Tamara Riddle casually tossed the still-shivering Sorting Hat—now looking as though it had suffered a mild mental breakdown—back onto the stool and descended the steps gracefully amid a burst of applause from the Slytherin table.
She ignored the complicated glances from the Gryffindor table and walked straight toward the long table reserved for the elite and the pure-bloods.
"Over here! Tamara!"
Draco Malfoy eagerly patted the empty seat beside him, even going so far as to kick Goyle—who had been trying to squeeze closer—to the other end of the bench.
Tamara sat down next to him and gave a slight nod, acknowledging his enthusiasm.
"I knew you'd come to Slytherin," Draco said, his pale face glowing with pride, as though her placement were somehow his personal achievement.
At that moment, Dumbledore stood up at the staff table.
He beamed at the students, spreading his arms wide, looking happiest when surrounded by a hall full of young witches and wizards.
"Welcome!" he said cheerfully. "Welcome to Hogwarts for a new school year! Before the feast begins, I have a few words to say: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
"Thank you!"
He sat down again, and the hall erupted in applause and cheers.
"Is he mad?" Harry whispered quietly to Percy at the Gryffindor table.
Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Tamara merely sneered inwardly.
Just pretending to be crazy, she thought.
But that wasn't important.
What mattered was that when she looked down, her previously empty plate had been instantly piled high with food.
Roast beef. Roast chicken. Pork chops. Lamb chops. Sausages. Steak. Boiled potatoes. Roasted potatoes. Chips. Yorkshire pudding. Peas. Carrots.
The rich aroma rose in waves, drifting straight into Tamara's nose.
To be honest—
She was starving.
The cabbage soup that resembled dishwater and the rock-hard black bread at Wools Orphanage had been nothing short of torture for the human digestive system. And this growing body of hers was currently sending loud, insistent protests to her brain.
She picked up her knife and fork, preparing to cut a small, perfectly roasted lamb chop—maintaining a refined, ladylike portion.
However, just as her fork touched the plate—
Draco Malfoy frowned and kicked Goyle, who was sitting opposite them.
"Goyle, what are you staring at?" Draco snapped in the arrogant tone he usually reserved for servants. "Can't you see Miss Riddle's plate is empty? Does a lady have to serve herself? Where's your initiative?"
Goyle, who had been gnawing on a chicken leg, froze mid-bite, clearly failing to understand the situation.
"Serve her some of that roast beef!" Draco ordered. "It's the specialty here!"
He spoke as though commanding a butler, clearly using the opportunity to display his importance.
"Oh… oh!"
Goyle hastily dropped his chicken leg and grabbed the large serving spoon.
Perhaps in his simple mind, generous hospitality meant generous portions. Or perhaps he thought Tamara looked too thin and needed to be built like him.
Either way—
He wielded the spoon like a coal shovel.
Whoosh!
A mountain of roast beef landed directly on top of the delicate lamb chop Tamara had selected.
"And pork chops!" Draco continued.
Splat!
Two thick, greasy pork chops were added to the growing tower.
"Mashed potatoes!"
Plop!
A heavy scoop of mashed potatoes, drowning in gravy, crowned the top like a monument to excess.
Watching Goyle's crude movements, Tamara's fingers tightened around her utensils. Her knuckles turned white.
"That's enough," she said coldly.
"You idiot!" Draco snapped as he realized Goyle had gone too far. "Are you trying to bury the entire plate? Who could possibly eat all that?"
Goyle blinked innocently, glanced at his own plate—which held an even larger pile—and then back at hers.
"It's fine."
Tamara inhaled deeply, struggling to maintain her outward elegance. She placed her knife and fork down, ready to push the tragic heap aside and summon a clean plate.
But the moment her finger touched the edge—
[Ding! Detecting host attempting to waste food.]
Her hand froze.
[Triggering Virtue Daily Quest: Every Grain Is Hard-Earned.]
She listened in disbelief.
[Quest Description: Do you know how many children in this world are starving? For example—the 'you' in the orphanage.]
Her eye twitched.
[Wasting food is an extremely shameful act, especially when it is the result of the hard labor of the Hogwarts house-elves.]
Her jaw tightened.
[Quest Objective: Eat all the food on the plate. Not even a single pea may remain.]
Her grip trembled.
[Quest Reward: Life +2. Constitution slightly enhanced.]
She blinked.
[Failure Penalty: Loudly burping in public for three minutes.]
"Are you serious?!" she roared internally. "This plate alone could feed a troll! You expect me to eat all of it? I'll explode!"
[Host, please rest assured. Your body is currently in a critical growth phase. Due to long-term malnutrition, while your stomach capacity is limited, your absorption needs are significant.]
[The System will assist with rapid digestion. No one will die.]
[Please commence your Clean Plate Action!]
She couldn't possibly eat this much.
But she absolutely could not lose face in public.
"Gregory Goyle," she thought darkly, engraving the name at the top of her mental Death Blacklist—temporarily ranking even above Harry Potter.
She picked up her knife and fork again.
"No need to change it," she said smoothly, flashing Goyle a smile sharp enough to cut steel. "Thank you for your… enthusiasm."
"Since it has been served, it cannot be wasted."
She stabbed a massive piece of beef and placed it into her mouth.
The next twenty minutes became a spectacle for everyone seated near the Slytherin table.
The delicate, refined Tamara Riddle—
Was devouring the mountainous pile of food with astonishing speed and perfect table manners.
"Merlin…" Pansy Parkinson whispered, staring in shock. "She looks absolutely famished."
"You wouldn't know it from her posture," Blaise Zabini observed with raised brows. "How can that slender body hold so much?"
Only Tamara knew the truth.
With every bite, her stomach stretched painfully. Even with the System's assistance, the physical sensation of fullness was brutally real.
"System… I can't…" she pleaded internally. "If I eat one more bite, I'm going to throw up."
[Keep going, Host! Only half a pork chop and two spoonfuls of mashed potatoes remain! For the sake of not burping! For the glory of Slytherin! Sprint!]
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes—purely physiological, of course.
She inhaled sharply, stabbed the final piece of meat, and, with the solemnity of a soldier marching toward execution, shoved it into her mouth.
Swallow.
The food pressed against her throat.
She felt like a python that had swallowed an entire cow.
[Ding! Quest Complete: Every Grain Is Hard-Earned.]
[Reward Issued: Life +2.]
Tamara lacked the strength to curse the System.
She slumped slightly in her chair, her once-perfect posture bending for the first time that evening. Under the table, one hand discreetly loosened the belt of her robes.
Too full.
She wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere warm and digest for a month.
"Wow, Tamara, you're amazing," Goyle said sincerely, staring at her sparkling-clean plate. "I thought girls like you only ate tiny portions."
She turned toward him slowly, her gaze dazed yet brimming with resentment.
"Shut up, Goyle," Draco said, pushing him away dismissively. "Don't measure Tamara by your standards."
Just as Tamara was contemplating whether murder counted as a virtue—
The remaining dishes vanished, replaced by desserts.
Ice cream in countless flavors. Apple pies. Treacle tarts. Chocolate cakes. Puddings glistening under candlelight.
Goyle's eyes lit up.
"Hey! There's pudding!" he exclaimed, already reaching for the serving spoon again.
Tamara instantly straightened—an action that nearly caused her to gag.
She smiled sweetly.
Very sweetly.
"If you insist on serving me," she said softly, lifting her fork slightly, "I will stab your hand."
Goyle froze mid-motion.
The spoon trembled.
Draco coughed awkwardly.
And for the first time that evening—
No one dared add anything to Tamara Riddle's plate.
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