My name echoed through Hogwarts like a whispered legend.
In the two months since I had perfected the Dark Mark and begun shaping my inner circle, my public image had taken on an entirely different form. To the rest of the castle, I wasn't a Dark Lord in the making. I was a genius — a prodigy loved by professors and admired by students alike.
Every class was another chance to prove my superiority. Charms? Perfect execution. Potions? Slughorn practically beamed whenever I walked into the room. Defense Against the Dark Arts? I could dismantle any curse with elegance. And Transfiguration… even Dumbledore himself seemed both impressed and wary of how fast I was mastering the subject.
In truth, I wasn't just talented — I was driven. Every ounce of knowledge I absorbed brought me closer to perfection. And with the Wizard King talent, even simple practice sessions with my followers sharpened my magic in ways most wizards could never dream of.
Slughorn adored me.He said I reminded him of the "great wizards of old," which I found amusing. He praised my intellect, my charm, my "future potential." Naturally, I accepted his invitation to the Slug Club.
The gatherings were… enlightening. The room was filled with Hogwarts' most promising students — the ambitious, the talented, the well-connected. I wore my silver tongue like armor, weaving compliments and clever insights into every conversation. By the end of the first meeting, nearly everyone there was drawn to me. I didn't need to use magic to enchant them — my charisma was enough.
Even Slughorn couldn't hide his favoritism. Whenever I spoke, he listened. Whenever I suggested an idea, he nodded like a proud father. He'd already started hinting that he wanted to introduce me to his "contacts" in the Ministry one day.
Perfect.
Every connection was a tool, every relationship a weapon.
Outside of the Slug Club, I had joined Dumbledore's Transfiguration Club. He was a keen observer — too keen for my liking. His eyes had that constant, knowing glint, like he could sense there was something… different about me. But even he couldn't deny talent. When I transfigured an entire desk into a living, breathing phoenix replica — complete with ember feathers that gave off real heat — even Dumbledore applauded.
I could see the spark of respect in his eyes. And perhaps, a hint of concern.
Exactly as I wanted.
I'd also joined the Dueling Club, which quickly became another stage for my dominance. My spells were faster, cleaner, more precise than anyone else's. While others relied on brute force or textbook incantations, I used finesse — shaping spells mid-flight, altering their forms with my Transfiguration-infused casting.
A disarming charm could become a whip of light. A shield charm could turn into a mirror of pure mana. I didn't just duel — I performed magic.
Within weeks, I was undefeated. Even seventh-years hesitated to challenge me.
Teachers praised me openly. Students admired me, envied me, feared me — and yet, they all wanted to be near me. That's the beauty of true charisma. It attracts even those who should know better.
But beneath the polished smile and perfect grades, the gears kept turning. Every night, after curfew, I returned to the Room of Requirement to continue my experiments. My Dark Mark pulsed faintly on my forearm, linking me to my followers. Their growth was rapid, their loyalty absolute.
They didn't see the genius the teachers adored — they saw their leader. Their King.
And as I stood by the enchanted window, watching the moonlight shimmer across Hogwarts' towers, I couldn't help but smile.
The school adored me.My followers worshipped me.And my power was growing by the day.
This was only the beginning.
The foundation of a new order — one built by brilliance, bound by loyalty, and destined to reshape the world.