In the days following the Quidditch match, the atmosphere in the Slytherin common room was so heavy it felt as though it could be wrung out like a soaked towel.
Ever since Harry had won the match with that outrageous, ball-swallowing maneuver, Marcus Flint—captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team—had treated the common room as his personal venue for public outrage.
"That was a foul! An absolute foul!"
Marcus kicked over an exquisitely crafted footstool. His broad, troll-like face flushed a violent red as spittle flew from his mouth with every word.
From a corner sofa, Draco added fuel to the fire. His voice was hoarse from days of nonstop complaining.
"I told you, Dumbledore favors Gryffindor! If I'd caught the Snitch like that, I'd have been banned for life!"
Tamara sat far from the fireplace in a high-backed armchair, a heavy volume of Advanced Rune Analysis resting in her lap. She turned a page with measured calm, though the cacophony around her made concentration impossible.
The shouting resembled the mating cries of particularly dim-witted baboons.
Just a group of sore losers, she thought coldly.
If this were decades ago, any Death Eater who screamed in public over a trivial ball game would have been rewarded with the Cruciatus Curse—a sharp lesson in silence.
But now, burdened by that insufferable System, Tamara could only close her book and rise with controlled elegance.
"Where are you going, Tamara?" Pansy Parkinson asked cautiously. She was attempting to repair the shattered footstool with magic, though her wand movements were hesitant.
"To the library."
Tamara smoothed the hem of her robes, her tone indifferent. "The air here reeks of fermented failure. I'd prefer somewhere I can breathe."
Before Marcus could process the insult, Tamara had already disappeared through the concealed passage behind the stone wall.
Hogwarts' library was Tamara's favorite place in the castle, second only to the Room of Requirement.
It was quiet. Spacious. And most importantly, the air carried the scent of aged parchment and ink—the fragrance of knowledge, and therefore, of power.
She moved effortlessly between towering bookshelves, slender fingers gliding across worn spines.
Recently, the Potter trio had been wandering about like unweaned puppies. They had even gone to Hagrid, clumsily fishing for information about a certain name: Nicolas Flamel.
Tamara sneered faintly.
She, of course, knew exactly who Nicolas Flamel was.
A six-hundred-year-old relic. Dumbledore's partner in alchemy. The creator of the Philosopher's Stone.
She selected a book on ancient alchemy at random and settled into a secluded seat by a tall window, intending to enjoy a rare stretch of peace.
Naturally, Merlin found this amusing.
Just as she opened her book, the silence fractured under the frantic sound of pages being flipped.
Flip. Flip. Flip.
The noise was hurried, anxious—borderline desperate.
Tamara looked up in irritation. Through a narrow gap between bookshelves, she spotted a mass of bushy brown hair.
Hermione Granger.
The Gryffindor know-it-all was buried beneath a veritable mountain of books. Her hair was wilder than usual, and faint shadows lingered beneath her eyes—clear evidence of several sleepless nights.
She flipped through Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, muttering in mounting frustration.
"Not here… not here either… Why can't I even find him in A History of Modern Magic?"
She looked as though she were on the verge of collapse.
For three days straight, she had combed through every modern history text in the library. And she had found nothing.
To Hermione Granger, ignorance was agony.
Tamara watched with detached disdain.
Stupid.
Nicolas Flamel might not be dead, but he had made his name in the fourteenth century. Searching for him in twentieth-century records was like hunting for a phoenix in a seafood market.
Tamara had no intention of correcting her.
Watching the "brightest witch of Gryffindor" flounder aimlessly was mildly entertaining.
Unfortunately, it was also unbearably loud.
She began to rise, intending to relocate.
[Ding! Your classmate is detected to be on the verge of an academic breakdown.]
The System's cheerful voice rang through her mind at precisely the worst possible moment.
[Daily Quest Triggered: Top Student's Guidance.]
[Quest Background: As Hogwarts' recognized genius, how can you tolerate someone using such an inefficient and incorrect search method in front of you? This is an insult to the Library!]
[Quest Description: Without directly giving the answer, guide Hermione Granger to find the correct book.]
[Quest Reward: Wisdom +1. Hermione Granger's Favorability UP.]
[Failure Penalty: Host must sing the school song in the Slytherin common room with great emotion.]
"…You damned defective System."
Tamara clenched her teeth, suppressing the urge to slam her book into Hermione's head.
After a steadying breath, she closed her book and stepped around the shelf with unhurried grace.
"You're making too much noise, Granger."
Her voice was cool and edged with habitual arrogance.
Hermione startled so violently she nearly dropped her book.
"Ta—Tamara?"
Embarrassment flooded her expression. She scrambled to tidy the chaotic stacks before her. "I'm sorry, I was just— I'm looking for—"
"You're looking for a name. I'm aware."
Tamara's gaze swept across the titles littering the table: A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. Notable Magical Names of Our Time.
With a single pale finger, she nudged the pile aside.
"Your direction is entirely wrong."
"Wrong?" Hermione blinked. "But Harry said he saw it on a Chocolate Frog card…"
"The card mentioned he was Dumbledore's partner, correct?"
Tamara looked down at her, disappointment faintly coloring her tone.
"Use your brain, Granger. Dumbledore is over a hundred years old. Someone capable of partnering him in alchemy—someone whose name is absent from modern historical records…"
She paused deliberately.
"What does that suggest?"
Hermione's confusion lasted only seconds. Then her eyes sharpened.
"It suggests… he might be far older than Dumbledore?"
"Not completely hopeless."
Tamara turned and walked toward the rear shelves—where dusty, rarely disturbed tomes loomed in quiet neglect.
Hermione followed instinctively.
Tamara's fingers traced gilded spines until they stopped at a massive black leather volume.
Alchemy: Ancient Art and Science.
She did not remove it fully.
That would have been too direct.
Instead, she pulled it halfway out, as if conducting a casual inspection, then released it as though uninterested.
"If you want to understand someone," Tamara said lightly, her back still turned, "don't fixate on their name."
Her voice carried no emphasis, as though the remark were meant for no one in particular.
"What is remembered more than an alchemist's name?"
She paused just long enough.
"Their achievements."
Without another glance, she walked toward the exit.
Hermione remained frozen for several seconds.
Her gaze shifted from Tamara's retreating figure to the half-withdrawn book.
Alchemy?
Her pulse quickened.
She rushed forward and hauled the heavy tome free. It thudded against the nearby desk.
With trembling fingers, she flipped to the index.
There was no separate entry for Nicolas Flamel.
Her heart sank—
Then she saw it.
Under the heading for Philosopher's Stone, in small print:
The famous maker of the Philosopher's Stone, the only known owner of the Philosopher's Stone—Nicolas Flamel.
Her breath caught.
"Found it!"
The exclamation burst out before she could stop herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trembling with exhilaration.
Three days.
She had searched for three whole days.
And Tamara had needed only a glance to identify the flaw in her reasoning.
Clutching the massive book to her chest, Hermione looked toward the library door.
Tamara was gone.
In Hermione's mind, what had just happened was not arrogance.
It was insight.
Profound. Intentional.
Tamara had known all along what she was searching for.
She hadn't given the answer outright—no, she had guided her. Forced her to think differently. To correct her method.
"She knew," Hermione whispered, cheeks flushing. "She's been paying attention."
The realization filled her with an unfamiliar warmth.
"She didn't just tell me… she wanted me to understand."
Hermione hugged the book tightly.
"Thank you, Tamara."
Her eyes shone with renewed determination.
"I won't waste your guidance."
[Ding! Quest Completed: Academic Guidance.]
[Reward: Wisdom +1.]
[Current Wisdom: 23.]
[Detection: Hermione Granger's admiration for you has increased significantly. Favorability status updated to: Confidante.]
Walking down the dim corridor toward the dungeons, Tamara nearly stumbled.
"Confidante?"
Her lip twitched.
A faint chill crawled down her spine.
"Who is a confidante with that mudblood?"
She brushed invisible dust from her robes as if shaking off an unwanted attachment.
"I did it for power. Nothing else."
Absolutely nothing else.
Yet for some reason, the word lingered in her thoughts long after the System fell silent.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Jackssparrow