Chapter 140: An Ill Timed Interruption
The library.
Afternoon sunlight streamed in at an angle through the high windows, yet it failed to warm the smell of old paper and ink that lingered in the corners all year round.
At this moment, Tamara occupied a long table at the edge of the Restricted Section all by herself.
Spread out before her was a heavy volume titled Basic Principles of Alchemy.
And on the parchment covered in dense formulae, a precise deduction regarding the essence of life was underway.
It was an alchemical reaction formula concerning the golden bloodline.
Although the system limited the frequency with which she could use blood, it did not stop the Dark Lord from conducting a deep theoretical analysis of it.
"If blood is used as a fusing agent, replacing traditional salamander blood..."
The quill in Tamara's hand moved swiftly across the paper, sketching complex alchemical symbols.
Her gaze was focused and fanatical.
This was not merely Alchemy.
It was a ladder leading to a higher level of power.
As long as she could unlock the secrets contained within this drop of blood, according to the system's instructions, she could now infinitely extend her life by drinking potions prepared with blood.
But in Tamara's eyes, lingering on through reliance on potions was as fragile as a candle flame in the wind. It did not count as truly conquering death at all.
Just as her train of thought was about to break through a key junction, a voice abruptly interrupted her.
"Tamara."
The tip of Tamara's quill came to a sudden halt, leaving a blot of ink on the perfect formula.
In that instant, the violence flashing in the Dark Lord's eyes nearly set the parchment ablaze.
She slowly raised her head, her pitch black eyes devoid of any warmth as she looked coldly at the newcomer.
Ginny Weasley was standing by the table.
The red haired Gryffindor girl was wearing clean school robes, her hair combed meticulously, and she had even deliberately straightened her back, seemingly imitating Tamara's usual haughty posture.
But her pale complexion and the hand tightly clutching the wooden plaque at her chest completely betrayed her inner weakness and panic.
"Is there something?"
Tamara's voice was as cold as if she were speaking to a stone.
Ginny flinched, but she quickly took a deep breath, forcing a somewhat strained, bright smile onto her face.
"Hi, Tamara. I've seen you in the library all these days. You must be very tired, right?"
Ever since being taught a lesson in the bathroom, she had been trying hard to put Tamara's words into practice.
She would no longer be weak.
She would become strong and confident.
Since then, she had tried countless times to show goodwill toward Tamara, greeting her warmly in the corridors or attempting to display her progress.
But the feedback she received was always discouraging.
Tamara's attitude toward her was always lukewarm. That careless detachment caused Ginny's hard won confidence to take blow after blow.
Moreover, that Slytherin was always surrounded by arrogant followers like Malfoy, who acted like an insurmountable wall, firmly shutting her, a Gryffindor, out.
Today was a rare opportunity.
There were no annoying Slytherins.
Only Tamara.
She cautiously pushed a Pumpkin Pasty wrapped in a handkerchief toward the corner of the table, her eyes full of fawning expectation.
"I just got this from the kitchen... I thought you might be hungry."
Tamara glanced at the greasy pasty, her brow furrowing even tighter.
"I'm not hungry. Take it away."
She refused mercilessly and lowered her gaze back to the formulae, clearly not intending to waste even a second on this boring topic.
Ginny's hand froze in midair.
The embarrassment and sting of being snubbed made the smile on her face difficult to maintain.
But Tamara had been like this for the past few days, blowing hot and cold, mostly cold.
Ginny tried to convince herself that it was only because Tamara was too outstanding and too busy, not because she disliked her.
She was still Big Sister Tamara, the one who had come to comfort her.
"Um... actually..."
Ginny did not leave. She bit her lip and finally spoke her true reason for coming.
"Tamara, I feel... something has been a bit wrong with me lately."
Her voice dropped, carrying a trace of unconcealable fear.
"Although the amulet you gave me really is useful... lately, I've started feeling a bit dazed again."
Ginny subconsciously stroked the wooden plaque, her gaze shifting uncertainly.
"I'm scared. Is that thing... still inside my body?"
In truth, Ginny was not sure whether that thing had really not left, or whether she simply wanted to hear Tamara comfort her.
She looked at Tamara hopefully, longing to hear one word of comfort or a definite denial from this seemingly all powerful senior.
As long as Tamara said it was fine, she would believe it was fine.
However, Tamara did not look up at all.
Her mind was currently completely immersed in the complex calculation regarding rejection between soul and flesh. To her, these empty teenage worries buzzing in her ear were no different from a fly circling around her head.
"You're overthinking it."
Tamara replied perfunctorily while writing an Ancient Rune representing stripping on the parchment.
"It's just your imagination."
In her view, the core of that sixteen year old soul had already been completely devoured by her. What remained was merely some irrational dregs wriggling by instinct.
What kind of waves could that brainless rubbish possibly stir up?
Moreover, she was the Dark Lord destined to conquer death. She had neither the obligation nor the patience to be a nanny for a little girl made suspicious by adolescent sensitivity, nor to coax away nonexistent bedtime monsters.
"But... it's really real..." Ginny urgently tried to argue. "When I woke up yesterday morning, I even felt..."
"Enough."
Tamara finally put down her quill impatiently.
She looked up, her black eyes filled with the irritation and contempt of someone whose work had been disturbed.
Tamara's voice was so cold it was almost biting, as if she were reprimanding a hopeless fool.
"I thought that after last time in the bathroom, you had already learned how to face problems independently."
"But if your so called becoming stronger is just another way of depending on others, of dumping your nightmares onto me like rubbish..."
She let out a very soft sneer, her gaze scraping across Ginny's pale face like the edge of a knife.
"Heh. Then consider everything I said before unsaid."
Ginny froze. She opened her mouth, wanting to explain.
But Tamara did not give her a chance to speak.
She picked up her quill again, dipped it in ink, and cut off the conversation without even raising her head.
"I'm busy. I don't have time to play house with you here."
"If you really think there is something wrong with your head, Madam Pomfrey is in the hospital wing. That is her job, not mine."
[Ding! Warm reminder from the system.]
That electronic voice, which always loved meddling, sounded in her mind, accompanied by a burst of disapproving static.
[Host, was your wording perhaps too harsh? When dealing with a sensitive adolescent girl, maybe you should use a gentler method of encouragement, such as patting her on the head or giving her a piece of candy?]
"Shut up."
Tamara retorted coldly in her mind, her gaze not wavering in the slightest.
"I'm teaching her independence. If she can't even handle this little setback, she will only cry and wait for death when she encounters real Dark Arts in the future. I am helping her face reality."
[System is performing a logical judgment...]
[Judgment passed.]
[Although the method was crude, spare the rod and spoil the child. The host's core objective is to promote the psychological growth of others. Barely fits the criteria of the virtue system.]
Tamara looked down at the formulae on the paper, her lips curling into a mocking smile.
Promoting psychological growth?
Heh. What a wonderful excuse.
In reality, she simply could not be bothered to keep pretending.
Those previous acts as a confidante big sister had merely been for that damned diary, for reclaiming the power that originally belonged to her from that foolish Horcrux.
Now the diary was already in her hands.
That sixteen year old Tom Riddle had already been chewed up and swallowed by her.
Objective achieved.
This pawn named Ginny Weasley had already lost its greatest usefulness to her.
In that case, why should she waste precious time playing that nauseatingly warm role?
Why coax a little girl who could do nothing but cry?
It was a complete waste of life.
.....
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