Everything unfolded exactly as Tamara Riddle had predicted.
At breakfast on Friday morning, six tawny owls swept dramatically into the Great Hall, each gripping part of a long, slender package wrapped in brown paper. The moment they descended toward the Gryffindor table and dropped the parcel in front of Harry Potter, the entire hall seemed to hold its breath.
Although Professor McGonagall had attached a firm note instructing Harry not to open it at the table, the shape alone was enough. Recognition spread like wildfire.
"A Nimbus 2000."
Draco Malfoy's voice was tight with disbelief. He stared at the package as though it had personally insulted him, the silver fork in his hand bending slightly under his grip.
"This is impossible," he hissed. "First-years aren't even allowed their own broomsticks! And that's a Nimbus 2000! The newest model!"
"That," Tamara said calmly, slicing her fried egg with precise elegance, "is what you call privilege, Draco."
She did not even look up.
"I told you before. Professor McGonagall doesn't see a rule-breaking student. She sees a savior who might help Gryffindor win back the House Cup."
"It's not fair," Pansy Parkinson muttered indignantly.
Tamara dabbed her lips with a napkin, her expression unreadable.
"Fairness," she said flatly, "is an excuse the weak use when begging for charity."
In truth, Tamara felt no resentment at the spectacle. Quite the opposite. She understood privilege intimately—and admired it. Most people despised it only because they did not possess it themselves.
Draco continued watching the Gryffindor table. The raw jealousy on his face slowly faded, replaced by something colder. Calculating.
"You're right, Tamara."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice, a smug gleam in his eyes.
"Since the school grants him special treatment… I'll deal with him the Slytherin way."
Tamara finally looked at him.
"Oh? And what does that entail?"
"I cornered Potter in the corridor just now," Draco said, swirling the pumpkin juice in his goblet. "Challenged him to a wizard's duel. Midnight. Trophy Room."
Tamara studied him carefully.
"You believe you can defeat the so-called savior?"
Draco laughed softly.
"Who said anything about fighting?"
A sly smile curved across his lips.
"I have no intention of going. After dinner, I'll inform Filch that someone plans to sneak into the Trophy Room at midnight."
His grin widened.
"While Potter and Weasley wait there like fools, they'll be greeted not by my wand—but by Filch's detention slips."
He looked at Tamara expectantly.
"Well? Isn't it brilliant?"
Tamara set down her cutlery and regarded him thoughtfully.
For once, there was no contempt in her gaze. Only measured approval.
"The method lacks sophistication," she admitted. "But it is efficient."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Using rules and authority as weapons instead of charging blindly like a Gryffindor… Draco, you're finally beginning to think like a Slytherin."
Draco practically glowed under the praise.
"Just wait until tomorrow morning," he said eagerly. "I can already imagine McGonagall's expression."
Tamara watched him leave, her smile deepening slightly.
It would indeed be a good show.
Thank you for the distraction, Draco.
If Filch and that insufferable cat are occupied at the Trophy Room…
…then the third-floor corridor will be unguarded tonight.
At eleven-thirty that night, the castle lay in deceptive silence.
Tamara had changed out of her school robes into lightweight black clothes that allowed freer movement. Her steps were soundless as she slipped through shadowed corridors, easily avoiding Madam Norris.
She reached the forbidden third-floor corridor without incident.
She had no intention of waiting for Potter and his friends.
A true Dark Lord preferred initiative.
The mahogany door at the corridor's end stood ominous and still. Tamara pushed it open just enough to slip inside, closing it carefully behind her, leaving only a narrow crack.
The smell hit her immediately—rank, sour, animalistic.
In the center of the room lay a massive Cerberus. Its three heads rested heavily on the floor, its enormous body occupying most of the space. Even asleep, it radiated lethality.
Tamara stepped forward from the shadows.
"Hagrid's taste in pets," she muttered with faint disgust. "Decades pass, and nothing improves."
The beast stirred.
One head lifted.
Then another.
A thunderous roar shook the room as the middle head snapped awake, jaws parting to reveal rows of dagger-like teeth. The other two followed suit, snarling, muscles coiling to lunge.
Tamara did not move.
She simply raised her gaze.
Her pitch-black eyes deepened—cold, endless, merciless.
The aura around her shifted.
It was not magic in the conventional sense. It was intent.
Killing intent.
Pure and unfiltered—the weight of someone who had taken lives without hesitation.
The Cerberus froze mid-motion.
A whimper escaped its throat.
Its raised paw slowly lowered. The three heads recoiled. Tail tucking instinctively, the massive creature retreated step by step until it pressed itself into the corner, six eyes wide with primal fear.
"Good," Tamara murmured.
A mechanical chime echoed in her mind.
[Ding! High-risk creature detected.]
[Trial Quest Triggered: Gaze into the Abyss.]
[Objective: Establish a friendly relationship with the dog without being bitten to death.]
Tamara's expression did not change.
Dog?
If the system categorized this monster as a "dog," then its definitions required serious revision.
She ignored it.
Her gaze shifted to the trapdoor beneath the Cerberus. A small, satisfied smile curved her lips.
So this is what Dumbledore is hiding.
Footsteps thundered down the corridor outside.
Frantic. Uneven.
"This way! The door's open! Hurry!" Harry's voice rang out.
The door burst open with a loud bang.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and a thoroughly panicked Neville tumbled inside in a chaotic heap. They slammed the door shut behind them, pressing their backs against it as though it alone could save them.
"Merlin, we're going to be expelled," Hermione gasped.
"Quiet!" Harry whispered sharply.
He had turned pale.
Slowly, trembling, he pointed behind them.
The four turned.
And froze.
Even cowering in the corner, the Cerberus resembled a small mountain of muscle and fur.
But that was not what shattered their composure.
Someone stood calmly before it.
A Slytherin girl dressed in black.
Unperturbed.
"Ri—Riddle?!" Ron squeaked, his voice cracking. "What are you doing here?!"
Tamara turned slowly.
Her expression shifted—just slightly. Surprise flickered across her features before settling into faint disappointment.
"Why am I here?" she repeated coolly.
She sighed.
"Because of you idiots."
Hermione stared at her.
"You followed us?"
Tamara raised a brow.
"Followed you? Please. If I were following you, you would not have noticed."
Ron swallowed hard.
"Then why are you here?"
Tamara crossed her arms lightly.
"Let me think. A loud-mouthed Gryffindor accepts a midnight duel challenge from an obvious liar. He brings his friends. Gets chased by Filch. And runs blindly into a forbidden corridor."
Her eyes sharpened.
"You tell me."
Harry flushed.
"We didn't know—"
"You never do."
The Cerberus shifted slightly, whimpering again.
Only then did the four fully register something impossible.
"It's not attacking you," Neville whispered.
Tamara glanced over her shoulder.
"Why would it?"
Ron gaped.
"It's a giant three-headed monster!"
Tamara's voice cooled further.
"And you're loud, reckless children who burst into its territory screaming."
Hermione's gaze darted between Tamara and the trapdoor.
"What is this place?"
Tamara hesitated—just enough to appear reluctant.
"A secret worth more than your grades."
Harry's green eyes narrowed.
"What's under that trapdoor?"
Tamara's lips curved faintly.
"Something valuable."
Before Harry could press further, heavy footsteps echoed outside.
Filch's voice snarled through the door.
"I know you're in there!"
Panic erupted among the Gryffindors.
"We're dead!" Ron whispered.
Tamara rolled her eyes.
"You are catastrophically incompetent."
She stepped toward the Cerberus.
The beast flinched but did not attack.
Hermione's eyes widened.
"What are you doing?!"
Tamara crouched slightly and picked up a nearby fallen harp.
Interesting.
Music.
She plucked a string experimentally. A soft note filled the room.
The Cerberus's ears twitched.
Another note.
Then a simple melody.
Gradually, the monster's tense muscles loosened. Its three heads drooped, eyes growing heavy.
"You're putting it to sleep?" Hermione breathed.
"Basic magical creature management," Tamara replied coolly. "Though clearly beyond your curriculum."
The Cerberus slumped fully onto the floor.
Tamara straightened.
"There. Temporary."
The pounding at the door intensified.
"Now what?" Harry demanded.
Tamara looked at him evenly.
"You leave."
"What?"
"Climb out the window at the end of the corridor. Gryffindor Tower isn't far."
Ron blinked.
"And you?"
Tamara's smile was faint. Dangerous.
"I was never here."
Before they could argue, she moved.
Her wand flicked.
The door handle rattled violently from the outside.
"Go," she ordered.
For once, they obeyed.
Moments later, the room fell silent except for the steady breathing of the sleeping Cerberus.
Tamara glanced once more at the trapdoor.
Soon.
Very soon.
The real game would begin.
And tonight?
Tonight had been entirely justifiable.
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