My Hogwarts letter arrived at last.
It looked so innocent — a simple envelope, my name written in elegant emerald ink — yet inside, it carried the fate of the wizarding world. Not to mention my own. Several owl deliveries followed that morning, prestigious schools from across the globe vying for my attendance. I burned them all except the one from Hogwarts.
My body is only eleven… but my mind is so much older.
A combination of Tom Riddle's cunning and my past life's knowledge has shaped me into something far more dangerous than the Hogwarts staff could ever imagine.
Still, I exhaled with quiet relief when the letter accepted me by age of my body and not my soul. I was not ready to reveal myself. Not yet.
Regulus Black met me in the foyer of the grand mansion he purchased under my instruction — a hidden estate far older than it looked. The locket of Salazar Slytherin hung heavy around his neck, pulsing faintly with dormant magic.
I reached for it — and as soon as my fingers brushed the metal, the soul fragment inside it screamed. Dark energy rushed into me, merging perfectly with the pieces already restored.
Another shard of myself returned.
The locket tightened protectively against my chest. Wards and enchantments awakened, whispering danger whenever magic turned hostile. A priceless shield.
Then came the diary — my early masterpiece. One touch, one incantation, and the fragment inside dissolved into my soul like ink spilling into water.
Nagini followed soon after. A touch. A hiss. More power restored.
Only three remained:
Hufflepuff's Cup
Ravenclaw's Diadem
And the Boy Who Lived
Completion was finally within reach.
There was still the matter of Hogwarts supplies.
I did not waste time strolling around Diagon Alley like a clueless child. No — I sent an agent instead. I had far more pressing matters. Plans on a grander scale. Wars and deceptions to sculpt.
Regulus bowed. "Everything is ready for your transition into British society, my lord.""Good," I replied, voice measured. "It is time for me to claim my birthright."
Plans Within Plans
Sirius Black rots in Azkaban, suffering for a crime he did not commit. All because Peter Pettigrew plays pet to a red‑haired buffoon.
Pathetic.
I needed Sirius free eventually — a chaos piece to unleash upon the chessboard. And I already had the means. One Daily Prophet photo would do the trick. A picture of the Weasleys, grinning with a rat in the place where a missing finger should be.
Let Sirius see that — and rage will do the rest.
As for Hufflepuff's Cup… I could claim it as early as this year, if I wished. Bellatrix would cough up her treasure soon enough, willingly or screaming.
But the Diadem… oh, the Diadem. The artifact of wit in a school full of fools. I smiled slightly. I could already sense it. The Room of Hidden Things would welcome me like an old friend.
Everything was aligning.
The chessboard was set.All the pieces moving into place.And the players didn't even realize they were playing.