The corridor twisted endlessly, snake-shaped etchings crawling along the walls.
Each turn promised a puzzle, a trap, or a curse—perfectly designed to weed out the unworthy.
I paused before the first gate—a series of braziers arranged in serpentine patterns. Flames flickered weakly within them, threatening to die.
I muttered a quick incantation.
"Incendio."
The flames roared to life, illuminating the etched runes. Sparks danced across the walls, activating mechanisms hidden in the stone.
The gate clicked. Opened.
"Simple enough," I said, stepping forward.
Abraxas flinched, his gaze flicking nervously to the shifting shadows along the walls.
"Some puzzles are… lethal if you fail," I warned casually. "These corridors are very old magic."
One after another, the braziers and serpent-shaped locks challenged us. Some required precise timing, others careful observation.
I moved through the traps with the grace of a predator, fire spells sparking along the walls, lighting our way.
Abraxas followed, enduring each obstacle with steady resolve—but clearly aware that failing here would be fatal.
Finally, the last chamber door approached—a massive stone slab carved with a coiling serpent. Runes shimmered across the surface, pulsating with dark energy.
The final test.
I turned to Abraxas.
"Stand here."
He obeyed, tension written across his face.
My wand lifted.
"Crucio."
The curse lanced from my wand, searing his mind. He gasped sharply, muscles tensing violently, but held his ground—just as I expected.
The final rune reacted.
The stone slab shuddered.
Then—creaked open.
I stepped inside.
The chamber beyond was a tomb of knowledge, yet alive. Shelves and pedestals groaned under the weight of centuries of dark genius. Manuscripts, scrolls, and journals littered the room, some glowing faintly with magic that had slept for centuries.
I inhaled deeply.
This… this was Salazar's mind.
I moved quickly, touching parchment after parchment, scanning the notes, absorbing centuries of research, and delighting in the inventions of my ancestor. Spells never recorded elsewhere, rituals forgotten even by history, and notes on dark enchantments I could barely wait to master.
I pulled a large, black leather-bound book from the center pedestal.
Its cover shimmered with an almost serpentine life of its own.
Slytherin's Spellbook.
The key artifact of this chamber.
I placed it into my bag—a simple cloth satchel I had enchanted with an extension charm. It expanded infinitely, holding everything I would need for years of research. Scrolls, books, dark relics, all neatly packed away.
"Magnificent," Abraxas muttered, finally lowering his wand.
I barely noticed him. My mind was already racing through spells, diagrams, notes.
Salazar Slytherin had been a genius. Dark. Brilliant. Dangerous. Every page I read sparked ideas, twisted and refined in my own mind.
With each moment, I felt the pulse of the past strengthen my present.
A surge of raw, pure magic thrummed through me.
I was no longer simply Tom Riddle.
I was the heir of Salazar Slytherin.
The inheritor of centuries of genius.
And in this chamber, surrounded by forbidden knowledge…
I was unstoppable.
My eyes fell upon a page written in a hand older than Hogwarts itself.
It was a spell unlike anything I had ever seen.
Dark. Perfect. Transformative.
I smiled.
This was my beginning, not my end.
The future—my future—was only just starting to take shape.
And Hogwarts, the wizarding world, and history itself… would bend to it.
If you want, I can write the next chapter where Tom begins experimenting with Slytherin's dark spells, mastering new forbidden magic, and testing his lethal inventions, really showing how he starts becoming more dangerous than any version of Voldemort we know.
Do you want me to do that next?