Chapter 13: A Nauseating Performance
Scabbers seemed to sense something terribly wrong. The mangy rat abruptly raised its head, its beady eyes locking directly onto Tamara.
In the next second, the creature let out a high-pitched, terrified shriek. It scrambled frantically, diving headfirst into the depths of Ron's breast pocket. The fabric of the boy's robes trembled violently as the rat shivered inside, refusing to show even a whisker no matter how much it was coaxed.
"What's wrong with him?" Ron patted his lumpy pocket, his freckled face scrunching in bewilderment. "He's usually very brave. Well, lazy, mostly, but never like this."
Tamara slowly raised a hand, pointing a slender finger toward the iron cage resting on the seat beside her. "Perhaps it is because of my cat."
The stupid, useless feline she had mockingly named Nagini was currently draped over the top of the cage. Its oversized yellow eyes were wide as saucers, unblinking, while a thin line of drool pooled on the upholstery, its predatory gaze fixed entirely on Ron's trembling pocket.
"Really?" Ron looked at the sleek black cat with heavy skepticism. He scratched his nose. Cats did eat mice, after all. He decided not to dwell on it further.
A few minutes of silence passed before Ron suddenly jolted upright. He turned to look at Harry, his blue eyes sparkling with unguarded excitement.
"Wait, are you really Harry Potter?"
Harry offered a small, tight nod.
"Then do you really have... that?" Ron pointed a finger toward his own forehead. "That scar?"
Harry swallowed a quiet sigh. He reached up and brushed aside his messy black bangs.
The jagged, lightning-shaped scar was revealed once more in the afternoon light.
Tamara immediately averted her gaze. Her jaw locked tight. She turned her head to stare out the window at the rolling green fields speeding past the glass, forcing herself to think of happy, calming things. Like skinning that fat, dead-looking rat alive. Or throwing it into a boiling cauldron of potion to stew until the flesh melted from its bones.
"Wicked," Ron breathed out in absolute awe.
Harry just gave a stiff, awkward smile. He certainly didn't think the cursed mark on his head was particularly wicked, but Ron seemed like a decent enough fellow, and he was willing to smile along to keep the peace.
"Tamara, don't you want to see this super cool scar on Harry's head?" Ron called out, leaning forward to get the attention of the quiet girl staring out the window.
"Not cool at all."
Tamara did not turn her head. Her reflection in the glass was perfectly still, her voice slicing through the compartment air with icy precision.
"It is a mark left by murder, not some glorious medal."
'It is the ultimate, glaring proof of my own humiliating failure,' she added venomously in her mind.
Ron and Harry exchanged a baffled look. They completely failed to understand the reason behind Tamara's sudden, gloomy shift in mood. It seemed the pretty girl was simply not very fond of Harry's famous scar.
Just as the atmosphere in the small space was thickening into heavy discomfort, the compartment door slid open with a cheerful rattle.
A plump, smiling witch stood in the corridor, pushing a heavy cart piled high with an assortment of colorful snacks.
"Anything off the trolley, dears?"
"No, thanks, I've got food," Ron muttered, his ears turning pink. He held up a squashed, unappetizing package of sandwiches. His mother hadn't given him a single Knut for treats.
Harry stared at the towering cart of food, his eyes slightly wide. He hadn't eaten much of anything all day, and his relatives certainly hadn't packed him a lunch.
"We'll take the lot!" Harry reached into his pocket and produced a heavy handful of gleaming gold Galleons. He spread the coins across the small folding table, declaring his purchase with a sudden, clumsy burst of bravado.
Soon, a literal mountain of magical sweets and snacks piled up on the empty seats. Boxes of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, pentagonal packages of Chocolate Frogs, long bundles of Licorice Wands... their bright, colorful wrappers glittering under the sunlight streaming through the window.
"Want some? You had low blood sugar earlier," Harry said. He awkwardly picked up a Chocolate Frog box and tentatively held it out toward the girl sitting opposite him.
Tamara finally turned her head. Her dark, calculating gaze swept over the packaged frog, then slowly drifted up to Harry's hopeful face.
"Thank you, but I am perfectly fine now," she said. Her voice was entirely devoid of warmth, smooth and hard as polished marble. "Besides, I do not like sweets. They rot your teeth and dull your mind."
Ron, who currently had his cheeks stuffed completely full of crumbly Cauldron Cakes, nearly choked on his mouthful. He coughed, sending a spray of crumbs onto his lap, and mumbled indistinctly, "How boring."
The girl might have a very pretty face, Ron thought, but she seemed completely unsociable, utterly humorless, and altogether rather odd.
In truth, if Tamara actually wanted to, she could effortlessly make every single person in this train carriage adore her.
In her previous life, she had been the brilliant, popular prefect loved by the entire school. Her impeccable manners, her striking appearance, and that innate, terrifying ability to charm could fool absolutely anyone. Anyone except that old fool, Albus Dumbledore.
But the current Tamara had absolutely zero desire to please the two simple-minded idiots sitting in front of her.
She had not yet fully accepted the parasitic system lodged inside her head, nor had she come to terms with this new, frustratingly fragile body that looked so utterly pathetic. This constant, suffocating feeling of being restricted at every single turn instinctively irritated her. It was, in many ways, even more depressing than existing as a miserable, wandering spirit hiding in the forests of Albania.
Just as the silence in the compartment reached its absolute peak of awkwardness, the sliding door was once again yanked open, this time with rude, aggressive force.
Three boys stood blocking the corridor.
The one standing dead center had a pale, sharply pointed face. He wore a trademark, obnoxiously arrogant sneer that seemed permanently etched into his features.
Draco Malfoy.
Flanking him on either side stood two hulking, thick-necked boys who looked as dense as wooden planks. Their expressions were entirely vacant. Crabbe and Goyle.
"So it's true," Malfoy drawled, his pale eyes immediately locking onto Harry. A distinct gleam of a predator finding fresh prey flashed across his face. "Everyone on the train's saying Harry Potter's in this compartment."
He looked Harry up and down, his sneer deepening. "So that's you, is it?"
"Yes," Harry replied warily. He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting between the three imposing newcomers.
"Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," Malfoy said offhandedly, not even bothering to look at his bodyguards. "And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
Ron let out a sudden, poorly disguised snort, quickly turning it into a slight cough to cover his laughter.
Malfoy whirled around, his pale eyes narrowing as he glared at Ron with absolute, undisguised disgust.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
Ron's face turned a violent shade of bright red instantly. He dropped his half-eaten cake, his hands balling into fists so tight his knuckles cracked audibly in the quiet space.
"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter," Malfoy turned his back on Ron entirely, extending a pale hand toward Harry with an air of supreme superiority. "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
Harry looked at the offered hand. He did not move to take it.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," Harry said coldly, his green eyes flashing.
Malfoy's arrogant face fell. A faint, ugly flush crept up his pale cheeks, the distinct, angry blush of public humiliation.
[Ding! Detected bullying behavior between classmates.]
[Triggered emergency mission: Ally of Justice.]
[Mission Description: As a future prefect candidate, you have a duty to maintain unity and friendship among Hogwarts students. Please stop this conflict and protect the weaker party, such as Harry Potter.]
[Mission Reward: Courage +5.]
[Failure Penalty: Random spell confiscation.]
Tamara closed her eyes. A long, exhausted sigh echoed through the dark corridors of her mind.
'Protect Potter?'
That was, without a doubt, the single biggest, most insulting joke in the entire history of the world. The Dark Lord, stepping in to shield the boy who lived from a minor schoolyard spat.
But for the sake of those damned, highly necessary five Courage points, she would swallow her pride and endure the humiliation.
"Mr. Malfoy."
Draco's entire body visibly stiffened. His shoulders jerked upward the moment that familiar, quiet voice reached his ears.
His attention had been so entirely focused on Harry and the red-haired blood traitor that he had completely overlooked the quiet girl sitting perfectly still by the window.
He turned his head slowly. That intensely intimidating, flawlessly beautiful face was now staring coldly directly at him.
"Ta... Tamara?"
Draco's puffed-up bravado instantly deflated by more than half. The arrogant sneer vanished, replaced by wide-eyed apprehension. His voice even stammered a little as he spoke.
"Wh-what a coincidence, you're in this compartment too?"
Tamara rolled her dark eyes swiftly, her tone carrying a heavy, deliberate hint of exasperation.
"Have you forgotten what I told you?"
Draco flushed a deeper shade of red. He opened his mouth, clearly wanting to retort, to maintain his tough image in front of his lackeys. But under Tamara's dark, piercing gaze, a gaze that felt entirely capable of slicing straight through his soul and laying bare his every weakness, he simply could not muster a single defiant word.
"But... he rejected me first!" Draco pointed a trembling finger at Harry, his tone suddenly shifting into the high-pitched whine of a tattling schoolboy complaining to a strict tutor.
"Since he refused, persisting further will only make you look cheap."
Tamara stood up slowly. She turned her body, deliberately putting her back to Harry and Ron, placing herself directly in front of Malfoy.
To Harry, watching from his seat, this was an incredibly, unbelievably brave act.
A seemingly frail, quiet girl, willingly placing herself directly between him and three clearly dangerous, troublesome bullies.
"Take your lackeys and leave, Draco."
She issued the dismissal quietly. Her tone was flat, cold, and brooked absolutely no argument.
Draco bit his lower lip hard. He glared fiercely at Tamara's unyielding face, then shifted his angry gaze to Harry, who was safely shielded behind her slender frame.
He was incredibly unwilling to back down.
But he was far, far more afraid of this girl.
That deep, instinctual fear, planted during their previous encounters, left him utterly incapable of mustering even a single thought of actual defiance.
"Let's go!"
Draco shot Harry one last, venomous glare, then spun on his heel. He retreated rapidly from the compartment, practically fleeing down the corridor with the lumbering Crabbe and Goyle trailing confusedly in his wake.
Quiet slowly returned to the small compartment. The only sound was the rhythmic clacking of the train wheels on the iron tracks.
Tamara stood perfectly still in the center of the space. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath, trying to settle the violent twisting in her gut.
'What an utterly nauseating performance.'
She had actually just scolded away the younger Malfoy, a boy from a loyal Death Eater family who absolutely should have been on her side, all for the sake of protecting the supposed savior of the wizarding world.
Was this the system's so-called justice?
How utterly, disgustingly ridiculous.
"Um..."
Harry's voice, thick with genuine gratitude, broke the silence from behind her.
"Thank you, Tamara."
Tamara slowly turned around.
Harry was looking up at her. His bright green eyes were shining with completely undisguised gratitude and a heavy dose of newfound admiration.
"You were... really cool just now," Ron couldn't help adding, his anger at Malfoy entirely forgotten. He stared at her with wide eyes. "How did you do that? That Malfoy guy looked absolutely terrified of you!"
[Ding! Mission Completed: Ally of Justice.]
[Reward: Courage +5.]
[Current Courage: 5.]
[Additional Gain: Harry Potter's Favorability +10.]
Listening to the system's overly cheerful, perky prompts echoing in her skull, and looking down at that stupid, messy-haired boy showing such a grateful, nearly tearful expression toward her...
Tamara felt her stomach churn violently, a wave of pure, unadulterated revulsion washing over her.
"You are welcome."
She smiled gently.
In her mind, she was already calculating exactly how long it would take to hit every single person in this room with a point-blank Avada Kedavra.
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