Chapter 42: Who Are You?
As she stepped out of the heavy oak doors of the Library, the biting draft howling through the stone corridor made her instinctively pull her shoulders in. Tamara Riddle wrapped her thick dragon-hide cloak tighter around her slender frame. The rich, dark leather was a gift Draco had presented to her just a few days ago, practically bowing as he offered it.
In the eyes of the Dark Lord, there was absolutely nothing wrong with accepting a loyal subordinate's tribute. She had naturally taken the cloak, offering the Malfoy heir a few measured words of praise for his thoughtfulness. That tiny scrap of validation had kept Draco strutting around like a peacock in heat for the better part of a week.
Just as she was about to cross the cavernous Entrance Hall and descend into the comforting gloom of the Slytherin Dungeons, a tall shadow fell over her, blocking her path.
"Please wait a moment, Miss Riddle."
The voice was gentle, carrying a youthful, earnest cadence that felt like a refreshing spring breeze—a breeze Tamara instantly found nauseating.
Tamara halted her steps, tilting her chin up slightly to appraise the obstacle.
Standing before her was a boy draped in the black and yellow robes of Hufflepuff. He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen, possessing a tall, athletic build and handsome features that bordered on the dazzling. A sincere, open light flickered within his grey eyes.
That deep-seated integrity and radiant sunshine practically made Tamara's retinas ache. She had to suppress the urge to cast a Blasting Curse right at his perfect nose.
"Is there something the matter?" Tamara asked, her tone clipped and cold.
She felt the boy looked vaguely familiar, but after a quick sift through her dark memories, she came up empty. In her past life, the Dark Lord had been occupied with global domination, blood purity, and immortality. She remembered either rivals powerful enough to match her or servants useful enough to grovel at her feet. As for commonplace Hogwarts students? They were no different from weeds growing by the roadside.
Perhaps he was just some poor, nameless soul who had been crushed under the rubble in one of her many battles.
"I'm Cedric Diggory, a third-year Hufflepuff," the boy said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish, bright smile. "This might be a bit forward, but I've been waiting for an opportunity to thank you in person."
"Thank me?" Tamara arched a delicate eyebrow, genuinely perplexed.
"Yes, for Hannah," Cedric explained, his expression turning serious. "She's my junior. That night at the Astronomy Tower... if it weren't for your scarf and your help, she might have frozen up there. She was so stressed she might have even cried over not finishing her homework."
He puffed his chest out slightly, pride evident in his posture. "Hufflepuff values its companions above all else. By helping Hannah, you helped all of us."
As Cedric spoke, he reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew an exquisite glass bottle. The glass was kept warm by a subtle charm, and a rich amber liquid rippled inside, emitting a faint curl of steam from the stopper.
"This is a special hot ginger drink I bought in Hogsmeade last weekend. It has honey and cinnamon mixed in; it's very good for warding off the cold."
He offered the bottle with both hands, his gaze clear and entirely devoid of malice. "I noticed the weather turning so bitter lately, and I thought you might find it useful... Please, consider it a small, insignificant token of my gratitude."
Tamara stared at the steaming bottle, then shifted her dark eyes to Cedric's defenseless, smiling face.
A bizarre, creeping sense of familiarity suddenly surged from the depths of her soul. It wasn't his handsome face that triggered it, but that sickeningly noble temperament and the surname Diggory.
'Diggory...' Tamara murmured internally, her brow furrowing a fraction of an inch.
She had definitely seen this person somewhere before... or rather, hadn't she seen this person's corpse?
Right on cue, the entity that never missed a single opportunity to make her life miserable suddenly came online.
[Ding! It seems the host cannot remember? Then let this system help jog your memory!]
[Time: June 24, 1995. Location: Little Hangleton Church Graveyard.]
[You ordered Peter Pettigrew to eliminate the obstacle, and so this boy, who had a brilliant future ahead of him, died an entirely pointless death.]
Tamara's pupils contracted to pinpricks.
Oh.
So he really was just an unlucky fellow.
Tamara replied to the system in her mind, her mental voice dripping with absolute, remorseless ice. 'This person had zero value to me anyway. What does his life or death have to do with Lord Voldemort?'
Just as she opened her mouth, fully intending to politely refuse Cedric's pathetic offering and tell this overconfident badger to get lost—
Zzzzt—!
A familiar, agonizing electric current instantly surged through the tip of her tongue, rendering it entirely numb. Her knees buckled a fraction of an inch.
[Warning! Detected host attempting to inflict secondary mental harm on a past victim!]
[Triggering Special Emotional Compensation Mechanism: Apology of History.]
[Given that you indirectly caused this youth's death in your past life, and although you show absolutely zero remorse, this system is a highly conscientious one.]
[Mission Requirement: You must not refuse Cedric's goodwill. You must display the utmost politeness expected of a Gentle Junior.]
[Mission Penalty: Imitating a Mountain Troll's mating dance in the Great Hall.]
Tamara was utterly speechless. If she could physically strangle the glowing blue text in her mind, she would have done so a hundred times over.
'You win,' Tamara hissed internally, taking a slow, deep breath to forcibly suppress the murderous intent violently churning in her chest.
Her originally frost-cold face, under the system's tyrannical forced intervention and the mixture of her own superb survival instincts, slowly blossomed into a stiff smile. To an outsider, however, that slight tremble of her lips appeared incredibly shy, soft, and overwhelmingly endearing.
"...I don't like owing people favors." Tamara reached out with trembling hands, her pale fingers wrapping around the glass bottle. The residual heat from his palms seeped into her cold skin.
Her voice, hijacked by the lingering electricity, uncontrollably softened, taking on a sweet, slightly nasal tone that sounded like a pampered kitten. "But since it is your sincere wish... thank you, Senior."
Senior.
When that word passed her lips, Tamara felt her very soul violently dry-heaving.
She, the Dark Lord, the heir of Slytherin, was actually calling a teenage brat Senior!
Cedric stood frozen, completely stunned.
He had originally braced himself for a harsh rejection. After all, the castle rumors insisted that while this Miss Riddle of Slytherin occasionally helped students from other houses, she was an ice queen who never took the initiative to socialize outside the serpent's den.
But now, looking at the fragile girl before him—clutching the warm bottle to her chest, her dark eyelashes fluttering as she looked down submissively, whispering her thanks in that sweet voice...
"You... You're welcome!"
He waved his hands in a sudden, awkward panic, a heavy flush of admiration rising in his grey eyes. "You really are very gentle, Junior Riddle."
"You're a good person."
Tamara's facial muscles were on the verge of snapping from the strain, but she gritted her teeth and did her absolute best to maintain a kind, innocent expression.
"Thank you." Tamara blinked her large, dark eyes, directly triggering her passive skill: Harmless.
Being gazed at by those pitch-black, bottomless eyes, Cedric felt his heart suddenly race. For a split second, a primal instinct flared in his chest—it felt exactly like locking eyes with a massive Acromantula in the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
He shook his head, dismissing the absurd feeling.
"Then... I'll be going now! I have to get to Herbology!" With that, the usually poised Hufflepuff senior turned and ran off awkwardly, his arms and legs moving entirely out of sync as he practically fled toward the greenhouses.
When he reached the marble staircase, he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder. He saw the girl in the dark green Slytherin robes still standing quietly in the drafty hall, holding the drink he had given her with both hands, cradling it as if she were treasuring a priceless artifact.
'She's really nice,'Cedric thought to himself, a warm smile touching his lips.'Slytherins aren't all bad.'
...Until Cedric's back completely disappeared around the corner.
The mask of timid obedience and gentleness on Tamara's face shattered instantly, replaced by a scowl of extreme, venomous gloom.
"Gentle? Junior?" She glared at the ginger drink in her hand, her fingers twitching with the overwhelming urge to smash it against the stone floor.
But the system's glowing blue warning—[Please cherish the kindness of others]—was still flashing ominously in her peripheral vision.
She could only indignantly unscrew the cork stopper, tilt her head back, and take a resentful gulp.
The spicy kick of ginger mixed with thick, sweet honey flowed down her throat. That rich, spreading warmth instantly chased away the biting cold lingering in her bones.
"...The taste is average."
Tamara wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Although her body honestly felt incredibly comfortable, her spoken words remained sharp and biting. "It's sickeningly sweet. Only a Hufflepuff would like this kind of sugary swill. It tastes like it was brewed for babies."
[Ding! Mission Complete: Apology of History.]
[Reward: Love +1.]
[Current Stats: Love 13, Life 14, Wisdom 23, Courage 12.]
[System Evaluation: See? Being a Gentle Junior isn't that hard, right? At least you gained some warmth and the favor of a handsome guy.]
Tamara snorted coldly, shoved the half-empty bottle deep into her robe pocket, and turned on her heel to march toward the Dungeons.
"Sooner or later, I will rip you out of my skull and feed you to a Dementor, you disgusting parasite."
[Love you too, host!]
"Get lost."
]
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