Chapter 173: Home
With a piercing screech of metal, the international express train came to a halt at a desolate border station deep in Eastern Europe.
The cold morning wind rushed toward them, carrying the forest's distinctive scent of damp earth and decay.
Tamara wrapped herself completely in a large black hooded cloak enchanted with a Confundus Charm, leaving only her pale, slender chin visible.
Quirrell carried her suitcase in one hand and the cage containing the black cat in the other, following closely behind his master.
Together, they entered the forests of Albania.
The trees here were tall and twisted, their dense foliage almost completely blocking out the sunlight.
The deeper they travelled, the thicker the miasma in the air became.
For an ordinary wizard, it would have been enough to cause hallucinations or even leave them hopelessly lost. But to Tamara, this oppressive atmosphere, steeped in the presence of pure Dark Arts, felt as welcoming as coming home.
"Meow!"
The black cat inside the cage seemed to dislike the surroundings. She scratched restlessly at the iron bars and let out an irritated cry.
Tamara stopped and gave the stupid cat a cold glance.
Looking at this Nagini, who was useless except for being irritating and causing sleep paralysis at night, the Dark Lord could not help feeling a powerful longing for a truly perfect pet.
During the years after she first lost her physical body, when she wandered through the Albanian forest like a ghost, she had encountered an exceptionally rare venomous snake.
It was no ordinary beast, but a soul afflicted by a blood malediction and permanently trapped within a serpent's body.
That snake had not only been lethal and intelligent, but had also shown Tamara pure and unquestioning obedience.
That was a pet truly worthy of the Dark Lord's status.
Not this scruffy cat before her, which was not even particularly clever.
Now that she had returned to Albania, finding the true Nagini had become one of the most important tasks of this journey.
"Quirrell."
Tamara's raspy voice emerged from beneath the heavy hood.
"Over the next few days, visit the nearby settlements of Dark wizards and gather information. Keep watch for any reports of an unusually large venomous snake, or one displaying obvious magical fluctuations within the forest. If you find anything, report to me immediately."
"As you command, Master," Quirrell replied, bowing respectfully.
The two continued deeper into the heart of the forest.
After walking for nearly three hours, the surrounding miasma had become so thick that it was almost impossible to see through.
Ahead of them appeared a clearing surrounded by scorched thorns and ancient boulders.
This was the private camp Tamara had left behind years ago.
Tamara approached a stone pillar carved with runes.
"Open..."
Accompanied by the hiss of Parseltongue, the wall of thorns, which seemed capable of swallowing light itself, slowly parted to either side and revealed a dark passage.
The moment they entered the camp, a theatrical and neurotic voice drifted from the shadows.
"Shh... my little darlings. It seems we have uninvited guests today, disturbing the peace of the Master's sanctuary."
The crisp sound of leather shoes stepping on dry branches followed.
A man slowly emerged from the darkness.
He wore an old, faded suit, and his hair had been combed with meticulous care. He toyed casually with a wand in one hand, while a pair of spotless white gloves covered his hands.
At that moment, however, his head was tilted as he whispered to a carrion crow perched upon his shoulder. A bone chilling madness gleamed in his deep set eyes.
Peritus.
A trace of unexpected satisfaction flashed through Tamara's eyes.
This bloodthirsty gentleman, famous among the Death Eaters for killing while wearing white gloves, had eventually chosen to remain in this gloomy camp and guard its entrance because he was wanted by the Ministry of Magic.
Ten years of isolation and erosion by the Dark Arts had reduced him to an old madman who could only converse with beasts and venomous insects.
Yet he had not lost the slightest trace of his morbid obsession with propriety.
"Oh? Look who we have here?"
Peritus stopped, his eyes falling upon Quirrell.
"Isn't this our stuttering scholar?"
His voice overflowed with open mockery.
"Quirrell, you left here several days ago, boasting that you were going to find the great Master. I assumed your useless bones would have rotted in some gutter in Britain by now."
At that point, Peritus's gaze suddenly turned cold.
He stared directly at Tamara, whose figure remained completely concealed beneath her hood.
"So not only did you crawl back here after accomplishing nothing, but you even dared to bring unidentified rubbish into the Master's sanctuary?"
Peritus elegantly raised his wand, his voice carrying a chilling brutality.
"Would you like me to tear out your entrails with my own hands and feed them to the wolf cubs in the forest, Quirrell?"
Faced with Peritus's almost tangible killing intent, Quirrell instinctively tried to explain.
"No, Peritus, you misunderstand. This is..."
"Silence, Quirrell."
Tamara's raspy voice emerged from beneath the heavy hood, cutting off his explanation.
She did not remove the hood.
For a fanatically loyal follower like Peritus, there was no need to reveal her face.
She only needed to make him remember the fear and trembling that came from being dominated by absolute darkness.
Tamara slowly raised her pale hand, the holly wand held between her fingers.
She spoke no incantation.
Instead, from beneath the shadow of her hood, she looked directly into Peritus's crazed eyes.
Legilimency.
A cold and cruel mental intrusion, like the strike of a serpent, instantly tore through Peritus's defences and pierced deep into his soul.
At the same moment, all warmth seemed to vanish from the surrounding air.
The shadows scattered across the camp ruins appeared to come alive. Like countless writhing venomous snakes, they gathered in submission around Tamara's feet.
"Peritus..."
Tamara did not speak in any human tongue.
From deep within her throat came a bone chilling hiss, the Parseltongue unique to the Dark Lord.
"Your loyalty pleases me."
That cold mental invasion was familiar enough to have been carved into Peritus's bones.
Combined with the undeniable command carried through Parseltongue, it shattered his theatrical composure in an instant.
The wand slipped from his hand and fell onto the gravel.
The crow perched upon his shoulder let out a terrified cry before flapping its wings and fleeing into the depths of the forest.
Peritus stared like a believer witnessing a miracle.
Terrifying fervour erupted within his deep set eyes.
Rapid, raspy breaths escaped his throat, as though even breathing in her presence was an act of desecration.
Thud!
He slammed onto his knees, paying no attention to the sharp gravel tearing through the trousers of his meticulously maintained suit.
Then he prostrated himself humbly, pressing his forehead against the cold earth and kissing the shadow at Tamara's feet.
"Mas... Master..."
Peritus trembled violently as hot tears struck the dirt. His voice carried a morbid devotion.
"It truly is you... You have returned... Peritus has not spent a single day without waiting for your summons... My soul belongs to you forever..."
Tamara looked down at the loyal servant before her, who was willing to grind his most treasured sense of propriety into the mud to demonstrate his submission.
Beneath the hood, the corners of her mouth finally curled into a wild and arrogant smile.
Exhilarating.
Utterly exhilarating.
This was the grandeur a Dark Lord ought to possess.
This was the submission she had been born to enjoy.
To hell with classmate camaraderie and the Hogwarts Special Award for Services to the School.
Such hypocritical honours could not compare to even one fanatical tear shed by Peritus at this moment.
"Rise, Peritus. Take me to the rear of the camp."
Tamara savoured the long absent pleasure of absolute power, her voice cold and languid.
"I want to see how that little gift I sent here last year has grown."