A few weeks after school started, a strange phenomenon occurred at Hogwarts.
Logically, Slytherin first-years are usually the most unpopular group in the school—they are arrogant, cliquey, and look down on Muggle-born Wizards.
But Tamara Riddle was an exception.
Even though she always walked with her chin held high, her gaze was as cold as ice, and she rarely spoke to anyone outside of Slytherin.
Yet when eating in the Great Hall, you could always see a group of little badgers at the Hufflepuff table waving enthusiastically at her.
This left the Gryffindors very confused.
During lunch on Thursday, the Great Hall was buzzing with noise.
"I don't understand."
Ron Weasley mumbled indistinctly while stuffing mashed potatoes into his mouth, his gaze drifting across the crowd to the central position at the Slytherin table.
"She's clearly a Slytherin, and she looks even scarier than Malfoy... why do those fools in Hufflepuff like her so much?"
He admitted that Tamara was beautiful, but that didn't make Ron completely lower his guard against this Slytherin.
"Because she's not just a Slytherin, Ron."
Hermione Granger put down her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, her tone carrying a rare hint of admiration: "Have you heard about Wednesday night's Astronomy Class? Hufflepuff and Slytherin had it together."
"I heard it was freezing that night," Harry Potter interjected, listlessly poking at the peas on his plate with a fork.
"Yes, very cold," Hermione nodded.
"Hannah told me her hands were frozen stiff and she couldn't operate the telescope at all. Everyone knows Slytherins usually just mock situations like that."
"Malfoy definitely mocked her," Ron snorted.
"Exactly, Malfoy did laugh," Hermione said seriously, "but Riddle didn't. She not only helped Hannah calibrate the telescope, but she even—"
Hermione lowered her voice, as if sharing an unbelievable secret.
"—She took off the scarf from her own neck and gave it to Hannah, while she herself stood in the cold wind for half the class without saying a word."
Both Harry and Ron were stunned.
They subconsciously glanced at the black-haired girl in the distance who was elegantly cutting her steak. She looked so cold that it was hard to associate such a heartwarming act as giving away a scarf with her.
"There's more than that," Neville Longbottom chimed in timidly, whispering.
"I heard it too... in Herbology Class, facing a table full of dragon dung, even Malfoy thought it was too dirty to touch, but Riddle just did the work with her bare hands. Professor Sprout said she's the student who shows the most respect for life."
"Listen to that!" Hermione said, as if delivering a closing argument. "Respect for knowledge, caring for classmates, and not even afraid of getting dirty or tired. Although she looks arrogant, her actions... are very chivalrous."
"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron rolled his eyes. "She's in Slytherin. I bet that scarf definitely had some Dark Arts on it, like making Hannah turn into an obedient badger."
Harry didn't speak.
He looked at Tamara in the distance, his heart full of conflict.
In Potion Class, her mocking tone reminded him of Snape, but she did use her knowledge to shut Snape up. In a way, did she help him out?
This girl was far too difficult to read.
Just then, several owls flew into the hall, dropping off the day's mail.
Ron opened a notice, scanned it, and immediately let out a pained wail.
"Oh, no! This is an absolute nightmare!"
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.
"Flying Class," Ron slapped the notice onto the table with a look of despair. "It's this afternoon, and guess who we're having it with?"
An ominous premonition rose in Harry's heart.
"Don't tell me it's..."
"Slytherin," Ron said through gritted teeth, his eyes drifting toward Malfoy, who was over there bragging to Crabbe about his flying skills.
"That bastard Malfoy has been bragging about his flying skills for days. I bet this class is going to be a disaster."
Harry sighed.
Compared to Malfoy, he was more worried about himself now.
If he fell off his broom in front of the seemingly omnipotent Tamara Riddle... that would be even more humiliating than getting detention from Snape.
Tamara had spent the last few weeks quite comfortably; the system hadn't glitched out and given her any more ridiculous missions.
But when she saw the upcoming schedule, her eyebrows knitted together uncontrollably.
The worst class had finally arrived.
At three-thirty on Thursday afternoon, the Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years gathered on the lawn outside the Castle, preparing for their first Flying Class.
The weather was clear, a breeze brushed against their cheeks, and the lawn beneath their feet was green and soft.
For most eleven-year-old children, it was a perfect day.
But Tamara felt like she was heading to an execution ground.
She stood beside a row of dilapidated flying brooms, looking down with disdain at the antique at her feet.
The twigs at the tail of the broom were sticking out in all directions, some even broken; it looked like a balding brush that had been used for ten years.
"Simply a barbarian sport."
Tamara commented scathingly in her mind.
In her view, flying around on such a thin wooden stick was not only devoid of any aesthetic sense but also involved an extremely undignified posture.
It was like clamping a branch between one's legs and scurrying through the sky—an activity only enjoyed by incompletely evolved monkeys.
At the peak of her previous life, she had already mastered the mysteries of flight, inventing Dark Arts that allowed for flight in the air without the need for any tools.
That posture—rising into the air like black smoke and looking down upon all living things from a height—that was true flight.
And now? She had to ride this broken stick.
"Everyone stand beside your broom!"
Madam Hooch strode over; she had short gray hair and sharp yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Hurry up, don't dawdle."
"Place your right hand over the broomstick," Madam Hooch shouted, "then say loudly: 'Up!'"
"Up!"
Everyone began shouting at the brooms on the ground.
Harry Potter's broom jumped into his hand immediately, which made him look very excited; Draco Malfoy was not to be outdone, as his broom also behaved obediently.
On the other side, Hermione Granger was getting angry at her broom, which only rolled over lazily on the ground.
Tamara stood in place, arms crossed, looking coldly at the broom at her feet.
Making her shout like a fool at a piece of wood?
Never.