Chapter 35: Lying Through One's Teeth
Tamara stepped over the threshold and into the narrow, sweltering confines of the gamekeeper's hut. A chaotic assault of strange, pungent odors immediately invaded her senses—cured meat, damp fur, and something suspiciously resembling wet earth. Plump hams and half-plucked pheasants dangled precariously from the low ceiling beams, while a haphazard pile of ragged, patchwork blankets lay crumpled in the far corner.
A thunderous bark shattered the stifling air.
Before Tamara could even locate a patch of floor clean enough to accommodate her pristine shoes, a massive black boarhound erupted from the shadows. It was Fang. The beast lunged with terrifying enthusiasm. Two heavy, mud-caked front paws slammed onto Tamara's delicate shoulders, pinning her in place. A massive, dripping pink tongue unspooled from its maw, aiming directly for her face.
"Down, Fang!" Hagrid's booming voice rattled the teacups.
Tamara froze. Her breath hitched. A thick, viscous string of saliva dangled inches from her nose.
Dog drool.
The Dark Lord could not tolerate even the microscopic suggestion of such a foul, idiotic creature touching her person. Her sanity teetered violently on the precipice of absolute collapse. Her fingers twitched, desperate to draw her wand and blast the filthy mongrel through the thatched roof. 'I will skin it. I will turn it into a rug.'
But a glowing blue interface hovered mercilessly in her peripheral vision.
[Hagrid Favorability: Cold]
She forced her jaw to unclench, swallowing the killing curse that danced on her tongue. With a sharp, calculated tilt of her head, she narrowly dodged the wet assault. She extended a single, trembling finger, pressing it against the center of Fang's broad forehead. To the untrained eye, it looked like a gentle, hesitant caress. In reality, she was channeling every ounce of her physical strength to shove the beast's skull away from her.
"What a..." She inhaled sharply. "...lively creature." Tamara squeezed the compliment through a painfully bright smile. "It seems you have raised him very well."
Hagrid finally hauled the boarhound backward by its collar. Hearing her words, the deep, suspicious lines bracketing the half-giant's eyes softened just a fraction.
"Sit down, everyone, sit."
Hagrid gestured to the oversized wooden chairs. He poured boiling tea into massive, chipped mugs that looked as though they had only been rinsed with cold water, then slammed a heavy iron plate onto the table. It was piled high with lumpy, misshapen brown mounds.
"These are rock cakes I just made," Hagrid announced, his chest puffing out with pride. "Eat them while they're hot."
Harry and Ron exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated terror. The color drained from their faces. They had clearly experienced the dental devastation of this particular culinary creation before.
"Thanks, Hagrid." Harry picked one up with the caution of a bomb disposal expert. He brought it to his lips and mimed a bite, but the subtle, desperate grinding of his jaw revealed he was merely scraping his teeth against the impenetrable surface.
Tamara stared down at the suspicious, boulder-like lumps on the plate.
[Task Progress Prompt: Please express goodwill by "accepting the host's hospitality."]
Tamara took a slow, measured breath. 'I will murder whoever designed this system.'
She reached out, her pale, slender fingers wrapping around one of the dense lumps. It weighed as much as a lead weight. The moment she brought it to her mouth, a sharp, metallic chime echoed in her skull.
[Don't worry, Host! I have temporarily doubled the density of your tooth enamel. You are currently no different from a spotted hyena! Keep up the good work!]
'A hyena. I am the Dark Lord, and you have turned me into a scavenging dog.'
Tamara bit down. A terrifying crunch echoed through the small hut. To Harry and Ron, who watched with wide, horrified eyes, she appeared to effortlessly shatter the jaw-breaking biscuit.
"The taste..." Tamara chewed with agonizing elegance. It tasted exactly like an aged, dust-filled flour sack mixed with gravel. She forced the corners of her lips upward into a flawless, serene smile. "...is very unique. It has a wonderful, rustic quality of the earth."
Hagrid's beetle-black eyes lit up like lanterns.
"I knew you'd like it!" he boomed happily, slamming a hand onto his knee. He looked at her as if he had just discovered a long-lost kindred spirit. "Harry and the others don't really eat them, but this is good stuff! Proper filling!"
The oppressive, awkward tension in the hut finally began to dissipate. Hagrid watched Tamara slowly swallow the pulverized rock cake. He shifted his massive weight, his thick fingers twisting the fabric of his moleskin overcoat. He hesitated, his jovial expression faltering, before he finally forced the words out.
"Um... Miss Riddle. Although you said your name was just a coincidence... have you... heard anything in school about what happened fifty years ago?"
Harry and Ron froze, their fake-chewing completely abandoned. They looked at Hagrid in total confusion, clearly missing the historical context.
'Ah. Here it comes.'
Tamara set the half-eaten rock cake back onto the iron plate with a soft clink. She withdrew a pristine white handkerchief from her pocket, dabbing delicately at the corners of her mouth to buy herself a fraction of a second.
"Are you talking about... the student who died in the second-floor bathroom?"
She lifted her chin, locking her dark, piercing gaze directly onto Hagrid's evasive, nervous eyes. The shift was instantaneous. The spirit of a seasoned stage actress took complete control of her features. A perfectly measured, heartbreaking hint of regret and deep sympathy pooled in her expression.
"Although the professors rarely speak of it, I have spent quite a bit of time looking through the old school archives," Tamara said, her voice dropping to a soft, sincere murmur. "I know a certain student received a Special Award for Services to the School... because he supposedly caught the culprit who opened the Chamber of Secrets."
Hagrid's massive frame gave a violent shudder. He ducked his head, his giant, calloused hands gripping the edge of the wooden table so tightly the timber groaned in protest.
"But..." Tamara let the word hang in the air, shifting her tone to one of quiet contemplation. "When I was reading through that history, I always felt... something simply wasn't right."
Hagrid's head snapped up, his dark eyes wide.
"The student who was expelled..." Tamara continued, her voice steady. "...as far as I could find, he had absolutely no record of attacking his classmates. On the contrary, the records suggested he was deeply fond of magical creatures."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice soft yet carrying an obvious weight. "And the student who caught the culprit... though he possessed excellent grades, I could read between the lines. I could feel a cold, calculating ambition. The kind of ambition that would stop at nothing to secure glory and praise."
"I simply do not believe that someone with such a genuine love for innocent animals could be a cold-blooded murderer." She let out a soft, troubled sigh. "On the contrary, I feel that the verdict back then was far too hasty. It was... terribly unfair."
Tamara fought a desperate internal battle to keep her facial muscles from violently twitching. The sheer, unadulterated hypocrisy of her own words made her want to vomit. Yet, beneath the disgust, a dark, twisted sense of pride bloomed in her chest.
'What I did back then was an absolute masterpiece,'she mused inwardly.'A flawless, perfect frame-up. There has never been a more genius execution of slander in the history of this pathetic school.'
Though Tamara's words were entirely hollow, they struck Hagrid like a physical blow. He sat frozen, utterly stunned. His thick lips began to tremble uncontrollably. His eyes instantly flushed red, and massive, glistening tears welled up in the corners.
Fifty years. Half a century of carrying the label of a monster. No one—except Albus Dumbledore—had ever spoken such words in his defense. Let alone a Slytherin. Let alone a Slytherin bearing the name Riddle.
"You... you really think so?" Hagrid choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of decades of repressed grief.
"Intuition, Mr. Hagrid." Tamara offered a small, gentle smile. Every trace of her inherent arrogance was buried deep, replaced by a devastatingly convincing mask of sincerity. "I trust my intuition. You are a good man, and Hogwarts owes you a formal apology."
"Waaaah!"
Hagrid's emotional dam finally shattered. He let out a massive, earth-shaking sob, grabbed the filthy, spotted tablecloth, and buried his face in it. He wept with the unrestrained, noisy abandon of a three-hundred-pound child.
"No one..." he wailed into the fabric. "No one has ever said that to me before..."
Harry and Ron sat paralyzed, watching the giant gamekeeper break down in absolute shock. Slowly, they turned their heads toward Tamara, their eyes shining with deep awe and admiration. Even Tamara was momentarily taken aback by the sheer magnitude of the half-giant's reaction.
[Ding! Task completed: Debt of History.]
[Hagrid Favorability: Friendly.]
[Evaluation: Though your words were entirely spun from lies, you have provided genuine solace to an old man's wounded heart. Such is the beautiful art of language!]
Tamara stared at the sobbing mountain of a man and released a long, exhausted sigh in the confines of her mind.
"Alright, please, don't cry." She stood up from her chair. Though every fiber of her being screamed in revulsion, she reached across the table and gently patted Hagrid's massive, convulsing arm. "Since it was a terrible misunderstanding, it is good that we have cleared the air."
She paused, her eyes darting toward the small window and the darkening twilight sky. "Also..." she added, swiftly pivoting the conversation. "The tea was lovely, but I believe we should head back to the castle. We still have quite a bit of homework to finish."
If she remained in this suffocating hut for another minute, she genuinely feared she would choke to death on the overwhelming stench of cheap sentimentality and stale rock cakes.
When they finally stepped out into the cool evening air, Hagrid insisted on escorting them all the way to the heavy oak doors of the castle.
"Come by often when you're free, Tamara!" Hagrid called out, waving a hand the size of a dustbin lid. His eyes were still puffy and red, but a bright, genuine smile stretched across his bearded face. "Next time, I'll make you a big batch of treacle fudge!"
"I look forward to it, Hagrid." Tamara smiled warmly, waving back with perfect grace.
It wasn't until they crossed the threshold into the Entrance Hall, the heavy oak doors groaning shut to completely block the view from the grounds, that the angelic smile on Tamara's face instantly vanished.
Her expression went dead. Her wand snapped into her hand.
"Scourgify."
She frantically cast the Cleaning Charm over and over, scrubbing the shoulder where Hagrid's filthy coat had brushed her, and aggressively sanitizing the sleeve where Fang's drool had threatened to land.
"Tamara, what you said back there... it was amazing." Harry was still marveling as they walked toward the Great Hall, completely oblivious to her furious magical scrubbing. "I've never seen Hagrid so moved by anything."
"Yes. Quite."
Tamara stared coldly at her finally pristine robes. A faint, imperceptible sneer tugged at the corner of her perfectly shaped mouth.
'Squeezing tears out of a sentimental oaf was child's play,'she thought darkly.'Certainly much easier than forcing me to swallow that blasted rock cake.'
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