Chapter 96: The Understanding Big Sister
Night fell, and The Burrow finally quieted a little.
But only compared with the daytime uproar, which had sounded as though hundreds of Cornish Pixies were holding a party.
For Tamara, who was used to the cold silence of the Slytherin Dungeons and the lifeless atmosphere of the orphanage, night in the Weasley household was still noisy enough to threaten her sanity.
The Ghoul in the attic seemed to suffer from insomnia. It tapped rhythmically on the rusty water pipes, producing dull, maddening thuds.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Outside the window, the Gnomes that had not been thrown far enough away were angrily cursing about something in the garden.
And what suffocated Tamara most of all was the room itself.
Ginny Weasley's room.
As the youngest child in the Weasley family, Ginny had a particularly cramped room. The walls were plastered with posters of the Weird Sisters. The floor was piled with old books and second hand robes that had yet to be put away. The air carried a mixture of cheap soap and dried lavender.
"Um... if you feel crowded, I can sleep on the floor."
Ginny hugged her pillow and stood awkwardly by the bed. Her small face was flushed bright red, her eyes did not dare meet Tamara's, and her fingers nervously twisted the hem of her pyjamas.
In this room steeped in poverty, Tamara, who sat by the bed combing her long hair, looked like a statue that had accidentally wandered into a slum. She was so composed, so distant, and so noble that she made others feel ashamed by comparison.
"It's fine."
Tamara put down the comb and revealed a perfect, precisely calculated gentle smile.
"It's very... cosy here."
She rolled her eyes inwardly, feeling as though that word alone might make her sick.
But for that thing...
Tamara's gaze swept with extreme subtlety over the pile of clutter beside Ginny's bed.
There, pressed beneath several battered copies of History of Magic, a corner of a black leather cover was exposed.
That was her diary.
That was her sixteen year old soul.
It was right there, within reach, as though silently calling to her.
Tamara's fingers twitched slightly beneath the bedsheet.
Wandless magic.
With just a thought, that diary would fly into her hand.
[Ding! Detected that the host has a strong intention to steal.]
The system's emotionless voice sounded again.
[Warning: As the host of the Virtue System, you must adhere to the basic principles of honesty and trustworthiness. Stealing a minor roommate's personal belongings is highly immoral behaviour.]
[This item must be voluntarily given or lent to you by Ginny Weasley to be considered legally obtained. Otherwise, the system will forcibly confiscate the item and administer an electric shock punishment to the host.]
The smile at the corner of Tamara's mouth stiffened for an instant.
Damn system.
She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the impulse to blow up both the system and this room.
Since she could not take it by force, she could only deceive.
When it came to bewitching others, the great Lord Voldemort had never lost to anyone.
"Ginny."
Tamara's voice softened, carrying a seductive gentleness.
"Can't sleep? I noticed you've been staring at that notebook."
At that moment, Ginny was lying on the bed, holding a half bald quill in one hand, while her other hand was just about to pull the black diary out from the pile of books.
Hearing Tamara's words, Ginny startled like a child caught doing something wrong and hastily shoved the diary back beneath her pillow.
"N no... nothing! I just... just wanted to write something."
Ginny stammered, her face red as a ripe tomato.
Tamara narrowed her eyes.
She had felt it.
The moment Ginny touched the diary, a faint but extremely familiar magic had radiated from the notebook.
That was sixteen year old Tom Riddle.
That young, handsome, charming past was trying to bewitch this naive little girl before her.
"If I don't stop her, she'll soon become the diary's puppet."
Tamara analysed the situation coldly in her heart.
Originally, this would have been something she was delighted to see. Using Ginny to open the Chamber of Secrets and purge Hogwarts of Mudbloods would have suited her perfectly.
But what was sealed in that diary was sixteen year old Tom Riddle.
That was her most youthful, arrogant period.
Once Ginny was completely controlled, the diary would drain her life force and reconstruct that sixteen year old body.
In that case, there would be an uncontrollable, independently conscious version of herself competing for the title of Dark Lord.
There could only be one Lord Voldemort in this world.
She would never allow anyone, even her past self, to snatch away the power that belonged to her.
"Would you like to talk to me?"
Tamara sat up on the bed, leaning gracefully against the headboard. Her pitch black eyes exuded an irresistible charm.
"You see, I can't sleep either. And..."
She paused, then continued in a tone that seemed to see through people's hearts.
"Some thoughts are not safe to write on paper. Only by speaking them to someone who understands you can you truly let them go."
Ginny froze.
She looked at Tamara.
Under the lamplight, this Slytherin senior looked so perfect.
She was beautiful, powerful, and rumoured to have defeated Voldemort together with Harry.
In Ginny's eyes, Tamara was exactly the sort of person she dreamed of becoming.
"Tamara..."
Ginny hesitated for a moment, then finally put down the quill.
The diary beneath her pillow instantly lost its appeal.
After all, compared with talking to a cold notebook, who could refuse a living, gentle, and charming understanding big sister?
"Actually... I was thinking about Harry."
Ginny hugged her knees, her voice as small as a mosquito's buzz.
The smile on Tamara's face froze.
Who?
Harry?
Harry Potter?
That saviour with the stupid scar on his forehead, the broken glasses, and nothing but good luck?
"Oh."
Tamara let out an ambiguous syllable and felt a dull ache beginning in her stomach.
She had gone to great lengths to obtain the Horcrux, not to listen to fan testimonials about The Boy Who Lived.
"I feel... like he doesn't even notice me at all."
Ginny did not notice the flash of killing intent in Tamara's eyes. She was completely immersed in a young girl's melancholy and opened her heart.
"Today at the bookshop, I was standing right next to him, but his eyes were only on that Professor, and Hermione... and even you."
Ginny looked up, her eyes carrying a hint of envy and a hint of inferiority.
"Tamara, you're really amazing. Harry looks at you differently. It's... that sort of respectful look."
"But when he looks at me, it's like he's looking at Ron's little sister who hasn't grown up yet."
"Tell me... what kind of person would Harry like?"
.....
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