Chapter 246: Sensible
After the match, the stands gradually emptied. Gryffindor students surged toward the pitch like a tidal wave, their deafening cheers shaking the stadium as they celebrated their precious Boy Who Lived for escaping the clutches of death yet again.
Meanwhile, on the Slytherin side of the stands, the atmosphere had plummeted well below freezing.
Tamara stood half-hidden in the shadows, her face an icy mask as she smoothly slid her wand back into the concealed holster up her sleeve.
She had just publicly and viciously pinned all of today's disastrous events on Sirius Black, playing the part of the outraged student to perfection. But internally? She sneered. She did not believe for a single second that the stupid mutt would be foolish enough to sabotage his own fiercely cherished godson. The curse placed on that Firebolt was absolutely the handiwork of someone else.
Her mind spun with calculations. She needed a flawless excuse to get close to that out-of-control broom for an inspection. And while she was at it, she still needed to find an opening to force-feed Potter that dose of Soul Separation Potion she had failed to slip him earlier.
Just as she was finalizing her next move, a burning, intensely resentful gaze bored directly into her spine.
Tamara frowned slightly and turned around.
Draco Malfoy stood two paces away. The face that had been flushed with malicious excitement just moments ago—thrilled at the prospect of Potter plunging to his doom—now looked entirely bloodless. His grey-blue eyes churned with frustration, unwillingness, and a heavy hint of undisguised questioning.
He had watched with his own two eyes as Tamara, in full view of the entire school, cast a flawless Levitation Charm to save that insufferable Gryffindor.
As the old saying went: not opposing thoroughly was the exact same as not opposing at all.
Even if Tamara usually played the part of the mean, hateful rival toward Harry Potter, her habit of repeatedly extending a helping hand during life-or-death moments was becoming a problem. If she did not provide a strong, airtight excuse immediately, loyal followers like Draco would start to think her stance had softened.
Tamara looked at Draco's conflicted expression. He looked like a boy whose entire belief system had just been shaken, his jaw tight with words he desperately wanted to say but was holding back. A flash of genuine irritation crossed her dark eyes.
She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, rapidly preparing a few manipulative lies to brush him off.
However, before she could even part her lips.
"I know what you are going to say, Tamara."
Draco took a sharp, ragged breath, interrupting her. He gritted his teeth, staring fixedly into her pitch-black eyes as if struggling to suppress the churning sourness and jealousy bubbling in his chest.
"You will surely tell me that this is just... utilization, right?"
His hands were clenched into tight fists deep inside the pockets of his wizarding robes. He awkwardly averted his gaze, his voice carrying the heavy weight of a contradictory compromise.
"I know you are playing a very big game. You saving that idiot Potter is definitely for a greater benefit... although I hate seeing this scene, but..."
He shifted his gaze back to her face. The previous questioning glare had faded, replaced by a forced understanding, an attempt to prove he could stand on the same intellectual level as her.
"But, if you think doing this is most beneficial to your plan, then... I accept your choice." Draco stood a little taller. "Even... I will go and help you silence those voices questioning you in the common room."
Hearing this incredibly sensible response, Tamara raised her eyebrows. A flash of genuine surprise crossed her dark eyes.
She had originally prepared a speech balancing both kindness and severity, fully expecting to have to verbally beat the arrogant Malfoy heir back into line. She hadn't expected the boy to actually brainwash himself.
'Well, that certainly saves me a massive amount of effort in fabricating lies,' she thought dryly.
Judging by the tight line of Draco's shoulders and the lingering resentment in his eyes, the young master was clearly not as willing as he claimed to be. But the fact that he could use pure logic to suppress his own ridiculous teenage emotions and voluntarily submit to her authority made Tamara feel deeply satisfied.
"You've become smarter, Draco. It seems the heir to the House of Malfoy has finally learned to use his brain to examine this game of chess."
Tamara delivered the compliment without a second of hesitation.
She watched the boy's eyes light up instantly at the praise, his posture relaxing. Seizing the opening, she changed the subject with practiced ease.
"Since you are so clear about my plans, then tell me, how is the investigation going regarding the students I asked you to keep an eye on? Any abnormalities?"
Upon hearing her proactively ask about his assigned task, Draco immediately threw his previous jealousy to the back of his mind. He straightened his back, striving to make his voice sound as professional and reliable as possible.
"According to the intelligence I have gathered, no student has shown any obvious behavioral changes. Nor has anyone shown signs of being controlled by high-level Dark Magic or the Imperius Curse."
Tamara touched her chin, her eyes narrowing in thought.
'It seems that spirit body, unlike Tom in the diary, did not directly possess a student.'
It made sense. Controlling a student right under Dumbledore's crooked nose carried far too great a risk of exposure.
"However..." Draco frowned, as if suddenly recalling a minor, insignificant detail. "Although the students are fine, I heard a few Hufflepuffs complaining in the corridor that there seem to be more rats in the school recently."
Rats.
Hearing that specific word, Tamara's eyes went cold. A brief image of a cowardly, sniveling traitor—Peter Pettigrew's Animagus form—flashed through her mind.
But the thought only lingered for a fraction of a second before she ruthlessly suppressed it.
Perhaps it was simply because spring had arrived, and the castle's natural vermin had become active again. After all, she absolutely did not believe that useless coward Peter had the guts to sneak back into Hogwarts during such a highly sensitive time. Especially since she had repeatedly emphasized to her followers that there was a Marauder's Map in the school capable of seeing right through Animagus transformations.
If that rat dared to show his face here now, it would be tantamount to begging for his own death.
And yet...
Missing souls, a heated Secrecy Sensor, and a broom cursed with lethal Dark Magic.
Clearly, there was a pair of malicious eyes hidden in the shadows, watching from a blind spot Tamara had not yet noticed.
Just as she was calculating what excuse to use to visit the Hospital Wing—pretending to be a concerned friend to Potter so she could personally check the magical residue on his broom and perhaps catch the tail of the person hiding in the dark—Draco spoke again.
"Tamara."
Draco suddenly looked as if he had uncovered a shocking, world-altering secret. He leaned in half a step, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a glimmer of perceived wisdom flashing in his eyes.
"You asked me to investigate these abnormalities... does it have to do with the show you arranged today?"
Tamara frowned, not immediately grasping what nonsense the boy was spouting.
Thinking he hadn't expressed himself clearly, Draco lowered his voice even further, his tone eager. "Potter falling off the broom was also part of your plan, right? Did the intelligence I provided help you set it up?"
He looked at her with wide eyes, desperately wanting to prove that he was an indispensable, crucial piece in her grand and secretive game of chess.
Looking at Draco's desperate need for acknowledgment, Tamara sneered in her heart.
'Although this idiot only guessed half of it right, at least he still has some brains.' It seemed the House of Malfoy hadn't completely degenerated beyond saving.
"Correct."
Tamara nodded, smoothly playing along with his wild assumption. She looked steadily at Draco, her dark eyes revealing a perfectly calculated mixture of expectation and quiet majesty.
"This is just the beginning. Next, I need you to continue keeping an eye out for me."
Draco blinked, momentarily stunned. He hesitated. "But... everyone is acting completely normal right now. Do I still need to continue?"
"Then continue."
Tamara cut him off bluntly, her tone hard, cold, and entirely unquestionable. "Until an abnormality appears."
The feeling of being entrusted with such a heavy, important task swept away the last remnants of Draco's frustration. His eyes glowed with renewed vitality. He nodded frantically, his words tumbling out in a rush.
"I understand, Tamara! Leave it to me. I will report any movement to you immediately! I guarantee I will absolutely not let you down."
The moment the words left his mouth, Draco realized belatedly that his eager, fawning behavior was exactly like the pathetic House-elves serving his family.
The young Malfoy's ears turned violently red.
He coughed twice, incredibly awkward, and immediately snapped his spine straight. He deliberately adjusted the collar of his wizarding robes, forcing his features into a haughty, reserved posture.
"Ahem... I mean, since you need the help of the House of Malfoy so much, then, I understand, Tamara."
Watching his clumsy, transparent attempt to cover up his embarrassment, Tamara fell into a rare, two-second silence.
The great Dark Lord truly did not know how to evaluate this sheer level of stupidity.
She kept her face entirely blank, though the corner of her mouth twitched a fraction of an inch. She squeezed out two dry words.
"...Very good."
Tamara turned around. But just as her foot lifted to take a step away.
"Tamara."
Draco called out to her from behind.
She turned her head slightly. The Malfoy heir, who always kept the word 'honor' perched on his lips, was now looking at her back with a gaze swimming in genuine worry. He bit his lower lip, as if struggling to overcome a massive psychological barrier, before finally forcing out a stiff, caring question.
"Is what you are doing now... dangerous for you?"
Dangerous?
When that specific word entered her ears, Tamara's movements froze.
For a Dark Lord who had trudged through the absolute abyss of Dark Magic for half a century, danger was never a flood or a beast to be avoided. Danger was her oldest, most faithful symbiont.
From the very day she decided to tear her own soul apart, she had been walking barefoot on the jagged edge of a knife.
also, in all her long decades of memory, it seemed no one had ever once cared whether what she did was dangerous. The world only feared the danger she brought to them, and her Death Eaters only cared about the power she could bestow upon them.
Tamara turned around slowly.
This time, her mouth did not carry its habitual, mocking curve. Instead, she gazed at Draco with an eerie, bottomless calm.
"Lucius probably taught you that, as a smart Malfoy, the wisest rule of survival is to stay far away from danger and never put yourself in the center of the storm, right?"
Her voice was quiet, yet it carried a suffocating, oppressive weight that demanded absolute attention.
"But your father must not have taught you... often, the closer you stand to the deadly edge of a cliff, the more likely you are to find benefits sufficient to overturn the entire world."
She held his gaze, her dark eyes unblinking. "I never fear danger, Draco. I hope you won't become timid because of those so-called dangers either."
Twenty minutes later.
Tamara arrived silently in front of the heavy wooden doors of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
That famous Savior was simply cursed. It was a miracle if he didn't end up lying in one of these hospital beds at least twice a semester.
Tamara reached into the deep pocket of her robes and wrapped her fingers around a glass bottle of pumpkin juice.
The moment her fingertips pressed against the smooth glass, her movements paused.
She could actually feel a clear, distinct chill radiating from the drink.
If it had been a few months ago, her perpetually ice-cold, corpse-like fingers would have been the exact same temperature as this refrigerated bottle. She definitely would not have been able to detect such a tiny temperature difference.
She had impatiently warned that stupid little Weasley girl to go do something more meaningful with her life and stop wasting time. Yet Ginny Weasley remained as stubborn as a House-elf, appearing every single day without fail to supervise her eating, watching with wide eyes until Tamara swallowed every last bite of warm food.
Although Tamara scoffed at this boring, pathetic display of care, she now had to admit the truth.
Regular, healthy eating had indeed caused some subtle, obvious changes to this terribly weak shell. At the very least, there finally seemed to be a trace of a living person's warmth flowing through this body's blood.
Tamara snorted coldly. Just as she raised her hand to push open the slightly ajar wooden door, a stern, sharp voice suddenly echoed from inside the ward.
"Mr. Potter!"
Professor McGonagall's voice rang out through the quiet room, her tone so severely strict that it sent a chill through the air.
"I will ask you one last time—this Firebolt that almost cost you your life..."
A heavy pause hung in the room.
"Who exactly gave it to you?"
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