—I hope you won't disappoint Father...
Burstrode gazed into the distance with a smile that wasn't quite a smile, his deep, dark eyes seeming to pierce through space, fixing on certain people...
The next morning, accompanied by terrified, piercing screams and pleas for mercy, Winchester gunshots echoed across the Black Lake shore as Tiger nearly turned the lazy Crabbe and Goyle into sieves.
As Timaeus's sacred scarabs gently descended, the two expertly rolled over and got up, crying as they caught up with the group.
The new students who had been complaining now looked completely drained of color, appearing pale and fragile.
"How are they not dead?!"
Seeing the two blood-covered fat boys, Leon Shafiq's eyes went wide, pupils flashing with terror and confusion.
"How... how dare he..."
Astoria covered her mouth, not daring to make a sound, afraid of drawing Tiger's attention.
"This is Slytherin."
"This isn't a place for raising waste."
"Don't think you can play lord and lady here. Before pure-blood aristocrats, you're nothing, and before that man, pure-blood aristocrats are nothing..."
"Run faster! Do you want to die!"
Hearing Miss Pansy's scolding, uncontrollable trembling and barely concealed panic gradually spread.
"I... already... said..."
"They... need to... lose weight..."
Foaming at the mouth, Blaise was pulled along by Theodore, both gritting their teeth and constantly adjusting their breathing.
"Shut up, Blaise!"
"You're the one who needs to lose weight!"
"Damn bastard, did you spend the holiday eating feed squeezed from your stepfather!"
Hearing his friend's cursing, Blaise forced out a smile, foam spraying from his mouth. "Theodore, you're getting more and more like Shelby."
"Shut up!"
Theodore quietly smiled.
"Damn... Shelby... I shouldn't have... gone to Knockturn Alley... to help him..."
"Those... useless werewolves... why didn't they... eat him... damn..."
"I'm going to... write this bastard... and... Snivellus... in my book..."
As Tiger announced a rest break, Riley Shafiq helped the staggering Gemma Farley sit down. The female prefect, unable to breathe through her mouth, was nearly fainting, yet still wouldn't abandon her plan.
Lisa collapsed onto the grass with a "thump," her chest heaving violently, not wanting to move even a finger.
Even so, she continued cursing Tiger's inhuman behavior, her expression nearly twisted with rage.
The other girls silently watched her, completely agreeing in their hearts. At this moment, they no longer wanted to see chest muscles...
They wanted to see much more!
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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