Chapter 187: New Professors
By the time Tamara stepped into the cavernous expanse of the Hogwarts Great Hall, the Sorting Ceremony had already drawn to a close.
Hundreds of wax candles floated lazily in mid-air, casting a warm, golden glow across the enchanted ceiling that mirrored a cloudless, starry night. Four massive wooden tables groaned under the weight of a sumptuous start-of-term feast. Golden platters were piled dangerously high with sizzling roast beef, crisp fries, and steaming Yorkshire puddings. The air hung thick with the savory aroma of gravy and the deafening, excited chatter of returning students.
Yet, this vibrant, suffocatingly cheerful atmosphere failed to melt even a fraction of the glacial pressure radiating from Tamara.
She claimed her rightful seat at the absolute center of the Slytherin table. A layer of absolute, unapproachable frost seemed permanently etched into her exquisite, porcelain features.
"Tamara! Where did you run off to? I thought Madam Pomfrey had locked you up in the Hospital Wing!"
Draco leaned in the second she sat down. Catching sight of her sour expression, he immediately dropped his voice, adopting a conspiratorial air. A sickeningly smug tone of schadenfreude leaked through his words.
"Are you still upset about the train? Don't waste your energy on that Scarhead! The entire school is talking about it—Harry Potter fainted dead away like a frightened little girl right in front of the Dementors! They say he even let out a high-pitched scream!"
Mid-gloat, Draco's pale eyes widened slightly as a sudden, terrifying realization hit him. Tamara had also looked rather unwell after the Dementor attack. His finely tuned survival instincts kicked in, causing him to stammer as he frantically tried to salvage the conversation.
"Uh... I mean, obviously those cloaked monsters are absolutely foul, and everyone was a bit shaken up... but who else made such a colossal spectacle of themselves like Potter! He is a walking disgrace to the entire Wizarding world!"
Pansy Parkinson leaned over, a malicious giggle escaping her lips.
"Exactly. And I heard that in the end, some absolute tramp dressed like a beggar had to use magic to drive the monsters away. If no one had stepped in, Potter probably would have stayed slumped in a puddle of his own tears in the aisle all the way to Hogsmeade!"
Listening to the self-righteous, sycophantic drivel of her supposed followers, Tamara did not offer her usual, condescending sneer of agreement.
Instead, her face remained a blank, terrifying mask. She picked up her heavy silver knife and fork, her movements stiff and entirely mechanical, and began to slice into the thick lamb chop resting on her golden plate.
Screech—
The silver blade dragged violently against the bottom of the golden platter. The resulting sound was a sharp, ear-splitting, tooth-aching scrape of metal on metal that cut through the surrounding chatter like a physical blow.
The Slytherins in her immediate vicinity snapped their mouths shut, instantly going as quiet as cornered mice.
They watched in horrified silence as the helpless lamb chop was brutally, methodically shredded into an unrecognizable pulp by Tamara's knife. The rigid tension in her shoulders and the white-knuckled grip on her cutlery suggested that what lay beneath her blade was not roasted mutton, but rather their own fragile throats.
Tamara stared fixedly at the ruined meat, a suffocating, murderous hostility churning violently in the depths of her pitch-black eyes.
'These suicidal, brainless worms!'
Every single word, every grating syllable that spilled from their mouths was like a physical slap delivered with pinpoint accuracy to her deeply bruised pride.
Slumped in the aisle? Being seen in such a pathetic, weakened state? If it weren't for that accursed System constantly monitoring her every malicious impulse, she would draw her wand right now and permanently fuse these two babbling mouths shut with a localized burning hex!
"That is quite enough, Draco."
Tamara did not bother to look up. Her voice was a soft, icy whisper that carried a lethal edge. "While I am eating, I do not wish to hear any names that generate useless noise. Especially Potter."
Her patience was currently balancing on a razor's edge.
If she heard one more idiot mention that damned, prophesied savior, she truly could not guarantee she wouldn't bypass magic entirely and simply plunge her silver dinner knife directly into Draco's jugular right here in the middle of the Great Hall.
"Oh... right. Of course." Draco swallowed a heavy lump in his throat, his pale face draining of what little color it had. He snapped his mouth shut obediently and began to aggressively push a roasted potato around his own plate, not daring to look up.
At that precise moment, Albus Dumbledore rose from his grand golden chair at the center of the High Table.
As the ancient wizard stood, the deafening clamor echoing through the Great Hall gradually faded into a respectful hush. The old Principal swept his gaze across the four long tables, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.
"Welcome!" Dumbledore spread his arms wide, his magically amplified voice booming warmly through the cavernous space. "Welcome back to Hogwarts for another new school year!"
"Before you all become hopelessly drowsy from being stuffed to the brim with this magnificent feast, I have a few rather important matters to announce."
The grandfatherly smile faded from his wrinkled face, replaced by a grave seriousness. His tone dropped, carrying a heavy, authoritative weight.
"First, as many of you have already unfortunately discovered on the Hogwarts Express, our school is currently playing host to a number of Dementors from Azkaban. They are stationed here on official business by direct order of the Ministry of Magic."
At the mere mention of the word 'Dementors,' a ripple of genuine unease and fearful whispers swept through the student body. Dozens of students visibly shuddered, the lingering chill of the train encounter still fresh in their bones.
Tamara let out a slow, derisive sneer in the dark confines of her own mind.
'Idiotic Ministry of Magic. Stupid, incompetent Fudge.'
She evaluated the situation with cold, calculating disdain.
Did those bureaucratic fools honestly believe they could guard Hogwarts with a pack of soul-sucking dark creatures?
Dementors possessed absolutely no concept of loyalty or duty. They were parasites. They submitted only to true power—to the strong who could provide them with an endless feast of prey, misery, and despair.
Once Lord Voldemort rose to power once more, it would take nothing but a single, whispered promise of unrestricted feeding. Those very monsters currently stationed outside the school gates would instantly defect, transforming into the most brutal, terrifying vanguard of her dark army.
Dumbledore clearly understood this grim reality as well, for his next words carried a sharp, undisguised warning.
"The Dementors are stationed at every entrance to the school grounds. I must make it perfectly clear to each and every one of you: they will not be fooled by any tricks, disguises, or even Invisibility Cloaks. It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading, mercy, or forgiveness."
"Therefore, I urge you all—do not give them any excuse whatsoever to harm you."
Dumbledore paused, letting the heavy silence stretch, ensuring the grim warning sank deep into the minds of every student present. Then, with a jarring suddenness, his expression miraculously shifted back to a cheerful, beaming smile.
"Now, let us move on to a slightly lighter topic. I am absolutely delighted to introduce two new teachers who will be joining our staff this year."
"The first is Professor Remus Lupin, who has kindly agreed to fill the vacancy for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."
Dumbledore raised his hands and led the applause.
To a smattering of hesitant, polite clapping, a man sitting at the far edge of the staff table slowly pushed back his chair and stood up.
When Tamara's cold gaze landed upon this newly appointed Professor, her mechanical meat-cutting motion halted completely. A deep, ugly furrow formed between her delicate brows.
This was a man who looked utterly, hopelessly destitute.
He was draped in an old, ill-fitting set of wizarding robes that were heavily patched, severely faded, and fraying at the cuffs. His light brown hair was prematurely streaked with dull grey and white, and his face was gaunt, pale, and etched with a sickly, bone-deep exhaustion. He looked less like a qualified educator and more like a starving vagrant who had just crawled out of a filthy Muggle alleyway.
"Merlin's beard..." Draco muttered, his nose wrinkling in deep disgust as he leaned toward Tamara again. "Look at the state of his robes! Is this man a literal beggar? Does Dumbledore plan to turn Hogwarts into a charity recycling center?"
But the shabby clothing was not the reason Tamara was frowning.
Her pitch-black eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, locking onto the sickly man standing at the edge of the High Table with the predatory focus of a venomous snake.
Remus Lupin.
A core, founding member of the Order of the Phoenix. One of Dumbledore's most loyal, pathetic hounds. And...
'...a filthy, diseased Werewolf.'
Tamara spat the words slowly in the confines of her mind, a flash of pure, undisguised loathing illuminating her dark eyes.
She could hardly believe what she was seeing.
Albus Dumbledore. The great, infallible White Wizard whom the entire Wizarding world practically worshipped as a living god. The man who preached endless sermons about love, peace, and Muggle protection.
He had actually, openly recruited a dark creature into Hogwarts. A creature fundamentally incapable of controlling its own bloodthirsty instincts—a rabid beast that would completely lose its mind and maul innocent humans to shreds the moment a full moon hung in the sky!
In Voldemort's eyes, werewolves had never been considered decent, sentient beings.
During the first war, she had indeed employed a savage Werewolf army led by the vicious Fenrir Greyback. But they were merely tools. Low-class, disposable thugs used solely to intimidate blood traitors, rip apart children, and sow widespread bloodshed and panic.
She had never once regarded those half-man, half-beast mongrels as true Wizards. The very idea of allowing one to step foot into a noble, ancient academic hall to teach magic was sickening.
And now, Dumbledore was actually forcing her—the great, undisputed Heir of Slytherin—to sit in a cramped classroom and listen to a literal beast lecture her on defense?!
'What an utterly absurd, pathetic farce.'
Those terrified fools in the Wizarding world always loved to portray Lord Voldemort as an irrational, beyond understanding madman.
But from Tamara's perspective, compared to herself, Dumbledore was the true, indiscriminate lunatic! An old man who stationed soul-sucking Dementors at the school gates, stuffed a rabid Werewolf into the staff room, and numbed his decaying brain with sickeningly sweet lemon drops every single day!
He would rather employ literal clowns and wild wolves than accept the job application of the greatest Dark Lord in history!
Tamara's porcelain face darkened instantly, looking as though a storm cloud had settled over her features.
What little, fragile appetite she had managed to muster was completely, thoroughly nauseated away by this absurd reality.
Seeking some form of sanity, Tamara turned her head, her gaze sweeping across the staff table to see if any of these useless, cowardly Professors possessed the spine to raise an objection to such a ridiculous appointment.
Her eyes tracked across the length of the Great Hall and landed precisely on the Head of Slytherin House—Severus Snape.
In that brief moment, Tamara was slightly taken aback.
Snape, seated just a few chairs away from Lupin, was currently staring fixedly at the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.
Amidst the polite, welcoming applause of the other staff members, Snape did not even lift a finger.
His already sallow, somber face was currently contorted into a deeply ugly, twisted sneer. His thin, mean lips were pressed together so tightly they had turned white, and his deep, hollow black eyes burned with a terrifying, indescribable intensity of hatred and disgust.
That expression went far beyond mere professional dissatisfaction. It was a visceral, soul-deep contempt, as if looking at Lupin for a single second longer would physically soil his eyes.
Two Slytherins, separated by half the Great Hall and a sea of chattering students.
Yet, at this exact moment, their expressions achieved a startling, perfect synchronicity.
The same ashen, rigid face. The same sharp, downturned mouth. The same icy, piercing gaze overflowing with the pure malice of repulsion.
'Heh...'
Watching Snape's face, which was currently darker than the soot-stained bottom of a cauldron, the violent hostility in Tamara's own eyes receded slightly, replaced by a sudden, sharp flicker of amusement.
It seemed her most loyal, useful servant had also caught the nauseating stench of wet dog.
'Now that is the sharp sense of smell a true Slytherin should possess.'
Tamara commented coldly in her mind, a ghost of a smirk threatening to break through her icy facade.
, she could read the nuances in Snape's glare. The sheer, unadulterated venom mixed into that deep-seated hatred told her that the relationship between her Head of House and that destitute Werewolf was definitely not as simple as mere species discrimination.
There was a deep, festering personal grudge hidden beneath that glare. Blood and history.
'Fascinating.'
Tamara finally withdrew her gaze and gracefully picked up her heavy golden goblet, gently swirling the chilled pumpkin juice inside.
Her mood, which had been dangerously irritable thanks to Potter's existence, was actually somewhat soothed by the prospect of this impending, inevitable chaos.
'Since Dumbledore insists on inviting a wild wolf into the house...'
Tamara shifted her eyes, using her peripheral vision to glance over at the Gryffindor table. There, Harry Potter was clapping enthusiastically for Lupin, a wide, idiotic grin plastered across his face.
Looking at that prophesied fool who remained so blissfully oblivious to the lethal danger standing just yards away, Tamara let out a dark, chilling laugh in the confines of her soul.
'I truly look forward to the day when you discover that the gentle man standing at the podium is a ravenous monster who could snap, go mad, and rip your fragile throat out at any given moment...''I wonder if you'll still be able to laugh so happily then, Potter.'
After the applause for Lupin finally died down, Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly and continued.
"As for our second newly appointed Professor... I believe everyone here is already quite familiar with him."
A brilliant, genuine smile broke through his silver beard, and he even offered the student body a playful, conspiratorial wink.
"I am deeply honored to announce that our long-time Gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, has agreed to fill the teaching vacancy for the Care of Magical Creatures class."
A sudden, deafening burst of enthusiastic cheering erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione leapt to their feet, clapping their hands until they were red with joy.
Up at the High Table, Hagrid's massive, bushy face turned a violent shade of beet-red from sheer excitement. His beetle-black eyes brimmed with thick tears. He shifted his colossal frame awkwardly in his oversized seat, his massive hands fumbling and nearly knocking over the heavy golden plate resting in front of him.
Tamara knew the politics behind this. The Ministry of Magic and the Hogwarts Board of Governors had initially mounted a fierce opposition to this specific appointment.
After all, the oaf had a permanent criminal record, having been expelled from Hogwarts exactly fifty years ago.
However, because Hagrid had been preemptively thrown into Azkaban for investigation during the peak of the Chamber of Secrets attacks last term, his physical absence during the final attacks had fundamentally cleared him of any lingering suspicion. The Ministry had been forced to hold their noses, publicly acknowledge his innocence, and reinstate his rights.
Sitting in regal silence at the end of the long Slytherin table, Tamara watched this sickeningly heartwarming scene with absolute, cold detachment. A soft scoff escaped her lips.
She didn't believe for a single, fleeting second that this low-blooded, bumbling half-giant—a creature whose thick skull was undoubtedly stuffed with his own rock-hard cakes—could conduct any form of proper, structured academic teaching.
And the facts had already proven her right.
One only had to look at the mandatory textbook this blundering idiot had assigned to the third-year students—The Monster Book of Monsters!
It was a highly dangerous, feral object that would madly bite off a Wizard's fingers like a rabid, starved dog if one didn't know the obscure trick of stroking its spine first!
Tamara's dark gaze once again swept over the beaming face of Albus Dumbledore, who was happily leading the applause at the High Table.
If things continued down this disastrous path, this entire generation of students would be thoroughly ruined by this senile old man before they could even mature into qualified Death Eater candidates.
'...This old geezer really doesn't value the lives of his students at all.'
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