Chapter 129: Restraint
In January, the Scottish Highlands were gripped by a wind sharp enough to bite through robes.
When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the platform once more, white steam billowing into the freezing air, everything that had happened over the long winter holiday seemed to have been temporarily buried beneath a thick layer of snow.
Hermione Granger had still not fully recovered.
According to Madam Pomfrey, it would take several more weeks before the cat fur on her face and body shed completely. To avoid frightening her classmates, Miss Know It All could only continue her half hidden life in the Hospital Wing.
Harry and Ron were deeply frustrated by this. The trio had been forcibly reduced to a duo.
But compared with the still furry Hermione, another person's condition was clearly far worse.
Ginny Weasley had returned to school.
Yet she looked like a survivor who had only just escaped the clutches of a Dementor.
At the long table in the Great Hall, Tamara elegantly sliced her steak while observing the Gryffindor table from the corner of her eye.
The little red haired girl was as pale as paper, with heavy shadows beneath her eyes.
Most importantly, she no longer stole glances at Tamara with sparkling eyes.
On the contrary, whenever Tamara's gaze swept over her, even by accident, Ginny would quickly lower her head like a startled rabbit. Sometimes she would even begin to tremble, as if she wished she could bury her face in her pumpkin porridge.
"...Interesting."
Tamara speared a piece of beef, a playful curve tugging at the corner of her mouth.
This fear was not directed at the Dark Lord, but at someone who knew too much.
It seemed Ginny still remembered the experience of being loathed before Christmas. She was afraid Tamara would expose her, afraid that the perfect upperclassman would publicly declare that she was a monster who had been possessed.
But what concerned Tamara more was this.
The old schoolbag Ginny had always treated like treasure had gone limp.
The heavy diary was gone.
Tamara's eyes narrowed slightly.
It seemed that on the train back to school, or at some point over the past few days, this cornered little lamb had finally plucked up the Courage to get rid of that confidant.
Had she thrown it into the Black Lake?
Or buried it in the Forbidden Forest?
Wherever it was, Tamara had to find it as soon as possible.
Her current identity was only that of a second year student, and she had no prefect privileges to patrol the castle. But that did not prevent her from conducting certain private searches within Hogwarts.
Over the next few days, Tamara used her spare time to investigate several possible disposal sites in silence.
None of them yielded results.
Until Wednesday afternoon, when she passed the second floor corridor that was always flooded.
A familiar, faint ripple of Dark Arts magic made her footsteps stop abruptly.
Here again.
The girls' bathroom on the second floor.
Tamara looked at the dilapidated wooden door, disgust flashing through her eyes.
Because a ghost lived here.
Moaning Myrtle.
Fifty years ago, when she had still been Tom Marvolo Riddle, she had released the Basilisk here and casually killed Myrtle while the girl was still alive.
Although Myrtle had not known who had done it, not even after death, they had been classmates after all.
Furthermore, ghosts might lack physical bodies, but they were often terrifyingly stubborn about memories from life, especially the moment of their death.
Even a slightly familiar silhouette or a certain recognizable aura might awaken the alertness buried in their subconscious.
Although the current Tamara was female and her features were softer, the cold aura etched into her soul was still eighty percent similar to the Tom of those years.
At Hogwarts, aside from the few key Professors she had to deal with, such as Dumbledore and Snape, Tamara had no desire to attract the attention of any more entities.
Especially not this sort of person, who had been dead for decades but whose mind was still trapped fifty years in the past.
It was better to avoid unnecessary trouble.
So, for the past year and a half, Tamara had almost never stepped into this bathroom. Even if it meant detouring to the third floor or down to the Dungeons, she had avoided this troublesome place.
But fate seemed to enjoy playing jokes on her.
The first time she had come here, it was because Tom, possessing Ginny, had been causing trouble.
The second time, it was to help Hermione after she had turned into a cat girl.
And now...
Tamara felt the cold aura of a Horcrux seeping through the crack beneath the door and took a deep breath.
For the sake of that damned diary.
She would endure it.
The bathroom was as damp as ever.
Myrtle's shrill crying echoed through the pipes. It seemed someone had thrown something into her toilet, infuriating her.
"Everyone bullies me! Everyone throws things at me!"
Myrtle circled the ceiling, screaming in a rage.
"Even in death, no one respects me!"
Tamara ignored the deranged ghost.
Her gaze quickly locked onto a puddle on the floor.
But the diary she was looking for was not there.
In its place was a soaking wet figure crouching in the puddle.
Harry Potter.
Tamara's pupils constricted sharply.
The saviour was crouching beneath Myrtle's cubicle, holding a small black book swollen with water.
That was the diary.
"Damn it."
Tamara cursed inwardly.
She was one step too late.
That idiot Ginny had actually thrown the diary into Myrtle's toilet?
And Harry Potter, that saviour with his absurd luck, just happened to be here to pick it up?
At that moment, Harry did not realize someone was behind him.
He was curiously examining his prize.
The diary looked ordinary, its cover faded, but Harry was surprised to find that even after being soaked in water for so long, the pages inside had not been soaked through, and the ink had not run.
"Strange..."
Harry muttered to himself.
An inexplicable intuition drove him.
He reached out, intending to slowly turn to the first page of the diary.
Tamara's pupils shrank.
If she did not stop him, he would see that name.
M. Riddle.
If he saw that name, and then allowed his overly curious Gryffindor instincts to investigate the shared surname, the events of fifty years ago would be unearthed.
Dumbledore would turn his gaze here.
She absolutely could not let him see it.
As a Dark Wizard, Tamara's first instinct was to draw her wand and hit this reckless saviour directly with Petrificus Totalus, or simply use Accio to snatch the diary away.
But as soon as that thought arose, she forced it down.
That diary shared the exact same source of magic as herself. Once magic was released, it was highly likely to awaken the soul fragment within and trigger some kind of resonance phenomenon she could not explain.
If that damned diary suddenly began vibrating in Harry's hand, or automatically flew toward her as if it had seen a relative, she would not be able to explain it even with a hundred mouths.
More importantly, there was that damned system.
If she used a spell on a classmate outside a duel, it would definitely trigger the system's campus violence alarm.
She might even be forced to perform some apology task.
To avoid doing something bizarre like deeply embracing Potter and begging forgiveness in front of him, she could only choose the most primitive and direct method.
[Host, this system is truly gratified that you can think this way.]
The system's annoying voice suddenly appeared in her mind.
[It seems you have finally learned to restrain your killing intent and understood how to use intimate physical contact instead of cold spells. This is an important step toward the Loving Family achievement!]
"Shut up."
.....
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