Chapter 143: Not All Good Things
Tamara's voice was calm, but it carried a trace of almost imperceptible coldness.
Madam Pomfrey was startled. She followed Tamara's gaze, then let out a heavy sigh, grief and regret appearing on her face.
"It's Miss Granger... and a Ravenclaw prefect."
"They were just found near the library."
Madam Pomfrey shook her head, her voice heavy, as though a stone were pressing down on it.
"Two petrifications... and this time it is more severe than before. That poor child, still holding..."
Tamara did not wait for the rest.
She walked straight over.
"Hey! Riddle! You can't. That's for serious cases!"
Madam Pomfrey tried to stop her.
But the chilling aura that suddenly emanated from Tamara, that oppressive presence of someone long accustomed to command, made even the experienced matron subconsciously close her mouth and instinctively step aside.
Tamara walked to the bedside and pulled back the curtain.
Whoosh.
The sunlight was blocked, leaving only a deathly shadow over the bed.
Lying there was Hermione Granger.
But at this moment, she was no longer Miss Know It All, the girl who always raised her hand to answer questions and was even a little annoying.
She was frozen in a stiff posture, like a finely carved marble statue.
Her face still held a look of terror, and her brown eyes, once full of curiosity, were wide open but had lost all focus. Only a deathly grey white remained.
She was still clutching a small mirror tightly in her hand.
Evidently, at the final moment, she had realised something. With her extraordinary Wisdom, she had tried to use the mirror to observe the monster, avoiding a direct gaze at death.
Clever.
Truly clever.
As expected of someone she valued...
Wait.
Tamara looked at that stiff face, at those eyes that were no longer lively.
Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
No so called sadness welled up in her chest, nor that nauseating sympathy.
Only a strange sense of discomfort.
It was like a quill writing a perfect chapter suddenly snapping at the tip, or like a dead toad being thrown into a perfectly brewed potion.
That slight discomfort, which could not even be called pain, was like a thorn stuck in her otherwise smooth thoughts. It was impossible to ignore.
"What's going on?"
Sensing the abnormality, Tamara coldly questioned herself in her mind.
She was annoyed.
It was the gloomy annoyance caused by disrupted plans and broken order.
Why?
Logically, even if this Mudblood died, it would not mean much to her.
In her previous life, to achieve her goals, the bodies of those she had killed directly or indirectly could have filled the entire Black Lake.
Even Death Eaters, if they failed and died during a mission, would only earn her cold step over their corpses and a curse of useless trash.
She had never cared about the lives of her subordinates.
This Mudblood, Hermione Granger, was nothing more than a slightly more useful tool.
If a tool broke, it broke.
There were plenty of intelligent people in the world. If one broke, she could simply find another.
So why was she feeling this strange emotion?
"Is it this body?"
Tamara looked at her pale fingers, trying to dissect this seemingly unnecessary emotion with absolute rationality.
"Is the lingering weakness of this twelve year old girl's body acting up? Or is that damned system trying to pollute me with cheap friendship?"
No.
That was not right.
Those were excuses for the weak.
As her thoughts settled, Tamara finally peeled away the layer of gloom and found the core reason beneath it.
Waste.
This was not just an ordinary student.
This was an asset she had invested in.
A pawn she had patiently polished, adjusted, and even condescended to communicate with for the sake of her future plans.
She had only just taught this Mudblood how to think using Ancient Runes. She had only just begun to feel that this tool had become slightly easier to use.
Now, someone had disrupted her original plan without her permission.
This was a tremendous waste.
More importantly, it was an offence against the Dark Lord.
Just like the trophies she had hidden in the wardrobe at the orphanage when she was a child.
Just like Nagini.
Just like that diary.
Just like the Elder Wand.
No one but her could decide the life, death, or ownership of these things.
"Truly clueless about the rules..."
Tamara sneered and was about to turn away.
Just then, hurried, chaotic footsteps broke the dead silence of the hospital wing.
"This way, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley."
Professor McGonagall's face looked terrible as she led two equally distraught boys inside.
She looked at the three silent children in front of the bed.
On her usually serious and tense face, there appeared a rare trace of reluctance and deep exhaustion.
As Deputy Headmistress, she understood better than most what this attack meant, and she understood just as clearly how these children felt at this moment.
"I think... you need some time to take in this news."
Professor McGonagall sighed softly and, somewhat stiffly, patted Ron's trembling shoulder.
Then she turned to the busy Madam Pomfrey, lowering her voice with a hint of pleading.
"Poppy, shall we go outside and discuss the next defensive arrangements? Professor Dumbledore is still waiting for my report."
"Give them ten minutes... just ten minutes."
Madam Pomfrey stopped her work and looked worriedly at the children, each with their own expression. Finally, she nodded.
"All right, Minerva."
As the heavy wooden door of the matron's office closed, the spacious ward was left with only heavy breathing and the rustling of leaves outside the window as they were whipped by the strong wind.
The oppressive sadness in the air settled completely, turning into a more naked confrontation.
Tamara slowly turned around, her dark eyes coldly sweeping over the intruders.
Harry and Ron looked as though they had just walked out of a nightmare.
Their robes were still stained with grass from the Quidditch pitch, but their faces held no trace of the excitement of the game. There was only immense panic and bewilderment.
"Hermione!"
Ron gasped when he saw the petrified girl on the bed. He rushed forward, unable to believe the scene before him.
Tamara let out a contemptuous sneer in her heart.
Useless Gryffindors, indeed.
What else could they do besides stand there shocked and dumbfounded?
Her gaze shifted to Harry Potter beside him.
The famous saviour was staring intently at Hermione's stiff face.
His emerald green eyes were filled with shock and pain, and his hands hung at his sides, clenched tightly into fists. They were even trembling slightly from the force.
Tamara was already prepared to mock this scene in her mind.
Look. Was this the person who had defeated the Dark Lord?
Was this the star of salvation on whom Dumbledore placed such high hopes?
Facing a fallen companion, he could only stand there at a loss, like a headless chicken.
"So useless..."
Tamara shook her head inwardly, her eyes almost overflowing with disdain.
Since this place was already filled with these weak emotions, there was no need for her to stay any longer.
Anyway, she already knew who the culprit was.
Next, it would be her hunting time alone.
Tamara retracted her gaze, adjusted her cuff, and prepared to walk past the two troublesome boys and leave.
However, the moment she passed Harry, a hand suddenly reached out and firmly gripped her arm.
The grip was so tight that Tamara even felt a slight, offended pain.
Tamara stopped, her eyes instantly turning cold.
"Let go."
She turned her head, her voice carrying an undisguised warning.
But Harry did not let go.
On the contrary, he gripped even tighter.
He suddenly looked up, his green eyes meeting Tamara's dark abyss directly.
There was no weakness there as Tamara had expected, nor that annoying whimpering.
Harry's eyes held only a stubborn urgency, like a child desperate not to be left at home by adults, trying to prove that he had grown up.
"You want to go alone, don't you?"
Harry's voice was hoarse and quick, somewhat incoherent due to his nervousness.
"I can tell... Tamara, your eyes have changed."
"Just like before... you're going to solve everything by yourself again."
Tamara paused slightly, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
This saviour's intuition was annoyingly sharp.
"What's it to you?"
Tamara tried to shake off his hand, a mocking curve forming on her lips.
"I don't need you to tell me what to do. Get out of the way."
"No."
Harry retorted in a low voice.
"I'm not... I don't want to just watch!"
He stared intently at Tamara, his tone filled with desperate stubbornness.
"I know you think we're weak, that we'll hold you back... but I can help too!"
"I have the Invisibility Cloak! I can go places the professors can't! And... and I can understand the monster's voice. I think that voice must be connected to these attacks!"
Harry eagerly listed his bargaining chips, his eyes full of pleading.
"Take me with you, Tamara."
"Hermione is my friend too. I can't just wait here... whatever you're going to do, at least let me... and Ron come with you!"
Tamara looked at the saviour, who was sweating from urgency.
She was silent for two seconds.
Then, as if she had heard a funny joke, she let out a short, cold scoff.
"Heh."
She reached out and pried Harry's fingers, one by one, from her sleeve.
"Are you misunderstanding something, Potter?"
Tamara looked down at him, her eyes full of mockery.
"Revenge? For this Miss Know It All?"
She glanced at the stiff Hermione on the bed, her tone contemptuous, as if the person who had just looked ready to kill was not her.
"Which eye of yours saw me wanting to avenge her?"
"I simply think the air here is too foul, and I want to go back to sleep."
"Put away your unnecessary heroism."
Tamara patted nonexistent dust from her sleeve and finally gave Harry a cold look.
"And don't think too highly of yourself."
"In the face of true power, your so called advantages are nothing but child's play."
With that, she did not look at Harry again. She turned and strode out of the hospital wing.
Only a resolute and cold back remained.
Harry froze in place, still holding the posture of being pushed away, his fingers hanging limply at his sides.
"I told you so."
Ron, who had been standing behind him, afraid to speak, finally came forward.
He sniffled, his voice thick with a nasal tone and dejection.
"Don't count on her, Harry. She's a Slytherin. She's Tamara Riddle."
Ron looked in the direction where Tamara had disappeared, speaking with a mixture of fear and indignation.
"She doesn't care whether Hermione lives or dies. Even if their relationship usually seemed decent, in the eyes of someone like her, perhaps... perhaps it's no different from losing a pet dog."
"No."
Harry abruptly shook his head.
He stared intently at the empty doorway, his green eyes shimmering with an almost intuitive certainty.
"She cares."
"I saw it... the way she looked at Hermione just now."
Harry was very familiar with that look.
It was what he occasionally saw in his own eyes when he looked in a mirror.
The anger of having something taken away.
"She just... doesn't want to take us."
Harry clenched his fists, his voice low and suppressed.
"She thinks we're too weak, that we're a burden, and that if we went with her, we'd only cause trouble."
Ron opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to retort, but in the end, he only lowered his head in dejection.
"Then... what do we do now?"
Ron looked at Hermione on the bed, asking helplessly, "If even Tamara isn't willing to take us..."
Harry turned around.
He looked at the small mirror clutched in Hermione's hand and took a deep breath.
"Then we'll investigate ourselves..."
Harry's eyes gradually became resolute. It was the Courage of Gryffindor gathering once more.
"To prove we're not a burden."
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