Chapter 145: The New Order
The heavy stone door ground shut with a dull, satisfying thud, finally severing her from that utterly deranged Weasley girl.
Tamara slumped against the freezing dungeon wall. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the familiar, damp chill of the Slytherin subterranean corridors fill her lungs. Only in this pitch-black sanctuary did the frantic, rage-fueled hammering against her ribs begin to slow.
She lowered her gaze to her wrist. A ring of angry red skin marred her pale flesh—a humiliating, glaring brand left behind by that supernaturally strong Gryffindor brute who had dared to drag her through the halls.
'Filthy, brainless Weasley...'
Tamara ground her teeth together, a vicious curse dying on her lips as she flicked her wand from her sleeve.
"Scourgify." She cast the charm once. Then twice. She cast it four more times in rapid succession, scrubbing the invisible taint of Ginny's grip from her skin until the area was raw.
"Tamara?"
A sudden, startled voice shattered her quiet moment of sanitation.
Draco Malfoy sat lounging in the most ostentatious, high-backed leather armchair positioned directly before the roaring emerald flames of the fireplace, a silver goblet of pumpkin juice frozen halfway to his mouth.
The moment he registered her presence, he slammed the goblet down onto a side table and scrambled to his feet, rushing across the stone floor to intercept her.
"Merlin's beard, you're finally back!"
Draco hovered around her, his pale eyes darting up and down her frame, his brow pinching together in an exaggerated display of distress.
"Why do you look so dreadful? You're paler than the Bloody Baron right now. Did Madam Pomfrey force some expired potion down your throat? Or—wait—did you run into an attacker in the corridors?"
His voice spiked several octaves on the last word. Draco's hand instinctively flew to the wand holstered in his robes, his pointed face contorting into a bizarre amalgamation of genuine panic and eager, boyish excitement.
"If it was an attacker, just say the word! I'll go fetch Crabbe and Goyle, and we'll go—"
"Quiet, Draco."
Tamara cut him off. Her voice lacked its usual volume, still slightly raspy from her earlier ordeal, yet it carried an icy, absolute authority that immediately snapped his jaw shut.
"I am perfectly fine."
She reached up, her slender fingers carefully straightening the collar of her robes that Ginny had so rudely rumpled. In the span of a single breath, the exhausted, battered girl vanished. Her spine straightened into a posture of flawless, aristocratic arrogance as she glided slowly toward the center of the common room.
"I merely crossed paths with a reckless, feral stray cat and had to expend a fraction of my energy driving the wretched thing away."
"A stray cat?" Draco blinked, his face going blank as the metaphor sailed completely over his slicked-back head. But his confusion lasted only a second before a far more pressing thought hijacked his attention.
He leaned in close, invading her personal space, his features twisting into an irrepressible, conspiratorial smirk.
"Forget about the cat, Tamara. I have much, much more important news for you."
Draco cast a theatrical, sweeping glance around the dimly lit common room, ensuring none of the older students were eavesdropping, before dropping his voice into a boastful whisper.
"I just received an owl from the Manor. My father, Lucius Malfoy, has officially joined forces with the twelve school governors. They've signed an absolute mandate for Dumbledore's suspension!"
Tamara's fingers, which had been delicately adjusting her silver cuffs, froze in mid-air.
She slowly lifted her head. A predatory, blindingly sharp light ignited within the pitch-black depths of her eyes. Every lingering trace of weakness, every ounce of exhaustion from dealing with the system and its idiotic pawns, evaporated in a split second.
"What did you just say?"
She stared unblinkingly at Draco, the corners of her lips twitching upward into a slow, dangerous curve.
"Suspend Dumbledore?"
"Exactly!" Draco nodded furiously, practically vibrating with glee. "Father said that after such a severe string of attacks, that old madman clearly cannot guarantee the safety of the student body anymore. By tomorrow morning at the absolute latest, Minister for Magic Fudge will personally arrive at the castle to deliver the notice!"
Draco pumped a fist. "When that happens, Dumbledore will have to pack his bags and get out of Hogwarts!"
A wave of pure, unadulterated euphoria washed over Tamara, instantly clearing the stifling frustration from her chest.
This was, without question, the greatest news she had heard all day. No, all term. Perhaps in this entire miserable second life.
Albus Dumbledore.
The ancient, meddling Sword of Damocles that had been hovering dangerously over her neck since the moment she stepped foot in this castle. The old bee who constantly peered at her over his half-moon spectacles, those piercing blue eyes always threatening to dissect her very soul.
He was finally leaving.
'As long as he is gone...'
A dark, intoxicating thrill raced through her veins. Without Dumbledore, there was not a single soul left in Hogwarts capable of restricting her movements.
Whether it was that reckless, fragmented diary soul playing games in the dark, the Basilisk slithering through the pipes, or those two insufferable Gryffindor brats who fancied themselves saviors... none of them amounted to anything more than pests.
She could easily exploit this sudden power vacuum. She could seize absolute control of the castle from the shadows.
"Very good."
Tamara looked at Draco, a rare, entirely genuine smile of approval gracing her delicate features.
She reached out and, in an unmatched gesture of favor, patted the boy lightly on the shoulder.
"Your father executed this flawlessly."
"Such... Slytherin-like decisiveness."
Receiving such direct, glowing praise from the person he idolized above all others, Draco's pale cheeks instantly flushed a brilliant crimson. He stammered, entirely losing his usual arrogant composure.
"O-of course! After all... after all, we are Malfoys!"
He puffed out his chest, looking as though he might physically float away on a cloud of his own ego.
However.
This localized bubble of triumph did not extend to the rest of the common room.
Not every Slytherin enjoyed the luxury of Malfoy's insider knowledge and blind, aristocratic confidence.
Over in a darkened corner, a cluster of younger students huddled tightly together on a velvet sofa, their faces ashen as they exchanged frantic whispers.
"Did you hear the latest? That Ravenclaw prefect... Penelope Clearwater. She was attacked too."
"Even a prefect couldn't fight it off... are we going to be next?"
"I heard it's a monster. Slytherin's actual monster. But what if it turns on us? What if it kills us?"
Panic festered and multiplied, spreading like a virulent plague beneath the eerie green glow of the lake-filtered windows.
Even a few of the upperclassmen wore grim, tight-lipped expressions. They sat rigidly in their chairs, their knuckles white as they gripped their wands, their eyes darting nervously toward the shadows of the dungeon.
They might pride themselves on their pure-blood status, but that hardly made them immune to the primal fear of death.
Especially now. The attacks were no longer strictly confined to Muggle-borns. The moment the monster targeted a half-blood like Penelope, the illusion of safety shattered. Their supposed blood purity suddenly felt like a very flimsy shield against an indiscriminate predator.
'Truly... unsightly.'
Tamara swept her cold, calculating gaze over the shivering, pathetic figures scattered across the room.
She gracefully withdrew her hand from Draco's shoulder. The warm, approving smile vanished from her lips, instantly replaced by a mask of absolute, freezing contempt.
If there was one thing she despised above all else, it was meaningless, sniveling cowardice.
These were Slytherins. These were supposed to be her future Death Eaters, her prospective elite subordinates. Watching them tremble and panic at the first sign of genuine danger was a personal insult to her legacy.
"Quiet."
Tamara did not shout. She didn't need to. Her voice sliced through the heavy air like a blade of ice, sweeping across the entire common room in a heartbeat.
The frantic whispering died instantly. Dozens of heads snapped up, every pair of eyes locking onto the slender, black-clad girl standing imperiously before the roaring fireplace.
Tamara turned slowly to face her housemates.
The emerald flames danced wildly behind her, casting a towering, distorted shadow against the mottled stone walls. In the flickering light, her silhouette looked less like a second-year student and more like a massive, inscrutable leviathan rising from the deep.
"Look at yourselves."
She let the words hang in the dead silence, her tone dripping with blatant, unapologetic mockery.
"Your cowardice is utterly revolting."
"Just because a few filthy mudbloods were Petrified, you intend to curl up in your shells and weep until someone comes to save you?"
"But... Tamara," Daphne Greengrass spoke up. The blonde girl raised a trembling hand, her voice thick with unshed tears. "It's a monster... even Professor Dumbledore couldn't catch it..."
"That is because he is an old, senile fool."
Tamara cut her down instantly, her gaze locking onto Daphne with the sharpness of a guillotine.
"But you all must remember something."
She began to pace. The sharp, rhythmic click, click, click of her heels against the stone floor echoed like a metronome in the breathless silence of the dungeon.
"This is Slytherin."
"This House is a crucible for the strong. It is not a sanctuary for sniveling cowards."
"That so-called monster..." Tamara let out a soft, chilling laugh, dismissing the legendary beast as though it were nothing more than a speck of dirt on her shoe.
"It exists for one purpose: to purge the trash that does not deserve to breathe the air in Hogwarts."
"If you consider yourselves trash, then by all means, you should be terrified."
Her dark eyes swept across the room, meeting the gaze of every single student. Wherever her eyes landed, spines instinctively snapped straight. Shoulders squared. No one dared to breathe, terrified that a single flinch would earn them the label of 'trash' in her eyes.
"But if you possess noble blood... if you wield the power, the ambition, and the wisdom worthy of the name Slytherin..."
Tamara paused in the center of the room. She tilted her chin up, her posture radiating an aura of supreme, untouchable arrogance. And yet, to the terrified students, that absolute confidence acted as the ultimate anchor in their storm of fear.
"Then you should feel honored."
"Because this will be a feast of purification... and it belongs entirely to us."
"Dry your nauseating tears. Bury your fear."
"In these dungeons, as long as I do not permit it, even Death itself has no right to claim a single one of you."
Total silence reigned.
One second. Two seconds. Three.
Then, miraculously, the suffocating blanket of panic that had gripped the room evaporated. In its place, a blind, feverish fanaticism ignited in the eyes of the students.
[Ding!]
[Skill Activated: Dictator's Sophistry]
[Effect: During a speech, the audience's intelligence is temporarily reduced by 10%, and their fervor is increased by 20%.]
"She's right..."
Draco was the first to break the silence. He stared at Tamara, his pale eyes practically shining with absolute worship.
"We are Slytherins! We bow to no monster!"
Pansy Parkinson immediately leapt to her feet, her fists clenched. "Exactly! Let the mudbloods cower in fear! It has nothing to do with us!"
A chorus of agreement swelled through the common room, the students feeding off each other's sudden, artificially induced bravery.
Watching her newly revitalized flock of followers puff out their chests, Tamara smiled coldly in the dark recesses of her mind.
'Very good.'
These were the exact chess pieces she required.
Since Dumbledore was being forced out... since this pathetic school was about to lose its precious, fragile order...
Then she would gladly step into the void. She would teach these ignorant little trolls exactly what true authority looked like.
The Dark Lord's order.
[Akarin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me and keeps these daily updates flowing!
Want to read 50 chapters ahead or just want to help keep a shameless translator alive? (My livelihood actually depends on this, haha 😭). You can support me directly here:
(P.S. Just remove the brackets and replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters): patreon[.]com/AkarinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/AkarinTL
🔗 All My Links: linktr[.]ee/AkarinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]