Chapter 73: Scent
It was late into the night by the time she returned to the Slytherin girls' dormitory.
The dungeon corridors were thick with damp, biting cold, the stone walls weeping condensation, but Tamara was in a remarkably pleasant mood.
Not only had she resolved a potential teaching nuisance, but she had also taken the delightful opportunity to thoroughly intimidate that miserable rat, Peter Pettigrew.
She hadn't killed him outright. Oh, no. Watching the traitor tremble helplessly in her palm, feeling his erratic, terrified heartbeat against her fingers—that provided a far sweeter thrill. The absolute control over life and death was the finest sedative a Dark Lord could ask for.
Tamara pushed open the heavy oak door to her dormitory. The room was submerged in the faint, greenish gloom typical of the dungeons. Her roommates were already fast asleep, the rhythmic sound of steady breathing drifting from behind their heavy velvet bed curtains.
Only on her own four-poster bed did a bundle of black shadow lie curled against the silk pillow.
It was Nagini II.
This entirely useless creature, who did absolutely nothing but eat, sleep, and occasionally trip over its own clumsy paws, was currently curled into a tight black ball of fur. Its paws twitched slightly, no doubt dreaming of dried fish.
Tamara approached quietly, preparing to scoop the lump up and toss it to the foot of the bed, as was her nightly routine.
However...
As she neared the mattress, the lingering scent of the rat drifted from her skin, curling through the cold air and straight into the black shadow's nose.
It was an incredibly distinct stench. A foul, unmistakable mixture of cowardice, sewer filth, betrayal, and... the unique, pathetic odor of Peter Pettigrew.
The black cat, which had been snoring softly, suddenly froze stiff.
The next second...
"Hiss—!!!"
A shrill, ear-piercing hiss dripping with violent rage exploded into the silent dormitory.
The previously lazy feline sprang up instantly, launching into the air as if its tail had been crushed under an iron boot. Its fur stood completely on end, transforming it into a bristling black sea urchin. Its back arched into an exaggerated, aggressive curve. Those golden, vertical pupils constricted to mere pinpoints, locking fixedly onto Tamara's right hand.
To be precise, it was staring at the exact fingers that had just squeezed Scabbers.
There wasn't a single trace of feline ignorance left in that gaze.
In its place burned a bone-chilling, entirely human malice. Pure, unadulterated madness. It was extreme, visceral disgust—a fury akin to a zealot watching a holy idol being smeared with excrement.
"...What is wrong with you?"
Tamara paused, her brow furrowing in deep annoyance as she stared down her suddenly crazed pet.
"Did you eat something rotten?"
She did not realize that at this exact moment, trapped within this pathetic feline shell, the fractured, mad soul of Bellatrix Lestrange was violently awakening, triggered by that singular, hated scent.
Back on the Hogwarts Express, Bellatrix's fragmented soul had been far too weak, easily submerged and suppressed by basic animal instincts. Back then, her tiny skull was filled with nothing but the overwhelming desire for dried fish, chasing balls of yarn, and hunting her own tail.
But now, Bella's soul was screaming.
In her mind, that utterly useless trash named Wormtail—that sniveling rat who belonged in the deepest, darkest gutters—was not even fit to shine her Master's boots!
And now!
Her noble, perfect, divine Master's pristine hand was actually tainted with that absolute garbage's filthy stench?!
Unforgivable!
It was absolute sacrilege!
"Meow-Agh—!!!"
The black cat let out a guttural roar that sounded nothing like a natural animal. It didn't flee. Instead, it lunged at Tamara like a bolt of black lightning.
Tamara instinctively shifted her weight to dodge, but the creature's speed was astonishing. It latched onto her right hand, its razor-sharp claws hooking deeply into the heavy fabric of her uniform cuffs, anchoring itself firmly in place.
Then...
It lowered its head, extended its barbed pink tongue, and began a frantic, desperate... licking of the back of Tamara's hand.
No.
It wasn't licking.
It was a frenzied, manic excavation driven by pure hatred. It was as if the beast was trying to physically scrape off the very layer of skin that had been tainted by the rat's scent.
It was hot, wet, and rough, accompanied by a nauseating stickiness.
A cat's tongue is covered in tiny, backward-facing barbs. While not razor-sharp on their own, under such frantic frequency and deranged force, it felt exactly like coarse-grit sandpaper grinding relentlessly against delicate flesh.
"Hiss! Let go!"
Tamara winced, drawing in a sharp breath as a stinging pain flared across her knuckles.
She felt as though the back of her hand was literally about to be flayed alive by this lunatic animal!
"You beast! Let go of me!"
She yanked her arm back, but the cat's strength was absurdly disproportionate to its size. It clung to her hand with a literal death grip, its hind legs kicking forcefully against her sleeve to maintain use. From deep within its throat came a strange, vibrating low growl—a disturbing hybrid of a purr and a demonic roar.
In those wide golden eyes, there was actually a glint of... fanaticism?
If Tamara possessed the ability to understand feline linguistics, or if she bothered to read the creature's soul directly, she would have heard Bellatrix's hysterical, worshipping screams echoing in the room.
Tamara stared down at the possessed animal, the confusion in her dark eyes deepening into something colder.
This feeling... this mindless, obsessive fanaticism. This twisted possessiveness tinged with a desperate desire for destruction, this reckless, groveling madness... it was entirely too familiar.
So familiar it sent a phantom chill of revulsion crawling up her spine.
In the vast, blood-soaked memories of her past life, only one person—or rather, one specific lunatic—would ever dare behave this way before her.
That madwoman who would gleefully burn the entire world to ash just to warm her hands. The one who would crawl on the filthy ground, weeping hysterically while kissing her robes, eager to lick the very dust from her boots.
Too familiar.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
"...Bella?"
Tamara instinctively murmured the name, the syllables slipping past her lips before she could stop them.
The exact moment that name hung in the air, the black cat's frantic movements abruptly froze.
It slowly looked up. Its golden eyes were suddenly shimmering with unshed moisture—it was the overwhelming ecstasy of being recognized, a violent impulse to respond loudly and proudly.
It opened its jaws wide, desperately wanting to scream that noble title, to declare its eternal loyalty.
"Meow..."
However, all that scraped out of its throat was a pathetic, distorted little chirp.
Tamara's frown deepened, her sharp gaze tracking the wildly shifting emotions in the animal's eyes. From murderous madness, to weeping ecstasy, and now to... deep grievance?
"I must be losing my mind."
Tamara shook her head sharply, tossing the utterly absurd thought into the deepest recesses of her brain.
In this current timeline, Bellatrix Lestrange was securely rotting away in the highest security wing of Azkaban. How could she possibly appear here, in the Slytherin dormitories, trapped inside the body of a cat?
Besides, if it truly were Bella, her fanatical lieutenant would never endure the humiliation of being reduced to such a lowly, pathetic creature. She would have bitten her own tongue off first.
"I will find an opportunity to have it neutered."
Tamara coldly offered herself a highly rational, clinical explanation for the sudden behavioral spike.
A sharp, stinging pain radiated from her hand once more, pulling her attention downward. She looked at her knuckles. Her once-fair, pristine skin had been licked entirely raw and angry red, tiny beads of blood already beginning to ooze from the abrasions.
This damned animal!
"Enough!"
Tamara's thin patience completely snapped.
She harbored absolutely no fetish for being mistreated, nor would Lord Voldemort ever tolerate a mere pet causing physical harm.
Frigid killing intent gathered in her dark eyes.
"Since you enjoy biting things so much..."
Tamara raised her leather-clad foot, aiming a solid kick directly at the bristling black ball of fur.
"Then go reflect on your actions against the wall!"
She fully intended to teach the miserable little thing a severe lesson in hierarchy, to remind it exactly who the master was.
However...
The very next second...
The black cat, which had been vibrating with manic energy, suddenly shuddered violently, exactly like a mechanical toy having its power source abruptly severed.
Bellatrix's soul, which had briefly managed to claw its way to the surface fueled by sheer rage, was instantly dragged back down into the depths, utterly exhausted of its mental energy. The feline instincts slammed back into place.
That chilling, human-like crazed look receded from its eyes as rapidly as a retreating tide.
In its place sat a pair of wide, perfectly clear, incredibly stupid cat eyes.
"Meow?"
Nagini II tilted its small head, blinking up at Tamara's foot currently suspended in mid-air. It seemed to genuinely believe this was a brand-new, exciting game.
With a joyful chirp, it pounced directly onto the tip of Tamara's polished shoe. It hugged her ankle tightly with its front paws and began kicking playfully with its soft hind legs, rolling around until it nearly managed to strangle itself on her shoelaces.
That deeply stupid, clumsy display was a jarring, complete contrast to the terrifying, crazed state from merely a moment ago.
"..."
Tamara's leg froze in mid-air.
If she kicked it now, it would be the equivalent of violently bullying a brain-damaged toddler.
Her long-simmering, murderous anger felt exactly like a heavy punch landing squarely on a pile of soft cotton. It left a stifling, deeply uncomfortable weight in her chest, with nowhere to vent the energy.
"...Idiot."
Tamara slowly lowered her foot, grinding her teeth together. She reached down and pinched the back of the stupid cat's neck, lifting the creature that was still actively battling her shoelaces.
Nagini II dangled helplessly in the air, blinking its large, innocent eyes at her. It even had the audacity to stick out its little pink tongue—this time gently, pleasingly licking the tip of Tamara's index finger.
"Meow-woo~"
It let out a sickeningly sweet, trilling cry, acting exactly as if the deranged lunatic who had just attempted to flay its master's skin off was an entirely different entity.
[Ding! Detected pet is acting spoiled towards you.]
The system's aggressively cheerful, patronizing voice rang out directly inside her skull.
[Look, host! How deeply attached it is to you! That intense behavior just now was only because it loves you far too much and wanted to help clean the foreign scent off your delicate hand!]
[What a deep, albeit clumsy, display of pure love this is!]
[Temporary Quest: Touch of Love.]
[Please respond warmly to its affection; do not treat this poor, misunderstood little kitty with violence.]
[Reward: Love +1.]
Tamara stared at the seemingly harmless, dangling black cat in her grip, and then slowly shifted her gaze to the swollen, bleeding back of her own hand.
She took a long, deep breath. A vein pulsed visibly at her temple.
"Love?"
"It nearly flayed me alive!"
She tossed the cat roughly back onto the center of the mattress.
"Since you love cleaning so much..."
Tamara drew her wand from her robes, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she gave it a sharp, precise flick toward the offending animal.
"Scourgify!"
A massive, explosive wave of thick soap bubbles instantly erupted from the wand tip, completely enveloping Nagini II in a suffocating mountain of foam.
"Meow-agh!!!"
The black cat let out a muffled yelp, thrashing and rolling frantically across the bedsheets in a desperate bid to shake off the stinging suds.
"Clean yourself now."
Tamara watched the chaotic scene with cold, detached satisfaction before turning her back on the bed. She walked over to the brass washstand to properly tend to her bleeding knuckles.
"If I ever see you go crazy like that again..."
She glanced back over her shoulder, her voice dropping into a soft, ominously quiet threat.
"I will skin you and turn you into a pair of winter gloves. That way, you can hold my hands forever."
The soapy black cat on the bed seemed to perfectly understand the lethal promise in her tone. It scrambled wildly under the heavy duvet in sheer terror, leaving only the very tip of its slightly trembling, suds-covered tail exposed to the cold air.
And beneath that thick, suffocating duvet...
Deep within the darkest, most chaotic recesses of the cat's mind...
A faint, fractured soul lay curled into a tight ball, screaming in twisted ecstasy.
'Master... Master is punishing me...''Master still loves me... she even bathed me herself...''Even though the soapy water burns my eyes... I am so happy...''That stinking rat's smell is finally gone... heehee... heeheehee...'
Naturally, Tamara could not hear a single whisper of these deranged voices.
She only felt that the dormitory was exceptionally noisy tonight, and that the very air seemed thick with a familiar, headache-inducing scent of madness.
Tamara raised her wand, silently applying a Healing Charm to her raw skin, watching the angry red abrasions slowly knit themselves back together. She stared at her own grim, beautiful reflection in the mirror above the washstand.
"It seems..." she murmured softly to the empty glass. "I need to find a time to cut open its brain and see exactly what is inside."
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