Chapter 239: A Chance Encounter
In the damp corridor, the air seemed to freeze solid in an instant.
Tamara turned on her heel, the motion slow and deliberate. Her dark eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, mirroring a viper locking onto a cornered field mouse. Her cold, unblinking gaze pinned Harry Potter to the stone floor just a few paces away.
In that singular, breathless second, Tamara's mind spun into a lethal overdrive.
She had already formulated over thirty distinct contingencies, ranging from precisely which localized Memory Charm would best scramble the savior's brain, to which obscure, flesh-rotting dark curse would ensure his permanent silence.
However, before she could let a single syllable of cold interrogation slip past her lips, Harry was already waving his hands frantically.
"I swear, I really wasn't stalking you, Tamara!" he blurted out, panic bleeding into his voice.
He pointed a trembling finger toward the complex copper pipes running along the damp stone wall. His emerald eyes swam with a bizarre mixture of shock and a deeply unsettling familiarity.
"I just... I just heard that sound coming from the pipes again." Harry swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at the Slytherin girl before him. "I followed the hissing in the wall all the way down here, and then... I saw you talking to that crack."
Beneath the heavy fabric of her sleeve, Tamara's slender fingers—already curled perfectly around the smooth wood of her wand—stilled.
'Ah. I almost forgot.'The messy-haired, spectacularly foolish boy standing before her was not just a nuisance. He harbored a splinter of her own soul. Harry Potter was a Parselmouth. He had not just heard random hissing; he had likely understood the exact command she had just whispered into the plumbing to'search for animals tainted by Black Magic.'
Faced with this catastrophic breach of secrecy, not a single muscle in Tamara's face twitched out of place. In a fraction of a heartbeat, the former Dark Lord who had once danced circles around the entirety of Hogwarts completely rewrote her script.
Obliviation was messy. Taking the initiative was foolproof.
"Since you heard everything, there is no need for me to hide it," she said.
She crossed her arms over her chest, allowing the rigid tension in her shoulders to melt into a posture of casual, almost helpless resignation. "Yes, Potter. The one speaking just now was indeed me. I was giving instructions to the snakes in the pipes."
Hearing this calm admission, Harry's jaw dropped. His brow furrowed deeply as his brain struggled to process the confession.
"Snakes? But what I heard just now was clearly normal... wait!" His voice hitched, trembling with a sudden, massive realization. "You were speaking Parseltongue just now? But how is that possible? How could you..."
He froze mid-sentence.
Staring at Tamara's perfectly composed face, a memory violently surfaced in his mind. He remembered their second year, when Tamara had stood before the entire school, presenting a flawless, rigorous magical theory to clear his name when everyone believed he was the Heir of Slytherin.
"Is it because..." Harry took a heavy step forward. The raw shock in his green eyes morphed into absolute certainty. "Is it because of what happened in the basement during our first year... right?"
He gestured wildly, the pieces clicking together in his head. "You said before that contact with You-Know-Who leaves traces of Black Magic... so, after that fierce confrontation with the possessed Quirrell to protect the Philosopher's Stone, you also..."
Watching the Wizarding World's precious savior voluntarily construct a flawless alibi for her, Tamara let out a vicious, mocking sneer within the confines of her own mind.
'Idiots. They practically beg to be deceived.'
Outwardly, however, she lowered her eyelashes, casting a shadow over her gaze, and adopted the heavy, suffocating gloom of a war veteran recalling a fresh trauma. She offered a slow, restrained nod, acting as though every movement caused her physical pain.
"Yes. That is exactly it."
Tamara took a slow, shaky breath, forcing out a sentence that made bile rise in the back of her throat. "That battle left me with some unexpected side effects. I am the same as you, Potter... we have both been unknowingly influenced by that... damn Voldemort."
As the words 'damn Voldemort' left her tongue, the corner of her mouth twitched in pure, unadulterated self-loathing.
Yet, to Harry's eager eyes, that tiny spasm was ironclad proof of her hidden agony, a physical manifestation of the burden she carried from enduring an evil curse.
"Tamara..."
The lingering vigilance in Harry's posture evaporated into thin air. It was replaced by a deep, overwhelming wave of identification.
Ever since his ability to speak to snakes had been exposed, he had felt like an outcast. Even Ron and Hermione, as much as they tried, could never truly understand the isolating terror of housing such a dark talent.
But looking at her now, he realized he was not alone. Tamara carried the exact same shadow. And she had been enduring it in total silence, never once complaining to anyone.
"But why are you having those snakes look for animals tainted with the aura of Black Magic?" Despite his swelling emotions, he managed to grasp the core issue.
"Has a Troll eaten your brain, Potter?"
Tamara rolled her eyes, leveling him with a stare so thick with condescension it could cut glass. "Have you forgotten that there is currently a rat that betrayed your parents scurrying around Hogwarts or the Forbidden Forest?"
"Peter Pettigrew?" Harry gasped, his eyes widening.
"Who else?" Tamara huffed, expertly weaving her grand illusion of self-sacrifice. "Since that coward dared to hide as a rat for so many years, he will surely continue to survive in that form. And snakes happen to be a rat's natural predator."
She watched the emerald green of Harry's eyes brighten with every word as she delivered the final, lethal hook.
"Your impulsive godfather is still hiding in the Shrieking Shack like a stray dog. If he is allowed to come out and search on his own, the consequences will be disastrous the second he is spotted by a Dementor or another Professor. Using these underground snakes to flush out that rat is the safest method. As soon as there is news, we can go straight to catch him and clear your godfather's name."
Hearing this careful, brilliant strategy—one designed entirely for the sake of him and Sirius Black—Harry Potter was left utterly speechless.
It was flawless.
He stood rooted to the stone floor, a massive, suffocating wave of gratitude crashing against his ribs. Tamara was not only silently bearing the psychological torture of an evil language, but she was actively weaponizing that curse to protect Sirius!
Remembering his instinct to suspect her just moments ago, Harry felt a violent urge to punch himself in the jaw. She was a cold-faced but fiercely loyal companion. How could he ever subconsciously doubt her?
Closing the distance between them, Harry spoke with burning urgency. "This plan is perfect. What about me? Is there anything I need to do to coordinate with you? I will do anything as long as we can catch Peter!"
Staring at the boy who was now ready to throw his life on the line over a few casually strung-together lies, a flicker of absolute contempt danced in the depths of Tamara's dark eyes.
'Gryffindors. Single-celled organisms. Toss them a scrap of fake righteousness and they will collar themselves.'
"What do you need to do?" Tamara looked him up and down. Honestly, if this walking disaster simply ceased to cause her trouble, she would consider it a favor.
Suddenly, her thoughts drifted to the Quidditch match before Christmas.
If that infernal System had not physically forced her to save this idiot from falling, she would have already recovered the Diadem of Ravenclaw without issue. After devouring the twenty-year-old remnant soul trapped inside the Diadem a few days ago, she had naturally absorbed all of its lingering consciousness.
Initially, she had been unsure exactly when the soul fragment had been extracted from the artifact, considering it had been rotting in a pile of junk for decades. But after sifting through those devoured memories, she was absolutely certain.
The theft had happened recently.
In fact, it had likely occurred during the exact window she was busy running around playing hero because Potter fell off his broom. Some rat in the shadows had used her distraction to steal her power!
Her gaze sharpened into a glare of deep disgust, treating Harry like a cursed object. First year, a cursed broom. Second year, a rogue Bludger. Third year, a Dementor ambush. The famous Mr. Potter seemed to act as a magnet for catastrophic failure every time he mounted a broomstick. And the System always forced her to clean up his mess.
"I actually do have one thing I need your help with," Tamara said, her voice dropping to a glacial chill as she lifted her chin.
Harry immediately straightened his posture, holding his breath. "Tell me!"
"Next week is the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw." Tamara sneered, her upper lip curling. "Please, during that damn match, sit a little more securely on your broom. Whatever you do, do not fall out of the sky like an idiot again."
She narrowed her eyes. "Such meaningless accidents will seriously disrupt my plans."
Hearing this harsh, biting warning, Harry's tense shoulders suddenly locked. He stood before the cracked stone pipe, staring blankly at the Slytherin girl.
Harry thought Tamara was simply terrible. If she were always nasty to him, he could just hate her and be nasty back.
But she wasn't. It was maddening.
His heart began to hammer against his ribs in a frantic, uncontrollable rhythm. He would get angry when she walked beside Malfoy. He would feel crushed by her cold insults. And now, he felt entirely flustered by this aggressive, disdainful brand of concern.
It was as if no matter how cruel she acted, the underlying proof that she cared about his safety made a ridiculous, bubbling happiness erupt in his chest. His eyes darted to the floor, entirely incapable of meeting her intense gaze.
"O-okay..."
Terrified that she might use Legilimency and read the embarrassing thoughts racing through his head, Harry turned his face toward the damp wall. His voice dropped to a shy, barely audible mumble. "I will be careful... thank you, Tamara."
Watching the savior of the Wizarding World suddenly turn the color of a ripe tomato and act like a bashful maiden, a genuine, icy shudder of revulsion crawled up Tamara's spine.
She instinctively took a step back, her brow knotting together as she let her disgust bleed freely into her voice. "What is with that revolting expression? Potter, has your brain finally been completely smashed by a Bludger?"
However, before she could unleash a proper string of curses upon the neurotic idiot, a painfully cheerful electronic chime exploded inside her skull.
[Ding! Friendly reminder to host: The favorability of current key character—Harry Potter—has reached 81/100!]
[Deep conquest mode has officially been entered. Please pay attention to your progress at all times.]
[System Evaluation: Host is truly skilled at managing interpersonal relationships! Please keep it up; you are one big step closer to completely conquering the Wizarding world! Confetti! ^v^]
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