As Tamara stepped through the wooden door, the light around her dimmed almost instantly.
A heavy, stale smell rushed toward her, thick with dust and age, as though she had just entered a long-forgotten mausoleum. The air felt still—unnaturally so. There were no monster roars, no rustling of leaves, no distant echoes of movement.
Just silence.
Tamara halted mid-step, her expression sharpening.
Ahead of her stretched a massive chessboard.
The black-and-white tiles extended far into the darkness, their pattern fading into shadow. Towering stone chess pieces stood solemnly across the board, though many were no longer intact. Fragments of shattered stone littered the ground—broken knights, cracked towers, and fallen pawns scattered like casualties of war.
This was Professor McGonagall's trial.
A test combining Transfiguration and logic.
"Wizard's Chess…" Tamara murmured under her breath, her eyes scanning the battlefield.
It didn't take long for her to assess the situation. The white pieces had clearly suffered heavy losses—several knights were missing their heads, and the queen's base was visibly cracked. The black side had technically won, but not without cost. Many of their pieces had also been destroyed.
It had been a brutal game.
Near the edge of the board, something caught her attention.
A red-haired boy lay sprawled on the ground.
Ron Weasley.
His eyes were shut tight, his face pale beneath a layer of dust and freckles. A large purple bruise marked his forehead, and his hand still clutched a worn, battered wand.
Tamara let out a quiet, disdainful scoff.
"Sacrificing yourself like a pawn just to help the so-called savior advance…" she muttered coldly. "What a ridiculous form of self-indulgence."
Without another glance, she stepped forward and onto the chessboard.
The moment her foot touched one of the tiles—
Rumble.
The entire board seemed to awaken.
The shattered white pieces began to move.
Stone fragments lifted from the ground, reconnecting with unnatural precision. Severed limbs fused back into place. Within seconds, the destroyed army was restored, standing tall and complete as if nothing had happened.
Two massive stone soldiers—each over three meters tall—stepped forward, crossing their blades to block her path.
Their expressionless faces radiated absolute refusal.
This chessboard had a reset mechanism.
No matter who had passed before, any new challenger would face the trial from the beginning.
"Please choose a side."
A dull, echoing voice resonated through the chamber.
"If you wish to proceed, you must win the game."
Tamara glanced at the crossed swords, then toward the distant door on the other side of the board.
Play chess?
Waste time on a slow, methodical puzzle?
By the time she finished, Quirrell might already have the Philosopher's Stone—and perhaps even begun whatever twisted ritual he had planned.
"I don't have time for this."
Her voice turned sharp.
She raised her wand.
"Move."
The stone soldiers did not react.
Not even a twitch.
Tamara sighed, irritation flickering across her face.
"You won't?"
She flicked her wand upward.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
This time, her magical output surged far beyond what she had used before.
The result was immediate.
The entire chessboard army—white and black alike—lifted off the ground.
Dozens of massive stone figures rose into the air, suspended by an overwhelming force. Pieces weighing several tons floated like weightless toys, spinning and tilting chaotically.
Tamara brought her wand down with a decisive motion.
The floating pieces slammed together.
Kings collided with queens. Knights smashed into bishops. Towers crashed into pawns.
The sound of impact thundered through the chamber, stone grinding against stone as fragments exploded outward.
Within seconds, the once-proud army had been reduced to rubble.
A broken heap of shattered stone hovered briefly in the air—
Then dropped.
Crash.
The debris scattered across the board, clearing a crude path forward.
"That's better," Tamara said calmly.
Without hesitation, she stepped over the remains, walking forward like a conqueror who had crushed an entire kingdom beneath her feet.
As she passed Ron, she didn't stop.
An idiot willing to sacrifice himself for others wasn't worth her concern.
Or so she thought.
[Ding! Warning!]
A sharp, intrusive alarm rang inside her mind.
Tamara's expression darkened instantly.
[Teammate Ron Weasley detected in a severe coma. Vital signs unstable.]
[As the leader of this unofficial rescue team, ignoring an injured comrade is unacceptable.]
[This behavior is cold-blooded. Heartless. A betrayal of friendship.]
[Mandatory Task: Slytherin's Care]
[Provide immediate medical treatment to ensure survival.]
[Penalty: Remain and guard the injured until recovery or external assistance arrives.]
Tamara stopped walking.
Slowly, she turned her head.
"…Are you insane?" she snapped internally. "He got knocked out by a chess piece, not hit by Avada Kedavra. He'll wake up eventually."
The system responded without hesitation.
[Life is fragile, host.]
[What if he suffers internal bleeding?]
[What if exposure leads to illness? Pneumonia? Complications?]
Tamara pressed her fingers to her temple, irritation building.
"This is ridiculous."
Still, she turned around.
Her gaze fell on Ron again—unconscious, vulnerable, and completely unaware.
"I hope Dumbledore appreciates this," she muttered.
Reluctantly, she walked back and knelt beside him.
Up close, his face looked even worse—dust-covered, bruised, and slack with unconsciousness.
Tamara raised her wand with visible reluctance.
"Episkey."
A soft white light flowed from the tip of her wand and merged into Ron's forehead.
The bruise began to fade almost immediately, shrinking and vanishing at a visible rate.
However, Tamara deliberately controlled the spell's intensity.
Just enough to stabilize him.
Not enough to wake him fully.
The last thing she wanted was to deal with his chatter.
"Don't die, Weasley."
Her tone was cold as she stood and turned away again.
Behind her, Ron groaned faintly.
His consciousness stirred briefly—caught between dreams and waking.
Through blurred vision, he saw a dark silhouette walking away into the shadows.
For some reason, it felt familiar.
"…Ta… Tamara…?"
His voice was barely audible.
Then his head tilted, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.
As Tamara moved beyond the chessboard, a new smell reached her.
Stronger.
Fouler.
She wrinkled her nose.
"A troll…"
And not a clean one.
This one smelled like it had rolled through filth for days.
She pushed open the next door.
Inside, the troll lay sprawled on the ground.
It should have been unconscious—Quirrell's doing.
But trolls were notoriously resilient.
The moment Tamara stepped inside—
The creature stirred.
It rolled over, groaning, rubbing the back of its head.
Its small, beady eyes opened sluggishly.
And immediately locked onto her.
"…Roar…"
Irritation, pain, and confusion blended into instant rage.
The troll grabbed its massive wooden club and pushed itself upright. Its enormous frame cast a looming shadow over Tamara.
"ROAR—!"
The club swung downward with terrifying force, cutting through the air with a foul gust.
Tamara didn't move.
She didn't even flinch.
"…Pathetic."
Her voice was flat.
Before, she would have torn the creature apart without hesitation.
But now, she had to be cautious.
No excessive violence.
No dark magic.
No unnecessary attention.
So—
She raised her wand.
"Petrificus Totalus."
A beam of white light struck the troll squarely in the chest.
Instantly, its body locked rigid.
Arms snapped to its sides.
Legs pressed together.
The enormous creature froze mid-motion, transformed into something like a crude statue.
Then—
Rumble.
With its balance gone, it toppled forward.
The ground shook as it crashed down, sending dust billowing into the air.
Its eyes still moved, darting in panic.
But the rest of its body remained completely immobilized.
Tamara walked up to its massive head and looked down at it.
Her expression was unimpressed.
"Quirrell really is incompetent."
She nudged the fallen club aside with her foot.
"If you knock something out, finish the job. At least tie it up."
She clicked her tongue softly.
"Leaving a mess like this for others…"
Her gaze turned colder.
"…is just unprofessional."
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