System notifications flickered across my vision like silver fire.
〘 MASSIVE ACHIEVEMENT REWARD GRANTED 〙Horcrux Reclamation: +1200 System PointsSoul Integration: +300 System PointsTotal: 1500 Points Earned
Enough to shape destiny.
Enough to buy sight itself.
Grindelwald spent months dissecting the Resurrection Stone. He theorized, calculated, and whispered to its ancient runes with the fervor of a prophet. Sometimes, I would see something dangerous in his eyes — the spark of legendary ambition reigniting.
"The Stone," he murmured one evening, "cannot create souls… but it can summon them — from the bonds you forged in life."
He tapped the surface gently.
"And bonds… can be manufactured."
He looked at me with a vision that stretched farther than mountains:
An army of the dead.Bound by allegiance.Marching upon the living.
Tempting — and inevitable.
But not yet.
I would not begin my war with a child's magic.No battlefield until I reached full majority — seventeen — when my magical core would peak.
Until then, the world would believe…
Voldemort remains a crippled ghost.
I opened the System Shop again. Rows of arcane power and interdimensional relics shimmered before me like a dragon's hoard.
Talent tomes. Bloodline upgrades. Artifacts beyond comprehension.
But then…I found it.
Palantír – Seeing Stone (1500 Points)View vast distances. Observe through time.Peer into secrets never meant for mortal eyes.
Power of war.Power of espionage.Power of history and future alike.
I didn't hesitate.
A pulse of white light —A weight manifested into my hands.
Cool. Smooth. Black stone swirling with faint, silver runes.
The Palantír.
Even Grindelwald stared in uncharacteristic silence — and then slowly smiled.
With this orb, I could watch Dumbledore.I could watch Harry Potter.Every trap.Every plan.Every weakness.
Nothing would hide from me.
Even more — I could view the past.
Salazar Slytherin teaching his heirs.Rowena Ravenclaw weaving spells into stone.Merlin himself crafting miracles.
Knowledge older than nations — waiting.
I placed a hand on the orb, and the world spun in silver‑black fog.
Visions flickered:
➤ Hogwarts under construction — four titans shaping destiny➤ Nicholas Flamel forging the Philosopher's Stone with burning white alchemy➤ Dumbledore weaving protections around a scarred child in a cupboard on Privet Drive
Time was no longer a river.
Time was mine.
I had a strategy now:
Year One:
I will manipulate Quirrell.
A refined memory charm, laced with soul-binding magic.He will believe Voldemort clings to the back of his skull.He will seek the Philosopher's Stone.He will fail.
Dumbledore will think the Dark Lord is desperate, wounded, predictable.
Good.
Let him underestimate me.
Year Two:
The diary Horcrux?No.I will not mutilate my soul again for Dumbledore's narrative.
Years Three, Four, Five…Recruit.Influence.Shape the next generation.
The most talented witches and wizards would kneel before me willingly — not through fear, but ambition.
Death Eaters and the Alliance united.
Two worlds prepared for conquest.
I stared into the swirling depths of the Palantír — and whispered:
"England… enjoy peace while you still can."
Because one day soon…
The Dark Lord would return.
Not shattered.Not desperate.Not deluded.
Perfect.Prepared.And inevitable.