Chapter 256: Pathetic Fantasies
The sudden, unprompted question struck Remus Lupin like a physical blow, causing a layer of cold sweat to instantly bead across his forehead. All color drained from his scarred face. He stumbled back half a step, his hip colliding heavily with the edge of his heavy oak desk.
Lupin stared at the young girl standing before him in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. His mouth opened and closed, yet his vocal cords refused to produce a single sound. His greatest, most terrifying secret—the curse he had hidden for decades—had just been laid bare, exposed with terrifying casualness by a mere third-year student.
"You needn't look so surprised, Professor," Tamara murmured. She gestured toward the empty wooden goblet resting on the edge of his desk. Her posture was entirely relaxed, her tone as mild and conversational as if they were discussing the dreary Scottish weather outside the window. "This is a Wolfsbane Potion residue. You call in sick and vanish from your teaching duties around every full moon. Anyone with even a passing interest in magical creatures and advanced Potions could easily deduce the truth."
Lupin swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. The lingering effects of the Confusion Potion she had slipped him clouded his thoughts, wrapping his usually sharp mind in a thick, sluggish fog. He couldn't organize a proper defense. Instead, he found himself passively dragged along by Tamara's rhythmic, hypnotic pacing.
"Professor Dumbledore is surely well aware of your... furry little problem," Tamara continued, taking two slow, deliberate steps closer. Her voice carried a dark, persuasive undertone that seemed to bypass his ears and whisper directly into his muddled brain. "He trusts you. He even ignored the fierce opposition of the students' parents and the heavy pressure from the Ministry of Magic to hire you as a teacher here at Hogwarts. That is quite a heavy burden of trust to carry, isn't it?"
Lupin squeezed his eyes shut, a flash of deep pain crossing his weathered features. He nodded slowly. "Yes... Professor Dumbledore gave me this chance. I must not fail him."
"In that case, you should understand all the more how incredibly sensitive the current situation is." Tamara smoothly cut to the absolute heart of the matter, her dark eyes locking onto his. "No matter what you saw on that map, or what startling truth you believe you have deduced..."
"Without concrete, obvious evidence, if this escalates into a major incident, the Ministry of Magic and their Aurors will immediately swarm Hogwarts."
She lowered her voice, letting a chilling, realistic edge bleed into her tone. "When that happens, amidst the chaotic interrogations and investigations, your identity as a werewolf will be utterly impossible to keep hidden."
"You will be expelled from the castle in disgrace. Professor Dumbledore will face a massive, perhaps ruinous, blow to his reputation for knowingly harboring a dark creature. But more terrifyingly..." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "The true culprit lurking in the shadows will likely take advantage of the chaos to slip away and disappear forever."
Under the suffocating dual influence of the Confusion Potion and her calculated psychological pressure, Lupin found his resistance crumbling. He had to admit that every single word she spoke struck a vital nerve.
"You're right..." Lupin exhaled a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He nodded solemnly. "Until we catch Peter, we indeed cannot act rashly."
"But..." A spark of desperate loyalty flared in his tired eyes. "Sirius is still out there wandering the grounds. I cannot simply stand by and watch him encounter danger while he remains unaware of the truth. We must catch Peter as soon as possible and clear Sirius's name!"
"Regarding that, you needn't worry at all." Seeing the Defense professor completely entangled in her web, Tamara casually tossed out her final, devastating chip. "Mr. Black is perfectly safe right now. He is currently hiding in the Shrieking Shack, down in Hogsmeade Village."
"What?!" Lupin gasped, the shock jolting him upright. His head snapped up, eyes wide. "How could you possibly know—"
Tamara had absolutely no intention of explaining herself to a half-breed. She tilted her chin up, her gaze imperious, completely ignoring his frantic confusion. She continued in a cold, unquestionable tone that brooked no argument.
"After the school lifts the current lockdown, I will arrange for the two of you to meet. Then, we will venture into the Forbidden Forest together to drag that treacherous rat out by his tail."
"During this time, do not dare to act rashly. The only thing you need to do now is pretend you know absolutely nothing. Maintain the status quo."
Staring into Tamara's chilling, bottomless dark eyes, Lupin's fading reason screamed that he shouldn't hand over the initiative so easily to a mere third-year student.
Yet, beneath the subtle, insidious fog of the Confusion Potion, his cognitive functions had become hopelessly sluggish. He could no longer analyze the shifting variables with his usual keen intellect.
More, the girl had seized a vice-like grip on his most fatal weakness: the unwavering trust Albus Dumbledore had placed in him despite immense public pressure.
If he acted prematurely and triggered a Ministry of Magic intervention, not only would his own fragile life be ruined, but he would drag Albus down into the mud with him. To live up to the Headmaster's trust, and to keep his oldest friend safe in the Shrieking Shack, he had no choice. He had to walk the exact path this terrifying girl had laid out for him.
"...Fine. I promise you." Lupin finally surrendered to the silence. He leaned back wearily against his worn leather chair, verbally binding himself to Tamara's proposal.
After stepping out of the office, the heavy oak door clicked shut behind her. Instantly, the polite, gentle mask Tamara had worn melted away, leaving behind a visage of pure, calculating ice.
Time was of the essence. Wait for the lockdown to be lifted? She sneered internally. As if I would ever share the glory of the hunt with a filthy half-breed. She couldn't possibly wait for Lupin. She had to eliminate Peter Pettigrew before Dumbledore or anyone else could react to the shifting pieces on the board.
The castle was currently a fortress. Due to the recent magical creature riots, the professors were patrolling every corridor and courtyard, their wands lit, terrified that some reckless, glory-seeking student might sneak out and get themselves slaughtered in the dark.
To bypass this suffocating security net and silently slip into the treacherous depths of the Forbidden Forest, she needed one specific, legendary item: the Invisibility Cloak.
Once she draped that silken artifact over her shoulders, combined with the new Tracking Charm her irritating Virtue System had just unlocked, that cowardly rat hiding in the shadows would have absolutely nowhere left to run.
To obtain this treasure without raising suspicion, and to continue her subtle "poisoning" campaign, Tamara did something entirely unmatched. She actively sought out Harry Potter, flashing him a sweet, encouraging smile and suggesting they practice the Patronus Charm together in the Room of Requirement that very evening.
Eight o'clock in the evening. The seventh-floor corridor of Hogwarts.
Harry paced back and forth three times opposite the mix of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls. A smooth wooden door materialized silently from the blank stone wall. He pushed it open, stepping into the Room of Requirement, only to find Tamara already waiting for him.
The magical room had thoughtfully transformed itself to suit their needs, taking the shape of a spacious, brightly lit training hall. Thick, soft mats lined the stone floor to cushion any falls. On a small, elegant wooden table nearby sat two porcelain cups of steaming black tea, their rich aroma filling the enclosed space.
"Tamara, how did the talk go? When you went to deliver the medicine to Professor Lupin this afternoon?" Harry asked impatiently the second the door clicked shut behind him. He hurried over, unceremoniously dropping his holly wand onto the table.
Tamara calmly extended a slender finger, pushing one of the teacups—the specific cup she had carefully spiked beforehand—across the polished wood toward him. Her tone was perfectly flat, entirely devoid of emotion.
"Everything went smoothly, Potter." She picked up her own untainted cup, bringing it to her lips for a delicate sip. She spoke with unhurried grace. "I revealed a carefully selected portion of the truth to him. I convinced him that Mr. Black is currently safe and won't be foolishly running around outside the castle grounds."
"That's good." Harry let out a heavy, visible sigh of relief, his tense shoulders dropping.
"I have also persuaded him to hold his ground." Tamara lowered her dark eyelashes, expertly masking the arrogant gleam of absolute control swirling in her eyes. "Right now, the faculty is patrolling every inch of the castle, and the magical creatures in the forest are highly restless. Venturing out rashly would only alert our true enemy, or worse, get us caught and interrogated as suspicious individuals."
"All capture operations must be suspended until the school lockdown is completely lifted."
"Professor Lupin actually agreed to that?" Harry stared down at the steaming teacup he had just picked up. For some inexplicable reason, his instincts flared, flooding him with a sudden, vague resistance.
There seemed to be a faint, almost imperceptible strangeness hidden beneath the rich aroma of the black tea. It made Harry hesitate, his hand freezing just inches before bringing the porcelain rim to his lips.
"Of course he did," Tamara replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "He is an intelligent man who considers the bigger picture."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. The strange feeling passed, but he ultimately placed the hot tea back onto the table untouched. He picked up his wand again, steering the conversation back to the pressing business of the night.
"By the way, Tamara... have you made any actual progress with your Patronus Charm?" Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in deep frustration. "Professor Lupin keeps saying the core foundation of this spell is love and the desire to protect, but I just... I can't seem to grasp it."
At the mere mention of the words love and protection, a sharp flash of undisguised, venomous mockery crossed Tamara's dark eyes.
"That is because those have always been weak, entirely worthless emotions," Tamara stated coldly. She crossed her arms over her chest, her posture radiating superiority as she looked at him. "I highly doubt that someone like you, raised in the dirt by those pathetic Muggle relatives, could possibly possess any normal insight into this so-called 'love'and'protection'."
Surprisingly, Harry didn't flare up in anger at her piercing, cruel words. Instead, he lowered his green eyes, a bitter, self-deprecating shadow falling over his face.
"You're right, Tamara. I really can't imagine it." His voice was incredibly soft, carrying a raw hint of suppressed trembling that he couldn't quite hide. "Because every single time I try to dig up a happy memory, or whenever I get near a Dementor... I can't find any joy in my mind."
"All I can hear are my mother's desperate, agonizing screams. And all I can see is that blinding flash of green light..."
At those broken words, Tamara lowered her gaze slightly. Her dark eyes fell upon her own fair, slender hands resting against her arms.
She knew better than anyone in the world exactly to whom those desperate screams had been directed. She knew exactly whose wand had erupted with that lethal, soul-tearing green light. The sole reason the pathetic 'Savior' standing before her experienced such agonizing trauma—the reason he was a miserable orphan who had lost his parents—was entirely her own magnificent creation.
But what did it matter?
The great Dark Lord felt not a single, microscopic shred of guilt. She would never feel guilt. She was biologically and magically incapable of it. In her absolute worldview, the survival of the fittest was the only universal truth. That foolish mudblood woman's death occurred simply because she had dared to stand in Lord Voldemort's way. No one else was to blame for such supreme stupidity.
"The absurd idea that 'love' is required to trigger the Patronus Charm is nothing more than a vulgar, romanticized notion," Tamara sneered, her voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "It was invented by incompetent mortals to mask their own pitifully weak magical power."
"True power never requires such fragile, sickening things for support." She looked up, her tone chillingly indifferent, slicing through the warm air of the room like a physical blade.
"...Perhaps," Harry murmured softly. But then, he slowly shook his head. Though the haunting pain still lingered heavily in his bright green eyes, his tone shifted, becoming exceptionally stubborn.
"You're right about one thing, Tamara. I really haven't been treated very well in my life." Harry quirked his lips in a sad, self-deprecating smile. "Back at Privet Drive, I was just an extra burden. A freak taking up space under the stairs. But I'm not blind. I've watched how Aunt Petunia dotes on Dudley. It has absolutely nothing to do with whether he gets good grades at school, or if he's a good person. She just loves him."
"And then there's the Weasley family." Harry's gaze involuntarily softened, a faint warmth bleeding into his expression.
"You've been to the Burrow too. It's incredibly crowded. Ron complains about his hand-me-down robes every single day, and Fred and George are constantly doing everything in their power to make Mrs. Weasley lose her temper... To an outsider, it probably looks like a complete mess, right?"
Harry's voice wasn't loud, yet it carried a quiet, unshakeable strength that seemed to anchor him to the floor.
"But if something terrible really happened, they would definitely stand in front of each other without a second of hesitation. They would protect one another without ever needing to calculate the political gains or personal losses."
"I know that feeling doesn't truly belong to me. When I'm there, I still stand on the edges like an outsider looking in through a window."
"But I've seen it with my own eyes. I know it really exists in this world. And..." He swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I really do want that feeling."
Harry looked up, his resolute gaze meeting Tamara's freezing, abyssal eyes squarely.
In that split second, Harry's instincts screamed. He felt a bone-chilling, unnatural coldness radiating from the girl's gaze—a look that seemed to view him not as a classmate, but as a walking corpse. Yet, for once, he didn't shrink back or avert his eyes as he usually did.
Instead, he stared stubbornly into those beautiful, terrifyingly empty dark eyes, desperately trying to find even a single, microscopic flicker of human warmth within that dead silence.
Perhaps the magically insulated atmosphere inside the Room of Requirement was simply too quiet. Or perhaps the rising, fragrant steam from the untouched tea created a foolish illusion that they could actually speak heart-to-heart.
Whatever the reason, Harry found himself voicing the dangerous question that had been circling in the back of his mind for a very long time.
"What about you, Tamara?" His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it rang exceptionally clear across the empty training hall.
"When you think of the word 'love'... what do you think of?"
"Have you ever hoped to find someone who would care for you unreservedly? Not because of your incredible magic, and not because of your terrifying intelligence, but just... for you?"
Hearing this pathetic, sentimental drivel, Tamara felt absolutely no touch of human emotion. Instead, deep within the bottomless black pits of her eyes, a terrifying, murderous scarlet light flashed without warning.
Unreserved care? The very concept made her stomach churn with revulsion. To Lord Voldemort, the foolish, suicidal notion of handing over one's life and exposing one's fatal weaknesses to another human being was a vile insult. It was an absolute affront to the very concept of power.
"Put away your pathetic fantasies, Potter." She slammed her porcelain teacup down onto the wooden table with a sharp, violent clack. She stood up, her posture rigid and towering as she looked down at him. Her voice was utterly devoid of any human inflection.
"Only the weak—those pathetic creatures who cannot survive a single day without the protection of others—need to rely on such ethereal, sickening charity to linger on in this world. The truly strong never need to place their fate, or their hearts, in the filthy hands of others."
Seeing Harry frozen in place, his green eyes wide with shock at her sudden venom, Tamara completely lost the patience to continue this farce of a conversation. She ruthlessly cut off his last, desperate bit of inquiry.
"So, put away your ridiculous, probing questions. And stop trying to find some imaginary emotional resonance with me."
"Regarding that worthless, fictional concept you speak of... I will think of nothing. And I will never, ever have any expectations."
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