Chapter 201: Holding Hands
Tamara and Hermione stood facing each other in the dim, flickering ambiance of the Room of Requirement. Between them hung a slender gold chain. Suspended from it was a magical device infinitely more delicate than any ordinary hourglass, its tiny glass bulbs and concentric rings shimmering with a mysterious, enticing glow under the warm reflection of the firelight.
"We must be very careful, Tamara." Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. Her usually pale face was flushed, practically glowing with the illicit thrill and nervous tension of breaking the rules. Reaching out, she looped the long gold chain over Tamara's head, the cool metal settling against her collarbone, binding the two of them intimately together in the narrow space.
"Professor McGonagall said that we must never let our past selves see us," Hermione whispered, her brown eyes wide and serious. "Otherwise, it will cause an extremely terrifying backlash from the laws of time. It could even lead to total insanity."
"Understood." Tamara lowered her eyelashes, masking the absolute, freezing contempt in her gaze as she stared at the hourglass resting mere inches from her chest.
To the former Dark Lord, time magic had always been a pathetic, useless field of study. She had disdained and discarded it decades ago. Attempting to rewind the clock was, at its core, a manifestation of regret. It was a coward's way of admitting their past decisions were flawed. And Lord Voldemort was never flawed. Lord Voldemort was always right, always advancing, and would never bow to the ashes of the past.
, the laws of time were infested with messy paradoxes and uncontrollable variables. Voldemort despised any power that could not be completely, utterly subjugated to her will.
But now...
Tamara ground her teeth together, a flare of pure irritation burning in her chest.
Trapped inside this fragile, infuriatingly pretty shell, she was forced to endure that wretched Virtue System monitoring her every breath. Worse, she faced external threats that could expose her, like that blasted Marauder's Map. She needed to regain the initiative on the chessboard, and she needed to do it at the lowest possible cost. That meant intercepting those two bumbling Weasley idiots before they could hand over the map to anyone else.
Even if it meant borrowing this chaotic, variable-ridden magic, she would just have to hold her nose and tolerate the indignity for now.
"Turn it," Tamara commanded, her voice smooth and clipped.
Hermione reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she cautiously pinched the tiny hourglass.
One turn.
Two turns.
Three turns...
The very second the final rotation clicked into place, reality fractured. Everything around them violently blurred, like a reel of film being aggressively rewound. The crackling fire in the Room of Requirement extinguished in a flash of reverse motion. Light and shadow flickered, twisting frantically into a nauseating vortex.
Tamara's stomach dropped. A deep sense of weightlessness and severe dizziness assaulted her senses, while a deafening, grating roar filled her ears, sounding like a million rusted gears grinding backward against their will.
Right in the middle of this violent, stomach-churning vibration of tearing through the fabric of time and space, a hauntingly familiar, sickeningly cheerful electronic voice exploded inside Tamara's skull.
[Ding! High-energy warning!]
[Detected that the host is engaging in dangerous, unauthorized space-time travel!]
[Time is a river that flows endlessly; those who toy with time will eventually be swallowed by its waves! To prevent the host, our precious spark of love and peace, from getting lost in the cold, dark turbulence of time...]
[System emergency safety protocol activated: Hand in Hand, Follow Me, Anti-Lost Mutual Aid Mode!]
[Task Requirement: At the precise moment of landing from the time-jump, and during all subsequent movements, the host must maintain direct physical contact with the nearby space-time guide (Hermione Granger)!]
[Penalty Warning: Once separated from the space-time guide, the system will immediately judge the host to be at critical risk of getting lost, and will issue a Level 2 high-voltage electric shock as a loving reminder!]
'You... absolute... piece of trash!'
Tamara's pupils contracted into furious pinpricks amidst the blinding turbulence of time. Before she could finish mentally stringing together a curse vile enough to describe her hatred for the system, the violent journey abruptly ended.
Her leather shoes slammed hard against solid stone flooring. The suffocating darkness and the nauseating distortion of the vortex instantly receded, washing away to reveal the bright, piercing midday sunlight streaming through the tall castle windows.
They had successfully returned to two hours ago.
"Phew..." Hermione gasped, clutching her chest. The intense vertigo from the temporal reversal hit the Gryffindor girl hard. Her knees buckled, her legs turning to absolute jelly as she swayed dangerously, entirely losing her balance.
Right as she was about to tumble onto the unforgiving stone floor, a freezing hand clamped around her wrist like a vice. With a sharp, almost brutal display of physical force, Tamara yanked her upright, suspending her mid-air for a fraction of a second before setting her firmly on her feet.
"Tamara?" Hermione blinked, looking up in sheer surprise at the exquisite, porcelain-smooth face hovering mere inches from her own.
At this exact moment, Tamara's expression was darker and grimmer than the damp walls of Azkaban. Forced into a corner by the threat of a Level 2 electric shock, the once-arrogant Dark Lord had no choice but to swallow her immense pride and compromise in utter humiliation.
"Stand steady." Tamara squeezed the words out from between her clenched teeth. Her tone carried a murderous, icy chill that promised death to anyone who crossed her.
However, ever since their emotional, one-sided conversation back in the Room of Requirement, Hermione's perception of the Slytherin girl had drastically shifted. To Hermione's ears, this rough, forceful pull and the seemingly cold tone were instantly filtered through a lens of deep friendship.
'She must be terrified of me falling and getting hurt!'
A rush of warm affection surged through Hermione's chest. But as she regained her footing and brushed off her robes, she was surprised to find that Tamara still hadn't let go. She glanced down in puzzlement at the pale fingers tightly gripping her own hand. When she looked back up, she noticed Tamara stiffly turning her head away, her jaw tight, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
Suddenly, a wave of realization washed over Hermione.
This had to be Tamara's very first time using a Time-Turner. The poor girl must be experiencing terrible nausea and discomfort from the temporal shift, but because of her famous Slytherin pride, she was simply too embarrassed to admit weakness and ask for support.
Instead of pulling away, Hermione offered a soft, considerate smile. She shifted her grip, lacing her fingers through Tamara's and squeezing the freezing hand back. "The first time you time travel, you'll naturally feel a bit dizzy and nauseous," Hermione murmured in a gentle, soothing tone, like she was comforting a frightened child. "Take deep breaths, Tamara. Just hold onto me, and you'll feel better soon."
Tamara slowly, stiffly lowered her gaze to the intertwined fingers.
The Gryffindor's hand was disgustingly warm and vibrant with life. She could feel the faint, rough texture of calluses on Hermione's knuckles—the result of years spent frantically gripping a quill to churn out those endlessly long, utterly nonsensical academic essays. To the Dark Lord, Hermione's radiating body heat felt like a branding iron, pressing uncomfortably against her own pale, naturally cold skin.
"...Shut up, Granger," Tamara forced the words out, her voice trembling slightly from the sheer, unadulterated frustration boiling in her veins. Her face turned even paler from the effort of suppressing a Killing Curse.
But to Hermione's hopelessly optimistic mind, this supposedly venomous command sounded like nothing more than a weak, embarrassed protest from a girl struggling with severe motion sickness.
"Fine, fine, I won't talk," Hermione replied, her lips curving into a highly indulgent, knowing smile. Instead of releasing her grip, she clasped Tamara's slender fingers even more securely within her own palm. "Let's go. If you feel unwell while we walk, just lean on my shoulder a bit."
Wearing an expression dark enough to summon a thunderstorm, Tamara practically dragged Hermione out of the empty seventh-floor corridor. The two girls vanished into the cool, shifting shadows of the castle.
Tamara's objective was crystal clear. She had to intercept the timeline before her past self and those insufferable Weasley twins parted ways in the second-floor corridor! As long as she secured the Marauder's Map, the entirety of Hogwarts would fall under her absolute surveillance. Once she had that parchment, that filthy little rat named Peter Pettigrew would never be able to scurry out of her grasp again.
The pair moved swiftly down a secluded, winding staircase. Driven by the ticking clock, Tamara moved at a blistering pace, practically hauling Hermione behind her through the deserted stone corridors.
Just as they were about to round the final corner leading into the second-floor corridor, Tamara stopped dead in her tracks.
"Wait for me here." She attempted to pull her hand away, stepping back. Her tone was sharp, carrying the heavy weight of an unquestionable command.
"Why? Aren't we going together?" Hermione lowered her voice to a confused whisper.
"I need to handle a small... private matter," Tamara replied smoothly. She absolutely could not afford to reveal her true motives to the Gryffindor know-it-all.
But Hermione refused to let go; instead, she tightened her grip on Tamara's fingers. "No, we must act together. You promised me!"
Tamara took a slow, measured breath, violently forcing down the overwhelming urge to simply draw her wand and cast a Stupefy right between the girl's eyes. Instead, she forcibly softened her posture. Reaching over with her free hand, she placed her cold palm gently over the back of Hermione's.
Standing there in the heavy shadows of the stone wall, Tamara lowered her head slightly. Her deep, dark eyes locked intently onto Hermione's brown ones. When she spoke, her voice was a velvet whisper, dripping with a compelling, hypnotic allure and entirely fabricated sincerity.
"Listen to me, Granger." She paused, letting the silence stretch for a heartbeat. "The space-time magic field in the corridor ahead is highly unstable. That instability is exactly the essence I need to study. But you are carrying the Time-Turner. If you get too close, it is highly likely to trigger a catastrophic rift from the space-time overlap. I cannot let you take that risk."
Hermione froze. The fierce stubbornness in her eyes immediately began to waver.
Was Tamara actually this deeply concerned for her safety?
Tamara, with the predatory instincts of a seasoned manipulator, keenly caught that brief flicker of hesitation and immediately pressed her advantage.
"You are my academic ally," Tamara murmured, her thumb lightly brushing against Hermione's knuckles. "And the only... friend... I can trust right now."
Forcing the word 'friend' through her teeth was physically revolting, far harder for the Dark Lord to swallow than a live, squirming Flobberworm. But paired with her natural, magnetic charisma, the lie sounded to Hermione's ears like a heartbreakingly rare moment of genuine vulnerability and dependence.
"I need you to stay right here, in this absolutely safe blind spot, and guard my retreat." Tamara held Hermione's gaze, her tone heavy with the solemn gravity of a warrior entrusting her back to a comrade. "This is a task only you can help me with. Do you understand?"
Those carefully chosen words struck a perfect chord, greatly satisfying Hermione's newly awakened ambition and her desperate desire to prove her worth to the Slytherin prodigy. Hermione took a deep, steadying breath. The frantic worry in her eyes melted away, replaced by a firm, resolute light.
Slowly, reluctantly, she loosened her grip, letting her fingers slide away from Tamara's.
"Ten minutes, Tamara," Hermione whispered fiercely, unable to stop herself from adding one last condition. "If there is even the slightest hint of danger, you retreat back to me immediately!"
Tamara gave a curt, serious nod. "Alright."
Without giving the Gryffindor girl another chance to speak, she spun on her heel and strode quickly into the shadows, heading straight toward the familiar second-floor corridor.
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