We stepped out of the shadows of the Scriptorium, the echoes of the ancient chamber fading behind us.
The common room was quiet, almost too quiet. Students were scattered across plush chairs and staircases, their chatter muted by the late hour.
I turned to Abraxas, my expression calm, controlled.
"Do not tell anyone about this," I said, my voice low, carrying a weight that made him flinch ever so slightly.
He nodded quickly, eyes wide.
"I—Yes. Of course," he said.
I smiled faintly—not a warm smile, but one that conveyed command, subtle dominance.
"Good. Remember, no one could enter that place without me. It requires Parseltongue. You will respect that."
As he slunk off to sit quietly in a corner, I considered my options.
I could erase his memories. Wipe clean any trace of what he had seen. But… no. That wasn't necessary.
Keeping him aware of my true power had its uses.
Abraxas would see me as untouchable, loyal… inevitable. And that made him a stronger ally than a mindless pawn ever could be.
After all, he had witnessed what it meant to stand in the presence of the true heir of Salazar Slytherin.
I returned to my usual spot by the fire, pulling out my first haul from the Scriptorium.
Scrolls, tomes, manuscripts—all of them radiating power older than Hogwarts itself.
I ran my fingers over the pages, feeling the hum of magic that had slumbered for centuries.
Salazar Slytherin had been a genius. But now, I was more.
Every dark spell, every forbidden charm, every note of ritualistic power I read deepened the connection within me.
Hours passed unnoticed.
I meticulously transcribed formulas into my own notes, altering them where my knowledge from the future suggested improvements. Some were simple enhancements. Others… were dangerous. Extremely dangerous.
I smiled faintly at one passage detailing a method of bending magical wards to my will.
Perfect, I thought.
In time, Hogwarts itself could become my personal fortress. Every spell, every protective enchantment, every curse… could be aligned to me.
Occasionally, I glanced at Abraxas, who watched silently from his corner. He dared not interrupt. He knew I had moved beyond ordinary students, beyond ordinary magicians.
And he was correct.
I was no longer just a sixteen-year-old prodigy.
I was the heir of a founder, master of forbidden knowledge, and soon… master of the wizarding world itself.
I could feel it stirring inside me—the kind of magic that doesn't just obey… it bends, reshapes, conquers.
The Scriptorium had given me tools, but it had also given me perspective.
I no longer saw magic as a weapon alone.
It was power. Absolute power, waiting to be claimed.
And I would claim it.
By the time the common room emptied, I had mapped out my next steps.
Recruitment. Knowledge. Strategy. Protection.
Every decision from now on would be deliberate, precise, and inescapable.
I was Tom Riddle.
I was heir to Salazar Slytherin.
And I was unstoppable.