Chapter 28: Reputation
A few weeks after term began, a strange little phenomenon appeared at Hogwarts.
By rights, Slytherin first years were usually the least popular group in the entire castle. They were arrogant, cliquish, and made no effort to hide their contempt for Muggle born students.
Tamara Riddle should have fitted that pattern perfectly.
She walked with her chin lifted, her gaze cold as ice, and she almost never spoke to anyone outside her own House.
And yet, every time she ate in the Great Hall, a cluster of small badgers at the Hufflepuff table would wave at her with ridiculous enthusiasm.
It left the Gryffindors completely baffled.
On Thursday at lunch, the Great Hall roared with noise.
"I don't get it," Ron Weasley mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, staring across the room towards the centre of the Slytherin table.
"She's a Slytherin. She looks even scarier than Malfoy. Why do those Hufflepuff idiots like her so much?"
He could admit Tamara was beautiful, but that did not make him lower his guard.
"Because she isn't just a Slytherin, Ron," Hermione Granger said, shutting Quidditch Through the Ages with a soft thump. There was a rare hint of admiration in her voice.
"Have you heard about Wednesday night's Astronomy lesson? Hufflepuff and Slytherin had it together."
"I heard it was freezing," Harry Potter put in, listlessly stabbing peas with his fork.
"Yes, very cold," Hermione agreed.
"Hannah told me her hands were frozen stiff. She couldn't adjust the telescope at all. Everyone knows most Slytherins would just laugh at that."
"Malfoy definitely laughed," Ron snorted.
"He did," Hermione said, serious. "But Riddle didn't. She helped Hannah calibrate the telescope and she even…"
Hermione lowered her voice, as if sharing something unbelievable.
"She took off the scarf from her own neck and gave it to Hannah. Then she stood in the wind for half the lesson without saying a word."
Harry and Ron both went still.
Without meaning to, they glanced across the Hall at the black haired girl cutting her steak with calm precision. She looked so cold it was difficult to imagine her doing anything warm at all.
"There's more than that," Neville Longbottom added timidly, leaning in.
"I heard it too. In Herbology, there was dragon dung everywhere. Even Malfoy thought it was too filthy to touch, but Riddle did the work with her bare hands. Professor Sprout said she respects life more than anyone."
Hermione nodded as if she were presenting final evidence.
"Respect for knowledge, helping a classmate, not afraid of dirt or discomfort. She looks arrogant, yes, but her actions are… very chivalrous."
"Oh come off it," Ron rolled his eyes. "She's in Slytherin. That scarf probably had some Dark magic on it. Something that turns Hannah into an obedient badger."
Harry did not speak.
He watched Tamara in the distance, conflict knotting in his chest.
In Potions, her tone reminded him of Snape, and it had made his skin crawl. But she had answered Snape's questions perfectly, and in a strange way, had she helped him by shifting attention away?
Tamara Riddle was far too difficult to read.
At that moment, a flock of owls swept into the Hall, dropping the day's mail.
Ron ripped open a notice, scanned it, and let out a miserable wail.
"Oh no. This is an absolute nightmare."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Flying," Ron said, slapping the notice down with pure despair. "This afternoon. And guess who we have it with."
Harry felt dread rise.
"Don't tell me…"
"Slytherin," Ron said through clenched teeth, eyes sliding towards Malfoy, who was already boasting to Crabbe about how brilliant he was in the air.
"That git has been bragging for days. This class is going to be a disaster."
Harry sighed.
Compared to Malfoy, he was suddenly more worried about himself.
If he fell off a broom in front of the seemingly unstoppable Tamara Riddle, it would feel even worse than another detention with Snape.
Tamara's last few weeks had been comfortable enough. The system had not glitched and thrown any new ridiculous missions at her.
But when she read the schedule, her eyebrows knitted with genuine displeasure.
The worst lesson had finally arrived.
At three thirty on Thursday afternoon, Slytherin and Gryffindor first years gathered on the lawn outside the castle for their first Flying lesson.
The sky was clear. A light breeze brushed their cheeks. The grass underfoot was green and soft.
For most eleven year olds, it was a perfect day.
Tamara felt as if she were walking towards an execution.
She stood beside a line of battered school brooms, staring down at the antique at her feet with pure disdain.
The twigs at the tail stuck out in every direction, several snapped short. It looked like a balding brush that had been abused for a decade.
Simply a barbarian sport, she thought, scathing.
In her view, flying on a thin wooden stick was not only hideous, it required a posture with absolutely no dignity.
Clamping a branch between one's legs and scuttling through the sky was an activity for incompletely evolved monkeys.
At the height of her former life, she had mastered flight itself, shaping Dark magic that let her move through the air without any tool at all. Rising like black smoke. Looking down upon the living from above.
That was flight.
This was humiliation.
"Everyone stand beside your broom," Madam Hooch called, striding over. She had short grey hair and sharp yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Hurry up. No dawdling."
"Place your right hand over your broomstick," Madam Hooch shouted, "then say loudly, Up."
"Up."
Voices rose around the lawn.
Harry Potter's broom jumped into his hand immediately, and his face lit up. Draco Malfoy's broom followed suit, just as eager, as if it knew its master required obedience.
Nearby, Hermione was already scowling at her broom, which only rolled lazily on the grass.
Tamara stood still, arms folded, staring at her broom with icy contempt.
Shouting at a stick like a fool.
Never.
.....
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