Chapter 153: Compromise
Harry did not know that his pain signals had been tampered with by the system.
He only felt his heart pounding as if it were about to leap out of his throat.
The feeling was incredibly strong, like an invisible thread had hooked onto his soul and was desperately pulling him toward a certain direction in the castle.
"Something... is calling me..."
This thought inexplicably appeared in Harry's mind.
There was no logic behind this intuition, yet it was so powerful that he could not resist it.
He glanced at Ron, who was sleeping like a log beside him, and without the slightest hesitation, he rolled out of bed, grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, and rushed out of the dormitory.
Following that heart pounding sensation, he sprinted all the way up to the eighth floor.
Harry stopped in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the trolls.
Click.
A crack suddenly appeared in the wall.
The doorknob turned from the inside.
Immediately after, a door appeared before Harry. It was a heavy oak door, being laboriously pushed open from within by the narrowest crack.
A strong, sweet, metallic scent instantly rushed out, making Harry recoil a step.
The next second, a burning hot body, as if losing all support, stumbled out through the crack in the door.
"...Damn it."
Accompanied by a curse so faint it was almost inaudible, the dark figure was about to collapse onto the cold corridor floor.
Harry instinctively reached out to help.
When he saw the person's face, he froze.
Tamara Riddle was weakly gripping the doorframe, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.
Her usually meticulously arranged long black hair was now drenched in cold sweat, sticking messily to her pale cheeks.
Most striking were her eyes. Those eyes, which always gleamed with coldness and mockery, were now veiled with a watery sheen because of her high fever.
She was trying to crawl out, each breath as heavy as that of someone drowning.
When she saw that it was Harry Potter, a murderous glint instantly burst from her originally hazy eyes.
"Get out..."
She tried to shout, but her voice came out weak and soft.
Harry's mind buzzed.
The stimulation from his scar reached its threshold at that moment.
He had no time to think about why Tamara was like this. His body reacted before his brain.
He dropped the Invisibility Cloak, dashed forward, knelt on one knee, and reached out to help her up.
"Tamara! What's wrong with you? Were you injured in the Forbidden Forest just now?"
However, the moment Harry's fingers touched Tamara's shoulder, a sharp sizzle seemed to tear through the air.
The collision of souls.
For Tamara, who was already in an extremely weakened state, even with the system converting part of the pain, the stimulation was still unbearable.
"Don't touch me!"
A physiological revulsion and pain made her tremble violently.
She used the last of her strength to violently shake off Harry's hand.
"Get out... don't touch me with your dirty hands... get out!"
Tamara panted, curled into a ball, and stared at Harry with fierce eyes.
Harry's hand froze in midair.
The lingering warmth on his fingertips was shockingly hot, and the moment he was pushed away, his scar brought him not pain, but a strange sense of loss and an unusual emotion welling up in his heart.
He could not quite describe what it was.
If this had happened before, Harry might have been furious at such vicious words.
But now...
He looked at Tamara.
She could not even sit steadily, yet she was still biting her lip, maintaining her last shred of dignity with those hostile eyes.
She did not want anyone to see her weakness.
Especially not him.
Harry sensed that something was wrong.
Tamara was usually cold and sharp tongued, but she was different with him than she was with others.
Her protection of him was real.
But her aversion to him also seemed real.
This extreme contradiction left Harry utterly confused.
He did not understand how someone could stand in front of him like a Patronus one moment, and in the next, tell him to get out with eyes that looked at him like filth, as if his touch were a desecration.
Was this just Slytherin's unique awkwardness, or was she only like this toward him?
Did she have to wrap her kindness in a thorn covered shell and keep everyone at a distance?
Harry suddenly remembered something Hermione had once told him when commenting on Tamara's awkward personality.
"Although Tamara dislikes others showing her kindness, she doesn't seem to mind people acknowledging her abilities and authority."
"As long as it's based on repayment or admiration, and not that sticky infatuation, she usually... reluctantly accepts."
If he showed even the slightest hint of pity now, Harry would wager that Tamara would use her last breath to curse him.
Harry took a deep breath and forcibly suppressed the chaotic stirrings in his heart.
He withdrew the hand he had extended to help her, and his expression shifted from anxiety to a forced calmness and seriousness.
"I didn't come because I pity you, Riddle."
Harry said it stiffly, even deliberately using her surname to create distance.
Tamara paused at the address. Her anger filled eyes narrowed slightly.
"This is a transaction."
Harry stood up and looked down at her, trying to make his tone sound like that of a shrewd Slytherin.
"You saved Ron and me in the Forbidden Forest. I don't like owing anyone favours, especially not a Slytherin."
"So I'll help you this once, and we'll be even."
Tamara stared at Harry for a full five seconds.
She was evaluating him.
Evaluating whether this idiot was acting, or whether he had truly come to his senses.
But either way, his words did slightly reduce her annoyance.
At least she was not being treated like a stray dog.
And...
Gurgle.
The cauldron behind her let out a dangerous bubbling sound.
If it was not dealt with quickly, the potion she had painstakingly brewed, the potion that could save or harm, would be ruined.
She could not even move a finger right now.
Reality forced the Dark Lord to yield.
"...Heh."
Tamara closed her eyes and let out a very faint, heavily nasal sneer.
"A transaction... Are you worthy?"
Although her words were still sharp, her tense body relaxed slightly, tacitly agreeing to the transaction.
She laboriously lifted her chin, gesturing toward the cauldron that was about to boil over. Her voice was terribly hoarse.
"Since it's repayment... then stop babbling."
"Pour that potion... into... the crystal vials on the shelf."
At this, she reopened her eyes and stared fiercely at Harry with her watery yet still hostile gaze, squeezing out a threat through gritted teeth.
"If you dare spill a single drop... I'll turn you into a toad... and stuff you into one of those specimen jars with the dead frogs in Snape's office."
.....
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