— — — — — —
Everyone immediately grabbed their notebooks, turning them over and studying them carefully.
The basic enchantments—self-repair, waterproofing, fire resistance, and durability—were obvious at a glance. But the deeper secrets lay hidden within. Opening the notebook revealed the familiar registry page Fleur had seen before, with the rest of the pages still blank.
It didn't take long for Leonel, Beauxbatons' alchemy professor, to notice something unusual.
Comparing his notebook with Madame Maxime's, he realized that both had a strange magical inscription on the lower right corner of the cover's edge. It wasn't runes, nor any magical script he recognized.
What was stranger was that the inscriptions weren't the same—his was completely different from Maxime's. Checking the others, he didn't find any duplicates either.
"Mr. Riddle," Leonel asked, "the text on the lower right of the cover—is that some sort of serial number for each notebook? I've never seen this kind of writing, but I can feel the magic in it. Is there a deeper meaning to how it's marked?"
"Sharp eyes, Professor Leonel."
Tom flicked his wand. Mist rose behind him, and dozens of massive symbols appeared, hovering in the air for everyone to see clearly.
"This is a magical script I came up with myself," he explained. "Think of it as a wizarding code that uses the English alphabet and Arabic numerals."
"Its true purpose… well, you'll see soon enough."
He smiled. "For now, please fill in the first page of your notebook. You can be truthful or make something up—it doesn't matter."
Curiosity piqued, everyone followed his instructions. Naturally, no one wrote down their real names or personal details. In the wizarding world, that would be asking for trouble—someone with ill intent could curse you from afar if they had that information.
Even someone as powerful as Vinda did the same — she called herself "Black Rose." But Tom had added a feature that let him rename how people appeared on his end. He didn't want to bother remembering everyone's nicknames.
...
Soon, everyone was done.
"Now," Tom said, "use your wand to write the notebook code of the guest sitting across from you into your own notebook."
They obeyed, and moments later soft gasps spread through the room as a pop-up message box appeared on the blank page, offering a tick or a cross. Of course, no one was foolish enough to press the cross.
Tom's smile widened. "Now, try writing something to your new friend. A regular quill will do."
"Oh! So that's how it works!" Leonel's eyes lit up with manic excitement. He started scribbling nonsense at breakneck speed, and almost instantly the words appeared on Maxime's notebook page.
The others eagerly joined in, testing it for themselves. A few even tried to Disapparate outside and test it at a distance until Tom had to stop them, laughing.
"No need to test it" he said patiently, "The Codex has virtually no range limit. At the very least, you can message a friend using SpellChat anywhere in America from here and they'll receive it instantly."
"The Codex? SpellChat?" Madame Maxime nodded in delight, her expression glowing. "Such perfect names! No wonder Monsieur Flamel said this invention rivals the Philosopher's Stone. Child, you've changed the world—you've changed a system of communication that's lasted for centuries."
"I can already see the future," she added with a laugh. "Soon, flocks of owls will finally get to enjoy their retirement."
"I only stand on the shoulders of giants," Tom replied modestly. "The entire concept of The Codex is borrowed from the Muggle Internet system—just implemented with magic."
"But that's the point!" Warrington shook his head in near disbelief. "Others might have had the idea and failed, or had the ability but never acted on it."
"Only you had the vision and the will to turn it into reality. That alone is extraordinary."
"Mr. Riddle," he added, "if you were French, the Grand Croix Order of the Fleur-de-Lis would already be yours."
The Fleur-de-Lis medal was France's equivalent of the Order of Merlin, First Class—some even said it was harder to earn.
"I don't care much for medals," Tom said with his usual warm smile—though inwardly he admitted he'd make an exception for a First-Class Order of Merlin. "Professor Flamel invited you all here because he hoped that the brightest minds gathered today would work together to change the world."
"You've all seen how conservative and stagnant the wizarding world can be. Even if The Codex is far more efficient than Owl Post, most wizards have grown too lazy to accept change. That's why I'm asking you to take the lead—to use your influence and resources to push this new way of communication forward."
"When this succeeds," Tom continued, "your names won't just be written in magical history, they'll be etched into the very soul of the world."
"Generations from now, witches and wizards will see your names and feel genuine gratitude—because you were the ones who lit the path and made their lives easier."
The vision he painted was intoxicating. Faces flushed, breathing quickened, a few even stood up in excitement.
Who wouldn't want to be remembered by history? Who wouldn't want to leave a mark on the world?
Fleur's eyes sparkled as she stared at Tom, her heart hammering so fast it felt like it would leap out of her chest. She wanted to throw herself at him, hug him tight, and tell him just how much she admired him—along with another, far more heated feeling she couldn't quite suppress.
Tom, meanwhile, remained calm, his expression as gentle as ever.
Nicolas Flamel, however, unconsciously took two steps back.
A memory had just surfaced—an unpleasant one.
He remembered Paris — the night Gellert Grindelwald had stirred an entire crowd of wizards with a single speech, even swaying the Aurors who'd come to arrest him.
Tom Riddle's words carried that same magnetic pull.
Was this really okay?
Suddenly, Tom turned his head and winked at him, almost childishly, snapping Nicolas out of his dark thoughts.
No, Tom wasn't like Grindelwald, or the Dark wizard who shared his name.
This boy was ambitious, yes, and brilliantly clever—but he wasn't walking the same path. There was no need to worry.
If Grindelwald had heard Nicolas' thoughts just now, he would've cursed him out on the spot: "Are you senile, old man? Comparing me with the rotten Riddles? I was just a saint trying to make the world better!"
"Mr. Riddle," Warrington said loudly, his voice full of energy, "it's an honor to be part of something this meaningful. Whatever you need, just say the word. My family and I are ready to back you up."
The others quickly snapped out of their thoughts and chimed in one after another.
"That's right. I've got connections in multiple Ministries—I can smooth out all the bureaucratic red tape for you."
"I can handle raw materials—sell them to you at cost. No, forget that, I'll take a loss if I have to!"
"Then I'll deal with sales," someone else said, jingling a ring of keys proudly. "My shops are in every major wizarding hub across Europe!"
From materials to sales channels, from official backing to private networks, Flamel's friends could cover just about everything. The only real challenge left was Tom himself—how fast he could ramp up production and bring the cost down.
When they heard the current numbers, a few faces fell with disappointment. But no one was too discouraged. A year or two wasn't much of a wait, especially given how slowly things moved in the wizarding world. It would give them time to prepare.
Tom then revealed the upgraded version of The Codex.
At first glance, it looked exactly the same — but it now had a group chat function and an entirely new feature: video calls, aptly named "Mirrorlink".
When Madame Perenelle Flamel's face appeared on the blank page like a talking portrait, everyone in the room immediately understood just how limitless The Codex's future could be.
Once business was done, the gathering turned into a more casual reception. At home, Tom would occasionally share a glass of wine with Nicolas, but in public he stuck obediently to orange juice.
Unsurprisingly, Tom was the center of attention tonight. Nearly everyone crowded around him, leaving those on the outer edges to make small talk with whoever was left.
Tom handled it with ease. He didn't have to be overly polite—everyone here already respected his alchemical skills and admired his vision. No one expected him to act like an adult.
Most of the conversations still circled around alchemy. Tom was happy to share unimportant techniques, but whenever anyone tried to dig into his core secrets, he deflected with clever, circular answers that revealed nothing.
...
Across the hall, Madame Maxime had pulled Fleur aside, quietly asking about Tom. Fleur only shared what she felt was safe to say—she didn't mention Tom killing the poachers in the Vosges mountains, nor the dragon slaying.
"Fleur," Madame Maxime said seriously, "Riddle's future has no ceiling. His invention is like Floo Powder seven hundred years ago—or Portkeys five hundred years ago. It will shape wizarding society for generations."
"Beauxbatons needs talent like his. Do you know why Hogwarts still holds such prestige, even with their constant rotation of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors?"
"It's because of Albus Dumbledore," Fleur answered at once.
"Exactly. His reputation and power are unmatched in today's world. That is what it means to be a top-tier wizard."
"You can raise a hundred elite wizards and still not match the influence of one truly exceptional wizard. And Tom has that kind of potential."
Fleur remembered the first-year boy who had effortlessly taken down an entire group of poachers. She couldn't help nodding.
It wasn't just potential. It was inevitable.
"Madame, what exactly are you suggesting?" Fleur asked carefully.
"Bring him to Beauxbatons," Maxime said in a low voice. "If it's Riddle's own choice, even if Dumbledore came knocking at my door, I wouldn't be afraid. Dumbledore might be powerful, but his greatest flaw is that he plays by the rules."
"I… I can try," Fleur agreed shyly. She also felt that Tom didn't quite belong in some backwater like Hogwarts. As Nicolas Flamel's apprentice, at Beauxbatons he would practically be revered—someone even the headmistress would have to respect.
"The future of Beauxbatons rests with you," Maxime said, patting her shoulder before hurrying back toward the crowd. Someone was already trying to discuss distribution rights with Tom.
"Mr. Riddle," Warrington said with a grin so wide it nearly split his face, "I've got five hidden shops across France ready to move your product. I'll also tap my contacts in the Ministry to promote it. Give me two years, and The Codex will be on every wizarding household's must-buy list."
"That sounds like far too much work, Worthington," Maxime said, using her size to wedge herself into the conversation. "Better to let Beauxbatons handle distribution. I'll make it a requirement that every student owns The Codex, with school subsidies to help cover the cost."
"When the students use it, the parents will follow. That's faster than any shop you could open."
"Madame, nothing should be forced on people—not even good things. Let the school remain pure."
"This isn't forcing them, it's a school benefit. Did you not hear me say 'subsidy'?"
Neither of them was willing to give up the French distribution rights. The profit was secondary—what really mattered was the influence and the power to decide how it was used.
"Ahem… excuse me," Tom coughed awkwardly, cutting in before things escalated.
"About that… I already gave the French distribution rights to someone else."
"To who?" x2
Maxime and Warrington asked in unison, both glancing suspiciously at Nicolas Flamel, who was relaxing in a rocking chair with a glass of wine.
The old man? Did he want in too?
But wasn't he supposed to be dead, as far as the outside world knew?
"The Rosier family," Tom said, flashing a slightly embarrassed smile.
"They were willing to trade some of their family secrets and back my {History of the Wizarding World} article. That's when I handed them the French rights to The Codex."
.
.
.