Chapter 50: Christmas Gifts
On Christmas morning, the Slytherin dungeons were even quieter than usual.
The heavy stone corridors lacked the echoing footsteps of early-rising lower-year students, and the common room was entirely devoid of upper-years loudly debating Quidditch tactics over the crackling fire. Only the occasional pop and hiss from the dying embers in the hearth indicated that the subterranean space was not entirely abandoned.
Tamara Riddle woke to a distinct, crushing sensation of suffocation.
Her eyes snapped open in the gloom. It was not an assassination attempt. Rather, that insufferable black cat she had named Nagini was currently sprawled directly across her face, displaying zero regard for personal boundaries or sleeping posture. The feline lay draped over her nose and mouth like a suffocating, purring fur scarf.
"Get off."
Tamara grabbed the beast by the scruff of its neck, peeling it away from her face, and unceremoniously tossed it toward the foot of the bed.
She sat up, raking a hand through her tangled dark hair. Out of sheer, ingrained habit, her fingers drifted toward the black walnut nightstand to retrieve her wand.
Instead, her knuckles brushed against something entirely foreign.
A pile of... things.
Tamara froze. She slowly pulled back the heavy green velvet hangings of her four-poster bed.
The next second, the Dark Lord's expression completely solidified into a mask of blank disbelief.
At the foot of her bed, spilling over the previously empty nightstand, and cascading down onto the plush silver-threaded carpet, sat a literal mountain of brightly colored, carefully wrapped gift boxes. The sheer volume of the hoard made it look as though someone had ransacked a Diagon Alley novelty shop and dumped the entire inventory directly into her dormitory.
"What... is this?"
Tamara stared at the glittering pile. In her past life, she had naturally received tributes. But those offerings consisted of cursed Black Magic artifacts, rare, untraceable poisons, or the freshly severed heads of her enemies presented on silver platters by groveling Death Eaters.
But these? Packages bound in obnoxiously bright pink bows? Wrapping paper stamped with dancing gold stars? And what in Salazar's name was that lumpy, squishy parcel near the bottom?
[Ding! Merry Christmas, host!]
The system's sickeningly cheerful, patronizing voice chimed right on cue, echoing pleasantly inside her skull.
[It seems your outstanding good deeds this semester have won over many hearts! Please check the fruits of your labor!]
A muscle feathered in Tamara's jaw. With a dark, stormy expression, she reached out and pinched the black package resting at the very top of the pile.
It was from Draco.
Ripping away the paper, she found a set of pure silver, master-crafted potion maintenance tools resting on velvet, alongside a massive, ostentatious box of premium sweets from Honeydukes. A piece of heavy parchment rested on top.
To dear Miss Riddle—I hope you like it. I had my mother specially order this from France.
"Tacky," Tamara muttered, her lip curling. Still, she carefully set the silver tools aside. They were, admittedly, of excellent make and would prove useful for her private brewing.
Next came a sleek, emerald-green silk scarf from Pansy Parkinson, followed by a towering, precarious stack of heavy fruitcakes from Goyle and Crabbe that smelled faintly of excessive butter.
Then, her fingers brushed against a roughly wrapped, bulky package tied with thick twine.
The scrawled signature read: Hagrid.
Inside sat a crudely whittled, splintery wooden carving of something that vaguely resembled a Hippogriff, though the bulbous proportions made it look far more like a winged pig. Beside the carving lay a heavy burlap sack filled with rock cakes. Tamara picked one up; it felt dense enough to shatter a troll's skull.
"..." She dropped the rock cake back into the sack with a heavy thud and shoved it to the farthest corner of the bed.
Beneath the half-giant's hazard hazard lay a neat, square package wrapped in plain brown paper.
It was from Cedric Diggory.
She tore the paper away to reveal a pristine copy of Detailed Explanation of Basic Healing Spells. A small, neat note was tucked just inside the cover: This book might be helpful to you. Also, keep warm.
"Meddling fool," Tamara scoffed, tossing the book onto the pile.
But what horrified her the most was the extremely bloated, squishy package she had spotted earlier.
She pinched the corner of the wrapping with two fingers, treating it like a diseased rat, and pulled it apart.
A thick, violently dark green knitted sweater spilled out onto her lap. Emblazoned across the chest was a massive, glittering silver letter 'T'.
Mrs. Weasley's handiwork.
Clearly, those twin menaces had passed her name along to Molly Weasley. Tamara stared down at the heavy wool garment. It practically radiated suffocating, domestic motherly love. She felt as though her very aesthetic sensibilities were being subjected to a brutal, unprovoked assault.
"I am the Dark Lord."
She whispered the words directly to the sweater, her voice a dangerous, venomous hiss, as if she needed to remind the universe of her true identity. "I am not a red-haired Weasley brat."
Digging toward the very bottom of the pile, she unearthed a small, slightly crumpled box of ordinary Chocolate Frogs.
There was no signature.
But judging by the distinct, cheap Gryffindor-style presentation, it could belong to absolutely no one else but Harry Potter.
"Truly... disgusting sentimentality."
Tamara sat amidst the ruins of wrapping paper and ribbons, rubbing her temples as a sharp headache began to throb behind her eyes. She had originally planned to sleep in late today, enjoy the quiet, and then sneak off to investigate the trapdoor on the third floor.
Now, her bed was a landfill of holiday cheer.
"System," she asked, her voice dangerously flat. "Is there a one-click destruction function?"
[No, host.]
The system's usually perky tone suddenly dropped into a state of severe, uncompromising strictness.
[Not only can you not destroy them, but you must also fulfill basic social etiquette.]
[Triggering Holiday Limited Mission: Reciprocity.]
[Mission Description: Receiving gifts without returning them is extremely rude and arrogant. While this perfectly fits your internal persona, for long-term sustainable development and reputation management, we do not recommend this.]
[Mission Requirement: Please prepare a return gift for every sender.]
[Special Restriction: Since everyone put so much heart into their presents, your return gifts cannot be random trash bought on a whim. They must contain your genuine sincerity—it is highly suggested they be handmade or carry some form of magical blessing.]
[Mission Time Limit: Send them out before midnight tonight.]
[Mission Reward: Love +2]
[Failure Penalty: Forced to wear the sweater knitted by Mrs. Weasley and perform a three-minute tap dance in the middle of the Great Hall.]
Tamara's face instantly drained of all color, turning paler than a fresh corpse.
Her eyes darted to the bulky green sweater. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that even with her current, flawless features, she would look like an absolute buffoon wearing that monstrosity while dancing like a trained circus animal.
"...How many people?"
Her voice trembled. It was a physical reaction to a tidal wave of murderous rage being forcibly suppressed by her own ribcage.
[According to the statistics, there are twelve people in total.]
"Twelve?!"
Tamara's grip tightened so fiercely she nearly snapped her wand in half. She had to prepare handmade, magically blessed gifts for twelve people? And finish them all within a single day?
"I hate Christmas."
She squeezed the words through her gritted teeth, the sound barely more than a hiss of escaping steam.
And so, this Christmas—which should have been a quiet, productive day of plotting—was entirely derailed, transforming into a grueling sentence of manual labor for Tamara Riddle.
She did not go up to the Great Hall to enjoy the sumptuous, turkey-laden Christmas feast. She did not step outside to admire the pristine, snow-covered grounds. Instead, she locked the heavy oak door of her dormitory, banished the cat named Nagini to the corners to hunt mice, and dumped every usable crafting material she possessed onto her desk.
"Handmade... blessing..."
Tamara glared at a pile of small, smooth wooden blocks scattered across the dark wood of her desk. It was timber salvaged from a Bowtruckle habitat she had picked up at the edge of the Forbidden Forest a few weeks prior to practice Transfiguration.
"Since I need a magical blessing, I'll use Ancient Runes."
It was the fastest, most efficient method she knew, and it perfectly satisfied the system's irritating requirements.
She picked up a sharp silver carving knife, her eyes narrowing as she pressed the blade into the first block of wood.
If anyone else in the Wizarding world could see this scene, their jaws would likely detach from their skulls. The most evil, feared Dark Wizard in modern history was currently hunched over a desk like an industrious, underpaid carpenter, fully focused on whittling little wooden amulets symbolizing 'Peace', 'Wisdom', and 'Courage'.
"Carve Ehwaz—Horse, for Trust—for that idiot Draco. Hopefully, the magic will help him grow some actual brains."
Tamara muttered malicious curses under her breath as the wood shavings fell away from her blade.
"Carve Kenaz—Fire, for Light—for Pansy, so she stops spending all day staring at me like a lovesick kneazle."
"For Hagrid..." Tamara's hand paused, the knife hovering over a particularly thick block. "Carve Uruz—Ox, for Strength. After all, the oaf has absolutely no other virtues besides being strong."
"And that Granger..."
Tamara picked up a piece of wood with a remarkably fine, straight grain. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, the knife biting into the surface, before she finally carved the complex, intersecting lines of Ansuz—the rune symbolizing Wisdom and clear communication.
"Don't misunderstand," she sneered to the empty room. "I just hope the mudblood will be a little more logical when she opens her mouth in the future."
Finally, it was Harry Potter's turn.
Tamara stared down at the very last piece of wood in her hand. A dark, visceral flash of pure murderous intent swam in her dark eyes.
She really, truly wanted to carve the incantation for the Killing Curse right into the bark.
But the system's warning was already manifesting. Tiny, painful blue sparks of electricity began to dance across her fingertips, threatening to paralyze her arm.
"Fine! Fine!"
Tamara jerked her hand back, glaring at the ceiling. Resentfully, she dug the blade into the wood, carving the jagged, lightning-bolt shape of Sowilo—Sun, for Victory.
"Just consider it a wish for my own early victory!" she spat.
By the time the final rune was carved, sanded, and infused with a surge of her own magic to activate the ancient symbols, the sky outside the dungeon window had turned pitch black.
Tamara slumped back into her heavy leather chair, her chest heaving, feeling completely, physically drained.
The desk was covered with twelve wooden amulets, each one emitting a faint, pulsing, warm glow. Though the base material was nothing more than ordinary forest wood, the runes carved into them contained incredibly dense, powerful magical fluctuations.
These were high-level, concentrated blessings crafted personally by the Dark Lord.
They were, without exaggeration, likely the most expensive, magically potent batch of protective amulets currently existing in the entire Wizarding world.
"If they knew who actually made these..."
Tamara looked at the glowing charms, a cold, dark laugh slipping from her lips. "They'd probably be so terrified they'd throw them straight into the fireplace."
Forcing her aching muscles to move, she gathered the amulets, summoned the school owls, and sent the gifts flying out into the snowy night, one by one.
The next day.
Malfoy Manor.
Draco sat in the opulent drawing room, turning the wooden plaque carved with Ehwaz over in his hands. Although it completely lacked the fancy packaging and silk ribbons he was accustomed to, the moment his fingers brushed the wood, he could feel a deep, reassuring magical warmth radiating from the carving.
"Dad! Look! Tamara made this herself!" Draco boasted, his chest puffing out as he showed it off to his father.
Lucius Malfoy took the wooden plaque. His long fingers traced the perfectly carved rune. His aristocratic face remained perfectly smooth, but his pale eyes darkened with a solemn, calculating weight. Ever since he had first heard the name 'Riddle' spoken in his home, a cold, creeping unease had settled in his bones.
"Is that so, Draco?" Lucius murmured, his voice smooth as glass. "Then be absolutely sure to thank Miss Riddle properly."
The Hufflepuff common room.
Hannah Abbott sat by the fire, holding the small charm carved with Berkana—Birch, for Healing.
She slipped the leather cord over her head, letting the amulet rest against her chest. Instantly, a soothing, warm current spread through her entire body, chasing away the winter chill.
"Tamara is just so kind..." Hannah sniffled, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked at the other badgers who had stayed behind for the holidays.
Gryffindor Tower.
Harry sat cross-legged on the rug by the roaring fire, chewing thoughtfully on a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
A snowy owl swooped in through the open window, dropping a small, unadorned package directly into his lap.
Harry brushed off the snow and opened it. Inside lay a smooth wooden charm, tied simply with a dark green ribbon. Carved into the center was the jagged, lightning-like symbol of Sowilo.
There was no note attached. But the dark green ribbon explained everything he needed to know.
Harry gripped the warm wooden plaque, his thumb tracing the rune. He looked up toward the frosted window, speaking softly into the quiet night.
"Thank you."
Meanwhile, down in the Slytherin dormitories.
[Ding! Mission complete: Reciprocity.]
[Congratulations host for successfully spreading warmth and joy to everyone!]
[Reward: Love +3. Because your handiwork was so incredibly sincere and magically potent, you receive an extra +1!]
[Current Attributes: Love 18, Life 14, Wisdom 30, Courage 12.]
[Everyone's favorability toward you has increased significantly!]
Tamara Riddle lay flat on her back on her mattress, staring blankly up at the green velvet canopy. She did not have the strength to move a single finger. Her magical core was exhausted, her fingers cramped, and her pride was in tatters.
She took a slow, deep breath, making a dark, malicious vow in the deepest recesses of her soul.
Next Christmas... if anyone dares to send me a single gift again... I will kill them.
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