Tamara brushed the soot and ash from her robes with visible disgust. The troll's shrill screams had already been swallowed by the roaring wall of fire behind her, leaving only an eerie silence in their wake.
Ahead lay a vast, circular chamber.
At the very center stood a single object.
A towering, magnificent mirror—the Mirror of Erised.
Before it, a one-sided game of cat and mouse was unfolding.
Harry Potter sat slumped on the stone steps, his face pale as death. His breathing was uneven, and his trembling hands clutched something tightly to his chest. Fear filled his wide eyes.
Standing before him was a man who had already unwound the purple turban from his head.
Professor Quirrell.
And on the back of his head—
A face.
A twisted, pale, snake-like visage.
Lord Voldemort's main soul.
"Give me the stone!"
The voice was hoarse, rasping, yet filled with insatiable greed.
"Not a chance!" Harry shouted, scrambling backward in desperation.
"Kill him! You fool! Stop wasting time!" the voice shrieked again, sharper this time. "Get the stone, and I can be reborn!"
Quirrell hesitated.
But only for a moment.
Under that suffocating pressure, resistance was impossible.
He raised his wand.
Though he had previously made a deal with Tamara, fear overruled all agreements. Disobedience was not an option.
"Avada—"
The killing curse began to form on his lips.
Tamara stood off to the side, watching everything unfold with cold indifference. Her wand remained lowered, her expression unreadable.
This suited her perfectly.
She couldn't kill the so-called savior herself—but she certainly had no intention of stopping someone else from doing it.
At that critical moment—
[Ding! High-risk Alert!]
A sharp mechanical voice exploded in her mind, sending a jolt of pain through her skull.
[Detected: Key Figure Harry Potter is about to die. World Line integrity at risk.]
[Forced Mission Activated: Guardian Angel]
[Reward: Unlock all first-year spells]
[Immediate action required. Prevent death.]
Tamara's brows furrowed slightly.
Before she could dismiss it—
[Warning: Harry Potter is a Fate Anchor. His unnatural death will trigger World Line collapse.]
[Emergency Rollback Program will activate.]
[Penalty: All Magic Talent stripped. Host will be deported to Wools Orphanage, 1926, and forced to relive childhood without magic.]
Her grip tightened violently around her wand.
Every word struck like a poisoned blade.
Powerless.
Trapped.
Reduced to nothing.
That miserable, suffocating orphanage—
No.
Absolutely not.
"Damn it…"
She didn't care whether Potter lived or died.
But she cared very much about herself.
"Expelliarmus!"
Her wand snapped upward.
A streak of red light shot across the room, striking Quirrell's wrist with precision.
"Ah!"
His wand flew from his grasp, skidding loudly across the marble floor.
Both he and Harry turned toward the entrance.
Tamara stood there.
Black hair. Slytherin robes.
Her wand still smoking faintly.
"Tamara!" Harry gasped, relief flooding his voice as if salvation itself had arrived.
"You again…" Quirrell muttered, turning fully.
The grotesque face on the back of his head came into full view.
The red eyes locked onto her.
Greedy.
Hungry.
"That perfect vessel…"
The Philosopher's Stone was forgotten.
All attention shifted to her.
"Since you're here… you won't be leaving."
"Kill her! Take her body!"
Quirrell lunged forward like a maddened beast.
No wand.
No restraint.
Only raw intent to destroy and consume.
"Get back, Potter!"
Tamara shoved Harry aside and sidestepped the attack in one fluid motion.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The spell struck Quirrell's shoulder.
For a moment, his body stiffened—
Then it faltered.
But he didn't fall.
The parasitic soul within him was burning through his life force, forcibly sustaining his body.
"It's useless…" the voice hissed coldly.
"Childish tricks… cannot harm me."
Quirrell pivoted sharply and lunged again—this time toward Harry.
Because the weakness of fools was always the same.
They protected others.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Even without a wand, dark energy condensed in his hand—a flickering sphere of sickly green light—and he hurled it forward.
Incomplete.
Imperfect.
But still lethal.
"Damn it!"
Tamara's eyes narrowed.
She was too far.
No time for a proper defense.
Her gaze flickered—
Landing on the massive mirror behind Harry.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Her wand cut through the air.
The enormous mirror tore free from the ground with a violent wrenching sound and shot forward like a shield.
BOOM—!
The green light collided with its surface.
The impact reverberated through the chamber.
Cracks spread instantly across the mirror.
Then—
It shattered.
Glass exploded outward in a deadly storm of shards.
Harry remained unharmed, shielded by the bulk of the mirror.
Tamara wasn't as fortunate.
Several fragments sliced across her cheek.
Blood flowed instantly, trailing down her pale skin.
She didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink.
Her eyes remained fixed on Quirrell.
Cold.
Unmoving.
"Is that all?" she said quietly.
Her voice was calm—too calm.
"It seems… this is the end for you."
Instead of retreating, the parasitic soul grew even more frenzied.
It forced Quirrell forward again.
But suddenly—
Quirrell froze.
His body trembled violently.
His hands, mottled with darkened spots, began to decay before their eyes.
His skin peeled away like burning parchment.
The strain had reached its limit.
"No… Master… I can't…" Quirrell whimpered.
"Useless!" the voice roared.
For a brief moment—
Control faltered.
This was the opportunity.
Tamara stepped forward without hesitation.
Her mind raced.
No advanced spells.
No soul-targeting magic.
Everything she knew was locked.
She needed force.
Pure, overwhelming force.
Then—
A memory surfaced.
[Reward: Designated Skill Book x1]
"System," she said internally, her tone sharp. "Use it."
"I want—Flipendo."
[Confirmed.]
[Loading: Knockback Jinx]
A surge of warmth flooded her mind.
Dormant circuits ignited.
Magic flowed freely.
She closed the distance instantly.
Quirrell collapsed forward—
And she drove her wand against his chest.
Right over the heart.
Where the connection was weakest.
"Get out."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Every ounce of magic she possessed surged forward.
"Flipendo!"
A burst of blue-white energy erupted.
The air warped.
The force expanded violently outward.
Not just pushing—
But tearing.
An invisible pressure reached inside Quirrell's body—
Grabbing—
Ripping—
With a shrill, inhuman scream, a mass of black mist was violently expelled.
It twisted and writhed in midair.
Lord Voldemort's main soul.
Disembodied.
Unstable.
Furious.
"I will remember you…" it hissed. "I will return…"
Then it fled upward, rushing toward a narrow ventilation shaft.
As it passed her—
Tamara didn't move.
Instead—
She inhaled.
Deeply.
A faint stream of energy slipped into her.
Pure.
Familiar.
Powerful.
Her soul trembled.
"Tastes good," she murmured, a faint smile forming.
Her eyes flickered red.
Stronger.
She was stronger now.
Behind her, Quirrell collapsed into a lifeless heap.
Barely breathing.
Not dead.
Yet.
Tamara glanced at him briefly.
Still useful.
With a flick of her wand, his body lifted into the air.
She walked to the window.
Opened it.
The dark expanse of the Black Lake stretched below.
"Go take a bath, Professor."
With a careless motion—
She sent him flying.
At the last second, she added a weak levitation charm.
Whether he survived…
Irrelevant.
The room fell silent.
Only two remained.
Tamara.
And Harry.
He sat frozen, clutching the stone, staring at her.
Shock.
Fear.
Gratitude.
All tangled together.
"Tamara…"
She walked toward him.
Step by step.
Blood still trailing down her face.
Her presence was suffocating.
Cold.
Unyielding.
"Give it here."
She extended her hand.
"What?" he asked, dazed.
"Don't play dumb."
She crouched slightly, meeting his eyes.
"The Philosopher's Stone."
"Give it to me."
"But… Dumbledore said—"
"Dumbledore isn't here."
Her voice cut him off instantly.
Her hand shot forward—
Grabbing his wrist.
"That thing will get you killed."
"I'll keep it safe."
"For your sake."
Her fingers neared the stone—
But Harry didn't let go.
Instead—
He grabbed her wrist.
Firmly.
Warmth spread from his touch.
Tamara's eyes darkened.
She didn't like being touched.
At all.
But Harry met her gaze.
Steady.
Serious.
"I trust you."
He slowly placed the stone in her palm.
Then closed her fingers around it.
"You got hurt… saving me."
His voice softened.
"If it helps you… then take it."
Tamara froze briefly.
The weight of the stone pulsed in her hand.
Power.
Unrestrained.
She looked at him.
At his sincerity.
It was absurd.
Ridiculous.
"…Fool."
She pocketed the stone quickly.
Her expression hardened again.
"You gave it willingly."
"If you regret it later…"
"Don't come crying to me."
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