I left Ilvermorny as if I had never been there.
No trace. No disturbance. No memory left behind for anyone to question.
For a wizard of my level, slipping through layered wards, bending perception, and erasing presence was no longer a challenge—it was instinct.
The world simply… failed to notice me.
And just like that, I was gone.
New York.
The moment I apparated, the atmosphere shifted. The air here was dense—not with raw magical power like Hogwarts—but with structure. Order. Control.
My eyes lifted slowly toward the towering structure before me.
The Woolworth Building.
To the No-Majs, it was nothing more than an architectural marvel.
To me?
It was something far more interesting.
The hidden seat of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.
MACUSA.
I adjusted my coat slightly as I stepped forward, my presence cloaked beneath layers of advanced concealment magic—far beyond anything the average Auror here could perceive.
As I entered the building, I could feel it immediately.
Different wards.
Different philosophy.
British magic was ancient, layered with tradition, subtlety, and inherited knowledge.
American magic?
It was efficient.
Streamlined.
Militarised.
Every enchantment here had purpose—detection, defense, containment.
No wasted magic.
No unnecessary elegance.
Just function.
I smiled faintly.
"…Interesting."
Slipping past the outer layers of magical security was trivial.
A slight distortion in space.
A flicker of intent.
And I was inside.
The MACUSA interior unfolded before me—vast, ordered, filled with movement. Wizards and witches moved with purpose, their attire more uniform than anything in Britain.
Aurors.
Administrators.
Enforcers.
This wasn't a governing body that pretended to have power.
This was one that used it.
I moved silently through the halls, unseen, unheard.
Listening.
Observing.
Learning.
"…Containment protocols need to be updated—"
"—No-Maj exposure risk in Brooklyn sector—"
"—Auror squads being reassigned—"
Efficient communication.
Clear hierarchy.
No pointless political rambling like the British Ministry.
This place operated like a machine.
And that made it dangerous.
Even someone like me… or Dumbledore…
Could not simply walk in and take control.
Not yet.
I paused briefly near a high balcony overlooking one of the central chambers, watching as a group of American Aurors trained below.
Their spellcasting was sharp.
Precise.
Less flamboyant than British dueling—but faster.
More direct.
They didn't waste time on unnecessary movement or incantations.
Their combat style prioritised:
Speed Coordination Lethality
A group of them moved together, casting in near-perfect synchronisation.
My eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Battle units."
That was the difference.
Britain trained individuals.
America trained units.
That alone made them significantly more dangerous in large-scale warfare.
A lone wizard might dominate a duel.
But against coordinated squads?
Even elites could be overwhelmed.
I exhaled slowly, my mind already adapting.
Then I won't fight them like a British wizard.
I would evolve.
Over the next several hours, I moved through MACUSA like a ghost.
I accessed restricted archives.
Studied American spell variants.
Observed their ward structures.
And most importantly—
I learned their weaknesses.
Because every system had one.
American magic prioritised structure and coordination.
Which meant…
Disruption would be devastating.
Break communication.
Introduce chaos.
Remove leadership.
And the entire system would begin to fracture.
Not immediately.
But enough for someone like me to exploit.
Eventually, I found what I was truly looking for.
A restricted section.
Auror Command Archives.
I phased through the ward with careful precision, adjusting my magic frequency just enough to bypass detection without triggering alarms.
Inside—
Knowledge.
Detailed combat reports.
Spell innovations.
Tactical doctrines.
I skimmed through them rapidly, my enhanced intelligence processing everything at a frightening pace.
And then—
I found something interesting.
American spell development.
Unlike Britain, which relied heavily on inherited spells…
America created.
Constantly.
New variations.
New applications.
New methods.
Their philosophy wasn't preservation.
It was progress.
I smiled slowly.
"…Good."
Because that meant something very important.
They would respect power.
Innovation.
Results.
Not just bloodline.
Which meant—
They were recruitable.
Not all of them.
But enough.
I didn't need to conquer America immediately.
That would be foolish.
What I needed…
Was influence.
Agents.
Support.
A foothold.
Later, I stood atop one of the upper levels of the building, looking out over New York.
Lights stretched endlessly into the distance.
A city of opportunity.
A city of power.
A city not bound by the same ancient constraints as Britain.
My fingers tightened slightly around my wand.
Salazar's wand.
My wand.
"I won't start in Britain…" I murmured quietly.
That would be Dumbledore's battlefield.
His territory.
His advantage.
No.
I would do what he wouldn't expect.
I would build power elsewhere.
Nations.
Forces.
Resources.
By the time I returned to Britain…
I wouldn't be a threat.
I would be inevitable.
A faint smile formed on my lips.
"Let's see how ambitious American wizards really are…"
Because somewhere in this country—
There were people who wanted more.
More power.
More influence.
More freedom.
And I would give it to them.
At a price.
I turned, my cloak shifting behind me as I disappeared once more into nothingness.
Unseen.
Unknown.
Unstoppable.
The game had changed.
And now—
It was global.