As she stepped out of the Library, a sharp draft swept through the corridor, making her instinctively shiver.
Tamara Riddle pulled her thick dragon-hide cloak tighter around herself. It had been a gift from Draco a few days ago. The Dark Lord saw nothing improper in accepting a subordinate's kindness; she had taken the cloak without hesitation and had even praised Draco for his attentiveness.
The result? Draco had been walking on air for days.
Just as she crossed the Entrance Hall, intending to return to the dungeons, a tall figure stepped into her path.
"Please wait a moment, Miss Riddle."
The voice was gentle, carrying a youthful warmth like a breeze in early spring.
Tamara stopped and lifted her gaze slightly.
The one blocking her way wore Hufflepuff robes.
He looked about thirteen or fourteen—tall for his age, upright in posture, with features so clean and well-formed they were almost dazzling. A sincere light flickered in his grey eyes.
That kind of unguarded integrity—bright and sunlit—made Tamara's eyes ache.
"Is there something you need?"
Her voice was cool and measured. The boy looked vaguely familiar, yet when she searched her memories, she found nothing.
In her past life, the Dark Lord had been burdened with countless matters. She remembered only those worthy of being called rivals, or those useful enough to serve her. As for ordinary Hogwarts students? They had been no different from weeds along the roadside.
Perhaps he had simply been some nameless casualty in a forgotten battle.
"I'm Cedric Diggory, a third-year Hufflepuff," the boy said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "This might be a little forward, but I've been hoping for a chance to thank you in person."
"Thank me?" Tamara raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. For Hannah," Cedric replied seriously. "She's my junior. That day at the Astronomy Tower—if it weren't for your scarf and your help, she might have caught a terrible chill. She might even have cried over not finishing her homework."
He straightened slightly.
"Hufflepuff values its companions. By helping Hannah, you helped us."
As he spoke, he withdrew an exquisite glass bottle from his robe pocket.
The bottle was magically warmed. Amber liquid shimmered inside, faint steam still rising from its surface.
"This is a special hot ginger drink I bought at Hogwarts last weekend," he explained. "It has honey and cinnamon added. It's very good for keeping out the cold."
He offered it with both hands, his gaze clear and earnest.
"I thought that since the weather is turning colder, you might find it useful. Please consider it a small token of my gratitude."
Tamara looked at the bottle. Then she looked at Cedric's open, defenseless smile.
A strange sense of familiarity stirred in her heart.
It wasn't his face.
It was his temperament.
And his surname.
"Diggory…" she murmured faintly, her brows knitting together.
She had seen him somewhere before.
Or rather—
She had seen his corpse.
At that precise moment, the system—never one to miss an opportunity for chaos—came online.
[Ding! It seems the host cannot recall? Allow this system to assist.]
[Time: June 24, 1995. Location: Church graveyard.]
[You ordered Peter Pettigrew to remove the obstacle. This promising young man died meaninglessly as a result.]
Tamara's pupils contracted.
Ah.
So he was one of those unfortunate souls.
She replied inwardly, her tone cold and utterly devoid of remorse.
"He had no value to me. What does his life or death have to do with me?"
She was about to refuse Cedric's kindness politely—perhaps even suggest that this overly optimistic Hufflepuff return to his sunshine and leave her alone—
Zzzzt—!
A familiar electric current shot across the tip of her tongue, numbing it instantly.
[Warning! Host detected attempting secondary psychological harm toward a past victim.]
[Activating Special Emotional Compensation Mechanism: Apology of History.]
[Although you indirectly caused this youth's death in your previous life and show no remorse, this system remains conscientious.]
[Mission Requirement: You must not refuse Cedric's goodwill and must display the politeness expected of a "Gentle Junior."]
[Mission Penalty: Imitate a troll's dance.]
Tamara fell into complete speechlessness.
"You win," she muttered internally, taking a steadying breath to suppress the killing intent roiling within her.
Her originally frost-cold expression softened under the system's coercion—and with the aid of her own superb acting skills—into an awkward smile that, to any observer, would appear shy and gentle.
"…I don't like owing favors," she said.
She extended both hands and accepted the bottle, which still carried his body warmth.
Her voice, uncontrollably, softened. A faint nasal sweetness slipped into her tone.
"But since it is your sincere wish… thank you, Senior."
Senior.
The moment the word left her lips, Tamara felt as though her soul were retching.
She had just called a teenage boy "Senior."
Cedric blinked in shock.
He had prepared himself to be refused.
Rumors said that although Miss Riddle of Slytherin sometimes helped students from other houses, she rarely socialized outside Slytherin voluntarily.
Yet now—
The girl before him held the warm bottle carefully, her head slightly lowered, thanking him in a soft voice.
"You… you're welcome!"
He waved his hands awkwardly, a faint flush creeping into his ears.
"You're very gentle, Junior Riddle."
"You're a good person."
Tamara's facial muscles were nearly frozen in place, but she maintained her fragile smile.
"Thank you."
She blinked.
Passive Skill Activated: Harmless.
Under the gaze of those pitch-black eyes, Cedric's heart skipped violently.
It felt strangely similar to encountering an Acromantula in the wild—intimidating, yet mesmerizing.
"I—I should go! I have Herbology!" he stammered.
With that, the Hufflepuff senior hurried off, arms and legs moving slightly out of sync.
When he reached the stairs, he glanced back instinctively.
The girl in dark green robes still stood in the drafty hall, holding the drink with both hands as though it were something precious.
"She's really kind," Cedric thought.
"Not all Slytherins are bad."
Only after his figure disappeared completely did the gentleness vanish from Tamara's face.
The mask shattered.
Darkness surged back in.
"Gentle? Junior?" she muttered coldly.
She stared at the ginger drink in her hand, suddenly tempted to hurl it across the hall.
But the system's warning—[Please cherish the kindness of others]—still flashed insistently in her mind.
With visible irritation, she twisted open the cap and took a swallow.
The sharp heat of ginger mixed with the sweetness of honey flowed down her throat. Warmth spread instantly through her body, dispelling the chill clinging to her limbs.
"…It's average."
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Though her body honestly felt better, her words remained sharp.
"It's sickeningly sweet. Only a Hufflepuff would enjoy something so childish."
[Ding! Mission Complete: Apology of History.]
[Reward: Love +1.]
[Current Stats: Love 13, Life 14, Wisdom 23, Courage 12.]
[System Evaluation: See? Being a Gentle Junior isn't so difficult. You gained warmth and the favor of a handsome young man.]
Tamara snorted.
She shoved the bottle into her robe pocket and turned toward the dungeons.
"One day," she muttered coldly, "I'll find a way to remove you from my mind entirely."
[Love you, host.]
"Get lost."
And with that, the Dark Lord walked on—cloak billowing faintly behind her—leaving only the fading warmth of ginger and honey lingering in the cold stone corridor.
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