Chapter 83: New Master
The cold waters of the Black Lake lapped steadily against the rocks, rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic hush.
Wrapped in a black hooded cloak, Tamara stood alone in the mud by the shore.
She had no need for a lighting spell. Her eyes were more than accustomed to the dark, enough to make out the squirming figure on the ground nearby, sprawled like a half drowned dog.
Quirrell was not dead.
But he was not far from it.
He was soaked through, his purple robes hanging from him like torn rags. The turban that had once wrapped the back of his head was gone, revealing a flattened scalp covered in hideous scars, the marks left behind after the main soul had been forcibly torn away.
He lay sprawled in the mud, coughing so violently he could barely breathe, yet still dragging himself toward the Forbidden Forest with trembling hands.
Fear was driving him on.
A fear so deep it had sunk into his bones.
He had to escape.
Escape Hogwarts. Escape Dumbledore. And more than anything, escape that terrifying girl who had driven even the Dark Lord away.
"Where do you think you're going, Professor Quirrell?"
A cold voice cut through the mist and fell directly over his head.
Quirrell froze at once.
Like a chicken seized by the throat, he lifted his head in jerking, panicked motions.
Then he saw her.
The figure that had haunted his nightmares was standing over him, looking down without the slightest trace of pity.
Under the moonlight, Tamara's pale, delicate face looked especially eerie. Her black eyes held none of the warmth that belonged to a child.
"No... no... please don't kill me..."
Quirrell trembled as he begged, rolling in the mud and scrambling backward on all fours.
"I don't know anything... I didn't see anything... please..."
"Shut up."
Tamara spoke softly.
Just those two words were enough to silence him at once.
The instinct to obey a superior, etched deep into his soul, stopped him from making another sound.
Tamara looked down at the wreck before her.
He was a coward and a waste, but under the current circumstances, an adult wizard with some foundation in the Dark Arts still had value.
Especially now that he was effectively a dead man.
To the Ministry of Magic and to Dumbledore alike, Quirrell was missing, perhaps dead. That made him the perfect subordinate.
"It seems that when that old thing left, he didn't bother taking his loyal dog with him."
A mocking curve touched Tamara's lips.
"He abandoned you, Quirrell."
Quirrell's eyes dimmed.
It was true.
He had sacrificed everything for his master, even his body and soul, only to be discarded like rubbish and left behind to die.
"But I am different."
Tamara drew a crystal vial from beneath her cloak.
Inside sloshed a red liquid, a powerful Blood Replenishing Potion she had quietly lifted from Madam Pomfrey.
She tossed it carelessly.
The vial traced a neat arc through the air and landed precisely beside Quirrell's mud caked hand.
"Drink it."
Quirrell stared blankly.
He looked at the potion, then back up at Tamara.
"This is..."
"Poison," Tamara said coldly. "It will help you die faster."
Quirrell's fingers twitched.
But when he saw the glint in her eyes, something clicked. He understood immediately.
He bit out the stopper and tilted his head back, swallowing the potion in one desperate gulp.
Warmth exploded in his stomach at once. Sensation returned to his frozen limbs, and the dreadful dizziness of approaching death eased noticeably.
It was a Blood Replenishing Potion.
A high quality one.
Quirrell collapsed into the mud again, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the filth.
"Why save me...?" he asked hoarsely.
"Because you are useful."
Tamara's answer was blunt.
"I want you to be my dog, Quirrell."
"Since your old master doesn't want you anymore, then change masters."
Tamara stepped forward and lifted his chin with the tip of her holly wand, forcing him to meet her gaze.
"I can give you protection. I can give you power. I can even give you a chance for revenge."
Quirrell stared into those dark eyes.
Within them, he saw a will deeper and purer than the remnant soul that had once clung to the back of his head.
He was a weak man. He needed the strong in order to survive.
And now, a stronger power stood directly before him.
"I... I am willing..."
Quirrell lowered his head with a trembling body and kissed the muddy tip of Tamara's shoe.
"Master..."
"Very good."
Tamara withdrew her wand and flicked away nonexistent dust with visible distaste.
"Now listen carefully."
"You cannot remain in Britain. Dumbledore will start searching this area very soon."
"I want you to go to Albania."
At the mention of that place, Quirrell flinched.
That was where he had met Lord Voldemort, where every one of his nightmares had truly begun.
"There is a dark forest there," Tamara said, her voice dropping low.
"Deep within it is a hidden camp. A man named Peritus is guarding a dragon for me there, along with a group of followers waiting for my summons."
"Go there. Find Peritus."
"Tell them a new era is coming."
"And..."
A cold light flashed across her eyes.
"That escaped main soul, that useless parasite, will almost certainly return there and linger around."
"I want you to watch him for me."
"If he tries to control my dragon, or so much as lay a finger on my camp..."
"Drive him away without mercy. Do not let him get anywhere near that place."
Quirrell's eyes widened.
Drive away his former master?
"But... I cannot defeat him..."
"Right now he is nothing but a weak wandering soul. He could hardly beat a mouse," Tamara sneered.
"If you can't even handle that, then you may as well die now."
Quirrell's body trembled violently.
He remembered the past year, remembered life as a parasite, a life worse than death. He remembered how easily the main soul had abandoned him at the final moment.
That poisonous resentment, the bitterness of betrayal, slowly began to drown out his fear.
He had already died once.
"I understand..."
Quirrell raised his head. In his murky eyes, something fierce had begun to burn.
He clenched his robes so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"If he dares to appear... I will make him regret what he did to me."
"I will tear him apart for you."
Tamara watched the hatred take root in his face, and was satisfied.
This was a useful tool.
She stooped and picked up a smooth black pebble from the rubble by the lake.
With no extra flourish, she simply tapped the stone once with her holly wand.
A grating, twisting sound followed.
The hard pebble softened and stretched like wax near a flame. In an instant, it had transformed into a black badge.
Carved on its surface was a dreadful emblem, a slender serpent emerging from the mouth of a skull.
The Dark Mark.
"Take it. They will know you are my messenger."
Tamara tossed the badge into Quirrell's arms.
"Go, Quirrell."
She turned away, her black cloak snapping in the wind.
"Do not disappoint me."
"Otherwise, next time, I really will feed you to the Giant Squid."
Quirrell clutched the badge and the empty potion vial to his chest as though they were sacred relics.
Then he scrambled upright from the mud and bowed deeply in the direction Tamara had gone.
After that, he turned and disappeared into the deeper dark.
Tamara's mood was excellent.
Quirrell had been dealt with, a future piece had been placed on the board, and tonight's operation had turned out nearly perfect.
She reached up and adjusted her hood. Her cloak billowed elegantly in the night breeze as she prepared to return to the castle with the air of someone whose deeds would remain hidden.
Then, just as she stepped out of the mist by the Black Lake and passed a huge rock, she heard it.
"Pfft..."
A suppressed snicker.
Still audible.
Tamara stopped dead. Her hand shot instantly to the wand in her sleeve, and her gaze turned sharp as a blade.
"Who's there?"
"Oops, we've been found, George."
"Looks that way, Fred. Seems our Concealment Charm still needs work."
Two identical red heads popped out from behind the rock.
The Weasley twins.
They had clearly snuck out for a midnight stroll of their own and were now staring at her with expressions that suggested they were only just managing not to laugh outright.
Tamara's heart sank. Killing intent rose at once.
What had they seen?
Quirrell? The Dark Mark? Her instructions? Her plans?
If it was any of that, then perhaps she truly would have to turn the twins into two floating corpses in the lake.
Then Fred spoke.
"Don't be nervous, our first year great hero."
He hopped out from behind the rock and made an exaggerated gesture worthy of a stage actor.
"We were just passing by. Never thought we'd be lucky enough to witness the Slytherin Queen's... midnight monologue."
"Monologue?" Tamara repeated.
"Yes," George said as he stepped out too.
He struck a dramatic pose, copied Tamara's earlier manner, and stretched one hand toward the empty lake.
"'Go. Don't disappoint me. Otherwise I'll feed you to the Giant Squid...'"
When he finished, he turned to Fred and lowered his voice theatrically.
"Brilliant stuff. Feels like it came straight out of The Curse of the Vampire Count."
"And the turn!" Fred spun in place, making his robes flare. "That little flick of the cloak. Gorgeous. You must have practised in front of a mirror all week."
Tamara: "..."
She stood there in silence.
Then she slowly glanced behind her.
Because of the angle and the thick mist, Quirrell's muddy figure had been completely hidden by the rocks. He had crawled off without making a sound.
So from the twins' perspective, all they had just seen was this:
Tamara standing alone by the lake at midnight, talking to empty air in an overbearing voice and throwing around lines like be my dog and don't disappoint me, followed by a dramatic cloak flourish.
"..."
A cheerful throb started in Tamara's temple.
Wonderful.
Her secret was safe.
But somehow, in exchange, her dignity as the Dark Lord had just been crushed from an entirely different direction.
"You... idiots."
She bit the words out, her face shifting through several shades of white and green.
"That was... a rehearsal for Drama Club."
The excuse came out through her teeth.
"Oh, a rehearsal!"
Fred and George exchanged a glance so offensively understanding that they became almost punchable.
"Of course it was," George said, grinning. "After all, who talks to the Giant Squid in the middle of the night unless she's campaigning to become Queen of the Black Lake?"
"Or maybe all the hero business has been getting to her," Fred added. "Too much pressure. Needs somewhere to put all that dark and brooding soul."
They both broke at once.
"Hahahahahaha!"
"Shut up!"
Tamara snapped, humiliated beyond belief.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
A red flash shot from her wand.
"Blimey, she's angry. Run!"
The twins sprang away like monkeys, dodging the curse while sprinting toward the castle. Even as they ran, they kept looking back and shouting over their shoulders.
"Don't be mad, Your Majesty. Your acting really is excellent!"
"We'll be looking forward to your performance at the end of term feast! Hahahaha!"
Tamara stood where she was long after the red haired figures had vanished into the night.
Then she drew two slow breaths.
Her cheeks were burning. Her pulse was hammering with a heat that felt almost unfamiliar.
Shame.
Anger.
The emotions spread through this young body like wildfire, clawing at her composure and trying to seize hold of her reason.
But this was wrong.
This was not her.
Tamara closed her eyes slowly and built an Occlumency barrier inside her mind, layer by layer.
She was Lord Voldemort.
The master who had transcended death.
This body was perfect, more perfect even than the one she had possessed in the past. It had abundant vitality, sharp senses, and all those unnecessary mortal emotions.
For the Dark Lord, those things were impurities.
Weak comforts.
Trivial clutter.
She would not lose her composure over an insult.
A few seconds later, she opened her eyes again.
The disturbance in them had vanished.
In its place was only stillness.
Complete stillness.
She did not need the feeling of being vividly alive.
She needed coldness.
She needed control.
"Drama Club rehearsal, is it?"
Tamara drew her wand back and gave a faint inward sneer.
Fine.
At the very least, those two idiots had stumbled onto the perfect excuse for what they had just seen. That saved her the trouble of having to erase their memories.
"Count yourselves lucky, Weasleys."
She smoothed her hair back into place, turned toward the castle, and walked away.
"I'm in a good mood tonight."
"I don't feel like killing."
.....
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