Chapter 176: Letters from Friends
Nothing of note happened on the journey back.
Ever since Tamara had drenched Albania's criminal underworld in blood, security across Eastern Europe had improved dramatically.
When she once again stood before the peeling iron gates of Wool's Orphanage, carrying her slightly worn leather suitcase, she felt for a moment as though she had stepped back into a quagmire.
"Oh, good heavens! Tamara?"
Just as she pushed open the gate, Martha, the orphanage administrator, emerged carrying a basin filled with freshly washed sheets.
The moment she saw the black haired girl standing outside, she cried out in surprise.
Tamara sighed inwardly.
She had already prepared a flawless lie to explain why she had ended her visit to her aunt's home earlier than expected.
Before she could say a word, however, Martha naturally filled in the blanks herself.
She hurried forward and looked at Tamara's pale, exhausted face, the result of being crushed beneath a dragon, with an expression full of heartache. Her voice was filled with indignation and pity.
"You poor child. You look thinner, and far more exhausted."
"That so called aunt treated you badly, didn't she? I knew it. Relatives who suddenly appear from nowhere never have good intentions!"
Tamara opened her mouth, momentarily unsure how to respond.
"Don't be sad, child."
Martha gently patted Tamara's shoulder with her rough hand and sighed.
"At least this place will always be your home."
Home?
Tamara sneered inwardly upon hearing that word.
If this dilapidated building, filled with the stench of mould, bitterness, and bullying, could be called a home, then Azkaban was practically a five star luxury resort.
Despite the sarcasm filling her heart, Tamara did not argue.
She was more than happy to save herself the effort of fabricating an explanation. Cooperating with Martha's assumption, she lowered her eyes and forced a weak, heartbreaking smile onto her face.
"Thank you, Mrs Martha. I'm a little tired. I would like to return to my room and rest for a while."
"Go on, then. No one has entered your room."
Martha watched the girl's thin back and could not help adding a few more words.
"Quite a few children have been adopted or moved away recently. We received word from City Hall that this orphanage may be demolished entirely within three years."
Tamara's footsteps paused on the creaking wooden stairs.
Demolished?
Undisguised pleasure flashed through her dark eyes.
It would be better if the building were demolished.
Ideally, it should be burned to ashes.
Then the final trace of the weak Tom Riddle's arrival in this world, along with those nauseating and unbearable memories, would be buried forever beneath the ruins and soil of this wretched place.
Tamara's mood immediately improved.
She walked to the end of the corridor, took out her key, and unlocked the door to her small room.
The instant the door opened, her good mood came to an abrupt end.
"Damn it..."
The veins on Tamara's forehead throbbed twice.
The already cramped room now looked as though an avalanche had swept through it. Parchment envelopes were scattered across the entire floor.
They covered not only the bed and desk, but even the windowsill, where a small mountain of letters had accumulated.
Clearly, while Tamara had spent the past week in Albania reliving her dreams of being the Dark Lord, that collection of nuisances from the wizarding world had nearly burst through her windows.
Given the choice, she would have burned the entire pile to ashes with Fiendfyre.
Unfortunately, the damned system would never allow her to behave like a cold blooded beast who ignored her friends.
[Ding! Friendly reminder: Reading and replying to your friends' letters promptly is an excellent virtue for maintaining friendships! Please be a thoughtful little sweetheart, Host!]
Listening to the system's urging, Tamara darkened visibly and used wandless magic to cast several Scourgify charms before sorting the letters.
The mountain of correspondence was quickly divided into neat stacks upon the desk.
The first stack, unsurprisingly, came from Hermione Granger.
Tamara casually opened several letters and discovered that their contents displayed a clear progression of emotion.
During the first two days, Hermione had merely written lengthy accounts of her family's summer plans in France and her intention to study the country's local magical history.
By the third day, her handwriting had grown visibly agitated, with every letter demanding to know why Tamara had not replied.
In the most recent one, Hermione had clearly imagined an entire tragedy in which an orphaned girl was cruelly imprisoned by wicked relatives in the Muggle world.
She even threatened to notify Dumbledore and organise a rescue if she did not receive a reply soon.
"Meddlesome know all."
Tamara snorted coldly and tossed the stack aside.
She decided to send back only a few lines saying that she was safe and that her aunt's home had simply been too remote for owls to reach.
The second stack came from the Weasley family.
The letters used exaggeratedly grateful language to thank Tamara once again for saving Ginny's life in the Chamber of Secrets.
Ron also excitedly boasted that his father had won seven hundred Galleons in the Daily Prophet's Grand Prize Galleon Draw and that their entire family was preparing to travel to Egypt to visit his eldest brother, Bill.
At the end of the letter, he mentioned that Mrs Weasley had used some of the prize money to purchase a valuable gift as an expression of gratitude, and that it was already on its way.
"Boring luck for an impoverished family."
Tamara had no interest whatsoever in where the Weasleys intended to spend their holiday.
She immediately opened the third letter, which bore the wax seal of the House of Malfoy.
Draco's writing was hurried and untidy. His frustration could almost be felt through the parchment.
"Tamara! Something terrible has happened!"
"You will never guess what I have endured during the past two days! Father is absolutely furious!"
"Some damned, despicable Mudblood or blood traitor anonymously reported Malfoy Manor to the Ministry of Magic for possessing illegal Dark Arts artefacts!"
"That pauper Arthur Weasley actually led an entire team of Ministry officials into our home! Father had already disposed of most of the dangerous objects, but they still turned the manor upside down!"
"Worst of all, that lowly house elf Dobby escaped through Apparition during the confusion caused by the search!"
"Do not let me discover who made that anonymous report. I will make them pay!"
After reading Draco's complaints, Tamara raised an eyebrow.
The Malfoy family had actually been subjected to an anonymous Ministry search, and the traitorous house elf had escaped during the chaos.
"Utterly useless."
Tamara carelessly picked up the final letter on the desk.
The envelope carried a faint scent of Pumpkin Pasties.
The handwriting was remarkably elegant, with a hint of a young girl's restraint.
It was from Ginny Weasley.
Tamara assumed it was merely another ordinary letter of thanks.
But as her eyes skimmed carelessly over the parchment, a chill gradually climbed along her spine.
"Dear Senior Tamara,
"Please forgive my boldness in writing to you. I do not know how you have been lately.
"There is something I have never told anyone.
"While I was in the hospital wing, I remembered the name written inside that diary. T. M. Riddle. I know that it is the same as your surname.
"But I swear that I have never mentioned it to anyone. I know that you are a good person, and I do not want to cause you any unnecessary trouble. It is a secret that belongs only to us."
Tamara's gaze turned slightly colder.
This little girl had noticed something was wrong back then and had been clever enough to hide it.
Tamara continued reading.
"However, while we were at King's Cross Station, I saw Draco Malfoy apparently inviting you to visit his manor during the summer.
"Senior, I am very worried.
"I vaguely remember Lucius Malfoy secretly slipping that terrible diary into my cauldron at Flourish and Blotts.
"If he gave me something so evil, then Malfoy Manor must contain even more dangerous Dark Arts objects.
"I do not want you to visit such a dangerous place.
"So I thought carefully about it. If Malfoy Manor suddenly suffered a small accident and attracted the attention of the Ministry of Magic, then perhaps they would no longer have time to invite guests.
"I hope you have a safe summer.
"Forever grateful to you,
"Ginny Weasley."
Tamara's fingers froze around the parchment.
An image surfaced uncontrollably within her mind.
Ginny lying upon the hospital bed, staring at her with that fanatical and obsessive gaze.
"System."
Tamara asked within her mind, "Are you certain that the remnant soul inside the diary was completely removed from her mind that day in the Chamber of Secrets?"
[Ding! Of course, respected Host!]
The system's heartlessly cheerful voice immediately rang out.
[After this system's perfect purification, Miss Ginny Weasley's soul is completely pure and flawless. There is absolutely no Dark Arts residue remaining! Everything she is doing now comes entirely from her own will!]
[Ah! What a touching and sincere emotion! Does this pure friendship, willing to pay any price to protect her senior, not make you feel warm inside?]
"..."
Tamara drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the rising sense of absurdity and displeasure within her.
She could not see anything warm about it.
All she saw was a smiling lunatic concealing a knife behind her back.
However...
Tamara's dark eyes narrowed slightly.
The shock within her gaze gradually faded, replaced by cold calculation.
If the remnant soul no longer influenced Ginny, then this obsession and loyalty came entirely from her own will.
That meant it might be useful.
In her previous life, Tamara had ruled the Death Eaters through fear and the Dark Mark.
Although efficient, that method was still vulnerable to betrayal.
Experience had now shown that emotions born freely from personal desire could control someone even more effectively than the Dark Mark or the Cruciatus Curse.
Such emotions could even transform a person into a blade willing to strike without fear of death.
"It seems Dumbledore's lion's den is not entirely filled with irredeemable fools."
[Ding! Friendly warning: Respected Host, please do not underestimate human emotions!]
The system's dutiful warning suddenly interrupted the Dark Lord's calculations.
[Emotions are a dangerous double edged sword. If handled poorly, they may cause a terrible backlash!]
Faced with the system's tedious preaching, Tamara merely sneered with cold disdain.
"Backlash?"
What needless concern.
She was the Dark Lord, a master of manipulating the human heart.
Could she truly fail to control the ridiculous dependence and infatuation of an eleven year old girl?
Tamara casually tossed the letter aside and sneered inwardly.
"That will never happen."
....
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