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"Welcome!"
The Great Hall.
Dumbledore rose slowly. A warm smile spread across his face. He looked at the newly sorted first-years. His words carried reassurance and ease.
"Regarding the Dementors—please don't worry. They'll only be stationed at the school's entrances..."
"But I must be clear."
"No one may leave the school without my personal permission. Those jailers from Azkaban don't understand requests. Or deception."
Candlelight drifted overhead like stars. Made his glasses gleam.
Dumbledore paused.
Then turned toward the Slytherin table. His tone grew heavier:
"Of course, they're merely executing Ministry business. They won't enter the school."
"So I hope all prefects—and our newly appointed Student Council Presidents—can reassure their houses. Avoid conflict with them at all costs..."
Percy Weasley straightened instinctively. Then deflated like a punctured balloon. He turned toward Dumbledore. Confused eyes held helplessness.
He'd heard from Ron what happened on the train. Forget fourteen—even four destroyed Dementors was unprecedented.
He'd gained new clarity about Shelby's power. And madness.
This guy was scarier than Dementors.
Was he supposed to throw his life away?
This Student Council President position...
Maybe he didn't need it that badly.
[Stop who?]
[Stop that beast?]
Catching Dumbledore's gaze, Gemma Farley instantly understood. Her delicate brow arched. Full of doubt and confusion.
Dumbledore responded with an extremely certain smile. Nodded almost imperceptibly.
Completely disregarding whether she'd survive.
"Merlin's fishnet stockings."
"Is this old man joking?"
The noble girl touched her forehead. For the first time in her life, her cold, elegant face showed weakness and collapse.
Truth was—
She didn't want to be Student Council President.
But Dumbledore knew things about her situation. As an exchange, he'd allow her to become Muggle Studies professor after graduation.
When not looking at Tiger, she could maintain some rationality. So she knew clearly:
This one thing?
She genuinely couldn't do it.
When this beast hunted, standing lookout was already her absolute limit.
This old bee...
Did he misunderstand love potions somehow?
Thoughts surged like waves.
Gemma glanced at Tiger involuntarily. But in an instant, she jerked her gaze away like she'd been shocked.
The noble girl tapped her head lightly. Tried driving away the sudden craving and sweetness flooding her mind. Then waved weakly at Dumbledore.
Stop it.
This love potion antidote—
Wasn't absolutely necessary to research.
Worst case, she'd take over the family's French operations after graduation. Endure four or five years until the potion wore off.
Of course, this was Gemma's least desired choice. Pure-blood pride wouldn't let her run away like a failure. She'd sworn to conquer this beast!
"Happily, two new professors have joined our ranks this year..."
Sensing both new presidents' resistance, Dumbledore sighed quietly. Felt somewhat exhausted.
If he had any other option—
He really didn't want to face Tiger alone. That Obscurus's growth rate was terrifying.
Even he could only suppress and exhaust it now. Defeating it? Still unknown.
The Forbidden Forest's biodiversity was creating an unprecedented monster. Sometimes he genuinely worried Tiger would lose control of this "Obscurus"...
Temporarily setting aside his concerns, Dumbledore introduced Remus Lupin and Hagrid. His gleaming eyes filled with affirmation for both.
Tiger frowned slightly.
This new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—he felt inexplicable disgust and resistance.
Yet Venom sensed nothing wrong. Including hellfire. He'd checked on the train. No one could fake their soul.
Strange...
Tiger stared at the staff table. Like a beast prowling the jungle, selecting prey.
Professor Flitwick, most sensitive to instinct, glanced left and right uncomfortably. Didn't know who'd provoked this kid. Hagrid? Remus?
Wait...
Tiger's gaze paused.
Locked onto his Head of House. The usually cold Slytherin professor displayed visible anger. His sallow face twisted with hostility.
Unprecedented.
But—
Tiger felt oddly relieved.
At least someone shared his feelings. Which meant this new professor wasn't special to him...
The feast soon reached its end.
The torturous school song segment. But everyone was surprised—Slytherin, who usually speed-mumbled through it, actually sang. In a Viking war chant style. Some even threw in death growls.
This inexplicable surge of passion made people want to charge out and tear those damn Dementors apart.
"Excellent, this is music..."
"Full of beautiful and warming power."
Dumbledore sighed lightly. Praised insincerely. Of course, if he'd actually resisted his headache instead of rubbing his temples, Slytherin's snakes might've believed him.
Students formed lines. Filed out of the Great Hall. Dumbledore gave Tiger a meaningful look. Then disappeared through the side door with Professor McGonagall.
"Tiger..."
Hermione stood on tiptoes. Waved Gunpowder in her hand. Showed Tiger the cat would sleep with her tonight. Her slightly puffed cheeks held smugness.
Seeming to sense Gunpowder's ill intent—
Tiger's eye twitched. Shot the cat a warning look. Then left the Great Hall first.
No one knew better than him:
How vindictive felines were.
Until that eight-eyed spider got chewed into swiss cheese, Gunpowder wouldn't come back.
"Shafiq..."
Under Riley Shafiq's exasperated yet amused gaze, Tiger shamelessly borrowed her big cat. His fierce, serious expression held unspeakable earnestness.
Like without the big cat tonight, this bastard couldn't sleep. Riley crossed her arms. Found this bastard oddly... cute sometimes...
Wait?
Cute?
Damn, I must be insane!
Riley nodded in horror.
Tiger felt annoyed.
His attitude had been perfectly polite.
Meanwhile, Hermione happily hugged Gunpowder back. Took a deep sniff.
Because Gunpowder didn't just smell like cat. But also like Tiger, that big tiger.
With this scent—
Miss Chipmunk could sleep soundly.
Just as she glanced back at Tiger's retreating form—her satisfied, content smile froze on her lips. Her eyes turned furious.
Atop Gemma Farley's thick hair—fluffy cat ears had appeared.
Her eyes had become emerald vertical slits. Gleaming with feline cunning and agility.
Her rosy lips curved upward. A smile both provocative and smug. Like a cat showing off its prey to Hermione. Flaunting her trophy.
Not kicking this damn man out of bed tonight would already be Gemma Farley's final mercy.
"That damn bitch!"
Miss Chipmunk ground her teeth audibly. Even Gunpowder in her arms didn't smell sweet anymore...
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