As exams approached, the Slytherin common room took on an unusual atmosphere.
The fire in the fireplace burned brightly, pushing back the damp chill rising from the depths of the Black Lake. The long tables had been cleared and draped with dark green velvet cloths. Upon them rested exquisite silver tea sets, neatly stacked textbooks, and towering piles of parchment covered in meticulous notes.
Tamara Riddle sat in the widest armchair before the fire, a cup of black tea poised elegantly between her fingers. Her posture was relaxed yet dignified, radiating an effortless nobility.
The stupid cat named Nagini sprawled lazily across her lap, purring in contentment as several girls took turns stroking its glossy black fur.
"This," Tamara said calmly, setting down her teacup with a crisp clink that instantly silenced the room, "is the meaning of the Mutual Aid Society."
The previously lively chatter died at once.
"Here, we share resources and exchange knowledge. Slytherin is powerful because we understand how to gather individual strength and forge it into a single blade."
She sneered inwardly.
What "Mutual Aid Society"? This was clearly a grooming ground for future Death Eaters.
More importantly, it ensured her subordinates' grades would not embarrass her. Tamara had no intention of leading a group of incompetent fools.
The first-year students present were completely enthralled. They craved structure. They longed for strength. And Tamara—cold, composed, commanding—perfectly embodied their fantasy of leadership.
Just as she prepared to begin reviewing the difficult sections of History of Magic, a sharp voice shattered the harmony.
"That's my seat, Parkinson!"
Daphne Greengrass, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, stood rigid with indignation, her aristocratic features tightened in cold displeasure.
"Does it have your name on it?" Pansy Parkinson shot back, crossing her arms like a small hen guarding its nest. "Besides, I'm Tamara's best friend. I should naturally sit closest to her!"
"Best friend?" Daphne scoffed. "Don't make me laugh, Pansy. You look more like her maid. The Greengrass family would never cling to someone so undignified."
"Who are you calling a maid?!" Pansy shrieked, her hand already darting toward her wand.
"Enough."
The word was not loud. It did not need to be.
The calm authority in Tamara's voice cut through the air like a blade. Both girls froze instantly.
Nagini gave an irritated flick of its tail before leaping gracefully to the floor as Tamara rose.
She stepped between them, her dark gaze sweeping across Pansy's flushed face and Daphne's rigid, arrogant posture.
The surrounding students held their breath. Everyone waited.
Would she favor Pansy, who had always been her most devoted follower?
Or Daphne, whose family influence carried considerable weight?
"Look at yourselves," Tamara said softly, disappointment threading through her tone. "What do you resemble? Two trolls fighting over scraps of territory?"
Both girls went pale.
"Slytherin does not tolerate meaningless internal strife."
Tamara placed a gentle hand on Pansy's shoulder.
"Pansy, your loyalty and passion are valuable. They make you a sharp sword. But if that blade is constantly turned toward your own allies, then it becomes nothing more than foolishness."
Pansy lowered her head, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, Tamara…"
Tamara turned to Daphne.
"And you, Daphne."
She met the pure-blood girl's eyes steadily.
"The composure of the Greengrass family is admirable. But true dignity is not gained by belittling your comrades."
"If you look down on Pansy, then prove your superiority through strength—not through your surname."
Tamara straightened, her voice rising just enough to carry across the room.
"In our group, everyone has a role. Pansy acts decisively. Daphne excels in strategy and social maneuvering. You are fingers on the same hand. Only when clenched together do you form a fist capable of crushing your enemies."
A pause.
"Now. Shake hands."
The two girls hesitated, resentment still flickering in their eyes. Yet under Tamara's unwavering gaze, resistance crumbled.
"Sorry," Pansy muttered.
"…Sorry," Daphne replied stiffly.
Their hands met.
[Ding! Detected that the host has successfully resolved an internal team conflict.]
[System Evaluation: Outstanding leadership. You have not only settled the dispute but strengthened cohesion. This is strategic vision!]
[Reward: Charisma +1.]
[Current Charisma value is too high. Converted into 'Leadership Charisma' aura.]
Tamara returned to her chair, utterly composed.
This was elementary manipulation.
Encourage controlled rivalry. Intervene as impartial authority. Reinforce unity under a single leader.
Dependency was forged not through fear alone—but through mediation.
"Now that the distraction is resolved," she said lightly, opening her book once more, "let us continue."
Before she could resume, Draco Malfoy slammed his quill onto the table.
"Tamara, that Potter has been unbearable lately!"
His pale face flushed with frustration.
"I'm writing to my father. He'll pressure the Board of Governors and have Potter expelled! Father says with a bit of maneuvering, Dumbledore can be made very uncomfortable—"
Always my father.
Tamara closed her book again, this time with deliberate quiet.
She turned her gaze toward Draco, annoyance flickering in her dark eyes.
Lucius Malfoy was a cunning opportunist.
But he had raised his son poorly.
"Draco," she said evenly, tapping her fingers against the armrest. "How old are you?"
"Eleven," he answered, confused.
"Eleven," Tamara repeated. "Not three."
She leaned forward, her gaze locking onto his pale grey eyes. The pressure was immediate, suffocating.
"When you encounter difficulty, your first instinct is to cry, 'I'll tell my father.' You sound like an oversized infant demanding a pacifier."
A few students stiffened.
Draco flushed scarlet.
"But using family influence is also strength!" he protested weakly.
"Using?" Tamara's lips curved faintly. "No. That is dependence."
She rose and approached him slowly.
"What happens if Lucius is no longer there? What if your family loses its influence? What will you do then? Introduce yourself to your enemies as someone's son?"
Draco opened his mouth—but no sound emerged.
The possibility unsettled him deeply.
"A true Slytherin," Tamara continued, her voice lowering into something almost hypnotic, "becomes that father."
She tapped his temple lightly.
"This is your greatest weapon."
"If you are only Lucius Malfoy's son, you will forever remain second-rate. I want to see Draco Malfoy—the kind who forces others to acknowledge him."
"Potter bothers you? Then defeat him with your spells. Outmaneuver him with your plans. Surpass him in academics."
"Do not parade your father's name like a banner."
Silence filled the room.
No one had ever spoken to Draco this way.
His parents indulged him or instructed him on maintaining superiority—but no one had demanded growth.
Shame slowly transformed into something hotter.
Ambition.
His spine straightened.
"I understand," Draco said quietly. "Next time… I'll handle it myself."
Tamara regarded him for a moment—then nodded.
"Good."
[Ding! Detected that the host is conducting profound moral and ideological education.]
[Mission: Teach a man to fish rather than give him a fish.]
[System Evaluation: You have corrected dependency behavior and inspired independence. Exemplary mentorship!]
[Reward: Wisdom +1.]
[Current Wisdom: 24.]
Tamara reclaimed her seat, lifting her teacup once more.
The system's praise was excessive, as always.
But the outcome was satisfactory.
She had no need for pampered heirs who relied solely on inherited prestige.
She required elites—independent thinkers. Calculating. Capable. Loyal only to her.
She surveyed the room.
Every pair of eyes reflected admiration. Respect. Awe.
Influence had deepened.
Control had solidified.
"Now," Tamara said smoothly, flipping open her textbook, "return to page twelve."
She took a measured sip of tea.
"Regarding the structure of magical circuits, certain scholars argue…"
Outside the tall windows, the waters of the Black Lake flowed in slow, silent currents.
Within the Slytherin common room, something else flowed just as steadily.
Authority.
And it belonged entirely to Tamara Riddle.
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