Early mornings in the Hogwarts dungeons weren't as sunny as those in the towers.
Through the green curtains and windows, one could only see the dim, murky light from the depths of the Black Lake, along with the occasional giant shadow swimming by.
For most people, this might be a bit depressing. But for a soul accustomed to lurking in the darkness, this sense of claustrophobia brought a strange sense of security instead.
Tamara Riddle woke up to the sound of a noisy argument.
She opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was that stupid cat named Nagini. It was lying on her chest, its big furry face pressed right against Tamara's nose, its warm breath carrying the smell of the dried fish it had stolen last night.
"Get down."
Tamara pushed the heavy black mass away expressionlessly and sat up.
A shrill female voice came from outside the bed curtains.
"Out of the way, Bulstrode! Your back is as wide as a Troll's, it's blocking the entire mirror!"
It was Pansy Parkinson's voice.
This was followed by a low, almost crude grunt, as if someone had been shoved.
"I... I was just combing my hair."
The speaker was Millicent Bulstrode.
She was large-framed with a square jaw, and her features were certainly not delicate—one might even say they were quite rugged.
In the circle of Slytherin girls, where elegance, pure-blood status, and nobility were the standards, she was clearly at the bottom of the food chain.
"Combing your hair? With a rake?" Pansy let out a piercing laugh. "Don't bother, Millicent. Some things are innate. Even if you poured a whole bottle of shampoo on your head, it wouldn't change the fact that you look like an unevolved..."
The other two girls, Daphne and Tracy, sat nearby watching, neither joining in nor stopping it.
This was very Slytherin.
Survival of the fittest, winner takes all.
If it were the Voldemort of his past life, he would probably have ignored this, or even felt that Pansy was right—the weak should be trampled underfoot.
But the current Tamara Riddle had a different plan.
She pulled back the green velvet curtains and stepped onto the carpet with bare feet.
The arguing stopped abruptly.
Several girls turned their heads at the same time, looking at Tamara as she stepped out from behind the curtains.
She was wearing a black silk nightgown, her long hair draped loosely over her shoulders. Although she had just woken up and her face even carried a hint of laziness, that naturally-born aura of a superior caused the air in the dormitory to instantly fall silent.
"Good morning, everyone."
Tamara's voice was a bit raspy, yet still elegant.
She walked slowly to the dressing table. Pansy Parkinson subconsciously took a step back, giving up the prime spot she had been fighting for.
"G-good morning, Tamara." Pansy adjusted her nightgown a bit guiltily.
Tamara didn't look at herself in the mirror, but instead turned around, her gaze falling on Millicent in the corner.
The tall, sturdy girl was currently like a wounded bear, her head lowered, her hand tightly clutching a comb with broken teeth. Her face was flushed red, and her eyes were brimming with tears.
"Lift your head up, Millicent."
Tamara commanded softly.
Millicent trembled and hesitantly raised her head, her square face filled with low self-esteem and unease.
Indeed, her hair was tangled like wild grass, and her teeth protruded slightly, making her look not particularly bright.
"Did Pansy's words upset you?" Tamara asked.
Millicent bit her lip, not daring to speak, and simply nodded.
Tamara turned her head to look at Pansy.
Pansy immediately straightened her back, trying to defend herself: "She was being too slow! And she really is..."
"That isn't wise, Pansy."
Tamara interrupted her, her tone calm, as if discussing today's weather rather than reprimanding someone.
She walked up to Pansy and reached out a hand, gently straightening Pansy's collar. This intimate gesture made Pansy feel flattered, and her face suddenly turned red.
"As a young lady of the Parkinson Family, your aesthetics and taste are beyond doubt."
"However, the act of elevating yourself by belittling others is cheap."
Tamara's voice was soft, yet it carried a logical power that was impossible to refute.
"On the contrary, if the people standing beside you look terrible, it only lowers your own grade and makes outsiders think Slytherin has no one capable to use."
Pansy was stunned.
She had originally thought Tamara would give her a lecture or simply ignore it all.
But Tamara's words gave her a whole new perspective—yes, if she was always living with a Troll, what did that make her?