I moved deliberately toward the section that promised the most forbidden knowledge: death magic and soul manipulation. Even within the vast expanse of the Peverell Library, this area radiated a weight, a palpable aura of power and danger. The air seemed heavier here, as if the castle itself was warning me of the forces I was about to awaken.
I didn't care. I thrived on danger, on knowledge others feared. My footsteps echoed across the polished floors as I approached the first shelf. Ancient tomes rested here, some chained in silver or enchanted to resist casual handling. I bypassed the protections with a flick of my wand and a carefully muttered incantation. The air hummed in response, the magic recognizing my lineage—or perhaps the sheer strength of my own power.
I began with a text on the extraction of the soul. The process was delicate, intricate, and forbidden for a reason: a single misstep could shatter a soul completely. I poured over diagrams of energy pathways, sigils that marked the flow of life force, and incantations that could sever consciousness from the body. My mind absorbed the information like a sponge, each sentence unlocking possibilities for my experiments.
I cross-referenced the knowledge with what I had learned from Voldemort's Horcruxes. Splitting a soul, maintaining it, controlling it—these were no longer theoretical for me. I had already experimented with fragments of souls, with the Phoenix tears preserving life after extraction. But here lay the Peverells' advanced techniques: ways to extract without killing, to manipulate the soul directly, to transfer essence from one vessel to another.
I tested my first spell on a captured experimental subject. Carefully, I chanted the incantation, guiding the threads of their soul into my containment sigils. Their eyes glazed over as the extraction began. Unlike previous experiments, this time I could feel the soul resisting, thrashing against my control, but my wards held strong. Slowly, I drew the energy into a crystal matrix, a containment vessel I had enchanted for resilience.
It was a triumph. The soul, intact and fully conscious within the crystal, pulsed with raw magical energy. I could feel its power, raw and unrefined, waiting to be shaped. My heart quickened. With this method, I could manipulate life itself—not just take it, but mold it, enhance it, transfer it.
Next, I explored death magic. Ancient rituals, some older than recorded wizarding history, described ways to accelerate aging, steal vitality, or even reanimate the recently deceased. I experimented cautiously, combining this with the soul extraction techniques I had just perfected. A subject whose life force I borrowed aged decades in minutes, yet the soul matrix preserved the essence perfectly. I noted every detail meticulously, knowing that refinement would make this technique deadly, precise, and completely under my control.
Hours blurred into days. I worked tirelessly, moving between books, scrolls, and experimental subjects. I discovered methods to merge multiple souls temporarily, amplifying magical output dramatically. I could feel their essence flowing through me, augmenting my own power. My experiments with Dementors were now far more sophisticated. I could compel them to consume and transfer souls directly, and I even discovered rudimentary methods of communication, unlocking fragments of forbidden death magic knowledge they had guarded for centuries.
Yet the most exciting discovery came when I combined the Peverell techniques with my own experiments in life magic. Using Phoenix tears, I could restore bodies to life even after soul extraction, perfecting the balance between mortality and immortality. The consequences were staggering: death itself became a tool, a resource to manipulate, rather than an immutable law.
I leaned back, my mind racing with possibilities. With this mastery of soul, life, and death, I was not just the most powerful wizard in England—I was approaching the kind of control that legends spoke of but never achieved. Every experiment, every calculation, every spell, brought me closer to a power that even Dumbledore could not have imagined.
And yet, I knew I was only at the beginning. This knowledge, this castle, these tomes—they were infinite. The Peverells had laid the groundwork, but I was destined to perfect it, to elevate it far beyond the limits of any wizard who had come before me.
I smiled, running my fingers across the ancient pages, feeling the raw potential thrumming beneath my touch. The world was mine to reshape. Souls, life, death—all of it was mine to command. And soon, no force in England—or the world—would be able to stop me.