Chapter 198: Concern
The subterranean corridors of the Dungeons were perpetually cold and damp. Sputtering torchlight cast long, flickering shadows that danced across the rough-hewn stone walls.
Tamara stood in the quiet gloom just around the corner from the Potions master's office. She leaned her shoulder against the freezing masonry, her arms loosely crossed. She was in an exceptionally good mood. One might even go so far as to call her delighted.
The brief, irritating bout of testing and the lingering nausea she had endured inside that office earlier were already banished to the furthest recesses of her mind. Now, she only needed to wait. Like a patient, venomous Acromantula, she sat perfectly still, waiting for her oblivious prey to blunder straight into her carefully woven web.
The sheer venom on Severus Snape's face when he had swept out of his office moments ago had done wonders to soothe the Dark Lord's lingering displeasure. The Slytherin Head of House harbored a legendary, deep-seated loathing for Gryffindors, and he would absolutely never pass up a golden opportunity to ruthlessly torment the Weasley twins.
Before she had even knocked on the Potions office door, Tamara had discreetly launched a folded paper crane, heavily layered with a Confundus Charm to mask its origin. It carried a remarkably 'kind' warning to those two red-haired imbeciles:
Snape is in a murderous mood and is currently prowling for contraband. If you happen to be carrying any little trinkets that wouldn't be convenient for him to discover, you had better find a Slytherin to help cover for you. I am waiting in the Dungeons corridor.
A cold, supremely confident smirk curled the corner of Tamara's mouth.
It was a flawless, interlocking scheme. The moment Snape's bat-like silhouette descended upon them, those two insufferable troublemakers—who typically feared nothing in heaven or on earth—would undoubtedly panic. Faced with the imminent threat of having their precious, rule-breaking inventory confiscated, their only logical move would be to follow the anonymous crane's advice and sprint straight down into the Dungeons.
They needed a safe haven to stash their illicit goods, a sanctuary that would never, ever draw Snape's suspicion. And who better than Tamara Riddle? She was Snape's most prized model student, yet simultaneously someone the twins foolishly considered a kindred spirit in mischief. She was the ultimate vault. After all, why would the paranoid Potions Master ever search his own star pupil?
Once the Marauder's Map was safely tucked into her robes...
Return it?
The very thought was laughable. There was absolutely no precedent in history for the Dark Lord returning something she had set her sights on. She had at least a hundred different methods to ensure the parchment was 'accidentally'lost forever within the depths of the Slytherin dormitories.'Run. Panic,'she counted down the seconds with luxurious ease in her mind.'And then be good little blood-traitors and obediently stuff that damned map right into my waiting hands.'
With that map in her possession, every single movement within the walls of Hogwarts would fall under her absolute control. She could effortlessly evade Dumbledore's omniscient gaze. She could even, when the mood struck her, arrange a few tragic accidents for certain disobedient individuals.
A sudden cacophony of hurried, slapping footsteps echoed from the far end of the stone corridor.
Tamara instantly erased her predatory smirk. She smoothed her features into a mask of startled concern, tinged with just the right amount of cautious hesitation, and stepped lightly out of the shadows.
Right on cue, Fred and George Weasley came hurtling down the spiral staircase. They looked like two rabbits with their tails set ablaze, stumbling and scrambling over their own feet. Their Gryffindor robes were wildly askew, and their freckled faces were pale, bearing the distinct, lingering traces of sheer terror.
"Merlin's beard! Did Snape swallow the wrong potion this morning?!" Fred panted heavily, bracing his hands on his knees as he threw a paranoid glance back up the stairs.
"He's acting like a rabid giant bat! He came swooping right at us, firing off a Petrificus Totalus before we could even blink, and literally turned our pockets inside out!" George wheezed, patting his chest as if to ensure his heart was still beating.
Tamara hurried forward to meet them, a perfectly calibrated look of deep concern flashing in her dark eyes. "Did you run into Professor Snape?"
"Tamara! You really are here!"
The twins' eyes lit up the instant they spotted her, gazing at her as though she were a descending angel of salvation.
"Thank Morgana for your warning!" Fred gasped out. "That was utterly terrifying. Snape confiscated every single one of our newly developed Dungbombs and the entire batch of Hiccup Sweets! Luckily, we reacted fast enough to only let him find the harmless decoy trinkets!"
'Dungbombs?'Tamara sneered internally.'It is a blessing to the world that such juvenile trash was confiscated.'
Forcing down her rising impatience, she let her gaze discreetly sweep over the bulky contours of the twins' pockets. She softened her voice to a gentle, conspiratorial whisper, testing the waters with a tone that dripped with pure, selfless concern.
"Since Professor Snape clearly has his eye on you both right now, you aren't... carrying anything truly valuable, are you? Like... certain magical items that absolutely shouldn't be inside the castle?"
She placed a delicate emphasis on the word "valuable," offering them a deeply meaningful look. The subtext was practically screaming at them: Hurry up and hand over the Marauder's Map. I will keep it safe for you.
"Valuable things?"
Fred blinked, pausing to process the question before exchanging a knowing look with his brother. The lingering terror on their freckled faces vanished in an instant, melting into brilliant, identical grins.
"Oh! You mean that!" George slapped his forehead dramatically. He leaned in close to Tamara, flashing a conspiratorial grin as he lowered his voice, practically bursting with pride. "Don't you worry about that, Tamara! We're veterans of a hundred battles. Do you really think we'd be foolish enough to keep such an important treasure on our persons, just waiting for Snape to search us and snatch it away?"
Tamara's dark heart skipped a violent beat.
Not on them? Then where in Salazar's name was it? Stuffed under a filthy mattress in Gryffindor Tower? Shoved into some damp, forgotten secret passage?
"Then... where did you put it?" Tamara asked, her voice tight as she fought a sudden, desperate battle to maintain her gentle composure.
"We gave it to Harry!" Fred announced eagerly, his chest puffing out. His tone was utterly saturated with that nauseating, self-sacrificing Gryffindor sense of brotherhood.
"You gave... you gave it to Potter?"
Tamara's pupils dilated to pinpricks. Her carefully modulated voice actually cracked under the sheer weight of her disbelief.
George, completely oblivious to the sudden, arctic drop in temperature radiating from the girl standing before him, continued to bask in the warm glow of his own noble actions.
"Poor Harry," George sighed sympathetically. "Everyone else in our year is heading down to Hogsmeade this weekend, but he's the only one forced to stay behind in the castle. All because that nasty Muggle uncle of his refused to sign his permission form."
"And..." Fred shifted his weight, glancing at Tamara before awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Still, his Gryffindor bluntness won out. "And, well, you've been rather cold to him lately. The bloke looks like he's about to sink into a permanent depression. He's been wandering around the common room like a lost ghost all week."
"We just couldn't stand to watch him mope anymore," George picked up smoothly. "So, we decided to pass the ultimate treasure on to him! With that map, Harry can easily dodge the Dementors and slip past the professors. He can sneak right through a secret passage into the village, buy himself a mountain of sweets at Honeydukes, and finally cheer up!"
"Brilliant, right? Aren't we just the greatest mates a bloke could ask for?" Fred beamed.
They stood there, shoulder to shoulder, their expectant faces practically screaming at her to shower them with praise.
Tamara stood absolutely rooted to the stone floor.
Beneath the dim, flickering firelight, her exquisite, pale features had contorted into something far beyond mere unsightliness. A muscle ticked violently in her jaw.
She had calculated every single variable to set this flawless trap. She had masterfully exploited Snape's bitter hatred and weaponized the twins' natural fear of authority. She had been inches away—mere seconds away—from having the Marauder's Map, the ultimate instrument of surveillance, fall directly into her waiting palms.
And yet.
These brainless, sentimental Gryffindors with heads entirely stuffed full of rotting Fluxweed! They had actually given it away in the name of 'brotherhood'! All so that damned, miserable Scarhead could sneak into a muddy village and buy some lousy sugar quills to cure his teenage angst!
They had casually handed over a priceless, irreplaceable magical artifact for absolutely nothing. They treated a masterpiece of magical cartography like a cheap rattle meant to soothe a crying infant, and they had given it to Harry Potter!
"Tamara? What's wrong?"
Seeing that the Slytherin girl hadn't spoken a word for several long, agonizing seconds, and feeling the hair-raising, murderous chill she was uncontrollably emitting, George reached out and gently touched her sleeve. "Your face looks even scarier than Snape's right now... are you feeling unwell?"
"...It is nothing."
Tamara squeezed the words out from between her tightly locked teeth. Her dark eyes bored into the two utterly useless idiots standing before her.
If the System were not currently holding her hostage, she would have drawn her wand and cast a Severing Charm right this second. She desperately wanted to slice open these two red-haired skulls like ripe pumpkins, just to see if their brains had been entirely replaced by sloshing pumpkin juice!
But she couldn't. The threat of the System's agonizing electrical punishment loomed over her. She had to endure.
"I am perfectly fine." Tamara inhaled a slow, shuddering breath. She forcibly crushed the raw killing intent swirling in her eyes, striving with every ounce of her willpower to make her voice sound sweet and steady. "I just think... you two are truly wonderful friends. Such a deeply touching display of brotherhood should practically be recorded in Hogwarts' history."
"You really think so?" George's eyes brightened instantly, looking genuinely flattered.
Not only did he completely fail to detect the venomous sarcasm dripping from Tamara's tone—a tone that clearly indicated she wanted to tear them limb from limb—he actually began to stroke his chin in serious, contemplative thought.
"Which section do you reckon would be best? Which chapter of Hogwarts: A History? How about slotting us right in next to the legends of the four Founders?"
Fred rubbed his hands together excitedly, his eyes gleaming with conviction. "Or they could just start a completely separate 'Hogwarts' Greatest Brotherhood' appendix! With your glowing recommendation, Tamara, Professor Binns might actually agree to add our heroic deeds to next year's History of Magic exam!"
Tamara stared blankly at their beaming, expectant faces.
Breathing the same air as these two mountain trolls—who lacked the basic cognitive function to distinguish a death threat from a compliment—was a tragic, monumental insult to the dignity of the Dark Lord.
"Whatever you prefer," Tamara spat expressionlessly. Her voice was so frigid it could have frozen the damp air into falling icicles. "If you are truly that dedicated, you can go write it directly onto Albus Dumbledore's beard."
Without waiting for a response, she refused to endure their presence for a single second longer. She stepped forward, ruthlessly slamming her shoulder into George's as she shoved past him, striding away toward the far end of the corridor without a single backward glance.
The twins remained rooted to the spot, blinking in confusion as they looked at each other.
"She seems... even angrier now, doesn't she?" George asked, scratching his head in bewilderment.
"Maybe it's just a special Slytherin way of expressing deep emotion," Fred offered with a dismissive shrug. "After all, she named her sweet little cat Bella. There's no accounting for taste. Come on, before Snape decides to double back, let's hurry up to the Great Hall and grab some dinner!"
Walking furiously through the empty, echoing corridors, Tamara's mood had plummeted to absolute rock bottom.
Just as she was actively calculating the logistical requirements of sneaking into Gryffindor Tower at midnight to blow up Potter's four-poster bed—along with that blasted map—the relentlessly cheerful System chimed in her head.
[Ding! Detected that the Host is currently in a state of intense, murderous irritation~]
[Actually, Master Host, you don't have to be so grumpy! Since the map is currently in Harry Potter's hands, why don't you just go and ask him for it?]
[Given Harry's incredibly high favorability toward you, all you need to do is give him a gentle, sweet smile, say a few encouraging words, and squeeze out a couple of delicate tears... This System absolutely guarantees that the Savior will offer up the treasure to you without a single moment of hesitation!]
Go and beg Harry Potter for the map?
What a sickening joke. For the proud, peerless Dark Lord to deliberately bow her head and play the weeping maiden for a pathetic boy who had repeatedly dared to defy her?
"I can survive without that map..." Tamara ground out through clenched teeth, her brilliant mind already racing at a frantic pace to formulate an alternative plan.
Just then, a new sound echoed through the stone halls.
From the opposite end of the corridor, just around the bend of the stairwell, came the distinct, dragging sound of heavy, disorganized footsteps.
Tamara snapped her gaze upward.
She saw a young girl with bushy brown hair that looked remarkably like a chaotic bird's nest. The girl was carrying a towering, precarious stack of heavy leather-bound books that seemed almost taller than she was, swaying dangerously with every step she took.
Hermione Granger.
The insufferable Miss Know-It-All had clearly been squeezed to her absolute physical limits by the crushing weight of her impossible third-year workload. She looked as though she hadn't slept a full night in weeks. Her gait was incredibly unsteady, her knees buckling slightly, making her look as if she might simply drop dead on the cold flagstones at any given second.
Tamara's footsteps ceased entirely.
She narrowed her deep, dark eyes. Her predatory gaze instantly locked onto a very specific detail: the faint, unmistakable glimmer of a long, thin gold chain peeking out from beneath the collar of Hermione's rumpled school robes.
The suffocating rage that had been boiling in her chest over the loss of the Marauder's Map slowly, miraculously evaporated the very moment the firelight caught the edge of that golden chain.
In its place, a slow, incredibly dangerous smile bloomed across her pale lips.
'Since I cannot acquire the map...'Tamara murmured softly within the dark confines of her mind, her internal voice dripping with a sudden, determined malice.'Then I will simply have to take the Time-Turner.'
She paused to gracefully smooth out the front of her robes, which had become slightly disheveled during her silent fit of rage. With practiced ease, she summoned forth a flawless expression of deep, sisterly concern and radiant warmth.
"It is time..." Tamara whispered to herself, stepping forward with the elegant, silent grace of a hunting leopard as she closed the distance toward the exhausted, bushy-haired girl. "...to go show a little heartfelt concern for our poor, overworked Miss Know-It-All."
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