It was already late into the night by the time Tamara returned to the Slytherin girls' dormitory.
The castle corridors were thick with damp, cold air, the kind that clung to skin and seeped into bones. Yet Tamara was in a fairly good mood. Not only had she resolved a potential nuisance regarding her tutoring duties, but she had also taken the opportunity to intimidate that disgusting rat—Peter Pettigrew.
Though she hadn't killed him outright, the memory of him trembling helplessly in her grasp lingered pleasantly in her mind. That fleeting sensation of holding someone's life and death between her fingers… it was intoxicating. A perfect sedative.
Pushing open the dormitory door, she stepped inside quietly.
The room was still. Her roommates were already asleep, their steady breathing muffled behind drawn bed curtains. Only one spot remained awake in its own peculiar way.
On her bed, curled beside the pillow, lay a bundle of black shadow.
Nagini II.
That useless cat, which did nothing but eat, sleep, and occasionally trip over its own paws, was currently curled into a tight ball of fur. It twitched faintly, as though dreaming—likely about dried fish or chasing imaginary prey.
Tamara walked over, intending—as usual—to pick it up and move it to the foot of the bed.
However…
As she approached, a lingering scent drifted faintly through the air.
The smell of the rat.
It clung stubbornly to her skin—a pungent, unmistakable stench. It was a mixture of cowardice, filth, decay… and something else. Something uniquely vile.
The scent of Peter Pettigrew.
The moment it reached the black cat's nose—
The creature froze.
In the next instant—
"HISSS—!!!"
A sharp, violent hiss shattered the silence of the dormitory.
The previously lazy cat exploded into motion, as if struck by lightning. Its fur bristled violently, puffing outward like a black sea urchin. Its back arched into an exaggerated curve, and its golden, vertical pupils shrank to thin slits.
Its gaze locked onto Tamara's hand.
More precisely—the hand that had just held Scabbers.
There was nothing of a dull, simple-minded animal in that stare.
Instead, what burned within those golden eyes was something chillingly human.
Hatred.
Madness.
Disgust so intense it bordered on reverence twisted into fury—as though witnessing something sacred defiled.
"…What's wrong with you?"
Tamara frowned slightly, pausing mid-step.
"Did you eat something bad?"
She had no idea that, within that feline shell, a fractured and deranged soul had just awakened.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Back on the Hogwarts Express, that broken fragment of consciousness had been far too weak. It had been buried beneath instinct—reduced to nothing more than a cat's shallow desires: food, sleep, and idle play.
But now—
Now it had been provoked.
In Bellatrix's mind, that wretched worm named Wormtail—Peter Pettigrew—was nothing. Less than nothing. A gutter-dwelling coward unworthy of even approaching her Master's shadow.
And yet—
Her Master's hand had been tainted by his scent.
Unforgivable.
Blasphemy.
Absolute sacrilege.
"Meow—AGH—!!!"
The cry that erupted from the cat's throat was distorted, unnatural—more roar than meow.
Without hesitation, the black cat lunged.
Tamara instinctively tried to dodge, but the creature's speed was shockingly fast.
It slammed into her hand, claws digging in. Its tiny hooks snagged the cuff of her robe, anchoring itself firmly.
Then—
It lowered its head.
And began to lick.
No—
Not lick.
Scrub.
Frenzied, obsessive, violent.
Its barbed tongue rasped across the back of her hand again and again, as though trying to strip away not just scent—but flesh itself.
It was hot, wet, relentless.
A cat's tongue was naturally rough, covered in tiny spines. Under normal circumstances, it was merely unpleasant.
But like this—
It felt like sandpaper grinding against skin.
"Hiss—! Let go!"
Tamara inhaled sharply, wincing.
It hurt.
It genuinely hurt.
It felt as if a layer of skin was being scraped away.
"You stupid beast—let go!"
She tried to pull her hand back, but the cat clung with absurd strength. Its hind legs kicked wildly against her sleeve while its throat emitted a strange, continuous sound—a low, vibrating mix between a growl and a purr.
And in those golden eyes—
There was something terrifying.
Fanaticism.
If Tamara could read souls, she would have heard the hysterical screams echoing within that small body.
But she couldn't.
All she saw was madness.
She stared at the creature gripping her hand, her confusion deepening.
That emotion—
That intensity—
The possessiveness. The destructive devotion. The complete, unrestrained insanity.
It felt…
Familiar.
Too familiar.
A cold chill crept down her spine.
In her past life, only one person had ever looked at her like that.
Only one lunatic had ever expressed such terrifying devotion.
The woman who would burn the world for her.
The one who would kneel, weeping, kissing her feet—licking even dust from her skin.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
"…Bella?"
The name slipped from her lips unconsciously.
The effect was immediate.
The black cat froze.
Its body went still, trembling slightly.
Slowly, it lifted its head.
Its golden eyes shimmered—wet, shining.
There was joy in them.
Ecstasy.
Recognition.
It opened its mouth, as if trying to respond.
"Meow…"
Only a soft, broken cat's cry emerged.
Tamara frowned.
She watched the shifting emotions flicker across those eyes—madness, joy, longing… and something else.
Grievance.
"…I must be losing my mind."
She shook her head, dismissing the thought.
It was absurd.
In this timeline, Bellatrix Lestrange was still imprisoned in Azkaban. There was no possible way she could be here—let alone inside a cat.
And even if she were—
Would Bellatrix ever tolerate being reduced to such a lowly creature?
Impossible.
"I'll find a chance to have it neutered."
Tamara muttered coldly, arriving at a far more "reasonable" explanation.
A sharp sting spread across the back of her hand.
She glanced down.
Her pale skin was raw and red, with faint traces of blood beginning to surface.
This damned cat.
"Enough."
Her patience snapped.
Killing intent flickered in her eyes.
"Since you enjoy biting so much…"
She raised her foot.
"Then go reflect against the wall."
She intended to teach it a proper lesson.
However—
Before she could act—
The black cat suddenly shuddered.
As if a switch had been flipped.
The madness vanished.
Bellatrix's briefly awakened soul collapsed, overwhelmed and suppressed once more by simple animal instinct.
The terrifying gaze disappeared.
In its place—
A pair of blank, innocent cat eyes.
"Meow?"
The cat tilted its head.
It looked at Tamara's raised foot with curiosity.
Then, suddenly—
It pounced.
Grabbing onto the tip of her shoe, it clung tightly, kicking its hind legs in rapid excitement. It even tangled itself in her shoelaces, nearly choking in the process.
The transformation was absolute.
From a deranged fanatic to a foolish, harmless pet.
"…."
Tamara froze.
If she kicked now…
It would feel like bullying an idiot.
Her anger had nowhere to go.
It dissipated awkwardly, leaving her chest feeling tight and frustrated.
"…Idiot."
She lowered her foot and reached down, picking the cat up.
Nagini II dangled in her grip, blinking innocently. Then, as if nothing had happened, it leaned forward and gently licked her finger.
This time, soft. Harmless.
"Meow~"
It even made a sweet, affectionate sound.
As though it hadn't just tried to flay her hand alive moments ago.
[Ding! Detected pet is acting spoiled towards you.]
The system's voice rang out.
[Look, host! How attached it is to you! That intense behavior just now was only because it loves you too much and wanted to clean the foreign scent from your hand!]
[What deep and clumsy affection!]
[Temporary Quest: Touch of Love]
[Please respond kindly. Do not harm this poor little kitten.]
[Reward: Love +1]
Tamara stared at the cat.
Then at her injured hand.
Her temples throbbed.
"Love?"
"It nearly peeled my skin off."
Without ceremony, she tossed the cat back onto the bed.
"Since you love cleaning so much…"
She raised her wand.
"Scourgify."
A burst of soapy bubbles enveloped the cat instantly.
"Meow—AGH!!!"
The black cat shrieked, rolling frantically across the bed in panic, trying to shake off the foam.
"Clean yourself properly."
Tamara turned away coldly, heading toward the washstand.
"If I see you go insane again…"
She glanced back.
"I'll turn you into a pair of gloves."
"So you can hold my hands forever."
The cat froze.
Then scrambled under the covers, trembling. Only the tip of its tail remained visible, quivering slightly.
Beneath the blanket—
Deep within that chaotic mind—
A faint, broken soul trembled.
"Master… Master is punishing me…"
"Master still cares… she even bathed me herself…"
"My eyes hurt… but I'm so happy…"
"That filthy rat's smell is gone… heehee… heeheehee…"
Of course—
Tamara heard none of this.
To her, the dormitory simply felt unusually noisy.
And the air…
Still carried a faint trace of madness.
Standing before the mirror, she applied a healing charm to her injured hand. Her reflection stared back at her—expression dark, unreadable.
"…I need to find time," she murmured softly,
"…to cut open its brain and see what's really inside."
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