Chapter 123: Losing His Cool
Ever since that absurd confession, Ginny Weasley seemed to have become a different person.
She no longer trembled like a frightened quail. Instead, she had grown much sunnier and more cheerful, to the point that she would even greet Tamara openly in the corridors.
Tamara sat at the Slytherin table, her gaze discreetly sweeping across the Gryffindor table.
To others, this change might have looked like a young girl finally stepping out of the shadows.
But in the eyes of Tamara, who was deeply versed in the Dark Arts, it meant something else.
Ginny was gradually breaking free from the diary's control.
That little red haired girl seemed to have truly replaced the kind older brother Tom with the powerful and gentle Sister Tamara in reality.
Her dependence on the diary was weakening. She had even begun to stop confiding her secrets to it.
For the soul fragment inside the diary, this was a fatal blow.
Without a constant flow of confessions and emotional investment, he could not absorb enough life force to resurrect.
The time had come.
Tamara set down her silver cutlery and lightly dabbed at the corners of her mouth.
The current Ginny held a nearly blind admiration and trust toward her. As long as Tamara used a little verbal persuasion, the girl would certainly hand over that ragged diary obediently.
Just as Tamara was plotting how to continue her deception, Ginny suddenly put down her pumpkin juice.
Her face turned pale in an instant. Her eyes dazed for a moment, and then she stood somewhat stiffly, not even greeting Ron beside her before staggering out of the Great Hall.
Tamara's eyes narrowed slightly.
Without the slightest hesitation, she stood and followed.
...
A cold draft permeated the second floor corridor.
Tamara followed Ginny at a moderate distance.
The figure ahead walked very slowly, her footsteps sluggish.
It was only when she reached the entrance of the perpetually flooded girls' bathroom on the second floor that Ginny suddenly stopped.
"Come out."
A cold, raspy teenage voice that sent shivers down the spine emerged from the throat of that girl of twelve.
Tamara raised an eyebrow.
She showed no panic at being discovered. Instead, she stepped calmly out of the shadows, arms crossed, her posture as relaxed as if she were strolling through her own back garden.
"Miss Weasley, as your... object of admiration."
Tamara deliberately emphasized the last few words, her tone playful. "I find it necessary to remind you that if you want to use the bathroom, you would be better off avoiding that crybaby Myrtle."
Ginny, or rather, Tom Riddle, slowly turned around.
Those eyes, originally warm brown, had become dead and hollow, burning with twisted malice.
"You again."
Controlling Ginny's body, Tom stared fixedly at Tamara.
During this time, he had been forced to watch one live text broadcast after another in the diary about how perfect Sister Tamara was.
To Tom, who desperately needed life force to resurrect, the admiration overflowing from Ginny's words was like someone snatching meat from his plate.
What made him even more uneasy was that the girl before him, this Tamara, always carried an aura that felt familiar yet threatening.
It was the aura of one of his own kind.
No, perhaps it was even more powerful than his own.
That unknown presence, beyond his control, instantly triggered the defense mechanism hidden deep within Tom's soul.
For someone as naturally suspicious and controlling as Tom, when he could not see through an opponent, or even felt suppressed by one, he would never choose to show weakness or caution.
Instead, to cover up the shameful sense of crisis within him, he would instinctively tear away every mask of elegance and completely expose the tyrannical, arrogant nature underneath.
He had to arm himself with the most extreme arrogance, trying to rebuild his illusion of superiority by belittling his opponent.
Controlling Ginny's body, Tom narrowed his eyes slightly and let out a cold snort.
"Interesting magical fluctuations."
He looked Tamara up and down, his gaze not like someone facing an opponent, but like a king scrutinizing a thief who did not understand death.
"Though I don't know which rat hole you crawled out of, I must say, you're quite brave."
Tom's voice suddenly turned cold, dripping with arrogance.
"You actually dare to covet my things right in front of me?"
He took a step forward. Despite using Ginny's young face, he still managed to strike the pose of a king presiding over his realm.
"Did you think playing house with this stupid girl a few times would earn you a share of the spoils?"
"Know your place, filth. In this castle, no one has ever dared defy the great Heir of Slytherin."
Tamara looked as if she had heard the greatest joke in the world.
But soon, the curve of her lips stiffened slightly.
Looking at this sixteen year old boy before her, his chin held higher than the sky and his face filled with inexplicable confidence, an indescribable physical discomfort crawled up Tamara's spine.
[Oh my, host, who hasn't had their days of youthful arrogance?]
The system's cheerful, faintly gloating voice rang out at the perfect time, as though it were watching a classic comedy.
"Shut up."
Tamara took a deep breath and spoke coldly in her mind.
She looked again at her slightly flamboyant past self and spoke with contempt.
"You spent months and couldn't even control a little Gryffindor Troll, even letting her affections shift elsewhere."
"As a memory, your professional competence is simply a disgrace to Slytherin."
"Shut up!"
Tom had been struck in a sore spot, and the arrogant pride of the Dark Lord's youth instantly exploded.
"Since you've delivered yourself to my door, don't blame me for being ruthless. It just so happens that your life force smells much more delicious than that stupid girl's!"
Before he had even finished speaking, Ginny's wrist flicked sharply.
The wand belonging to a Weasley, although somewhat old, was made of yew, the same wood as the wand Lord Voldemort had lost long ago.
Driven by Tom Riddle's soul, this wand symbolizing death and rebirth seemed to have met its true master. A bone chilling silver light instantly flashed from its tip.
"Diffindo!"
The strike went straight for Tamara's throat.
Although this was merely a spell used for cutting fabric in Hogwarts textbooks, in the hands of the Dark Lord, it became an invisible blade capable of killing.
Tamara did not even draw her wand.
She simply tilted her body slightly. It was an anticipation etched into her bones through countless duels where death had been only a breath away.
The silver light flew past her hair and exploded into sparks against the wall.
"Too crude."
Tamara commented coldly, her tone carrying the composure of a mentor instructing a junior.
"The killing intent is there, and it is indeed on my level. I won't deny that."
She looked at her enraged self as if looking at a flawed piece of art, then shook her head.
"But your wrist movement is too large, and the wind up is too long."
"This is a low level mistake only my sixteen year old self would make. Astonishing talent, but no idea how to use it properly."
"You're asking for death!"
Tom was completely enraged.
Controlling Ginny's small body, he charged forward like a nimble leopard, his wand moving so fast it seemed to leave no gaps.
Although Ginny's magic was pitifully weak, the one controlling this body was, after all, the younger version of Lord Voldemort.
His spell casting technique was still ruthless. Every curse was aimed directly at a vital point.
Tamara drew her wand.
Logically, facing an attack of this level, she only needed one Expelliarmus to end the battle.
But in that instant, the muscle memory belonging to the Dark Lord reacted faster than her reason.
In Lord Voldemort's dictionary, there had never been a tepid option such as disarming when dealing with an arrogant copy of himself.
Only torture.
Only the Cruciatus Curse.
Her first instinct was to drink the Basic Mana Potion and use a Cruciatus Curse to teach this copy a lesson, to let him understand what true hell meant.
Almost instinctively, a surge of cold dark magic rushed to the tip of her wand. The incantation symbolizing ultimate pain was already on the tip of her tongue.
But in the next second, that damned system in her mind let out a piercing alarm.
[Warning! Warning! Detected host's intent to use prohibited items to cast Unforgivable Curses!]
[The current scene prohibits the use of Dark Arts on classmates! Please stop this dangerous behavior immediately!]
Tamara's movements froze.
Not only because of the system's warning, but because she suddenly came back to her senses.
To waste a precious bottle of magic potion just to deal with a defective sixteen year old product?
It would indeed be satisfying, but it was unnecessary.
Tamara took a deep breath and forcibly retracted the surging dark magic.
Since she could not use dark magic, she would use the most basic, brainless spell.
Facing another Jinx from Tom, Tamara raised her hand with a look of annoyance, as though she were not casting a spell, but throwing away a bag of rubbish.
"Expelliarmus!"
A brilliant red light erupted instantly from the tip of her wand, accurately colliding with Tom's spell.
Boom!
The two magical forces exploded in midair.
Although it was only a basic Disarming Charm, with the support of Tamara's massive magic, the power it displayed was simply not something a second year student could produce.
Tom felt a shock tear through the web of his thumb. His originally lethal strike was actually forced back by this rubbish spell.
"Expelliarmus?"
Tom let out a piercing laugh, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world. "You're actually using such a weak spell?"
"Just how afraid are you of hurting this body?"
Tamara ignored his mockery. She looked at the tip of her wand, a flash of distaste in her eyes.
Being reduced to using such a spell in battle was indeed a stain on the Dark Lord's career.
"You don't even dare to use a decent bit of dark magic. It seems you're nothing but a bluffing waste!"
While mocking her, Tom waved his wand, shattering a nearby vase and using the flying shards to block Tamara's movements.
A flash of violence appeared in Tamara's eyes.
Mocking Lord Voldemort for not knowing dark magic?
Good.
Very good.
"To deal with a defective product like you, I don't need dark magic at all."
Just as Tom was preparing his next spell, Tamara suddenly waved her wand at the floor beneath his feet.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
It was not aimed at the person, but at the hem of Ginny's robes.
The spell did not strike Ginny's legs. Instead, it bound her robes firmly together.
Tom, who was moving at high speed, had no time to react. The sudden restriction tripped him, and his body stumbled.
In that brief moment of lost balance, Tamara's wand was already pointed at the heavy suit of armour standing in the corridor.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Accompanied by Tamara's cold incantation, the iron helmet weighing dozens of pounds whistled through the air like a cannonball, accurately smashing toward the hand Tom used to hold his wand.
Bang!
A dull thud rang out.
Although Tom desperately tilted his head to avoid being struck in the skull, the helmet still slammed hard into Ginny's shoulder.
The intense pain caused the body of the girl of twelve to instantly lose balance. She fell heavily to the ground, and the wand slipped out of her hand.
The victory was decided.
Tamara walked step by step to Ginny, who lay on the ground, and looked down at her dishevelled self.
"Do you see clearly now, you idiot?"
Tamara's voice was calm, without the slightest fluctuation, yet it carried a hopelessly oppressive weight.
"The strength of magic does not lie in how evil the spell is, but in who is using it."
She slowly reached out to take the diary from the pocket of Ginny's robes.
"Now, it is mine."
.....
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