With a piercing screech of brakes, the Hogwarts Express released one final plume of white steam before slowly grinding to a halt at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The moment the train stopped, the students surged toward the carriage doors like a herd suddenly set free. Laughter, chatter, and the scraping of trunks filled the air as they rushed to disembark.
Tamara, however, remained seated.
She looked utterly exhausted.
Reflecting on the past few hours, she felt as though she had endured a form of torment far more insidious than any physical suffering. For the willpower of the Dark Lord, this journey had been nothing short of an ordeal.
The air in the compartment had been unbearable—a nauseating mixture of cloyingly sweet chocolate, the faint but unmistakable stench of Weasley's dead rat, and Malfoy's suffocatingly heavy perfume. It was enough to make anyone question their sanity.
To make matters worse, Harry had spent the entire journey chattering endlessly in her left ear about Quidditch—teams, scores, strategies—none of which she cared about in the slightest. Meanwhile, Pansy's shrill, grating laughter had pierced her right ear without mercy.
If a soul could feel fatigue, hers would have long since crumbled into dust.
Compared to this, Tamara almost found herself reminiscing about her days as a wandering spirit in the Albanian forests with a strange sense of fondness. At least there had been silence.
Disgusted, she raised her wand and pointed it at her knee, quietly cleaning off the slimy residue left behind by that insufferable toad. Without hesitation, she levitated the creature and tossed it back toward its owner.
"Neville. Take your toad and go."
Neville Longbottom fumbled awkwardly as he caught Trevor, his face lighting up with relief.
"Thank you for looking after Trevor, Tamara! You're so kind!"
Tamara felt her exhaustion deepen.
Kind?
The word felt like an insult.
Just then, a familiar mechanical chime echoed in her mind.
[Ding! Mission Complete: The Friendship Express.]
[Congratulations, host! During the hours-long journey, you successfully resisted casting any jinxes on your classmates, demonstrating remarkable patience and restraint.]
[Reward: Love +1]
[Current Attribute: Love = 20]
[Milestone achieved! New skill unlocked.]
[Spell acquired: Stupefy]
A warm current flowed instantly through her fingertips.
Stupefy.
Though categorized as a non-lethal spell, its utility in combat was undeniable. The ability to incapacitate an opponent instantly was often far more valuable than outright destruction.
"Finally…"
Tamara tightened her grip on her wand, savoring the sensation. A faint, genuine smile touched her lips for the first time since the journey began.
At last, something worthwhile had come of this ordeal.
With this spell, the next time she encountered those irritating individuals, she could silence them properly—legitimately.
"Let's go."
Rising to her feet, she gave a slight flick of her wand. Her trunk lifted smoothly into the air behind her as she stepped out of the suffocating compartment.
The platform outside was a chaotic sea of noise and movement.
Parents crowded near the barriers, calling out to their children. Owls hooted from their cages, and luggage trolleys rattled across the ground. The entire space buzzed with life.
Tamara moved through the crowd with quiet efficiency, heading toward the exit.
"Tamara!"
She hadn't gone far when Harry's voice called out behind her.
Turning slightly, she saw him pushing his trolley. Beyond the barrier stood Vernon Dursley, his purplish-red face already twisted in impatience as he shouted.
Harry's expression was visibly subdued—a stark contrast to his earlier enthusiasm. The looming return to Privet Drive weighed heavily on him.
"Um… I have to go," he said, glancing at her. "I'm heading back to Privet Drive. It's… not exactly a pleasant place."
There was hesitation in his voice, as though he wanted to say more—ask where she would be staying, whether they could write to each other, or perhaps meet again.
But when he saw Tamara's indifferent expression, the words died in his throat.
Tamara looked at him, the so-called savior preparing to return to his miserable life, and felt… nothing.
If anything, she almost found it amusing.
"Good luck, Potter," she said coolly, her tone laced with faint mockery. "I hope your cousin doesn't shove you into a toilet and flush you away."
She paused briefly, then added, "If that happens, be sure to write to me. I'll tell Draco the story."
Harry blinked.
Then, unexpectedly, his face lit up.
"Thank you, Tamara!" he said, visibly moved. "I'll be careful! You're worried about me, right? Even if you sound harsh, I know you're actually a good person!"
"…."
Tamara's lips twitched.
Had this boy suffered some kind of brain damage?
"Get lost," she said flatly.
Harry didn't seem offended. Instead, he left with a backward glance, clearly reluctant to go.
The moment he disappeared into the crowd, however, another voice interrupted.
"Tamara!"
Draco Malfoy approached, accompanied by a well-dressed couple.
Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy.
Lucius stood tall, his posture aristocratic, his snake-headed cane resting lightly in his hand. His pale gray eyes examined Tamara with a measured, calculating gaze.
"So this is the… Miss Riddle you mentioned?" he said, his voice smooth, though the slight pause before her surname did not go unnoticed.
Riddle.
An ordinary name. A common name.
Yet for Lucius Malfoy, it carried an unsettling weight.
His father, Abraxas Malfoy, had once spoken of it in hushed tones near the end of his life. The Dark Lord—at the height of his power—had once borne that very name.
Was this merely coincidence?
Or something far more dangerous?
"Yes, Father! It's her!" Draco said eagerly. "She's a hero of Slytherin! Her spellcasting is better than older students! Even Professor Snape treats her differently!"
He turned to Tamara, his excitement barely contained.
"I want to invite you to Malfoy Manor for the summer! We can practice Quidditch and explore my father's collection of… treasures."
Malfoy Manor.
Tamara's gaze flickered briefly to Lucius's cane.
She remembered.
Her sixteen-year-old soul fragment—the diary—was in his possession.
Entrusted to him personally, decades ago.
A safeguard.
A legacy.
And yet…
A flash of cold, violent red flickered in her eyes.
She remembered something else as well.
This fool had once believed the Dark Lord to be gone forever. In his arrogance, he had treated the diary like a disposable object—using it to frame Arthur Weasley by slipping it to a child.
A child.
The result?
The destruction of a piece of her soul.
An unforgivable desecration.
She wanted it back.
Even the thought of touching it again stirred something deep within her—a dangerous, intoxicating longing.
But she suppressed it.
Her current identity was that of an orphan. If she accepted Draco's invitation, Lucius would investigate her background.
If he discovered the truth—that the heir of the Dark Lord lived in a filthy Muggle slum—his reverence would shatter instantly.
Worse, if he realized that the Dark Lord had returned as a weakened first-year girl…
Lucius Malfoy would not kneel.
He would scheme.
Control. Exploit. Bargain.
She could not allow that.
She needed mystery.
Fear.
Control.
"I'm afraid not, Draco," Tamara said calmly. "I have no intention of wasting my holiday on trivial matters."
Draco looked genuinely baffled.
"But… are you really going back there?" he blurted out. "I mean—compared to that non-magical place, Malfoy Manor is clearly better—"
"Draco."
Narcissa placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, silencing him.
Tamara, however, showed no embarrassment.
Instead, she raised her gaze and locked eyes with Lucius.
In that instant, something shifted.
Lucius felt it immediately.
That gaze—
Cold. Predatory. Dismissive.
As if he were nothing more than a corpse waiting to be acknowledged.
It was terrifyingly familiar.
His grip on his cane tightened.
For a fleeting moment, he felt the instinctive urge to step back.
"I have my own arrangements, Lucius," Tamara said, deliberately omitting any honorific.
"Some matters are not meant to be discussed in broad daylight."
A refusal.
A warning.
A test.
Lucius's heartbeat quickened.
Too similar.
Far too similar.
"I… understand," he said finally, lowering his head slightly. "Since Miss Riddle has pressing matters, we will not impose."
He paused, voice softening.
"However… the doors of Malfoy Manor will always remain open to… exceptional individuals."
"I'll consider it."
Tamara turned without another glance and walked away.
Lucius remained still, watching her disappear into the crowd.
Only then did he realize his palms were damp with sweat.
"Father?" Draco asked, confused. "Are you alright?"
Lucius exhaled slowly.
"It's nothing," he said. "Just… recalling an old acquaintance."
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