Passing through the hidden entrance concealed behind the damp stone wall, the Slytherin common room unfolded before them.
It was a long, narrow chamber located deep beneath the Black Lake. Rough-hewn stone formed the walls and ceiling, and round green lamps hung at intervals, casting an eerie emerald glow across the room. Exquisitely carved ebony tables and high-backed chairs were arranged near the fireplace, where silver-green flames crackled softly.
Through the tall windows, the murky waters of the lake pressed close against the glass. Occasionally, the massive tentacle of the giant squid drifted past, or a pale fish glided silently through the darkness, casting wavering shadows in the dim green light.
For most eleven-year-old wizards, the cold and shadowy atmosphere might have felt unsettling—perhaps even frightening.
But for Tamara Riddle, the old scent lingering in the air—the mingling of moisture and ancient magic—felt like home.
"Welcome to the Slytherin common room."
Prefect Gemma Farley, a sharp-eyed senior girl whose expression betrayed exhaustion, stood near the fireplace and attempted to quiet the chattering first-years.
"The password is 'Pure-blood.' It changes every two weeks, so don't forget to check the noticeboard."
"In here, we are a family. No matter what the other houses think of us, within Slytherin, we must stand united…"
Her words, however, had little effect.
The freshmen were still riding the high of the Sorting Ceremony. A prefect's speech could not possibly dampen such excitement. The room remained chaotic. Gemma called for quiet several times, but her voice was swallowed by laughter and whispers.
She clearly lacked the authority to command attention—especially with troublemakers like Malfoy in the crowd.
Tamara stood quietly at the back, the firelight flickering against her pale features.
She was observing.
From experience—experience from another life—she knew that Slytherin valued power and hierarchy above all else. If one appeared weak, one would be trampled. But if one seemed too aloof, one would be isolated.
Her earlier coldness had established authority. It had also created distance.
That would not do.
A true Dark Lord must possess more than the power to inspire fear. She must also wield the charisma to inspire devotion.
She needed these young wizards.
They were the future reserves of her cause—the foundation for her resurgence in the wizarding world.
Wearing a mask people adored was something she excelled at.
Tamara chuckled inwardly. The chill in her black eyes melted away, replaced by a deep, luminous gentleness. She smoothed her skirt and stepped toward the center of the room.
She approached Gemma Farley, who instinctively moved aside, startled by the sudden confidence of the beautiful first-year.
"Just as the prefect said," Tamara began.
Her voice was no longer cold and cutting. It flowed softly, elegantly, yet carried clearly across the entire chamber.
"We are a family."
She turned to face the freshmen. An impeccable smile graced her lips—free of mockery or disdain, radiating only composure and quiet strength.
Draco Malfoy stared, momentarily stunned. Pansy Parkinson blinked in astonishment. Even the half-blood students who had been whispering moments earlier fell silent.
"I know what you're worried about," Tamara continued, pacing slowly. Her gaze lingered on each face as though she truly saw them.
"People outside say Slytherin is the cradle of Dark Wizards. That we are cunning. Devious. Evil."
"During the Sorting Ceremony, when Potter was placed in Gryffindor, they cheered. When we were sorted into Slytherin, they whispered."
"It feels unfair, doesn't it?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"That Weasley was glaring at me!" Goyle muttered indignantly.
"They're jealous!" Draco declared loudly. "Jealous that we're pure-bloods!"
Tamara did not rebuke him. Instead, she inclined her head slightly.
"Malfoy is right."
"But it isn't only about bloodline."
Her tone sharpened just enough to command attention.
"It's because we are excellent."
"Salazar Slytherin selected students for their ambition, their intelligence, and their thirst for greatness. We refuse mediocrity. We do not settle for being overlooked like Hufflepuff, nor do we rely solely on reckless courage like Gryffindor."
"We pursue excellence."
She extended a hand toward the green tapestry embroidered with the silver serpent.
"Because we excel, we are envied. Because we are strong, we are misunderstood."
"This is the fate of Slytherin."
The room fell completely silent.
Upper-year students had stopped reading. Even they were listening.
Her speech was incendiary—but brilliantly structured. She transformed social ostracization into proof of superiority. The freshmen's unease dissolved, replaced by pride.
As for the real reasons Slytherin was mistrusted—
Best not to examine those too closely.
"So, my friends."
Her gaze softened again.
"Do not concern yourselves with the whispers of others. That is merely the noise of insecurity."
"In the next seven years, we have only one goal."
She paused deliberately.
"To prove our superiority."
"We will win the House Cup. We will excel in every subject. We will demonstrate to everyone why Slytherin is the greatest house at Hogwarts."
Then she turned slightly toward Draco, smiling.
"Draco, are you willing to prove the excellence of the House of Malfoy for the glory of Slytherin?"
Called upon publicly, Draco flushed crimson.
"Of course!" he shouted, voice cracking with excitement. "I'll show them! I'll show Potter what a real wizard looks like!"
"Very good."
Tamara's smile deepened. She swept her gaze across the room, and wherever it landed, eyes burned with admiration.
"Then let us do it—for Slytherin."
"For Slytherin!" someone cried.
The chant spread like wildfire.
"For Slytherin!"
The chamber echoed with fervent voices.
[Ding! Highly inflammatory speech detected.]
[Achievement Triggered: Junior Leadership Charisma.]
[System Evaluation: Although your rhetoric resembles the brainwashing techniques of pyramid schemes, it is undeniable that you have successfully unified your classmates, dispelled fear, and inspired ambition.]
[This is Positive Energy! This is the spirit of collectivism!]
[Rewards: Charisma +3, Wisdom +2.]
[Current Attributes: Love 10, Life 7, Wisdom 17, Courage 5.]
Listening to the system's absurd praise, Tamara's smile grew even more radiant.
"Positive energy?" she sneered inwardly.
"This is called manipulation, you idiot."
After the speech, her popularity soared.
Students who had once been intimidated by her aloofness now crowded around eagerly, introducing themselves in rapid succession. Tamara responded to each patiently.
She memorized every name.
Even the quieter half-blood students received a warm nod and a thoughtful compliment.
"Your robes are impeccably neat."
"You have a very perceptive gaze."
Such small gestures overwhelmed those accustomed to rigid blood hierarchies. They mistook calculated courtesy for kindness.
"She's perfect, isn't she?" Pansy whispered to Daphne Greengrass, cheeks flushed. "Powerful, elegant… and so gentle."
Eventually, the crowd dispersed, retreating to their dormitories.
Tamara entered the girls' corridor.
Inside, a spacious circular dormitory awaited. Five four-poster beds draped in green velvet lined the walls.
Besides Tamara, there were Pansy, Millicent, Daphne, and a quiet girl named Tracy.
Conversation halted the moment Tamara stepped in.
"Goodnight, everyone," she said with a soft smile.
"I hope we spend seven pleasant years together."
"Goodnight, Tamara," Pansy replied nervously.
Tamara moved toward the bed by the window—the best position, clearly reserved for her. Her luggage had already been placed neatly beside it.
On the pillow sprawled her black cat, Nagini, fast asleep.
With a flick of her wand, Tamara drew the heavy curtains closed.
At last—privacy.
Within that enclosed space, her radiant smile vanished instantly, as though wiped away.
In its place lingered exhaustion—and something darker.
"A collection of easily led fools," she murmured.
She fell backward onto the mattress.
Acting was exhausting.
Especially when one had to maintain a persona of glowing optimism under the scrutiny of a meddlesome system.
She turned her head toward the cat.
Nagini stirred, blinking lazily. It reached out a paw, hooked her finger, and rubbed its small head against her skin.
"Meow."
Tamara's finger stiffened.
She had intended to pull away.
But the warmth at her fingertips felt real.
Uncomplicated.
She did not move.
"At least you don't have to pretend," she whispered.
A faint flicker of envy crossed her eyes.
"Goodnight, Nagini."
The Dark Lord closed her eyes.
And in her dreams, there was no Hogwarts. No system. No cheering crowds.
Only a flash of green light—
And the cold sensation of lying in a pool of blood.
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