Chapter 81: Rest
When Tamara regained consciousness, she was met by a dizzying expanse of white.
The air was thick with the mixed smell of potions and an overly sweet floral fragrance, the unmistakable scent of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
She tried to move a finger.
A strange sensation instantly rippled through her body.
It was not pain, nor simple weakness. It was a burning current running through her veins. The essence of the Philosopher's Stone was still rampaging through her underdeveloped body, forcibly remodeling her blood vessels and bones.
Every heartbeat felt heavy and powerful, pounding in her ears like a war drum.
"Dammit..."
Tamara let out a hoarse, low curse.
The sensation of her body heating uncontrollably was awful. It felt like being thrown into a cauldron and boiled alive for three days and three nights.
"Oh! Thank goodness, you're finally awake!"
A stern yet worried voice rang out beside her.
Madam Pomfrey hurried to the bedside like a whirlwind, clutching a bottle of steaming potion.
Behind her sat an old man with a long, silvery white beard. Through half moon spectacles, his blue eyes watched her gently.
Albus Dumbledore.
Tamara's heart tightened. Her body instinctively tensed, and she immediately put on a weak, victimized expression.
"Professor..."
Tamara struggled to sit up, only for Madam Pomfrey to press her firmly back onto the pillow.
"Stay down, Miss Riddle!"
Madam Pomfrey's voice left no room for argument.
"Your body is like a little biscuit about to crumble. Stay put!"
Dumbledore nodded with a small smile.
"Listen to Poppy, Tamara. You gave us all quite a scare."
"My body..." Tamara touched her burning forehead, deliberately pretending not to understand. "I feel feverish. Was it the stone...?"
"It is much more than a fever, child."
Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and examined her from head to toe. The more she checked, the grimmer her expression became.
"While I cannot say exactly what effect that Philosopher's Stone had on you, your current symptoms show that your magic circuits are undergoing severe overload."
She turned to Dumbledore, her tone edged with displeasure that seemed aimed at the life Tamara had lived before Hogwarts.
"Albus, I must say, this child's foundation is shockingly poor."
"Severe malnutrition during early development, combined with magical congestion caused by long term suppression..."
Madam Pomfrey sighed and pointed at Tamara's thin wrist.
"Although her life force is exceptionally resilient, unbelievably so, this physical body is far too fragile."
"This sort of constitution will make her growth cycle much slower than that of an ordinary witch."
"Slower?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes. Slower."
Madam Pomfrey folded her arms.
"To maintain this level of magical repair and compensate for her bodily deficiencies, the body will instinctively reduce its rate of development in order to conserve energy."
"In other words, she may enter the stage of physical maturity much later than girls her age."
"That said, with proper nutrition, the recovery process should not drag on too badly."
Madam Pomfrey said it tactfully, but everyone in the room was clever enough to understand.
If Tamara wanted to develop into a proper young woman, it would take time.
Tamara, however, was the only one who did not think of it that way.
These quacks.
In her mind, she sneered at them mercilessly.
How was this delayed development?
This was obviously high level bodily evolution.
The fusion of the golden bloodline required a vast amount of energy. To adapt to blood of this caliber, her body had naturally slowed down unnecessary metabolic processes.
This was concentration of essence.
This was the necessary price of obtaining supreme power.
As long as she became stronger, any cost was worth paying.
"It's alright, Madam."
Tamara put on a well behaved, sensible expression and spoke softly.
"As long as I can live, I do not mind growing a little slower."
Dumbledore looked at her pale but calm face, and the guilt in his eyes deepened.
He thought of Tom Riddle.
The same orphanage background. The same astonishing talent.
But Tom had chosen to make up for his deficiencies by hurting others, while the girl before him had chosen to sacrifice herself to protect Harry.
"You will recover, Tamara," Dumbledore said gently, his tone firm.
"Hogwarts will give you the best care possible. We will help you reclaim, little by little, what the orphanage denied you."
"Thank you, Professor."
Tamara lowered her head, hiding the contempt in her eyes.
Reclaim?
Unless he could piece the Philosopher's Stone back together and return it to her, he could stop making such empty promises.
"Alright, visiting hours are over."
Madam Pomfrey began ushering him away.
"The patient needs rest and medicine."
Dumbledore rose, patted Tamara lightly on the shoulder, and said, "Rest well. I shall see you at the end of year feast."
Then he left the ward.
Only Tamara and Madam Pomfrey remained.
Madam Pomfrey summoned a tray.
On it sat a cup of potion still giving off purple smoke, and a large mug of warm milk.
"Drink this."
Madam Pomfrey pointed at the potion.
"This is a Draught of Peace. It will help calm the wild magic inside you."
Tamara frowned and swallowed the potion in one bitter gulp. It tasted like troll bile.
Then her eyes shifted to the cup of milk.
"That is unnecessary, surely."
Tamara shrank back in obvious distaste.
She hated milk.
That fatty, cloying smell turned her stomach.
"You must drink it."
Madam Pomfrey's tone was iron.
"This is specially prepared fortified milk, with a calcium potion mixed in. Since we have established that your development is being delayed, supplementation starts now."
"I do not want it."
Tamara tried to intimidate the matron with the gaze of a Dark Lord.
"Take it away."
But Madam Pomfrey ruled the Hospital Wing absolutely. Even Dumbledore listened to her here, let alone a first year patient.
"Drink it, Miss Riddle, or must I pour it down your throat?"
Madam Pomfrey planted her hands on her hips and looked as though she would use Petrificus Totalus if necessary.
Just as Tamara prepared to fight for her dignity, the system spoke.
[Ding! Friendly reminder.]
[Please follow the healer's instructions, host.]
[According to system analysis, your current height is approximately 148 centimetres.]
[This is not short for a first year girl. In fact, it is slightly above average. However...]
[You do not want to stand on a stool one day just to point your wand at Harry Potter's nose in a duel, do you?]
"Shut up!"
Tamara roared inwardly.
"Height has nothing to do with strength!"
"Even if I am shorter than Potter, I can still grind his head into the floor!"
Madam Pomfrey saw the shifting expressions on Tamara's face and assumed the child was simply dreading the taste.
"Miss Riddle?"
"If you refuse, I shall use a force feeding charm."
"...I'll drink it."
Tamara ground the words out through clenched teeth.
She snatched the mug. The motion had all the tragic resolve of a condemned prisoner drinking poison.
The warm liquid slid down her throat, carrying that revolting milky scent with it.
Holding her breath, Tamara forced it down in one go and nearly choked herself in the process.
"That is better."
Madam Pomfrey nodded in satisfaction and took the empty mug.
"One cup every morning and every evening from now on. I shall have the House elves send it to you personally."
"Now rest well, you poor child."
Madam Pomfrey tucked the blankets around her and turned to leave.
Tamara lay rigid in bed, the nauseating taste of milk still coating her mouth.
She stared at the ceiling, feeling the new power inside her slowly but steadily becoming more stable, and closed her eyes with a silent sneer.
Once I have fully digested this power...
This shell will become the perfect vessel for my will.
As for the current humiliation and compromise...
They are merely the price of making that inevitable future even more flawless.
[Ding! That's the spirit!]
[Reward: Another cup?]
"Get lost..."
Tamara spat the words out coldly in her mind.
The sickly taste of milk still lingered in her mouth, a constant reminder of the humiliation she had just endured.
She ignored the system's chatter completely.
Expressionless, she rolled over and pulled the blanket up to her chin, presenting Madam Pomfrey's departing figure with a cold and resolute back.
.....
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