Despite knowing the hiding place of the Philosopher's Stone, Tamara Riddle was in no hurry to act.
As a Dark Lord who had once nearly conquered the entire wizarding world, she understood patience better than anyone. Obstacles like these could not truly stop her—but slipping past them unnoticed would not be easy. More importantly, she needed a scapegoat.
"Let Quirrell and that idiotic main soul scout the way first."
Based on her understanding of herself, she knew she would never willingly abandon the Philosopher's Stone. She calculated coldly: When they trigger the alarms or fall into Dumbledore's traps, that's when the real hunter strikes.
During these days of deliberate restraint, life at Hogwarts appeared unusually peaceful.
Ever since the visit to Hagrid's hut, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's attitudes toward Tamara had changed dramatically.
"Good morning, Tamara!"
Whenever they met in the corridor, Harry would greet her enthusiastically. Even Ron would offer an awkward wave.
As for this sudden friendliness from the so-called Savior, Tamara felt nothing internally. However, she maintained flawless Slytherin composure on the surface—polite nods, measured replies, a faintly distant expression.
Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was nearly consumed by jealousy. Though he did not dare oppose Tamara's diplomatic stance, he made sure to express his displeasure toward Potter through exaggerated snorts every day.
Then came October 31st—Halloween Eve.
The scent of roasted pumpkin drifted warmly through the castle.
At the end of afternoon Charms class, Tamara walked behind the crowd and overheard an argument ahead.
"No wonder no one can stand her!"
Ron Weasley's voice carried loudly down the corridor. "She's a nightmare! Honestly, if she had even one friend, it'd be a miracle!"
A bushy-haired girl rushed past Tamara with her head lowered. She caught the faint sound of suppressed sobbing.
Hermione Granger.
Tamara paused briefly, watching the direction Hermione had fled, then glanced coldly at Ron, who continued rambling.
Childish.
In her eyes, children's squabbles were no more significant than ants fighting over crumbs. She had no desire to defend Ron, nor any interest in comforting a fragile girl.
Tamara rarely experienced strong emotion. When she did, it was usually frustration directed at her own shortcomings. Empathy for such trivial conflicts did not come naturally.
She adjusted her robes and walked away.
That evening, the Halloween feast began.
The Great Hall was magnificently decorated. Thousands of live bats fluttered along the enchanted ceiling, and dark clouds crackled with artificial lightning. Students chattered excitedly, their laughter echoing beneath floating candles.
Tamara sat at the Slytherin table, watching the feast without appetite. This was a perfect opportunity.
All the teachers were present. Dumbledore included.
The third-floor corridor must be unguarded.
She did not intend to seize the Philosopher's Stone tonight—but examining the spellwork on the trapdoor would prove useful.
"I'm going to the bathroom," she told Draco casually.
Under his mildly concerned gaze, she slipped away from the Great Hall.
The castle corridors were blissfully empty.
Tamara moved with quiet familiarity, avoiding the suspicious eyes of enchanted portraits as she ascended the staircases.
But as she passed the first-floor girls' bathroom, she heard soft, intermittent sobbing from within.
Her steps halted.
Granger?
Had the girl truly been crying there all afternoon?
"So fragile," Tamara muttered inwardly.
She had no intention of interfering. Other people's tears had nothing to do with her. She had far more important matters to attend to.
She lifted her foot to continue upstairs—
[Ding! Detected a key character nearby in an extremely negative emotional state.]
Tamara froze.
[Mission: Soothe the Wounded Soul.]
[Description: As a Model Student with all-around development in morality, intelligence, physical health, and aesthetics, how can you ignore a classmate crying alone? This shows a severe lack of empathy!]
[Requirement: Enter the bathroom and comfort Hermione Granger until she stops crying.]
[Reward: Love +2]
[Failure Penalty: For 24 hours, every sentence the host speaks will automatically adopt the tone of a hymn.]
Tamara's raised foot hovered midair.
Hymn tone?
Like some sentimental fool praising the beauty of existence?
"…Damn System."
Grinding her teeth, she withdrew her step and turned sharply toward the bathroom.
The air inside was damp and heavy.
Hermione was locked inside the last stall, her crying raw and unrestrained.
Tamara stood before the sink and examined her reflection, adjusting her expression so it appeared less like she intended to commit homicide.
"Miss Granger?"
She knocked lightly.
The crying stopped.
After a few seconds, a nasal, trembling voice responded. "Go… go away. I don't want anyone to see."
"I have no interest in seeing your tear-stained face either," Tamara replied coolly. "I only came because I thought a Mandrake had come to life."
"You—" Hermione choked, then burst into fresh sobs. "Even you're mocking me… Ron was right… I'm just a friendless freak…"
Tamara rubbed her temples impatiently.
"Only an idiot would take Weasley's words seriously," she said flatly. "In this world, those without ability attack others with their mouths."
"If you hide here crying over jealousy and ignorance, you're the one wasting your own talent."
Silence.
A soft click echoed as the stall door unlocked.
Hermione stepped out, eyes swollen, hair disheveled, face streaked with tears.
"Do you… really think I'm a genius?" she asked timidly.
Tamara sighed. She withdrew a white handkerchief and handed it over.
"At least in terms of memorizing textbooks, you surpass most students."
Hermione took it carefully.
Before she could reply—
BOOM!
The bathroom floor shook violently.
A nauseating stench flooded the air—rotting cabbage, old socks, damp stone.
Tamara's expression darkened.
A massive figure blocked the doorway.
Twelve feet tall. Gray, stone-like skin. Bald head. A lumbering body dragging a heavy wooden club.
A troll.
Hermione screamed.
The troll roared and charged forward, smashing a sink beneath its foot. Pipes burst. Water sprayed everywhere.
"Damn it," Tamara hissed. "So that's what Quirrell's been doing."
She remembered little from her previous life inside Quirrell's body. She had been too weak then to retain every detail.
The troll raised its club high above Hermione's head.
Hermione collapsed, frozen in terror.
Time seemed to slow.
Then—
Tamara moved.
She seized Hermione by the waist and pulled her sharply aside. The wooden club crashed downward—
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Her voice was calm but absolute.
The club halted mid-air, less than half a meter above them.
The troll roared in confusion, straining to force it down. It would not budge.
"Disgusting creature," Tamara muttered.
With a sharp flick of her wand, she redirected the levitated club.
It flew backward and struck the troll squarely on the forehead.
THUD.
The troll's eyes rolled back. It collapsed like a felled tree.
Silence returned—broken only by the hiss of leaking pipes.
Hermione stood trembling in Tamara's arms.
She could hear Tamara's steady heartbeat.
Her own heart pounded wildly—not from fear.
But from shock.
From survival.
She looked up.
In the mist and water spray, Tamara appeared tall and unshakable.
Safe.
Tamara released her and frowned at the mess.
"Are you injured?"
Though her tone remained cool, Hermione heard gentleness.
"Find a safer place to cry next time, Granger."
She brushed dust from Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione's face flushed crimson.
Her heart raced uncontrollably.
[Ding! Mission Complete: Soothe the Wounded Soul.]
[Hermione Granger's favorability has increased to an extremely high level.]
[Evaluation: Perfect hero-saves-beauty scenario. She nearly fell in love.]
[Mission Rating: S. Extra Reward: Courage +5]
[Current Courage: 12]
[Unlocked Spell: Petrificus Totalus]
Tamara approved of the rewards.
But she desperately needed a bath.
"Can you walk?" she asked, extending her hand once more.
"If we stay here any longer, I'll start smelling like it too."
Hermione stared at her hand.
Then, slowly, she placed her own in Tamara's.
And stood.
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