The year was 1970, and the quiet before the storm had taken shape. Peverell Castle stood like a sentinel over the Highlands, its ancient stones a testament to centuries of power. From here, I watched my plans begin to unfold, subtle, precise, and inexorable.
My Death Eaters were now active. They moved like shadows across the European continent, operating in small cells, targeting key political and magical infrastructure, and subtly swaying influential figures. Light skirmishes had begun—small bursts of chaos that sent ripples through Britain—but these were only distractions. I needed attention elsewhere while my real work continued.
Germany and France were my primary targets. Both were crucial: industrial powerhouses, centers of magical innovation, and vital to the balance of power in Europe. Control over them would provide resources, allies, and leverage against Dumbledore, who naturally considered Britain his stronghold. I intended to draw him out, make him respond to minor disturbances while the real campaign advanced quietly.
Reports came in from my agents: minor sabotages, subtle enchantments placed on key officials, whispers of influence in local wizarding councils. It pleased me to see the seeds take root. Some ministers were swayed without realizing, some magical artifacts subtly redirected, all moving according to my design.
At Peverell Castle, I spent hours reviewing intelligence and plotting next moves. The rings on my fingers glowed faintly as I assessed magical currents, detecting pockets of resistance and vulnerabilities. My dual-wand system—Salazar's Snakewood wand and Ignotus's twin-core wand—sat ready at my side, a reminder that when the time came, I would strike with precision.
Even with these early operations, I maintained discipline. No Death Eater acted without my orders; no unnecessary blood was spilled. The war had not yet begun. This was the subtle art of preparation, the careful manipulation of power and influence. A single misstep could alert Dumbledore, and I could not afford that—not yet.
In quieter moments, I pondered my strategy. Skirmishes in Britain served as distractions, but Germany and France required finesse. Magic had to be deployed in ways that felt natural, unavoidable, and irresistible. I was preparing to shift the balance of power subtly, elegantly, ensuring that by the time Britain noticed the danger, it would already be too late.
The castle itself hummed with anticipation. Magical wards thrummed in silent rhythm, ready to detect intruders or signals from my operatives abroad. Every crystal, artifact, and enchanted room became a node in my growing network of power.
Even as Europe simmered, I trained, studied, and refined my abilities. Silent magic became second nature, allowing me to plan without alerting the senses of others. The Killing Spell I had been developing remained a work in progress, each iteration sharper, more precise, more devastating. With the dual-wand system and my Death Eaters ready, I was preparing for the day when minor skirmishes would escalate into full-scale dominance.
For now, patience. Every move was a step in a larger dance, every Death Eater a pawn in the elegant orchestration of conquest. Dumbledore may have watched Britain, but I was preparing to strike far beyond his reach.
Europe was ripe, and I intended to harvest it carefully.