Chapter 51: The Invisibility Cloak and Uncontrollable Ambition
Since those handmade rune charms had been sent out, Tamara Riddle's standing at Hogwarts had risen at a rate that would have made most politicians weep with envy.
It had become intolerable.
No matter where she went, she was greeted by bright smiles, reverent nods, or students who looked as though they might burst into grateful tears at any moment. Even a simple trip to the lavatory had become a trial. Someone would always appear to offer thanks, wave at her like a long lost saviour, or attempt to press some return gift into her hands. Most of those gifts were sweets, and almost all of them were offensively sweet.
Tamara sat in a deserted corner of the library, turning a page with controlled calm while sneering inwardly.
"A few carved bits of wood and they are ready to offer lifelong loyalty. It seems ruling the world will be even easier than I thought."
She found the whole thing deeply educational.
Just as she settled back into the silent pleasure of strategic contempt, a series of quick footsteps broke through the stillness.
"Tamara! There you are!"
Harry Potter.
Of course.
He came hurrying between the shelves with the unmistakable excitement of someone in possession of a secret too large to keep to himself. He was wearing the dreadful jumper Mrs Weasley had knitted for him and looked, in Tamara's opinion, like a cheerful green parrot. Ron Weasley followed behind, still holding half a sandwich and chewing with the concentration of a person for whom lunch was the highest calling in life.
Tamara closed her book with a soft snap and looked up with frank displeasure.
"No shouting in the library, Potter."
Her gaze shifted, almost despite herself, to the charm hanging at Harry's throat.
The little wooden plaque rose and fell against his chest with every breath. The Sowilo rune she had carved into it gave off the faintest warm gleam. She had made it out of obligation and spite, yet the fool had actually put it on.
Was he not worried she had filled it with curses?
Harry lowered his voice, though the excitement still shone all over his face.
"Sorry. But I wanted to show you something."
He glanced around first to make certain Madam Pince was nowhere nearby and that no one else was paying attention. Then he leaned in, plunged a hand into his robes, and drew out a folded bundle of silver grey fabric that seemed to ripple like liquid moonlight.
"Look at this."
He laid it carefully on the table.
Tamara's eyes fell on it in passing.
Then they sharpened all at once.
The texture. The way the fabric seemed to swallow the light instead of reflecting it. The strange, instinctive wrongness of it. She did not need to touch it to know.
This was no ordinary invisibility cloak.
This was the Invisibility Cloak.
One of the Deathly Hallows.
The heirloom of Ignotus Peverell.
The cloak that could hide its wearer even from Death itself.
For a heartbeat, Tamara forgot to breathe.
So this was when it came into Potter's hands.
"...Who gave it to you?"
Her voice remained controlled, but only barely. A faint tremor lived under the words, and that tremor had nothing to do with fear.
It was greed.
Old, hungry, bottomless greed.
Harry shrugged.
"I don't know. There was no signature. Just a note saying it had belonged to my father and was being returned to me."
Then, with the thoughtless delight of an eleven year old boy showing off a new toy, he stood and swung the cloak over himself.
Instantly, his body vanished.
Only his head remained visible for a moment, floating absurdly in the air before he adjusted the fabric and disappeared completely.
Then the cloak slipped again, leaving his head exposed once more.
"Look!" said the disembodied Harry. "It really works. Ron says it's incredibly rare."
"Indeed," Tamara said softly. "Very rare."
She watched him with a stare so fixed it was almost unnatural.
The Deathly Hallows.
In her first life, she had pursued the Elder Wand and dismissed the rest as the stuff of old stories. Why trouble herself with legends when Horcruxes offered something tangible, brutal, certain? She had considered the Hallows decorative mythology beside real immortality.
But now?
Now she was trapped inside the grip of a sanctimonious system that would never allow her to build Horcruxes through murder and bloodshed. That avenue had been chained shut. The Philosopher's Stone remained one path. The Hallows, suddenly, were another.
And Tamara had never once believed there was such a thing as too many routes to immortality.
She wanted the Stone.
She wanted the Hallows.
She wanted every key to deathlessness the world had ever hidden.
The Elder Wand was almost certainly in Dumbledore's possession.
The Resurrection Stone remained unaccounted for.
And now the Invisibility Cloak had appeared, openly, brazenly, in the hands of an eleven year old idiot who had brought it here like some marvellous curiosity to show a friend.
Tamara's nails bit into her own palm beneath the table.
"What a waste," she thought with a surge of fury so strong it almost made her dizzy. "What a grotesque, unforgivable waste."
It should have been hers.
That thought rose in her with such clarity that for one blazing second it felt less like desire and more like fact.
All she had to do was stun him.
Or simply take it.
A swift motion. A wand. A spell. A snatch.
Then the cloak would be in her hands, and Potter, predictably, would be left gaping after it.
Her hand began to move toward her wand.
[Ding! Warning. Extremely strong intent to steal and rob has been detected.]
The system's voice dropped into her mind like icy water.
[According to Article Two of the Virtue System Core Code: Do not covet the property of others.]
[This item is the lawful inheritance of Harry Potter. The host may not seize it through violence, theft, or deception.]
[Violation will result in a level five lightning punishment and compulsory return of the item.]
Tamara nearly showed her teeth.
"Damn you."
Her hand froze halfway to her wand and slowly curled into a fist instead.
Level five.
That would not be a warning. That would be a public cremation.
So then. Force was impossible.
That did not mean the cloak was beyond her reach.
Tamara's mind, which never remained cornered for long, shifted almost instantly.
She leaned back the slightest fraction, as though relaxing, while her thoughts turned sharp and quick.
If she could not take it by force, she would take it by consent.
It was, she reflected, the more elegant solution anyway.
"System," she asked inwardly, tone now calm and almost scholarly, "if Harry Potter were to give it to me willingly, or lend it to me voluntarily, perhaps out of trust, affection, gratitude, or overwhelming admiration, would that still count as theft?"
There was a brief silence.
[Judging.]
Then:
[Gift giving is a positive and beautiful social interaction representing friendship and trust.]
[Conclusion: If the item is given or loaned by its owner while they are conscious, willing, and not under the influence of an Unforgivable Curse, it is compliant.]
Tamara felt a slow, chilling smile begin at the corner of her mouth.
"Excellent."
When Harry reappeared fully and folded the cloak again, Tamara had already hidden the greed in her eyes beneath a softer expression.
"It truly is an extraordinary treasure, Harry."
Her voice had changed. It was gentler now, lower, touched with something like quiet admiration.
Harry brightened immediately under it.
Tamara reached out and let her fingertips brush the edge of the cloth.
The fabric was cool, smooth, impossibly fine.
"Keep it safe," she said. "Do not lose it."
Harry nodded eagerly.
"I will. Honestly, I had no idea things like this even existed. Tonight I'm thinking of using it to sneak into the Restricted Section and look for more information on Nicolas Flamel."
Tamara's eyes narrowed a fraction.
"Nicolas Flamel?"
Hermione had already uncovered Flamel's identity, had she not? Then again, expecting efficient communication from Gryffindors was usually optimistic.
Harry nodded.
"Hermione figured out that Flamel made the Philosopher's Stone, but I still want to know more. And with this cloak, it should be easy."
Tamara let a tiny crease form between her brows, the very image of thoughtful concern.
"That is dangerous, Harry."
She let the words hang for a beat, then softened them.
"Though... with the cloak, yes, it would be safer."
Harry positively glowed at having his judgment validated.
Tamara let her gaze hold his for a moment longer. When she spoke again, her tone had become warmer still, rich with sincerity she did not remotely feel.
"You know, Harry, an item like this is worth far more than you realise."
He blinked.
"The fact that you were willing to show it to me," she continued, "to trust me with a secret like this... that means a great deal."
Harry flushed, caught between pride and embarrassment.
"Well, of course. You're my friend, Tamara. And you gave me that amulet. Friends are supposed to trust each other, aren't they?"
Friend.
The word rang in Tamara's head like a joke.
On the surface, however, her smile deepened into something almost moved.
"Thank you for your trust."
She leaned forward just a little, enough that the cedar cold fragrance she always carried drifted around him. Her voice lowered further, becoming intimate, persuasive.
"If ever there comes a time when keeping the cloak becomes difficult... if you feel it has become a burden... tell me."
Harry listened with the solemn concentration of someone being entrusted with wisdom.
"I could keep it safe for you," Tamara said softly. "Or help you use it properly. For your protection. For the greater good."
Harry did not, of course, understand the last phrase in the least. He only heard concern. Help. Shared responsibility.
To Ron, standing to one side, something in the conversation tugged faintly at his instincts. He frowned, half opening his mouth.
Harry got there first.
"All right!" he said at once. "If I ever don't need it, or if I need help with it, I'll lend it to you. You can use it whenever you like."
There it was.
Potter, personally offering access to one of the Deathly Hallows.
Tamara's mood became magnificent.
Though she did not yet possess it, the path had opened.
The right words. A little trust. More gratitude. A few more careful performances of concern. Enough time, enough proximity, enough manufactured intimacy, and sooner or later the cloak would come to her not by theft, but by invitation.
Harry Potter would hand it to her himself.
"Then it is settled," she said, rising beautifully into the moment.
Harry smiled in relief, delighted that they understood one another so well.
Tamara folded her hands atop her book and regarded him with calculated warmth.
"In that case, since you have such a useful tool, it would be a shame not to put it to proper use."
Harry brightened again.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," said Tamara, "that I, too, intended to visit the Restricted Section tonight."
This was not entirely false.
Harry's eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Since our destination is the same," Tamara continued, as though the idea had just occurred to her, "we may as well go together. Cooperation is often more efficient than blundering about alone."
Harry looked as though Christmas had arrived a second time.
"That would be brilliant! I mean it. I'll feel much better with you there."
Ron still looked faintly unsure, but between Harry's enthusiasm and Tamara's perfect calm, the objection never found its way out of him.
Tamara inclined her head with grave elegance.
"Then it is decided."
Harry gathered up the cloak, still grinning.
For a moment, he looked absurdly pleased, as though he had just secured the help of the most reliable ally in the castle.
Tamara watched him and smiled back with such perfect composure that he never once glimpsed the thoughts beneath it.
"Naive little fool," she thought with cool satisfaction. "Lead the way. Guard the treasure. Open the door for me yourself."
And in the deepest corner of her mind, where ambition burned hottest and cleanest, one thought rose above all others.
Soon.
.....
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