Chapter 15: I'm Back
Hermione's entire body stiffened.
The scent of winter cedar—crisp, elegant, and utterly freezing—washed over her as Tamara leaned in closer.
"Too stiff," Tamara murmured. Her voice was pitched low, carrying the effortless authority of a strict mentor. "The wand is an extension of your arm, Granger. Not a conductor's baton. You must guide the magic, not violently fling it out."
"Watch closely."
Tamara drew her holly wand. The polished wood seemed to hum the moment her fingers wrapped around the handle.
She did not shout. She did not hack at the air as if trying to bludgeon an invisible troll, the way Hermione just had.
Her movements were agonizingly precise. Her wrist turned in a microscopic, elegant arc, drawing a flawless, invisible rune in the dead air of the compartment.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The incantation slipped from her lips, soft as a ghost's sigh. The pronunciation was absolute perfection, the kind of flawless articulation one might expect from a masterclass auditory textbook.
The next second, reality shifted.
The crumpled candy wrapper, previously lying on the seat as lifeless as a dead fish, shuddered.
It did not jerk upward. It floated. The ascent was smooth, steady, and entirely devoid of the wobbly instability that plagued amateur spellwork.
Following the lazy, deliberate guidance of Tamara's wand tip, the crinkled foil began to dance within the cramped space of the compartment. It folded in on itself, creasing and flipping in mid-air with sharp, geometric precision. Within seconds, the wrapper had transformed into a delicate paper crane. It fluttered its silver wings, circled Hermione's bushy hair once, and landed with a feather-light touch right on the tip of her nose.
"Whoa..."
Harry and Ron sat frozen, their jaws practically unhinged.
This was on an entirely different level from Hermione's strained, desperate performance earlier.
This was magic.
Truly artistic, stunning magic.
Hermione Granger forgot how to breathe.
She crossed her eyes slightly to stare at the silver crane perched on her nose, then slowly lifted her gaze to the black-haired girl. Tamara sat there, her expression completely undisturbed, holding her wand with casual grace.
In that single, quiet moment, the towering fortress of Hermione's academic pride shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
Yet, bizarrely, the bitter sting of jealousy never came.
Instead, as she took in Tamara's pristine profile, the relaxed slope of her shoulders, and the sheer, suffocating competence radiating from her, Hermione's heart gave a violent thump.
So strong.
So beautiful.
This. This was exactly what she wanted to become!
The brown eyes that had previously held nothing but haughty scrutiny melted. They widened into massive, shimmering pools of fanatical admiration.
"How... how did you do that?"
Her voice trembled. Hermione shot up from her seat, completely abandoning all concepts of personal space, and leaned aggressively close to Tamara.
"Was the origami aspect a secondary function of the Levitation Charm? Or did you flawlessly integrate basic Transfiguration? Is there a specific mathematical angle to your wrist flick? Can you teach me?"
Facing the terrifying intensity of the suddenly fanatical girl, Tamara leaned back, her spine pressing flat against the seat to escape.
[Ding! Task completed: Fond of Teaching Others.]
[Intelligence +5. Current Intelligence: 15.]
[Extra Reward: Hermione Granger's Favorability Task unlocked.]
[Current Favorability: 10/100.]
Tamara glanced at the glowing blue text floating in her peripheral vision. The irritation bubbling in her chest cooled slightly.
'At least the points are mine.'
"This is merely the absolute basics, Granger." Tamara slid her holly wand back into her robes, her tone dripping with practiced, aristocratic aloofness. "If you could manage to close that incessant mouth of yours and actually feel the ambient flow of magic, perhaps you could achieve it as well."
Had anyone else spoken to her like that, Hermione Granger would have flushed crimson and launched into a blistering, citation-heavy counterattack.
But now, feeling the weightless silver crane still resting on her nose, she found she possessed absolutely zero anger.
"I will do it."
Hermione bit her lower lip. A fierce, defiant fire ignited in her brown eyes. She stared directly into Tamara's dark gaze, her voice ringing with absolute certainty. "Since you can do it, I definitely can too."
Tamara allowed a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow to rise. She was genuinely surprised by the sheer stubbornness of this mudblood.
"Then prove it to me," she said smoothly, waving a dismissive hand as she settled back into her seat.
Hermione did not launch into another lecture. She carefully plucked the silver crane from her nose, tucked it reverently into her pocket as if it were a priceless artifact, and stared at the empty space on the bench beside Tamara.
"Can I sit here?" she asked. The bossy, commanding tone was entirely gone, replaced by a raw, eager expectation she didn't even realize she was projecting.
A dull ache throbbed behind Tamara's temples.
Her quiet, private compartment had somehow mutated into a holding pen for the Gryffindor reserve of foolish lions.
"Suit yourself." She flipped her heavy book open once more, ignoring them.
Hermione beamed. The missing toad in the corridor was instantly deleted from her priority list as she practically threw herself onto the cushion beside Tamara.
The compartment finally settled into a tolerable silence, broken only by the rhythmic, hypnotic clacking of the iron wheels against the tracks.
Outside the glass, the sky bruised into a deep, velvety purple. The rolling hills and dense woods blurred into shadows, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of distant, isolated lights.
"We're almost there." Harry pressed his forehead against the cold glass, his breath fogging the pane. His green eyes were wide with a frantic mix of nerves and pure, unadulterated excitement. He had never been this close to the magical world.
"Please put on your robes," a magically magnified voice echoed through the train corridors. "We will be leaving our luggage on the train over there."
Hermione snapped to attention. She stood, casting a highly critical eye over Harry and Ron's rumpled, oversized muggle clothing. Her brow furrowed.
"You two had better change immediately. I think we are arriving."
She turned her gaze back to Tamara.
The dark-haired girl was already immaculate, draped in deep green silk robes that seemed to absorb the dim compartment light. The shadows softened the sharp, aristocratic lines of her face, yet that chilling, untouchable aura remained firmly in place, keeping the world at arm's length.
Hermione swallowed hard. That strange, bubbling sensation returned to her chest. She wanted to say something—to compliment the exquisite cut of the silk, or ask about the heavy tome resting on Tamara's lap—but the words jammed in her throat, turning into a dry squeak.
"See you in a bit."
The Hogwarts Express groaned, the brakes screeching as the massive scarlet engine finally ground to a halt.
The moment the heavy carriage doors slid open, a brutal, biting wind whipped across the platform, slicing right through their robes.
The station was swallowed in pitch blackness. Only a single, massive oil lamp swung wildly in the distance, casting long, monstrous shadows against the stone.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
A voice like rolling thunder boomed over the sea of shivering students.
Tamara's dark eyes locked onto the source.
Rubeus Hagrid.
The half-giant stood like a hairy, unmovable mountain against the wind, his massive hand gripping the swaying lantern. A wild, tangled thicket of a beard obscured nearly his entire face, leaving only two beetle-black eyes glinting in the lamplight.
Tamara knew this pathetic, lumbering oaf intimately. It was entirely her doing that he had been expelled from this very school in disgrace. If not for Dumbledore's infuriating, bleeding-heart charity, the beast would have starved in the gutters long ago.
Yet, as she stared at that familiar, foolishly earnest face, a bizarre, twisting sensation gripped Tamara's chest.
Nostalgia.
'Nothing but a half-giant mongrel,' she sneered internally, ruthlessly crushing the emotion. This new body was defective. It kept generating these pathetic, inexplicable sentiments.
"C'mon now, follow me, firs' years! Watch yer step!"
Hagrid bellowed over the wind, turning his massive bulk and leading the terrified, freezing children down a steep, treacherous dirt path.
Darkness pressed in from both sides. The dense, ancient woods flanking the trail rustled violently in the wind, the leaves hissing like the whispers of a thousand restless ghosts.
Nobody dared to speak. The sheer, oppressive weight of the atmosphere had shocked the new students into absolute silence.
"Ye'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called back over his massive shoulder.
The narrow path abruptly opened up, and a collective, breathless gasp rippled through the crowd.
Stretching out before them was the vast, ink-black expanse of the Great Lake, its surface shimmering like polished obsidian.
And there, perched atop a jagged, towering cliff on the opposite shore, stood the Castle.
It was a sprawling, magnificent beast of stone, bristling with turrets and spires that pierced the starry sky. Countless windows glowed with warm, golden light, reflecting off the dark waters below.
Hogwarts.
The absolute epicenter of magical power in Britain. The holy sanctuary in the hearts of every young witch and wizard.
To the shivering children around her, it was a school.
But to Tamara Riddle, it was the first piece of the board she would conquer.
She stood at the edge of the Black Lake, the freezing wind tearing at her long, midnight-black hair.
As she stared up at the illuminated spires, a dark, suffocating fire slowly ignited in the depths of her black eyes.
Ambition.
A ravenous, all-consuming desire to subjugate everything in her path. A fire that absolutely refused to be extinguished—not by death, not by time, and certainly not by being shoved into the body of a teenage girl.
[Ding! Host's Ambition Level detected as off the charts.]
[System Tip: Conquering the world is incredibly exhausting. Why not first focus your energy on figuring out how to avoid being sorted into Hufflepuff?]
Tamara's jaw locked. A vein pulsed faintly at her temple.
'Shut up,'she snarled in her mind, her fists clenching so hard her knuckles turned white.'I won't go anywhere except Slytherin.'
[What about Azkaban?]
Tamara paused. The majestic atmosphere instantly evaporated.
'...That won't happen either,'she replied dryly.'Both times I died directly. I never even made it to Azkaban.'
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