August in London, Charing Cross Road was as bustling as ever.
Muggles wore clothes so brightly colored it was dizzying, clutching stupid boxes called Walkmans in their hands, scurrying about the streets like headless flies.
The exhaust fumes from the cars made Tom Riddle—that is, the current Tamara—feel a sense of suffocation.
"A nest of lower beings."
Tamara stood between a record store and a large bookstore, looking at the dilapidated wooden door that was invisible to Muggles, the corners of her mouth curling into a mocking sneer.
Dumbledore had originally offered to accompany her, but he had clearly underestimated the Dark Lord's independence, as well as the level of loathing she felt for that Old Bee.
Tamara used the nauseating excuse of "I want to experience the surprise of my first contact with the magic world myself."
Combined with the big-eyed offensive brought by the [Harmless] skill, she successfully convinced Dumbledore that she was a girl who, though from a pitiable background, was strong and independent.
That old fool simply gave her a ticket and a detailed route map before confidently heading off to attend to his important business.
"If he knew who I was, he'd probably regret it enough to pull out all his beard."
Tamara gave a light snort and reached out to push open the door of the Leaky Cauldron.
The pub was as dim and filthy as ever.
The air was filled with the scent of sherry, aged tobacco, and a musty smell unique to the magic world.
This smell might have been a bit pungent to the former Tom Riddle, but at this moment, it was simply the fragrance of freedom.
A few old Wizards were gathered in a corner smoking pipes, and Old Tom behind the bar was wiping a non-existent glass.
No one noticed the little girl entering the door.
She was just about to step toward the backyard courtyard when the system's voice suddenly rang out in her mind:
[Ding! Special plot character detected!]
[High energy warning ahead: Encountered "Suspicious Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor".]
[Triggered side quest: A Friendly Greeting.]
[Quest Description: As a future Hogwarts student, how can you not say hello when you see a Professor? Please show Professor Quirrell your politeness.]
[Quest Reward: Charisma +1.]
"Quirrell?"
Tamara's steps paused.
Her gaze swept across the dim hall and landed on a table in the corner.
A young man sat there, his face pale and his expression nervous, wrapped in a thick purple turban; he looked as if he were just recovering from a severe cold, or perhaps as if he had been frightened out of his wits by something.
Quirinus Quirrell.
Tamara's pupils contracted slightly; as the possessor of memories from a past life, she naturally knew what role this man played during this year.
He was the host for Lord Voldemort's main soul.
In other words, the "self" who had killed Harry Potter's parents and turned into a wandering soul ten years ago because the Killing Curse rebounded.
He was very likely on the back of that fellow's head right now, or perhaps lurking within his body.
An indescribable surge of complex emotions rose in her heart.
It was excitement, contempt, and also a deep wariness.
The former self had actually fallen to the point of parasitizing such a cowardly and mediocre Wizard, lingering on like a tumor.
"How pathetic, Lord Voldemort," Tamara mocked in her heart, "look at you now."
She lifted her feet and walked toward Quirrell.
As the distance closed, the aura that made her soul tremble grew stronger.
It was the smell of rotting leaves, mixed with the pungency of garlic and a deep, cold dark magic.
It was souls of the same origin calling out.
Quirrell seemed to sense someone approaching; he looked up in a panic, and the glass in his hand nearly spilled.
"Who... who's there?" he asked stutteringly; to hide the Lord Voldemort on the back of his head, Quirrell had to maintain this disgraceful state at all times.
Tamara stood by the table, staring at him expressionlessly.
[System Tip: host, please smile; you must be polite at all times.]
Tamara took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to wring Quirrell's head off, and her facial muscles quickly adjusted.
The next second, a sweet and well-behaved smile, full of respect for an elder, blossomed on her face.
"Hello, sir."
The girl's voice was crisp and pleasant, like a string of silver bells: "Excuse me, are you a Hogwarts Professor? I see the style of your robes... is very special."
Quirrell was stunned; he clearly hadn't expected that in this crowded, motley pub, such a beautiful little girl would take the initiative to talk to him.
"Uh... y-yes." Quirrell nervously tugged at the large purple turban, as if trying to hide his neck.
"I... I am Quirinus Quirrell, Hogwarts'... Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."
At that moment, Tamara keenly felt the cold aura on Quirrell fluctuate.
It seemed something had awakened within him and was scrutinizing her through Quirrell's terrified eyes.
It was the gaze of the main soul.
Tamara felt a slight stinging in her chest; this was likely the mutual repulsion between identical souls.
But she did not back down; on the contrary, she even somewhat enjoyed this feeling of dancing on the edge of a blade.
"Wow!" Tamara clasped her hands together, putting on an admiring look with stars shining in her eyes.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts! That must be the coolest class at Hogwarts! My name is Tamara, and I'm a freshman this year."
Quirrell looked at the girl, feeling an indescribable strangeness in his heart; he was instinctively a bit afraid of the girl before him.
"That... that's good, I hope you'll like... the class." Quirrell avoided Tamara's pitch-black eyes; he felt some discomfort at the back of his head.
"Professor, you don't look very well," she asked with concern, even reaching out a pale little hand as if to touch Quirrell's arm.
"Do you need help?"
Just as her fingers were about to touch Quirrell's robes.
Zzt—
A current-like stinging sensation suddenly exploded at her fingertips. It wasn't a punishment from the system, but the repulsion and attraction between two fragmented souls.
Quirrell jerked his hand back as if burned and sprang from his chair, knocking over the glass on the table.
"No! D-don't touch me!" he shrieked in terror, his voice loud enough to attract the attention of the entire pub.
The pub owner, Old Tom, looked over with a frown: "Professor Quirrell, having nightmares again?"
Quirrell didn't answer; instead, he looked at Tamara before him with some horror.
The thing inside him was warning him.
"S-sorry, I... I have things to do..." Quirrell said incoherently, grabbing the books on the table and rushing toward the pub's exit as if running for his life, not even daring to look back.
Tamara stood where she was, watching Quirrell's disheveled retreating back, and slowly withdrew her hand that was suspended in mid-air.
The sweet smile on her face gradually disappeared, replaced by a meaningful coldness.
[Ding! Quest Complete: A Friendly Greeting.]
[Since you successfully greeted the Professor, extra reward: a slight increase in Insight.]
[host, your aura is too strong; even the Professor was frightened by you.]
"He wasn't frightened by me."
Tamara pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and carefully wiped the finger that had almost touched Quirrell, as if it were stained with something filthy.
"It was the thing on the back of his head that was frightened."
The main soul was still weak, so weak it couldn't even recognize that this was its own soul fragment; it could only instinctively feel a threat.
This was good.
This meant that before the main soul fully resurrected, she had enough time to plan, to grow, and even to devour it.
Tamara curled the corners of her mouth; there could only be one Dark Lord in the world, and that was herself.
"Just you wait, Quirrell, and that parasite hiding on the back of your head."