"Hermione! Don't be afraid! We're coming—!"
The bathroom door burst open with a loud bang as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley rushed inside, panting heavily. Their wands were raised high, their faces set in grim determination, as though they were prepared to fight the troll to the death at any moment.
But their battle cries died abruptly in their throats.
There was no blood-soaked scene waiting for them. No earth-shaking roar from a raging mountain troll. No desperate struggle.
Instead, the massive creature lay sprawled across the bathroom floor, unconscious.
And beside it stood Tamara.
She calmly flicked her wand, finishing a Scouring Charm on the dust clinging to her cuffs, as though she had merely completed a minor household chore.
"You… you took it down?"
Ron's voice cracked. He nearly dropped his wand on his foot, staring at Tamara as though she were the monster instead of the troll. "That's a troll! A troll that even adult wizards struggle to deal with!"
Tamara sighed lightly and slid her wand back into her sleeve.
"If I had arrived a moment later, Miss Granger would likely have been turned into a rug."
Harry swallowed hard. His gaze shifted from the enormous unconscious troll to the small, composed girl standing beside it. Awe flooded his green eyes.
Just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor outside—sharp, urgent, unmistakably adult.
"Good heavens! What is that noise?"
Professor McGonagall burst into the bathroom first, her tartan robes swishing behind her. She was followed closely by a dark-faced Professor Snape and a pale, trembling Professor Quirrell, who clutched his scarf tightly around his neck.
Quirrell took one look at the troll and Tamara standing before it. He let out a faint whimper and staggered sideways, collapsing against a cistern while clutching his chest, gasping dramatically for breath.
Professor McGonagall stopped dead at the doorway.
Burst pipes sprayed water across shattered tiles. Chunks of rubble littered the floor. The unconscious troll lay in the center of the chaos like a toppled statue. And surrounding it were four first-year students.
For a long moment, she could not speak.
"You…" Her voice trembled faintly, still edged with lingering fear. "What on earth were you thinking?"
Snape strode forward without hesitation. He crouched beside the troll and examined the injury on its head with sharp, calculating eyes. After a brief inspection, he rose smoothly and turned, his black gaze locking onto Tamara with unmistakable intensity.
"Explain yourselves," Professor McGonagall said at last, drawing in a steady breath. Her stern eyes swept over the four children. "Why are you not in your dormitories?"
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. They opened their mouths simultaneously, clearly prepared either to confess or to fabricate some excuse.
"It's my fault, Professor."
The voice was weak—but firm.
Hermione slowly stood up from where she had been sitting against the wall. Her legs trembled slightly, but her eyes were clear and resolute.
"I… I didn't see the notice about the troll," she said. The lie came carefully, deliberately. She had no intention of admitting she had been hiding in the bathroom, crying because of something Ron had said.
"I came in here, and I ran into it."
She paused, glancing at Tamara. A flash of admiration crossed her gaze.
"If Miss Riddle hadn't knocked it unconscious with a spell…" Hermione swallowed. "…I would probably be dead."
She turned slightly toward Harry and Ron.
"I think Harry and Ron came looking for me. So… it's all my fault."
Professor McGonagall studied Hermione closely. She knew the girl's character well enough. Hermione Granger was not the sort to wander off carelessly.
The explanation had gaps. But it was plausible.
"Miss Granger, you foolish girl," McGonagall said at last, her tone softening with both reproach and relief. "As long as you are safe… I will not deduct any points from Gryffindor."
Hermione nodded gratefully.
Then Professor McGonagall's expression hardened as she turned to Harry, Ron, and Tamara.
"As for you three."
Her voice became severe again, though a faint spark of admiration flickered in her eyes.
"To deliberately disobey instructions and face a fully grown mountain troll at your age… and survive… that is more than mere luck."
Her gaze settled on Tamara, particularly on the holly wand resting lightly in her hand.
"That was an advanced application of the Levitation Charm, was it not, Miss Riddle?"
"Yes, Professor," Tamara replied evenly. Her expression remained composed—neither proud nor falsely modest. "Redirecting force to alter an object's trajectory is a basic extension of the spell."
"Basic?" Professor McGonagall's lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
For a first-year student to apply such fine magical control in live combat—accurately enough to knock out a troll with precision—was extraordinary.
"Very well," McGonagall said, straightening her posture.
"I must commend your bravery. However, I must also condemn your recklessness. I do not wish to see any first-year attempting to face a troll alone again. It is far too dangerous."
She paused.
Then, unexpectedly, a rare smile appeared on her face.
"However… in light of the courage you displayed in protecting a fellow student…"
"Potter. Weasley. Five points to Gryffindor each."
Harry blinked in surprise. Ron's jaw dropped.
"And as for you, Miss Riddle."
Professor McGonagall's tone deepened slightly.
"For exceptional spellcasting skill and admirable composure under pressure… ten points to Slytherin."
Snape stood nearby, his face still unreadable and stern. Yet he did not object.
Instead, he gave Tamara a long, searching look—one filled with layered meaning.
"Now then," Professor McGonagall said briskly, clapping her hands once. "Return to your dormitories at once. The feast is still ongoing."
The four students wasted no time leaving the wrecked bathroom behind.
The corridor felt astonishingly fresh after the stench of the troll.
"Tamara! How did you do that?" Ron demanded excitedly as they hurried along. He waved his arms dramatically. "You flattened it! That was brilliant!"
For once, there was no trace of prejudice in his voice.
Whatever opinions he held about Slytherin, they did not extend to Tamara—not after tonight.
After all, Hermione had been in danger because of him. Had Tamara not intervened, he might have carried that guilt forever.
"It was the Levitation Charm, Weasley," Hermione explained from beside him. Though her eyes were still red, her voice had regained its usual confidence. "But that level of magical control is astonishing…"
"Thank you, Tamara," Harry said quietly. His voice carried sincere gratitude. "If you hadn't—"
"That's enough."
Tamara cut him off smoothly.
Her expression returned to its usual cool detachment.
"I merely didn't want Slytherin to lose points for standing idly by," she said flatly.
She paused.
"And I dislike unnecessary noise—especially the kind that screams helplessly in danger."
The words were sharp.
Yet when Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances, they could not suppress their smiles.
Whatever she claimed, Tamara had saved Hermione without hesitation.
That was enough.
In their hearts, she was already one of them.
Tamara walked slightly ahead of the trio, listening to their animated chatter echo down the corridor.
Three fools, she assessed silently.
But useful fools.
As cover. As shields.
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Hermione, who kept sneaking glances at her with unconcealed admiration.
Especially that Granger…
Bright. Driven. Morally rigid.
Predictable.
Tamara's lips curved almost imperceptibly.
It seemed that even Gryffindors could be… utilized.
Behind her, Ron was still recounting the "heroic charge" he and Harry had made into the bathroom, embellishing the story more with each retelling.
Harry laughed. Hermione corrected his exaggerations.
Their voices blended into something strangely warm.
Tamara did not turn around.
She did not slow her pace.
Yet for just a moment—brief and nearly undetectable—her steps softened.
Self-righteous friendship.
How naïve.
How foolish.
How… convenient.
The torches along the corridor flickered as the four students disappeared toward their respective common rooms, leaving behind the echo of laughter and the faint scent of troll that still lingered in the air.
And somewhere behind that calm, unreadable expression, Tamara Riddle was already calculating her next move.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Jackssparrow