"Uh... Harry... are you sure... we're eating here?"
Hermione looked up at the restaurant's sign, her slightly hesitant expression tinged with hidden pain.
Even though Harry was treating this time.
This was a renowned French restaurant. The head chef was famous. Naturally, the prices weren't cheap either.
Mrs. Granger had mentioned this restaurant to Dr. Granger many times, but only in passing.
Whenever her husband wanted to bring her, Mrs. Granger always cleverly found excuses to avoid it.
Snails and foie gras, that's all.
Eating's the same anywhere...
"Don't worry, Hermione. When school started, I thought about leaving the Dursleys, so I exchanged quite a bit of pounds at Gringotts. Unfortunately, I still can't leave that place yet."
Harry shrugged, seemingly relaxed.
"You know, except for new students, Gringotts doesn't support exchanging pounds for Galleons."
"So this money's just sitting there anyway."
"Thank you for coming out with me today. I really appreciate you all. Please don't refuse. Please."
With that, Harry actively pushed Hermione and the others into the restaurant. The smile on his lips grew deeper.
Though this restaurant looked expensive, to let Neville fully experience the Muggle world and to thank Tiger and Hermione for their company, Harry didn't care.
Compared to friends, the mountains of Galleons piled in Gringotts had never been important to him.
Originally the restaurant had dress code requirements.
But after the manager's gaze landed on Tiger, the words stuck in his throat were ultimately swallowed deep down...
"I'm going to the restroom."
"Just order for me..." Tiger patted Hermione's head and left the table.
He had no interest in French cuisine.
As long as it wasn't sweet enough to kill, that was fine. Miss Chipmunk knew this very well.
Moments later, a male waiter with a dissatisfied expression was assigned by the head waiter to Harry's group.
"Sir, madam, have you decided?"
His impatient tone carried a hint of urging.
Compared to other well-dressed diners, Harry and his group didn't look very wealthy. Their clothing appeared cheaper too.
So no waiter wanted to serve them. It would only delay them from earning more tips.
Every second Harry delayed was torture for the male waiter.
Until a big spender who should have been his arrived at the entrance and was assigned to another waiter by the head waiter.
The male waiter's face completely darkened.
Harry was dazzled by the menu's complex array of appetizers, main courses, desserts, and drinks.
As for the waiter's expression, they didn't notice at all.
"Uh, can I get the pan-seared fish?" After some hesitation, Harry looked up at the waiter.
"Oh, and no walnuts."
The male waiter's lips curved inexplicably. With an uncomfortable gaze, he looked down at Harry and said:
"Sorry, sir."
"We don't substitute ingredients."
Harry blinked blankly, somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm a bit allergic to it..."
"Apologies, that's restaurant policy." The male waiter rudely interrupted Harry.
"Uh, okay, then give me the pork chop..."
"The pork chop has walnut oil."
The male waiter's voice grew slightly louder, causing nearby diners to glance over instinctively.
Hermione also frowned and looked up, pulling her attention away from selecting food for Tiger.
"But..."
Harry's cheeks gradually flushed. Even his hands didn't know where to go. He looked quite embarrassed.
He hadn't realized this was the waiter's harassment. He thought perhaps he wasn't suited to dining in such an environment, making his friends lose face.
"Then substitute olive oil."
"Or we'll squeeze you into oil."
Tiger's low voice sounded behind the male waiter.
Like a beast suddenly roaring in his ear, bone-chilling cold instantly spread through his limbs.
The male waiter's body stiffened. His face instantly went pale. The pen gripped in his hand dropped to the floor.
"S-sorry..."
"Sir... I can... I can..."
Tiger ignored the male waiter's reaction and sat back down, taking the menu Hermione had selected for him.
"Mm, this is fine."
"Add a glass of milk."
Right now he could only drink milk like alcohol.
After shakily taking the remaining menus, the male waiter fled from their sight.
"Thanks, Tiger..."
Harry tried to thank Tiger for the rescue, but Tiger raised his hand to stop him. His fierce eyes lowered slightly.
"Harry, if I were you, I wouldn't just change the main course. I'd change the appetizer too."
"Wh-what?" Harry blinked blankly. "Appetizer... what appetizer..."
Was it really because he didn't know the rules?
He suddenly felt annoyed, thinking he shouldn't have casually brought friends to a place even he wasn't familiar with.
"Change it to that son of a bitch's tongue..."
Tiger elegantly picked up the dinner knife. Under Harry's stunned gaze, he gently pinched the blade.
As his fingertips slowly moved, the originally slightly serrated edge became smooth and flat.
As if given life, the somewhat dull dinner knife gradually bloomed with fierce cold light, dazzling and sharp.
"You see..."
"A knife's purpose was never so singular. Since it's placed here, it means it's your tool, your tool to achieve your goal."
"Food is just incidental. If I don't want to, I don't even have to pay..."
Tiger's voice was low and magnetic, as if wrapping reason around his tongue, savoring it carefully. It had an inexplicable temptation that made people want to agree.
But even so, the Savior's lawful worldview still made Harry's lips twitch slightly.
He understood the knife's purpose.
But definitely not the purpose Tiger described.
The headless body at the subway station, and Hermione using Incendio with a strange wand, were enough to haunt him for life.
He didn't want to see several headless corpses appear in the restaurant too, even though Neville thought everything was normal...
Hell, where was this normal?!
When did Neville become like this?
Harry rubbed his temples with some headache.
"Sorry, I need to use the restroom."
Tiger's words were like a demon's whispered temptation in his ear. He felt he needed to find somewhere to calm down.
In the restroom, cool water slid into his palms.
Harry took off his glasses, set them aside, and washed his face, trying to calm the heat in his heart.
However, just then, nasty mocking laughter rang out from a stall. The shrill voice sounded somewhat familiar.
"Jack, see that Gypsy kid at that table?"
"I gave him a good lesson. Look at his shabby appearance. He knows nothing."
"Allergic to walnuts..."
"He almost cried, haha..."
"Oh boy, Will, you're so bad..."
Harry's movements paused slightly. His face gradually darkened. A hint of self-mockery and complexity flashed through his emerald eyes.
He stood quietly before the mirror.
Listening to the voice ridiculing him from the stall, his chest rose and fell increasingly rapidly. His fists clenched tighter and tighter.
In the dark depths of his heart, two forces seemed to clash fiercely. Flames of anger and humiliation, springs of reason and restraint, intertwined into clouds of scorching steam.
"Forget it, Harry. Life is like this. You can't make everyone satisfied with you..."
Finally, Harry loosened his fist, put his glasses back on, and prepared to leave the restroom as if nothing had happened.
"Ha, pathetic enough. Poor shabby parents, stupid ridiculous son..."
The voice from the stall rang out again.
Harry, about to leave the restroom, immediately stopped. The scorching steam accumulated in his chest suddenly exploded. His emerald eyes seemed tinged with crimson.
His teeth ground audibly.
He strode aggressively toward the source of the sound, using all his strength to kick at the stall door.
With a loud crash, the fragile door latch instantly broke. The stall door violently swung back, heavily hitting the male waiter's head. The thud was deafening.
The male waiter's face still held traces of mockery.
The chaos in his mind and the sharp pain on his temple left him completely unaware of what had happened.
Until Harry rushed into the stall, gripped both sides of his head with both hands, and like a madman, viciously slammed it toward the wall behind. Pain and dizziness exploded.
Once, twice, three times...
The thuds of wall against flesh gradually grew sticky, carrying an eerie, bone-chilling quality.
However, Harry still didn't stop.
Instead, he grabbed the male waiter's hair and continued slamming it hard against the stall partition until the waiter's head smashed through the board. Sticky blood slid down the partition...
Harry panted heavily.
The adrenaline rush made his whole body tremble, but his mood was unprecedentedly exhilarating.
As if breaking free from shackles, soaring freely through the sky, just like the first time he mounted a Flying Broomstick.
Noticing trembling breathing from next door, Harry pulled the male waiter hanging in the hole down and casually shoved his nearly deformed head into the toilet.
His emerald eyes looked quietly through the hole.
A male waiter with yellow curly hair and a face full of freckles sat collapsed on the ground, staring at him in terror.
Harry stared at him expressionlessly, raised his index finger to his lips, and spoke in an unusually calm tone:
"If you don't want to die miserably in some forgotten corner..."
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