The holidays passed faster than most would imagine. I spent my time methodically, making every moment count. First, I visited my friends — Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black — at their manors. Their homes were vast and filled with knowledge, just like mine, and I took full advantage. I scanned their libraries, absorbing their most valuable texts with ease, my eidetic memory committing every word to mind almost instantly.
Next, I poured over Salazar's personal notes on various magics — hidden techniques, spells long forgotten, strategies for dueling, and even forbidden enchantments. Each page added layers to my understanding of magic, deepening my control and refining my tactical mind. I also sent some of my own discoveries — carefully written notes on spells and modifications — to my friends, ensuring our core group remained tightly connected and shared knowledge that could one day serve us in combat or intrigue.
Most of my time, however, was dedicated to practicing Transfiguration. I set up simulations, created intricate objects from mundane items, and challenged myself with ever more complex transformations. Every new shape, every new enchantment tested my control and expanded my skill. Transfiguration, I knew, was more than a school subject — it was a weapon, a tool, and a key to survival in a world where power ruled everything.
By the time the holidays drew to a close, I had further sharpened my magical skills, reinforced my friendships and alliances, and strengthened my mind and body for the challenges that awaited at Hogwarts. Every step, every spell, every note read or written brought me closer to becoming the architect of the world I intended to shape.
As the first signs of autumn crept over the horizon, I returned to Slytherin Manor, ready to resume school with a mastery that even Dumbledore would notice, and a mind already planning far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.