Chapter 72: Help
To lower Dumbledore's suspicion level, which still sat at a worrying 55 percent, Tamara had no choice but to begin carrying out her model student whitewashing plan.
And the first step of that plan was a request from Professor McGonagall that gave her a headache just thinking about it: tutoring Ron Weasley in Transfiguration.
For Tamara, this was pure torture.
Saturday afternoon, in a corner of the Library.
Ron sat slumped over the table, staring at the beetle in front of him with the hollow expression of someone who had already given up on life. Their task for the day was simple in theory: turn the beetle into a button.
"I still do not understand why it has to be you," Ron muttered, sounding thoroughly aggrieved. "Hermione could have taught me."
"Because Miss Granger has already been driven to tears three times by your thick skull, Weasley."
Tamara sat opposite him, flipping through a copy of Intermediate Transfiguration without even lifting her head.
"And Professor McGonagall believes that since I managed to get Goyle to produce a passing History of Magic essay, guiding you should not be especially difficult."
She finally turned a page and added coldly, "Hurry up, unless you plan to repeat first year with your younger sister next term."
Ron bit his lip and raised his old wand, the one that had once belonged to Charlie, with Unicorn hair still sticking out from the end.
"Vera Verto!"
He shouted the incantation and gave the wand a vigorous wave.
Poof.
It did not become a button.
The poor beetle merely swelled to twice its size and turned into a dusty, twitching thing that was half bug and half button.
"Er..." Ron scratched his head awkwardly. "At least it is round?"
Tamara finally set her book aside.
She looked at the grotesque little creature wriggling on the table and frowned in disgust.
"It is not my fault!" Ron blurted before she could say anything, his ears turning red. "It is this wand. It is too old, and it does not listen!"
"The wand is only a tool. The wizard is the core."
Tamara rose from her chair and came to stand behind him.
"Your problem is not the wand. It is your heart."
"My heart?" Ron repeated blankly.
"You are afraid."
Tamara's voice sounded close to his ear, calm and cutting, as though she could see straight through him.
"You are afraid of failing. Afraid of not measuring up to your brothers. Bill is a prefect. Charlie was Quidditch captain. Percy is an honour student. Even Fred and George, for all their nonsense, are undeniably talented."
"And you, Ron Weasley, are the youngest. You feel that no matter how hard you try, you are only walking down paths they already trod."
Ron froze.
He twisted round to stare at her, shock and embarrassment flashing across his face.
"Do not analyse me like a Dementor!"
"Then prove me wrong."
Tamara did not get angry. She merely restored the half transformed beetle to normal with a flick of magic.
"Stop thinking about your brothers. Right now, there is only you, me, and this insect."
"Focus. Picture it as a button. Not for marks, and not to avoid being scolded, but because you want to master it."
"That is the essence of magic. The manifestation of will."
Ron looked at her.
For the first time, he realised that when Tamara was serious, she did not seem like a cold blooded Slytherin at all. She sounded like a real teacher.
Sharp tongued, yes. Ruthless, certainly. But she had not mocked his wand or his poverty. She had simply stated the truth.
Ron took a deep breath.
He tightened his grip on the wand and forced the noise in his head away until only the spell remained.
"Vera Verto!"
This time, the movement of his wand was much steadier.
Ding.
A crisp sound rang out.
The beetle vanished, and in its place sat a black button. Its edges were still a little rough, but it was no longer moving at all.
"I... I did it!"
Ron's eyes went wide. He stared at the button in disbelief, then sprang to his feet as if he had just won a championship.
"Tamara, look! I did it!"
"Barely a passing result," Tamara said flatly.
Yet despite the cold tone, a trace of approval flickered in her eyes.
"At least it has stopped crawling."
Ron did not care in the slightest.
He was still caught up in the thrill of having succeeded.
It was the first time he had completed a proper Transfiguration spell on his own.
"Thank you, Tamara."
He sounded awkward, and his face was red again.
"What you said just now was harsh, but... it really helped."
"Do not mention it."
Tamara returned to her seat.
"I simply do not want Professor McGonagall deciding I am an incompetent tutor."
At that moment, a plump grey shape crawled out from beneath a stack of parchment on the table.
It was a rat.
It looked as if it had only just woken up and was now sniffing around the newly made button in search of scraps.
"Scabbers!"
Ron reached for it in alarm. "Do not run off. This is the Library."
But a pale, slender hand was faster.
Tamara caught the rat by the scruff with two fingers and lifted it into the air.
"This is your pet?"
She narrowed her eyes at the fat rat kicking helplessly and squeaking in panic.
The moment their eyes met, the rat went rigid.
It was his Master.
Scabbers' tiny black eyes filled at once with absolute terror.
That face. That look. That voice.
Even on the Hogwarts Express he had only suspected, but now Peter Pettigrew knew.
This was her.
Scabbers trembled violently. His little paws curled inward, and he did not even dare breathe too loudly, terrified of drawing any more of her attention.
Tamara watched him with growing amusement.
She knew exactly who he was.
That missing toe.
That cowardly nature.
Wormtail.
One of her old servants, the most craven and useless of the lot, yet also the one who would eventually help bring the main soul back.
"What an... interesting creature."
Tamara spoke softly, lightly stroking the rat's greasy belly with one finger.
Scabbers nearly died of fright.
He could feel the threat of death in that touch.
If Tamara pressed just a little harder, his neck would snap.
"Look, it is shaking."
Tamara held the rat up in front of Ron and spoke with deceptive innocence.
"It seems quite afraid of me."
"Er... Scabbers has always been a coward," Ron said, looking worried. "Mostly he just eats and sleeps."
"Is that so?"
Tamara looked into the rat's terror stricken eyes and whispered in a voice only Peter Pettigrew could understand.
"You have been living quite comfortably, have you not?"
"Hiding here, eating a friend's family's food, sleeping in a warm pocket..."
"What a clever little waste of space."
Scabbers shook violently, almost convulsing. His squeaks became frantic, as if he wanted to beg for mercy.
Tamara neither understood nor cared.
"Tamara?" Ron said uneasily. "That look on your face is a bit frightening."
"It is nothing."
Tamara tossed Scabbers back with casual precision, and he landed squarely in Ron's arms.
"Take good care of him, Weasley."
Her tone was meaningful.
Now was not the time to expose Wormtail.
That rat still had value.
At the very least, he was still hers.
Keeping him alive was more useful than killing him.
"Right. That is enough for today."
Tamara packed her books and stood.
"Go back and practise. If you still cannot manage a button by next lesson, I will turn you into one instead."
With that, she turned and walked away.
Ron held the still trembling Scabbers and watched her go.
For some reason, he suddenly did not find her nearly as unbearable as before.
She was sharp tongued, arrogant, and rather too fond of terrifying his rat.
But she had taught him something real.
And that line about magic being the manifestation of will had sounded... well, admittedly, it had sounded brilliant.
"Maybe Harry and Hermione were right."
Ron patted Scabbers on the head and muttered to himself, "Maybe she actually is... a good person?"
At the words good person, Scabbers rolled his eyes in Ron's arms and fainted on the spot from sheer terror.
[Ding! Side quest completed: Turning an Enemy into a Friend (Novice).]
[You have successfully changed Ron Weasley's stereotype of you.]
[Reward: Dumbledore's suspicion level reduced by 1%.]
[Current suspicion level: 54%.]
Tamara, walking down the corridor, paused slightly when she heard the prompt.
"Only 1 percent?"
She curled her lip in disdain.
"Useless."
.....
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