The days after my awakening blur together, but not from confusion. From focus.
The first thing I do is isolate myself. Meals, chores, meaningless talk — all of it fades behind the single, razor-sharp goal forming in my mind: mastery of the mind itself.
Occlumency.
The knowledge the system granted me sits in my thoughts like a seed. I close my eyes and sink into the quiet of my mind. Emotions swirl at first — anger, pride, ambition, fragments of the boy I once was — but I strip them away, one by one.
Hours turn into days. Sleep becomes irrelevant. My consciousness sharpens until it feels like I can hear my own thoughts echo in perfect order. Every memory finds its place; every emotion bows before reason.
I see myself as if from a distance — a mind surrounded by glass, impenetrable and calm. The pain, the loneliness, the rage that once fueled Tom Riddle's cruelty no longer bind me. I can feel them, but they no longer define me. They are tools.
[Occlumency: Basic ➜ Intermediate ➜ Advanced ➜ Master]
The notification flickers faintly, but I barely react. My mind is silent now — a fortress surrounded by wards so intricate even Dumbledore himself would find no cracks.
But Occlumency is only half the art.
I turn my focus to the other side: Memory Charms.
My fingers trace invisible runes in the air as I whisper the words. Obliviate.Falsum Memoriam. The power flows smoothly now — no hesitation, no trembling.
It takes me mere hours to grasp the basics, and by nightfall, I've reached precision few adult wizards could claim.
The next morning, I begin my true work.
One by one, I move through the orphanage. Not to harm, but to reshape.The matron first. I brush my magic against her mind like silk. A single suggestion slides in: Tom is a polite, honest boy. Thoughtful. Kind.Her eyes blink, dazed, then soften. "Such a good lad," she murmurs as I leave.
The others follow. Children, caretakers — every mind repainted with the same illusion. To them, I am no longer the strange, unsettling boy who made things happen when angry. Now, I am charming, dependable, gentle.
The perfect mask.
It's tedious work, but necessary. I know Dumbledore will come soon. In another timeline, he arrived to find a boy with cold eyes and unsettling power — a boy he would never trust.
That won't happen again.
This time, he'll find a calm, humble child with intelligent curiosity. The sort he likes. The sort he mentors. The sort he underestimates.
At night, I sit by the window, feeling the magic hum beneath my skin. I can sense the faint thread of destiny shifting, ever so slightly.
"Dumbledore," I whisper into the dark, "you won't suspect a thing."
A smile touches my lips — serene, not cruel. This is the way forward: control, subtlety, patience.
When I close my eyes, my mind is a mirror — unbreakable, unyielding, unreadable.If he tries to enter it, all he'll see is light.All he'll feel is trust.
And beneath that perfect illusion, I'll be watching him.