Chapter 197: Report
Standing quietly in the shadows of the Potions classroom, Tamara observed the man who had just spat out such venomous remarks.
'So that is how it is...'
A cold, crystalline realization settled over her mind. Looking at the lingering humiliation tight around Severus Snape's eyes, she instantly pieced together the pathetic truth of his youth. This terrifying Potions Master, the bat of the dungeons who made children tremble, had been nothing more than a favorite punching bag for Lupin and his little gang of Gryffindor brats.
She was not surprised. Decades ago, when this sallow, painfully thin half-blood had first knelt to take the Dark Mark, she had ripped into his mind with Legilimency. She remembered the bitter, metallic taste of his hatred, the suffocating waves of inferiority and shame. As for the actual details of his torment? The great Dark Lord had not bothered to look twice. In Lord Voldemort's eyes, such things were the meaningless squabbles of insects in the dirt. He had no time to coddle his servants over their tragic schoolboy grievances. He only needed to ensure the blade of their hatred was sharp enough to use.
Tamara stared at Snape's rigid back, her dark eyes brimming with aristocratic disdain.
'Bullied by the weak, so he crawled to the feet of a true master for power and revenge. A hatred born of pure inferiority... so much easier to leash than the fickle, profit-driven loyalty of the pure-blood houses.'
To close the distance with her Head of House, Tamara let her voice drop into a perfect imitation of Slytherin elitism.
"I completely agree with your assessment, Professor," she murmured, her tone laced with just the right amount of aristocratic disgust. "Gryffindor is nothing but a breeding ground for arrogant hypocrites and reckless troublemakers. In that entire house of foolish lions, there has never been a single thing of true value. Not one... good thing."
The air in the dungeon snapped shut.
Snape's long fingers, which had been methodically organizing a row of crystal phials, froze mid-air. He did not turn around. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, pressing against the damp stone walls.
Then, a strained, fractured sound scraped from his throat.
"...Not entirely."
Snape lowered his gaze. His voice was a hollow whisper, fragile as dust settling in the dark.
"That place... there was once an exception."
The calculated sneer in Tamara's mind shattered.
An exception? In the eyes of a Death Eater whose very soul had been twisted by Gryffindor cruelty, how could there possibly be an exception?
Unless...
A name clawed its way up from the murky, blood-soaked depths of her past life.
Lily Evans.
That pathetic Mudblood woman who had thrown herself at her feet, weeping and begging for her infant's life, only to be swatted aside by a casual flash of green light. A wave of sheer, unadulterated absurdity washed over Tamara, leaving her mind entirely blank. Out of every soul to ever wear red and gold, the only one Severus Snape considered an exception was that woman.
Before Tamara could fully process the sheer lunacy of this revelation, Snape whipped his head around. His dark, hollow eyes locked onto her face, burning with a sudden, piercing intensity.
He had always watched this girl like a hawk. Her face, her terrifying magical aptitude, the haughty little mannerisms she occasionally let slip—they all scraped against the raw edges of the nightmare that had taken Lily away. Her casual insult had been a trigger, but his response was a trap. He was hunting for a reaction. A flash of Voldemort's signature disgust, a spike of murderous rage, anything that proved she was the monster he feared.
The combat instincts of the Dark Lord flared to life instantly. Now was absolutely not the time to slip.
Tamara slammed the iron gates of Occlumency down over her consciousness. Her current mastery was elementary, but it was more than enough to deflect a surface-level probe. She smoothed her features, letting the muscles in her face relax into the soft, wide-eyed confusion of an innocent thirteen-year-old girl. She tilted her head, blinking her dark eyes with flawless, harmless curiosity.
"An exception?" she repeated softly. "Do you mean... among all those reckless lions, there was actually someone as clever as a Slytherin, Professor?"
A perfect mask. A flawless deflection.
Snape stared into her deep, dark eyes. For three agonizing seconds, he searched the innocent depths of a child's gaze, looking for a demon.
He found nothing.
"...Do not ask questions about things that do not concern you, Riddle," Snape said coldly. He tore his gaze away, his voice hardening back into its usual deadwood rasp, burying that terrifying suspicion back into the darkest corner of his mind.
Snape had retreated, but beneath her placid exterior, Tamara's mind was boiling.
A memory violently tore through her mental defenses. The rubble of Hogwarts. The ash choking the air. Harry Potter, that infuriating, unkillable savior, standing before her with a look of sickening pity on his face.
"Severus Snape wasn't your man! Snape was Dumbledore's man, from the moment you started hunting my mother, he was his!"
At the time, Lord Voldemort had laughed at the boy. He had dismissed it as the desperate, pathetic psychological warfare of a child about to die.
But now...
A venomous snake of doubt coiled around her brain, sinking its fangs in deep. Could it be? Was Potter actually telling the truth? Severus Snape, her most ruthless servant, a master of the mind arts... had betrayed her? Over the Mudblood she had swatted away like a fly?!
'Absurd!'A hysterical, violent rejection screamed through Tamara's soul.'For a dead Mudblood?! How is that even possible?! What right does that filthy woman have to be weighed against the great Dark Lord?!'She would never accept it. To admit that Snape had turned his cloak over something as pathetic as sentimentality was to admit that Potter had been right. It meant acknowledging that she, Lord Voldemort, the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, had been blinded and outmaneuvered by something as weak and sickening as love. The very thought burned worse than the Killing Curse rebounding.'No. Potter was lying. This is nothing but Severus wallowing in useless nostalgia.'Tamara drew a slow, measured breath, forcing the chaotic storm in her mind into a tight, suffocating box.'Emotional garbage is utterly worthless against absolute power. His greed for the Dark Arts far outweighs this pathetic sentimentality.'She quickly constructed a flawless, arrogant excuse to soothe her bruised ego.'Severus is only looking back at the past because he believes his true master is dead. Without the iron fist of a superior wizard to keep him in line, this masterless hound has grown soft. He sits in the dark, licking old wounds and whining over a dead Mudblood. But once I return to my full glory... once I wield the kind of absolute power that makes his very soul tremble... this ridiculous nostalgia will be crushed into dust by sheer terror and submission! He will never dare to spare a single thought for Lily Evans ever again!'Opening her eyes, the chilling arrogance had settled comfortably back into her bones.'Just a corpse,'she sneered internally, staring at Snape's back.'Wallowing in the past only makes you look pathetic, Severus. Just wait. When I finally rip these System chains off my soul and take back what is mine... you will crawl on your knees like the dog you are and kiss the hem of my robes. Because in this world, power is the only truth.'
Having locked her fury away behind her Occlumency shields, Tamara spoke again. Her voice was the picture of a dutiful, slightly concerned Slytherin prefect-in-training.
"However, Professor... speaking of Gryffindors who have no respect for the rules..."
She paused, biting her lower lip as if hesitant to tattle.
Snape turned his head slightly, his dark eyes sliding back to her face. "What is it, Riddle?"
"I just happened to pass the Weasley twins in the corridor earlier," Tamara murmured, a phantom smirk curling in the darkest corner of her mind. "They seemed to be carrying some rather... dangerous-looking magical contraptions. As a member of Slytherin, I am genuinely quite worried they might cause an accident that harms the school. Especially the safety of our house."
Snape's eyes narrowed into dark slits. He weighed her words, the familiar predatory instinct of a teacher about to ruin a Gryffindor's day taking over. Confiscating contraband and bleeding Gryffindor of house points was his favorite pastime.
"Contraband items?" Snape sneered, his black robes billowing as he strode toward the dungeon door. "Very well. It seems certain individuals are in desperate need of a reminder about the price of stupidity."
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