Chapter 195: Practice Makes Perfect
"Bella..."
Tamara rolled the syllables around in her mind, tasting the sudden, sharp realization. For a fraction of a second, her thoughts flatlined. Slowly, ever so slowly, her dark eyes drifted downward to fixate on the black feline currently purring in her hands.
The Marauder's Map. Thanks to the Virtue System's infuriating but occasionally useful interference, the parchment was physically incapable of displaying the terrifying monikers of Voldemort or Tom Marvolo Riddle. It seemed that same protective censorship extended to her immediate orbit. It had scrubbed the notorious, blood-soaked surname Lestrange and the infamous Bellatrix, leaving behind only the most innocuous, domestic-sounding first name. Bella.
That was exactly why those two Gryffindor halfwits assumed it was just a painfully unoriginal pet name. But Tamara was not a brainless lion. In that singular, crystal-clear moment, every bizarre inconsistency she had ignored snapped violently into focus.
Why did this supposedly ordinary animal bypass every locking charm she cast? Why did it erupt into a frenzy of pure, unadulterated killing intent the moment it caught a whiff of Peter Pettigrew on her robes? Why, when she lost her temper and hurled the creature off her four-poster bed like a worthless rag, did it never cower? Instead, it would look up at her with that sickeningly devoted, feverish, utterly fawning gaze.
And Merlin's beard... the Polyjuice Potion incident. When that insufferable Granger girl had mistakenly ingested this cat's hair, the resulting half-feline, half-human monstrosity had felt so deeply, disturbingly familiar.
Because beneath this deceptively stupid, furry exterior, there was no ordinary animal soul. Trapped inside this pathetic little beast was her most fanatical follower. The first female Death Eater. The woman currently rotting in Azkaban, who would gladly tear the world apart with her bare teeth for her master.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Tamara turned to stone. The blood in her veins felt as though it had instantly reversed course, turning to ice. She stared blankly at the creature cradled in her palms.
As if sensing the drastic shift in its master's aura, the black cat curled up. It clutched its own tail between its front paws and offered Tamara a sickeningly sweet, feverishly trembling, downright idiotic grin.
For the first time since donning this wretched, angelic disguise, the peerless Dark Lord entirely lost control of her facial muscles. Her expression twisted into a horrifying mask of shock and sheer absurdity.
"Tamara? What's wrong?" George leaned in, his brow furrowing with genuine concern. "You look absolutely dreadful."
"It is... nothing." Tamara inhaled sharply, forcing the muscles of her face to relax into her trademark, gentle smile. She even managed a light, casual chuckle. "What? Bella is a lovely name. Is that madwoman in Azkaban the only one allowed to use it?"
"Ha! Fair point," Fred laughed loudly, completely oblivious to the murderous aura leaking from the girl before him. "Honestly, it suits a black cat perfectly."
Tamara sneered inwardly. 'Blind, bumbling fools.' If the Marauder's Map could display the name Bella, it absolutely displayed the name Peter. These two absolute imbeciles had spent years staring at this parchment, utterly failing to notice that their youngest brother slept in the same bed as a grown man named Peter every single night!
She kept her mouth shut, of course. That sniveling, useless rat Pettigrew still had a part to play on her chessboard.
"I suddenly feel a bit unwell," Tamara murmured, her tone dropping a few degrees as she held the black cat at arm's length. "And my pet seems to require a bath. If you will excuse me."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel. Completely ignoring the bewildered glances exchanged between the twins and a highly confused Ginny Weasley, she marched straight toward the Slytherin dungeons, carrying the softly purring Bella like a live bomb.
The moment she crossed the threshold of her private Slytherin dormitory, Tamara slammed the heavy oak door shut and threw three locking charms over the latch. The Room of Requirement was no longer a viable sanctuary, not with Albus Dumbledore's pervasive, twinkling gaze tracking her every move. This room was her only remaining stronghold.
Without an ounce of gentleness, she tossed the black cat onto her wooden desk.
'System!'she roared in the confines of her mind, her mental voice vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage.'Just what kind of deranged stunt did you pull?! You stuffed Bellatrix Lestrange's soul into a bloody feline?!'
The System paused. A beat of digital silence passed before that nauseatingly perky, synthetic voice chimed in, dripping with a highly artificial sense of grievance.
[Ding! I was simply worried the host would feel too lonely in this cold, drafty castle!]
[As a Virtue System dedicated to spreading love and peace, I mercifully expended a massive amount of energy to answer that poor lady's deep, yearning love! I helped her complete a truly touching Interspecies Soul Transfer!]
'Interspecies Soul Transfer?'Tamara ground her teeth together so hard her jaw ached.'Then what about her original body?! The one currently locked in the highest security wing of Azkaban?!'
The System replied with an almost cheeky lilt.
[Why drag around such a heavy, useless burden? Her physical shell is likely just drooling and staring blankly at the wall of her cell right now.]
[After all, she willingly sacrificed the vast majority of her humanity and higher logic in exchange for the chance to escape and rush to your side in the form of a cute little pet~]
[Look at that pure, unreserved loyalty! Isn't the host moved to tears?]
Tamara stared dead-eyed at the black cat on her desk. The creature was currently licking its front paw with complete, innocent devotion.
It all made sickening sense now. No wonder it oscillated between acting like a genuinely brainless animal and erupting into fits of pathological, obsessive fervor.
She inhaled deeply, forcing her racing heart to steady. The Dark Lord did not panic. She analyzed. She isolated the core variable.
'So what exactly is her current state?'Tamara demanded coldly.'An Animagus?'
[Incorrect!] the System chirped. [An Animagus transformation retains human logic and intellect. She is currently a biological cat housing fragmented pieces of a human soul.]
[However, this System has prepared a delightful little easter egg just for you—a Transformation Mechanism!]
[Simply put, it is a two-way trigger system.]
[Active Trigger: When the host is in mortal peril or requires immediate protection, she can briefly restore her human form to fight on your behalf.]
[Passive Trigger: Because her soul is highly unstable, whenever she comes into direct contact with your dark magic aura, or any of your golden bloodline products...]
The System's voice suddenly dropped an octave, taking on a distinctly suggestive, teasing tone.
[She will temporarily assume a human form due to a complete loss of soul control.]
[But please note! In this passive-triggered human state, she possesses absolutely zero logic or restraint~]
Tamara's brow furrowed. 'Golden bloodline products?'
A memory flashed through her mind—the girls' lavatory. She had accidentally let a single drop of her golden blood fall onto this supposedly dead cat's nose, instantly snapping it out of the Basilisk's petrification.
If this ridiculous mechanism was real...
A dangerous, calculating light flickered in Tamara's dark eyes.
Having an absolutely loyal, magically devastating Death Eater at her immediate disposal would be infinitely more useful than relying on a house full of arrogant, underdeveloped Slytherin brats. If she could master this Transformation Mechanism, this purring, fawning furball would instantly become her ultimate hidden trump card.
But the Dark Lord did not operate on blind faith. Every theory required rigorous, practical testing.
She crossed the room to her private potion cabinet. Bypassing the standard vials, she reached into the most heavily warded compartment and withdrew a tiny crystal flask. The liquid inside shimmered with a faint, captivating golden luminescence. It was an Inferior Energy Potion, brewed using a diluted drop of her own golden blood mixed with stabilizing reagents.
"Open your mouth," Tamara commanded, her voice devoid of all emotion.
She uncorked the vial and tipped a single drop past the feline's sharp little teeth.
The reaction was instantaneous. The second the golden liquid slid down the creature's throat, a sickening chorus of cracking, popping bones echoed through the quiet dormitory. The cat's tiny frame violently stretched, expanding and reorganizing at a terrifying speed.
In the span of three shallow breaths, the black cat vanished.
Crouched on the wooden desk in its place was a tall, impossibly pale woman. A wild, untamed mane of thick, curly black hair cascaded down her back. Her gaunt, aristocratic face was twisted into an expression of hair-raising, absolute fanaticism.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Sprouting from the crown of her dark hair were two furry, pitch-black cat ears, twitching erratically. And swishing wildly through the air behind her was a long, sleek feline tail.
"It really is her..." Tamara whispered, her pupils contracting to pinpricks.
But before the Dark Lord could even twitch her fingers toward her wand, before a single syllable of a command could leave her lips, the half-human, half-feline monstrosity locked eyes with her.
Bella's dark, sunken eyes were completely devoid of human reason. They swam with pure, unadulterated madness. That single drop of blood-infused potion hadn't just triggered a physical transformation—it had violently ignited the deeply suppressed, pathological obsession she harbored for her master.
With a guttural hiss, Bella pounced.
She cleared the distance between the desk and the bed in a single, savage leap. The sheer, irresistible kinetic force of the impact caught Tamara completely off guard. The Dark Lord was thrown backward, crashing heavily into the soft mattress of her four-poster bed.
"Are you insane—mph!"
Tamara's furious roar was violently cut off. Bella's heavy, lithe frame pressed down on her chest like a collapsing mountain, completely trapping her.
"Master... my beautiful Master..."
The skin-crawling, obsessive murmurs spilled from Bella's lips as her pale hands shot out, frantically pinning Tamara's wrists to the silk sheets with terrifying, beastly strength.
Then, that gaunt, fanatical face leaned in close. Too close.
Bella opened her mouth and extended her tongue.
It was not a human tongue. It was a long, rough muscle, completely coated in sharp, abrasive feline barbs.
Driven entirely by animalistic instinct and twisted devotion, Bella dragged that sandpaper-like tongue frantically across Tamara's cheek. Then her chin. Then down to the pale, vulnerable expanse of her neck and the delicate collarbone exposed by her violently disheveled robes.
"Get off! Bella! You absolute lunatic! Get off me!" Tamara shrieked, her voice cracking with unmatched humiliation.
She twisted her hips desperately, thrashing against the mattress in a frantic bid to kick the madwoman away. But Tamara's current physical shell was that of a delicate, under-exercised teenage girl. Her pitiful physical strength was utterly useless against a fully-grown witch operating on pure, feverish, beast-like adrenaline.
"Master... smells so good... Master's scent..." Bella chanted mindlessly between frantic licks. She was completely deaf to any commands. Her shattered mind was entirely consumed by feline instinct and an endless, suffocating possessiveness.
The abrasive barbs ruthlessly scraped against Tamara's highly sensitive, pale skin, leaving behind trails of burning, stinging pain and a skin-crawling sensation that made her muscles spasm violently. Pinned helplessly beneath her deranged servant, Tamara's pristine black hair splayed wildly across the pillows. Her usually cold, imperious face was flushed a brilliant, furious crimson, burning with sheer humiliation.
"I am going to kill you... I swear to Salazar, I will kill you..." Tamara hissed through tightly locked teeth. The murderous red glint in her dark eyes burned so brightly it practically manifested as physical Fiendfyre.
If her wrists were free for even a fraction of a second, she would not hesitate to blast this desecrating madwoman into oblivion with a point-blank Avada Kedavra!
Just as the Dark Lord felt the very last thread of her sanity begin to snap...
Poof.
A soft, muffled sound echoed in the room. The suffocating, heavy weight pressing down on her chest vanished into thin air.
The feverish, fanatical Death Eater was gone.
In her place, curled up contentedly on Tamara's thoroughly ruined, saliva-dampened lapels, was the small black cat. A loud, rhythmic purring erupted from its throat, vibrating so intensely it practically shook the bed frame. The feline affectionately nuzzled its furry little head against Tamara's scraped, red-marked chin, closed its eyes, and promptly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, entirely unburdened by guilt.
A deathly, heavy silence descended upon the Slytherin girls' dormitory.
Tamara lay completely paralyzed on the mattress, her chest heaving violently as she gasped for air. Her school robes were a disheveled disaster, her collar torn wide open. Her fair neck and delicate collarbone were painted with highly conspicuous, stinging red abrasions left behind by the abrasive tongue.
She stared blankly up at the dark green velvet canopy of her bed. At that moment, the Dark Lord genuinely felt that life was no longer worth living. All the cold, calculating luster had entirely vanished from her pitch-black eyes, replaced by a hollow, dead-eyed numbness. She looked like a woman who had peered into the deepest abyss of worldly absurdity and lost her mind.
A long, agonizing minute passed.
Right on cue, shattering the deathly silence, that hauntingly cheerful electronic voice exploded inside her skull.
[Ding! Detected that the host has successfully completed a Daily Achievement: Deep Friendly Interaction with Pet!]
[Reward: Love +1! Pet Bond significantly increased! Current Love: 36.]
[Please keep up the excellent work, host! Continue to use your warm embrace and broad, forgiving mind to reform every lost soul~]
Tamara slowly, numbly, closed her eyes. She didn't even possess the residual energy required to scream at the System.
"Azkaban..." she whispered to the empty room, her voice hollow and defeated. "...is entirely too merciful for this crazy bitch."
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