Chapter 203: Confusion
In the Room of Requirement, the fire in the hearth blazed once more, casting flickering orange shadows across the cold stone walls. Hermione carefully tucked the golden Time-Turner deep inside her collar, making sure the delicate chain was completely hidden beneath her robes. She looked down at Tamara, who remained leaning heavily against the sofa cushions with her eyes closed. The Gryffindor girl's gaze swam with heavy worry and deep self-blame.
"Are we... are we going to continue studying time, Tamara?" Hermione asked tentatively, keeping her voice to a fragile whisper. She still gripped Tamara's icy fingers, her knuckles white, terrified that if she let go, the dark-haired girl would simply fade away and die right before her eyes.
"Study?" Tamara slowly opened her eyes. There was not a single trace of warmth in those pitch-black pupils. They held only a bottomless, freezing gloom and a sharp edge of self-mockery. "Time... I will never touch it again."
For a Dark Lord who demanded absolute control over every facet of her existence, the absurd, chaotic scene that had just played out in the corridor was nothing short of a humiliating insult. She had attempted to bend the past to her will, only to suffer a severe, agonizing backlash from her own past self. This brand of power, dripping with paradoxes and entirely unpredictable, had no place in her world of absolute rule. Worse still, this fragile, mortal shell of a body simply could not withstand the system's relentless torment.
"Go back, Granger." Tamara waved her free hand with bone-deep exhaustion, her tone carrying a frosty edge designed to keep people at a safe distance. "The deal is still valid. You can come here anytime to restock on Invigoration Draughts, and I will fulfill my promise to guide you in magic. But as for the laws of time... do not mention them to me again."
Hermione opened her mouth, her lips parting as if she desperately wanted to offer more comfort. Yet, seeing the impenetrable, resistant wall Tamara had thrown up, she ultimately swallowed her words of concern.
"Then rest well. If you need anything... find me anytime." Hermione stood up slowly. She walked toward the heavy wooden door, looking back over her shoulder every few steps, her brow creased with anxiety.
When the door to the Room of Requirement clicked shut, sealing the space completely, only the rhythmic crackling of the fireplace remained.
The gentle, exhausted mask Tamara wore to appease the Gryffindor instantly melted away. Her posture straightened. Those pitch-black eyes turned so intensely gloomy they seemed ready to drip with liquid darkness, reflecting the dancing flames with a predatory glint.
'Explain, system.'Tamara spoke coldly in her mind, her inner voice slicing like a winter gale, carrying a lethal, dangerous aura.'What exactly is going on with that damn distance restriction? Do not tell me this is another boring trick you set up just to spite me.'
If it were not for that ridiculous, agonizing punishment restricting her range of movement, she would have thrown a non-verbal curse to floor those two idiot Weasley twins and seized the Marauder's Map long ago.
After a brief, heavy silence, the usually cheerful, perky electronic voice echoed in her skull. This time, it took on an extremely cold, rigid, and mechanical quality.
[Ding! Host, please stop using conspiracy theories to speculate about this system.]
[You seem to have forgotten that your very existence is a regression that reversed death.]
Tamara's pupils contracted to sharp pinpricks.
[To the time laws of this world, you are an abnormal variable that should have been annihilated in the future.]
[When you attempt to flow against time again, the law's rejection will instinctively exile you, leaving you completely lost in the cracks of space-time.]
[And Hermione Granger, carrying the turner, is a legitimate space-time traveler.]
[In the regression, you must maintain physical contact with her, borrowing her legitimacy as a space-time anchor to shield you.]
[Once you break away from the anchor, your soul will be completely swallowed by the turbulence of time.]
[The electric shocks delivered by this system were not for torture, but to use the most direct neural pain to forcibly anchor you to the coordinates of reality while you were on the verge of getting lost!]
Tamara froze perfectly still against the sofa.
Her chest, which had been heaving violently with suppressed rage, slowly leveled out. Her breathing grew shallow and measured. She had genuinely believed she could toy with time just as effortlessly as she toyed with the Dark Arts. She had entirely overlooked the fact that her current identity as a reincarnated soul was the exact type of existence the laws of time rejected most violently.
'Heh...' Tamara closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the upholstery, letting out a low, cold laugh of sudden realization.
Whether the system's explanation was the absolute truth or a fabricated excuse, the reality remained unchanged: she could not control time right now.
'So be it.'Although she had lost the golden opportunity to use the Time-Turner to erase her mistakes, this harsh lesson had also completely shattered her illusions about wielding such uncontrollable, paradoxical power.'Since time is not on my side, then I will use my own methods to seize back the initiative, piece by bloody piece.'
Everything seemed to return to normal.
Until Saturday morning.
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with excited third-year and upper-year students. The air buzzed with loud chatter, the clinking of goblets, and the smell of bacon and pumpkin juice. Today marked the first weekend trip to Hogsmeade village of the term.
Students waved their permission forms, proudly displaying the signatures of their parents or guardians. They lined up in a chaotic, eager queue to register with Argus Filch near the massive oak doors, every single face beaming with the anticipation of warm Butterbeer and the sugary wonders of Honeydukes.
Tamara stood at the very edge of the Slytherin line, her arms crossed, watching these chirping, overly energetic idiots with a completely blank expression.
"Tamara, where is your permission form?"
Draco approached with a noticeable bounce in his step. He had clearly spent extra time in front of the mirror today; his pale blonde hair was combed back with careful, shining precision, not a single strand out of place.
"My father specifically told me in his letter to make sure I take you to the Three Broomsticks to try their finest aged mead," Draco announced proudly, puffing his chest out slightly.
Tamara barely glanced at the parchment clutched in his hand. "I did not sign it."
"What?!" Draco's jaw dropped. He stared at her as if she had just sprouted a second head. "How could it not be signed? Did those filthy Muggles at the orphanage actually dare to refuse your request?"
Tamara rolled her eyes inwardly, suppressing a heavy sigh. Martha, the terrified matron, certainly would never dare refuse her anything. It was simply that, as a Dark Lord entirely obsessed with the grand, overarching cause of reviving her dark empire, she had completely tossed a trivial scrap of paper out of her mind. If she genuinely wanted to visit the village, a wandless Confundo Charm to forge a Muggle signature would take her less than a second.
But she possessed absolutely zero interest in wandering around a muddy, crowded village right now.
"I need to stay at school to research potions," Tamara replied smoothly.
She was not lying. As long as this obstructive, patronizing virtue system remained parasitic on her soul, she would always be a trapped beast, fighting with bound hands and feet. She had to seize every quiet moment to refine the complex recipe for the Soul Separation Potion. Stripping this damn system from her brain was her highest priority.
Besides, there was Bellatrix hidden away in the Slytherin dungeons, a volatile weapon who could lose control of her fragile sanity at any given moment. Tamara needed to brew a highly specific stabilizing potion to secure Bella's mind and physical form. Adding such a fiercely loyal, capable helper to her side was worth a hundred trips to a sweet shop.
Compared to trudging through the dirt to squeeze into a cramped tavern with a horde of snot-nosed brats buying candy, remaining in the empty, silent castle to conduct high-level magical research was infinitely more aligned with a Dark Lord's interests.
The bright, eager light in Draco's grey eyes instantly snuffed out. Even his carefully combed hair seemed to lose its luster and droop.
"But... Hogsmeade has a lot of fun things..." he muttered stubbornly, his voice dropping to a disappointed mumble.
Looking at the Malfoy heir standing before her, a boy who wore every single one of his transparent emotions right on his face, Tamara rubbed her temples. A dull headache threatened to form behind her eyes.
She reached into the deep pocket of her robes, pulled out a tightly rolled piece of parchment she had prepared earlier, and held it out.
"In that case, just run an errand for me," Tamara instructed, her tone brisk and matter-of-fact. "Go buy the materials listed on this. There are not many items; you should be able to carry them without trouble."
Draco froze for a second. He blinked, took the material list from her fingers, and the previously dejected slump of his shoulders vanished. His expression instantly brightened, a proud flush touching his pale cheeks. Being assigned an exclusive, personal task by Tamara greatly satisfied his aristocratic vanity.
Clutching the parchment tightly against his chest, he uncharacteristically plucked up the courage to look her directly in the eye and make a demand of his own.
"Then... next time we go to Hogsmeade, can you come with me?"
Tamara raised a single, elegant eyebrow. Lucius's son had certainly grown some nerve over the summer. He actually dared to negotiate terms and make a request of her?
She studied Draco's face. He looked incredibly expectant, his silver eyes wide and nervous, practically holding his breath. Tamara turned the thought over in her mind for a brief second. It was not an entirely unreasonable demand for a courier service.
"Fine," Tamara nodded, her voice perfectly perfunctory.
Draco instantly beamed, his happiness visible from across the hall. He raised his chin high, tucking the list securely into the inner pocket of his robes, strutting slightly like a proud peacock displaying its feathers.
"Leave it to me, Tamara! I will get you the absolute best materials in all of Hogsmeade!"
Watching Draco's excited back as he practically skipped toward Filch's desk, Tamara's mouth twitched. She felt utterly speechless.
Although the request was not excessive in terms of effort, why did this kid's attitude always feel... so incredibly strange?
As the former Dark Lord, she was intimately familiar with the greedy, desperate faces of followers and subordinates when they begged for their rewards. Years ago, Lucius Malfoy, or any other Death Eater standing in her inner circle, would drop to their knees after performing a great service. They always craved the same things: political power, family glory, raw magical strength, or absolute protection from their enemies.
Those were normal, logical chips of equal value in a transaction.
But what about this Draco?
He had eagerly agreed to act as her personal errand boy, scouting for expensive, hard-to-find potion ingredients in a crowded village. And the grand reward he demanded in return was not a plea for her to teach him a lethal jinx. It was not a request for her to help him humiliate Harry Potter.
It was merely that, the next time they went to that godforsaken, freezing village, they go for a stroll together?
Tamara's brow furrowed tighter and tighter. A flash of pure, unadulterated confusion crossed her deep black eyes.
She completely failed to comprehend this kind of foolish, illogical transaction. It offered no substantial benefit, yielded no tactical advantage, and could easily be classified as a massive loss-making deal on his end.
'What is this kid after?'Tamara thought, genuinely baffled.'Is he hoping the freezing wind of Hogsmeade blowing on his face will somehow make his brain function better?'Ultimately, the great Dark Lord could only snort coldly in the privacy of her own mind, attributing this bizarre behavior to the only logical, reasonable explanation she could fathom.'After more than a decade of peaceful, soft years, the bloodline of the House of Malfoy has clearly degenerated completely. This son of Lucius is obviously lacking in basic intelligence.'
Tamara withdrew her gaze from the doors. Her eyes swept across the Great Hall, landing on Hermione, who was talking excitedly in the middle of the Gryffindor line, and then shifted to the Weasley twins, who were currently looking around with mischievous grins. Her gaze inevitably darkened, a heavy shadow falling over her features.
She could not help but sneer coldly in her heart.
Out of all four ancient houses, how did a house of reckless fools like Gryffindor manage to get their grubby hands on top-tier, legendary artifacts like the Marauder's Map and a Ministry-regulated Time-Turner?
If Slytherin possessed even half of those items, her grand plans would progress a thousand times smoother. There would be absolutely no need to spend her days racking her brain, carefully scheming against those Gryffindor idiots just to secure a tactical advantage.
In the end, these modern, useless Slytherin descendants surrounding her were a massive disappointment. Aside from hoarding some stinking old money and parading their so-called pure-blood pride, they could not even locate a single decent magical artifact to save their lives.
'Truly a bunch of useless wastes with zero achievements.'
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