Riddle Manor had served its purpose.
But it was never meant to be my throne.
Too exposed. Too known. Too… small.
If I was to rise as the architect of a new world, then I needed something greater. Something ancient. Something that belonged to me.
And so, I turned to legacy.
The vaults of Gringotts Wizarding Bank yielded far more than gold.
Lineage records. Property rights. Forgotten inheritances.
Names that carried weight across centuries.
Slytherin.
Peverell.
My bloodline was not merely powerful—
It was foundational.
And then… I found it.
Peverell Castle.
An ancient stronghold once belonging to the three brothers—the origin of the Deathly Hallows themselves.
A slow smile spread across my face.
Perfect.
With a portkey in hand, I activated the spell.
The world twisted violently—and in the next instant, I stood within the British Highlands.
Before me rose a colossal structure of dark stone, its towers piercing the sky like ancient spears.
Peverell Castle.
The air itself felt different here.
Heavier. Older.
Alive with magic.
A vast forest stretched beyond the castle grounds—dense, ancient, crawling with magical creatures.
Not unlike the Forbidden Forest…
No.
Greater.
I stepped forward.
The gates creaked open on their own.
Recognizing me.
Accepting me.
Inside…
I stopped.
Even I—
Was impressed.
The castle was enormous.
Comparable to Hogwarts in scale, yet darker, more refined—less a school and more a fortress of power.
Every corridor whispered with ancient magic.
Every stone held history.
I began to explore.
Slowly. Methodically.
Like a king inspecting his kingdom.
Alchemy laboratories—fully equipped, far beyond anything I had seen before.
Potion chambers—stocked with rare ingredients, some long extinct in modern Britain.
Dark research rooms—wards layered upon wards, designed for experimentation without consequence.
And then…
The library.
The entire second floor.
An ocean of knowledge.
Shelves stretching endlessly, filled with ancient tomes, forbidden texts, lost magic.
Spells that predated Hogwarts itself.
Rituals that modern wizards would not even comprehend.
I ran my fingers along the spine of one book, feeling the magic within it hum faintly.
"Yes…" I murmured. "This will do nicely."
Further in, I discovered a massive storage chamber.
Magical artefacts—hundreds, perhaps thousands.
Some dormant. Some radiating power so intense it made the air shimmer.
Weapons.
Relics.
Experiments.
A treasury of power.
There was even a grand meeting chamber—perfect for gatherings of my inner circle.
A throne room, though I had not yet claimed the seat.
Not yet.
And then…
I stepped outside once more.
Toward the far edge of the grounds.
A graveyard.
Rows upon rows of stone markers.
Weathered by time.
Yet still standing.
The Peverell family.
My ancestors.
The origin of Death itself.
I walked among them in silence.
Each name…
Each life…
Each legacy…
All leading…
To me.
I stopped before the oldest grave.
My crimson eyes gleamed faintly.
"I see it now," I whispered.
"This was never meant to be lost."
Power surged quietly beneath the earth.
Ancient. Patient.
Waiting.
This place was not just a castle.
It was a nexus.
A convergence of bloodline, magic, and destiny.
I turned back toward the towering structure behind me.
From this day forward…
Riddle Manor would be abandoned.
Forgotten.
Irrelevant.
This…
Would be my true base.
My fortress.
My empire's foundation.
A slow, cold smile spread across my face.
"Let Dumbledore search," I murmured.
"He will never find me here."
And as the wind howled across the Highlands…
The Heir of the Peverells had finally claimed his throne.