I have decided to entirely devote myself to the study of dark magic before traveling again.
With Gellert Grindelwald's talent coursing through my soul, most people would assume Voldemort surpasses every dark wizard in history. And yes — in raw destructive chaos, perhaps. But Grindelwald was no slouch. In refinement, in innovation, in magical brilliance, he stood equal… even superior in certain arts.
And I now possess his instincts.
So I focus on the Unforgivable Curses.
The Restricted Section of this clone Hogwarts has become my second home — dim lanterns, dust-filled shelves, whispers from cursed pages begging to be opened. Right now, I'm pouring over a tome describing Fiendfyre in brutal detail. The monstrous flame is practically alive — dragons, serpents, mythical beasts born of pure infernal wrath.
Fiendfyre demands perfect magic control.
Good thing I have Dumbledore's magic control. A century of refined precision woven into my very essence.
The other requirement? An ocean of magic power.
Reincarnated by a literal god, enhanced with the gifts of the strongest magic users across worlds… yeah, I've got that. And in the Harry Potter world, death itself is raw magic. I died once. That power hasn't faded — it's only grown.
Six months pass in relentless training.
My days blur into spell casting, rituals, and pushing myself until my magic feels like molten lightning under my skin. The results speak for themselves — if I were in the original magical world, I'd be considered an elite Auror already. And that's with a laughable fraction of the knowledge hidden in these walls.
Hogwarts alone would take decades — centuries — to fully absorb.
And then there's the Peverell Grimoire…
I glance down at my spell notes — the arsenal I've mastered so far:
General Magic & Charms
Revelio
Protego
Stupefy
Alohomora
Disillusionment Charm
Lumos
Reparo
Wingardium Leviosa
Elemental & Combat Spells
Confringo
Diffindo
Bombarda
Incendio
Accio
Depulso
Descendo
Flipendo
Arresto Momentum
Glacius
Levioso
Unforgivable Curses
Avada Kedavra — Death with a whisper.
Crucio — Pain so pure it becomes art.
Imperio — Control of the weak-minded.
The green flash of death.
The scream of agony.
The stolen will.
I have mastered all three.
My breath trembles — not from fear, but from the intoxicating realization of what I've become. Even the air around me feels different now, humming with dark potential.
I run my fingers along the spine of the Fiendfyre tome.
One more spell. One more step into forbidden power.
Once I tame Fiendfyre itself… the dwarves' quest, Gandalf's plans, the fate of Middle-Earth — all of it will bend to my will.
I close the book, rise from the ancient chair, and let the darkness answer my call.
"My story," I whisper into the silence, "is only just beginning."