The Philosopher's Stone rested against her chest, its warmth seeping through the fabric of her robes like a second heartbeat—heavy, alive, and intoxicating.
Tamara could feel it.
The magic inside it wasn't just powerful—it was overwhelming. It pulsed with a density that could easily drive any wizard into madness. Even without fully unlocking its potential, she understood one thing clearly:
As long as this stone remained in her possession, time itself was on her side.
Immortality. Power. Absolute control.
"I've won."
Her lips curled upward, unable to suppress the satisfaction.
Quirrell was gone. The main soul had fled. Even the so-called savior had been completely fooled. Tonight, there was no competition.
She alone stood at the top.
But just as she turned, preparing to dismiss Harry with a convenient excuse—
Something interrupted her.
A cold, mechanical voice rang out in her mind.
[Ding! Congratulations, host, on completing the mission: Guardian Angel.]
[System evaluation: Crisis resolved. Current environment is safe.]
[Please uphold the virtue of "returning lost property" and return the Philosopher's Stone to its rightful owner, or hand it over to Headmaster Dumbledore, who will arrive shortly.]
The smile on Tamara's face froze instantly.
"What did you say?" she asked inwardly, her tone dropping to something dangerously cold.
[Please return the Philosopher's Stone.]
Her response was immediate.
"Absolutely not."
Her grip tightened.
"What enters my hands belongs to me. You expect me to give it up? Even if Merlin himself clawed his way out of his grave to beg me, I still wouldn't hand it over."
Her thoughts sharpened, each word edged with defiance.
"I earned this. This is called spoils of war. Learn the difference."
"And didn't you say stopping that 'main soul' was justice? I did exactly that."
The system fell silent for a brief moment.
Then—
[Ding! Correcting logical inconsistency...]
Its voice returned, calm but firm.
[Host, please refrain from twisting definitions. Preventing evil does not justify theft.]
[Retrieving stolen property is meant for returning it—not keeping it. Otherwise, you simply become another thief.]
[We are a 'Positive Energy Virtue System,' not a criminal support framework.]
A pause.
Then the tone shifted.
[Due to the host's excessive greed, flawed reasoning, and attempt to rationalize unethical behavior—]
[Initiating Level Three Electric Shock Punishment Protocol—]
"You wouldn't dare—!"
Tamara's pupils contracted.
Her body reacted faster than her thoughts.
It was instinct—conditioned through repeated punishment.
Her spine stiffened. Her nerves trembled in anticipation.
And then—
The current surged through her.
It climbed her spine like liquid lightning, spreading into every nerve, every muscle.
Her strength vanished instantly.
It felt as though her bones had dissolved, leaving behind nothing but a weak, collapsing shell. The harder she tried to resist, the more her body betrayed her.
Her will—once her greatest weapon—was rendered meaningless.
"Ugh…"
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed.
Even clenching her teeth became impossible. Her muscles refused to obey, reducing her resistance to nothing more than faint, broken gasps.
It was humiliating.
Her carefully kept black hair fell into disarray, sticking to her damp, pale face. Cold sweat clung to her skin. Her once sharp, icy eyes were now clouded, trembling with involuntary weakness.
She looked fragile.
Breakable.
Powerless.
When she noticed Harry staring, she shot him a glare filled with murderous intent.
But to him—
It looked entirely different.
Not anger.
Not hostility.
Only helplessness.
A moment ago, she had stood like an untouchable warrior.
Now, she looked like someone crushed by an invisible curse.
"Tamara!"
Harry rushed forward, panic written all over his face.
Her body trembled violently in his arms. Her skin felt unnaturally cold.
"What's happening?! Are you hurt?! Did that thing do something to you?!"
"Get… away…"
Her voice came out weak, barely audible.
To her, it was a warning.
To him, it sounded like a plea.
His eyes dropped to where her hands clutched tightly at her chest.
The Philosopher's Stone.
Understanding struck him like lightning.
"It's the stone!"
His face turned pale.
"That's what he wanted… it must be cursed! It's hurting you!"
The conclusion formed instantly in his mind—and to him, it made perfect sense.
"Throw it away! Tamara, throw it away!"
He reached forward, trying to pry her fingers loose.
"No…"
Even half-conscious, she refused.
That was her prize. Her future.
Her chance.
"Don't… touch…"
But the system's punishment continued to sap her strength.
Her resistance weakened.
Harry misunderstood completely.
He thought she was protecting him.
"Leave it to me!"
With a burst of determination, he forced her fingers open.
The red stone slipped into his hand.
The moment it left her body, the electric current weakened slightly. Tamara managed a shallow breath.
"Give… it back…"
She reached toward him, eyes burning with fury.
But Harry only saw concern.
"I'll be fine!"
He stood up, gripping the stone tightly.
The red glow flickered ominously.
He looked at her—weak, trembling, on the verge of collapse.
Anger replaced hesitation.
Without another thought, he raised the stone high—
And slammed it down.
"Potter—!!!"
Tamara's scream never made it out.
Crack.
The sound echoed sharply through the hall.
The Philosopher's Stone shattered.
Not cracked.
Not damaged.
Destroyed.
Fragments scattered across the floor, breaking into fine red powder. The glow flickered once… and vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Tamara stared.
Her mind went blank.
That… had been everything.
Her immortality.
Her power.
Her victory.
Gone.
Destroyed in an instant—by an idiot trying to "save" her.
"Cough…"
A metallic taste filled her mouth.
Her vision blurred.
Her fingers dug into the ground.
"Potter…"
The name burned with hatred.
She swore then—she would kill him.
Slowly.
Painfully.
A thousand times over.
Just as her fury reached its peak—
The system spoke again.
[Ding! Detecting extreme emotional distress. Psychological damage significant.]
Its tone almost sounded… pleased.
[Although the Philosopher's Stone is destroyed, this outcome is beneficial.]
[Retention would have led to severe consequences, including investigation by Dumbledore.]
A brief pause.
Then—
[However, due to the host's recent physical and emotional suffering…]
[Initiating compensation protocol: Waste Utilization.]
[Absorbing residual essence of the Philosopher's Stone.]
The red powder on the ground began to glow faintly.
Light rose from it in thin streams—
And flowed into Tamara's body.
Warmth spread through her limbs, soothing the lingering pain.
[Absorption complete.]
[Congratulations, host. You have obtained a new constitution: Golden Bloodline.]
Tamara's breathing steadied slightly.
She listened.
[Effect 1: Generates one life-extending potion per fixed cycle.]
[Effect 2: Alchemical Blood. Your blood now carries minor Philosopher's Stone properties and can substitute rare magical catalysts.]
Her eyes flickered.
[Restriction: Only voluntarily released blood via self-inflicted injury will retain these properties.]
[Limit: First three drops per month only. Excess blood will revert to normal.]
The system added calmly:
[Scarcity increases value. Do not attempt to exploit this ability excessively.]
Tamara felt the change within her.
It wasn't the same.
Not even close.
But…
It was permanent.
Untouchable.
No one could take it away.
"…At least you're not completely useless," she muttered internally.
Her killing intent toward Harry faded—slightly.
At least now, he couldn't destroy this.
Then—
The door burst open.
Dumbledore entered.
His gaze swept across the room.
The shattered remains.
Harry, shaken but standing.
Tamara, pale and weak on the ground.
"Professor!"
Harry rushed forward.
"Please help her! That stone—it was hurting her! I had to destroy it!"
Dumbledore paused.
For a moment, something rare appeared in his eyes.
Uncertainty.
He stepped forward quickly, kneeling beside Tamara. His hand gently took her wrist, checking her condition.
Tamara closed her eyes immediately, masking everything.
Her voice came out soft, fragile.
"…Headmaster…"
A single tear slid down her cheek.
"I'm sorry… I couldn't protect it…"
Dumbledore's expression softened.
"No, child."
His voice carried quiet guilt.
"You've done more than enough."
He hesitated.
Then added, almost to himself—
"Far more than I expected."
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