Chapter 135: A Sincere Gift
"And what about you?"
Ron finally swallowed the toast in his mouth and poured himself a large glass of pumpkin juice, his eyes darting suspiciously between his two friends.
"Harry didn't send his, so what about you, Hermione?"
Ron pointed at Gilderoy Lockhart at the staff table, who was currently adjusting his hair in a mirror, and made a face as though he had swallowed a fly.
"Don't tell me you're one of those fools who sent Lockhart a Valentine's card? I saw it earlier. Someone actually sent him a whole set of scented, signed photo albums! Merlin's beard, it's absolute madness."
"How could I?"
Hermione retorted immediately.
She glanced at Lockhart with disgust, as if she were looking at a pile of useless scrap paper.
"That blowhard is useless for anything except having white teeth. Sending him a gift would be a waste of my ink."
"Good," Ron sighed in relief. "I thought your brain had been fuddled by all those pink decorations too."
"However..."
Hermione's tone shifted, and a mysterious smile played on her lips.
"I did send out a gift."
"To whom?" Ron pressed curiously.
Hermione's gaze swept across the Slytherin table.
"I sent it to Tamara."
"What?"
This time, it was Harry's turn to be shocked.
He looked at Hermione in disbelief, as if she had just announced that she had sent a gift to Lord Voldemort.
"But... but Tamara never accepts gifts! You saw it earlier. She didn't even spare a glance at the things people sent her. She even looked a bit... repulsed."
There was a trace of subtle frustration in Harry's voice.
He had not even dared to send the card he had carefully prepared. How had Hermione managed it?
"That's because your method is wrong."
Hermione lifted her chin proudly, wearing the confident expression unique to a top student.
"Look at what those people are sending her. Suggestive chocolates, mushy love letters, and flowers with absolutely no practical value."
"For someone with Tamara's personality, those things aren't merely useless. They're a burden. An intrusion into her private space."
Hermione lowered her voice as if imparting an exclusive secret.
"But what I sent is different."
"I sent a thank you."
"A thank you?" Harry and Ron exchanged glances.
"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "To thank her for helping me in the bathroom before. Even though she was very biting at the time, she did help me."
"I've noticed a pattern. While Tamara hates it when people try to flatter her, she doesn't seem to mind when people acknowledge her ability and authority."
"As long as your gift is based on gratitude or admiration rather than that sticky, sentimental affection, she usually... reluctantly accepts it."
At the Slytherin table, Tamara was elegantly slicing the lamb chop on her plate.
Beside her hand, apart from the dark green box Malfoy had sent, there was indeed a simple parchment card.
No pink hearts.
No pungent perfume.
There was only a single line of neat handwriting.
[To Tamara Riddle: Thank you for your previous help. I will keep this kindness in mind. Hermione Granger]
Tamara glanced at the card, and the corner of her mouth curled into an almost invisible arc.
"Even if she is a Mudblood..."
She snorted coldly to herself.
"At least she understands etiquette better than those Trolls who are only good for being in heat."
This pure attitude of submission and gratitude toward the strong did indeed make her feel satisfied.
However, this rare moment of peace did not last long.
"Out of the way! Everyone move! I am the messenger of Cupid!"
A crude shout suddenly broke the atmosphere at the Slytherin table.
A particularly hideous, bad tempered dwarf with wings that were half falling off was waving its thick arms, forcefully pushing aside several Slytherin students who tried to block it.
It charged straight ahead, heading right for Tamara.
"Tamara! I have a musical love poem for you!"
The dwarf jumped onto the table, its large, mud covered feet nearly stepping into Tamara's plate.
"Get down!"
Draco, beside her, instantly flew into a rage and pulled out his wand.
But the dwarf was faster.
It grabbed the hem of Tamara's robes, refusing to let go, then pulled a parcel dripping with a certain red liquid from its back pocket and crudely shoved it into Tamara's hand.
"Take it! Someone specifically sent this to you!"
The dwarf grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and let out a blood chilling, eerie laugh.
Tamara furrowed her brows.
A strong scent of blood instantly invaded her nostrils.
It was not the smell of ordinary ink.
It was blood.
Fresh blood that had just been drawn, still carrying a lingering warmth.
Tamara looked down at the parcel.
The parchment that should have been used for a poem was soaked in red liquid. On it, written in almost manic, crooked strokes, were several lines.
[Your eyes are like a fresh pickled toad...]
[Your hair is as black as a blackboard...]
[I wish you would stay with me forever...]
[In this... cold... Chamber of Secrets...]
The last few words had blurred into a dark red smear because of the excess blood, looking like a bleeding skull.
The surroundings instantly fell silent.
Even the most obtuse person could sense the eeriness and malice emanating from this gift.
"Who sent this?"
Draco looked at the bloody parcel, his face turning pale.
"This is practically... a Dark Arts curse!"
The dwarf did not answer.
Having completed its task, it gave a strange cry and flapped its ridiculous wings, fleeing the scene.
And in a corner of the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley was looking down, mechanically putting food into her mouth.
Her eyes were somewhat vacant, as if she were completely unaware of what had just happened.
In her memory, she had only asked the dwarf to deliver a copy of Medieval Sonnets that she had found in a second hand bookshop, wanting to express her admiration for her senior, Tamara.
She had no idea that the moment the parcel left her hands, it had been swapped by the awakening remnant soul within her.
And at this moment, in Tamara's mind, that long absent blue pop up window appeared once again.
[Ding!]
[Detected that the host has received a special gift full of deep affection!]
[System Judgment: This is a handmade gift full of personality and sincere emotion!]
Tamara looked at the still dripping sincere gift, the veins on her forehead practically bulging.
Sincere?
If this counted as sincere, then she, Lord Voldemort, was the kindest and most sincere person in the world.
She should even be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, by the Wizengamot to recognise her sincere contribution to maintaining the population balance of the wizarding world.
[Triggered Task: Reciprocity.]
[As the most popular student at Hogwarts, how can you fail to live up to a junior's feelings?]
[Please make a heartfelt gift by hand within twenty four hours and give it to Ginny Weasley in return.]
[Note: It must be purely made by hand. You cannot use ready made items or use magic to directly transfigure it.]
[Failure Penalty: Loudly recite this love poem in front of the whole school and give a soulful response.]
"..."
Tamara took a deep breath.
The hard silver knife in her hand, without any physical leverage, slowly bent and deformed between her fingers like it was made of wax.
The portion of power she had just devoured back was throbbing wildly at her fingertips along with her anger. If she had not desperately suppressed it, the entire long table might have been overturned.
Very well.
Not only did she have to endure this mental pollution, but she also had to give a gift in return?
Where was she supposed to find materials for a gift made by hand?
Her pitiful stock, the wood inhabited by Bowtruckles that she had kept to deal with system tasks during her first year, had long since been used up.
Tamara expressionlessly used her wand to ignite the bloody parcel, watching it turn to ash in the flames.
Then she stood up abruptly.
"Where are you going, Tamara?" Draco asked cautiously when he saw that her expression was extremely poor.
Tamara spat out a single sentence coldly.
"To find... materials worthy of this generous gift."
.....
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