Chapter 56: Push and Pull
Ever since that battle in the snow, Tamara had acquired a tag along named Neville Longbottom.
He did not orbit her with the blatant enthusiasm Draco displayed, nor did he chatter endlessly like Pansy. He simply followed her in silence, always keeping a cautious and respectful distance.
When Tamara went to the library, he would find a corner and read quietly. When she went to the Great Hall for meals, he would often glance toward the Slytherin table from afar.
"Clumsy tracking methods."
Seated by the library window, Tamara caught sight of Neville through the corner of her eye. He was trying to hide behind a bookshelf, though half of his round face was still visible.
She judged him coldly in her mind.
Still, she did not send him away.
A loyal follower who was a little slow was, in some situations, more useful than a clever one.
Compared to Neville's awkward persistence, Harry Potter had become noticeably more restless.
Ever since she had snapped him out of it in front of the Mirror of Erised, Harry had been anxious and unsettled. He kept trying to find chances to speak to her, but Tamara had already returned to her usual Slytherin mode of polite distance and cold indifference.
It left the so called savior looking dejected all day, like a drenched puppy.
[Host, Harry's favorability toward you has reached a critical point of deep concern.]
The system's gossiping voice rang in her mind.
[Aren't you going to strike while the iron is hot? Even a single smile would probably make this boy float for the rest of the day.]
Tamara turned a page of her book, and a cruel curve lifted the corner of her mouth.
"A smile? That is far too cheap."
"For a boy starved of affection, proper neglect and measured distance are the best catalysts."
"Only when he realizes how rare my attention is will he start wagging his tail to earn it."
[How wicked, host.]
Tamara gave a cold little laugh.
"Of course."
Friday's Potions class arrived.
To Tamara, it felt like Merlin had chosen that particular morning to mock her personally.
A wave of illness had spread through both Gryffindor and Slytherin after the snowball chaos, leaving enough absences that Professor Snape was forced to rearrange the pairings.
"Riddle, you will work with Potter."
Snape's dead black eyes swept the room before he made the announcement, and the result stunned nearly everyone present.
Perhaps he wanted to watch the scene unfold. Perhaps he wanted Tamara, the genius, to humiliate Potter, the fool.
Either way, the corner of Tamara's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
She watched Harry approach with his cauldron, looking absurdly pleased, and felt her patience slipping.
"Hello, Tamara."
Harry set the cauldron down carefully and rubbed his hands together with awkward enthusiasm.
"I'll try not to hold you back."
Tamara drew a slow breath and summoned a smile that was technically polite, though only technically.
"I should hope not, Potter."
She picked up her silver knife with elegant precision and began preparing the ingredients.
"If this cauldron explodes, I would advise you to put that not especially clever head of yours in front of it first."
Harry, instead of being offended, smiled like an idiot who had somehow mistaken the insult for encouragement.
"I'll be careful."
Tamara rolled her eyes and ignored him. She turned her focus to the ingredients on the desk.
Then Harry drew out his wand to clean the cauldron.
Tamara's movements stopped.
Her gaze fixed on the wand in his hand.
It was not holly.
It was darker, denser, with a grain she recognized instantly.
Yew.
Her pupils narrowed sharply.
She remembered that wand.
Before the school year had begun, in Ollivander's shop, she had tried it herself.
Yew. Thirteen inches. Dragon heartstring.
It had been one of the wands most suited to her soul, second only to the brother wand. Powerful, sinister, and hungry for a master strong enough to dominate it.
But that damned system had rejected it at the time under the excuse of [Soul purification], nearly cracking the wand in the process.
And now it was in Harry Potter's hand.
In the savior's hand.
"...Your wand."
Her voice came out dry, and if one listened carefully, there was the faintest tremor in it.
Harry looked down at it in confusion.
"What about it?"
He lifted the wand a little, studying it.
"Mr Ollivander said it was very powerful. It looks a bit old, but it feels easy to use."
Easy to use?
Tamara felt something in her chest twist violently.
Did Potter even understand what sort of wand he was holding?
What a waste.
And the irony was even worse than that.
She now carried Harry's holly wand, while Harry held the yew wand that should have belonged to her.
It was as if fate had staged some foul little exchange for its own amusement.
"Tamara? Are you alright?"
Harry leaned a little closer, noticing how pale she had gone and failing, of course, to understand the reason.
"You look... strange."
He rarely saw her show anything so unguarded.
Usually she was perfect, cold, and composed, like something carved rather than born.
But now there was real emotion in her face. Anger. Resentment. Something perilously close to grievance.
To Harry, it made her seem more real than ever.
"This is a better expression than that fake smile of hers," he thought.
Tamara ground her teeth together.
"Nothing."
She turned her head away sharply, forcing herself not to look at the wand any longer. If she kept staring, she might actually take it.
"Focus on the potion, Potter, unless you want to turn it into poison."
Harry drew back at once and turned to the cauldron.
Today's task was the Boil Cure Potion.
Harry had improved somewhat through Tamara's anonymous guidance, but once he was faced with a more complicated recipe, he still looked uncertain.
"Dried nettles... then the snake fangs..."
He muttered to himself while adding ingredients.
"Alright. Now the porcupine quills."
He picked up the quills and moved to drop them into the cauldron.
He had forgotten the most important step.
In all his flustered distraction, and in no small part because he had been watching Tamara's swift, fluid movements with far too much attention, he had forgotten to take the potion off the fire.
The porcupine quills fell straight into a boiling cauldron.
Glug glug.
The once stable blue potion turned a dangerous green and began to bubble violently. A harsh hissing sound rose from it at once, followed by a thick cloud of acrid smoke.
Tamara gave it one glance.
"You forgot to take it off the fire."
Harry stared at the cauldron in alarm.
"So what do we do now?"
"Prepare to die," Tamara said calmly, still slicing ingredients. "Or pray that Professor Snape reaches us before you are covered in boils."
[Host, while I appreciate your dark humour, that cauldron will splash you as well if it explodes.]
The system chose that moment to intrude.
[Besides, this is an excellent chance to demonstrate classmate camaraderie.]
[Mission: Save this potion.]
[Reward: Unlock spell, Mending Charm, Reparo.]
Tamara's hand paused on the silver knife.
"Not doing it. Get lost."
She answered flatly in her mind.
"Let it explode. He'll learn more from that."
[Do not be so ungrateful, host. I am offering you a free spell.]
"I already know that spell," Tamara replied with disdain.
[Your soul knows it. This body does not.]
[And this one is a bonus. No need to wait for a ten point threshold.]
Tamara looked from the cauldron to her fresh robes.
Then she closed her eyes for one brief moment.
"You win."
She slammed the silver knife down, snatched the stirring rod right out of Harry's hand, and barked,
"Move, idiot."
Before Harry could react, she plunged the rod into the potion and stirred three times counterclockwise, then half a turn clockwise.
In the same motion, she seized the cauldron, dragged it off the flame, and slammed it down onto the cold stone floor.
Then she grabbed a measured handful of dried nettles and threw them in with exact precision.
Dried nettles neutralized excess acidity and drew off some of the unstable heat.
The potion gave one last protesting hiss.
Then a cloud of white steam burst upward and the violent bubbling died away.
When it settled, the potion had become a disgusting grey rather than the proper shade, but it had not exploded, and it had not burned through anyone's shoes.
Harry stared.
"Wow..."
His eyes were wide with admiration.
"How did you do that? That is not in the book."
"The book also does not instruct you to leave your brain in the dormitory."
Tamara tossed the stirring rod back at him and wiped her hands with obvious disgust.
"The next time you add ingredients like that, I will drop you into the cauldron and boil you with them."
Harry looked at the salvaged potion, then at her, and smiled in a way that made Tamara want to hex him on principle.
"Thank you, Tamara."
His voice was quiet and sincere.
"You're really a good person."
Tamara shut her eyes for a second, then opened them again.
"Shut up and finish the potion."
[Ding! Mission complete.]
[Unlocked spell: Mending Charm, Reparo.]
Tamara felt the new spell settle into her mind, and for a brief moment her mood improved.
Then her gaze drifted once more to the yew wand resting by Harry's hand.
The improvement vanished instantly.
"Just wait, Potter."
Her expression remained unreadable, but the promise in her thoughts was sharp enough to cut.
"One day, I will take that wand back."
"Along with your life."
.....
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