Chapter 200: Best Friends for Life
This was the true reason Miss Know-It-All had driven herself into a dead end.
Tamara looked down at the bushy-haired girl before her. Hermione's psychological defenses had completely shattered, leaving her sobbing breathlessly into her hands.
In the dark depths of Tamara's eyes, there wasn't a single trace of sympathy. Instead, a sharp, calculating glint flickered in the gloom.
What a wonderfully fragile, easily manipulated emotion.
The sheer, paralyzing terror of losing the wizarding world's protection. The dread of being stripped of magic and exiled back to the mundane, filthy Muggle world.
In this entire universe, absolutely no one understood that suffocating fear better than the former Tom Riddle.
Decades ago, just to keep Hogwarts from closing its doors—just to avoid being shoved back into that mold-infested, despair-ridden Muggle orphanage—her sixteen-year-old self had framed that oaf Rubeus Hagrid without batting a single eyelash.
Hogwarts was the cradle of her power. It was the only sanctuary where she was recognized as extraordinary.
Because of that shared trauma, she could perfectly dissect the root of Hermione's frantic restlessness.
Yet, alongside that understanding, a thick, venomous surge of arrogance and disdain flooded Tamara's chest.
Faced with the exact same threat of expulsion, she—Lord Voldemort—had chosen to wield absolute power. She had chosen to intimidate, to plunder, and to seize control of the very rules themselves.
And what did this pathetic Mudblood do? She resorted to the lowliest, most pathetic method imaginable: rote memorization. She was literally sacrificing her physical health, burning herself out over parchment and ink, just to prove her worth to the very sheep she was meant to rule over.
"Qualifications?"
Tamara murmured softly, propping her chin on her hand as she gazed down at the weeping girl.
"You do not need to prove your worth to anyone, Granger."
She leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Her deep, pitch-black eyes locked onto Hermione's tear-streaked face, projecting an aura of absolute certainty.
"You belong here."
"Magic is yours. No one can ever take it away from you. Not the Ministry, not the pure-bloods, and certainly not your background."
Extending a long, pale finger, Tamara tapped lightly against the wooden table. The sharp click of her nail drew Hermione's unfocused gaze.
"What you need aren't those superficial grades used for mere window dressing. A report card full of 'Outstanding's will not save you when true power comes knocking."
She tilted her head, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"What you need to learn is how to control these powers."
"Become the one who sets the rules, Granger, not a slave crushed beneath their weight. Do you understand?"
Meeting those dark, abyssal eyes, Hermione froze. The breath hitched in her throat.
For thirteen years, she had been trapped inside a suffocating cage called 'following the rules.'
In Muggle primary school, she had weaponized perfect grades to earn scraps of praise from teachers and parents. Here at Hogwarts, she desperately hoarded knowledge as a shield against the terrifying reality that she did not truly belong.
She had always believed that if she just worked hard enough, if she just maintained her spot as number one, the wizarding world would finally accept her. She thought she could earn her right to stay with a clear conscience.
She had spent her entire life trying to win a rigged game by playing exactly by the rules set by others.
But now...
The girl sitting across from her, draped in emerald Slytherin robes, was affirming her very existence as a witch. And she was doing it with a cold, aristocratic posture that seemed to look down upon all living things.
The message was intoxicatingly simple: As long as she possessed magic, she held an innate, obvious right to stand in these halls.
There was no need to bow down and prove anything to some arrogant pure-blood. There was no need to beg for scraps of validation with a report card full of straight 'O's. No one in this world could strip away her birthright.
Hermione's pupils dilated. Deep within those brown eyes—eyes that had been so dull with grievance and bone-deep exhaustion just moments ago—a brilliant, fierce radiance suddenly ignited.
She stared blankly at Tamara, completely forgetting to wipe the damp tracks from her cheeks. Her lips parted, but before she could formulate a single word of gratitude, Tamara cut her off.
"I am currently conducting a highly advanced magical research project," Tamara stated. She didn't give Hermione a single second to process her emotions, smoothly pivoting to her true objective with a tone dripping in irresistible temptation.
"It involves the fundamental structure of the soul and the fabric of time itself. To proceed, it requires the use of your Time-Turner to step back into the past."
She let the silence hang for a fraction of a second before reeling the bait in.
"And you, Granger, are in desperate need of a more efficient method of learning. As well as... guidance. The kind of guidance that can truly give you an unshakable foothold in our world."
Tamara leaned back against the plush cushions of the sofa. Her gaze swept casually over Hermione's slightly open collar, locking onto the thin gold chain that shimmered with an alluring, metallic gleam in the warm firelight.
"We shall form an alliance right here, right now."
"You share the use of that little trinket resting around your neck. In return, I will not only supply you with the highest-grade Invigoration Draughts to cure your fatigue, but I will also personally instruct you in the... true essence of magic. The kind of magic that can never be gleaned from library books."
A perfectly crafted, gentle smile graced her lips.
"This is a fair trade, is it not?"
Hermione's breathing hitched, turning shallow and rapid.
Her hand flew up, instinctively covering the hidden Time-Turner beneath her robes.
This was a highly restricted Ministry of Magic artifact. Lending it out was strictly forbidden. Professor McGonagall had warned her, repeatedly and sternly, that absolutely no one could ever know of its existence.
Every ounce of logic and reason screamed in her mind that this was a massive violation of school rules.
But... the person proposing this deal was Tamara.
This was the same Tamara who had repeatedly snatched her from the very jaws of death. The only person in this entire castle who had actually noticed her exhaustion, who had offered her validation and guidance when she was at her absolute most broken and helpless state.
More, Tamara's speech had acted like a spark to dry tinder, completely igniting the deeply suppressed ambition burning within Hermione's chest.
The offer was simply too intoxicating to refuse.
Hermione bit down hard on her lower lip. The frantic hesitation swirling in her brown eyes was slowly, inevitably swallowed by a ravenous thirst for knowledge—and a deep, misplaced trust.
"I promise you," Hermione finally said, taking a deep, steadying breath. Her voice firmed. "But... we must act together! You cannot use it behind my back to do anything dangerous!"
"...Deal."
Tamara ruthlessly crushed the flash of irritation threatening to show in her eyes. She curled her lips into a measured, calculated smile. Tch. It seems even a mental breakdown hasn't completely lowered Miss Know-It-All's guard.
Yet, through Hermione's tear-blurred vision, that predatory smirk appeared as nothing less than a warm, encouraging smile.
"In that case, let us act now."
Tamara stood up in one fluid motion, her gaze locked hungrily onto the faint outline of the shimmering golden hourglass resting against Hermione's chest.
According to her careful observations and deductions, those two idiot Gryffindor twins would have handed the Marauder's Map over to Potter exactly two hours ago. That was precisely the window of time when she had been forced to return to her dormitory to deal with Bellatrix.
She needed to intercept that map before it ever reached the Boy-Who-Lived's grubby hands.
"I want you to take me back to exactly two hours ago. Right now."
Tamara proposed a timeframe that wasn't overly excessive. She knew the laws of magic well; traveling back further than five hours risked catastrophic damage to the wizard's mind, or worse, the very fabric of time itself.
And even if a longer jump were theoretically feasible, there was no way this overly cautious Gryffindor would ever agree to it.
"Okay... no problem!" Hermione reached into her robes, her fingers wrapping tightly around the delicate hourglass.
Just as Tamara mentally congratulated herself on perfectly resolving this troublesome matter, reaching out to turn the golden rings...
Hermione, who was still seated on the sofa, suddenly snapped her head up.
Within those light brown eyes, a sickeningly intense wave of emotion suddenly erupted.
...What is she doing now?
Tamara's hand froze in mid-air. Her steps came to an abrupt, jarring halt.
Over the past few months, the Dark Lord had learned one very bloody, very consistent lesson: whenever these Gryffindor idiots got that specific, watery look in their eyes, it meant they were about to lose their minds and spew some nauseatingly sentimental garbage.
Tamara instinctively took two steps back. Her eyes narrowed with extreme wariness, looking at the girl as if she had just encountered a mountain troll winding up for a swing.
But this time, Hermione didn't launch an offensive strike. She didn't lunge forward to trap her in a suffocating, bone-crushing hug like before.
Instead, she simply stood up. Cautiously extending both hands, she reached out and tightly grasped Tamara's pale, cold fingers.
"Tamara..."
Hermione's voice trembled slightly, carrying a heavy, sickening sincerity and a stubbornness that seemed to echo from the very depths of her soul.
"Thank you... for never looking down on me because of my background."
"Although I know you might not like what I'm about to say..."
Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes locked onto Tamara's, shining with the intensity of someone making a sacred, Unbreakable Vow.
"But, if I can, I really want to... be your best friend for life."
Tamara stood absolutely frozen in place.
The disgusting, clammy warmth radiating against the back of her hand, combined with the phrase 'best friend for life,' felt exactly like ten thousand venomous Acromantulas tap-dancing directly on her exposed nerves.
Every dark instinct in Tamara's soul screamed at her to violently jerk her hand back, draw her wand, and blast this reckless Mudblood with a Cruciatus Curse just to snap her out of her delusion.
But then, the corner of her eye caught the glint of the gold chain resting against Hermione's collarbone, swaying gently with every breath the girl took.
The absolute, cold rationality of the Dark Lord—calculating, ruthless, and utterly unscrupulous in achieving her goals—slammed down like an iron gate, forcibly suppressing the surging wave of bile in her throat.
Tamara ground her back teeth together so hard her jaw ached, forcing her muscles to relax as she allowed Hermione to continue clutching her hand.
After three agonizingly long seconds.
Tamara slowly squeezed an answer out through her gritted teeth. Her internal tone was cold enough to freeze the Black Lake, yet outwardly, she was forced to stretch her lips into a stiff, angelic smile under the invisible, looming threat of the Virtue System's electric shocks.
"...Is that so?"
"That is... truly wonderful."
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