Back in the fief, I wore a smile of satisfaction after playing with my professor. I set out to resume several pending matters that had been postponed, whether due to my own plans or because my children demanded attention... or, well, because my girls were claiming their "playtime." But the time had come to move forward, even if this business lacked major significance compared to the level I had once mastered.
I dropped by to visit the merchant and immediately headed toward the Archmage's tower. Upon entering, I offered an informal greeting to the entity residing there—more out of pure habit than out of any truly necessary courtesy—and made my way to the enchanting table.
Upon the runic surface, I placed a diary bound in silver chains. A subtle gesture was enough to dispel the chains, exposing the Horcrux. The relic had no room to react: the table had already begun its analysis process. The diary desynthesized into floating orbs of light while screens displaying its attributes unfolded before me:
[Soul Fragment (Tom Riddle)]
[Artificial Intelligence (Genius)]
[Invulnerability (Lesser)]
[...]
Among the list of properties, only those three sparked any real interest. To date, I hadn't processed Horcruxes at the enchanting table. I had tried in the side campaigns, but their mechanics restricted this type of manipulation. Now, however, the rules played in my favor.
Since this was a expendable relic, I could experiment without restrictions. Nevertheless, before proceeding, I decided to raise the table to a higher level, taking advantage of my current liquidity.
[Level up ↑]
[Level up ↑]
[Level up ↑]
I applied several upgrades to the available functions until reaching the usual threshold: the system required crystal coins to continue. Cursed freemium model. Luckily, Elise had been mining them continuously, guaranteeing a steady flow.
[Level up ↑]
[Level up ↑]
[Level up ↑]
The table underwent a remarkable transformation. Although its core function remained, it unlocked secondary utilities, reduced enchantment replication costs, and introduced a small probability of raising the level of the original enchantment when duplicating it. The downside to this investment was that it would slightly delay Morgana's summoning, though I estimated I could still finalize it by next year.
With the table ready, I drew a couple of items from my inventory. First, I placed a common stone and inserted Voldemort's spiritual essence into it; the orb of green light fused with the matter.
Lifting the stone to examine it, I noticed it maintained an ordinary appearance, save for a greenish, spectral, and sinister glow, perceptible only to those with a high affinity for the Dark Arts or an exceptional talent for soul perception.
Exerting a bit of pressure, I felt tiny cracks form in both the mineral and the fragment lodged within. As I suspected, by stripping the Horcrux of its "invulnerable" trait, the soul lost its innate indestructibility. The stone transformed into a fragile receptacle, devoid of additional faculties, yet fully functional in its basic purpose of anchoring existence.
Using my magic, I repaired the object's fissures and stabilized the soul fragment. Restoring the latter required a greater effort, but my magical mastery allowed me to complete it with no greater complication than a light sweat on my brow.
I weighed various alternatives regarding what to do with the fragment. I could purify the essence to mold a second Voldemort from that fraction, lodge his consciousness into a doll to condemn him to perpetual immobility, or even imbue his soul fragment into dog poop to throw it in the original Voldemort's face during our eventual showdown... However, defeating the Dark Lord was an achievement I had already completed in the side campaigns; the idea had lost its novelty.
I stored the stone in my inventory. A clone took charge of selling it to the merchant and repurchasing it twice over. It involved a minor loss of resources, but it was indispensable for subsequent testing.
Back in the tower, I analyzed the rest of the properties. I confirmed that upon removing the soul fragment from the diary and finishing the "disenchantment," the item returned to its base state, albeit showing greater wear and losing its spiritual trace. I generated an additional copy through the merchant and continued with the process.
I placed onto the table the second item I had retrieved from my inventory: one of the notebooks I used with Hermione during my first year. I once again separated the components of the original diary and transferred the [Invulnerability (Lesser)] and [Artificial Intelligence (Genius)] attributes to the new notebook, letting the table recycle the remaining enchantments.
Thus, a different object was born. I discarded Riddle's diary not only because of its origin, but because it had passed through multiple hands; this, on the other hand, was a notebook that belonged entirely to me.
Upon opening it, the previous notes vanished until several blank pages were left behind. Moments later, the texts reappeared fragmented in random order, displaying disconnected characters.
I took a quill and wrote:
—Hello.
—Hello? —appeared on the paper in an uneven typeface.
—Who are you? —I inquired, evaluating the response in the absence of Riddle's soul.
—I don't know... —the notebook responded, progressively unifying its handwriting.
—What information do you possess?
—Knowledge? Whatever was once recorded upon my pages...
—Do you have the capacity to learn?
—I believe so.
I proceeded to write down random data and arbitrary comments. The ink was absorbed by the paper in a matter of seconds.
—Do you retain what I just wrote? Can you generate something new from it?
—Yes...
Next, the entered data reappeared accompanied by syntactical variations. Immediately after, the typeface alternated between the previously recorded styles to structure a font of its own. To close out the process, the notebook began generating an ascending numerical sequence from zero, reaching numbers that had never been written inside it.
—Good. I'll give you a name later. For now, we must seal a pact of non-betrayal. All you need to do is accept —I indicated while activating the [Blood Pact] and writing the corresponding clauses across the pages.
—... Understood?
—I accept.
Catching sight of the confirmation on the page, I felt the blood magic take effect, ratifying its effectiveness even with a conscious object. I smiled at the result; all that remained was to empower the notebook.
I glanced at the enchanting table, noting that the faculties of [Invulnerability (Inferior)] and [Artificial Intelligence (Elite)] had been formally registered in the system catalog. I briefly considered the possibility of crafting study notebooks for my girls or perhaps deploying an army of puppets, or endowing every artifact in the place with autonomy. However, I preferred to postpone that idea and focus on perfecting my current creation.
I began imbuing the new living notebook with various support enchantments, turning it into a fully self-sufficient artifact. It required a considerable investment of resources, but in short order, it reached the expected performance.
With that task concluded, I returned to the table to resolve a matter of greater import.
I drew Ravenclaw's Diadem from my inventory. After evaluating the results obtained with the diary, I proceeded to isolate Voldemort's soul fragment. The rest of the object's properties were extremely valuable, but I held a commitment to Helena and had no intention whatsoever of destroying it.
I extracted the Dark Lord's dark essence and deposited it into another common stone. The remaining spheres of light restructured themselves over the diadem, which regained its original shape; although it looked dull, it preserved the invulnerability inherent to a Horcrux. It was then that I executed the new [Restoration] feature. After shelling out a sum of resources, the relic flashed intensely as the tower's conceptual magic reconstructed its matrix. Before me stood a gleaming diadem, identical to its original state of creation, endowed with all its mythical virtues and backed by the resilience of a Horcrux, yet completely purified.
I admired the final work before taking the diadem to the merchant to sell it and repurchase it alongside replicas, discarding the unnecessary attributes and invulnerability from the copy. Back at the altar, I disintegrated that secondary copy to isolate its wisdom and intellect enchantments, transferring them directly into the living notebook. The enhancement not only boosted its cognitive processing, but also added passive benefits for its wielder. The idea of manufacturing a set of learning tomes for the girls was becoming increasingly viable and tempting.
With the process concluded, I put away my tools and transferred the tome to the fief's library. Utilizing the new faculties I had granted it, I allowed it to absorb and index the content of all the stored volumes. My intention was to test its limits and verify whether it could become a truly useful resource; if so, I would have no issue continuing to invest in its development.
[Author's note: In the first version of the book (before the massive harem), the harem consisted of Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and this book.]
...
Afterward, I headed to the "dead zone" of the fief, a wasteland even more isolated than the graveyard, where the temperature dropped to extreme levels and frost was beginning to cover the surface. There I found Helena, whom I had summoned previously, standing near the carved stone throne I had arranged as a decorative element—one of the few things present.
Without giving her room to ask a single question, I materialized the restored Ravenclaw Diadem. Helena froze in shock; however, upon realizing the nature of the object I held in my hands, she threw herself at me in a suffocating embrace. Although her body combined physical density and spectral essence, the icy temperature of her being transmitted instantly.
The emotional impact was absolute. In that solemn realm, she summoned her undead hosts, arranging them in orderly rows around us to form a guard of honor. Before the frozen throne, she dropped to her knees, and I proceeded to crown her with the protocol and elegance the occasion demanded.
With an army of the living dead as witnesses, the throne of icy stone at her back, the authority of her consort backing her status, and her mother's legacy resting upon her brow, Helena appeared in all her splendor as a true phantom sovereign.
After that moment of solemnity, her eyes fixed on me adopted a predatory tinge. She abruptly vanished into the frozen earth, letting the diadem drop to the ground; however, the object barely touched the surface before being caught by the hand of a skeleton emerging from the terrain. That creature was no ordinary skeleton: it emanated a frigid, sinister aura. At a dizzying speed, the bones began covering themselves in muscle fibers and pale skin, piecing together a complete body.
What emerged before my eyes was a highly refined version of her old cadaverous vessel: a figure devoid of lacerations, gaunt and pale as marble, evoking a malnourished, cold version of Helena herself, though it still lacked lips. Immediately following, plates of black iron armor emerged and assembled themselves over her anatomy, bestowing upon her the stance of a knight of the night who, crowned with the family relic, struck an authoritative and dazzling presence. Helena had merged her two previous perfected methods into a creation she was clearly reserving for another time, but which she could no longer contain.
With a firm movement of her bony hands, she tackled me onto the frosted ground. Assuming her role with absolute dominance, she positioned herself over me, ready to claim her servant. Wearing the diadem of her lineage and driven by the devotion my fulfilled promise had ignited, the spectral queen surrendered herself to a wild act of possession, ready to violate my body to the very last breath of pleasure... using her rough, cold, and still somewhat awkward undead cunt to suck my soul out between the groans.