The Troll's chamber was connected to the next room by an ordinary-looking wooden door.
Before Tamara could even reach out to push it open, the door burst outward with sudden force.
A bushy head of brown hair shot through the doorway, nearly colliding with her.
"Ouch!"
Hermione Granger cried out in alarm, clutching an empty bottle tightly in her hand. But the moment she recognized who stood before her, panic gave way to overwhelming relief.
"Tamara! Merlin—you're here too!"
Her voice trembled, as though she had just encountered a lifeline.
"Harry… Harry has already gone in! The final obstacle is a logic puzzle with potions, but there's only enough for one person! He drank the potion and went after Snape. He told me to go back and find Dumbledore!"
Hermione's words came in a rush, barely controlled.
"I was just about to head to the Owlery to send him a message!"
"Send a message?"
Tamara narrowed her eyes slightly.
If Hermione managed to alert Dumbledore now, everything would unravel. Her carefully constructed plan would collapse instantly. Not only would she lose her chance at the Philosopher's Stone, but she would also forfeit any opportunity to confront the main soul. Worse, she would be forced to continue pretending to be a model student.
That outcome was unacceptable.
"No, Hermione."
Tamara stepped forward and grasped Hermione by the shoulders, stopping her. Her tone was calm, but firm.
"Dumbledore is in London. An owl would take far too long. By the time he returns, everything will already be over."
She gestured back toward the previous room, where the faint stench of the Troll still lingered.
"And Ron is still lying there."
"I gave him basic first aid when I passed through, but he's not out of danger yet. The Troll could wake up at any moment, or the enchanted chess pieces might activate again."
Her gaze locked onto Hermione's, steady and deliberate.
"You're the only one who can help him right now."
Hermione's face went pale.
"Ron… Oh no—Ron!"
Until now, she had been entirely focused on the larger crisis. The reminder hit her like a blow. Guilt flooded her expression instantly.
"Then what should I do? But Harry is in there…" she stammered, torn between two responsibilities.
"Leave Harry to me."
Tamara released her grip and straightened slightly, her composure returning.
"Your priority is Ron. Take him to Madam Pomfrey immediately."
She drew her wand, her expression sharpening with resolve.
"As for the dark wizard inside…"
Her eyes hardened.
"I'll deal with it."
Hermione hesitated for only a moment before nodding emphatically. She turned to leave—but then paused, something flickering across her face.
"Wait, Tamara… how did you know something would happen tonight?"
The question was sharp, precise.
Tamara didn't hesitate.
She had anticipated this.
Her expression shifted subtly, adopting an air of quiet insight.
"I've been watching Quirrell."
She lowered her voice, as though sharing something confidential.
"When I visited his office this afternoon, I saw a parchment on his desk. It contained notes—sketches for getting past Fluffy, references to the Philosopher's Stone, and a specific time."
"I knew he would act tonight. So I followed him."
The lie was seamless.
It explained everything—her presence, her preparedness, her timing. It painted her as vigilant, observant, even heroic, while redirecting suspicion squarely onto Quirrell.
Hermione's doubt vanished almost instantly.
"So that's it… You're incredible, Tamara," she said, visibly moved. "And we thought Snape was the one…"
"No time for that now."
Tamara gave her a gentle push toward the corridor.
"Go. Quickly."
"But—" Hermione pointed back toward the room behind Tamara. "The potion to pass through the black fire has already been used! You won't be able to get through!"
Tamara's lips curved slightly.
"There is no room a Slytherin cannot enter."
Her tone carried a faint edge of disdain.
"Don't measure me by your standards, Miss Granger."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and pushed open the door.
Inside, purple flames roared behind her, sealing the way back. Ahead, black fire burned fiercely, blocking the path forward.
The Potion Puzzle Room.
A table stood in the center, lined with seven bottles of varying shapes and sizes. A parchment lay beside them, covered in riddling instructions.
Tamara approached, scanning it briefly.
"Danger lies before you, safety behind… second left and second right…"
She snorted softly.
"Snape."
With a flick of her hand, she tossed the parchment aside.
"Still obsessed with his little word games."
For a first-year student—especially a Muggle-born—this puzzle might pose a genuine challenge.
But for someone like her?
It was trivial.
Potions mastery was one of Voldemort's greatest prides—far surpassing Snape's in his own estimation. A simple logic puzzle wasn't even necessary.
She picked up one of the bottles and uncorked it, inhaling gently.
Poison.
Another.
Wine.
One by one, she assessed them—not through logic, but through instinct, experience, and sheer familiarity with magical substances.
Soon, her attention settled on the smallest bottle—a round, unassuming vial.
That was the one.
The potion that allowed passage through the black flames.
But—
It was empty.
Tamara turned it upside down.
Nothing.
Then—
A single drop clung stubbornly to the rim.
One solitary remnant, left behind by Harry Potter.
She stared at it.
Her expression twisted.
It wasn't just irritation.
It was disgust—deep, visceral, almost instinctive.
A sharp, mechanical chime echoed in her mind.
[Ding! System Notification: Insufficient quantity of key item detected. Automatically enhancing potion efficacy.]
[In practical terms: licking the rim will allow this single drop to function as a full dose.]
[For the sake of your greater objective, please disregard this minor hygienic concern.]
"SHUT UP!!!"
Tamara's voice cracked through the silence as she hurled the bottle to the ground.
It shattered instantly.
Glass shards scattered across the floor.
"I would rather burn to death in Fiendfyre than touch something Potter's mouth has been on!"
Her chest rose and fell as she took two slow breaths, forcing herself to regain composure.
Then she turned toward the black flames.
The problem remained.
Without the potion, passing through directly was suicide.
This wasn't ordinary fire—it was a magical barrier, designed specifically to prevent intrusion.
She scanned the room.
No usable tools.
No alternative potions.
No hidden mechanisms.
But she did not panic.
If she couldn't withstand the flames herself—
Then she would make something else do it for her.
Tamara turned back toward the purple fire behind her, her gaze piercing through it into the previous chamber.
The Troll.
Still petrified.
Still lying exactly where she had left it.
A slow smile formed on her lips.
"Unpleasant…"
She tilted her head slightly.
"But effective."
Without hesitation, she raised her wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
In the adjacent room, the massive Troll began to rise—its enormous body lifting into the air as though weightless.
Moments later, it drifted into the potion chamber, still rigid from petrification.
Suspended upright, it resembled a grotesque shield.
"Forward."
At her command, the Troll lurched ahead.
Then—
It collided with the black flames.
A sickening hiss filled the room.
The smell hit immediately—burning flesh, thick and nauseating.
Even a Troll's notoriously resilient hide couldn't withstand such magic unscathed.
But that was precisely the point.
The flames surged toward the massive body, drawn to it, consuming it.
And in doing so—
They left gaps.
Small, fleeting pockets where the fire weakened, displaced by the larger target.
Tamara's eyes sharpened.
"Now."
Without hesitation, she moved.
Using the Troll's bulk as cover, she slipped forward—swift, precise, and perfectly timed.
Through the flames.
Through the barrier.
Untouched.
Behind her, the fire roared again, reclaiming its full intensity.
Another chime echoed in her mind.
[Ding! Warning!]
[Host has engaged in excessively cruel exploitation of a rare magical creature.]
[Using a sentient being as a disposable shield in such a manner is—]
Tamara cut the system off coldly.
"…efficient resource utilization."
Her voice was calm again.
Controlled.
Absolute.
And without another glance back, she continued forward.
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