Chapter 44: You Can't Be Human, Right?
Late that night, the Slytherin girls' dormitory lay under a strange, watery silence.
Beyond the thick windowpanes, the Black Lake shimmered with a pale, ghostly light. Every so often, something vast drifted past in the darkness outside. A heavy tentacle from the Giant Squid would slide along the glass and vanish again, leaving only a faint, unsettling shadow behind.
Tamara's teaching methods had been brutally effective.
The girls had been so tense during the evening's study session that by the time they crawled into bed, they had collapsed into an almost comatose sleep. Not one of them had the courage left to whisper, gossip, or so much as fidget beneath the covers.
Only one bed still held a trace of wakefulness.
By the window, behind curtains left half open, a faint silvery glow seeped into the darkness.
Tamara Riddle was still awake.
She sat propped against a mound of soft pillows, an old, worn book spread across her knees. It was not listed anywhere in the Library's borrowing records.
Powerful Potions and Curses.
Over the past few days, Tamara had made excellent use of the privileges afforded to a model student. While Madam Pince had been distracted elsewhere, she had slipped into the Restricted Section, selected what she wanted, and walked back out again without difficulty.
The Restricted Section was hardly unfamiliar territory. If anything, Tamara knew it like an old hunting ground.
The book itself was not especially rare. It contained only introductory material on Blood Curses, unstable soul states, and crude methods of magical stabilisation. Still, it covered precisely the blind spot she needed to address.
She had to understand how this body and that wretched virtue system were managing to coexist.
"...Symptoms of soul rejection are often accompanied by memory instability, magical deterioration, and progressive collapse of self recognition..."
By the pale glow at the tip of her wand, Tamara traced a finger down the brittle parchment and read the dense, archaic text in a low murmur.
Then she stopped.
A sensation had pricked the back of her neck.
Not sound. Not movement.
A gaze.
It was an instinct carved into her by years spent walking the edge between survival and death.
Tamara did not look up at once.
Instead, she quietly tightened her grip on her wand and let her eyes drift sideways, using only the edge of her vision to study the room.
Right beside her pillow, Nagini was awake.
The black cat was not curled into a neat sleeping circle, nor was it rolling around like a fool chasing shadows. It was sitting upright, perfectly still, its golden vertical pupils catching the fluorescent wandlight in the dark.
It was staring at the open page on Tamara's lap.
More precisely, it was staring at the illustration in the chapter on the Maledictus curse. The image showed a woman in the agony of transformation, suspended between human and beast.
Something about the cat's expression was wrong.
Profoundly wrong.
This was not the gaze of an animal.
In those eyes lay an unbearable depth of sorrow, something ancient and worn thin with time. There was longing there. Grief. A kind of mute despair so human that it made the air around them feel colder.
It was the look of a soul trapped inside the shell of a beast, staring through bars no one else could see.
Tamara's heartbeat faltered.
Slowly, deliberately, she closed the book.
Snap.
The soft sound cracked through the silent dormitory like a twig breaking in a graveyard.
The black cat froze.
It did not look away.
Instead, it slowly raised its head and met Tamara's eyes.
One girl.
One cat.
For several long seconds, neither moved.
The darkness between them tightened like wire.
"Can you understand this?"
Tamara's voice was soft, but all disguise had left it. What remained was cold, precise, and dangerous.
The cat did not move.
It simply looked at her.
Tamara narrowed her eyes.
She leaned closer, little by little, the old book still resting across her knees. Her long black hair slipped forward over her shoulders, framing a face that looked unnervingly pale beneath the wandlight.
"Nagini," she whispered.
Then, more quietly still, "Answer me."
Her black eyes locked onto the cat's golden ones, dissecting every minute twitch.
"You can understand what I'm saying... can't you?"
At once, the cat's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Its ears twitched. A ripple passed through the fur along its spine.
It was fear.
Instinctive, animal fear, yes, but not only that. There was something sharper underneath it, something far too aware.
Tamara felt a slow thrill of certainty begin to rise.
Then the moment shattered.
A luminous moth, drawn by the light from her wand, fluttered clumsily into view and began circling above the bed.
The black cat changed instantly.
The depth vanished from its gaze as though someone had slammed a door shut inside it. All that remained was vacant feline stupidity and the bright, ridiculous focus of a predator spotting prey.
"Hrrk!"
With a short, absurd hiss, Nagini launched herself at the moth.
It bounced wildly across the bed in a flurry of black fur and flailing paws. It stepped directly on Tamara's stomach, nearly forcing the tea she had drunk earlier back up her throat, then skidded into the blankets in a tangle of sheets and offended meows.
The atmosphere of eerie revelation died on the spot.
Tamara stared at the cat in stony silence.
Then her expression turned black.
"Get off."
She snatched Nagini up by the scruff of the neck and tossed the creature to the foot of the bed like a sack of rubbish.
The cat landed neatly, turned in place, and began licking one paw with insulting innocence, as if it had never in its life possessed a thought more complicated than catching insects.
Tamara rubbed at her brow.
For one brief, aggravating moment, she almost wondered whether she was losing her mind.
How could a cat possibly understand the Dark Arts?
[Ding! The host is engaging in deep communication with a pet.]
[System Tip: Pets are humanity's best friends. Frequent interaction with pets can effectively ease the Dark Lord's chronic tension and antisocial tendencies.]
[Daily Task Triggered: The Joy of Petting a Cat.]
[Task Requirement: Please gently stroke your cat for three minutes until it purrs.]
[Reward: Love +1.]
[Failure Penalty: The cat will wake up on your face tomorrow morning.]
Tamara looked at the task panel.
Then she looked at the cat.
Then she looked back at the panel.
Her lip twitched.
Rationally, it was just a cat.
And yet that earlier look had been too familiar. Not because of the form before her, but because of what had flashed through those eyes.
A woman cursed into permanent animal shape.
A soul buried alive beneath fur and instinct.
An old acquaintance whose fate had long ago ceased to amuse her.
But this was impossible.
Nagini was a cat, not a snake.
"Come here."
Her voice was flat and commanding.
The black cat hesitated for the briefest moment, then padded back across the bed and rubbed its head against her hand as obediently as ever.
Tamara reached out and began stroking the glossy fur with obvious reluctance.
Her touch was light, almost mechanical. Still, her attention never fully left the creature's eyes.
"Whatever you are..." she murmured, so softly that even the sleeping girls nearby could not have heard.
Her fingers drifted under the cat's jaw and along the delicate line of its throat, the touch outwardly calm and inwardly threatening.
"You had better pray I never discover that you're lying to me."
Her hand paused, just slightly.
"Because if I do, I will teach you exactly what it feels like to become a dead cat."
The black cat gave no sign of understanding.
Instead, it narrowed its eyes in bliss and let out a deep, ridiculous purr that sounded like a tiny engine rumbling in the dark.
Then it rolled onto its back and exposed its white belly without the slightest dignity.
A complete fool. Or a masterful actor.
Tamara stared at the offered belly for a long moment.
Then, with a cold expression, she withdrew her hand and picked up the book once more.
"Perhaps I imagined it," she told herself.
It was the most reasonable explanation.
Her eyes dropped back to the text, and the room slowly sank into silence again.
What she did not notice was the black cat watching her through barely parted lids.
Though it continued to purr, one golden eye opened a sliver wider.
Inside that narrow gleam was relief.
Luck.
Fear.
And something even more troublesome than either.
Attachment.
.....
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