Chapter 107: Striking the Dog Without Considering the Master
The Halloween feast was in full swing. Laughter and joyous chatter threatened to lift the enchanted ceiling right off the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Hundreds upon hundreds of live bats fluttered in chaotic loops among the stormy, illusionary clouds above, while giant pumpkins—carved into an assortment of comical, leering faces—glowed with an eerie, flickering inner light from every corner.
Tamara sat at the Slytherin table, her posture impeccably straight, elegantly slicing the medium-rare steak on her silver plate.
Ever since that utterly ridiculous 'Inter-House Room of Requirement Tutoring Session' a few days prior, her reputation within the castle walls had skyrocketed to an unmatched, almost nauseating peak.
Over at the nearby Gryffindor table, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were currently staring at her with undisguised, starry-eyed admiration. Even the Hufflepuff students, usually as timid as cornered mice when faced with a Slytherin, would now flush a bright pink and take the initiative to stammer out a greeting whenever they crossed paths in the stone corridors.
Up at the high table, Albus Dumbledore would occasionally peer down through his half-moon spectacles, casting a gratified, sickeningly affectionate gaze in her direction.
Everything was proceeding according to her most perfect, carefully crafted script of disguise.
Tamara picked up her golden goblet, her expression serene, and took a light, refined sip of chilled pumpkin juice.
Just then, a faint, icy hiss slithered through the cacophony of clinking silverware and boisterous student laughter. It was a cold, bloody sound, yet it pierced the noisy clamor of the Great Hall and reached her ears with startling, razor-sharp clarity.
"...Rip... I want to rip... Hungry for so long... The time for slaughter has come..."
Tamara's slender fingers, currently gripping the stem of her goblet, paused. The movement was imperceptible to anyone watching. Then, safely hidden behind the golden rim of the cup, her perfectly glossed lips curled into a terrifying, predatory sneer.
She knew exactly what that voice belonged to, of course.
Judging by the muffled trajectory of the sound echoing through the ancient plumbing, the massive beast should be slithering along the damp walls of the second-floor corridor right at this very moment.
'Go on, my lovely and elegant little pet,'Tamara purred in the dark recesses of her mind, comfortably savoring the impending panic that was about to wash over the school.'Go and give these complacent fools a little taste of true terror. They are so comfortable they are practically molding in their seats. Remind them of the shock that comes with genuine Black Magic.'
An hour later, the feast concluded. The satiated crowd flooded out of the Great Hall like a massive, chattering tide, surging up the grand marble staircase.
However, the moment the vanguard of students reached the second-floor corridor, the noisy, cheerful chatter was instantly severed, as if a heavy executioner's blade had dropped over their vocal cords.
In its place fell a heavy, deathly silence.
Tamara unhurriedly pushed her way through the crowded, stiffened mass of robes, her face a mask of polite curiosity as she made her way to the very front.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood frozen dead in the center of the flooded corridor, their faces drained of all color.
On the stone wall directly before them, two lines of foot-high letters practically dripped with an eerie, wet crimson light:
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.
Enemies of the heir, beware.
Tamara stared at the arrogant, dripping handwriting. A flicker of deep mockery danced in the depths of her dark eyes.
Her sixteen-year-old soul fragment's style of doing things was truly filled with a sickening, theatrical flamboyance. It was like watching a toddler throw a tantrum with finger paints.
Following Harry's terrified, upward gaze, Tamara slowly lifted her chin.
A cruel, anticipatory smile hid just beneath the surface of her composed features as she prepared to enjoy the sight. She wondered which poor, unfortunate Mudblood had drawn the short straw, earning the distinct honor of becoming her little pet's very first sacrifice of the year.
However.
When Tamara's gaze actually locked onto the small animal hanging upside down from the torch bracket, its body as stiff as a block of granite...
...the hidden sneer on her face instantly shattered.
It wasn't that wretched furball, Madam Norris.
It was a slender cat with sleek, pure black fur and a distinct patch of snow-white on its belly. Though it was now entirely petrified, a very familiar, feral madness still lingered in those glassy feline eyes staring fixedly ahead.
That was her cat.
That was the black cat that would lie so submissively at her feet every single night in the Slytherin dungeons. The very same creature she had casually, mockingly named Nagini!
A suffocating, glacial killing intent erupted from Tamara's core in that split second. It was so dense it was almost tangible, a heavy pressure pressing down on the corridor. The temperature of the surrounding air seemed to plummet straight to the freezing point, driven by her extreme, unadulterated malice.
This wasn't just about a cat.
In the Dark Lord's personal dictionary, anything branded with the label 'belonging to Tamara Riddle'—even a worthless pebble on the ground—was absolutely untouchable.
And now, that arrogant, short-sighted fool residing in a moldy diary, possessing a mere sixteen years of memories, dared to use her own Basilisk to attack her pet? And then had the sheer, unmitigated audacity to hang it up here as a public display for the entire school?!
This was striking the dog without considering the master! This was the most vile, unforgivable violation of the main soul's absolute, supreme authority!
'...I am going to throw you, along with that wretched little diary, straight into a vortex of Fiendfyre and watch you scream as you burn to ash,' Tamara vowed, her jaw locking tight.
She gripped her wand inside her robes so fiercely her knuckles turned a stark, bone white. In her blinding fury, she didn't even pause to consider the logistics of why the cat had wandered up to the second floor in the first place.
[Ding! Extremely malicious event detected! The host has suffered the tragic loss of a beloved pet!]
The system's haunting, overly perky notification chimed in her mind at the most spectacularly inopportune moment imaginable.
[What a cruel killer! To ruthlessly murder a defenseless little kitten!]
[As the purest and softest-hearted light of Hogwarts, please immediately shed tears of grief for your murdered kitten in front of all the teachers and students! And publicly swear to find the true culprit and seek justice for the little animal!]
[Quest Reward: Life +2]
Tamara felt her vision physically darken at the edges. The surging, volcanic rage trapped in her chest nearly caused her to rupture an internal organ.
Shed tears?
Make her wail and sob in public over a petrified feline?!
[Penalty: If you refuse to comply, the system will automatically take over your vocal cords to sing a poignant and mournful rendition of "Where Has the Kitty Gone," accompanied by three minutes of violently pounding the stone floor in inconsolable grief.]
[Countdown: 3, 2...]
'You... just you wait,' Tamara gritted out in her mind, the mental words dripping with venom.
The very next second, she violently forced her overwhelming killing intent and towering rage back down, physically converting the raw, burning emotion into a stinging bitterness that flooded her tear ducts.
Under the shocked, breathless gaze of hundreds of students from all four houses...
...the deep, obsidian eyes of the ever-aloof, ever-cold, and brilliantly powerful Slytherin princess actually filled with a thick, shimmering layer of mist.
"Nagini..."
Tamara's voice trembled slightly. It was a masterclass in heartbreak, carrying a sorrow so deep it could shatter glass.
Completely ignoring the murky, stagnant water pooling on the stone floor, she stepped quickly toward the torch bracket. With agonizing gentleness, she reached up and gathered the stiff, petrified black cat into her arms, cradling it against her chest.
"Tamara..."
The surrounding crowd watched as a single, crystal-clear tear slid down from the corner of Tamara's eye, tracking a slow path down her pale cheek. Seeing her like this, their hearts felt as though they were being violently squeezed by an invisible, giant hand.
Harry immediately stepped forward, his hands raised in a panic as he explained anxiously, his words tumbling over each other. "It wasn't us! Tamara, you have to believe me, we just got here and it was already..."
"Get lost, Potter!"
With a furious, animalistic roar, Draco Malfoy roughly shoved his way through the stunned crowd, his elbows flying.
When his pale grey eyes landed on the petrified black cat, and then shifted to the incredibly rare, devastating display of vulnerability shining at the corners of Tamara's eyes, the habitually arrogant Slytherin scion turned absolutely livid. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple.
"Who did this?! How dare they attack Riddle's pet!"
Draco whipped out his hawthorn wand with a sharp snap, planting himself firmly in front of Tamara like a loyal, rabid knight. He glared fiercely at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "This is a direct declaration of war against all of Slytherin!"
Immediately following his lead, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and a massive, surging wave of Slytherin students pushed forward.
Moving as one, they spontaneously formed a tight, protective semicircle, shielding Tamara behind an indestructible wall of green and silver. They glared out at the rest of the school, their faces twisted in shared, righteous indignation.
Harry was violently bumped aside, his shoulder slamming into the damp stone wall. He frowned deeply, his fingers gripping his holly wand so tightly the wood dug into his palm.
The wall of Slytherins in front of him had heartlessly, completely shut him out.
Harry watched with cold, simmering anger as Draco shouted like a protective, overblown rooster, while Pansy offered Tamara a lace-trimmed handkerchief with exaggerated sympathy. A strong, bitter sense of resentment and deep frustration welled up in Harry's chest, threatening to choke him.
He hated this. He hated this feeling of being forcibly separated from her, pushed away simply because of the crimson trim on his robes.
But what angered him even more was the sheer ignorance of it all. These Slytherins, who were currently so busy fussing over Tamara and puffing out their chests, had absolutely no idea what had actually just happened here!
They couldn't hear the bone-chilling, murderous voice echoing in the walls. Nor could they possibly understand the hidden pain Tamara suffered, constantly tormented by the lingering trauma of Dark Magic that she fought so hard to overcome.
'Only I know...'
Harry ground his teeth together, a fierce spark of stubborn determination lighting up his brilliant green eyes.
Offering dainty handkerchiefs and shouting empty denunciations wouldn't solve a single thing. These pampered Slytherins, who only knew how to put on a grand, theatrical show, couldn't actually help her.
Since Tamara had sworn to find the coward hiding in the shadows, he would uncover the bloody truth for her!
He would prove to Tamara, through obvious action, that compared to these useless young lords and ladies who were nothing but hot air, he—Harry Potter—was the only one who truly understood her. He was the only one who could stand by her side and fight the darkness!
While the Slytherin vanguard was still busy glaring daggers at Harry, Tamara's muffled, tear-choked voice drifted out from the very center of the protective circle.
"I know it wasn't you, Potter."
Tamara buried her face deep into the black cat's stiff, unyielding fur. The action perfectly hid the feral, murderous intent that was currently bleeding into her eyes.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were rimmed with red. She scanned her surroundings, her gaze sweeping over the silent, terrified faces of her peers.
"This is an extremely evil, vile form of Dark Magic."
Tamara's voice, though thick with unshed tears, rang out firm and resonant, echoing down the flooded corridor.
"I swear."
She turned her head, staring fixedly at the glowing, bloody words smeared across the wall. She enunciated each word with heavy, deliberate emphasis:
"No matter who this coward hiding in the shadows is... no matter what his twisted purpose might be... I will personally drag him out into the light and make him pay dearly for his cruelty!"
Just as the final syllable left her lips, the heavy, hurried sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.
Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Snape, and a group of other pale-faced Professors pushed their way through the parted sea of students, arriving at the grim scene.
Dumbledore's sharp gaze immediately swept over the bloody, dripping words on the wall, before finally landing on Tamara. She stood there, holding the stiffened black cat against her chest, her eyes red and swimming with tears.
A flash of deep shock, followed rapidly by deep pity, crossed the old Headmaster's bright blue eyes.
If it had been the Tom Riddle of those bygone years, he would never, ever have shed such genuine, heartbroken tears over the fate of a mere cat.
"Oh, you poor child..." Dumbledore sighed softly, the sound heavy with age and sorrow.
Snape, meanwhile, drew his wand in a single, fluid motion. He stepped smoothly in front of Tamara, his dark, bottomless gaze scanning the terrified students like a venomous snake searching for a strike.
"Who was it?" Snape growled, his voice a deadly, silken whisper that carried through the silence. "Who dared to attack Miss Riddle's pet?"
While the entire corridor was effectively suffocated into silence by Snape's oppressive, looming aura...
...the crisp, cheerful notification of quest completion rang out merrily in Tamara's mind.
[Ding! An absolutely perfect tragic performance! Your tears have successfully awakened everyone's sympathy for a weak, helpless life!]
[Quest reward issued: Life +2 (Current Life: 21)]
[Congratulations, host! Your Life attribute has officially broken through the 20-point milestone!]
[Unlocked high-level life-side White Magic: Vulnera Sanentur (Wound Healing)]
[Skill Description: Able to heal torn wounds and reunite lost life force, it is a beautiful elegy praising life! Please use it to save more people!]
Feeling the new, complex magic circuit burning itself into her mind, pulsing with an extremely pure, sickeningly warm healing aura, Tamara felt her vision darken once more.
A healing spell.
An 'elegy praising life.'
She had spent the vast majority of her previous life exhausting her brilliant mind on how to kill as cruelly and efficiently as magically possible.
Granted, for a Dark Lord who always placed her own survival above all else, she certainly didn't mind acquiring another top-tier trump card for self-preservation.
But the system's disgusting, flowery rhetoric—which constantly forced a saintly halo upon her head and compelled her to radiate this ridiculous, blinding light of humanity—truly made her feel physically nauseated.
Tamara held the stiffened Nagini tightly in her arms, her manicured nails almost digging through the petrified fur and into the flesh below.
'My sixteen-year-old self,'she swore an oath in the absolute darkest depths of her heart, her mental tone dropping to an extremely cold register, dripping with vicious, bloody curses.'You had better pray you stay hidden in the damp sewers like the filthy rat you are forever.''Because on the day I finally drag you out, I will crush your ridiculous, childish arrogance bit by bit. I will completely, utterly erase your pathetic consciousness from this world.'
Tamara slowly raised her head. Her dark eyes were still misty and perfectly sorrowful, yet as they swept over the terrified crowd huddled in the corridor, they carried a hidden, razor-sharp edge.
Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff... no.
That little red-haired girl who was always clutching a tattered black diary to her chest, the one who had been wandering around in a pale daze lately, was nowhere to be seen in the crowd.
Tamara lowered her eyelids, the thick lashes perfectly concealing the absolute, freezing coldness in her eyes behind a veil of manufactured sorrow.
'It seems,'she thought, a dark, predatory smile blooming in her mind,'I'll have to find some time soon to have a... nice, long talk with that red-haired little mouse holding the diary.'
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