Chapter 231: Collar
Christmas at Hogwarts had settled into a rare, heavy silence.
With the vast majority of the student body having boarded the Hogwarts Express to return home for the holidays, the sprawling Slytherin Dungeons were entirely empty. The cold stone corridors were devoid of echoing footsteps and obnoxious chatter. Inside the dormitory, Pansy Parkinson and the rest of the roommates had long since departed. The only sound left in the cavernous room was the occasional, comforting crackle of burning logs settling in the grand fireplace.
For Tamara Riddle, this deep quiet and absolute privacy was exactly what she required.
She stood bathed in the dim, flickering orange light of the hearth. Between her pale fingertips, she casually twirled a single strand of dark red magic. It pulsed like a living vein—the Soul Bond Contract.
'If only,'she mused, a cruel smirk tugging at her lips.'If only I could drive this flawless piece of brainwashing magic straight into the meddlesome soul of Albus Dumbledore. Or better yet, Harry Potter.'
The mere thought of it sent a thrill of dark euphoria through her veins. Imagine that nauseatingly righteous White Wizard, or that perpetually interfering little savior of the Wizarding world, kneeling on the cold stone at her feet. They would be like two broken dogs, wagging their tails and weeping for her mercy. Such an image would undoubtedly bring the Dark Lord an unmatched, intoxicating pleasure.
Unfortunately, reality was rarely so accommodating. The activation conditions for this specific contract were agonizingly strict. It demanded the target possess an intense, deeply rooted desire to obey buried somewhere within their subconscious. Clearly, neither that manipulative old fox stuffed full of love and justice, nor that reckless, impulsive, thick-headed Gryffindor lion possessed a single submissive bone in their bodies.
, this [Soul Bond Contract] offered only a single chance. One strike. If cast upon an incompatible target, the judgment would fail, and this exceedingly precious item would shatter into useless sparks, wasted forever.
Tamara Riddle did not tolerate waste.
Banishing those delightful but unrealistic fantasies to the back of her mind, she stepped forward. Her leather shoes clicked softly against the stone floor as she approached the ornate brass cage resting in the shadowed corner of the room.
Inside, a sleek black cat paced back and forth with frantic, irritable energy.
Ever since it had briefly lost its mind upon catching the scent of Sirius Black, this beast—which currently housed the fractured, vicious soul of Bellatrix Lestrange—had been teetering dangerously on the razor's edge between outright mania and forced repression. It despised this fragile, pathetic animal shell. It craved the hot spray of blood. It longed to tear the throats out of the mudbloods and blood traitors wandering the castle halls. But above all else, it yearned with a sickening desperation to prove its worth to the great Dark Lord.
At the sound of Tamara's approaching footsteps, the feline froze.
Its dark gold vertical pupils locked onto her face. A strange, rattling purr—a grotesque mixture of fawning desperation and high-strung anxiety—vibrated from its throat. The cat pressed its skull hard against the cold brass bars, straining its neck in a pathetic attempt to rub against the swaying hem of Tamara's robes.
"Do you truly wish to pledge your loyalty to me, Bella?"
Tamara looked down from her superior height. A chilling smile, entirely devoid of warmth, curled the corners of her mouth.
"Unfortunately, in your current state, you are nothing but a rabid lunatic. A liability that could cause me unnecessary trouble at any given moment. I have absolutely no use for a dagger that might slip and slice my own fingers."
The beast seemed to perfectly comprehend the utter disgust and threat of abandonment lacing her tone. Every hair on its black coat stood on end. A terrified, shrill screech erupted from its throat, claws scraping frantically against the brass door in a blind panic.
"However," Tamara murmured, her voice dropping to a silken whisper. "Consider yourself incredibly lucky."
She raised a single hand. With a soft metallic click, the latch on the brass cage sprang open.
The very second the black cat lunged through the opening, Tamara's gaze sharpened into icy blades. The strand of dark red magic at her fingertips snapped forward. It struck like a venomous snake lunging from the shadows, piercing with absolute precision straight into the center of the cat's brow.
A horrific shriek tore through the quiet dormitory—a sound that was neither entirely human nor entirely feline. The black cat convulsed violently in mid-air, its spine arching at an unnatural angle, before slamming heavily onto the plush green carpet.
A mere handful of seconds passed.
The small feline form twisted, expanding and shifting in a grotesque display of forced transfiguration. Where the cat had fallen, a woman now curled up in agonizing pain upon the rug. She possessed a pair of twitching black cat ears atop her messy hair, and a long, thin black tail thrashed weakly behind her.
Bellatrix Lestrange gasped raggedly for air. Her wild, strikingly exotic face was completely drenched in a layer of cold sweat. Those dark gold vertical pupils contracted into mere slits against the overwhelming agony.
Deep within the very core of her fractured soul, an absolute, irresistible brainwashing was taking root.
The dark red magic of the contract splintered into countless invisible, barbed threads. They stabbed brutally into Bella's nerves, weaving through her consciousness with ruthless efficiency.
Bellatrix had always been a vessel overflowing with pure, unadulterated violence toward the world. She wanted to drag the Longbottoms back into the darkness and torture them a hundred times over. She wanted to flay Sirius Black alive and listen to him scream. She wanted to nail every single filthy mudblood in Hogwarts to the Great Hall's walls.
These surging, tidal waves of murderous intent and raw sadism were the very fuel that sustained the dark witch, the twisted power source behind the Death Eater's famously frantic combat style.
But now, under the iron-clad redirection of the contract, an incredibly strict, unbreakable law was being seared directly into her soul:
[Without the master's permission, you cannot harm anyone.]
Her frantic, bloodthirsty desires surged upward, ready to pour out of her mind as they always did—only to slam violently against an impenetrable mental wall. Denied their outward release, the violent urges had nowhere to go. They were forced to flow backward, rebounding and squeezing against her own psyche in a maddening pressure cooker of dark intent.
Until, finally, the dam broke. The twisted energy found the single, solitary target permitted by the absolute laws of the contract. It all surged directly toward her master.
"Ugh..."
Bella let out a low, guttural moan of pain, though the sound quickly warped into a strange, breathy gasp.
A brilliant dark red light converged frantically around her throat. The magical threads wove together, solidifying into a thick, dark red collar that clamped tightly against her pale skin. The complex runic patterns on the collar flickered with an ominous glow before sinking, completely vanishing beneath her flesh. All that remained was a faint, ring-shaped red mark circling her neck—a brand that looked simultaneously shameful and deeply sacred.
The contract was complete.
Tamara slowly lowered her eyes, her gaze sweeping over her masterpiece with deep satisfaction.
Through that invisible collar, she could clearly feel the absolute authority she now held over the life and death of the woman shivering on the floor. She could even vaguely perceive the near-boiling, feverish sense of submission radiating outward from Bella's bound soul.
"Now, tell me. How does it feel?" Tamara's tone was deceptively gentle, yet it carried a crushing arrogance, an oppressive weight that stood high above all living things.
At the sound of her master's voice, Bella trembled violently against the carpet.
She slowly raised her head. Her dark gold vertical pupils locked onto Tamara's face. The chaotic, rabid madness that had previously threatened to snap at any second was entirely gone. In its place was a deeply unsettling, hair-raising look of absolute attachment and sickening obsession.
Moving on all fours, Bella crawled forward. Her movements were utterly humble, yet laced with a dark, burning fanaticism as she dragged herself to Tamara's feet.
Trembling uncontrollably, she extended her hands, carefully cupping the polished leather of Tamara's shoes. Bella pressed her feverishly hot cheek against the cold footwear, before leaning down to reverently plant a kiss against the toe.
"Master... my great master..." Bella's voice was hoarse, shaking with an indescribable, eerie sense of dark satisfaction. "Your will is my life... As long as you do not abandon me... As long as you allow this worthless servant to remain at your feet, I am willing to do anything..."
"Just be obedient."
Tamara stared down at the sight before her. This was Bellatrix Lestrange. The once unyielding, terrifyingly powerful top-tier Death Eater who knew nothing but endless slaughter. And now, she was lying humbly on the floor, her thin black tail literally swishing back and forth as she begged for the privilege of serving.
A genuine, chilling smile bloomed across Tamara's pale, exquisitely beautiful face—a smile of total, tyrannical control that truly belonged to the Dark Lord.
This was the absolute perfect method for dealing with a lunatic. She hadn't needed to destroy the witch with Dark Magic. Instead, she had used an inescapable contract to break her, turning the madwoman into a leashed hound who no longer possessed the right to govern her own life or death.
"Listen to me very clearly, Bella." Tamara leaned down slightly. She reached out, her cold, pale fingers catching Bella's chin and tilting it upward, forcing the woman to meet her gaze. "From this moment onward, your claws and your fangs may only be wielded for me. Do you understand?"
"I understand... Bella understands everything..."
Bella stared obsessively at the slender fingers gripping her jaw.
In that very moment, constrained by the absolute restrictions of the magical contract, the deep-seated murderous intent and sadism within Bella's soul underwent a horrifying mutation.
She was forbidden from killing others. She was barred from torturing her prey. How, then, was she supposed to appease this vast, suffocating ocean of dark desire?
A dangerous, feverish glint—one that went entirely unnoticed even by Tamara's sharp senses—flashed through those dark gold vertical pupils.
Bella's gaze drifted. It uncontrollably bypassed the fingers holding her chin, sliding up to trace the delicate, fair lines of Tamara's slender neck. Her eyes then dropped to the girl's wrist—the very spot where Bella, in her feline form, had once bitten down and drawn the Dark Lord's blood.
A deeply twisted, grotesque thought quietly took root within Bella's thoroughly morbid brain.
If she was no longer allowed to destroy others to please her master... Then what if... what if she allowed herself to be completely destroyed by her master?
Or... what if she could somehow swallow this beautiful, fragile body whole? To devour the flesh that housed such a magnificent soul, and merge with her master forever?
"My master..." A low, vibrating purr rumbled from deep within Bella's throat.
She submissively rubbed her flushed cheek against Tamara's cold palm, allowing her sharp, elongated canine teeth to lightly, almost reverently, graze against the girl's knuckles.
"Bella... will always be your most obedient pet..."
Staring down at the infamous Death Eater groveling at her feet, now as docile and harmless as a newborn lamb, Tamara withdrew her hand with immense satisfaction.
The arrogant Dark Lord was entirely immersed in the intoxicating high of reclaiming her rightful power.
As far as Tamara was concerned, this Christmas holiday had been absolutely flawless. She had permanently neutralized the hidden threat of Bellatrix's madness, successfully acquired Sirius Black's Prophecy Pocket Watch, and even managed to unlock the elementary Shield Charm from that wretched System.
Everything was falling perfectly into place, proceeding in an orderly, calculated fashion exactly according to the script written by the great monarch herself.
'Now...'Tamara thought, turning her gaze toward the shadows of the dormitory.'It is finally time to study that law representing death.'
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