Chapter 8: Encounter at the Robe Shop
Stepping out of the secondhand shop that reeked of mildew and dead rats, Tamara did not even glance towards the wand shops.
A wand could wait.
Her immediate priority was simpler, and far more urgent.
She needed to get rid of what she was wearing.
As a man who had once stood at the pinnacle of the wizarding world, she could not tolerate walking about dressed like a badly stitched sack, the sort of thing a house elf might be forced into. Even breathing in it felt offensive.
Tamara went straight to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
When she pushed open the door, a soft chime rang. The shop was wide and bright, warm with lamplight, and perfumed with lavender and costly fabric. Everything about the place spoke of comfort and propriety, the sort of civility Tamara felt she had been denied for far too long.
A squat, plump witch in mauve robes approached at once, smiling as though Tamara's ragged dress did not exist.
"Buying your Hogwarts uniform, dear?" Madam Malkin asked, voice brisk and kind.
"Yes, Madam."
Tamara inclined her head, movements precise, almost ceremonial. She counted out ten Galleons from her now heavier purse and placed them on the counter with care.
"In addition to the school uniform, I require the finest daily dress. Silk, dark green."
She paused, then added in a tone that made refusal sound foolish.
"And please dispose of this regrettable dress. I wish to change into the new one immediately."
"No trouble at all, dear." Madam Malkin beamed. "Go to the back. There is a young man being fitted. You can stand on the footstool beside him."
Tamara walked towards the rear of the shop.
A pale boy with pale blond hair stood on a footstool while a tape measure darted over him like a living ribbon, tugging at sleeves and circling his waist with practised speed.
Draco Malfoy.
The sight of him brought a brief, complicated stir in Tamara's chest. The boy's face already carried the sharp angles of his father, Lucius Malfoy. Not identical, but close enough to be irritating.
Once, Lucius had lacked brilliance, but he had understood loyalty, at least when it suited him. Tamara wondered, briefly and without sentiment, how the Malfoy family had weathered the years after her fall.
She stepped onto the neighbouring footstool as Madam Malkin lifted a robe over her head and began to measure.
Draco turned his head, eyes sliding towards her with casual interest, then a familiar superiority.
"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" he asked, drawling as if he were doing her a favour by speaking.
"Mhm," Tamara replied, staring straight ahead. Her tone was steady, cool, and uninviting.
It did not deter him in the slightest.
"My father is next door buying my books and cauldron. He will be here in a moment," Draco said, as though this settled any question of importance. "Then I am going to make them take me to look at racing brooms. I do not see why first years cannot have their own brooms."
He continued without pausing for breath, clearly expecting admiration to arrive on schedule.
"I can get my father to buy me one and then find a way to smuggle it in."
Tamara said nothing.
Draco pushed on, determined to provoke a response.
"Have you ever played Quidditch?" he asked. "My father says I am a natural Seeker."
At last, Tamara turned her head and looked at him.
There was no envy in her gaze. No interest. Barely any emotion at all.
She regarded him the way one might regard a noisy parrot.
"Quidditch?" Tamara gave a small chuckle, smooth as silk. "Yes, it is a pleasant pastime for those with excess energy and nowhere sensible to place it."
Draco blinked. That was not the reaction he had ordered from the universe.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, frowning. "You do not like Quidditch? Then what do you like? Do not tell me it is Gobstones."
"I am more inclined towards exploring the mysteries of magic itself."
Tamara lifted her chin slightly. Even while being measured, her posture remained rigidly upright, as if she had never learned how to slouch.
"No matter how high one flies, it is still only acrobatics on a broomstick. Mastery of magic is the true proof of a wizard's noble blood."
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. For a moment, he looked as if the air had been taken from him.
He studied her properly for the first time.
She had been wearing rags when she entered. Yet now, standing there beneath the tape measure, she carried herself with an ease and authority that made Draco's own pure blood upbringing feel like a child's imitation.
He shifted, searching for ground he could reclaim.
"Which House do you think you will be in?" Draco asked quickly. "As for me, I know I will be in Slytherin. I do not even need the Sorting Hat to tell me. My entire family has been in Slytherin."
Pride swelled in his voice, polished and practised.
Then he smirked.
"What about you? I imagine it certainly will not be Hufflepuff."
"Slytherin," Tamara said flatly.
It did not sound like hope.
It sounded like a decision already recorded.
Draco brightened, as if he had found a fellow aristocrat in the wild.
"Oh? You want Slytherin too?" he said eagerly. "Then you must be pure blood. What is your surname?"
A crucial question, and one that carried the old poison of blood obsession.
There had been a time when Tom Riddle had felt shame for his origins. That illness had passed, eventually. Especially after he had dealt with his biological father.
Before Tamara answered, the system chimed in.
[System Notification: Side Quest Triggered: Noble Upbringing.]
[Task Description: The brat before you is far too impolite. As a Slytherin senior, you have an obligation to teach him true noble style.]
[Quest Reward: Charm plus two. Malfoy family favourability unlocked.]
Tamara's mouth curved slightly.
Very well.
She decided, without hesitation, to educate him.
"You are too noisy, Mr Malfoy," Tamara said, crisp and matter of fact.
"Only parvenus flaunt their wealth and emphasise bloodlines."
Draco's face flushed.
"Parvenu?" he spluttered. "My family is one of the Sacred Twenty Eight!"
Tamara's voice remained calm, and that calmness made every word land harder.
"An illustrious family history is the glory of your ancestors, not your shield."
"The moment you keep my father on your lips, you admit your own weakness."
"A true Slytherin does not bark from the shadow of their parents."
The fitting room went still.
Even the tape measure paused midair, and Madam Malkin stared at the two eleven year olds as if she had wandered into a courtroom.
Draco Malfoy stood frozen, utterly speechless.
No one had ever spoken to him like that, not even at home. It felt like being scolded by a superior, like being reduced to a child in public, except the person doing it was a girl his own age.
Worse, a humiliating impulse rose in him.
To lower his head.
To apologise.
Tamara's gaze was not loud, but it was heavy. It carried the unpleasant sensation of being seen too clearly.
It pressed on him with more force than his father's anger ever had.
Madam Malkin finally recovered first.
"All right, dear," she said briskly, clapping her hands twice. "That is done."
She looked Tamara over with satisfaction, then turned towards the door.
"I will fetch your school uniform. Wait here a moment."
She left, closing the door behind her.
Silence settled again, thick as velvet.
Tamara stepped down from the footstool and studied herself in the mirror. Dark green silk draped over her shoulders, clean lines, proper fabric, a colour that suited authority.
She nodded once.
This was how the Dark Lord should look.
Then she turned.
Draco was still on the footstool, rigid, face red, unsure whether to be angry or frightened.
Tamara walked closer.
"Look at me," she commanded.
Draco obeyed, as if the words had pulled his eyes into place.
Tamara raised a finger and pressed it lightly beneath his chin, tipping his face up a fraction. The gesture was almost intimate, almost gentle.
It sent a chill down Draco's spine.
"Hide your desires, your pride, and your impatience," Tamara said quietly. "Bury them where no one can reach them."
"When you boast about things you have not yet obtained, you become an open book. Even a troll could read you."
Draco drew a shallow breath. Fear flickered behind his eyes, and he hated that it did.
The feeling was not like facing his father.
It was worse.
It was awe.
Tamara watched the change and felt satisfied. The boy was finally a little less stupidly loud.
She withdrew her hand.
"Remember this feeling, Draco," she said. "Only when you learn silence will others hear what you truly have to say."
Then she turned and walked out, leaving him standing there as if someone had struck him with a spell.
Outside, Tamara collected her parcels and listened to the system's cheerful voice, a faint smile touching her lips.
[Ding! Quest Complete: Noble Upbringing.]
[Congratulations to the host for successfully guiding Draco Malfoy.]
[Reward Obtained: Charm plus two. Effect gained: Your appearance is peerless among your peers.]
[Malfoy family hidden favourability unlocked. Current favourability: 10/100.]
"Children are so easy to mould," Tamara hummed under her breath, almost amused.