Chapter 85: Torment
The Hogwarts Express exhaled thick plumes of white steam, sitting like a dormant iron beast against Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
For the vast majority of the student body, this was a farewell steeped in the tragic sorrow of parting. Children dragged heavy brass-bound trunks across the cobblestones, clinging to one another in tearful embraces while exchanging fervent promises to write letters every single week of the summer holidays.
But for Tamara Riddle, this was nothing short of a long-awaited release from Azkaban.
Finally, she could leave that drafty castle entirely populated by blithering idiots and an Old Bee who insisted on staring at her through those infuriating half-moon spectacles all day long. Stepping onto the platform, she inhaled deeply. Even the air, thick with the acrid stench of coal smoke and owl droppings, tasted exceptionally fresh.
To ensure absolute, uninterrupted peace during the long journey back to London, Tamara had executed a very wise tactical maneuver. She had unceremoniously shoved her heavy trunk, along with that wretched black cat—which had recently developed a neurotic habit of barking at empty air—straight into the train's luggage service compartment. She absolutely refused to endure the yowling of a deranged feline for hours on end, nor was she about to drag her own belongings around like some common laborer.
With her hands empty and her heart delightfully light, she expertly handled around the weeping crowds, slipping away to claim the most remote, inconspicuous empty compartment at the very tail end of the train.
Closing the sliding glass door with a satisfying click, Tamara threw herself onto the plush velvet seat.
"Finally. Quiet."
She reached into the deep pocket of her robes and extracted a thick notebook bound in supple black dragon-hide. These were her private research notes, detailing her exhaustive study of the golden bloodline over the past few days.
Although the pages currently held only preliminary data—careful records of the rejection reactions that single drop of blood exhibited when exposed to various magical materials, alongside its terrifying efficiency in amplifying magical output—it was more than enough to utterly captivate her.
For a Dark Lord who pursued the absolute pinnacle of magical supremacy, absolutely nothing was more fascinating than dissecting the very rules of immortality fused into this blood. This was the ultimate secret of eternal life, the enigma Nicolas Flamel had painstakingly deciphered over centuries, and now, it flowed directly through her own veins. To possess such a miracle and not thoroughly weaponize it would be a sheer, unforgivable waste.
Tamara turned a crisp parchment page, her dark eyes tracing the densely packed arithmantic formulas and alchemical equations.
'If I introduce a single drop of my active blood as a stabilizing agent during the brewing cycle of a Polyjuice Potion... or perhaps a Flesh-Reshaping Potion...'
Her eagle-feather quill tapped a rhythmic, hypnotic beat against the paper as she deduced the thrilling, highly illegal possibilities in her mind. She quickly began scribbling her dark inspirations into the margins, mentally mapping out her summer experiment schedule. The basement of Wool's Orphanage was dreadfully crude, yes, but with a few minor modifications and some heavy warding...
She was just sinking into a truly wonderful, blood-soaked conception of advanced Dark Arts when the inevitable happened.
Click.
The brass handle of the compartment door turned.
Tamara's quill froze mid-stroke. A sharp crease instantly formed between her brows.
'Who is so utterly blind to social cues?'
Before her fingers could even twitch toward her wand to blast the uninvited guest into the corridor with a vicious Knockback Jinx, the door was yanked open with a loud, obnoxious clatter.
"Brilliant! There's an empty seat in here!"
A painfully familiar, headache-inducing voice shattered her sanctuary. Harry Potter's messy black hair and round glasses poked through the doorway. Looming right behind him was the towering, red-haired Weasley, followed closely by Granger, whose bushy hair looked more like an abandoned bird's nest than ever.
"Tamara! We knew you'd be hiding back here!" Harry beamed, looking so pleasantly surprised one might think he had just stumbled upon a long-lost relative. "We've been looking for you for ages! Every single other compartment is completely packed!"
"Get out."
Tamara spat the two words like shards of ice, not even bothering to lift her gaze from her notebook.
"Oh, don't be like that, Tamara." Ron barged straight in, entirely uninvited, clutching that disgustingly fat rat, Scabbers, to his chest. "Come on, we're comrades! We just survived a massive adventure together!"
"Exactly, Tamara." Hermione marched in right behind him, her arms loaded with several heavy tomes thick enough to bludgeon a troll to death. "Besides, I have a few pressing questions regarding our holiday homework that I'd really like to discuss with you. Especially Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration essay..."
Staring at these three Gryffindors who insisted on sticking to her like cursed bubotuber pus, Tamara felt a violent, rhythmic throbbing begin at her temples.
"Get. Out."
She snapped her black leather notebook shut. Her dark eyes were already swirling with genuine, unfiltered killing intent. Her fingers brushed the polished wood of her wand.
"Or I will personally make you—"
[Ding! Detecting the warm enthusiasm of your dear friends!]
That damned, overly cheerful System notification always managed to perfectly interrupt her at the exact second she was about to commit a felony.
[As Hogwarts' newly minted hero, you must display a level of tolerance and friendliness that matches your glorious reputation!]
[Mission: Train of Friendship!]
[Requirement: Interact pleasantly with your fellow classmates during this journey. No driving people away, no casting malicious jinxes, and absolutely no cold violence!]
[Reward: Love +1.]
'+1?'Tamara sneered viciously in her mind.'Are you treating Lord Voldemort like a street beggar? What possible use is this garbage attribute to me? Even if I never experience a single ounce of love in this miserable lifetime, I can still rule the entire world!'[System Friendly Reminder: Your current'Love' attribute value sits at exactly 19 points.]
[You only need to add 1 more point to reach the glorious 20-point milestone!]
[Upon reaching this milestone, a brand-new spell will be unlocked: Stupefy!]
Tamara's fingers, which had been tightly gripping her wand, instantly froze.
Stupefy. The Stunning Spell.
The absolute gold standard of wizarding duels. While it certainly lacked the permanent, satisfying finality of an Unforgivable Curse, it was currently the most efficient, practical means of instantly subduing an enemy.
She mentally reviewed her current, pitifully restricted skill set. The Levitation Charm offered virtually zero lethality. The Full Body-Bind Curse, Petrificus Totalus, required obnoxiously precise aiming. Incendio was far too messy and tended to accidentally burn down entire buildings. And her recently acquired Knockback Jinx merely shoved people away rather than incapacitating them.
She desperately needed a hard control spell. Something that could instantly silence a target and drop them to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
For power.
For stronger, deadlier spells.
Tamara took a slow, agonizingly deep breath, forcibly swallowing the "Avada" that had already danced upon the tip of her tongue.
"...Fine. Whatever."
She squeezed the words out through tightly gritted teeth, shrinking back against the window glass in a futile attempt to make herself physically invisible.
"Brilliant! Thank you!" Harry cheered, immediately plopping his skinny frame down directly on Tamara's left.
He sat so uncomfortably close that Tamara could vividly smell the annoying, vibrant scent of cheap lemon soap radiating from his collar. Next, Ron threw himself onto the bench opposite them, while Hermione happily claimed the spot on Tamara's right.
The originally spacious, peaceful compartment instantly felt suffocatingly crowded.
But this nightmare was only just beginning.
Not even five minutes later, the sliding door was violently yanked open yet again.
"I knew Potter would come sniffing around to bother you!" Draco Malfoy's signature, aristocratic drawl echoed from the corridor. Looming like gargoyles behind him were Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle.
"This is a Slytherin compartment, Potter! Take your poverty-stricken, red-haired lackey and get out!" Draco lifted his pale chin, glaring down his nose at Ron with undisguised disgust.
"It's a public train, Malfoy!" Ron retorted defiantly, his ears already turning a violent shade of crimson.
"Besides, Tamara explicitly invited us to sit here!" Harry immediately threw up his ultimate shield.
Seven pairs of eyes instantly snapped toward Tamara.
Tamara kept her face entirely blank, staring fixedly at the rolling green countryside flying past the window. She channeled every ounce of her willpower into pretending she was an emotionless, inanimate stone.
"Well... since Tamara has no objections..." Draco gritted his teeth. He clearly lacked the courage to openly defy the girl who had single-handedly terrified half their house. "Then we're sitting here too!"
Refusing to yield an inch of territory to Gryffindor, Draco shoved his way in, taking the seat directly opposite Tamara. Crabbe and Goyle squeezed onto the bench beside him, forcing Ron against the glass, while Pansy wedged herself onto the edge of the seat right next to a highly offended Hermione.
The compartment, designed to comfortably seat six average-sized children, was now crammed with eight.
But the universe was not done punishing her.
"Um... excuse me? Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's toad ran away again..."
Hannah Abbott timidly poked her blonde head through the doorway.
"Trevor!" Neville Longbottom squeezed in right behind her. Spotting the lumpy amphibian cowering near Goyle's massive shoes, the round-faced boy happily threw himself onto the floor to catch it.
Thus, the extra members of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor officially joined the fray.
Now, this tiny, claustrophobic box contained a volatile mixture of students from three different Hogwarts houses.
On her left, Harry was loudly arguing with Ron across the aisle over the rarity of specific Chocolate Frog cards. On her right, Draco was obnoxiously boasting to Pansy about the exorbitant price of the imported sweets his father had purchased in Paris. Down on the floor, Hannah was crawling around, helping a tearful Neville secure his squirming pet.
The stagnant air grew thick with the bizarre, sugary stench of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, the musky odor of unwashed pets, and the stifling body heat radiating from ten people packed together like sardines in a tin.
This noisy, suffocating, chaotic environment was nothing short of the lowest circle of hell.
Tamara pressed her palms flat against the cool wood of the small folding table. A faint, dangerous twitch began to pull at the corner of her eye. Her cheek muscles ached fiercely from maintaining her stiff, angelic fake smile for far too long.
'Endure... you must endure...'She silently recited the Dark Lord's mantras of self-preservation in her mind, anchoring her sanity to her ultimate goal.'For the spells... for absolute power...'
"Tamara, do you want to try one of these? They're Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans!" Harry thrust a brightly colored striped box directly under her nose, his green eyes shining with earnest sincerity. "Sometimes you get earwax or vomit flavor, but it's still brilliant fun!"
"Take it away."
Tamara spoke through a strained, terrifyingly bright smile—a smile that looked infinitely more painful than weeping. "I am quite full, Harry."
"Ignore that shabby, commoner rubbish, Tamara," Draco sneered, immediately pulling an exquisite, gold-leafed box from his robes. "This is my family's private reserve chocolate. Only this is truly worthy of your status."
"Thank you, Draco, but I really don't—"
"Hey, watch your elbows, Malfoy! Scabbers is getting squashed!" Ron bellowed, shoving back.
"Your filthy rat just stepped on my dragon-hide shoes, Weasley!" Pansy shrieked, kicking out.
Ribbit—!
Taking full advantage of the erupting turf war, Trevor the toad launched himself from the floor, landing squarely upon Tamara's pristine knee and leaving a thick, slimy wet mark on her robes.
Tamara: "..."
She slowly looked down at the warty, pulsating amphibian desecrating her lap. Then, she raised her dead, hollow eyes to look at the bickering, screaming idiots surrounding her.
In that precise, agonizing moment, she experienced a deep epiphany.
Ruling the wizarding world could wait.
The most urgent, pressing priority of her life was figuring out exactly how much magical force it would take to completely detonate this train.
If the Hogwarts Express were to violently explode right here, right now, she would personally build a shrine and burn incense to Merlin himself.
Absolutely.
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