Chapter 163: Approval
A sharp, furious shout shattered the damp stillness of the Chamber of Secrets. A blinding flash of crimson light erupted from the tip of Tamara's holly wand, tearing through the gloom like a localized lightning strike.
The Expelliarmus cut through the air with terrifying velocity—a speed that made Harry's own spellwork look like child's play.
Clang!
The scarlet beam slammed into Neville's wrist with surgical, unforgiving precision.
The Sword of Gryffindor, a legendary relic forged to vanquish dark forces, was violently wrenched from his grasp. It spun end-over-end through the cavernous space, catching the faint light before crashing heavily into a murky puddle a dozen yards away. The goblin-wrought silver let out a dull, ringing wail as it sank into the muck.
His momentum utterly broken, Neville's center of gravity vanished. His arms flailed wildly, but there was no time to correct his posture. Driven forward by the sheer force of his own desperate charge, he pitched forward and planted his face directly into the cold, slimy stone floor, skidding to a pathetic halt right at the base of the towering Basilisk.
The great serpent froze, visibly startled by the sudden, chaotic display.
Its massive, bulbous yellow eyes—pools of lethal, venomous light—blinked down at the round-faced boy groaning at its belly scales. Neville sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of foul, ancient puddle water. For a brief, surreal moment, the apex predator looked almost innocent, tilting its horned head in sheer confusion.
Under any normal circumstance, the Basilisk would have unhinged its jaws and swallowed this noisy, squirming little snack whole.
But now...
The air in the Chamber had suddenly grown freezing cold. A terrifying, suffocating wave of pure killing intent radiated from the black-haired girl standing just yards away. It was a malice so dense, so ancient and dark, that even a thousand-year-old magical beast felt a primal shudder ripple down its spine.
Coupled with the frantic, soothing hisses of Parseltongue still spilling from Harry's lips, the serpent made a tactical decision.
It rapidly retracted its massive neck. Completely ignoring the muddy Gryffindor at its mercy, the Basilisk twisted its armored body with surprising agility. Its thick tail whipped across the water as it slithered frantically back up the towering statue, retreating into the cavernous, open mouth of Salazar Slytherin.
A heavy, grinding rumble echoed through the cavern as the stone jaws snapped shut. The bottomless black void was sealed away, leaving the Chamber of Secrets to plunge back into a deathly, ringing silence.
Harry and Ron stood frozen, utterly stunned by the sheer ferocity of Tamara's magic.
Just seconds ago, the girl had been a pale, trembling mess, leaning heavily against Ginny as if drawing her next breath required a monumental effort. How had she transformed in the blink of an eye? She had sprung from the ground with the lethal grace of a striking viper, disarming a charging boy with a single, flawless spell.
"I... I was just..."
Neville groaned, scrambling clumsily out of the muck. He dragged a trembling sleeve across his face, smearing dirty water and algae over his cheeks. He stared blankly at his empty, stinging hands, then up at the sealed stone visage of Slytherin. His eyes were wide, completely dazed.
He had jumped down that pipe to be a hero. He had pictured himself as a knight from the old legends, raising a gleaming blade to slay the dragon and rescue his friends from the jaws of death.
Instead, he hadn't even managed a single swing. He had been blasted off his feet by his own classmate and ended up eating a mouthful of thousand-year-old dirt.
"I just... I wanted to save you guys..." Neville stammered, his voice cracking defensively.
Tamara's chest heaved. She drew in a long, sharp breath, her teeth grinding together. She was fully prepared to flay this Gryffindor imbecile alive with her words, to tear into the idiot who had nearly skewered her precious, irreplaceable legacy.
But just as her lips parted to unleash a torrent of venom, the infuriatingly perky electronic voice in her skull—having just finished its reboot sequence—chimed in at the absolute worst possible moment.
[Ding! Detected that the host is radiating extreme negative emotions and hostile intent!]
[Friendly reminder: Although this round-faced little student made a tiny mistake, he jumped down here with a pure heart full of brave rescue intentions!]
[As a future Paragon of Virtue dedicated to spreading love and peace, the host must demonstrate tolerance and magnanimity! Do not be too harsh on others! Influence his soul with the gentle warmth of a spring breeze!]
Tamara's mind went white with rage.
'A tiny mistake?'she snarled internally. This bumbling fool had just charged her thousand-year-old Basilisk with a goblin-wrought blade! He had been half a second away from sending Slytherin's greatest legacy to the afterlife! And she was supposed to gently influence the culprit who nearly butchered her pet?'Go rot in hell, you broken piece of junk.'
With a vicious mental shove, Tamara unilaterally muted the chattering system. She leveled her gaze at the mud-caked, sniffling Neville. The sheer fury and bitter resentment burning in her dark eyes could no longer be entirely masked.
"Save us?"
A cold, hollow laugh slipped from her lips. The sound echoed off the damp walls of the vast Chamber, dripping with undisguised mockery and biting frost. Enduring the painful, electric spasms wracking her muscles from overdrawing her magic, Tamara straightened her spine. She stepped forward, her boots clicking deliberately against the stone as she advanced on the boy.
"Who told you to come down here?" she demanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous, silken whisper. She looked down her nose at the trembling Gryffindor, her gaze slicing into him like a physical blade. "You brainless idiot. Do you realize you nearly got every single person in this room killed?"
"But... but that was a monster!" Neville retorted, a flash of indignant Gryffindor stubbornness breaking through his fear. He pointed a shaking finger toward the towering statue. "It was going to eat you!"
"Utterly foolish!"
Tamara's voice cracked like a whip, her overbearing aura instantly crushing his meager defiance and seizing absolute control of the space.
"That is an ancient magical creature that has survived for a millennium! Did you honestly believe you could just hack it to pieces with a shiny piece of scrap metal?"
She jabbed a finger squarely at Neville's nose, her tone dripping with the high-and-mighty reprimand of a furious professor.
"Its scales are tougher than dragon hide! If you had struck it, if its venom splashed outward—if even a single, microscopic drop touched any of us—no one here survives!"
She took another step forward. The sheer, suffocating pressure of her presence forced Neville to stumble back two paces.
"Potter had finally managed to soothe the beast. He used Parseltongue to calm it, to coax it back into its nest obediently! And what did you do?" Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You charged in like a rabid madman and provoked it!"
"If that serpent had launched a frantic counterattack because of your blinding stupidity, do you truly believe that little sword could have protected anyone present?"
The vicious verbal lashing left Neville completely paralyzed. He stood there, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. His lips trembled, and thick tears welled in the corners of his eyes, cutting clean tracks through the mud on his face. He couldn't utter a single syllable of rebuttal.
He couldn't fight back because every word Tamara spoke made absolute, terrifying sense.
Even the system in her head couldn't help but express its deep admiration.
[Ding! The system detects that the host's linguistic manipulation skills have reached the pinnacle of perfection!]
[To be able to package your selfish motives so righteously and grandiosely! Truly impressive, host! Worthy of being a future Paragon of Virtue! Even your harshest criticisms are impeccably reasoned and overflowing with deep concern for your companions' safety!]
A few paces away, Harry and Ron exchanged wide-eyed glances. Any lingering doubts they had about Tamara's sudden burst of aggression vanished, replaced by solemn nods of agreement.
Her words were undeniably harsh, cutting the poor boy to the bone, but... she was right. It had been incredibly dangerous.
The Basilisk had clearly been retreating. If Neville had actually managed to strike it and trigger a violent frenzy, the consequences would have been catastrophic. A deep wave of gratitude and admiration for Tamara washed over the two boys. Even in such a fragile, weakened state, she had maintained absolute clarity of mind and made the perfect tactical judgment.
If she hadn't disarmed Neville in that split second, they would all be corpses rotting in the dark.
Harry let out a long, shaky breath, looking at the dark-haired girl with newfound reverence. 'Truly worthy of being Tamara...' he thought.
Of course, the Gryffindor boys were completely oblivious to the truth. They had no idea that Tamara's impassioned, righteous speech regarding their collective safety was nothing but a brilliant, glittering facade for her own possessive selfishness.
She simply refused to let her personal property be damaged by a bumbling fool.
As for whether the rest of these brats lived or died? What did their pathetic lives have to do with the Dark Lord? In fact, if the provoked Basilisk had managed to swallow Harry Potter whole on its way out, she would have happily stood on the sidelines and applauded the show.
But anyone with even half a troll's brain knew how this twisted game worked. If Potter ever fell into genuine, mortal danger, that nauseating, glitter-infused system in her skull would immediately trigger a blaring alarm. It would threaten her with electric shocks, attribute deductions, and agonizing punishments just to force her to intervene.
If that happened, she wouldn't just lose the magnificent pet left behind by her ancestor—she would also have to hold her nose, risk her own neck, and actively save her fated nemesis. The mere thought made her stomach churn.
"I... I'm sorry..." Neville lowered his head, his chin trembling as a stifled sob broke through his voice. "I... I messed everything up..."
"Don't say that, Neville," Harry interjected softly. Seeing his friend looking ready to bury his face back into the mud out of sheer shame, Harry couldn't bear it any longer. He stepped forward to comfort him. "Think on the bright side. You didn't actually have time to mess things up. The most damage you did was taking a tumble."
Neville sniffled loudly, peering up at Harry through thick, watery eyes.
"Besides, you jumped down that pipe all by yourself when even we were scared to death," Harry said, gesturing toward the pitch-black tunnel entrance high above. His green eyes were filled with sincere, unwavering respect. "When you thought we were in danger, you didn't run away. You didn't hesitate. You grabbed a sword and charged straight at a thousand-year-old monster that kills with a single look. That takes immense courage."
Ron limped over to join them. Though he had been knocked into a puddle earlier and was currently soaking wet, shivering violently in the damp cavern air, he still managed to roughly sling an arm around Neville's shoulder.
"Exactly, mate! That was a bloody Basilisk! I almost wet myself when it charged!" Ron grinned, his pale face breaking into a warm, lopsided smile. "Even though Tamara is right, and charging it head-on was completely mental... Merlin's beard! The way you came flying out of nowhere, brandishing that sword and shouting 'For Gryffindor' was absolutely brilliant!"
"Re... really?" Neville looked between his two friends, his voice thick with disbelief.
"Of course it's true. You're a true Gryffindor, Neville," Harry said, nodding firmly.
Hearing those words, the tears threatening to spill from Neville's eyes finally stopped. He scrubbed at his face haphazardly with the back of a muddy hand. Though he still looked like an absolute disaster, a small, genuine smile finally broke through the grime.
A few steps away, Tamara watched the sickening display unfold. Seeing these three idiots huddling together for emotional warmth, she rolled her eyes with absolute, unreserved disgust.
A foolish, monumentally reckless act that nearly got them all slaughtered was just brushed aside with a few light phrases like 'you have courage'and'you were brilliant'? They were actually putting on a touching, tear-jerking display of house brotherhood over sheer incompetence.
The Gryffindor thought process was truly powered by some hopeless, single-celled organism.
'A bunch of morons,' she sneered internally, turning her face away before her perfect mask could slip.
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