Night fell. Hogwarts' Great Hall gleamed with fresh decorations.
Silver snowflakes swirled across the enchanted ceiling, shifting into patterns.
Enormous Christmas trees stood by the doors, hung with glittering candy.
Students plucked pieces as they passed, tasting holiday sweetness.
All four houses gathered at one long table—boundaries dissolved. Laughter filled every corner.
Until "Tiger" appeared.
The atmosphere shifted.
Unlike others in casual clothes, Tiger wore his usual robes.
Heavy steps like a volcano ready to erupt—suppressed threat. Everyone who noticed him lowered their voices instinctively.
What surprised Slytherins: Riley Shafiq, who usually avoided Father, followed close beside him. Speaking in low tones.
"Oh, look at him..."
"Practically glued to Shafiq."
Lee Jordan's voice dripped with envy.
"Shelby today..."
"Seems different?"
Ravenclaw prefect Penelope whispered. Others nodded:
"He seems really happy."
"Well, it is Christmas."
Riley Shafiq—Slytherin's female prefect's right hand. Tough, capable. Many boys' ideal.
Shoulder-length hair tied back, exposing her smooth forehead. Commanding presence. Her crisp voice always inspired trust.
Tiger maintained his fierce appearance, but his indifferent eyes occasionally revealed traces of cool, gentle amusement.
This subtle shift—like a shooting star—was caught by observant students like Penelope.
Especially toward Riley, that smile held indescribable closeness. Trust. Like parallel lines suddenly intersecting.
On anyone else, unremarkable. But on this fierce, unruly face?
Dissonance crept into their minds.
"I knew it. Shafiq would bow eventually."
"Gemma Farley's sixth year. Not much time left at Hogwarts..."
"Merry Christmas, Father!"
As Tiger sat, Slytherins raised glasses. Victorious smiles. Mockery of Riley's late submission.
Booing echoed clearly.
Riley's face darkened. Her aura dropped frighteningly.
Tiger remained unaffected.
He raised his glass leisurely, meaningful smile sweeping around.
"Merry Christmas, everyone..."
Steady voice carried playfulness.
Gemma Farley didn't care about revealed flaws. She could cover them. But unnecessary.
No one dared touch a tyrant's crown—even worn crooked...
Just then—
Gryffindors exclaimed. Like wheat swaying in wind, students turned.
Lavender Brown and roommates pushed red-faced Hermione step by step into the Hall.
"Trust me, you can do this!"
"Go Hermione!"
The girls laughed and shoved. Miss Know-It-All staggered, stiffly stopping her retreat.
Deep breath. Forcing calm. Her fair face tensed.
Hermione raised her chin proudly, trying to walk naturally toward Tiger.
But burning ears, clutched skirt, trembling lashes—all betrayed her flustered heart.
Curious, surprised, stunned expressions spread across faces.
"Good Lord..."
Ron's eyes widened. He struggled to swallow chicken leg.
"That's... Hermione?!"
Harry removed his glasses. Wiped them. Put them back. Disbelief written across his face.
Her front teeth—gone!!
Like a different person.
Hermione Granger's brownish hair—now brilliant platinum blonde.
Her messy, impossible curls—now hung straight down her back. Smooth as silk.
Small braids woven behind her ears. Elf hairstyle from fairy tales.
The rigid bookworm—vanished. Replaced by a shy forest sprite. Nervous but shining.
"Heh..."
"Quite unexpected."
Riley smiled with schadenfreude. Heart inexplicably satisfied.
At Hogwarts, teenage crushes developed between same-year students.
She hadn't considered it before.
But Hermione had potential. Plus constant classroom contact with Shelby—this little thing could threaten Gemma Farley.
She was happy to see it.
Looking at Tiger's cold expression, Riley restrained her smile. Clicked her tongue:
"The rest is yours."
"I'll keep watch. Otherwise if the real one catches on, this kid will lose it..."
Lose it?
Someone was about to lose it now.
Barely suppressed laughter. Riley patted Tiger's shoulder, then walked expressionlessly toward the exit. Brushed past Hermione.
"Should've used more Aging Potion..."
"What?"
The barely audible murmur made Hermione glance back confused.
Riley's look felt odd—encouragement, regret, ill intent.
But remembering her Slytherin identity, Hermione dismissed it.
"Ti... Tiger..."
"Merry Christmas..."
Bittersweet acorn scent drifted before Tiger. Looking at Hermione's cute sweater and pleated skirt, his cool eyes showed no ripple.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione."
Hermione didn't notice the coldness. Just clutched her skirt tightly, fingertips straining with nervousness. Waiting.
Lavender had said: If a boy likes you, he'll compliment you immediately.
Rational Miss Know-It-All didn't think Tiger would. She didn't have romantic feelings. Just relied on him. A tiny bit.
But inexplicable emotion left that sliver of hope.
Because Tiger's praise made her happy for days...
Heartbeat chaotic like drumbeats. Each strike hitting her courage. Afraid to look up.
Time passed. Tiger never spoke.
When she looked up—Tiger was eating honey butter puffs with knife and fork. Completely ignoring her.
Noticing her dazed gaze, Tiger tilted his head. Voice carried hidden mockery:
"Why are you still here?"
Like ice water crashing down.
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