The atmosphere inside the compartment turned subtly tense after that brief but dramatic interlude.
To pass the time during the journey, Tamara had already taken out a textbook and begun flipping through its pages. She sat by the window, posture straight, movements composed, as though the noise and chaos around her were nothing more than an unfortunate background disturbance.
Although Harry and Ron were still enthusiastically working their way through a pile of sweets, their gazes occasionally drifted toward the quiet girl in the corner.
In their eyes, Tamara was no longer just a delicate and beautiful girl who looked slightly fragile. The way she had just scolded Malfoy—calm, cutting, and utterly fearless—had been undeniably cool.
Trying to dispel the lingering awkwardness in the compartment, Ron grabbed the wand lying beside him and turned to Harry.
"My brother taught me a spell that can turn this rat yellow," he said confidently.
"Really?" Harry leaned forward at once. This would be the first proper spell he had ever witnessed—Hagrid's umbrella incident with Dudley hardly counted as formal instruction.
"Of course!" Ron declared. He lifted his wand with exaggerated seriousness and chanted loudly, "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"
He gave the wand a dramatic flick.
Nothing happened.
The fat rat in his hand remained stubbornly gray.
Tamara pinched the bridge of her nose.
If this performance qualified as being a wizard, then magic truly was in decline. She sincerely hoped Ron would refrain from further insulting the ancient art.
Just as Harry was about to offer encouragement, the compartment door slid open for the third time.
There was no polite knock this time. Nor was there arrogant provocation.
Instead, a hurried figure burst straight in.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
Standing at the doorway was a young girl with thick, bushy brown hair and noticeably prominent front teeth. She was already dressed in brand-new Hogwarts robes. Her tone was brisk and authoritative, almost like that of a prefect conducting inspections.
Tamara's brow twitched faintly.
Another one.
Was this train designed specifically to disrupt her concentration? Why did someone have to interrupt her thoughts every ten minutes?
"Haven't seen it," Ron replied, still annoyed by his failed spell.
The girl did not leave. Instead, her gaze dropped immediately to the wand in Ron's hand.
"Oh, are you doing magic?"
Without waiting for permission, she stepped inside and sat down in the empty seat next to Harry, as if she belonged there.
"Let's see it, then."
Ron cleared his throat awkwardly but tried again. He waved the old wand—its surface chipped and looking as though it might snap at any moment—and repeated the incantation with renewed determination:
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"
He flicked his wrist.
The rat squeaked in protest.
It remained gray.
"Are you sure that's a real spell?" the girl asked bluntly. "It doesn't seem very good, does it?"
Ron's ears flushed red. He muttered that perhaps George had tricked him with a fake incantation.
"I've tried a few simple spells at home just for practice," the girl continued proudly. "They've all worked for me."
She lifted her chin slightly and launched into what sounded suspiciously like a rehearsed speech.
"Nobody in my family knows magic, so I was ever so surprised when I got my letter. But I was ever so pleased, of course—because it's the very best school of magic there is, from what I've read."
She barely paused for breath.
"I've memorized all our set books already. I just hope that will be enough…"
Mudblood.
Tamara labeled her silently.
What she despised most were Muggles—and those born among them who presumed that memorizing textbooks equated to understanding magic.
Of course, Tamara herself was technically not of pure blood. But Lord Voldemort had already eliminated her impure biological father, and there was no one left who could prove she was a half-blood.
Magic was not words on a page.
Magic was instinct.
It was power flowing through blood and will.
"I'm Hermione Granger. And who are you?" the girl finally asked, speaking at astonishing speed.
Harry and Ron introduced themselves.
The moment Hermione heard Harry's name, her eyes widened with recognition.
She immediately began listing passages from books—A History of Modern Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts—reciting details about Harry as though he were a historical monument.
Eventually, her attention shifted to Tamara.
"And you?" Hermione studied her curiously. "You look… very special. I mean, your robes fit perfectly. Were they custom-made?"
"Tamara Riddle," Tamara replied calmly.
"Riddle?" Hermione frowned, clearly searching her mental catalogue. "I don't recall that name in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century."
"That's because I haven't written my history yet," Tamara answered flatly.
Hermione blinked, momentarily speechless.
Her attention soon shifted to the book beside Tamara.
"You like reading too? Is that Intermediate Transfiguration? That's a third-year textbook!"
Tamara did not respond.
"I was just practicing the Levitation Charm," Hermione continued eagerly. "The book says the movement is a 'swish and flick,' but controlling the force is difficult."
She pulled out her wand.
"Look—I'll show you."
She pointed it at a Chocolate Frog wrapper on the table.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Hermione flicked her wrist.
The wrapper trembled, lifted a few centimeters into the air in a wobbly fashion, then dropped back onto the table.
"See?" Hermione raised her chin proudly. "It's not perfect, but I can already make it move!"
Harry and Ron looked impressed.
After all, they had barely held their wands properly.
But then—
A soft chuckle drifted from the window seat.
It was light, almost musical.
And unmistakably contemptuous.
"You call that floating?"
Tamara closed her book slowly.
Her dark eyes gleamed with cool scrutiny.
[Ding! Teaching opportunity detected.]
[Daily Task Triggered: Fond of Teaching.]
[Task Description: Since you cannot stand this clumsy novice, why not demonstrate what real magic looks like?]
[Task Reward: Wisdom +5.]
Tamara's expression hardened.
She had no intention of guiding a mudblood.
[Host, you don't seriously intend to conquer the world with only two spells, do you?]
For a brief second, her composure faltered.
One day, she would drag this irritating system out into the open and subject it to Crucio for eternity.
Hermione flushed bright red.
"This is already very difficult! The book says—"
"The book says, the book says," Tamara interrupted coldly.
"If you rely solely on chanting from a book, you will never become a true witch, Miss Granger."
Hermione stiffened.
"Your pronunciation is heavy," Tamara continued. "Why drag out the 'gar' syllable? And your wrist—"
She rose gracefully from her seat and approached Hermione.
Her movements were unhurried, deliberate.
She extended a long, pale finger and lightly pressed it against Hermione's wrist.
"Too rigid," Tamara said softly. "Magic is not brute force. It is flow."
Hermione swallowed.
Harry and Ron watched without daring to speak.
Tamara withdrew her hand and picked up her own wand.
"Observe carefully."
Her voice dropped, smooth and controlled.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The incantation flowed effortlessly from her lips—precise, crisp, balanced.
Her wrist flicked with minimal movement.
The Chocolate Frog wrapper rose.
Not a few centimeters.
It floated steadily upward, hovering at eye level as though resting upon invisible silk threads.
No wobbling.
No trembling.
It rotated gently in the air, responding to the faintest adjustment of her fingers.
Tamara's expression remained indifferent.
"Control," she said quietly, "comes from intention. Not volume."
She lowered her wand.
The wrapper drifted down gracefully and landed without a sound.
The compartment fell silent.
Hermione stared, wide-eyed.
Ron's mouth hung slightly open.
Harry felt something stir in his chest—a mixture of awe and excitement.
Hermione's pride warred visibly with admiration.
"How—how did you—?"
"Less force," Tamara replied. "Shorten the vowel. Relax your wrist. Magic follows will, not strain."
Hermione hesitated.
Then she lifted her wand again.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
This time, the wrapper lifted more smoothly. It rose higher than before—still slightly unstable, but noticeably improved.
Hermione gasped softly.
"It worked!"
Tamara gave a faint nod.
"Better."
Hermione looked at her with something dangerously close to respect.
"You're very good," she admitted.
Tamara returned to her seat without replying.
She opened her book once more, as though the matter were trivial.
[Task Completed.]
[Wisdom +5.]
The system chimed with satisfaction.
Tamara ignored it.
Outside the window, fields rushed past beneath a golden sky.
Inside the compartment, the air felt different now.
Quieter.
Charged.
Harry glanced at Tamara thoughtfully.
Ron leaned toward Hermione.
"You see?" he whispered. "That's proper magic."
Hermione did not argue.
Instead, she watched Tamara from across the compartment, her expression thoughtful.
Tamara, meanwhile, turned another page.
Teaching.
What an absurd task.
And yet—
She had not disliked it entirely.
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