Power was not merely gathered.
It was built.
And I had begun building something far greater than a following…
A system.
The Riddle estate had fallen into perfect order beneath my will.
Every account, every property, every hidden asset—absorbed, reorganized, weaponized. The foolish remnants of my father's lineage, once symbols of mediocrity, had become tools of precision.
And at the center of it all…
Edward.
He stood before me now—perfect posture, gloved hands folded neatly behind his back. Composed. Silent. Efficient.
A butler in every sense of the word.
But no longer… merely human.
"I must admit," I said slowly, circling him, my eyes tracing the subtle changes in his presence, "you have exceeded expectations."
His voice remained calm. "I exist to serve, my lord."
A faint smile touched my lips.
"Yes," I murmured. "You do."
The ritual had been… inelegant.
Not in execution—never that.
But in cost.
Dozens of failures. Countless bodies reduced to nothing more than discarded husks, their bloodlines incompatible, their wills too weak to endure the transformation.
Thirty percent.
That was the success rate.
Pathetic.
But acceptable—for now.
Edward had not screamed in defiance.
He had screamed in endurance.
Even as the dragon blood tore through him, reshaping his very existence, burning away weakness, reconstructing him into something greater—he had not broken.
I had watched closely.
Measured every reaction.
Forced him to remain conscious.
Because only the strong deserved to ascend.
And ascend he did.
Now, magic coiled around him like a second skin.
Raw. Untamed—but powerful.
A Muggle no longer.
A wizard… of my creation.
"Again," I commanded.
Edward raised his wand—one I had crafted personally, tailored to his new magical core.
With a precise flick—
The stone pedestal across the room warped, reshaping itself into a perfectly balanced chair. Smooth. Clean. Efficient.
No hesitation.
No instability.
"Remarkable," I said quietly.
Not praise.
Observation.
Minerva McGonagall.
One of the finest transfiguration experts alive.
And yet…
Edward was approaching that level.
Already.
"Your mind," I continued, stepping closer, "is your greatest asset. Discipline. Structure. Control. Combined with dragon blood…"
I placed a hand lightly against his shoulder.
"You will become something exceptional."
He bowed his head slightly. "I will not fail you."
"I know," I replied.
Because I would not allow it.
Behind him, I could feel another presence.
Ariana.
Her magic was… different now.
Darker.
Heavier.
The Obscurial within her had not been suppressed.
It had been refined.
Shaped into something far more dangerous than its natural state.
Two creations.
Two weapons.
Two pillars of what was to come.
Years passed.
Training never stopped.
Edward's precision became flawless—his transfiguration bordering on artistry, his discipline unshakable. He became more than a servant. More than an assistant.
He became… indispensable.
Ariana, meanwhile…
Became terrifying.
Her Obscurial power no longer lashed out randomly.
It obeyed.
Partially.
Enough to be directed. Enough to be unleashed with intent.
Her raw power surged far beyond normal limits, spiking into ranges that rivaled the greatest wizards alive—if only for moments.
Moments… that decided battles.
And I?
I rose alongside them.
Higher.
Further.
Beyond.
1978.
The world stood on a knife's edge.
The war had not yet begun.
But it was close.
So very close.
Whispers had become movements.
Movements had become factions.
And factions…
Were beginning to collide.
Minor skirmishes erupted across Britain.
Disappearances.
Assassinations.
Clashes in the shadows.
Nothing official.
Nothing open.
But the tension…
Was suffocating.
And at the center of it all—
Was me.
I stood at the highest balcony of my castle, overlooking the vast lands below.
Edward stood to my right.
Ariana to my left.
"My lord," Edward said quietly, "the situation is escalating."
Ariana's voice followed, softer—but laced with something darker. "It feels like something is about to break."
I smiled.
Slowly.
Knowingly.
"Yes," I said.
"It is."
Because all wars required one thing.
One moment.
One action.
One spark.
And I…
Had already decided what that spark would be.
"The world," I murmured, my gaze fixed on the horizon, "is about to change."
And when it did—
It would kneel.