Chapter 43: The Mutual Aid Society
As exams drew near, the Slytherin common room had taken on a very different atmosphere.
The fire burned brightly in the grate, driving back the damp chill that always crept up from beneath the Black Lake. The long tables had been cleared and draped in dark green velvet. On top of them sat gleaming silver tea sets, stacks of parchment, and open textbooks arranged in neat little piles.
Tamara Riddle sat in the widest armchair before the fire, a cup of black tea in one hand, her posture elegant and indolent.
That foolish cat of hers, Nagini, lay sprawled across her lap like a furry tyrant, basking in attention while several girls took turns stroking its glossy black fur.
"This," Tamara said, setting down her teacup with a crisp clink of porcelain, "is the meaning of the Mutual Aid Society."
The sound was enough to silence the low chatter at once.
"Here, we share resources and exchange knowledge. Slytherin is strong because we understand how to gather individual strength and shape it into a single blade."
Tamara sneered inwardly.
Mutual Aid Society?
This was not a study group. It was the early grooming of future Death Eaters.
More importantly, it was a practical solution to a humiliating problem. Tamara had no intention of letting the school discover that the people under her influence were a pack of half trained idiots.
The first year students, naturally, were completely taken in.
They longed for order. They admired power. And Tamara, at present, embodied both.
She had just opened History of Magic and was about to begin explaining the more difficult sections when a sharp quarrel shattered the mood.
"That is my seat, Parkinson."
Daphne Greengrass, blonde, blue eyed, and every inch the noble pure blood girl, stood glaring at Pansy with open disdain.
"Does it have your name on it?" Pansy shot back, folding her arms like a little hen defending its nest. "Besides, I am Tamara's best friend. Obviously I should sit closest to her."
"Best friend?" Daphne gave a cold, elegant scoff. "Do not make me laugh. You look more like her maid. No Greengrass would ever cling to someone so pathetically."
"Who are you calling a maid?" Pansy shrieked, already reaching for her wand.
"Enough."
Tamara did not raise her voice.
It was only two calm words.
Yet something in that tone froze both girls instantly, as effectively as any spell.
The black cat slipped from Tamara's lap with an offended meow as she rose and crossed the room.
She stopped between the two girls, her gaze passing from Pansy's flushed face to Daphne's proud, icy expression.
All around the room, the other students held their breath.
Everyone wanted to know whose side she would take.
Pansy, who was always the most attentive?
Or Daphne, whose family name carried far more weight?
"Look at yourselves," Tamara said softly, with just enough disappointment in her voice to make both girls pale. "What do you resemble? Two trolls squabbling over a patch of mud?"
Pansy lowered her head at once.
Daphne's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
"Slytherin has no use for pointless internal conflict."
Tamara laid one hand lightly on Pansy's shoulder.
"Pansy, your loyalty and passion are useful qualities. They make you sharp. But when a blade is constantly turned on its own side, that is not passion. It is stupidity."
Pansy's lips trembled.
"I am sorry, Tamara."
Then Tamara turned to Daphne.
"And you, Daphne."
Her gaze settled coolly on the pure blood girl.
"The composure of the Greengrass family is admirable, but true dignity is not won by looking down on your own allies."
"If you think yourself above Pansy, then prove it with your ability, not with your surname."
She straightened, her voice rising just slightly as she looked around the room.
"In my... in our group, everyone has a place. Pansy is decisive and quick to act. Daphne has social grace and a clever head. You are fingers on the same hand. Only when they close together can they crush the enemy's throat."
A pause.
"Now. Shake hands."
It was not a request.
Pansy and Daphne looked at one another with plain reluctance, but under Tamara's gaze neither dared resist.
They both extended a hand.
"Sorry," Pansy muttered.
"...Sorry," Daphne replied, though she turned her face away as she said it.
[Ding! The host has successfully resolved an internal team conflict.]
[System Evaluation: Superb leadership skills detected. You not only settled the dispute, but strengthened group cohesion. This is the big picture.]
[Reward: Charisma +1.]
[Current Charisma value is too high. It has automatically been converted into a Leadership Charisma aura.]
Tamara returned to her chair without the slightest ripple in her heart.
This was merely the most basic method of controlling subordinates.
Let them compete just enough to sharpen themselves, then step in personally as the final authority. It ensured that all roads led back to her.
"Good. Since that unpleasantness is over, let us continue."
She opened the book once more, prepared to begin the lesson.
Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy, who had been visibly restraining himself for several minutes, finally burst.
"Tamara, Potter has been unbearable lately."
He slammed his quill down on the table so hard that ink splashed over the parchment.
"I am definitely writing to Father. He can pressure the Board of Governors and get Potter thrown out."
He leaned forward, full of righteous indignation.
"Father says a little political pressure is all it takes to make things difficult for Dumbledore."
Always Father.
Tamara closed the book again with a quiet snap and turned her head toward him.
A flicker of irritation passed through her eyes.
Lucius Malfoy was not a fool. But he had raised a son who risked becoming one.
"Draco."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
"How old are you?"
Draco blinked.
"Eleven."
"Eleven," Tamara repeated, "not three."
She rose and walked to him, and with each step the pressure in the room seemed to deepen.
When she stopped in front of him, she was still shorter than he was. Yet the weight of her presence made him look as though he ought to shrink where he sat.
"Every time you encounter a problem, your first instinct is to say, 'I am going to tell my father.'"
Her voice was calm, which somehow made it worse.
"Do you realise how pathetic that sounds? Like a giant baby wailing for a bottle."
Draco flushed bright red.
"But using family influence is also a kind of strength," he argued weakly.
"Using it?"
Tamara gave a cold, contemptuous laugh.
"No. That is not using it. That is relying on it."
She leaned in slightly, her dark eyes locking onto his.
"And what happens if one day Lucius Malfoy is not there? What happens if your family loses its protection? What exactly will you do then? Cry to your enemies and remind them who your father was?"
Draco opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
The thought alone had frightened him.
"A true Slytherin becomes the father others hide behind."
Tamara circled slowly around his chair, her voice lowering into something smooth and persuasive.
"You must learn to solve problems with your own mind, Draco. If Potter irritates you, defeat him with your spells. Trap him with your schemes. Crush him with your grades."
She stopped beside him.
"Do not go through life like some shrieking announcement board, constantly broadcasting your father's importance."
Then she reached out and tapped his temple lightly with one pale finger.
The cool touch made him go utterly still.
"This is your greatest weapon."
Her tone softened, just enough to make the words sink deeper.
"If you are nothing more than Lucius Malfoy's son, then you will always be second rate. What I want to see is a Draco Malfoy who can make me, make all of us, look at him and think again."
Draco stared at her.
No one had ever said anything like this to him.
His parents had spoiled him, praised him, and taught him how to flaunt his name. But no one had ever demanded that he become more than the name itself.
Beneath the shame, something new began to take shape.
Ambition.
He met Tamara's dark gaze and nodded, once, then again with greater force.
"I understand, Tamara."
He drew a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was firmer.
"Next time, I will handle it myself."
"Very good."
Tamara smiled, clearly satisfied.
[Ding! Profound moral and ideological education detected.]
[Mission: Better to teach a man how to fish than to give him a fish.]
[System Evaluation: You have corrected a classmate's dependence on parental authority and inspired his spirit of independence and self reliance. You are practically a model educator.]
[Reward: Wisdom +1.]
[Current Wisdom: 24.]
Tamara picked up her teacup again, inwardly pleased.
The system's commentary remained as nauseating as ever, but the outcome was useful.
She had no need for a pack of spoiled heirs who could do nothing but cry for their parents.
What she wanted were elites. People who could think for themselves, act ruthlessly, and give their loyalty only to her.
"Now then."
She took a measured sip of tea, while all around her the younger students watched with open admiration and awe.
"Turn to page twelve. Regarding the construction of magic circuits, some scholars argue..."
Outside the windows, the dark waters of the Black Lake drifted past in slow silence.
.....
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