The bloated administrator was stunned.
In her eyes, that freak Tamara, who was usually gloomy and as silent as a ghost, was now clutching the table, her face flushed red.
Those oversized black eyes were brimming with mist, looking at her with a heartbreaking gaze, as if she were a frightened little fawn.
The roar the administrator had prepared instantly stuck in her throat, feeling as uncomfortable as if she had swallowed a fly.
Her hand holding the tin bucket froze in mid-air, and the fleshy folds on her face twitched awkwardly.
"Uh... alright, alright."
The woman scratched her head somewhat uneasily, her tone unconsciously softening, even carrying a hint of gentleness she hadn't noticed herself.
"Are you feeling unwell? Damn flu... forget it, I'll mop the hallway myself."
"You... rest for a bit, clean yourself up, don't let the guests see you like this."
As the door clicked shut, that leg-weakening sensation of electric current finally vanished.
Tom Riddle—now Tamara—slumped onto the cold wooden floor like a puddle of mud, gasping for breath.
Humiliation.
Unprecedented humiliation.
This feeling was ten thousand times worse than when Dumbledore had threatened him with the burning wardrobe years ago.
At least then he could fight back with a vicious glare, but now?
He had actually behaved like a piece of trash in front of a lowly Muggle!
"System," he said sinisterly in his mind, "explain."
The cheerful mechanical voice responded immediately, sounding almost like it was fishing for a compliment:
[At your service, host! This is the core protection mechanism of this system—the 'Evil Intent Transformation Module'.]
[Given that your current physical condition cannot support high-intensity Black Magic combat, and to prevent you from repeating your mistakes and following your old anti-social path, the system is set: when your killing intent exceeds the threshold, it will be forcibly converted into harmless states such as 'fragile','shy', or 'charming'.]
[Simply put: the more ruthless your heart feels, the softer you appear on the outside.]
Tom laughed out of sheer anger. He looked at the girl in the mirror with flushed cheeks and shimmering eyes due to rage, and slammed his fist hard against the floor.
"You've turned the great Dark Lord into a joke!"
[No, dear host, I have turned you into a lovable beautiful girl.]
[By the way, your name is now Tamara Riddle, as it appears on legal documents and the Hogwarts acceptance letter. You can also call yourself Tami.]
"Shut up, I will never use that stupid name."
Tom struggled to his feet and paced back and forth in the cramped room.
The situation was dire, but not entirely hopeless.
As a pragmatic Slytherin, what Tom Riddle excelled at most was finding a way out of a desperate situation.
Since killing resulted in electric shocks and his magic was depleted, he had to play this damn game by the rules—at least until he found a way to break it.
"Open the panel," he commanded coldly.
A pale blue light screen emerged once more.
[Name: Tamara Riddle]
[Age: 11 years old]
[Magic Status: Sealed]
[Virtue Points: Love: 0]
[life: 0]
[wisdom: 0]
[Courage: 0]
[Current Task: None.]
Tom stared at that glaring "0" for a long time.
He could tolerate Love, life, and Courage being zero, but why was wisdom zero too?!
He wasn't an idiot now!
The system promptly stepped in to explain.
[Only actions and virtues that benefit others and society are counted as points.]
[Every ten points unlocks a spell. host, you must keep up the good work.]
Tom remained silent for a long while.
To become stronger, to reclaim the power that belonged to him, and even to use so much as a simple Levitation Charm, he needed these damn points.
Just then, noise came from outside the door; it seemed the other orphans were cleaning.
[Ding! Daily task triggered: The Glory of Labor.]
[Task Description: The orphanage is also a home, and maintaining environmental hygiene is everyone's responsibility. Please help the administrator Mrs. Martha clean the second-floor hallway.]
[Task Reward: life +5, minor physical recovery.]
[Failure Penalty: Random deduction of one Charisma point (even if you are already beautiful enough, becoming ugly is unacceptable).]
Tom's lip twitched.
Make the Dark Lord mop the floor?
And for a measly 5 life points?
"If I don't do it?"
[Then you might stay in this weak body for the rest of your life.]
The system's voice was full of well-meaning reminders.
[Besides, that guest is about to arrive. If you wish to appear before him with a perfect image, it's best to show your industrious side.]
Guest?
Tom's pupils contracted slightly.
Today was the day the Hogwarts acceptance letter would arrive.
No matter what, he didn't want to look like a fool in front of those Hogwarts Professors.
Tom took a deep breath, suppressing the emotions churning in his heart.
He walked to the bed, picked up the envelope he had tossed onto the sheets, and tucked it under his pillow. Then, he turned towards the bucket and rag in the corner.
Tom picked up the moldy rag, his fingertips turning slightly white from disgust.
"Very well," he whispered through gritted teeth, his expression looking as if he wanted to wring the rag like Harry Potter's neck.
"For power... for revenge..."
...Ten minutes later, a strange sight appeared in the second-floor hallway of Wools Orphanage.
Tamara, who was usually so arrogant that she looked down on everyone, was kneeling on the dirty wooden floor with a rag in hand, wiping away stains one by one.
Although her movements were unfamiliar and even a bit clumsy, she wiped every spot with extreme force.
"Look, the princess is actually working." A freckle-faced boy passed by and whistled. He was the leader of the orphans, Billy.
"Did the sun rise from the west?"
Tom didn't look up. He was mentally reciting the incantation for the Killing Curse, imagining every wipe as flaying Billy's skin.
[Warning: Killing intent detected. Please smile.]
Tom's hand jerked, nearly throwing the rag away.
He took a deep breath and looked up, his exquisite little face squeezing out an extremely stiff smile that, due to her beauty, appeared particularly forced: "Good morning, Billy. Are you here to help too?"
Billy was momentarily dazzled by that smile, stammered a "weirdo," and ran away with a red face.
Tom watched the retreating figure, sneering in his heart.
Idiot.
Just as he finished cleaning half the hallway and felt an unbearable ache in his knees, a steady, rhythmic knocking sounded from the front door downstairs.
It wasn't a hurried pounding, but three elegant, rhythmic taps.
Knock, knock, knock.
Tom's mopping motion stopped abruptly.
He could sense that familiar aura.
Albus Dumbledore.
What a fateful reunion.
He was the one who had brought him to Hogwarts back then. He hadn't expected it would still be him in this new life.