It began with words.
The wand is power, but speech is the first true weapon. Wizards forget that; they think spells alone bend the world. I have learned otherwise. Words, tone, the angle of a smile — these things move minds long before magic does.
So I began to weave my web.
Abraxas and Orion were already mine in friendship and ambition, so I started with the others — the ones whose loyalty had to be earned.
The Silver Tongue talent shimmered faintly in the back of my mind, an awareness of rhythm and persuasion. Every phrase fell into place as though rehearsed by the universe itself, every pause precise enough to let others fill silence with agreement.
Edward Lestrange came first.I found him in the Dueling Club, where first years weren't supposed to be. He was practicing against a dummy, his spells clumsy but aggressive.
When the dummy fell apart, I clapped once."Your anger's impressive," I said, walking closer. "But wasted. You're swinging power without purpose — like a man trying to kill his reflection."
He glared. "And what would you know about it, Riddle?"
I smiled faintly. "Enough to win."
A flick of my wand — disarming spell, shield, redirection — I moved faster than he could react. His wand clattered against the stone floor, and my spell froze it mid-air before it touched the ground. I let it float lazily back to him.
"Control beats rage," I murmured. "Join me. I can teach you that."
His eyes narrowed, but the anger softened into curiosity. He nodded once. "Show me, then."
The first serpent coiled.
Walburga Black was more complicated. Pride, heritage, the Black name — they wrapped around her like armor. I approached during a study hour, letting my words brush her ego like silk.
"You're a Black," I said simply. "You understand what legacy means. This house — our bloodlines — they're fragments of greatness buried under mediocrity. I intend to change that."
She watched me, chin high. "And why tell me this?"
"Because only those with lineage strong enough to matter will be remembered when the dust settles." I met her eyes, letting Silver Tongue's soft hum color my tone. "I will reshape this world. I won't do it alone."
There was a flicker — not of submission, but of fascination."I'll listen," she said.
And she did.
Anne Rozier came next, in the library. She was elbow-deep in a book of alchemical fusions, a smudge of ink on her cheek.
I approached quietly and placed an ancient text in front of her — Salazar Slytherin's Treatise on Basilisk Venom.
"Out of print," I said. "Copied from Slytherin's personal vault."
Her breath caught. "You found this?"
"I inherited it," I corrected softly. "And knowledge, like venom, is only powerful when shared with care. Join me. I'll make sure you have access to all the ancient alchemy you could dream of."
The hook caught cleanly. Her curiosity outweighed her hesitation.
Odella Greengrass was subtle, so I mirrored that. A whispered conversation after curfew, a charm to ward away listening spells, and an honest confession:
"I'm building something that will outlive us. Not chaos — order. We'll save magic from the decay of mediocrity."
She hesitated. "And what will you do to achieve that?"
"Whatever is necessary," I answered calmly. "But with grace, not brutality."
That struck her. Her eyes softened. "I'll think about it."
The next day, she found me in the common room and asked, "When do we begin?"
Eileen and Tobias Prince came together — both curious, both skeptical. They liked puzzles, so I gave them one: a fragment of a forgotten ritual, its runes intentionally scrambled.
"If you can solve this," I told them, "I'll show you the rest of Slytherin's work."
It took them three days, but when they returned, flushed with triumph, I smiled. "Congratulations. Welcome to my inner circle."
Their eyes gleamed with ambition.
Demetrius Nott required challenge. I humiliated him in a duel — publicly, but not cruelly. When he woke up from my stunning spell, I offered him a hand.
"You lost because you fought like everyone else," I said. "Join me, and you'll never lose again."
He gripped my hand hard. "Fine. Teach me."
Amelia Fawley was trickier — too kind for manipulation, too moral for darkness. So I gave her truth.
"Wizards will die," I told her. "Muggles are advancing. They don't know we exist yet — but when they do, they'll annihilate us. I'm preparing to stop that."
She bit her lip. "That sounds… dangerous."
"It is," I said. "But isn't healing about prevention?"
After that, she joined quietly — not because she agreed with everything, but because she wanted to protect people. That was enough.
Vincent Crabbe was the easiest. A single duel and a show of strength, and his loyalty was mine. He followed orders without question.
By the end of the week, I stood before them in the Room of Requirement, now reshaped into a grand chamber lit with green fire. The Slytherin crest glowed above us, serpents coiling in eternal motion.
They waited, my newly-formed circle — eyes bright, hearts uncertain.
I raised my wand, and the air vibrated with intent.
"You have each chosen power," I said softly. "Not for cruelty, not for destruction, but for control. The wizarding world decays under complacency. I intend to correct that."
Their attention was absolute.
"You are not slaves. You are not soldiers. You are architects. Together, we will build a new order — one that will not fear muggles, nor bow to weak ideals. You will be the first of my circle — my council, my shadow."
Silver Tongue shimmered like divine persuasion, and I felt it — their resolve hardening, their loyalty crystallizing.
Then came the system's chime:
[Quest Completed: Recruit the Founders of the Death Eaters]Reward: Talent — Shadow Architect(Allows user to inspire, shape, and empower loyal subordinates with shared purpose. Collective power increases with unity. Leadership charisma enhanced further.)
I smiled to myself, the firelight reflecting in my eyes.
"So it begins," I whispered.
And the new era of Slytherin was born.