Chapter 178: The Silent Journey
The interior of the Knight Bus was entirely devoid of normal seats. Instead, a half-dozen brass bedsteads were scattered haphazardly across the wooden floorboards, sliding an inch or two with every lurch of the vehicle. Most of the beds were already occupied by disheveled, down-on-their-luck wizards bundled beneath thin blankets, leaving only a pair of beds tucked into the far corner vacant.
Dragging his heavy trunk behind him, Harry claimed the bed pressed against the back wall.
The Knight Bus tore through the night with the terrifying violence of a derailed roller coaster. Harry gripped the brass bedpost until his knuckles turned white, watching the scenery outside the window blur into frantic, stretched streaks of light and shadow, like a ruined oil painting.
After an indeterminate stretch of bone-rattling travel, a deafening bang echoed through the cabin. The bus slammed its brakes on a dark London street. The sheer momentum launched Harry clean off his mattress, sending him tumbling onto the hard wooden floorboards.
"Passenger coming aboard! Make way, make way!" Stan Shunpike hollered from the front, his voice cutting through the groans of the sleeping passengers.
Wincing, Harry rubbed his bruised shoulder and scrambled back to his feet. Just as he dusted off his knees, the distinct sound of steady, measured footsteps echoed up the boarding steps.
A second later, a painfully familiar scent drifted down the narrow aisle—a sharp, clean blend of dark wood and the crisp, icy aroma of complex Potions.
Harry looked up. His entire body locked up.
The newcomer stood at the front of the bus, draped in immaculate, pure black robes that seemed to swallow the dim light of the carriage. Her pale, exquisite face was set in a mask of innate, chilling arrogance.
Tamara Riddle.
Over the past week, Tamara had been quite busy. She had systematically slaughtered her way through several Dark Wizard encampments hidden deep within the Albanian forests. It had been a delightful, blood-soaked spiritual baptism of sorts—and a highly lucrative one at that. She had returned to Britain with a substantial windfall of stolen wealth, ready to enjoy some well-deserved rest. However, her ongoing alchemy research into the absolute limits of the golden bloodline had rapidly depleted her supply of rare materials.
Her plan tonight was simple: head to the Leaky Cauldron, slip into Diagon Alley, and restock. Unfortunately, her current, infuriatingly underage body meant Apparition was legally off the table. Refusing to degrade herself by using filthy Muggle transportation, she had been forced to reluctantly summon this rickety, violently jolting death-trap of a bus.
The moment Tamara stepped fully into the carriage, her perfectly sculpted brow twitched.
Her dark eyes immediately locked onto the boy with the perpetually messy black hair, who was currently picking himself up from the floor beside a brass bed.
'What in the name of Salazar is he doing on this damned bus in the middle of the night?'she thought, her internal voice dripping with venom.'Shouldn't he be locked in a cupboard acting as a punching bag for those pathetic Muggle relatives of his?'
Tamara suppressed a heavy, internal sigh. Based on the agonizing experiences of the past two years, she knew exactly how this was going to play out. Every single time the damned Savior of the Wizarding World laid eyes on her, he would trot over like a clingy, desperate stray dog. He would stare at her with those sickeningly bright green eyes, practically shimmering with foolish adoration, and begin prattling on incessantly about whatever mundane nonsense he had experienced that week.
Bracing herself for the inevitable headache, Tamara rapidly composed three distinct, viciously polite taunts in her mind—each perfectly calibrated to shut him up without triggering the System's agonizing electric shocks. Alternatively, she could just brush him off with a sickeningly sweet, fake smile. She had just returned from a successful slaughter in Albania, after all. She was in a genuinely good mood. She could handle humoring a self-righteous little fool for a few minutes.
But then, something entirely unexpected happened.
The moment Harry saw her, a flash of clear, obvious astonishment crossed his features. His chest hitched, a visible skip of his heartbeat.
Yet, a fraction of a second later, the dazed look vanished. His face hardened into a mask of pure ice.
His jaw muscles tightened, a faint pulse beating at his temple. Whatever joy or surprise had flickered in those emerald-green eyes was instantly snuffed out, replaced by a wall of stubborn, rigid indifference.
Moving with deliberate stiffness, Harry looked away. He turned his head entirely, presenting Tamara with nothing but the back of his messy hair. He stared fixedly out the window at the blurred, passing streetlights, acting as though the grimy glass held the secrets of the universe.
He was ignoring her.
Complete, utter, and absolute indifference.
Tamara raised a single, elegant eyebrow. A flicker of genuine surprise danced in the depths of her dark eyes.
'Has the clingy little idiot actually grown a spine today?'
The astonishment lasted barely a second. Rather than feeling slighted by the blatant snub, a cold, pleasant sneer curled through Tamara's mind. Potter choosing not to pester her was quite literally a blessing from Merlin himself. She couldn't care less what sort of pathetic, adolescent tantrum the brat was currently throwing. Frankly, it would be fantastic if he kept up this act of not knowing her for the rest of his miserable life. It would save her an immense amount of energy.
Dismissing him entirely, Tamara withdrew her gaze and turned to the conductor.
"The Leaky Cauldron," she said, her voice smooth and cool. "One ticket."
"Right you are, miss! That'll be eleven silver Sickles!" Stan Shunpike collected the coins with enthusiastic clinks, then gestured vaguely toward the back of the carriage. "Bit unlucky tonight, though. The brass beds are almost all full."
Stan extended a grubby finger, pointing precisely toward the shadowy corner where Harry sat.
"Only the bed directly opposite that young lad over there is still vacant."
Tamara stared at the narrow brass bed, then shifted her gaze to the brooding boy sitting directly across from it. The corner of her lip twitched in deep irritation.
Before she could demand Stan force someone else to move, the rickety bus made the decision for her.
With a deafening roar of its engine, the Knight Bus catapulted forward in its usual, violently abrupt fashion. The immense, sudden inertia sent the unprepared Tamara reeling backward. To avoid the sheer indignity of falling onto the filthy floorboards, she was forced to stumble a few steps down the aisle and drop stiffly onto the vacant mattress.
Directly across from Harry.
The two beds faced each other, separated by a pitifully narrow stretch of aisle. There were barely a few inches of empty air between their knees.
Harry's posture grew painfully rigid. He gripped his bedpost so hard his fingers ached, his senses flooded by the crisp, woody scent of Potions radiating from the girl sitting mere inches away. He ground his teeth together, stubbornly maintaining his awkward, neck-straining posture, glaring out the window at the rushing darkness.
'Absolutely do not talk to her,'Harry warned himself frantically, his internal voice harsh and punishing.'She doesn't care about you at all. Stop being a fool. Stop flattering yourself.'
As for Tamara, she took his performance of indifference and elevated it to an art form.
She elegantly crossed her legs, folded her arms over her chest, and let her eyes flutter shut. She leaned back against the brass frame, resting perfectly still, treating the gloomy, radiating aura of the Savior sitting directly across from her as though he were nothing more than empty air.
Rumble—BANG!
The bus swayed wildly from side to side, braking sharply before leaping erratically through the late-night streets of London. Every violent jolt caused the unfastened brass beds to slide uncontrollably across the polished wooden floorboards. The two facing beds would drift apart one moment, only to slam dangerously close together the next.
During one particularly brutal, screeching turn, the frames knocked together. The silken hem of Tamara's black robes swept forward, lightly brushing against Harry's knee.
Harry jerked his leg back as if he had just been struck by a live current. He scrambled backward, pressing his entire body flat against the freezing metal of the carriage wall. His neck was cramping horribly from keeping his head turned away for so long, but he bit down hard on his lower lip, refusing to look at her for even a fraction of a second.
Tamara cracked one eye open, thoroughly speechless at his dramatic overreaction. She shifted her weight toward the headboard, trying her best to maximize the physical distance between them.
Outside the carriage, the night wind howled against the glass and the magical engine roared like a dying beast. Yet, in the cramped, suffocating space between their two narrow brass beds, a heavy, strange silence permeated the air.
After what felt like an eternity of bone-jarring travel.
Screech—BANG!
Tires squealed against the pavement as the Knight Bus slammed to a violent halt in front of the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road.
The folding doors hissed open. In that exact same second, Harry sprang up from his mattress like a coiled spring.
He didn't look at her. He just stared at the floor, his chest heaving slightly. Then, in a dry, strained voice carrying a thick layer of tension he hadn't even noticed himself, he quickly whispered a single word.
"Goodbye."
He grabbed the handle of his heavy trunk and bolted. Without a single backward glance, he fled down the aisle and vanished off the bus like a frightened ghost fleeing into the night.
Tamara remained seated on her bed. She slowly opened her eyes, watching the boy's retreating silhouette scramble frantically into the darkness of the street.
She stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, utterly baffled by the sheer absurdity of the encounter.
'Crazy,'she cursed silently in her mind.'Absolutely crazy.'
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