Chapter 213: Magic Backlash
Leaving the utterly despondent Harry Potter stranded in the corridor brought a distinct spring to Tamara's step. A faint, satisfied smirk played across her lips. Her mood could only be described as exceptionally pleasant.
With less than two hours remaining until the grand Halloween feast commenced, the ancient castle buzzed with life. The corridors echoed with the excited chirping of students anticipating a night of endless sweets and celebration.
Tamara, however, had no intention of returning to the Slytherin Common Room.
She expertly bypassed the noisy, chaotic crowds, handling the winding stone hallways until she reached the deserted fifth-floor corridor. Without hesitation, she pushed open the heavy oak door to a dusty, long-abandoned classroom.
Standing in the dead center of the empty room, Tamara locked the door behind her with a flick of her wrist. She took a slow, deep breath and silently recited the incantation that had been thoroughly disgusting her all evening.
Expecto Patronum.
Since that infernal system had dangled such generous rewards as bait, she had no choice. She absolutely had to master this sickeningly pure Patronus Charm before the end of the semester.
'Pure happiness...'
Tamara closed her eyes, plunging her consciousness into the vast, pitch-black abyss of her memory bank.
What exactly was happiness?
For the soul of Lord Voldemort, happiness was certainly not found in sunlit picnics on the grass, the suffocating embraces of friends, or the nauseating, sticky warmth of family affection.
Her happiness was forged in absolute domination and the exquisite suffering of others.
She remembered the musty air of the Muggle orphanage, the vivid recollection of her first true taste of power—the frantic kicking of that pathetic rabbit as she hung it from the rafters with nothing but her mind.
She remembered the intoxicating rush of casting her first Crucio, looking down with cold amusement as those arrogant, self-proclaimed elite pure-bloods writhed in blinding agony at her feet, kissing the hem of her robes like obedient dogs.
She remembered the faces of those who had dared to look down on her, those who had foolishly attempted to stand in her way. She remembered the exact moment the light faded from their terrified eyes under the blinding green flash of her Killing Curse, their bodies dropping to the floor as nothing more than cold, useless meat.
That ultimate, unmatched pleasure of holding the absolute power of life and death, of trampling the entire world underfoot, fermented in the darkest depths of her soul like a rich, intoxicating wine.
'Yes... this is the feeling...'
Tamara snapped her eyes open. A terrifying hint of scarlet fanaticism flared in the depths of her dark pupils.
She raised her eleven-inch holly wand, channeling every ounce of that pure, violent, sadistic pleasure belonging to the Dark Lord, pouring it directly into the magical core of the wood without a single reservation.
"Expecto Patronum!" Tamara roared, her voice dripping with arrogant command.
However.
No miracle occurred.
There was no blinding silver-white light. There was no corporeal animal leaping forth to offer its protection.
Quite the opposite.
At the exact fraction of a second the magic attempted to gush from the tip of her wand, a terrifying, violent force of absolute repulsion violently backfired straight down the length of the holly wood.
A dull, concussive explosion erupted within the confined walls of the classroom.
Two completely opposite, entirely incompatible magical origins collided with catastrophic force directly inside Tamara's body.
A sharp cry of genuine agony tore from her throat.
It felt as though the Hogwarts Express had slammed into her chest at full speed, while an invisible assailant took a rusted, jagged blade and began frantically sawing through her delicate magical circuits.
The wand slipped from her trembling fingers, clattering uselessly against the stone floor.
Her entire body felt as if the bones had been violently liquefied. Her knees buckled instantly, and she collapsed in a heap onto the dusty floorboards.
[Ding! High-risk magical backlash detected! Oh dear! Because the host forcibly used extreme negative emotions to drive the Patronus Charm, the emergency protection mechanism has been triggered to keep you safe!]
[Ding! To prevent irreversible damage to your magical core, the system has forcibly blocked all of the host's magic output permissions. Duration: 6 hours. Please rest as soon as possible and attempt to stabilize your emotions through positive, constructive, and loving means!]
"Damn it..."
She clutched her chest tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric of her robes as she gasped desperately for air. Her heart felt as though it were being mercilessly crushed and kneaded by an invisible giant's fist.
Cold sweat instantly soaked through her shirt, sliding in icy trails down her deathly pale cheeks.
Due to the extreme, overwhelming physiological pain, a faint hint of crimson uncontrollably flushed the corners of her eyes, completely shattering her usually deep, cold, and calculating demeanor.
Every single drop of strength had been drained from her muscles.
Her magic was entirely depleted, locked away behind an impenetrable wall.
This fragile twelve-year-old body was now teetering on the absolute brink of collapse after enduring such a severe, unfiltered magical backlash. Tamara slumped against the cold stone corner like a dying, rain-soaked kitten, lacking even the strength to lift a single finger.
"I swear... one day... I will grind the absolute idiot who created this magic into fine ashes..."
Tamara cursed through tightly gritted teeth, her vision already beginning to swim with dark spots.
Just as she was about to let her heavy eyelids fall shut and simply wait for this deadly, humiliating exhaustion to pass, the heavy oak door to the abandoned classroom was roughly shoved open.
"Senior Tamara! You clearly didn't go to Hogsmeade, but I've been looking all over the castle for you all day and couldn't find you anywhere! The Halloween feast is about to—Merlin's beard! What is wrong with you?!"
A girl with a dazzling mane of bright red hair rushed inside.
Ginny Weasley.
The moment her eyes landed on Tamara, sitting deathly pale and slumped against the wall, Ginny's heart nearly stopped dead in her chest from sheer fright.
She unceremoniously dropped the carved jack-o'-lantern she had been carrying, letting it roll across the floor as she rushed over like a frantic gust of wind.
"Nnh... stay back..."
Tamara warned. She meant it to be a lethal threat, a command that would freeze the blood in the Weasley girl's veins. Instead, her breath hitched. The words tumbled out as a frail, trembling whisper that sounded disgustingly like a pitiful pout. The terrifying aura of the Dark Lord was entirely absent.
"Heavens! You're freezing! You're shaking all over!"
Ginny completely ignored the half-hearted resistance. She reached out and grabbed Tamara's icy hand, letting out a sharp gasp at the corpse-like temperature of her skin.
"No, you have to go to the Hospital Wing right this second!"
With that declaration, the Gryffindor girl—who had spent her entire life roughhousing with a horde of older brothers—displayed a monstrous level of physical strength that completely belied her petite, unassuming frame.
Ginny did not let Tamara's weak pushing deter her in the slightest. Instead, she firmly grabbed Tamara around the waist, draped the older girl's limp arm heavily over her own shoulder, and practically hauled the entirely helpless Tamara up from the floor by sheer force of will.
"Let go of me, Weasley..."
Tamara cursed, her voice nothing more than a faint, ragged breath. But her current state—completely unable to stand steady on her own two feet, with the corners of her eyes flushed a delicate, tearful red from the lingering pain—was not remotely convincing.
Ginny simply assumed the Slytherin was being her usual stubborn self. Instead of letting go, she tightened her grip, holding the trembling girl even more securely against her side.
"Stop talking, Senior, just save your strength. I am taking you straight to Madam Pomfrey right now!"
Thus, the great and terrible Dark Lord was forced into an incredibly delicate, humiliating posture, leaning heavily against a Gryffindor girl as she was half-dragged and half-carried out of the empty classroom and into the corridor.
However.
Just as the two of them stumbled awkwardly around the corner of the third-floor staircase, a tall figure draped in billowing black robes happened to ascend from the direction of the Dungeons.
Severus Snape.
The Slytherin Head of House was making his way toward the Great Hall to attend the Halloween feast he so thoroughly despised, only to walk headlong into this utterly bizarre tableau.
Snape's brisk footsteps came to an abrupt, screeching halt.
His dark, fathomless eyes stared fixedly at the two students blocking his path.
One was his pale, swaying Slytherin honor student, who currently looked as though she had just been intimately kissed by a Dementor.
The other was a Gryffindor Weasley, clutching Tamara's waist like an overly protective mother hen, her freckled face twisted in absolute panic.
Snape's brow instantly twisted into a severe, deep knot.
Under any normal circumstance, if he caught a Gryffindor manhandling one of his Slytherins in such a rough manner, he would have deducted fifty points from Gryffindor without a second thought, likely adding a vicious, cutting mockery for good measure.
But today, for once, the points remained untouched.
Because Tamara's current physical state was genuinely alarming.
This was definitively not one of her calculated, feigned weaknesses. Her skin was translucent, her breathing shallow, and she truly looked as though she might simply cease to exist at any given second.
"Riddle," Snape drawled, his voice sounding as though it had been steeped in glacial water.
"I assume your current state—looking entirely prepared to meet Merlin at any given second—is not the result of accidentally ingesting some idiotic Weasley prank confection?"
Clearly, the Potions Master had not forgotten how Tamara had caused a massive fuss by reporting the Weasley twins a short while ago. Snape, who had fully expected to confiscate some highly dangerous, dark magical artifact, had only turned up a pathetic stash of Hiccup Sweets and Dungbombs. He had expressionlessly made a mental note against Tamara for wasting his time.
"...Magical backlash, Professor."
Leaning heavily on Ginny's shoulder, Tamara fought a monumental battle just to lift her heavy eyelids, squeezing the humiliating words out through her teeth.
Snape's dark eyes flickered slightly.
Magical backlash?
A third-year student—what in the name of Salazar could she possibly have been researching to trigger a magical backlash of this terrifying magnitude?
But he did not press the issue. Standing in the middle of a corridor that would soon be flooded with students, he had no desire to interrogate this endlessly mysterious girl about her private magical endeavors.
"Madam Pomfrey has already gone down to the feast. The Hospital Wing is currently empty."
Snape swept a cold, withering glance over Ginny, his dark eyes narrowing. His tone carried an undisguised, biting bitterness.
"Miss Weasley, assuming your Gryffindor brain can still comprehend the basic definition of 'severe physical weakness,' you will assist her to the private lounge inside my Potions office."
"I officially excuse Riddle from attending tonight's feast. As for you—"
Snape lowered his gaze to Ginny's fingers, which were still tightly clutching Tamara's waist, and let out a cold, dismissive snort.
"I sincerely hope your clumsy, heavy-handed movements will not send my student straight to a permanent bed in St Mungo's."
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