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Rain kept falling. No sign of stopping. Droplets hammered the Black Lake. Splashed up layers of spray. Formed patches of hazy mist.
Staring at the torrential downpour outside the castle—
Tiger stopped under the portico.
Damp, cold wind tore through the castle. His wide wizarding robes snapped loudly.
Filch, responsible for opening the doors, hugged himself tight. Shook like a leaf. Face pale.
"Why'd we stop?"
"God, it's freezing."
"It's pouring out there."
"Morning training canceled?"
"Impossible. Even if knives were falling, Father would take us out. Don't get your hopes up, first-years. For Slytherin, that's taboo."
"Hobbes."
"My dear brother, if you want to learn the new wand-sword combat style, you need a strong body..."
Slytherin's snakes stopped behind Tiger. Murmurs spread. Especially first-years—staring at Tiger's back with pleading eyes.
"Bursted."
"Today we'll just warm up climbing stairs. Ten rounds. Give the first-years time to adapt."
"Other exercises temporarily canceled..."
Under male prefect Bursted's stunned gaze—
Tiger turned and walked out of the portico. Gestured for Slytherin to follow.
The snakes' cheers rose faintly.
After two years together—
Tiger had gradually understood pure-blood nobility's so-called dignity. Not superficial pretense. But pride and honor rooted deep in their blood.
No need to trample it.
No need to make Slytherins who'd already grasped reality struggle miserably in mud.
Just as they always showed him respect.
Tiger could clearly sense everyone around him quietly undergoing transformation.
So—
Why couldn't he change a little too?
(￣^￣)(?`ω′)?
But some faces...
Didn't need too much mercy.
Goyle, caught slacking, got dragged from a corner. Facing this unrepentant fatass, Tiger's fierce mouth curved into a chilling arc.
Then—
Before the first-years' pale faces—
He threw Goyle straight down from the eighth floor. Shrill screams echoed through Hogwarts' stairwell.
(」???)?(」???)?
Minutes later, Crabbe—thinking he'd escaped—got grabbed by Tiger. Held upside-down by the Basilisk staff. Swung like a baseball bat. Launched from the seventh floor.
Accompanied by terrified howls—
The fat, sturdy figure whistled downward. Grazed the slowly moving stairs. Kicked up a gale.
First-years' screams rose and fell.
Dense footsteps grew more frantic. The empty castle filled with chaotic rumbling.
Other Slytherins looked completely used to it. Hogwarts had protective magic. These two idiots who never learned wouldn't die from falling.
Besides, Father hadn't used his gun today. Already pretty good. They didn't dare ask for more.
Dumbledore said Dementors couldn't be reasoned with?
Laughable.
Try reasoning with Father?
If Winchester's barrel didn't get shoved in your mouth, that counted as Father being understanding...
┐(￣ヮ￣)┌(???)
After upperclassmen explained, Slytherin first-years nearly cried. But Millicent Bursted's screams followed immediately. Blocked their mouths shut.
That was Prefect Bursted's sister!
Merlin's coffin lid...
Was this really Slytherin?
Nothing like what their families said!
"Neville... Neville... my God... how did you... keep going..."
Harry stumbled out of formation. Leaned against the wall. Gasped heavily. Sweat dripped from his forehead.
His heavy chest felt like fire burned inside. Every breath brought throat-deep dryness and pain.
He looked at Neville in disbelief.
You call this a warm-up?!
The Savior, determined to change, left Gryffindor common room on day one with Neville.
Then, under Malfoy's shocked and contemptuous gaze, walked firmly into the Quidditch team's formation.
But he truly hadn't expected what Neville experienced would be so difficult for him.
"Keep going?"
"No, Harry."
"I've never really kept going."
Neville shook his head seriously. Then steadied Harry's weak legs. Kept climbing stairs.
Unlike other snakes, Slytherin Quidditch team's training load tripled at minimum.
Their time was tight.
"Then how do you do it..."
Harry gritted his teeth. Tried desperately to match Neville's pace. Didn't want to drag down Neville's stamina. Didn't want to burden his friend's progress.
"Tiger told me..."
Neville wiped sweat from his forehead. Looked toward Tiger's back. His white teeth gleamed brilliantly.
"If you can't fly, then run. If you can't run, then walk. If you can't walk, then crawl. Either way, you have to keep moving forward."
The words seemed to hold power.
Neville's steps quickened. His grip on Harry's arm grew stronger. His kind, determined eyes turned to the Savior.
"Harry, compared to Marcus and them, I've never really kept going."
"I've been injured. Broken my leg..."
"Passed out. Every day thinking about quitting. Cried at night about being useless."
"But, Harry."
"None of that's a reason to stop."
"Today's me—"
"Has to be stronger than yesterday's me!"
"I'll make my parents proud. I'll hold up the Longbottom family. I'll personally drive a stake through that son of a bitch Voldemort's heart!"
Staring at Neville's resolute eyes, Harry felt indescribable shock surge through him.
He saw his friend's inner conviction and determination. Like flames burning bright. Inadvertently illuminating his own path forward.
The timid, cowardly little fat boy had completely disappeared. Replaced by a great warrior sharpening his blade. A true brave soul.
This moment, Neville's smile was extraordinarily radiant.
Harry stared, almost dazed. But then he laughed heartily. Broke free from Neville's support.
"You're right, Neville."
As if cheering himself on, Harry looked intensely toward the front of the formation.
"I'll be stronger than yesterday. I'll make my parents proud too. Then when you drive in that stake, I'll help you hammer it down!"
"Haha!"
Neville grinned. Didn't look back. Only his echoing gasps grew more excited and heavy.
"I can't wait for that day, Harry!"
"Me neither!"
As usual—
Slytherin's breakfast switched to Chinese dim sum and dishes with more complex, varied flavors.
First-years who'd been secretly crying about wanting to go home suddenly faced a life-choice-level dilemma.
Incredulous whispers spread.
First-years from other houses looked enviously at the Slytherin table. Quietly asked upperclassmen if they could eat some too.
But—
The answer was disappointing.
Cedric helplessly consoled dejected Hufflepuff first-years. Promised he'd learn Chinese cooking.
For badgers—
Nothing mattered more than food.
"Is this what a pure-blood house is like..."
A little boy sorted into Gryffindor stared at his twin sister in Slytherin. Drooled with envy.
Sorting day, he'd cursed his sister as a family traitor. Now he regretted it deeply.
"Wait, pure-blood..."
"President Weasley..."
Seeing this distant relative boy look at him expectantly, Percy coughed awkwardly.
"Moira, Gryffindor's pure-bloods..."
"Uh... are rather frugal..."
"These things... we don't have..."
Nearby, Ron's complaints suddenly came: "Please, Hermione, let me have one more bite."
"Just one. Please..."
Percy: (?_?)
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