"Tiger, are you alright?"
Before Herbology ended, someone was already escorted out of Greenhouse Three by Professor Sprout.
Besides Neville, who'd forgotten to properly wear his earmuffs, there was the cursing Tiger and Hermione helping him walk out.
The immature Mandrakes looked like bizarre infants carved from tree roots, their ugliness beyond description.
Tiger could even see vicious curses in their twisted "faces" and violent "breathing."
For the first time in his life, a creature had nearly cursed him unconscious.
The Mandrakes' cries were more like roars and curses mixed with despair and fury.
Tiger hadn't heard much through his earmuffs.
But for the slumbering Venom, it was like Mother Polly grabbing its throat, lifting it up, then delivering a thunderous explosion right against its brain.
Violent dizziness and sharp pain, accompanied by shrieks and wails, instantly spread throughout Tiger's body as vicious, filthy curses erupted.
"What the fuck?!"
The stimulated Venom burst from Tiger's body with irrepressible rage and irritation, swallowing the Mandrake in one gulp, then unleashing deafening roars as if to slaughter every living thing nearby.
Fortunately, little Neville suddenly fainting caught its attention, and Tiger regained some clarity.
"Fuck..."
"That thing packs a real punch."
Tiger rubbed his throbbing forehead, sitting on the bench outside the classroom with Hermione's support.
In its weakened state, Venom's resistance to sonic resonance had diminished considerably. He needed to find a way to eliminate this damned weakness.
[Tiger, there's good news.]
[This thing seems effective on me. I need more genetic coding from creatures like this.]
Just then, Venom's slightly surprised voice suddenly rang in Tiger's mind.
Tiger's eyes flickered, then he slowly turned toward Hermione. His somewhat burning gaze made the know-it-all nervously swallow.
"Hermione, I need you..."
Hermione suddenly held her breath, gripping her skirt beneath her robes tightly. Her cheeks flushed faintly as she lowered her head, not daring to meet Tiger's eyes.
"I need you to help me compile a list."
"Including all creatures that can produce shrieks, sonic waves, or eliminate sound..."
"Motherfucker!"
"I can't stand this feeling anymore!"
At this moment, Tiger only thought of Timaeus's sacred beetles.
But Hermione was different. Her library studies weren't limited to textbooks.
Out of curiosity about the magical world, the know-it-all would examine and browse any book.
In terms of knowledge breadth, she far exceeded Tiger.
More importantly, Hermione's father was The Shelby Family's black doctor. Tiger's trust in Hermione far surpassed others.
He didn't want outsiders knowing his weakness. Fortunately, Professor Sprout seemed to understand something, only sternly criticizing him for not wearing his earmuffs properly.
"Is... is that all?"
"Yes, the more the better."
Receiving Tiger's definitive answer, Hermione's eyes suddenly showed inexplicable disappointment.
She didn't understand where this sour, angry feeling came from—just nodded somewhat sullenly.
"Alright, I'll get you the list as soon as possible."
She planned to organize it tonight.
In Greenhouse Three, Tiger's unbearable, heart-wrenching groans had all been witnessed by her. Every subtle tremor from Tiger made her empathize.
She didn't want Tiger hurt again.
Seeing Hermione's inexplicably dejected appearance, Tiger frowned in confusion.
In just a few sentences, Hermione's face had gone from white to red, red to white. He really couldn't understand what she was thinking.
After a moment's silence, Tiger spoke in a slightly apologetic tone:
"Afterward..."
"I'll carefully select a gift for you."
"Really?!"
Hermione suddenly looked up, her eyes sparkling with surprise and anticipation, her whole being coming alive.
"Of course!"
Tiger nodded seriously. "How about a pink Colt Python?"
"Whether for collection or use..."
"Uh, what's wrong?"
"Don't like pink? How about purple?"
Hermione: "(?_?)..."
"Very good, Miss Granger."
"Five points to Gryffindor."
"Now, please draw your wands, review the key points in your minds, then speak the incantation..."
In Transfiguration class, facing the older cat lady's occasional glances, Tiger sighed helplessly.
He had to admit she'd caught his weakness.
Parental signatures.
To trouble him, the older cat lady had created a precedent unprecedented in Hogwarts' centuries of history.
And no mother would take her son's report card casually—especially a string of failing grades.
"Sorry, Professor..."
"I might... need another beetle..."
Ron nervously picked up the smoking beetle. His wand, bound with magical tape, still emitted foul-smelling smoke and occasional sparks.
"Mr. Weasley."
"I think you need a new wand."
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly, her tone somewhat dissatisfied—not at Ron's failed spellcasting, but still angry about his reckless behavior.
The wand broken from the car crash constantly reminded Professor McGonagall how dangerous that night had been.
"Sorry, Professor..."
Ron mumbled a few words, taking the beetle Professor McGonagall handed him and obediently practicing his spellcasting motions.
"Fifty Galleons..."
"Tsk tsk tsk..."
"Enough to buy seven wands..."
Draco's heart-piercing sarcasm drifted from the back row, followed by Crabbe and Goyle's strange laughter.
Ron trembled with rage.
Last night he'd felt so guilty he could barely sleep. If Harry hadn't comforted him, he would have wanted to die.
"Ron, calm down."
Harry gripped his friend's wrist tightly. "In three days, we'll give Malfoy what he deserves."
He felt equally guilty about Mr. Weasley's punishment.
He'd wanted to offer Galleons as compensation, but Mrs. Weasley had been too kind to him—doing so seemed somehow inappropriate.
Too young to understand the complexities, he'd quietly sought out the Weasley Twins.
Sure enough, the twins flatly refused his proposal, pretending nonchalance as they talked him out of it.
This made him feel even more guilty.
Malfoy's mockery was like stabbing knives into his heart...
"You're right, Harry."
Ron glared angrily at Draco, then turned back to repair his wand with frustrated determination.
Unlike her treatment of Ron, the older cat lady stood right beside Tiger, watching his practice with interest.
Each time a beetle died, she'd hand him another, the curve of her lips rising by a pixel.
Looking at the string of beetles impaled on his wand tip, Tiger's spellcasting fundamentals completely vanished from his mind.
The lunch bell rang.
He sighed helplessly, then looked silently at the pleased Professor McGonagall.
"Professor, do you like barbecue skewers..."
Professor McGonagall: "(?_?)"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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