I returned to Riddle Manor with a new obsession on my mind: the untapped potential of squibs and the weaker, overlooked wizards of Nocturne Alley. If I wanted a loyal, magically enhanced force, I had to start from scratch, building them not just into obedient soldiers, but into something stronger than any naturally born wizard could hope to be.
I started by "acquiring" a small group of squibs. Their families barely noticed their disappearance, and the wizards I took were similarly inconsequential—perfect for my research. My methods were precise, clinical, and unsympathetic. I observed, tested, and dissected, recording every minute detail of their magical biology and physiology.
The differences between squibs and fully magical humans were subtle yet significant: they had the same brain structures, but the magical nodes in their bodies were undeveloped or dormant. Their veins lacked the subtle magical currents that allowed spellcasting, and their innate energy reserves were nearly non-existent.
I frowned as I jotted notes. Standard potions weren't enough; standard magical stimulation failed to awaken even a fraction of their potential. It was frustrating, but not discouraging. If magic wouldn't come naturally to them, I'd force it.
My first avenue of research involved biological alteration. Could I restructure their magical nodes through alchemy, potions, or magical injections? I experimented with formulas, combining transmutation potions with rare elements and dragon-blood derivatives. Some reactions were volatile, exploding in minor bursts of fire or frost—but I learned from each failure.
Next, I turned my attention to magical bloodlines. If the biological route alone wasn't enough, could I merge the blood of a magical creature with a human subject? Perhaps a squib infused with a vampire's resilience, a goblin's crafting aptitude, or even a dragon's innate power would awaken latent magical ability while simultaneously increasing strength, longevity, and loyalty. My mind raced with possibilities.
I dissected and studied the magical creatures in my employ: vampires, goblins, werewolves, even Acromantula tissue samples. I tracked their unique biological markers, their magical imprints, the way their life force interacted with magic. Every detail, no matter how small, was logged. This was the blueprint for the future of my army—an army whose magical potential would not be constrained by natural birth.
Even as I delved into these experiments, I kept the larger picture in mind. My goal wasn't just to awaken magic in the powerless. I wanted to fuse it, refine it, enhance it. Each squib could become a vessel for magical evolution, every failed wizard a template for something greater.
Hours stretched into days as I mixed, tested, and analyzed. Potions bubbled, tissues glowed faintly under magical stimulation, and my notes grew into a map of possibilities. I could already imagine the first successful test: a squib who could wield fire like a Gryffindor, manipulate air like a Ravenclaw, or bend earth like a Hufflepuff. Their loyalty would be absolute, their lifespan extended, their power unmatched.
And when that day came… my forces would no longer be limited to the willing or the naturally gifted. They would be mine entirely, shaped in my image, tempered through science, magic, and ruthless strategy.
I paused, staring at my bubbling concoctions and stacks of notes. The work was grueling. The ethics… irrelevant. Every second spent here brought me closer to an army that no wizard, no matter how powerful, could stand against.
Yes, it was difficult. Yes, it was meticulous. But nothing worth achieving was ever simple. And I would not fail.