Chapter 17: Every Grain is Hard Work
Tamara Riddle casually tossed the still shivering Sorting Hat back onto the stool. It looked like it might be having an existential crisis, and frankly, it deserved one.
She descended the steps with graceful composure while the Slytherin table broke into eager applause.
The Gryffindor table stared. Their looks were complicated, suspicious, curious, and in a few cases, plainly unsettled.
Tamara did not spare them a second glance.
She walked straight to the long table reserved for the ambitious, the well connected, and the children who had been raised to believe their surnames were more important than their personalities.
"Over here, Tamara!"
Draco Malfoy patted the empty seat beside him so enthusiastically he nearly slapped the bench. He even kicked Goyle, who had been trying to shuffle closer, sending him sliding down a few places with a grunt of confusion.
Tamara sat beside Draco and offered a small nod, acknowledging his excitement without rewarding it.
"I knew you would come to Slytherin," Draco said, his pale face shining with pride as if Tamara's Sorting were a private victory he had personally arranged.
At that moment, Dumbledore rose from the staff table.
He looked out over the students with a beaming smile, arms spread wide, as though he was happiest when surrounded by noise and chaos.
"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts for a new school year. Before the feast begins, I have a few words to say. Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak."
He paused, eyes twinkling.
"Thank you."
He sat down again. The hall erupted into applause and cheers, as if everyone had just witnessed profound wisdom rather than theatrical nonsense.
"Is he mad?" Harry asked quietly at the Gryffindor table, directing the question to Percy.
At the Slytherin table, Tamara sneered.
Just pretending to be mad, she thought. A mask for people who need to believe the Headmaster is harmless.
But that was not important.
What mattered was the moment she looked down, her previously empty plate was suddenly piled high with food.
Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, all of it steaming, fragrant, rich enough to make the air feel heavy.
To be honest, she was hungry.
The cabbage soup at Wool's Orphanage had tasted like dishwater, and the black bread had been so hard it could have doubled as building material. It had been torture for anyone with a functioning stomach, and this growing body had been complaining for days.
Tamara picked up her knife and fork, intending to cut a small portion from a perfectly roasted lamb chop, the sort of polite serving a young lady could eat without looking desperate.
Her fork had barely touched the plate when Draco Malfoy frowned and kicked Goyle again, this time under the table.
"Goyle, what are you staring at?" Draco said, adopting the lofty tone he usually reserved for servants. "Can you not see Miss Riddle's plate is empty? Does a lady have to serve herself? Do try to show some initiative."
Goyle, who had been gnawing on a chicken leg, paused mid bite. His expression suggested he was attempting to think, which was clearly uncomfortable for him.
"Serve her some of that roast beef," Draco ordered. "It is the speciality here."
To Draco, directing his crony to serve Tamara was not manners. It was theatre. Status in spoon form.
"Oh. Oh!"
Goyle hurriedly put down the chicken leg and grabbed a large serving spoon.
In his simple mind, generous hospitality apparently meant giving a lot, or perhaps he had decided Tamara was too thin and needed to be built like a battering ram.
He wielded the spoon like he was shovelling coal.
Whoosh.
A mountain of roast beef landed directly on top of the lamb chop Tamara had carefully chosen.
"And pork chops," Draco continued, still playing host.
Splat.
Two thick fried pork chops were stacked on top.
"Mashed potatoes."
Plop.
A great blob of mashed potatoes, glossy with gravy, sealed the entire heap like mortar.
Tamara's fingers tightened around her knife and fork until her knuckles whitened. She watched the ruin of her plate with the calm of someone observing a crime scene.
"That is enough," she said coldly.
"You idiot," Draco snapped, realising Goyle had overdone it. "Are you trying to bury the whole plate? Who could possibly eat all that?"
Goyle blinked, looked down at the monstrous pile on Tamara's plate, then glanced at the pile on his own plate, which was even larger, and looked back at her as if he could not understand the problem.
"It is fine."
Tamara inhaled slowly, maintaining her outward composure by sheer force of will. She set down her knife and fork, prepared to push the plate away and summon a clean one.
Her fingertip touched the edge of the plate.
[Ding! Detecting host attempting to waste food.]
[Triggering Virtue Daily Quest: Every Grain is Hard Work.]
[Quest Description: Do you know how many children in this world are starving? For example, the you in the orphanage.]
[Wasting food is an extremely shameful act, especially when it is the result of the hard labour of the Hogwarts House elves.]
[Quest Objective: Eat all the food on the plate. Not even a single pea is allowed to remain.]
[Quest Reward: life +2, Constitution slightly enhanced.]
[Failure Penalty: Loudly burping in public for three minutes.]
Tamara's hand froze.
She stared at nothing, listening to the system's cheerful cruelty with genuine disbelief.
Are you serious? she roared internally. This single plate could feed a troll. You want me to eat all of it? I will burst.
[Host, please rest assured. Your body is currently in a critical period of growth and development, and due to long term malnutrition, while your stomach capacity is small, your absorption needs are great.]
[The system will assist you with rapid digestion. No one will die.]
[Please commence your Clean Plate Action!]
She could not eat that much.
She also could not afford to lose face.
And she absolutely could not endure three minutes of public burping. Some humiliations were worse than death.
Gregory Goyle, she decided, belonged at the very top of her Death Blacklist. Above Harry Potter.
Tamara picked up her knife and fork again.
"No need to change it," she said, flashing Goyle a smile so sweet it could have been bottled, if the bottle was labelled poison. "Thank you for your enthusiasm."
She added, each word clipped and final, "Since it has been served, it cannot be wasted."
Then she speared a massive piece of beef and shoved it into her mouth.
The next twenty minutes became a spectacle for everyone sitting within range of the Slytherin table.
Tamara Riddle, delicate and pale, the girl who looked as though a stiff breeze might snap her in half, ate the mountainous pile on her plate with an elegant posture and an alarmingly efficient pace.
"Merlin," Pansy Parkinson murmured from across the table, staring so hard she forgot to lift her fork. "She looks absolutely famished."
"You would not think it," Blaise Zabini said, one eyebrow raised, as if Tamara had instantly become the most interesting thing Hogwarts had offered him so far. "How can such a slender body hold that much food?"
Only Tamara knew the truth.
Even with the system forcing rapid digestion, her stomach felt stretched to its limit. The pressure was real. The fullness was brutal. Each swallow was a negotiation between pride and nausea.
System, I cannot do this anymore, she pleaded inside her mind. If I eat any more, I am going to throw up.
[Keep going, host! Just the last half pork chop and two spoonfuls of mashed potatoes! For the sake of not burping! For the glory of Slytherin! Sprint!]
Physiological tears pricked at the corners of Tamara's eyes.
She inhaled, forked the last piece of meat, and with the solemn determination of someone marching to an execution, shoved it into her mouth.
The moment she swallowed, the food seemed to press up into her throat.
[Ding! Quest complete: Every Grain is Hard Work.]
[Reward issued: life +2.]
Tamara did not even have the strength to curse the system.
She slumped back in her chair. Her usually perfect posture broke, just slightly, and one hand slid beneath the table to discreetly loosen the belt of her robes.
Too full.
She felt like a python that had swallowed an entire cow. All she wanted was a warm corner and a month to digest.
"Wow, Tamara, you are amazing," Goyle said, gazing at her sparkling clean plate with sincere admiration, as though he had discovered a kindred spirit. "I thought girls like you only ate tiny portions."
Tamara turned her head and stared at him with a dazed, resentful look that promised violence in the near future.
"Shut up, Goyle," Draco said, pushing him away with bored dismissal. "Do not measure Tamara by your standards."
As he spoke, the remaining food vanished from the tables, replaced instantly by dessert.
Ice cream in every flavour, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate cakes, bowls of brightly coloured sweets.
"Hey, there is pudding!" Goyle exclaimed, already lifting his spoon again, clearly eager to demonstrate his serving spirit once more.
Tamara snapped upright so fast it nearly ended her evening in disgrace. Her stomach lurched, but she forced it down with iron control.
She smiled at Goyle.
It was a very polite smile.
It was also the sort of smile a person wears right before they commit a felony.
"Thank you," she said softly, eyes fixed on him. "But if you insist on giving me any, I will have to stab your hand with this fork."
.....
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