Chapter 97: A Heart-to-Heart Talk
Ginny stared up at Tamara with wide, expectant eyes, gazing at her as though she were some omniscient oracle of romance.
Tamara took a slow, measured breath.
Hold it in.
She couldn't just casually toss an Avada Kedavra at the girl. This was for the Horcrux. This was for the grand restoration of her soul.
"...Ginny," Tamara began, carefully adjusting her facial muscles so her voice wouldn't sound like it was being squeezed through ground teeth. "Who do you think Harry Potter actually is?"
"He's a hero!" Ginny answered without a second of hesitation, her brown eyes practically shining in the dim light of the bedroom.
"Exactly. A hero."
Tamara allowed her lips to curve into a faint smirk. It was laced with mockery, but mostly, it carried the cold, calculated weight of a predator cornering its prey.
"And heroes are inherently lonely, Ginny. They are dangerous. Standing by his side means facing endless darkness, vicious conspiracies, and inevitably... death."
She leaned in closer, the mattress creaking slightly beneath her weight. Reaching out with one pale, slender finger, she gently hooked a stray lock of Ginny's fiery red hair, tucking it behind the girl's ear.
"So, you see, a hero doesn't need a fragile little sister who only knows how to hide behind his back and tremble at the first sign of danger." Her voice dropped to a soft, hypnotic whisper. "What he truly needs is a companion. Someone who can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the abyss. Perhaps... even someone stronger than he is."
Ginny blinked, utterly stunned.
To an eleven-year-old girl raised on fairy tales and maternal coddling, these words shattered her entire worldview.
"A strong... companion?" she murmured, the concept rolling awkwardly off her tongue.
"Yes."
Tamara pressed her advantage, weaving Slytherin's ruthless philosophy of power into a digestible, empowering narrative for the naive Gryffindor.
"Tears and shyness will never earn you true respect. Only power can do that. If you want him to truly notice you, you cannot remain the timid little Ginny Weasley who cowers in the corner, clutching her textbooks to her chest."
Tamara held the girl's gaze, her crimson-tinted eyes locking onto the warm brown ones. "You have to forge yourself into a weapon. You need to become outstanding. Become sharp. Become... completely impossible to ignore."
Tamara watched the spark of ambition ignite in Ginny's eyes, burning away the previous hesitation.
Good, Tamara sneered inwardly. Take the bait, you foolish child.
Become a devout believer in the pursuit of absolute power. As long as the girl hungered for strength, she would desperately crave guidance. And Tamara would position herself as Ginny's sole, irreplaceable mentor. Once those chains of dependency were forged, a mere diary would be child's play to acquire. Hell, if Tamara asked nicely enough, Ginny would probably tie Harry Potter up with enchanted ropes and drag him to an altar as a blood sacrifice.
"Tamara... you're absolutely right!"
Ginny suddenly lunged forward, grabbing both of Tamara's hands with an iron grip. Her freckled face was flushed bright red with sudden, overwhelming excitement.
"I was being so stupid before! I shouldn't be crying over him—I should become strong! Just like you!" The girl practically vibrated with newfound energy. "You're my idol! How did you get so amazing at magic? Can you teach me?"
[Ding! Detected a significant increase in the admiration value of important character Ginny Weasley towards you!]
Tamara felt the sweaty, overly warm little hands clutching hers and violently suppressed the urge to rip her fingers away and cast a Scouring Charm.
"Of course." She plastered a sickeningly sweet, saintly smile across her face. "I will teach you everything I know. But in exchange, there can be no secrets between us. A mentor and her student must share absolute trust, right?"
Her gaze drifted deliberately toward the lumpy pillow.
"For example... those little secrets you've been writing in that diary." Tamara layered her voice with a subtle, enchanting cadence, making it sound like a warm embrace. "Rather than pouring your heart out to a battered notebook of unknown origin, trust me. Paper is dead, Ginny. It cannot comfort you. I am alive, and I can give you real, actionable advice."
She paused, letting the silence hang for a fraction of a second.
"Perhaps that old diary could find a better home. Somewhere out of your way."
She couldn't simply demand the book. For one thing, the damn Virtue System's judgment criteria were infuriatingly strict. Any form of coercive acquisition or theft would immediately be flagged as 'bullying,' leading straight to a mission failure and a crippling barrage of electric shocks.
More, her carefully crafted persona was that of a noble, flawless older sister and confidante. If she suddenly acted fanatical over a tattered, worthless second-hand diary, it would instantly trigger Ginny's suspicion. She had to manipulate the prey into viewing the item as a useless burden, prompting the girl to hand it over to the hunter entirely on her own initiative.
That was the ultimate form of plunder.
Ginny followed Tamara's gaze, her eyes landing on the edge of the pillow. She bit her lower lip, hesitating.
Tamara's confident smile widened just a fraction. Her trap was springing shut. As long as the girl handed over the Horcrux right now, all this nauseating, sentimental nonsense tonight wouldn't have been a complete waste of her time.
"Tamara, you're just so kind." Ginny sniffled, genuinely moved to tears.
She reached a hand under the pillow.
Wait for it, Tamara thought, mentally preparing to receive her soul fragment.
The next second, instead of pulling the black leather-bound book out, Ginny shoved her hand backward, violently pushing the diary even deeper under the mattress. She snapped her head up, her face a mask of fierce Gryffindor determination.
"You're completely right! I shouldn't waste my time on something as boring and pathetic as writing in a diary!"
"I'm going to tell you all my thoughts instead!" Ginny squeezed Tamara's hands again, her eyes burning with a terrifying, fanatical fervor. "That diary is super old anyway, and my hand cramps when I write too much. Since you're so willing to listen, I'll just tell you everything directly!"
She took a massive gulp of air.
"Actually, besides Harry's eyes, I also think..."
Tamara: "...?"
Wait.
Hold on a damn minute.
This was not how the script was supposed to play out. Ginny was supposed to pull the diary out, hand it over with a grateful smile, and say, 'I don't need this anymore, you can have it.'
Why in the name of Salazar Slytherin did she just shove it back into the bedframe?!
But Ginny was completely oblivious to the murderous aura slowly leaking from her 'idol'. It was as if the girl had finally found a magical dumping ground for her overflowing adolescent hormones, and she began to talk.
And talk.
And talk.
"You know, during the few days Harry's been staying here at the Burrow, I noticed he has this little habit—he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose whenever he gets nervous..."
"And oh! When he was catching Gnomes out in the garden with Ron, his movements were just so agile..."
"I've also been secretly watching him eat breakfast. He seems to really, really like treacle tart. He always sneaks an extra piece onto his plate when Mum isn't looking..."
"Tamara, do you think he'd like it if I bought him a new eagle-feather quill for term? Or would a miniature Quidditch broom model be better?"
Time dragged on, bleeding away minute by agonizing minute. Up in the attic, even the family Ghoul stopped banging on the rusted plumbing, seemingly annoyed into a coma by the sheer, dense volume of a pre-teen girl's romantic outpouring.
But Tamara couldn't sleep. She was trapped.
To maintain her flawless big sister persona, she had to keep her spine straight, keep that sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face, and nod in agreement at appropriate intervals.
"Mhm... really... how fascinating..."
Tamara's crimson eyes gradually glazed over, staring blankly at the peeling wallpaper. It felt as if a thousand freshly uprooted Mandrakes were shrieking directly into her skull.
Harry Potter.
Harry Potter.
It was all Harry Potter.
If she combined every single day of her previous life as the Dark Lord with every day of her current miserable existence, she still hadn't heard the name 'Harry Potter' spoken as many times as she had tonight.
"...And then he smiled! That smile was just so..." Ginny was still rambling, her spirits soaring higher with every breathless sentence.
Tamara slowly shifted her deadened gaze toward the corner of the black diary peeking out from under the pillow. The dark magical fluctuations radiating from the Horcrux actually seemed to have weakened over the last hour. It was as if the sixteen-year-old soul fragment of Tom Riddle trapped inside had also chosen to play dead, utterly defeated by the high-intensity barrage of teenage nonsense.
Not only had she completely failed to retrieve her Horcrux, but she was now being held hostage, forced to endure an all-night sermon of hymns praising her mortal enemy.
"Ginny..." Tamara finally rasped. She couldn't take it anymore. Her voice was so weak and hollow it sounded as if she had just endured three consecutive rounds of the Cruciatus Curse. "I think... if you truly want to become strong... the first step is ensuring your physical vessel gets adequate sleep..."
"Ah? Oh! Sorry, Tamara, I just got way too excited." Ginny finally snapped her mouth shut, though her bright eyes suggested she still had at least three more hours of material prepared. She sheepishly stuck out her tongue. "Goodnight, Tamara. Thanks for listening to all my silly thoughts. I feel like we're already best friends!"
Ginny snuggled contentedly into her patchwork quilt, and within two minutes, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest signaled deep, steady sleep.
Tamara lay rigidly on the lumpy mattress beside her.
She slowly turned her head, her eyes locking onto the worn leather corner of the diary still peeking out from beneath the pillow.
It was right there.
Within easy reach. Just a few inches away.
But she knew the rules. The moment she reached out to take it while the girl slept, the System's punitive electric shocks would rain down on her like a localized thunderstorm.
[System Notification: Congratulations, Host! Ginny Weasley's trust in you has reached the required milestone!]
[Although you did not obtain the quest item tonight, you successfully prevented the dark diary's opportunity to enchant her mind. This is a great victory for the Light!]
Get lost, Tamara cursed viciously in her mind.
She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate for the sweet release of unconsciousness. But the damage was done. Echoes of Harry, Harry, Harry bounced relentlessly around the inside of her skull, a torturous loop of pre-teen infatuation.
Sooner or later, Tamara vowed to the darkness, her fists clenching the bedsheets, I am going to murder that four-eyed Scarhead...
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