Chapter 189: Arithmancy
The first day of term.
High on the seventh floor of Hogwarts Castle, the Arithmancy classroom offered a sanctuary of cold, hard logic. The crisp, sterile scent of fresh parchment and sharp iron-gall ink hung in the air, a stark contrast to the suffocating, cheap incense that plagued Sybill Trelawney's fraudulent attic. Here, the stone walls were plastered with complex star charts and complex magical derivation formulas. It was a proper academic environment, perfectly suited for a rigorous discipline.
Professor Septima Vector stood at the head of the room, a severe woman draped in immaculate dark robes. Her face was sharp, her posture rigid. Yet, for the first lesson of the new semester, she opted for a lighter approach. She needed to hook these third-year students who were just dipping their toes into what was widely considered a notoriously dry subject. She refrained from diving straight into deep divination models.
"Arithmancy is absolutely not the foolish art of squinting at soggy tea leaves or peering into foggy glass spheres," Professor Vector announced, her wand tapping sharply against the blackboard.
"Numbers are the universal language of the cosmos and of magic itself."
"For your introductory lesson, we will explore the most classic application of Numerology. You will transform your given names into life numbers. This simple calculation will reveal your most deeply hidden character traits and the trajectory of your destiny."
Seated dead center in the Slytherin section, Tamara Riddle rested her chin on her palm, her dark eyes half-lidded with deep boredom. She lazily flipped the pages of the textbook in her hand.
It was a parlor trick meant to amuse toddlers.
After all, exactly fifty years ago, in this very classroom, a boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle had performed the exact same calculation using the exact same method. He had arrived at a flawless conclusion.
His soul number had been 7. The number of absolute supremacy.
In her eyes, this basic operation of converting letters into single digits for fortune-telling was as mind-numbing as practicing the Levitation Spell.
However, she had nothing better to do.
Tamara twirled her black velvet quill. She scoffed at such mundane little tricks, but she realized she had not actually calculated the fortune for her current, system-enforced identity.
With a thoroughly perfunctory mindset, merely looking to kill time, Tamara scrawled the ridiculous name forced upon her onto the parchment. She substituted the letters for digits according to the formula chalked on the blackboard.
Tamara Riddle.
The total was 52.
The tip of Tamara's quill halted on the paper. A drop of black ink bled into the fibers. She added the 5 and the 2 together, writing the final single digit after the equals sign.
7.
Staring at that intimately familiar number on the parchment, Tamara's mask of bored apathy slipped, freezing into a chilling stillness for a rare moment.
'Fascinating...'
An arrogant, blood-chilling smirk unconsciously tugged at the corners of her mouth.
It seemed that even if a meddlesome system shoved her into a fragile, pathetic shell and slapped a laughable name on her, the fundamental laws of destiny still bowed in absolute submission to her magnificent soul.
To Voldemort, this was no ordinary digit. It was the number that had consumed her entire existence.
There were seven planets in ancient astronomy. Seven colors in the spectrum. The Hogwarts curriculum spanned seven years. Countless deep magical coincidences were inextricably bound to the number seven.
In Voldemort's paranoid, grandiose blueprint for eternal life, she firmly believed that only by shattering the soul into seven fragments could true, infallible immortality be forged.
Basking in the dark, secret euphoria of the Dark Lord, Tamara leisurely opened the heavy copy of Numerology and Grammatica on her desk. She flipped directly to the pages analyzing Number 7 individuals.
She fully expected a barrage of groveling praise. She wanted to see what flowery, pathetic words this mundane book would use to worship her.
In her past life, when she was still Tom Riddle, she had never deigned to read the textbook's vulgar interpretations of character flaws or fluctuating fortunes.
Those were reference answers meant for ordinary mortals.
She was the great Heir of Slytherin. She was the architect of truth and the creator of new magical laws. Why would she ever allow herself to be defined by the rigid regulations printed in a schoolbook?
But things were different now.
This overwhelming sense of absolute destiny greatly pleased Tamara, granting her a long-lost feeling of leisure. She was genuinely curious to see what meager, ridiculous vocabulary these mediocre scholars would scrape together when attempting to describe the supreme number 7.
However, the moment Tamara's gaze swept over the first paragraph on the page, the pleasant sneer on her lips froze solid.
[Number 7: Possesses strong cognitive ability, highly intelligent and perceptive... but simultaneously harbors traits of deep pessimism, a penchant for cruel sarcasm, and a deep lack of security.]
Tamara's brow furrowed sharply.
What absolute drivel was this author spewing?
She ruthlessly suppressed the sudden, violent urge to incinerate the book on the spot. She forced her eyes to keep reading, her expression darkening into something truly grim.
[Number 7 individuals believe they have everything under control when analyzing a situation, but once their ultimate goal is achieved, they fall into severe depression.]
[Because they know deep in their hearts that they will not find happiness after the goal is reached... they never dare to admit they truly understand anything, they can never be satisfied no matter what they acquire, and they do not know what they genuinely desire, leaving them in a perpetual state of unhappiness.]
[To maintain stability in their current status quo, they must exert absolute control over others. Once they lose control, they will expose the darkest facets of their personality: emotional volatility, extreme selfishness, and tyrannical overbearingness.]
Crack.
The spine of the black velvet quill splintered in Tamara's grip. Her knuckles were bone-white from the sheer force of her clenching fist.
She had purposefully shoved Potter's insolent, crazy taunts from the corridor out of her mind. Yet, these printed words clawed directly at her exposed nerves, dragging the fury right back to the surface.
Lacking security. So she had to use horrific, mass slaughter to ensure everyone remained under her heel.
Never able to find satisfaction. So even after ripping her soul to shreds, she still lived in the suffocating, pathetic terror of death.
Selfish. Overbearing. Emotional.
Just as Tamara gathered a spark of wandless magic at her fingertips, fully prepared to reduce this nonsensical garbage to a pile of grey ash, her gaze inadvertently caught the next stanza of text.
[Number 7 people are masterful socialites, highly sophisticated, and universally popular.]
[They are shrewd and capable, handling complex interpersonal webs with flawless ease.]
[Most individuals with this personality are heavily power-oriented. To uncover truth and achieve their ambitions, they can construct an impeccable outward facade. But beneath this perfect surface, their existence is entirely hypocritical and hollow.]
The murderous rage burning in Tamara's eyes suddenly cooled, crystallizing into something far more complex.
A deeply buried image drifted up from the depths of her mind.
It was the stifling, overly-sweet warmth of the Potions office at Hogwarts. Professor Horace Slughorn was raising a crystal goblet of mead, his booming laughter echoing off the walls as he praised the handsome, dark-haired boy sitting across from him.
That boy had worn a mask of gentle humility. He possessed elegant manners, a polite smile, and a flawlessly respectful tone.
He was the impeccable, perfect student in the eyes of every single professor. The Slytherin Prefect. The Head Boy.
Relying entirely on that beautiful, highly deceptive skin and his sophisticated manipulation tactics, he had moved effortlessly between the long tables, recruiting the very first generation of high-born Death Eaters without breaking a sweat.
That had indeed been her absolute, most perfect form.
This eerie, skin-crawling sensation of being completely seen through forced her eyes to track further down the page.
[Give up the obsession with controlling others. Only by finding the courage to embrace change can you gain true fulfillment and live a happy life.]
[Accept your personality exactly as it is, and stop living in fear of change—]
'Utter, irredeemable nonsense...'
Just as Tamara was drowning in her dark displeasure, an exaggerated, theatrical groan erupted from the desk beside hers.
"This is, without a doubt, the greatest joke of the century!"
Draco Malfoy shoved his copy of Numerology and Grammatica across the wooden desk as if it were diseased.
"Tamara, can you actually believe this? This piece of garbage book claims I am a Number 5!"
Draco jabbed an angry finger at the calculation on his parchment, his pale face flushed with aristocratic indignation.
"It says I am naive! Like I haven't experienced the dangers of the real world! It claims that the second I face cruel reality, I will be completely at a loss and lose all my confidence!"
"And the most infuriating part? It actually has the audacity to say I am extremely easily deceived by appearances and lack the courage to bear the consequences of my actions!"
Draco argued loudly, his voice pitching up like a cat whose tail had just been violently stomped on.
"I am a Malfoy! I wouldn't know the dangers of the world? I lack courage? This entire class is a complete sham. The idiot who wrote this text is definitely a muddled mudblood!"
Tamara cast a slow, cold glance over Draco's fuming, exasperated form.
Naive? Lacking courage? A sheltered little greenhouse weed who was easily manipulated by a pretty face?
Tamara nodded in deep, silent agreement.
It hit the nail squarely on the head. It was a terrifyingly accurate autopsy of the Malfoy heir.
"It is indeed quite ridiculous, Draco," Tamara echoed, her voice dripping with a practiced, honeyed sympathy.
"Such texts can only be used to fool those idiots who completely lack our level of discernment."
"Exactly! You are the smart one, Tamara." Hearing her sweet approval, Draco immediately puffed out his chest, his smug arrogance returning in full force.
"Actually, I think this book is remarkably insightful!"
A bossy, crisp voice suddenly cut through the air behind them.
Hermione Granger, clutching her heavy textbook to her chest, unceremoniously leaned over and plopped herself down into the empty seat right next to Tamara.
Her bushy hair was an even more chaotic halo than usual, and dark circles shadowed her tired eyes, but those eyes were vibrating with an exceptionally bright, manic academic energy.
"I calculated my destiny number, and it is a 4!"
Hermione excitedly tapped a specific paragraph on the page, completely ignoring Draco's theatrical sneer of disgust. She looked directly at Tamara.
"The text says Number 4 individuals extremely pursue order and rules. They are pragmatic and reliable. But the most fascinating part is the very last sentence—"
Hermione cleared her throat and read aloud, her voice ringing with conviction: "[Once they find the existing rules are invalid, they will ruthlessly try to overthrow the old system, weaponizing their knowledge to build impenetrable barriers and establish their own absolute order!]"
"Don't you think that is incredibly accurate?"
"If the existing laws of the Wizarding world are fundamentally flawed, or if they only exist to protect those unequal, bigoted old habits, then why shouldn't we tear them down and reshape them?"
The moment the words left her mouth, Draco rolled his eyes so hard he nearly strained them, letting out a loud, mocking scoff.
But Tamara did not laugh.
She stared at the Muggle-born girl. If one stripped away that filthy, unacceptable bloodline, Tamara genuinely felt that the sheer arrogance and lust for subversion buried deep in Granger's bones easily eclipsed every single pure-blood sitting in the Slytherin common room combined.
"A delightfully grand ideal, Granger," Tamara murmured, withdrawing her gaze. A dark, mocking amusement danced in her tone.
"Though the text also points out that this specific group of people is often severely overworked. Do try not to exhaust yourself to death before you actually achieve your goals."
Hermione completely missed the lethal sarcasm dripping from Tamara's words. Instead, she nodded with intense seriousness. "I will manage my time carefully!"
The immediate vicinity fell quiet once more, leaving only Professor Vector's incessant, droning voice echoing from the podium.
Tamara turned her gaze back to her own parchment, staring at the number 7 written in black ink.
The tyrannical madness and control of a Seven. The pathetic naivety and wavering cowardice of a Five. The ruthless rules and subversion of a Four.
Tamara had to begrudgingly admit that perhaps there was a tiny, microscopic sliver of merit to this mundane algorithm.
At that exact moment, a name abruptly invaded her thoughts like a lingering curse.
Harry Potter.
That fated nemesis who had sent her to the grave. Twice.
And now, since this pathetic little book claimed to expose the deepest, ugliest foundations of a person's soul...
'Understanding the enemy's core weakness is merely a tactical necessity. It ensures I can completely, accurately, and cruelly destroy him the next time I make my move.'
Tamara constructed a flawless, impeccable academic justification for herself in her mind.
She wanted to see exactly what kind of pathetic, unsightly garbage lurked deep inside the soul of the Wizarding world's precious, highly praised Savior.
Using the wide drape of her black robe sleeve to block anyone's view, Tamara quickly scratched a line of letters onto the very edge of her parchment.
Harry Potter.
Final calculation: 2.
"Number Two?"
With a cruel smirk, fully prepared to read a comedy, Tamara flipped the textbook to the pages detailing Number 2.
[Number 2: Exhibits an extremely strong dependency on others. Terrified of loneliness, deeply dislikes being isolated, and is highly indecisive in handling affairs. They are always willing to rely on the strength of those around them.]
[They will even force themselves to participate in group activities simply to avoid being left alone.]
Reading the first paragraph, Tamara had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing aloud.
She knew it!
What 'The Boy Who Lived'? Peel away the mythical shell, and he was nothing but a pathetic, clingy weakling who would be paralyzed by anxiety and fear without his little friends holding his hand! He had absolutely no mind of his own!
That arrogant Scarhead who had dared to talk big to her in the corridor was actually more terrified of the dark and of loneliness than anyone else alive!
Riding a massive wave of psychological satisfaction, Tamara continued to scan down the page.
[However, they must learn to be independent. Once the external dependency of the self is fundamentally and violently removed, what will be revealed from the ashes is an extremely terrifying 'super-ego'.]
The amusement died in Tamara's throat. Her dark eyes turned into abyssal pits.
If she had read this yesterday, she would have scoffed, dismissing it as pretty, poetic words used by liars to comfort cowards.
But right now, at this very second, the suffocating memories of her previous life violently surged to the surface.
At the bitter end of the last war. That Harry Potter who had been stripped of Dumbledore. Stripped of Sirius Black. Stripped of every single shield, mentor, and dependency he had ever leaned on.
That isolated, cornered boy had ultimately orchestrated the absolute, complete downfall of the Dark Lord.
'I must never, ever let him grow to that point again...'
Tamara continued to read. The mockery in her heart had vanished entirely. She was now dissecting the enemy's psychological profile with the lethal, rigorous focus of an apex predator.
However, when her gaze finally dropped to the 'Life Goal' section in the very last paragraph, Tamara furrowed her eyebrows in deep confusion.
[Number 2 individuals must build their lives upon a foundation of stable, intimate relationships. To achieve true fulfillment, they must find a partner who is equally willing to share their burdens, and who will always remain by their side...]
[This partner will serve as their perfect reflection in a mirror.]
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