Harry Potter with Technology System

Ch334- Don’t You Think Voldemort is a Loser?

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“That’s enough,” Lucius snapped, his tone cold. “You would do well to keep such thoughts to yourself, Alecto. Unless, of course, you’re eager to test his patience.” He stopped walking and turned to face the group, his cane clutched tightly in one hand. “Does anyone else wish to voice their doubts? Perhaps you would like to make your suspicions known to him directly next time.”

Death Eaters exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent.

“Thought not,” Lucius said, his voice dripping with disdain. “What you fail to grasp, Alecto, is that this is strategy. We have followed chaos for years. Perhaps now we follow someone who understands caution.”

Amycus shuffled uncomfortably. “Still doesn’t sit right with me, Lucius. The Dark Mark was more than a tool—it was a symbol. Without it, what are we? What’s to stop us from being... discarded?”

A cold chuckle escaped Lucius as he resumed walking, the others trailing behind. “You’ve always been short-sighted, Amycus. Do you truly believe our Lord requires a brand to command loyalty? He could have destroyed every one of us tonight with a flick of his wand. We’re alive because he deems us useful. Remember that.”

Others nodded. They had doubts, of course. Lucius, perhaps, more than most. Among the Death Eaters, Lucius was known for his sharp mind. He had risen to prominence not just through wealth but also by outmaneuvering many of his peers. Harry knew that Lucius had once been the Serpent of the Crown, leading Slytherin House for three consecutive years—a rare accomplishment. Even Selena Rosier  had only managed two years. Before Harry, only Tom Riddle had surpassed this, holding the crown for four years. Harry, however, had shattered the record by earning the crown in his second year.

The group continued their march down the shadowy path, unease lingering like a fog among them. Though none dared to say it outright, the sudden removal of the Dark Mark had unsettled them. Lucius, despite his outward composure, wasn’t immune to the nagging questions circling his mind. He tightened his grip on his cane, his polished shoes crunching over the frost-bitten ground.

Goyle Snr. leaned toward Crabbe, his voice a low mutter. “You think he’ll replace it? The Mark, I mean?”

Crabbe grunted, scratching his chin as if the question required more effort than he was willing to give. “Dunno. Don’t think he would bother, do you?”

Alecto Carrow, always the most anxious of the group, piped up from behind them. “He has to, doesn’t he? The Mark isn’t just a tool—it’s tradition. It’s how we’ve always known where we stand. Without it… what are we?”

Others had no answer to offers. Indeed, without the mark, what were they? 

In the room, only Harry and Bellatrix remained. Harry leaned back in a chair, absentmindedly spinning Hufflepuff's cup between his fingers. Bellatrix, seated across from him on a low stool, watched his every move with an intensity that bordered on worship. The flickering candlelight reflected in her wide eyes as she studied him, her expression one of pure devotion.

The cup itself was a fascinating artifact, offering more than Harry initially expected. He had thought the loyalty rune etched into it simply reinforced bonds between allies. However, upon deeper examination, Harry realized Helga Hufflepuff had been far cleverer than anyone had given her credit for. The rune wasn’t just a passive tool to boost loyalty—it could be activated, effectively turning anyone under its influence into a staunch follower of the cup’s master. This revelation had forced Harry to reconsider its potential.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

This cup had a switch, allowing Helga to make people loyal to her if she needed. That was why Harry decided to remove the soul fragment inside it. Voldemort's soul, incubating within the cup for decades, had been influenced by the artifact’s unique magic. The fragment wasn’t just preserved; it had grown stronger and, more disturbingly, been conditioned to obey whoever owned the cup. When Voldemort held it, this wasn’t a concern—he was its master, and his dominance ensured the fragment remained loyal to him. But now that Harry owned the cup, the soul fragment’s loyalty had shifted. That was why Harry had changed his mind and removed the fragment of Voldemort’s soul from Hufflepuff’s cup, merging it with his wand. 

Harry’s gaze shifted to Bellatrix, who knelt before him like a fervent disciple awaiting her god’s command. Ever since he had uncovered the cup’s true magic, his thoughts about Bellatrix had shifted. 

He told Neville he would look for Bellatrix to avenge his parents. At first, Harry’s plan was straightforward: save Bellatrix from Dumbledore and his allies, let Neville have his revenge, and move on. Bellatrix was dangerous, unpredictable, and an outright liability. But when she mistook him for Voldemort, Harry saw a better use for her. She carried valuable knowledge of Voldemort’s inner circle—secrets Harry could exploit.

Now, with Hufflepuff’s cup in hand and its loyalty rune unlocked, a new idea began to take shape. Bellatrix’s fervent devotion could be redirected. Not to Voldemort, not even to the face Harry currently wore, but to him. It was a risky proposition, but the potential payoff was worth the gamble.

Harry placed the cup carefully on the table before him, leaning back in his chair. Bellatrix, still kneeling, watched his every move, her sharp gaze flicking between him and the artifact.

Harry pulled a wine bottle from his bag, uncorking it with a sharp pop. Without a word, he poured the deep red liquid into Hufflepuff's cup. He set the bottle down, then retrieved a small knife from his pocket. A quick flick against his thumb drew a single drop of blood, which he let fall into the wine. The crimson droplet swirled into the dark liquid, vanishing almost instantly.

Lifting the cup, he glanced at Bellatrix, who knelt before him, her wide eyes locked on the chalice. “Let’s drink, Bella. To my rebirth,” he said casually.

He brought the cup to his lips, taking a small sip, then handed it to her. Bellatrix’s hands trembled as she accepted it, but she quickly steadied herself. She looked up at him as if seeking permission to proceed.

“Go on,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “Drink.”

This was it. So long as Bellatrix drank the wine in the cup, she would be loyal to him. Harry leaned back in his chair, watching her every move. She gripped the cup tightly, her hands trembling slightly, though her expression was one of pure reverence. Just as she raised it to her lips, the world around Harry stopped.

The flickering candles froze mid-dance, their flames suspended in eerie stillness. Bellatrix’s wide-eyed devotion was frozen in time, the cup paused at the edge of her mouth. Harry blinked, his sharp mind immediately on alert, and then a voice echoed in his mind—one he hadn’t heard for a year.

“Master Harry, please don’t.”

Harry frowned, turning to the frozen room. “Nigel,” he muttered, his tone carrying a hint of annoyance. A faint shimmer gathered in the air before him, coalescing into Nigel’s silhouette. “Ah, decided to break your silence after a year? And now you’re stopping time? What is this?”

Nigel’s face twisted into a grimace. “Please don’t go this path, Master Harry. If you enslave Bellatrix, you will become something you’ve fought to avoid.”

Harry’s expression hardened, and he leaned forward in his chair, his tone sharp. “So, killing is fine, but enslaving her isn’t? Do I get that right?” He tilted his head, his voice dripping with irritation. “And let’s not ignore my first question. After hiding the fact that I’m a Horcrux, you went silent for an entire year. Why speak up now?”

Nigel’s projection wavered slightly. “Master Harry, I assumed you wouldn’t want to hear from me after... my oversight.”

“Oversight?” Harry’s laugh was cold, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “You kept something that monumental from me, and now you’re calling it an oversight? Convenient.”

Nigel’s tone became subdued, though his words retained their precise edge. “It was beyond my permissions to share that information. I was bound by restrictions.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp. “Bound by who, Nigel? What else are you hiding from me? And while we’re at it, what is this system of yours? I think it’s about time I had some answers.”

The flickering projection hesitated before replying, his form shifting as though the act of speaking cost him something. “Master Harry, my functions are tied to a complex set of directives. These were not established by me. I am... an intermediary, operating within parameters.”

Harry leaned forward, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. “Cut the AI crap, Nigel. I’ve long realized you’re not an AI, but a soul. Perhaps even a Horcrux.”

Nigel’s shimmering form paused before letting out a heavy sigh. “I cannot confirm or deny that, Master Harry, but please understand—I am not allowed to divulge more than what you already know.”

Harry snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a humorless smirk. “All right, then. Keep your secrets.”

Nigel’s figure flickered, and a dry chuckle echoed in the frozen room. “Was that Lor—”

Harry cut him off with a sharp glare. “I’m not in a joking mood, Nigel. Sorry, but I will enslave Bellatrix. Don’t assume that means I’m morphing into some sort of Dark Lord. Everything I’ve done—since the day you awakened in my body—has been for survival. I have no malicious or egoistic intentions.”

Nigel tilted his head, his expression hard to read in his translucent form. “Survival, is it? And how do you reconcile enslaving someone with survival, Master Harry? A survivalist plays the long game. This feels… shortsighted.”

Harry’s gaze darkened as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “I don’t need your lectures on morality. This isn’t about conscience—it’s about control. Bellatrix is dangerous, unhinged, and loyal to Voldemort’s memory. I need her focused. Without it, she’s a liability, and liabilities get people killed.”

Nigel looked at him, his gaze unusually heavy. “I beg you, Master Harry,” he said, his voice carrying a rare tremor of urgency.

Harry stood abruptly, cutting Nigel off with a sharp wave of his hand. The shimmer of the man flickered as Harry’s mental block snapped into place, shutting the projection out completely.

“Sorry, Nigel,” he muttered under his breath as soon as he severed the connection. “I can’t turn back now.”

The room snapped back to life as if a switch had been flipped. The frozen candle flames flickered once more, and Bellatrix resumed her motion, the cup tipping as the dark liquid passed her lips. She drank deeply, her throat moving with each swallow.

“It is done, my Lord,” she whispered, her voice thick with reverence. She set the cup down carefully on the table, her gaze locked onto Harry’s face as if he had just performed a miracle.

Harry could see Bellatrix's eyes clouded with confusion, her gaze flicking between the now-empty cup and him. Dropping his disguise, his features morphed back into his own. The sharp contrast to the form of Albus Riddle left Bellatrix stunned, her mouth parting in disbelief.

Before she could fully process what had happened, Harry tilted his head slightly, his tone casual. "Don’t you think Voldemort is a loser?"

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