My new body was tiny.
Soft bones. Unsteady feet. A clumsy tongue that refused to shape words the way my mind demanded. I had lived decades once — I had commanded armies — and now I struggled to hold a spoon. The humiliation burned.
But magic did not care about muscle mass.Magic cared about will.
And my will was iron.
I trained every single day — wandless magic first, then soul control, then discipline of mind. Tom Riddle had once mastered wandless spells through desperation in an orphanage. Now that talent was doubled, magnified, perfected by rational strategy and spiritual augmentation. I pushed my infant magic harder than any child should ever attempt.
By fourteen months old, I could levitate multiple books.At eighteen months, I could conjure small flames.By two years, I could perform silent magic with terrifying precision.
Vinda Rosier noticed.
She was one of Grindelwald's last loyal admirers — dangerous, elegant, fundamentally ruthless. Her gaze cut through wards like razors. When she saw a toddler lifting three cups and a table without effort…
She smiled.
Not kindly.But knowingly.
"You," she whispered to me one evening, nails brushing my hair back,"are exactly what he's been waiting for."
Within weeks, parchment sealed in emerald wax traveled from Austria to Nurmengard. And days later…
Grindelwald himself arrived.
✧ The Summit in Shadows
The prison had not broken him — merely trimmed away the parts that wasted time. His hair was white now, but his eyes… his eyes were weapons.
He looked down at me, a two-year-old staring back with the soul of a warlock and the brain of a strategist.
We understood each other instantly.
"You possess ambition," he said in German."And strength. More than your body should tolerate."
I could not speak clearly yet — not fully — but I let a toy dissolve into dust using pure will. Grindelwald inhaled sharply.
Vinda bowed.The former Aurors who shadowed him whispered.
Grindelwald knelt, placing a hand gently on my head.
"Magic does not ask permission to rule," he said softly."It simply does."
That night, in a ritual chamber carved into the mountain, he drew runes of blood and loyalty around me — not chains, but inheritance.
From that moment onward, the Alliance called me:
Der Erbe – The Heir.
Not Voldemort reborn.Not a fragmented soul.
A new Dark Lord — with a mentor who understood vision instead of blind hatred.
And though I was still a baby…I commanded the loyalty of wizards feared across continents.
Because Grindelwald declared:
"This child will finish what I began."
✧ Quiet Training and Loud Power
The Alliance was smaller now — hunted and scattered — but they were the elite:
Unspeakables who defected for freedom
Dark scholars who resented the Ministry's chains
Curse masters who spent their lives studying forbidden arts
They trained me relentlessly:
• Wandless magic discipline• Duelling tactics (modified for my tiny body)• Ritual anatomy• Languages — German, French, Latin• And of course… Occlumency
Tom Riddle's mind once fractured — but I reinforced it like tempered steel.No prophecy, no old man with twinkling manipulation in his eyes would enter my thoughts again.
✧ Two Armies, One Will
The Death Eaters still existed.Weak.Leaderless.Directionless.
The Alliance was powerful.Ideological.Terrifying.
I now had both — quietly — in the palm of a toddler's chubby hand.
But I knew better than to reveal myself too early.Dumbledore would feel my rise.The prophecy child would eventually cross my path.
Harry Potter.The boy who (accidentally) lived.
I would not fear him…But I would not underestimate Lily's protection either.
"Let him grow," I thought."Let him become more than a tool of fate.So that when he falls… it will matter."
✧ A New Plan for the Future
I will attend Hogwarts when he does.Not as Voldemort.Not as a monster.
As a charming, brilliant student.With Grindelwald's wisdom whispering behind every smile.
I will shape the wizarding world through:
✅ Politics and alliances✅ Innovation and magical reform✅ Power that needs no mask
And when the time comes…
I will decide whether Harry is my greatest asset —or my final sacrifice.
For now?
I breathe softly in the night, a child held safely in the arms of a revolution.
No one suspects the Dark Lord is learning how to walk.