Chapter 118: Incomprehension
Under Madam Pomfrey's hawkish supervision, Tamara was forced to languish in the Hospital Wing for three agonizing days. The matron only permitted her to leave once her complexion shifted from a ghostly pallor back to that of a living, breathing human being.
In truth, the golden bloodline surging through her veins could have eradicated the lingering pain in mere minutes. All it would have taken was a quiet prick of her finger, slipping a single drop of her own blood into the foul-tasting potions Madam Pomfrey kept shoving down her throat.
She refrained.
Both Snape and the matron had personally diagnosed her condition. If she were to miraculously spring out of bed the very next morning, radiating perfect health, it would instantly trigger a tidal wave of suspicion.
By the time Tamara finally stepped back into the bustling corridors of Hogwarts, a fresh parchment notice was pinned to the common room bulletin boards. The Duelling Club was officially convening.
At exactly eight o'clock that evening, the Great Hall was packed to the brim with chattering students. The four long House tables had vanished entirely. In their place stood a massive, gilded stage running along one side of the room, illuminated by the floating candles above.
Gilderoy Lockhart strode onto the platform, practically glowing in a set of magnificent plum-colored robes. He flashed his trademark blinding smile at the crowd. Trailing behind him like a storm cloud was Professor Snape, draped in his usual billowing black robes, his expression as grim and murderous as ever.
"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?" Lockhart projected his voice across the hall, his perfectly white teeth catching the candlelight.
"Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club! The goal is simple: to ensure that, when necessary, you can defend yourselves just as I have done on countless, thrilling occasions!"
He then proceeded to gesture grandly toward the Potions Master, introducing Snape as his mere 'assistant' with the flair of a circus ringmaster. He shamelessly assured the students that he would go easy on the man, promising not to damage him too badly.
Standing near the front of the crowd, Tamara crossed her arms. Her pitch-black eyes observed the unfolding farce with absolute, frigid detachment.
"Three—two—one!" Lockhart shouted. Both wizards drew their wands.
"Expelliarmus!" Snape barked.
With a sharp, vicious slash of his wand, a blinding flash of scarlet light erupted from the tip. It struck Lockhart squarely in the chest.
The impact lifted Lockhart entirely off his feet. He flew backward as though rammed by a charging Erumpent, tumbling wildly through the air before slamming back-first into the stone wall. He slid down to the floor in a crumpled, groaning heap.
The Great Hall exploded. Uncontrollable laughter echoed off the enchanted ceiling. Over in the Slytherin section, students openly jeered and whistled, abandoning any pretense of polite restraint.
Lockhart scrambled upright, his previous elegance entirely shattered. His hat had rolled away, and his carefully styled golden curls were sticking up in a chaotic, frizzy mess.
Desperate to salvage the humiliating wreckage of his demonstration, his eyes darted frantically across the sea of laughing faces. They finally locked onto the black-haired girl standing at the front—the current focal point of the entire school's attention.
"An excellent demonstration, Professor Snape!" Lockhart forced a strained chuckle, dusting off his robes. "But to be perfectly honest, your intention just now was far too obvious. If I had actually wanted to stop you, it would have been child's play!"
He needed a scapegoat. More specifically, he desperately needed to re-establish his shattered authority by publicly 'instructing' someone who held high prestige among the student body.
"Now, so that everyone can see the mechanics of a duel more clearly, let's have a student demonstration!" Lockhart announced loudly. His gaze fixed squarely on Tamara. "Miss Riddle! I heard you have just recovered from a rather nasty illness. I've also heard that recently, you've been giving some... very amateur spell guidance to your peers."
"Why don't you step up here? Let me, a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, personally give you some proper pointers on your technique!"
The laughter in the Great Hall died instantly. A heavy, suffocating silence swept over the room. Every single head turned to look at Tamara.
A dangerous, murderous glint flickered in the abyssal depths of Tamara's eyes.
'Is he actually insane?' she thought.
As the Dark Lord who had once subjugated the entire Wizarding World through sheer terror, she genuinely felt a spark of pure, unadulterated confusion. She truly could not comprehend it. What exactly was the brain of this pink-robed peacock constructed from?
She had already made him suffer multiple times, both overtly and from the shadows. Just a few days prior on the Quidditch Pitch, she had publicly blasted him with an Expelliarmus that had sent him rolling through the dirt like a beaten dog.
According to the basic survival instincts of any normal, breathing creature, a wizard who had personally experienced the crushing, oppressive weight of her magic should be avoiding her like a frightened quail.
Yet this hollow, brainless vessel dared to step forward again and again, shamelessly throwing himself onto her wand point?!
Was his incurable vanity truly so thick that it completely overrode a biological organism's instinctive fear of death and absolute power? This was, without a doubt, the most bizarre evolutionary mutation she had witnessed in her entire, extended life.
Maintaining a perfectly blank, innocent expression, she gracefully ascended the steps to the stage. Right on cue, the perky, mechanical voice of the system chimed in her mind.
[Ding! Warning!]
[In view of your previous record, this system kindly reminds you—]
[Respecting teachers is a traditional virtue of Hogwarts! The host is strictly forbidden from maliciously beating or humiliating Professors in a duel! Please maintain the restraint and politeness of a good, model student!]
[If a malicious attack is detected, the system will initiate...]
'Shut up,'Tamara snapped back in her mind, her internal tone dripping with absolute frost.'Do you not understand the very essence of a duel?'she argued smoothly to the glowing interface in her head.'Standing before me is a world-renowned Defense Against the Dark Arts master! If I were to deliberately hold back my strength in such a sacred, educational exchange, it would be a massive display of contempt for his professional skill. It would be a grievous insult to his character!'Her twisted logic was absolutely flawless.'The highest form of respect I can offer this esteemed Professor is to display my full power without a single reservation. Only then can he accurately point out my shortcomings at my absolute limit.'
The system fell completely silent. A brief burst of mental static hummed in her ears before the cheerful voice returned.
[Ding... Underlying logic verification passed!]
[The host has demonstrated a thirst for knowledge that is unafraid of authority, and an ultimate craving for the truth!]
[Task: Show your full strength on the dueling field!]
[Reward: Courage +2!]
Tamara offered a dark, mocking sneer in the confines of her mind.
"Now, don't be nervous, Miss Riddle," Lockhart crooned, taking his position at the far end of the gilded platform. He offered her a reassuring wink. "I will use only the gentlest of spells. I promise I won't hurt you."
Hearing this, Tamara lowered her eyes and bowed elegantly, executing the traditional dueling etiquette with absolute, terrifying perfection.
"Three—two—one!"
The very fraction of a second Lockhart twitched his arm to raise his wand.
Tamara moved. Her reflexes were so blindingly fast they were impossible for the naked eye to track. The holly wand in her hand snapped forward like a striking viper. She didn't utter a single syllable.
A surge of pure, violent magic exploded from her core.
Lockhart hadn't even formed the first letter of an incantation before the wand was ripped from his grip. It shot upward at a terrifying velocity, embedding itself half a foot deep into the stone of the high ceiling with a sharp crack.
But the Dark Lord was far from finished.
Lockhart's body was just beginning to lift off the ground, carried backward by the sheer kinetic force of her silent Disarming Charm. As he hung suspended in mid-air, Tamara's wand smoothly traced a tiny, precise arc.
"Wingardium Leviosa," she murmured, her voice soft and sweet.
It was the most ordinary, foundational Levitation Spell taught to first-years. Yet, under the terrifying magical micro-manipulation of a former Dark Lord, the spell acted like a physical hook. It bit precisely onto the back collar of Lockhart's flashy robes.
A deeply comical scene unfolded before the entire student body.
Lockhart was hoisted upward like a massive, over-dressed turkey grabbed by the scruff of its neck. The powerful magic dragged him more than two meters into the air, leaving him dangling helplessly above the stage.
"Help—! Oh! My goodness! Put me down! This isn't according to the rules!" Lockhart shrieked, his voice cracking in panic. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs wildly, swimming through the empty air.
As he thrashed, his magnificent velvet robes awkwardly bunched and rolled upward, completely covering his head. The unfortunate wardrobe malfunction fully exposed a pair of incredibly eye-catching, pumpkin-colored striped leggings underneath.
Stripped of his wand, the 'master' of Defense Against the Dark Arts couldn't even cancel a basic first-year spell. He could only spin miserably in circles above the stage, occasionally bumping his covered head against a low-hanging brass chandelier with a dull clong.
"Whoa!!!"
The Great Hall erupted. Deafening cheers and roaring, undisguised laughter shook the stone walls. Draco and the rest of the Slytherin students howled, clapping until their palms were raw and red. Even the Gryffindor side couldn't hold back, bursting into thunderous rounds of applause at the ridiculous spectacle.
Standing off to the side, Snape maintained his stiff, sallow face. However, the way the corners of his mouth were frantically twitching upward completely betrayed his immensely delighted mood.
"It seems Professor Lockhart's guidance was very deep," Tamara noted softly.
She looked up at the thrashing, pumpkin-legged man, gave her holly wand a lazy, perfunctory flick, and severed the flow of magic.
Stripped of his magical invisible hook, Lockhart plummeted. He crashed heavily onto the hard wooden floorboards on all fours. He lay there gasping, seeing stars, completely unable to catch his breath.
Lockhart finally scrambled up, looking utterly disheveled. Desperate to cover up this complete social humiliation, he forced a bright smile that looked significantly worse than him crying. He loudly changed the subject.
"Good! Very good! Miss Riddle has shown extremely high talent!"
"But I actually let her succeed on purpose just now, so that you could all see the true power of the Disarming Charm! Now, in pairs, begin practicing!"
Tamara: "...?"
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