"Alright, no dessert." Goyle shrugged, scooping a large spoonful of chocolate sponge cake for himself. "You really don't know how to enjoy life. This is a House-elf's specialty."
Finally, the last bit of dessert vanished from the golden plates.
Tamara let out a sigh of relief. She swore she didn't want to see any more food for the next three days... no, a whole week.
Just then, Dumbledore stood up again from the head table. The buzzing chatter in the Great Hall instantly died down.
"Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention."
Dumbledore's gaze swept across the long tables, seeming to linger for a fleeting moment as it passed over the Slytherin side.
"I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes swept toward the Weasley Twins at the Gryffindor table.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."
"Finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
"A very painful death?" Harry muttered quietly at the Gryffindor table. "Is he serious?"
"He's a madman, who knows?" Ron mumbled, his mouth still half-full of an uneaten pie.
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Tamara merely curled her lips in a scornful smirk.
The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side.
That's where the Philosopher's Stone was hidden.
She knew perfectly well who had put it there, and for whose benefit.
"A very painful death..." Tamara sneered inwardly. "That's just a phrase for the weak."
Although her current body was pathetically weak, it didn't stop her from mentally scorning Dumbledore's warning.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.
Tamara's face instantly changed color.
If there was anything more unbearable than being stuffed with food, it was singing that utterly unrhythmic, unaesthetic, and childishly appalling school song amidst a crowd of fools.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words like a snake.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore. "And off we go!"
The entire school bellowed the song.
Tamara sat there, lips tightly shut, expressionless, as if by not opening her mouth, she could avoid this collective mental pollution.
However.
[Ding! Collective activity detected.]
[Virtue Quest triggered: Integrate with the Group.]
[Quest Description: The school song is a symbol of Hogwarts' spirit. How can a good student who loves the school not sing along?]
[Quest Requirement: Sing out loud! Even just a single syllable!]
[Failure Penalty: Randomly play a recording of the host humming in the shower at the orphanage.]
"You wouldn't dare?!"
Tamara nearly crushed the goblet in her hand.
This damn system even had recordings?!
Tamara took a deep breath, feeling her dignity crumbling bit by bit.
She opened her mouth, moving her lips with extreme reluctance, her voice barely louder than a mosquito's:
"...Hogwarts, Hogwarts..."
Although her voice was so soft even Malfoy beside her couldn't hear it, the system barely judged her as having participated.
The song finally ended, everyone finishing the torturous tune in a ragged, disjointed chorus.
"Ah, music," Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Slytherin first-years stood up, following their prefect, Gemma Farley.
Just as Tamara was about to leave her seat, a wave of icy cold suddenly swept over her from behind.
The temperature in the previously lively Great Hall plummeted.
Several silvery, pearly-white figures glided through the walls—the ghosts of the various houses.
And at the end of the Slytherin table, a terrifying figure slowly drifted forward.
He was gaunt and spectral, his robes stained with silvery bloodstains. His empty, vacant eyes stared fixedly ahead, and heavy chains were wrapped around him, clinking and clanking.
The Bloody Baron.
Slytherin's resident ghost, and the most feared presence in all of Hogwarts, aside from Peeves.
Even Malfoy flinched and shrank back behind Tamara as he saw him drifting over.
"Merlin, I don't like him," Draco whispered. "Look at the blood on him... is it real?"
The Baron stared straight ahead, drifting directly through a few Hufflepuff first-years, who screamed and scrambled out of the way.
He floated to the front of the Slytherin first-year line.
prefect Gemma Farley gave a nervous bow. "Good evening, Baron."
The Baron ignored the prefect.
His dead-fish eyes swept across the crowd, finally settling on the black-haired girl in dark green robes with a cold expression.
Tamara Riddle.
Fifty years ago, when this name still belonged to a handsome boy, the Baron had seen him.
He had seen that boy wandering late at night, seen him open the Chamber of Secrets that even ghosts feared, and sensed the pure serpentine aura that only a true descendant of Slytherin could possess.
Tamara stood there, not showing fear like the other first-years.
She lifted her chin slightly, a flash of red light vanishing in her dark pupils.
She was releasing a pressure, perceptible only to spirits and serpents, at a Parseltongue frequency.
The Baron slowly drifted to stand before Tamara.
The surrounding first-years held their breath, terrified the dreadful ghost might suddenly go berserk.
The Baron stopped a step away from Tamara.
He stared at Tamara for a long time, as if confirming the soul beneath this little girl's shell.
"...Ancient blood."
The Baron spoke in a hoarse voice, his first words of the night, sounding like two tombstones grinding together.
"...Still flows."
He didn't expose her identity. He merely acknowledged her legitimacy here.
Having said that, the Baron stood like a silent statue by the path, waiting for Tamara to pass first.
The entire Slytherin first-year line fell into a deathly silence.
Even the prefect's mouth hung open, her expression one of utter disbelief.
The Baron usually wouldn't even necessarily yield the path to Dumbledore!
"My goodness..."
Pansy Parkinson covered her mouth, eyes wide. "The Baron... is yielding the way to her?"
Draco Malfoy was utterly dumbfounded.
"Ta... Tamara?" Draco stammered. "Do you know him?"
Tamara smoothed the sleeve Draco had crumpled, showing not a hint of being flattered, as if all this were only natural.
[System Notification: Detection of reverence from an ancient spirit.]
[Evaluation: It seems in Slytherin, some things are more effective than virtue—like bloodline supremacy.]
Tamara snorted inwardly, then turned to Draco, a mysterious smile curling at the corner of her lips.
"In this world, some rules transcend life and death, Draco."
She said softly, her voice unusually clear in the silent corridor.
"When your bloodline is pure enough, when your power is strong enough..."
She glanced at the Baron silently floating nearby.
"...even the dead will yield the path to you."
With that, she took the lead, striding toward the direction of the dungeons.
At that moment.
Tamara Riddle, this first-year on her very first day.
Though she hadn't used any magic yet, she had already planted a seed of awe in Slytherin with this inexplicable aura of mystery.
"So cool."
The boy named Blaise Zabini whistled. "I like her."
"Shut up, Zabini." Draco snapped out of his daze and hurried to catch up.
"She's my friend! I noticed she was special ages ago!"